#lnds oneshot

[bronzealchemy]

caleb, who always secretly liked when you stole his hoodies, even though it was annoying that you sometimes just kept them. so he decided to gift you one, the hoodiest hoodie of all. but after a short while he realized you didn‘t wear it nearly as often as he hoped you would. after catching you red handed stealing one of his hoodies once again, he shakes his head. „why can‘t you just wear your own damn hoodies, pipsqueak? I even bought you one!“ you just stare at him blankly, heat flushing your cheeks. „but my own one doesn‘t smell like you.“

caleb has no further objections. from this point forward he never says anything when you steal his clothes.

[mephisto-reporting]

I Love You : Sylus Edition

Premise: The plot was also inspired by one of his memories

Trope: Angst to fluff.

Pairing: Reader x Sylus

Note: Reader and the men are NOT in a relationship. but there is implied mutual attraction.My inbox is open for prompts and requests :)

Sylus Edition | Rafayel Edition | Xavier Edition | Zayne Edition | Caleb Edition

The days had been slow, drawn-out, and suffocating. Every morning, you'd checked your phone, hoping for a message from Sylus or at least a notification. Nothing. The anxious knot in your stomach tightened with each unanswered call and every unread text. The silence was unbearable. It wasn’t the first time Sylus had gone radio silent, but this time was different. It had stretched on for days—too many days—and you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong.

You had become accustomed to his presence, even if it often frustrated you. His teasing, his cocky smirk, the way he’d effortlessly control every room he entered, even when he wasn’t trying. But more than that, there was something you couldn’t ignore: the soft way he’d treat you when no one else was watching. Those tender moments between him and you, when he’d pull you close, call you his "kitten," and joke around until all the tension in the air vanished. But now? Now, all you could do was wait.

It was moments like these, your anxiety running rampant, that you regretted not having Luke or Kieran’s contact details. You had always pushed them away, telling yourself you could handle things alone. But right now, more than anything, you wanted someone to reassure you that he was okay. It felt like you were walking in a fog, each day more uncertain than the last. At night, you stared at your phone, wondering if it was broken or if he was simply ignoring you. You hated that you couldn’t even call him, hated that he was out there somewhere, unreachable.

That night, after days of waiting, you made a decision. Your heart skipped a beat when the idea hit you: the Onychinus base. It was risky, but you'd do anything to find answers. You couldn't sit idly by anymore. You knew you had to go to the Onychinus base, even if you didn't have the slightest idea of what you’d find. You knocked on the door, then knocked again, but no one opened. A cold dread settled over you as you stood there, staring at the imposing walls, the silence swallowing your voice.

Where was he? What was happening?

I miss you, you thought, a silent confession you refused to say aloud. It hurt more than you expected, and you couldn't understand why.

Two more days pass and it was driving you insane. You needed a distraction, possibly a new mission, outside Linkon. The rumble of your motorbike against the open highway barely matched the relentless thud of your heart. It had been days—agonizing, nerve-wracking days—since you'd last heard from Sylus. Messages had gone unanswered, and for all his taunting, all his smug calls to remind you he was still lurking in the shadows, now there was… nothing. Just silence. You hated it—hated that his absence gnawed at you in ways you hadn’t anticipated. You hadn’t realized how much you’d gotten used to him, his cocky grins, his infuriating taunts. His voice was a presence in your life you’d come to crave despite yourself. But now, with each mile passing under your tires, you still felt a flicker of worry that he might not come back.

The sound of another engine roared beside you, and your pulse quickened as you glanced sideways, a dark figure matching your speed. That profile—it was him. It had to be.

You yanked the bike to a stop at the side of the road, helmet barely hitting the seat before you spun to face him. Sylus had pulled up, his helmet already in hand, revealing that smirk of his, like he hadn’t just vanished without a word.

Before he could get a word in, you started.

“Where the hell have you been?” you shouted. You could feel your voice tremble, frustration blending with relief. “No calls, no texts! I was just supposed to sit around wondering if you were—if you were…” You trailed off, refusing to say it out loud. “You’ve been gone for days, and I’ve been losing my mind trying to figure out what happened to you! You can’t just… just disappear like that! Do you have any idea—”

He listened, eyes gleaming with amusement, lips twitching as if he couldn’t resist toying with you, even now.  Sylus’s lips curled into a teasing smirk, his eyes gleaming mischievously as he interrupted. “Careful, kitten,” he drawled, stepping closer. “I might start thinking you actually care about me.”

You glared at him, furious but relieved to see him in one piece. “I do care about you, you idiot!” you snapped back, the words slipping out faster than you could stop them. “I can’t just sit around not knowing where the hell you’ve gone, what you’ve been doing, whether you’re dead or alive!”

“Oh, really?” he replied, feigning mock surprise as he leaned forward, his smirk deepening, eyes dark and playful. "Come on, sweetie. You’re really losing sleep over the big bad criminal of the N109 Zone? You had no reason to care for someone like me. Not unless you were just bored. Or maybe you’ve taken a liking to getting under my skin. Which, I won’t lie,” he said, chuckling softly, “I find adorable.”

The heat of your anger mixed with a surge of emotion you couldn’t keep inside anymore. Tears welled up in your eyes, your hands shaking as you wiped them away furiously, but nothing could stop the words from tumbling out, raw and unfiltered.

“The reason,” you yelled, your voice cracking, “is because I love you! That’s why!

The admission hung in the air, loud and unmistakable, and the tears that you’d been holding back prickled at your eyes. You half expected him to brush it off, to laugh at you, maybe even just get back on his bike. The world seemed to stop for a moment. Sylus stood frozen, his eyes wide with shock, his usually smug expression completely wiped off his face. His mouth parted, as though searching for the right words but coming up empty.

You stood there, heart thumping wildly in your chest, hoping to hell he wouldn’t just turn and leave, or worse, laugh at your confession. Instead, he was… completely and utterly still, his eyes locked on yours, stunned into silence. His expression softened, a flicker of vulnerability flickering across his face. He took a step closer, lifting a hand, and before you knew it, his thumb was brushing a tear from your cheek.

“Say that again, sweetie” he murmured, his voice unusually quiet, vulnerable. “I didn’t hear you.”

Your chest tightened, but you repeated yourself, more firmly this time. “I love you, Sylus. I love you.”

“You mean that?” he whispered, a rare moment of sincerity breaking through his usual bravado. “You… love me?”

You nodded, biting your lip to keep it from trembling. “Yes. I was terrified you were gone forever, Sylus. You make my life… complicated, but you make it better, too.”

He didn’t move for a second, just stared, processing every word. Then a slow, genuine smile spread across his face as he took your chin in his hand, bringing you closer. “I love you too, sweetie. Believe me, I didn’t think I’d hear it back. But… damn.” He chuckled, shaking his head, and then pulled you against him, his arms wrapping around you with a warmth you hadn’t expected.

“You’re insane, you know that, kitten? I didn’t think you’d ever say it.” He cupped your face gently, his thumb brushing across your cheek. “But I’m glad you did. Because I... I love you too.”

For a brief, shining moment, it felt like the weight of the world had been lifted off your shoulders. Sylus, the man who had always played with control and power, had let himself be vulnerable, and you could see it in his eyes now. He wasn’t pulling away. He wasn’t running. He was here, and he cared. His lips brushed against your forehead in a rare, tender gesture, the warmth of his touch grounding you, calming the storm of emotions in your chest.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I didn’t mean to make you worry like that. But don’t think for a second that I don’t care about you. I do. More than you know.”

You looked at him through your wet lashes, still struggling with the emotions that had bubbled up so suddenly.

Sylus’s smirk returned, though this time it had a different edge to it. “So much for not resonating with me when we first met,” he teased, a glint of mischief flickering in his eyes. “I guess I’ve won, huh?”

You nudged him with your elbow, still trying to process everything, your heart hammering in your chest.

He leaned down, his breath warm against your ear as he whispered, “I love you, sweetie. More than you think I do. You’re mine now.”

A blush crept up your neck, and before you could even respond, Sylus was tugging you closer, pulling you into an embrace that was more tender than anything you’d ever expected from the man who thrived on power and control.

“I’m not letting you go,” he murmured, his lips brushing the top of your head. “Not tonight. Not ever again. Guess that makes me one lucky criminal.” he murmured, squeezing you just a little tighter. He held you like he never wanted to let go, and for the first time in days, everything felt right again.

AN: reblogs, feedback and opinions are appreciated!

Sylus Edition | Rafayel Edition | Xavier Edition | Zayne Edition | Caleb Edition

[a-hermit-pining]

Crown For a Flower

Request: @queenondeezmatatas A RAFAYEL MERMAID AU SET IN THE 1800s WHERE MC IS A ROYAL LIVING IN A CASTLE BY THE SEA OFC AND THEIR LOVE IR FORBIDDEN BUT IT DONT MATTER PLSSSSS PLS PLS PLS let them be happy even if just for a millisecond😭🙏🏻

AN: This turned out to be different but I could not resist this idea. I just love dramatic stories sooooooo much. It isn't 1800s esque but I promise to get to that someday.

Pairing: Rafayel x Empress Reader

Genre: Fluff and ROMANCE

Summary: "It was a wedding unlike any other," the merwoman whispered to her sleepy daughter. "The union of Prince Rafayel and the Empress..." And so, she began to tell the tale.

The Lemurian court waited. Bowed on their knees. The seabed itself trembled beneath the drums that announced the emperor.

The tyrant. He who bled both lands and seas, had come. Invading the quiet bliss of Lemuria to uphold the ancient oath.

Peace had arrived with feet that dragged blood into its halls.

To wed, to form an alliance, the emperor came. And just like that, the court bowed lower, accepting the wedding that promised an end to a one-sided war.

Rafayel bowed with the rest of his father’s brood. The bastard, crouched behind the legitimate princes.

And standing at the altar was his aunt, Talia. The bride. The offering.

Where there should have been shame, there was only relief.

Assurance that their world would be spared. That the emperor would not strip the very seas of water to slaughter every last one of their kin.

Worse things had been done to the dragons of the West, burned alive with the mountains they guarded. And to the angels, plucked from the skies to amuse the emperor’s court.

So, marriage was a merciful fate.

It would grant them protection, from the emperor, and the monsters he had made of all others.

“All bow to the sovereign of the world,” a guard announced. And the kneeling court bowed further still.

The footfalls of soldiers echoed through the sacred hall. The clang of armor, the hiss of swords that had bled nations.

And yet, within that grim procession, there came a note of sweetness. A chime, delicate as windchimes swaying in spring.

A sound not of death, but of beauty.

“Rise.” The voice rang clear. Firm, but not unkind.

And in place of the tyrant, stood you.

The princess. Now crowned. Now empress.

Rafayel stared from a distance, his view obstructed by the silhouettes before him. But he could still hear the sound, the cheerful chime of a silver hairpin catching the current. Even as the court broke into whispers.

“I apologize,” you said, “but my father did not live to keep his word. So I have come. His heir. I shall complete this alliance.”

Rafayel pushed through the crowd, just in time to see you standing before Talia, your hand outstretched.

“That is, if your heart is not taken by another.”

The tyrant who tormented heavens, earth, and sea, had fallen. Slain by his own daughter, with the same cruelty he had borne unto others.

And now, the savior of worlds stood in their court. Not with demands, but to keep the word of peace.

The word of marriage went out. Of the newest empress seeking her groom. Word carried to every corner of Lemuria.

A simple challenge accompanied it. Issued in the quiet wake of Aunt Talia stepping down from the marriage proposal.

Rafayel stared at the wooden box in his brother’s hand. It was smooth, polished, its grain fine beneath his fingers, like a breath trapped in time.

To win the empress’s hand, One only had to open the box.

But not with hands. Not with keys. Not with tools.

The box was to be opened by its own element. In a way that required no force.

And those who resorted to force, who pried or cracked or cut, had been named. Called out by you directly.

The court had been abuzz with the puzzle. Dozens had tried.

None had succeeded.

Whatever lived inside the box shattered at the touch of violence.

A box that refused to be opened with force…What could slip into the very grain of wood itself?

"May I?" Rafayel asked quietly.

His brother sighed, handing over the box before marching off in exasperation.

Rafayel hadn't been given one of his own. He wasn’t even meant to be a part of the challenge. No one expected anything from the bastard son, barely a prince.

But he had wanted to try. Not for the marriage. Not for a crown.

He just wanted a reason to see you again.

To get a little closer. To catch another glimpse of the hairpin that had snared his attention in the court. It haunted him now. It rang through his sleep. Slipped into his drawings.

It was everywhere. Like you.

And this box… this puzzle… It was the only way to stand in your presence again.

To look at the one who wore the chime in her hair.

The one who was leaving tonight.

Leaving behind the challenge. Leaving behind Lemuria. To return to your empire.

Unless. He could solve it. Unless he could make the box bloom.

He will find you. He will make it so that you come to him

As his bride.

You stared at the block. A blooming weed stared back.

After two months, the answer to your challenge finally arrived from the courts of Lemuria.

Delicate wood had been parted. Split not by blades, nor keys, But by the slow persistence of roots.

A flower had bloomed, and in blooming, revealed your heart. Your aether core within the box.

A soft laugh bubbled from your throat. Not of amusement. But of quiet, content recognition.

A fragment of your soul seemed to glow from the cracks. Your heart, unveiled. Nestled between petals.

"Let it be known," you said, rising to your feet, "that the Empress is eager to be wed, to the one who holds the mind to unveil my heart with such beauty."

You turned, voice unwavering, lips soft with something dangerously close to a smile.

"Prepare for the wedding."

They say he never tried to pry the box open.

While others scorched it with spells, cracked it with blades, whispered incantations to break its seal. Rafayel only placed it in the sun.

He watered the soil beneath it each morning. Let the dew kiss its corners. Watched for mold, checked the grain.

He tilted it toward the light when the tide shifted, knelt beside it to whisper apologies on stormy nights. Some nights he rested beside it, cheek pressed to the stone, breathing with it as though it were alive.

And when he noticed a single thread of green peeking from beneath the lid, he didn't touch it. He simply watched.

And when the bloom finally opened, delicate and white, cradled in the broken seal, he wept.

Leaf by leaf, he witnessed the box part, not with force, but with trust.

Its edges softened. Its roots slipped into the wood like secrets. He charted the curves of each petal. Studied how they curled. How they clung.

Not for triumph. But for the quiet, impossible sight of your aether core. Glimmering red piece of you that lay in his blooms.

A treasure that refused to yield to force. Had revealed itself under his care.

"It was a wedding unlike any other," the merwoman whispered to her sleepy daughter. "The union of Prince Rafayel and the Empress..."

And so, she began to tell the tale.

Welcomed with gentle waves, the new Empress walked along a path paved in gold coins and pearls.

With a procession of two hundred, the humans came to Lemuria. With drums, with songs, with joy that had been lost for centuries.

Never before had there been such grandeur. Not for a wedding. Not for any union.

With them came the surviving dragons, seeking the calm of the sea to soothe their scorched wounds. Elves from ancient forests. Fae from veiled worlds. Angels, freed from their shackles.

Delicacies unheard of were offered to the court. Treasures brought by every race to honor the Empress who had brought order from ruin.

Peace had come to Lemuria with the promise of this union, but it had touched the entire world. It was as if the whole of creation had paused, just to witness them.

And Rafayel stood at the altar, when he heard the chimes again.

He looked up.

And there you were.

He had to force his eyes away from your hairpin, to allow himself the full, unshaken sight of you. Standing beneath the Cove of Oaths, you wore no crown. Only the hairpin.

And nestled beside it, his flower. His breath caught.

The vow taken by the heart of the ocean.

You stepped closer, alone in this moment. Alone in this oath.

This belonged to no court, no kingdom, no god. Only to you and him.

"You already have my heart," you said, smiling softly as you stood before him. "Yet, I have not had the chance to have yours." You tilted your head, "Is this to your wish? Our wedding, is it more than an oath to you?"

And Rafayel looked at the flower.

"Pilin flowers," he said quietly, "grow only with love."

"They bloom yellow with infatuation... blue with lust..."

His hand rose, fingers trembling as they brushed the white petals resting in your braid.

"And white," he whispered, "with love."

[randomfandomworks]

Sylus takes notice one night, as you’re resting against him, of the exact way you position yourself in his hold.

You press your body to one side of his, until you’re basically molded against him. Your heart lays above his, it’s beating harmonizing with his own until they inevitably sync together.

Your head rests slightly on his collarbone, your face lingering just above his neck leaving your nose to occasionally bump it after a deep breath. Breaths which fan across his skin and give him little goosebumps.

Though it isn’t any of this that truely catches his attention.

One of your hands lays gently on his chest.

Sprawled exactly where in a past life a final blow had taken his life.

Your fingers graze where the gash would have been, leaving soft touches instead of dripping blood.

You’re unaware of what had happened ages ago, though subconsciously you apologize. Holding him close now as you couldn’t before. Perhaps it was part of your soul coming to its peace as you laid with him now.

His hand shakes slightly as it comes to trace your own, he turns, placing a kiss to the crown of your head and begins to focus once again on your steady breaths and your heart's rhythmic beat.

Perhaps this will be enough of a resolution to relax his own soul as well, that way his part and yours can come and rest together again as you two do now.

[shaiyasstuff]

how to accidentally catch feelings while baby-sitting a man-child | sylus

synopsis : You were just a quiet, book-loving college student trying to survive academia and avoid emotional damage—until Sylus crashed into your life like a hot, smug hurricane who never left. content : fluff, college!au, sylus being drunk(not really), crackhead energy writing, comedy

It was a Saturday night—which, in your world, meant a sacred ritual of staying in your dorm, reading a good book, and letting Spotify decide your fate with its chaotic shuffle.

A peaceful, introvert’s haven.

Your roommate had long since abandoned you for brighter, sweatier pastures, hollering, “I’m gonna get laid tonight!” as she tottered out in an outfit that could’ve doubled as a napkin.

You’d only offered her a solemn nod and returned to your paperback and playlist, cocooned in your sofa bed like a content little hermit.

Nothing could disturb your peace.

Until something did.

A knock.

You blinked at the door. Once. Twice. Frowned. Who knocks past 10 p.m.? Who dares?

Your mind immediately went to one person—your best friend, Sylus. The same Sylus who had texted earlier, bragging about some frat party he was going to “grace with his presence.” You had rolled your eyes then.

You were rolling them again now.

Still, you peeled yourself from the embrace of your blankets with a martyred sigh.

“Coming,” you muttered like a wronged Victorian heroine.

And there he was.

Sylus, leaning on your doorframe like a drunken Greek tragedy. The unmistakable scent of alcohol hit you in the face like an offended slap.

“W-Wha—Sy??” you gasped, arms flailing as you caught his teetering form.

He slumped against you dramatically, mumbling something that suspiciously sounded like “Need… y-you,” into the crook of your neck.

Your entire spine straightened. Goosebumps. Betrayal.

“Again?” you asked, somehow dragging his dead weight into your dorm like a disgruntled EMT.

You dumped him onto the sofa, where he sprawled like a starfish in distress.

“How much did you drink?” you asked, already grabbing your emergency water bottle—standard best-friend-care protocol. You tilted it to his lips.

He tried to drink it sideways.

You sighed, loud and long. “Of course you’re useless.”

His eyes fluttered open just a crack as he sipped at the water, managing to prop himself up with one wobbly arm like he was posing for a very tragic Renaissance painting.

“You’re so… nice,” he slurred, dragging the word out with an attempt at a smirk that looked more like a sleepy grimace.

You exhaled sharply through your nose. “Yeah, yeah. Save the drunk flirting for someone who didn’t just haul your dead weight off the hallway floor.”

This wasn’t your first Sylus Situation.

Probably wouldn’t be your last.

You and Sylus had met on the very first day of college. You’d been an eager, introverted bookworm just trying to get to your dorm before anyone could talk to you.

And then—bam—Sylus. Tall, cocky, and very lost, standing in the middle of the corridor looking as confused as a cat in a swimming pool.

He’d stopped you by physically planting one muscled arm across your path and declaring, with absolute seriousness, “I need help finding the toilet.”

A moment you would never forget, nor forgive.

You had rolled your eyes back then too—but still showed him the way, mostly because he had somehow clamped onto you like a gym-sculpted koala.

To this day, you had no idea why someone at age eighteen had the physique of a Marvel extra, but you had learned not to ask too many questions when it came to Sylus.

Especially when he was drunk and whispering compliments like you were the second coming of hydration.

Now, two years in, you and Sylus were pretty much inseparable.

Not exactly by your choice, of course. He had basically crammed himself into your life like a determined cat forcing its way into a box half its size—and then refused to leave.

Ever.

But you, being the kind-hearted, ever-patient soul that you were cough pushover cough, didn’t really complain. Much.

In his own chaotic way, Sylus had proven… useful.

He was your self-appointed human shield against overly confident frat boys who thought “You read? That’s hot” was a seductive line.

More than once, he’d slung an arm around you and declared, “She’s taken. By academia. Leave her alone.”

You, in turn, had helped him survive the academic hellscape that was calculus. Which mostly meant sitting beside him during study sessions and watching him squint at formulas like they were written in ancient Sumerian.

At one point he tried to bribe you with tacos to do his entire homework.

You took the tacos and still made him do it.

It was an odd, messy sort of friendship. One built on sarcastic banter, mutual blackmail, and late-night ramen runs.

And maybe—just maybe—a little too much unspoken something lingering in the quiet spaces in between.

Like right now, for example.

He blinked blearily at you from your sofa, shirt slightly rumpled, hair a tousled mess, water bottle still clutched like a lifeline.

“You know,” he mumbled, “you’d make a great wife.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Drink your water before I drown you in it.”

He grabs the bottle and downs it in one dramatic go, like he was auditioning for a Gatorade commercial.

Then he thrusts it back at you with all the triumph of someone who just solved world hunger.

“There. I finished it,” he announces, his arm swaying a little as he wobbles in place, clearly very proud of his accomplishment.

You roll your eyes but take the bottle anyway, muttering something under your breath about man-children and alcohol tolerance.

You place it on the table and then, with the kind of exasperated sigh that only comes from long-term best friend duty, plop yourself down next to him on the sofa.

He immediately slouches, his shoulder knocking lightly into yours, like his body had decided it belonged at a thirty-degree angle from yours. You don’t move.

It’s not like this is the first time he’s drunkenly ended up in your space.

Sylus had a talent for turning up half-conscious on your couch like some sort of overgrown housecat that went out, got into a fight, and came back demanding affection and snacks.

Still, as he leaned a bit closer, you caught the faintest scent of his cologne beneath the layers of beer and poor decisions.

That same one he always wore—the one you refused to admit you liked.

He gave a tired little groan and let his head loll toward you. “You’re warm,” he muttered, barely above a whisper. “Like… those fuzzy blankets. But with better insults.”

You blinked. “Thank you, I think?”

He gave a lazy grin, eyes barely open. “Anytime, wifey.”

You smacked his shoulder with a throw pillow.

“OW.”

You had to admit—though only internally, and only under very specific, delusional circumstances—you might have feelings for the guy.

Not that you’d ever admit it out loud. Absolutely not. You’d rather eat a raw onion whole.

Besides, you and Sylus were practically heaven and earth. He walked through campus like he owned the place, girls tripping over their own feet just to bat their lashes at him. Your dorm mate had been one of them, once.

Keyword, once.

That ended the moment she got bold and tried to drape herself all over him like a weighted blanket in heat.

Sylus, being the tactful gentleman he was, had responded by physically lifting her off and shoving her away with all the grace of a bouncer at closing time.

She hit the floor with a squeak and a very visible bruise forming on her hip.

You’d been mortified.

While Sylus looked mildly annoyed, you were busy apologizing profusely, scrambling to help her up while simultaneously smacking him on the arm.

“What is wrong with you?” you’d hissed.

“She was being gross,” he’d replied simply, like that was an acceptable answer. “And touching me.”

“She’s a human being, not a leech!”

“A touchy leech,” he muttered, unfazed.

That was the thing with Sylus.

He never asked to be popular. Girls just looked at him like he was the answer to all their bad decisions.

But you? You were the one dragging him by the ear out of messes he caused. The one making excuses.

The one covering for him when he showed up drunk or bailed on class or told a professor their quiz “was an act of violence.”

You were the constant.

And somehow, in a very twisted way, you were okay with that. Even if your feelings stayed buried beneath layers of sarcasm and very loud sighs.

Especially now, when he was leaning half-asleep on your shoulder, muttering something about you smelling like books and cinnamon and safety.

And damn it, you liked that too much.

Your expression softened despite yourself when you heard the soft, steady rhythm of Sylus snoring.

He had slumped a little more against your shoulder, completely out cold now, mouth slightly parted in the most annoyingly adorable way.

With a small sigh, you leaned forward, grabbing the throw blanket from the armrest and carefully draping it over both your laps. He didn’t stir.

Just exhaled, warm and slow against your collarbone.

You reached for your book again, flipping back to the page you had abandoned during The Great Drunken Entry of Sylus.

And then, as if summoned by the universe purely to torment you, your Spotify decided to betray you.

Under the Influence by Chris Brown began to play.

Your heart dropped straight to your stomach.

“Oh, no,” you whispered like you were in a horror movie and the killer had just creaked open the door.

Because you remembered the last time this song had come on while Sylus was drunk—less drunk than tonight, unfortunately.

That time, he had turned to you, eyes low and voice deep, and said with a completely straight face, “This song represents the things I want to do to you.”

You had choked on your drink. He had passed out shortly after.

You had spent three business days trying to pretend it never happened.

And yet, for some completely inexplicable reason, you never removed the song from your playlist.

Why?

That was a question for your therapist.

You shot a nervous glance at Sylus’s sleeping form. He twitched a little, mumbling something unintelligible.

“No, no, no, no,” you whispered under your breath. “Don’t you dare wake up.”

He let out a soft sigh.

You stared at your phone, debating if skipping the song would be too loud and risk waking him.

You decided to risk it.

Your finger hovered—then paused.

Because deep down, despite your better judgment, part of you wanted to hear what he might say if he woke up again.

And that was the real betrayal.

You scrambled through your playlist like a woman on a mission, muttering curses at your past self while frantically searching for something—anything—less incriminating than Chris Brown.

Eventually, you landed on something soft and unassuming, a gentle acoustic ballad that sounded like it belonged in a rainy café montage.

Peace.

At last.

You settled back in, the weight of Sylus still warm beside you, blanket tucked around your legs, your book finally resting in your hands again.

You exhaled slowly.

And then, without warning, the air was violently knocked out of your lungs.

“Wha—!”

One second you were comfortably seated.

The next, Sylus had flipped you flat on your back, your book flying out of your hands with a soft thud.

A startled yelp escaped your throat, legs tangled in the blanket, brain scrambling to catch up to the fact that you had just been ambushed.

He hovered over you, forearms braced on either side of your head, eyes half-lidded but open—definitely awake now. Great.

“Sylus!” you hissed, face heating. “What the hell?!”

“Shhh,” he murmured, voice low and hoarse, like he hadn’t fully emerged from dreamland yet. “You moved.”

“I was reading.”

He blinked slowly, eyes flickering across your face with an intensity that made your breath catch.

Then he mumbled, almost like a confession, “Thought you left.”

Your heart stuttered.

“I—Sylus, I live here.” You tried to squirm, but he just shifted closer, lowering himself so his forehead bumped gently against yours.

“You smell like lavender,” he whispered.

You were going to die. Right here. Of cardiac arrest and secondhand embarrassment.

“And books,” he added softly, eyes fluttering shut again. “You smell like home.”

Your hands hovered awkwardly in the air, unsure whether to shove him off or pull him closer.

You did neither.

Because the worst part?

You liked hearing that more than you should’ve.

“Why are you… so cute?” he slurs, eyes glassy and unfocused, his breath warm against your lips.

You barely had time to process the question—if it was a question—before he leaned in and slammed his lips against yours with all the grace and coordination of someone who definitely shouldn’t be operating heavy machinery.

Your brain short-circuited.

Yep. He’s super drunk tonight.

It wasn’t even a kiss, really.

More like a very committed face-plant. His lips mashed clumsily against yours, all instinct and zero finesse, like his drunk brain had gone, “Target acquired—initiate smooch protocol.”

You froze. Arms still mid-air. Eyes wide. Mind absolutely screaming.

It lasted all of two seconds before he let out a satisfied little hum and promptly collapsed against you like a human pancake, burying his face into the crook of your neck as if the kiss had been a casual prelude to nap time.

“…Seriously?” you croaked.

No response. Just light snoring and a very warm, very solid Sylus draped across your body.

You stared at the ceiling.

This was fine. Everything was fine.

You were definitely not blushing.

Not still feeling the ghost of his lips against yours.

Not wondering why the hell your heart was racing like you’d just run a marathon.

Nope.

Totally. Fine.

—•

The next morning, sunlight peeked through the blinds, warm and accusing. You blinked groggily, only to realize that your limbs were pinned.

Sylus was still slumped against your body, face buried in your shoulder, arm thrown around your waist like a weighted blanket with abandonment issues.

He was out, dead to the world, breathing softly like last night hadn’t been a whole fever dream.

You stared at him for a long moment.

Then, very carefully—like you were defusing a bomb—you began to wiggle out from under him.

One leg. Then the other.

You held your breath as you slipped free, standing over him like some war-weary survivor of battle. He didn’t stir.

Honestly, you were impressed. You could have probably vacuumed the room and he’d still be there, drooling peacefully.

You didn’t have time to process it. Class was calling.

And you had never gotten ready so fast.

By the time you made it to your seat, slightly out of breath and still pulling your hoodie over your head, your mind was already spiraling.

The lecture blurred into a series of droning syllables you couldn’t quite absorb.

Because God, you hoped he didn’t remember.

If he did—if he looked at you with that signature smirk and said anything about last night—your soul might physically evacuate your body.

You kept your head down, notebook open but blank, your pen frozen mid-air.

And still, your thoughts wandered.

Back to the feel of his lips on yours—sloppy, warm, unexpected.

Back to the sound of his voice, low and slurred, calling you cute like it was a sin he couldn’t forgive.

Back to the way your heart had reacted like it was hearing something it had been waiting for.

Your teeth grazed your bottom lip, and before you could stop yourself, you caught it gently between them. Just to see if you could remember.

And—damn it—you could.

Which was exactly the problem.

Class ended faster than you realized.

One moment you were lost in a daze of accidental kisses and existential dread, the next, students were filing out around you and your professor was reminding everyone about next week’s quiz that you absolutely did not hear.

You packed your stuff in record time and bolted, telling yourself you’d walk it off. Or compartmentalize. Or, ideally, both.

It was a crisp morning, birds chirping, sun shining, world spinning just fine without dragging your dignity behind it. You were just starting to calm down, your feet falling into a steady rhythm along the pavement, when—

An arm slung over your shoulder.

You stiffened like someone had just hit your internal panic button.

“Thanks for not waking me,” came a familiar, smug voice from your right, laced with far too much amusement for someone who had been drooling on your hoodie six hours ago.

You turned your head slowly—like in a horror film—and there he was.

Sylus.

Disheveled but well-rested. Hair tousled. Hoodie slightly crooked on his frame.

Looking every bit like someone who had zero regrets and somehow still got eight hours of sleep.

And worse?

He was smirking.

You stared at him.

He stared back.

Then you exhaled, long and slow, a rush of relief loosening your spine. “So… you don’t remember anything?” you asked as casually as you could.

His smirk deepened. “Nope.”

You nodded, clutching your bag a little tighter. “Good. Great. Fantastic.”

He glanced sideways at you, amusement dancing in his eyes. “You look tense,” he said, as if you weren’t actively reliving one of the most unhinged nights of your life.

You kept your face blank. “Do I?”

“Mm-hm.” He leaned in slightly. “We didn’t do anything weird, did we?”

Your soul briefly tried to exit your body.

You cleared your throat, gaze fixed straight ahead. “Define weird.”

Sylus chuckled, his grip around your shoulders tightening playfully. “Knew I could count on you to protect my innocence.”

You resisted the urge to shove him into a bush.

Because he didn’t remember.

And maybe that was for the best.

Right?

—•

Later that afternoon, Sylus had peeled himself away from your side with his usual casual flair, stretching like a cat and shooting you a wink over his shoulder.

“Got a date,” he’d called, walking backward with that insufferable grin. “Don’t miss me too much!”

You managed a forced smile, waving him off like it was no big deal.

But it was.

Because the moment he turned the corner, a sharp, unwelcome pang bloomed in your chest. It wasn’t jealousy—not exactly.

Just… something heavy. Something tight.

Something you couldn’t name without digging into places you weren’t quite ready to go.

You sighed, long and low, and forced your feet toward your next class, pretending that maybe you’d feel better if you just kept moving.

Spoiler, you didn’t.

Classes passed in a blur, lectures droning like white noise in the background.

You tried to focus, really, but your mind kept drifting—back to last night, back to his weight against you, his breath on your neck, the taste of his lips.

Back to the way he didn’t remember.

And now here he was, out on a date, completely unaware of the emotional chaos he’d left you in.

You returned to your dorm that night with your brain fried and your heart somewhere under your shoe.

You flopped onto your bed face-first, ready to disappear into the mattress forever, when your phone buzzed.

Sy: getting drunk again tonight lol

You groaned, dragging your pillow over your head like it could block out both the light and your bad decisions. You tossed your phone aside with more force than necessary.

“He better not come here again tonight,” you muttered to yourself.

But even as you said it… a tiny, traitorous part of you kind of hoped he would.

And that was the worst part.

Of course he did.

Because why wouldn’t he?

You stared at the door for a solid five seconds after the knock. It was almost comedic at this point.

Like the universe had a twisted sense of humor and Sylus was its favorite punchline.

You dragged yourself up, already exhausted before you even turned the knob.

And there he was.

Leaning casually against the doorframe like he hadn’t been out on a date just hours ago, like he hadn’t already hijacked your emotional equilibrium last night.

The now-familiar scent hit you immediately—his signature cologne, warm and clean, now drowned under the unmistakable sting of alcohol.

Not subtle this time.

He smelled like he’d gone swimming in a cocktail shaker.

He grinned at you, lazy and lopsided. “Hey, wifey.”

You stared at him. Blinked once.

Then sighed. “I literally said, ‘He better not come here again tonight.’”

He tilted his head. “But I always come here.”

You resisted the urge to bang your head against the doorframe. “You have a room. A perfectly good room.”

“But yours has you in it,” he said, like it was the most logical argument in the world.

And just like that, your heart did the thing again—the flutter, the ache, the full-body sigh of someone dangerously close to caring too much.

You stepped aside wordlessly, letting him stumble in and flop onto the sofa with all the grace of a drunk swan.

He missed the armrest entirely and groaned into your throw pillow.

You closed the door.

“Don’t throw up on anything,” you warned.

“Never,” came his muffled reply. “I have standards.”

You rolled your eyes. “Sure you do.”

As you fetched the water bottle—again, you glanced over at him. Hair a mess, face flushed, shoes still on.

And yet, somehow, despite it all—despite the alcohol and the chaos and the absolutely maddening way he lived inside your head—he still looked like home.

And that was the problem.

You sighed—again—and knelt beside the sofa, already in caretaker mode. It was routine now. Predictable. You unscrewed the cap of the water bottle with one hand and gently lifted it to his lips, not even bothering to ask this time.

But tonight was different.

Because he didn’t drink.

He didn’t even move.

He just stared at you.

Silent. Still.

Your brows furrowed as you held the bottle there, confused. “Sylus,” you said softly, nudging the rim against his bottom lip.

Still nothing.

You looked up, properly meeting his gaze—and froze.

He wasn’t out of it this time. His eyes, though glassy, were clear. Awake. Watching you with an intensity that made your breath hitch.

Your hand slowly lowered the bottle.

“What?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper.

His head tilted slightly against the pillow, eyes never leaving yours. “You were biting your lip in class today.”

You blinked. “Wha—how do you even—?”

“I wasn’t that drunk,” he murmured, almost like an apology.

Your heart dropped.

He remembered.

He remembered.

The kiss. The things he said. The way he collapsed on you like you were something he could fall into without consequence.

He remembered everything.

Your voice caught in your throat. You straightened up a little, putting distance between you. “You said you didn’t remember.”

He smiled faintly. “I lied.”

And just like that, the air shifted—heavy, warm, dangerous. The room felt smaller. Your heart louder.

You didn’t know what to say. So you didn’t.

You just stared back, bottle still in your hand, feeling everything you’d tried to bury clawing its way to the surface.

He sat up with a sigh, rubbing a hand through his hair as if he could shake off the tension clinging to the air between you.

You watched him closely, bottle still in your hand, heartbeat pounding like a warning.

Then he looked at you—really looked at you—and said quietly, “I didn’t go on a date.”

Your brows lifted.

“I didn’t even drink tonight.”

That made you pause.

You stared at him, eyes narrowing slightly. And?

Your expression said it all. So?

He shifted, leaning forward, elbows on his knees, fingers interlaced like he needed something to hold onto.

His frown deepened, not from annoyance but from something far more raw.

“Don’t you get it?” he asked, voice softer now—less teasing, more real.

You blinked.

No smirk. No sarcasm.

Just Sylus, stripped of his usual bravado, staring at you like he didn’t know what else to say—like the weight of what he felt had finally grown too heavy to carry without showing it.

And suddenly, everything felt louder.

The silence. The breath you didn’t take. The confession waiting just on the other side of his words.

Because maybe… you did get it.

You just weren’t sure you were ready to.

He groaned, dragging a hand down his face in frustration like he couldn’t believe he was having to spell it out.

“Come here,” he muttered under his breath—low, almost like he didn’t mean for you to hear it.

But before you could even react, his hands were on either side of your face, warm and certain, pulling you toward him.

And then—he kissed you.

Not like last night.

Not messy or sudden or slurred with alcohol and adrenaline.

This kiss was different.

It was gentle. Intentional. His lips moved slowly against yours, like he was trying to say everything he hadn’t had the courage to say out loud.

Like he wanted you to feel it—feel him.

There was no rush. No stumble. Just soft, quiet honesty.

Your hands, unsure at first, slowly rose to grip the front of his shirt. His thumb brushed along your cheek, steadying you, grounding you.

And for a moment, the noise in your head stopped.

No questions. No what-ifs. Just the feeling of him—real, solid, and heartbreakingly tender.

When he finally pulled away, barely an inch, his forehead rested lightly against yours, breath mingling with yours in the stillness between you.

“I remember everything,” he whispered.

“And I meant all of it.”

“I’ve liked you for a long time.”

The words settled between you like something fragile and warm, and terrifyingly real.

You barely had time to absorb them before he sighed, shaking his head with a look that was equal parts fond and exasperated.

“For someone who’s considered a nerd,” he muttered, thumb brushing against your cheek again, “you’re so stupid.”

Your jaw dropped slightly. “Excuse me?”

He gave you a look—the one that always came right before he said something that would both annoy and fluster you to death.

“You seriously didn’t notice? Two years of me practically living in your room, fending off every guy who looked at you twice, ‘accidentally’ falling asleep on your shoulder, telling you a Chris Brown song described what I wanted to do to you—”

“I thought you were drunk!” you hissed, flushing.

“I was,” he admitted, smirking. “But that doesn’t mean I was lying.”

You stared at him, heart a riot in your chest.

He leaned in again, voice softer now.

“I liked you even before I knew what to call it. When you helped me find the toilet on the first day, and I thought, ‘Well. That’s it. Guess I’m not letting her go now.’”

You blinked, wide-eyed. “That was… the first day of college.”

“Exactly.” He grinned, nose brushing yours. “And you’re just now catching up?”

You opened your mouth to argue. Nothing came out.

He laughed under his breath, pressing another kiss to the corner of your mouth. “God, you’re lucky you’re cute.”

You were still staring at him, wide-eyed, frozen in the moment like your brain had blue-screened.

Your mouth opened. Nothing came out.

You had so many things to say, but your thoughts were tripping over each other in the hallway of your mind, arms full of emotional baggage.

He just chuckled.

Low. Warm. Smug.

That infuriating smirk curved at the corner of his lips again, the one that always spelled trouble and somehow still made your heart flutter.

“You really are slow,” he murmured, tilting his head. “Guess I’ll just have to make it clearer.”

And before you could process that ominous statement—

He kissed you again.

But this time, it wasn’t sweet or tentative.

This kiss was deeper. Hotter.

Full of all the pent-up feelings he clearly hadn’t been hiding as well as you thought.

He pressed you back into the sofa, one hand cradling the side of your face while the other slid around your waist like he already knew he belonged there.

You gasped softly against his mouth, fingers fisting in the fabric of his shirt, body reacting faster than your brain could.

And he groaned—low in his throat, like just the sound of you was enough to unravel him.

He pulled back only a breath’s distance, lips barely brushing yours, voice rough. “Still think I’m joking?”

You couldn’t think at all.

And maybe, for once, that was okay.

You didn’t answer him.

You couldn’t.

Because the second your breath hitched, the second your lips parted like you might say something—he kissed you again.

And this time, it wasn’t hesitant.

It was consuming.

All heat and hunger and tension finally unraveling between two people who had been orbiting each other for far too long.

Sylus pressed you further into the cushions, his body aligned with yours like he belonged there. Like this had always been inevitable.

His hand slid from your waist to your hip, fingers curling just enough to make you shiver, while his mouth moved against yours with growing urgency—soft and then firm, teasing then demanding.

Your hands were in his hair before you even realized, pulling him closer, needing more. He groaned into the kiss, low and strained, like he’d been holding himself back for too long.

“You drive me crazy,” he murmured against your lips, his voice rough with restraint. “Always walking around in those stupid sweaters, acting like you don’t know what you do to me.”

You whimpered as his mouth trailed along your jaw, down the slope of your neck, finding that spot just below your ear that made your back arch slightly into him. His name slipped out of you before you could stop it—breathy, half-plea, half-warning.

He stilled for half a second, like he needed to hear it again.

“Sylus,” you whispered, and just like that, the last thread of control snapped.

His hands were under your sweater now, fingers splayed across your waist, not rushing—just feeling. Like he wanted to memorize you. Commit every inch of you to memory.

You gasped when his lips found yours again, this time slower, deeper. As if he were trying to tell you something he didn’t quite know how to say.

And in between every kiss, every breath, every graze of skin, you heard it loud and clear.

I want you.

I’ve always wanted you.

Only you.

You broke the kiss with a gasp, lips tingling, chest rising and falling in quick, uneven breaths.

Your hands were still fisted in his shirt, your bodies still pressed close, but you needed a second—needed to breathe. Because what the hell just happened?

“Holy shit,” you whispered, voice raw and dazed.

Sylus stilled, eyes searching yours, flushed and breathless. “Too much?”

You shook your head, still trying to catch your breath. “No. I just…”

Your brows furrowed, a stunned laugh escaping you.

“I’ve been walking around thinking you didn’t feel the same for two years?” you said, incredulous, voice cracking on the last word.

Sylus blinked, then tilted his head slightly, a small, helpless smile tugging at his lips. “You seriously didn’t know?”

“You hid it ridiculously well!”

“I practically moved into your dorm.”

“You ate my snacks and called me wifey. That’s not a confession, that’s just being annoying.”

He laughed, the sound husky and breathless. “I flirted with you constantly.”

“I thought that was just your default setting! You flirt with the barista.”

“I don’t press her against the sofa and kiss her like I’m about to lose my mind,” he muttered, his voice low, his thumb brushing along your jaw. “Only you.”

Your heart clenched, hard.

The air between you shifted again, softer now—less fire, more gravity.

He leaned in, resting his forehead against yours. “You really didn’t know?”

“I didn’t want to know,” you whispered, eyes fluttering shut. “I thought… if I hoped too much, I’d ruin it.”

His fingers curled gently around the side of your neck, grounding you. “You didn’t ruin anything.”

You opened your eyes and found him looking at you like you were the only thing that had ever made sense to him.

“I’ve been yours,” he said quietly, “since the first day you showed me where the toilet was.”

You let out a soft, disbelieving laugh—and kissed him again.

This time, you didn’t stop.

You kissed him like you were catching up on everything you hadn’t let yourself feel.

He kissed you like he’d been waiting for this moment since that first awkward hallway encounter.

There were no more games. No more pretending. Just whispered names and stolen breath, soft laughs between kisses, and the feeling of finally, finally being seen.

By the time you fell asleep tangled in each other on the sofa—his hand on your waist, your head tucked under his chin—it was quiet.

Not the lonely kind.

The peaceful kind.

The kind that only comes when you’ve stopped running from something… and finally let yourself fall.

masterlist

[ishaslife]

You know how rarely you and Caleb get to see each other, right? It bothers you so much. Every time he’s around, you can’t help but feel a mixture of frustration and gratitude. Even if it’s only for a day—or if you're lucky, two—it’s enough to make you appreciate every moment, despite the distance between you.

And on one such night when he's there, he has you under him, thrusting into you, slowly. Making sure that every time he goes inside you, you feel how deep he is, or how deep he can go—before coming out completely and going all the way back in again, over and over.

You're so fucked out of your mind because it feels so good, you're overstimulated, lost in the haze of pleasure and emotion, yet beneath it all, an ache lingers, one you can't place. Without thinking, you reach for him, your hands seeking his warmth, your touch is desperate and clinging. He's utterly lost in the moment, but when you coo his name, his eyes flutter open, locking onto yours. A slow smirk tugs at his lips, a soft chuckle escaping as he murmurs, "You're so clingy tonight… And to think, just hours ago, you were ready to whack me over the head." He groans as he enters you again and places your hands on his shoulders.

You pull him close once he's entirely inside you and his eyes widen in surprise as you cling to him, your arms tightening as though he might vanish if you let go. For a moment, he hesitates, caught off guard, before finally wrapping his arms around you in return. A whirlwind of emotions swells within you—longing, relief, fear—and before you can stop yourself, the words slip out in a quiet breath against his neck. "Do you love me, Caleb?"

He exhales a soft chuckle, the sound rich with warmth but also a slight annoyance, as if the answer should be obvious. "You know damn well I love you more than life itself. Why do you always ask me that, hmm?"

He rolls his hips slowly as he hums, the limited space between you forcing each movement to be deliberate—almost as if he’s punishing you with overstimulation for daring to ask such a question.

You whimper, voice laced with need. "Don't leave again…I hate it when you leave." The words come out as a plea, muffled as you nuzzle into the crook of his shoulder. He chuckles, the sound deep and knowing. "Mmm, I know."

He strokes your back, his touch is featherlight, keeping you close as he's completely sheathed in you, "I know, doll. If it were up to me, I'd stay right here with you forever." He inhaled deeply, as if trying to commit the scent of your hair to memory. "But I'm here now... and I'm not going anywhere for a while, so..."

He pulled back slightly, his fingers threading through your hair, before resuming his slow, deliberate movements. Your hand found its way to his cheek, a gesture that sent something wild through him. He nuzzled into your touch, tilting his head just enough to press a kiss to your palm.

His gaze—heavy with longing, devotion, something deeper than words—never left yours. "I love you so much," he groaned, his pace picking up, yet his eyes remained locked onto your face. "You mean everything to me, you know that, right?"

You nodded, moaning and whimpering as he moved faster against you, making sure you felt every inch of him. "I—I love you too, Caleb. Don't go anywhere again... Don't disappear."

A low chuckle rumbled from his chest at your plea, and he pulled you closer, your arms instinctively wrapping around his neck as he pounded into you, The need in his voice was undeniable, as if your words had completely undone him. "Say it again, please. Say it again for me," he pleaded, his thrusts growing desperate, relentless.

"I love you, Caleb. I love you," you gasped, and that was all it took. A deep, guttural groan tore from his throat and his body tensed, shaking with release as he finished inside you. "I'm not goin' anywhere... not for long" he grunted. Stuffing his cum inside you, caressing and raking his fingers all over before he kissed your breasts greedily, and looked up at you with heavy eyes— watching you reach your own high once you felt him explode inside, the look on his face, his warm and wet tongue on your breasts and the sounds he made only heightening the pleasure you felt, both of you panting and catching your breath in each other's arms, not wanting to let go. You held onto him tighter though, not yet ready for him to pull out.

He chuckled softly against your ear, his hand soothingly tracing over your back and through your hair. The warmth of his touch sent a shiver down your spine, and you could feel the deep rumble of his laughter reverberate through your body.

"So needy, pipsqueak," he murmured, his tone laced with fatigue and affection. "Maybe I should keep you like this more often..."

[kannady]

m y h o m e

pairing: sylus x fem!reader

summary: sylus sabotages your mission, but you unintentionally take things a lil too far

a/n: OH. MY. GOD. i dont have words. its my favourite thing ive ever written. im actually so so proud of it. and i had so much fun writing it. i hope ull love it too! let me know what you think. lovely idea from @sylusbiceps

genre: nsfw content, smut, sylus, love and deepspace, cunnilingus, fingering, oral (male & female receiving), p in v, established relationship, kinda soft sylus, 18+ MDNI.

You blinked in disbelief, staring at the lifeless body at your feet. The sudden gunshot had frozen you for a split second, long enough for your target to crumple to the ground, his breath ragged, then still. You dropped to your knees, pressing hard against the wound, but it was too late. Warm blood seeped through your fingers. You’d failed.

You looked up to the source of the gunshot and your eyes locked onto him.

Sylus.

What the hell was he doing here?

As usual, his face was punctuated with that smug expression. Brows slightly furrowed and a half-smirk tugging at his lips. He took slow and measured steps towards, gun still smoking in his hand. With every step, his eyes raked over you. Eyes boring into your skull, digging into your soul. Sharp and searching.

When he finally reached you, his smug expression was long gone. Instead, it was replaced with something else. Something you rarely got to see. Worry. Sylus looked worried as his eyes searched yours and his hands slowly rose up, calloused fingers brushing your cheeks.

“Sweetie, are you-”

You shoved him hard. “What the hell have you done, Sylus!?” You barked, eyes still lingering on the lifeless body sprawled beside your feet. “I needed to catch him alive!” You couldn’t help but hopelessly fall to the floor, tears were welling up in your eyes. 

The last couple of weeks wanderer attacks had mysteriously increased in the city. That meant a shit ton of workload on the Hunters Association. The man lying dead was your one lead, the only lead.

He kneeled down beside you and gently reached for your hand, but you pulled away. “Sweetie, if I arrived a second too late, I might’ve lost you.” You’d hardly ever heard that tone of voice from Sylus. He cared for you, cared enough to sabotage your mission. Those words should’ve meant something, but right now they just burned.

“Do you know why I’ve been coming home so late the last couple weeks?" You cried out. "Or maybe you’ve been too busy to notice, right? But I’ll tell you why. I worked my ass off to find that bastard and you killed him! I wanted-” 

“I could never-”

“-to catch him alive, Sylus, to stop the wanderer attacks. The city’s on lockdown, did you know that? Or is the leader of Onychinus just too damn busy to give a shit!?” Your voice cracked with fury and helplessness and you broke into tears. You couldn’t catch a glimpse of his face, but you didn’t need to. He just stared at you. Was he angry, surprised, sorry? You didn’t know and at the moment, you didn’t care either. 

You heard a rustle of fabric as he arose and slowly backed into the darkness. Disappearing just as quietly he had arrived A moment later, Tara burst in, breathless. Her eyes darted from you to the corpse, widening.

“I came as soon as I heard! What happened?”

What were you supposed to say? My boyfriend spied on me through his mechanical crow, came to my rescue, killed the target and then vanished? You hated it, but you’d have to lie your way out of this.

“I thought I almost had him, but someone shot him and I-I..” Tara softly held your hand. “But, are you okay? You’re bleeding.”

You were just now realising the stinging pain on your neck. You touched the spot and felt droplets of blood slowly trickling down the wound. It was just a scratch. But if Sylus had been a second late, it might’ve been your throat instead.

Guilt welled up into your heart. You felt awful. But all of your effort and hard work of weeks had been for nothing. Because of him. And you hoped he’d understand it. 

Things were fairly easy to take care of at the Headquarters. Turned out, your lie, technically the truth, was very convincing. You’d caught the guy, but his accomplice silenced him.

***

Sylus stayed up unusually late that night. He wasn’t exactly getting his eight hours of sleep, but he’d never stay up for no reason too. Except this night, he had a reason. He’d obviously known precisely what he was stepping into, but he couldn’t just sit back and see his woman get injured. His intentions were sincere and so was the regret filled in his heart.

So, he stayed up for hours, sprawled on the living room couch, dreading the fact that you might not come home. Maybe you’d want to avoid him, which was understandable. After what felt like an eternity, he heard footsteps. He couldn’t help but feel a sudden surge of joy, as you slowly walked in. The house felt like home now. Without wasting a moment, he scrambled to his feet with the intention of apologising, but all his hopes were shattered before he could even blink an eye. Awkwardly avoiding his gaze, you sprinted to the guest room and shut the door behind you. 

Sylus stood there, agape. What had just happened? He was relieved to see you home, sound and fine. But he felt like an intruder in his own house. He’d rather you drive a stake to his heart and he’d only step closer to you. 

Once again, he was left alone with his thoughts.

***

Why is he still awake!?

You’d purposely been stalling for time, but you never thought he’d stay up till 5 A.M. Usually, if Sylus wasn’t preoccupied with anything, you’d find him snoozing. Seeing him like that hurt you. You felt even more guilty than you were a couple hours ago. You hated to admit it, but he had made the right call. You could have died. And for what? The target would’ve gotten away. 

You wanted to step out, acknowledge your actions and apologise. But your pride and ego wouldn’t let you. You’d said too much to him. You knew your words were harsh, even for someone like Sylus. Harsh enough to hurt him, you’d felt it the way he was looking at you. But he still stayed up to apologise even though it wasn’t his fault. What was so important about the lead? You could find a new one anyway. It wasn’t the end of the world.

It was now or never. You took a deep breath, walked toward the door, but stopped when you heard soft knocks. Your heart skipped a beat.

“Sweetie, I’ve removed my belongings from the room. I won’t get in your way anymore.”

Footsteps fading away and then gone.

***

Everything was ruined between you and Sylus. You’d forgiven him long ago. Hell, you forgave him that very day. And now you sought his apology. You’d dragged this on for two weeks now. But you were too ashamed to actually apologise and you couldn’t understand why. You loved that man, but you hated how you’d treated him. And now you didn’t want to be near him. What if you hurt him more? 

With every passing day, Sylus looked different. You no longer saw that smug, half-arrogant and half-amused smirk. He just looked… blank. Everytime he entered the room, you’d pretend to be mesmerized by the intricate patterns on the sofa. You’d be talking to the twins, but fall silent as soon as you sensed his presence. They had obviously figured out something was tense, but they knew better than to pry.

After three whole weeks, you were exhausted, drained. You craved his company, his soft touches, even his voice, which you’d been deprived of since that night. You loathed how long this had gone for and you loathed yourself for it. You’d apologise to Sylus for that night and for the unnecessary silent treatment. All you had to do was wait for him to come home that night. No more games now.

In the evening, you heard the door open. Not expecting Sylus to be home so soon, you rushed into the living room but were met with the twins who were stomping toward you. Even through their masks, you could see their furious expressions. 

“You need to fix this. Right now!” Luke barked.

“I don’t care how you do that, but this has gone on for way too long!” Keiran joined in.

Confusion was all over your face. “I don’t get it… What happened?”

“Oh, we’ll tell you what happened. We had a very important meeting today and five minutes in, boss is strangling the man with his Evol. For absolutely no reason! We did everything to stop him. Ran around like maniacs, screamed, banged our heads against the wall!” Luke spoke in one breath. Before you had time to process it, Keiran continued. “We’ve had enough, respectfully. So whatever you do, please, fix this. We can’t take it anymore!” 

You could judge by their voices how desperate they were, but you were just as desperate to fix this. You didn’t really need their push-forward, but it was the final nail on the coffin.

“Uh, don’t worry. I was going to talk to him today, anyway. I’ll fix it.” You gave them a weak smile.

“Then you better brace yourself because boss is not in a good mood.”

Great. That was very encouraging, but you weren’t backing out now.

***

Ever since talking to the twins, you were hesitant to take any step. Afterall, you didn’t know how he felt. Was he mad at you, at how you’d treated him or at the fact that you were too full of yourself to apologise? You were terrified at the thought that he wouldn’t forgive you or even worse, wouldn’t acknowledge your presence. Just like you’d done. So you paced around your room, thinking of ways you’d approach him. Nothing seemed effective. You wanted him to feel, truly feel, how sorry you were, how much you loved him, needed him, and regretted every action of yours and every word that left your mouth that night.

At half past eleven, you heard the door open. Your heart skipped a beat and your chest felt tight. You couldn’t remember ever being more nervous than this. Your hands were quivering and your palms were clammy. You were scared. Scared of how things might go. Nevertheless, you were not going to stop. Even if things didn’t go your way, you needed him to know how you felt, that you acknowledged you had wronged him countless times the last three weeks.

You waited for him to go up to the study room and followed a minute or two later. Your legs were losing strength and you could throw up any moment. Somewhere deep down, you knew you were overreacting, but you couldn’t put your finger on it. You were clueless as to why you felt so nervous, terrified. Standing at your door, you contemplated and mentally went over what you were going to say. 

Deep breaths and a knock.

You waited a couple seconds. While you were deciding whether to knock again, go in or leave, you heard a voice call out. “Come in.”

Your heart was beating too fast now, anyone standing nearing you could hear it. You’d hoped to keep everything straightforward and not beat around the bush, but you didn’t even know how you were going to start the conversation.

Taking in another deep breath, you slowly pushed open the door and walked in. There he was. Looking just how you’d left him, hurt and heart-broken. He stood by the desk, cleaning his gun while staring into the distance. As you walked in, his eyes locked onto you. Instinctively, you looked away. 

Your heart hurt now and you wanted to cry. This was your instinctive reaction after looking at the man you adored, craved and would do anything for? Forcing yourself, you turned to look at him. He stared at you blankly. You couldn’t discern how he felt or what he was thinking. But it was too late to back out and you weren’t gonna. 

“Hi.” You tried to lift your lips into an awkward smile.

He tilted his head, trying to read your expressions or maybe your thoughts. “Hi.”

How am I going to do this?

Everything you had prepared was long forgotten now. You just stood there like a statue, fiddling with your skirt. You couldn’t do it while looking at him, your pride and ego were still a stubborn barrier. Taking a deep breath, you spoke out. 

“Sylus, I-I know what I did was wrong and so ungrateful of me. You were right, I could’ve died. I’m so, so sorry for everything that I said and did up till now. I don’t know why I’ve been so stubborn to come clean. Maybe I was too proud to admit I was wrong or maybe I-I… I just want you to know that I really am so sorry and I understand if you don’t want to forgive me or if you want me to move out. That’s totally up to you. I’m not forcing you into any decision. But it’s been weighing on me for weeks now and I feel terrible that I hurt you.” 

You uttered everything in one breath like a parrot. When he didn’t respond, you looked up at him. He placed the gun on the table and slowly walked toward you. You bit your lip. You felt the moment you let out the breath you were holding, you’d burst into tears and that was the last thing you wanted right now. 

Under the bright light, you took a good look at his face. His brows were slightly raised up and his eyes… his eyes were sparkling. The moment he was a step away, he cupped your cheeks and locked his eyes onto yours. His gesture was the last straw and you couldn’t hold back your tears now.

“I’m so sorry, Sylus! You don’t know h-how sorry I am, and I can’t-”

“Shh, sweetie. It’s alright.” He didn’t sound like he usually did. It was almost vulnerable. 

He enveloped you into his arms, while you sobbed uncontrollably into his chest. All your emotions were suddenly bombarding you and you couldn’t do anything but cry them out, while he gently pat your head.

After a few minutes, you pulled away from his warm embrace and met his gaze. “I’m truly sorry, Sylus. I don’t know how to apologise for what I’ve done-”

“It’s okay, sweetie. I was never mad at you.” You frowned, while your eyes searched his. “I should be the one apologising. I ruined that mission of yours.”

“That was nothing! I don’t even care about that anymore. I was going to apologise but I’m sorry it took this long.” You raised your hand to wipe a warm tear that trickled down his cheek. You couldn’t see your man like this. Seeing him hurt, hurt you more. 

You stood on your toes and planted a chaste kiss on his lips. But before you could pull away, he slipped his arm round your waist and deepened the kiss. It wasn’t passionate, but it was proof of how much he missed you and how everything was coming back to the way it had been. 

Out of breath, you both pulled away and you rested your forehead against his. “I missed you so much.”

“I missed you more, sweetie.” And his lips found yours again.

The kiss lingered, soft and tender, a silent promise of forgiveness. Sylus's fingers traced the curve of your spine, pressing you closer as if he feared you might slip away again. His lips moved against yours slowly, savoring the taste of you after weeks of absence.

You sighed into his mouth, your hands sliding up his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your fingertips. The tension between you had been unbearable, but now, it melted into something else. A slow, simmering heat.

Sylus pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, his thumb brushing your lower lip. "You have no idea," he murmured, voice rough, "how much I've wanted to touch you."

A shiver ran down your spine at the hunger in his words. You pressed forward, capturing his lips again, this time with more urgency. His grip on you tightened, and you felt the shift in the air.

His hands slid down to your hips, lifting you effortlessly onto the edge of his desk. Papers scattered, forgotten, as he stepped between your thighs, his body flush against yours. The hard press of his aching cock against your core made you gasp, and he swallowed the sound with another deep kiss.

"I'm not letting you go tonight,” he growled against your lips, fingers working at the buttons of your shirt. "Not until I've had every inch of you."

You arched into his touch as he peeled the fabric from your shoulders, his mouth following the path of his hands,kissing, nipping, worshiping. His teeth grazed the curve of your neck, right where that wound had been, and you shuddered, remembering how close you'd come to losing everything.

"Sylus," you breathed, tangling your fingers in his hair.

He responded by dragging his tongue over your collarbone, then lower, until his lips closed around one peaked nipple. You gasped, back arching as he sucked gently, his free hand teasing the other. The slow, deliberate way he touched you was maddening, each stroke of his tongue, each brush of his fingers was unraveling you piece by piece.

You tugged at his clothes, desperate to feel his skin against yours. He chuckled darkly but obliged, shrugging out of his jacket and shirt, revealing the sculpted planes of his chest. You leaned forward, pressing your lips to his collarbone, and felt his breath hitch.

"You’re such a tease," he muttered, but his voice was thick with desire.

You smirked up at him before flicking your tongue over his nipple, earning a low groan. His hands gripped your thighs, fingers digging in as you continued your exploration, kissing down his abdomen until you reached the waistband of his pants.

Looking up through your lashes, you made quick work of his belt, then the button and zipper, freeing his cock. He was already hard, thick and flushed, and you couldn't resist wrapping your fingers around him, stroking slowly.

“Fuck,” he hissed, his hips jerking forward.

You leaned in, pressing a kiss to the tip before taking him into your mouth, savoring the weight of him on your tongue. His fingers tightened in your hair, not guiding, just holding, as you worked him with slow, deliberate sucks.

"Kitten," he groaned, his voice strained. "If you keep doing that, this'll be over before it starts.”

You pulled back with a sinful pop, licking your lips. “Then maybe you should take control."

His eyes darkened, and in one swift motion, he lifted you off the desk, carrying you to the nearby couch. He laid you down gently, his hands roaming your body as if re-memorizing every curve. Then his mouth followed. Kissing down your stomach, over your hips, until he reached the apex of your thighs.

He hooked his fingers into the waistband of your panties, dragging them down agonizingly slow before tossing them aside. Then he settled between your legs, his breath hot against your core.

"I've missed this," he murmured before dragging his tongue through your folds.

You cried out, fingers twisting in the cushions as he licked into you, slow and deep, savoring every taste. He took his time, alternating between broad strokes and focused flicks over your clit, building the pleasure until your thighs trembled.

"Sylus, please-” you begged, hips lifting.

He hummed against you, the vibration making you gasp, before sliding two fingers inside, curling them just right. Your back arched off the couch as he worked you with his mouth and fingers, the pressure coiling tighter and tighter.

"Come for me," he ordered, his voice rough.

And you did, shattering with a cry, your body pulsing around his fingers as he coaxed you through it, licking up every drop.

Before you could catch your breath, he was kissing his way back up your body, his cock pressing against your entrance. He paused, forehead resting against yours.

"Look at me," he whispered.

You opened your eyes, meeting his darkened gaze as he pushed inside, inch by inch, filling you completely. He didn't move at first, just held you there, joined, breathing each other in. Then he began to rock into you, slow, deep thrusts that had you clutching at his shoulders, your nails digging into his skin.

"You feel so good,” he murmured, lips brushing yours. “So fucking perfect."

The pace was unhurried, every movement deliberate, every drag of his cock against your walls sending sparks through your veins. He kissed you as he moved, swallowing your moans, his hands roaming,  gripping your hips, skimming your ribs, cupping your breast.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, and he groaned, his rhythm faltering for just a second before he regained control.

"Not yet," he gritted out, slowing down even more, drawing out the pleasure until you were writhing beneath him.

"Sylus, I need-”

"I know," he breathed, finally reaching between you to circle your clit. "Come with me."

The combination of his fingers and his cock was too much. You came with a sob, your body clamping around him as pleasure crashed over you. He followed with a groan, spilling inside you, his hips stuttering as he rode out his own climax.

He collapsed against you, both of you breathless, sweaty, and utterly spent. But he didn't pull away, just held you close, pressing kisses to your shoulder, your neck, your lips.

And when you thought it was over, his hands began to wander again, his mouth trailing lower. "Round two?" you asked, already knowing the answer.

He smirked, that familiar, smug expression you'd missed so much. "Sweetie, the night's just getting started."

And true to his word, he took you again. And again. Until dawn crept through the curtains, and neither of you could move.

But this time, when you fell asleep, it was in his arms, exactly where you belonged.

[loveanddeepthroat]

Come Home

Pairing - Sylus x f!MC

Summary - Sylus has headed out to deal with some business, leaving you concerned for him as he doesn’t return when he told you he would. Fluff and a bit of angst. Sylus and MC aren’t yet in a relationship.

Word count - 2k

A/N - Hi! This is my first little one shot for LADS, and I hope you enjoy it. I do accept requests and look forward to writing more for this fandom 🖤

It had been hours since you last heard from him.

You tried to tell yourself that you didn’t need to worry. That he was more than capable and has always returned in one piece. That your worry is wasted on him anyway, considering the fact that you weren’t even supposed to like him.

But you felt sick.

It was almost impossible not to be concerned. No matter where he was or what he was doing, he has always been reachable. You’ve tried his phone so many times that the battery eventually gave up on your futile attempts and went to sleep—which is what you should be doing at this hour. 

Mephisto had accompanied him on his outing, Luke and Kieran staying at the base with you under Sylus’s orders. They didn’t seem at all bothered by the fact that it was currently three hours past the time Sylus had told them he’d be back. They know him better than you do, but their constant reassurance did little to soothe the panic starting to show.

“Please,” you practically beg. “I have this awful feeling that something has happened to him. Please go and look for him.”

Kieran groaned at her, tired of having to repeat himself once more. “We already told you.”

“Boss’s orders are non-negotiable,” Luke chimes in from where he’s lounging in an armchair.

“He’d have our heads as soon as we walked out the door.”

You were becoming more irritated each second by their nonchalant attitude. They didn’t even seem to give a shit, and you weren’t currently in the right mindset to delve into why you gave so much of a shit.

He was a criminal. A man who had such questionable intentions and motives that you didn’t even want to know the bare minimum of what he got up to whenever he headed out alone.

If something had happened to him, however, you wanted names.

As poorly as your acquaintance with him had begun, you found him to be more intriguing with every moment spent in his presence. His likes and dislikes, his attentive nature whenever you’re around, the way he chooses a vinyl record based on the type of mood he’s in—even the way he dresses has you analysing his every six feet and two inches of pure, solid muscle.

He wasn’t bad on the eye, especially when he was looking at you. You couldn’t fully figure it out, but there was a very subtle tenderness to his presence when he was around you. Subtle in a way that didn’t overshadow his ability to be the biggest asshole you’d ever met.

“If you keep pacing like that then I’m going to throw up,” Luke complains.

You shoot him a harsh glare. “If you don’t like it then get out and find your boss,” you grit back.

With an exaggerated huff, he pulls himself out of his seat, stretching his arms over his head. You feel a glimmer of hope, only for it to be shot down almost immediately. “I’ll let you know if I pass by him in my dreams,” he teases, walking out of the lounge and towards his own room.

You wanted to drag him back and push him out of the front door, but the man could probably put you to sleep with a snap of his skilled fingers. Instead, you growl angrily as his chuckles sound from the hallway.

Kieran stood up, too, mimicking his twin with his stretching. He paused for a moment, and you waited for his addition to his brother's teasing.

“He’ll be back,” he assured, surprising you. “If he’s not back by morning, we’ll figure something out. Just go to sleep.”

He doesn’t wait for a response from you as he follows after Luke, both of them turning in for the night. Sleep sounded like pure bliss, but you weren’t going to be able to do so.

You couldn’t even sit down, your legs automatically taking you around every single piece of furniture so many times that you were starting to get dizzy. 

“Please come back,” you chanted quietly to yourself quietly, if only to keep your pacing on track and your mind alert. 

“Please come back. Please come back.”

You weren’t sure how long it had been, but as soon as you heard the front door, you bolted for it on unsteady legs.

He came in quietly, which was completely overshadowed by your crashing into things on your way to get a visual on him. You practically fell through the door that led to the entry hall, where he looked only mildly bewildered and wholly amused.

There were no visual signs of any injury, but light blood splatters dotted across his white shirt, indicating an altercation. Mephisto sat happily on his shoulder, cawing as soon as he laid his mysterious little red eyes on you. The damn bird was never too happy whenever you were around.

Sylus raised an eyebrow at you. “Expecting someone?” 

That asshole.

He dropped off the face of the earth for hours, and had the audacity to greet you with sarcasm. 

Before your brain could warn you about the threat of putting your hands on him, you sprang forward, striking his chest with the palm of your hand. Then again. And again.

It was pathetically weak from your exhaustion, and he didn’t so much as blink as you assaulted his blood-spattered shirt. Mephisto, however, took to fighting back immediately, pecking at your hands and screeching.

Sylus shooed him away quickly, and the mechanical crow reluctantly took his leave. He proceeded to just stand there as his winged companion flew away, entirely unbothered by your outburst.

Your movements were quickly faltering, the already feeble slaps to his torso becoming far and few between. Still, he did not move. Did not speak. He was the most feared man in the N109 Zone, and he was letting you lash out on him.

Your hand finally stopped on the lapel of his coat, gripping it for a second to catch your breath. He waited for you to finally take a step back, your arms crossing over your chest immediately so you could fully close in on yourself. You were certain that your little outburst was going to bring some repercussions.

Unable to fight it, your bottom lip started to tremble. You had been walking around that lounge for so long that you had convinced yourself he was not coming back. That the wrong person had finally found him and gotten the better of him.

And you just know what he would’ve said if you indulged him in that speculation. What a silly little thought, sweetie.

He closed the space between you, your head automatically dropping to avoid his crimson gaze. You couldn’t bear it, the anticipation of what he was going to do. Your ass was likely headed back to Linkon on foot.

Warm fingers curled beneath your chin, lifting your gaze back up to his. He was towering over you, but you strangely didn’t feel intimidated. All you could feel was his warmth, and your wave of emotions crashing into their withering barrier.

His face gave nothing away as he studied you, still holding your trembling chin between his thumb and forefinger. “Are you finished?”

He didn’t ask it sarcastically. He was giving you an opening. If you weren’t, he’d allow you to resume until you got it all out of your system.

But you were done, your arms feeling like jelly to the point that crossing them was taking a big effort from you. You nod, feeling wetness pooling in your eyes. This all felt ridiculous. He didn’t owe you phone calls or explanations, you both barely considered each other friends. 

The surprisingly soft pad of his thumb brushed gently across your shaking lip, his eyes following the movement. “I’m sorry.”

In any other circumstance, those two words would have shocked you enough to make you fall over. But you were a little too far on the delusional side of exhaustion, your body running on the fumes of your panic.

Your eyes flicker away, the wetness tipping over the edge and dripping off of your lashes. He turned your drifting head back to him to lock eyes with you again. He never did like it when you broke his gaze.

“Things got a bit out of hand,” he explained quietly, not needing an explanation for why you were so upset. “You shouldn’t worry.”

“I wasn’t,” you lie, earning an amused chuckle from him.

He brushed his knuckle across your cheek to rid you of your tears. “No? Why else would a kitten get her claws out, then? Did Luke and Kieran forget to feed you?”

You scoffed at his teasing, following his lead back into the ease of your strange companionship. “They’re terrible babysitters,” you say, sniffling away the last of your upset. 

He smirked, moving his hand to cup the back of your neck. He pulled you towards him, embracing you gently with a deep inhale. You almost swore he was smelling your hair, but you shut that thought down. It was far too complicated for such a tired mind to dwell over.

It wasn’t the first time you’ve both embraced, but this instance did feel quite different. It felt comforting, rather than nerve wracking. Nobody embraces a man like Sylus without at least a modicum of fear beneath the surface.

“You could have called,” you whispered. “Or…or at least answered my calls.”

He sighed, the blow of breath tickling your hairline. “There isn’t a good signal where I went tonight,” he explains. “I should have mentioned that. I didn’t want to call once I did have service in case you were sleeping. I apologise.”

An overwhelming warmth filled your chest, different to the one emanating off of his body. You look up at him, lifting a hand to his forehead. He humours you by allowing it, his eyes trained on yours as you felt the cool skin beneath the hair falling over his face.

“Are you coming down with something? You’ve apologised to me twice now,” you say, half serious.

He didn’t laugh or tease, his face slipping back into that easy nonchalant expression. “I assure you, I’m not coming down with anything. I could ask you the same thing, though. Since when did you become a worrier, kitten?”

You didn’t know how to answer that. It was something you yourself had to figure out. Caring for him wasn’t on your bingo cards when you first met. If anything, the very first day you met, you’d have been relieved if he hadn’t returned.

“Don’t get used to it,” you murmur, his smirk returning at your half-assed response.

“I’ll try, but I do get attached,” he whispers, tucking your hair behind your ear. He looks as though he’s contemplating something, and it takes a moment before he speaks again. “I’ll get us some better communication devices. Something you can carry around that I can alert you on.”

A slight sense of guilt washed over you. “No, it’s okay. You don’t need to be concerned about my insecurities, I shouldn’t be keeping tabs on you.”

Sylus shook his head, his mind already made up. He taps a finger against your temple. “My concern about what goes on in there is for me to deal with. If some better technology eases your troubles, then it eases mine too.”

There it was. That side of him that kept you so very intrigued and made you feel a sense of…home? He often used words that didn’t m quite mean the same as his intentions, but you could see it in him.

He cares.

He rubs a firm hand up and down your back before turning you around, lightly pushing you away from the front door.

“It’s about time we got some sleep,” he says, barely above a whisper. 

You let him guide you through the halls, his lips dropping to your ear as he whispered again.

“Feel free to monitor me.”

[trappolia]

rafayel misses you.

it's ridiculous, given that you and him occupy the same space. his head has made an imprint upon your lap from how long he has been laying upon it, and your body instinctively curls over his as if to defend him — him, of all creatures — from the big bad things out there in the world.

it's a rare occurence, surely, considering the line of your work, and rafayel knows that he should feel some semblance of gratitude for you— but there is a selfish part of him that wonders why this is so rare. why is it that he should feel grateful that you only occasionally take time off to spend it with him instead of running after wanderer tracks like some headless chicken.

what irks rafayel the most is that even now, your mind is elsewhere; pondering about your next work day, your next course of action in your investigations regarding the aether core, everything in between— but never him.

"do you love me?" he blurts out suddenly.

rafayel hears you hum, and the dappled shade your frame casts over him where he lays upon your lap shifts as you look down at him. there's a soft smile upon your face, though your eyes shine with a glint of curiosity— puzzlement.

"of course i do," you say, as if it were obvious— as if rafayel could feel it.

and he does. he knows it, deep down in his heart and in his soul, that you love him as surely as the wave comes back to shore; you'll always come back to him at the end of the day, and rafayel thinks that it should matter.

it should matter. it should. that's what he tells himself then as he closes his eyes, turning his head to bury it in the soft of your stomach— and will all his wretched thoughts away.

[miyaz6ki]

sylus is a girl dad.

sylus whose daughter loves telling everyone hi, with a wave and a cheeky smile (in hopes to find a mom and a wife for her papa)

she, who bumps into you while running around the candy isle.

"oh sweetheart, are you okay?" she immediately gets up to see who she bumped into-

"oh wow.. you're so pretty, lady!" she cheers as you pick her up. "mmhm? where's your parents, honey?" you search signs for any parents.bmaybe she was just wandering?

no no, a kid with this type of fashion would not just 'be roaming around'. she had a necklace with her own name on it.

"my daddy would like you." the small white-haired little girl looked at you with awe. playing with your hair as she leaned onto your chest, as if she was ready to call you mom.

you started to walk around the store, asking around if they'd seen her parents. but every stranger you met- to no avail did you get to find any clue. let alone the man himself.

"sweetheart, do you know what you're papa looked like?" tucking in one of her stray strands of hair behind her ears as she nods her head. "yeah, handsome and very nice. he is very tall too! and.. ummm... he has my hair!" huh.. you couldn't find anyone else that seemed to have similar hair to hers.

"ah, there you are scarlett. don't roam around aimlessly. you heard a low voice coming from behind you. oh this must be her father.

oh- wow. he was definitely a lot more different than expected. you expected an appearance similar to the way his little girl had dressed. "papa! look i found pretty woman!" she pulled on your collar, asking you to get closer.

'you.. you're her dad?" you looked back at the little pearl you had in your arms, she was wearing all pink and a dash of white. and compared it to the man in front of you's look. a black suit paired with a few touches of red here and there.

you chuckled at first, getting to converse a little deeper with the tall man, although he looked scary, he was not as unfriendly as he seemed.

"you're good with kids, hmm?" the white-haired male hummed, looking into your e/c eyes, he definitely could hold it. "I suppose!" you cheer as you watch the small girl run back and forth, grabbing unhealthiness off the shelves.

"miss! can you pretty please buy this for me?" she grinned, oh what a cute little smile! sylus suddenly stopped you by your shoulder; "I'm really sorry for her behavior, she doesn't usually act like this. scarlett, go put it back." the last of his sentence almost sounded nice, but a twinge of anger in it. well, understandably..

"don't worry, i can buy it for her. which one did you want again?" you stepped closer, kneeling down to her level, watching her point out what chocolate bar she wanted.

he had to marry you.

after a quick trip to the counter, the small girl happily munched on her candy, smiling a teethy grin at you. bits of chocolate over her mouth. "hey, careful now, chocolate can stain easily.." you walked to her, wiping her mouth with a part of your clothing.

"hey- you didn't have to do that." sylus was too late to stop you, the mocha already stained onto your shirt. "huh? oh it's nothing much really, I'm fine. they're just clothes anyway."

"let me repay you."

"no, no need really!"

"let me."

"no! it's fine!"

he grabbed your hand not too roughly, but places what looked like at least one-thousand dollars?!

by the time you looked up from counting the money, he had already gone. oh, what's this? a note?

"call me XXXX-XXX-XXX when you find something." huh. his number? now that's interesting!

[bronzealchemy]

zayne never let anyone get close. when you came along, it didn’t take you long to put cracks into his ever so high walls. you teased him, made him smile and against all odds, he fell for you. you were friends, for a long time, and your teasing never stopped. it was as if you had a mission to make him blush – a mission, you never once failed. „you want to kiss me so bad“, you teased him, grinning wide. „you want to kiss me so bad, you can’t think of anything else.“

„I do“, he stated matter of factly. you kept jumping, until you really grasped what he said. you stood completely still, while he raised his hands to capture your face. softly he stroked your cheeks. „I never thought I'd see the day when words would fail you.“ it was the last thing he said before he closed the distance between the two of you and kissed you until you were utterly breathless.

[mephisto-reporting]

Hearbreak Anniversary with Zayne

Summary: It was your anniversary with Zayne. One year of togetherness. But what if he does not show up when you expect him to? What if he was spending it with MC? Pairing: Non MC! Reader x Zayne Note: MC in this fic goes by the name Lina (my name... so if you are angry, you can be angry at me :3). This oneshot was based on this request. I will write this for the other LADS men too. Also I don't think any of these men would ever be the type to actually willlingly forget it. Especially Zayne. So I had to adapt the request a bit. Content Warning: injuries, panic, insecurities, self worth issues, Zayne POV

Rafayel version | Zayne version | Sylus version | Caleb Version

Zayne’s apartment smelled like him—clean, crisp, and faintly of the eucalyptus-scented candles he kept on the shelves. You sat on the edge of his couch, smoothing the fabric of your dress down your thighs, nerves making your fingers tremble slightly. The dim light of the chandelier cast a soft glow over the room, illuminating the carefully planned surprise you had for him —flowers, his favorite treats, elegant scarves, and jackets you had spent weeks picking out. The final touch was the flexible weekend getaway tickets, somewhere warm and far from the sterility of hospital walls. A place where he could finally rest.

You had gone all out for tonight. The garden-themed restaurant was supposed to be the perfect setting—a quiet, intimate place where vines curled around twinkling fairy lights, and the soft scent of fresh blooms would fill the air. And you had dressed accordingly with something elegant, something that made you feel beautiful for him. The deep navy-blue dress you wore clung to your form just right, the intricate lace details at the sleeves soft against your skin. You had taken your time getting ready, styling your hair to perfection, slipping on a pair of delicate earrings he once admired absentmindedly. A spritz of white jasmine perfume, the one he once said reminded him of spring mornings. You wanted to look like someone worthy of being by his side. You wanted to be beautiful for him, for the man who had somehow, impossibly, fallen for you.

Because, truth be told, there were times you weren’t sure you were.

you still didn’t understand how this happened—how Zayne, the prodigy, the man who could save lives with his hands and mind, had chosen you. He was brilliant, disciplined, and deeply compassionate. And you? You were just… you. Ordinary in comparison. He never made you feel small, never belittled you, but standing beside him you felt you were just lucky to be there. His world was one of brilliance, filled with extraordinary people—Lina, the fearless Deepspace Hunter; his late friend Caleb, a DAA pilot whose loss still lingered in hushed conversations; his esteemed mentors and fellow doctors who spoke in a language you could only ever grasp at the edges. Compared to them, compared to him, you felt so small.

But tonight, none of that mattered. Tonight, was supposed to be about the two of you.

You had fallen for him in the quietest of ways—through the gentle cadence of his voice, through the moments he noticed things others didn’t. How he’d pull a chair out for you before you could do it yourself, how he’d check the temperature of your tea so you wouldn’t burn your tongue, how he’d listen, really listen, to your ramblings even after a 48-hour shift. He had nestled himself into your heart without you even realizing it.

And tonight, he had insisted he wanted to be with you, even with the chaos of the hospital weighing on his shoulders.

The call came two hours before your reservation. You already knew what he was going to say the moment you saw his name flash on your screen.

“Hey, sweetheart…” Zayne’s voice was warm, familiar, but there was an edge of exhaustion to it. “I’m so sorry. I can’t make it tonight.”

Your heart sank, but you swallowed it down, forcing your voice to remain even. “It’s okay, Zayne. I know you’re busy.”

“It's been a long shift, and the surgeries…”

You nodded even though he couldn’t see you. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll cancel the reservation. Take some breaks and rest, okay? You sound tired…”

“I am fine, sweetheart. I’ll make it up to you,” he promised. “I swear.”

"It’s fine, Zayne." you whispered, even if it wasn’t. “We’ll just celebrate it another day. No big deal.” Even though it felt like one at the moment.

Still, you weren’t upset. Not really. You understood. You always understood.

You hung up and exhaled slowly, pressing your palms against your lap. It wasn’t his fault. He was working back-to-back shifts, saving lives, doing what he was meant to do. And yet, you couldn’t quite keep the disappointment from settling in your chest.

You exhaled slowly, stripping away the dress you had so eagerly put on just hours ago. You slip into into one of Zayne’s oversized sweaters instead, the one that still smelled like him, the sleeves swallowing your hands. You wear leggings underneath and slip on your shoes. You took your time packing the gifts back into the car, moving slowly, as if dragging out the moment would make it hurt less. Maybe when he was finally done, you could pick him up from the hospital. At least you’d get to see him and surprise him. This was what occupied your time for the next three to four hours.

Once everything was back in the car, you plopped yourself on his plush but ergonomic couch. You scrolled through your phone while waiting, mindlessly tapping through social media, until one post stopped you cold.

Lina’s story.

A picture of her sitting across from Zayne in a small restaurant outside Akso hospital, the caption lighthearted:

When you have to drag out your doctor because he won’t follow his own advice about resting. (-_-)

Zayne looked amused in the photo, tired but still composed, his lips slightly curved in a small, rare smile. He looked… content. His gaze focused on her as if she had just said something ridiculous.

Your fingers trembled as you stared at the screen.

It was stupid. It was so stupid to feel like this. Lina was his childhood best friend. She had never given you a reason to be insecure, and yet, the sting of it hit you like a slow, creeping ache. He had time to go out for a meal with her. He had time to smile like that, even after canceling on you. You knew you were being irrational, that he had only stepped out for a quick bite in his busy shift, yet you felt betrayed.

Tears pricked at your eyes before you could stop them. You wiped them away quickly, but they kept falling, silent at first, then turning into quiet, shuddering sobs. You felt pathetic. Childish. He wasn’t doing anything wrong. You knew he wasn’t. But it hurt anyway. Because you would have taken anything—just a few moments, even just a simple meal at that tiny restaurant, if it meant spending time with him today.

It hurt in a way that made your chest feel tight, made the lump in your throat impossible to swallow. The sting of it crept under your skin like a wound you hadn’t realized was open, raw and aching. The disappointment bled into something uglier, something heavier. Why, after everything, did it feel like you were always on the sidelines of his life? No, Zayne never made you feel that way. It was your own spiraling thoughts.

A loud sob choked its way out, your hands gripping the fabric of his sweater as if that would somehow ground you. You wanted to hate yourself for crying over something so petty. He was saving lives. He was exhausted. He didn’t mean to hurt you.

But it hurt.

You needed to go home. You needed to collect yourself before the ugly thoughts swallowed you whole. You stood up, tears streaming down your face, as the weight of it all seemed too much to bear. You didn’t want to sit here anymore. You didn’t want to wait. You needed to go home, to clear your head, to get away from the overwhelming sense of inadequacy.

You sniffled, grabbing your keys and heading out. The highway would be the fastest route home—less traffic, a straight shot. You rerouted, pressing your foot on the accelerator, trying to breathe through the tightness in your chest. You wiped at your tears quickly, trying to focus on the road.

The road stretched out before you, a wide expanse of concrete and asphalt that felt like it would swallow you whole. The tears wouldn’t stop, and you wiped them away, trying to steady your hands on the wheel, trying to focus on the road ahead. But it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter that you understood, that you were rational about his work. The reality of it, the empty seat next to you, the disappointment of seeing Zayne happy in a photo with someone else, it all felt too much.

And then—

Headlights. Too close. Too fast.

A car jumped the signal, trying to merge into the highway.

You slammed the breaks, the scream of tires against pavement rang in your ears.

The impact was instant. A violent, sickening jolt that sent your body forward, the seatbelt snapping against your chest, the airbag exploding in front of you. The windshield cracked, splintering into a spiderweb of broken glass. Your vision blurred, the world spinning.

Pain.

Your chest burned, lungs straining to catch a breath. Your limbs felt heavy. You reached for the seatbelt, your fingers fumbling, but it was jammed.

Fuck.

Your head lulled forward, resting against the deflated airbag. Your head was heavy, your thoughts slipping away like sand through your fingers. The distant wail of sirens reached your ears, but they felt so far away.

Your vision swam, the edges darkening.

I hope the other person is alright.

The thought barely had time to settle before everything faded into black.

ZAYNE'S POV

The fluorescent lights of the hospital buzzed faintly, casting an artificial glow over the chaos of the emergency room. The air was thick with the scent of antiseptic and the undercurrent of blood—familiar, almost routine, yet tonight it gnawed at Zayne's nerves in a way he couldn't quite shake. He hadn’t left since he stepped through those doors, yet somehow, the guilt weighing on him had nothing to do with the lives he saved today. It was you.

He was tired. God, was he tired. His body screamed for rest, his temples throbbed from the strain of back-to-back shifts, but the hospital was understaffed, and there was no room for exhaustion when lives were at stake. As a cardiologist, his expertise lay in the intricate mechanics of the human heart, but duty demanded flexibility—especially in the ER. Cardiologists weren’t meant to be dealing with blunt force trauma and lacerations, but tonight, none of that mattered. They needed doctors. He was a doctor. So, he worked.

Even through the fatigue, his mind kept drifting back to you. He could still hear your voice from the call earlier, soft and understanding despite the disappointment laced beneath it. You didn’t deserve this. You had every right to be upset, to be frustrated that he had broken his promise, yet you didn’t even complain. That hurt more than if you had yelled at him

God, he loved you. And he hated himself for testing that patience again and again.

His hand tightened around the pen he was holding. He had plans—plans to make it up to you. The necklace in his office drawer, nestled in a velvet box, had been meant for tonight. Something small, perhaps, compared to everything you did, but a token of his devotion nonetheless. He could still salvage this. Maybe he could call you later, ask if you were still awake—

His device beeped, pulling him back to the present.

MVA on the highway. ETA: 5 minutes.

Multi-vehicle accident. Paramedics on site, victims en route.

Zayne exhaled sharply, shifting into work mode. He stepped into the ER just as the first stretcher was wheeled in. The radio chatter from their comms filled the space.

"Female, mid-to-late twenties, restrained driver, T-bone collision from a vehicle that ran a red light. Airbag deployment, but impact trauma to the chest from seatbelt. BP slightly low, likely from pain response. Tachycardic at 112. GCS is 14. Possible wrist fracture, mild concussion. No signs of internal bleeding from the ultrasound, but needs further imaging to rule out any complications."

He nodded briskly, slipping into the detached, clinical efficiency that had been drilled into him for years. It was only as he stepped forward, pulling the curtain aside, that his breath caught in his throat.

His world stopped.

There, on the hospital bed, was you.

Lying on the hospital bed, your hair disheveled, your skin pale against the stark white sheets. His breath lodged in his throat, the world narrowing to a pinpoint focus on the rise and fall of your chest. He couldn't move. Couldn't think. There was dried blood at your temple, your lower lip swollen where you must have bitten down upon impact. The sight of the IV line in your arm, the faint bruises forming along your collarbone—he couldn’t breathe.

No. No. No. No. No.

"Dr. Zayne…" Yvonne’s voice cut in, sharp and urgent. A warning. He was frozen. This wasn't just a patient. This was you.

He blinked, his hands suddenly trembling as he reached for his gloves. Breathe. He had to focus. Had to push past the sheer, gut-wrenching fear threatening to paralyze him.

This is her. She was waiting for me. She—

"Dr. Zayne!!" Yvonne pressed, handing him the updated chart. "She needs you."

That snapped him out of it.

The moment his hands touched you, they were steady again. His voice was even as he examined you, the motions automatic, controlled. He checked your pupils, gently palpated your ribs to assess for fractures. He was a doctor. He was your doctor right now. He had to move. Focusing, he reached for his stethoscope, pressing it against your chest to listen for abnormalities. The rhythm of your heart was steady, but your breathing was just slightly labored—likely from the seatbelt trauma.

"You’re going to be fine." he murmured, more to himself than anyone else.

You were stable.

"Her left shoulder—check for AC joint separation," he murmured, voice steadier than he felt. "Get a CT to rule out any internal injuries. And…" He swallowed. “Get me images from the crash site.” He needed to see how bad the collison was. He had to.

The hours blurred. He monitored your scans, adjusted your IV, checked your vitals more times than necessary. Each time his eyes drifted to you; his chest ached. He had seen the accident reports—your car, your windshield shattered, the crumpled hood. And the contents scattered across the scene…

You had planned everything.

For him.

And he wasn’t there.

Zayne clenched his jaw. Flowers were scattered, crushed against the upholstery. The pastries you must have picked out for him were ruined; their boxes torn open from the force of the crash. And gifts. There were so many gifts. He hadn’t even known you had planned all this.

He felt like he was going to be sick.

You had so much waiting for him. And where had he been? At a hole-in-the-wall restaurant, eating with Lina because she forced him to take a break. He had been smiling in that photo while you were—

God.

He ran a hand down his face, exhaling shakily as he sat by your bedside. He should have been with you. If he had just—

The monitor beeped steadily, a quiet reminder that you were alive.

Now, he sat beside you, watching the slow rise and fall of your chest, fingers curled into his palms to keep them from shaking.

"Wake up, sweetheart." he murmured, voice barely above a whisper. "Please, just wake up."

And for once, Zayne—brilliant, composed, always in control—felt utterly powerless.

The beep of the heart monitor was steady, rhythmic, but Zayne found himself gripping the edge of his chair every time you stirred, waiting for that moment when your eyes would finally open. His body was stiff from staying in the same position for hours, but he didn’t dare move. He didn’t want to miss it.

Then, a small shift in your breathing. A twitch of your fingers.

Zayne leaned forward just as your lashes fluttered, your eyes cracking open, only to squeeze shut again at the harsh fluorescent lights. You groaned softly, shifting against the sheets. Instinctively, you tried to sit up.

"Hey—stay put," Zayne said immediately, pressing a hand against your shoulder to keep you down. His touch was gentle but firm, his fingers warm even against the hospital gown. "Don’t move too much yet."

Your body resisted for a moment, muscles tensing as if you wanted to argue, but the disorientation dulled your fight. Your gaze finally settled on him, hazy with the remnants of sleep and confusion.

Then you frowned.

“…You look tired,” you murmured, your voice soft, still groggy. “How long have you been here?”

Zayne’s heart clenched so tightly it hurt. Even now, even when you were the one lying in a hospital bed, barely recovered from an accident, your first thoughts were about him.

His throat felt tight, but he exhaled sharply, forcing himself to speak. “You should look at yourself first, sweetheart.”

Your gaze flickered down, taking in the IV in your arm, the bruises along your wrist, the faint soreness that no doubt ached across your body. Zayne exhaled sharply and reached out, his fingertips tracing the side of your face before cupping your cheek fully. His thumb brushed lightly against your skin, as if grounding himself with the warmth of you. His eyes were moist, though no tears fell.

“I’m sorry,” he said, voice low, raw in a way that stripped away every layer of his usual composure.

You parted your lips, breath hitching as if you were about to reassure him—to do what you always did, to let him off the hook, to tell him it wasn’t his fault.

But he didn’t let you.

“No,” he cut in firmly, shaking his head. “Not this time. This is the one time you shouldn’t be so understanding.” His jaw clenched, something bitter twisting in his expression. “I should have been there. We should have been celebrating our relationship. End of discussion.”

Silence settled between you.

After a beat, he exhaled, running a hand through his hair before looking at you again. “Why didn’t you demand my time?” His voice was quieter now, tinged with regret. “You had every right to.”

You hesitated, glancing away. “…I didn’t want to bother you.” Your fingers twisted into the hospital blanket, grip tightening slightly. “You’re important, Zayne. You save lives. I didn’t want to pull you away from that.”

Something in him snapped.

He let out a sharp breath, then reached for your hand, gently prying your fingers from the blanket. His grip was warm, grounding.

“Shh… And you think you’re not?” he murmured, shaking his head. “Don’t ever say that again.” His gaze bore into yours, unwavering. “You are important to me.”

"You’re important to me," he repeated, voice steady but almost desperate. "Just like my work makes demands of me, you are more than entitled to make demands of me, too."

Your eyes searched his, uncertainty flickering beneath the lingering haze of exhaustion. But Zayne’s gaze didn’t waver.

"I know I should have been there," he said again, quieter this time. He hesitated for only a fraction of a second before brushing a thumb over the edge of your jaw, tilting your face slightly. “When I saw you on this bed when I entered the ER… pale, unconscious… I haven’t felt fear like that before," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "Not in all my years of doing this. Not like that."

You didn’t say anything, but your hand came up slowly, resting over his.

He closed his eyes briefly, exhaling.

This—this was what he almost lost.

His jaw clenched, then loosened as he exhaled. “I don’t want to ever feel it again.”

Another pause.

Zayne inhaled deeply, steadying himself. His hand still cupped your cheek, his thumb tracing absentminded circles against your skin, as if reassuring himself that you were still here. That you were warm. That he hadn’t lost you.

“I know I say I’m sorry a lot… and it probably has lost meaning to you.” he murmured; his voice rough with emotion. His lips pressed into a thin line, as if struggling to put his feelings into something more tangible. “I should have been there. And I will be. Every step of the way until you’re fully recovered and after....”

His eyes flickered downward, scanning you like the doctor he was, but this was different. This wasn’t just clinical analysis—this was personal. "You got lucky," he admitted, exhaling through his nose. "Blunt force trauma to the ribs, a mild concussion, and a broken wrist. Some lacerations on your arm and leg, but nothing deep enough to require surgical intervention. The worst was the head trauma, but the scans came back clear. No bleeding, no swelling. That’s the only reason I’m not having a complete breakdown right now…" His fingers ghosted over your arm, careful not to apply pressure. "Nothing life-threatening or with lasting consequences. But still… you shouldn’t have had to go through that alone." His jaw tensed. "Not when you have me."

You gave him a small, tired smile at that, and something inside him twisted.

He pulled back slightly, just enough to reach into his pocket, his fingers closing around the small velvet box. He’d gone to his office to clock off for the day to be beside you when he picked it up from his drawer. The very box he wanted to give you today. The one that was supposed to be given in a far more joyful setting. This was supposed to be today. A night spent celebrating the two of you—not this. Not hospital beds and IV drips and the hollow fear that had nearly swallowed him whole.

But none of that mattered now.

What mattered was that you were here. And this… this was still yours.

His throat felt thick as he flipped it open, revealing the necklace inside—a delicate silver chain holding a white jasmine pendant, smooth and polished, its petals carved with intricate detail. And behind it, barely visible, were his initials.

His fingers trembled just slightly as he took it out.

"I was supposed to give this to you today," he admitted, voice lower now, almost guilty. "Before all of this. Before I let my own priorities get in the way of what really mattered." He glanced up at you, and for the first time in a long time, he looked vulnerable. "I don’t want you to ever think that you come second. Because you don’t. You never have."

Gently, he reached around your neck, his touch featherlight as he fastened the clasp. The cool metal of the pendant settled just above your collarbone, resting against your skin. His fingertips lingered there, just briefly.

Then he let out a slow breath, tilting your chin up just slightly with his knuckles. His mind still reeled with everything that had happened, with everything he should have done differently.

"I love you," he said, and this time there was no hesitation, no wry smirk to mask his emotions, no half-hearted deflection. Just honesty, raw and unguarded. "Even when I do a crappy job at showing it." He didn’t need you to say it back—he just needed you to know.

For a moment, silence stretched between you. Then, his lips quirked, just slightly, into something softer. "And since I’m apparently on mandatory bedside duty, I hope you’re ready to be completely spoiled. I’m talking fresh coffee, extra pillows, a ridiculous number of medical advices—"

A small, breathy laugh escaped you, and Zayne felt something in his chest loosen at the sound. Then, slowly, you lifted a hand, brushing your fingertips over the pendant before reaching up to cup his cheek.

Zayne leaned into your touch instinctively, exhaling softly. He smiled, finally, pressing his forehead lightly against yours. "Yeah," he murmured. "We’ll be just fine. I've got you sweetheart... I'll always be here for you."

AN: reblogs, feedback and opinions are appreciated!

Rafayel version | Zayne version | Sylus version | Caleb Version

Taglist: @cordidy, @natimiles @leighsartworks216 @notisekais @raining4food @fallthelong @pomegranatepip @juliuscaesarsstabbedback @krystallevine @lemurianmaster @nenggie @loverindeepspace @sinsodom

[4ttack-ur-heart]

Only one call away

Pairing: Sylus x fem! Mc

Warnings: crying, hurt/comfort, soft! Sylus

Genre: fluff!!

Summary: Even when you’re home, you still work. When it gets overwhelming, you decide to call Sylus who drops everything to take care of you.

Ugh I love me a good domesticated Sylus. Self-indulgent fic hehe.

I’m taking requests if you guys wanna see more <3

The phone sits heavy in your hands, thumb hovering over the call button.

Your eyes scan over your desk littered with various reports and the bright blue light your laptop emits stings your eyes after hours of working.

I never should have told Captain Jenna I’d have these done by tomorrow….

You curse your past self for the confidence of taking on too much work at once.

Rubbing the impending migraine through your temples, you release a sigh.

Just call him.

Your thumb presses the button without another thought and you lazily bring the phone to your ear. The phone barely rings twice before he answers, his deep honeyed voice drawling his usual charm.

“I was wondering when you were going to call me, kitten. I almost thought you forgot about me.” Theres a playful bite to his words.

“Hey,” you drag out the greeting. resting your head on your arm. “Whatcha doing?”

There’s muffled noises in the background.

“Nothing important, just taking care of some business, as usual.” Sylus says before his voice grows faint over the line. You can hear him ordering around the twins and the muffled pops of gunfire reaches your ears. “How’s your night, sweetie?”

You stay quiet for a few seconds, not really sure if you should play off your stress or give in. Your fingers fidget anxiously with the corner of one of the reports.

“You still with me?”

You nod as you’re pulled from your thoughts. “Yeah sorry, what did you say?”

Sylus’s chuckle rumbles through the line. “Your night- is it going well?”

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you struggle to stop the tears from welling in your eyes.

“I-it’s fine.”

Sylus frowns at the crack in your voice. His expression hardens at the emotion clinging to your words. More bullets whizz by him and he rolls his eyes.

“What’s going on, sweetie? Everything okay?” He asks with concern. Sylus places the phone between his ear and shoulder as he empties the chamber of his gun for a new magazine. “Talk to me.”

You let out a small sob, your emotions finally taking over as the stress weighs heavy on your shoulders. You miss his voice, his comforting words, him.

Sylus fires at his rivals with a snarl at your cries coming from his phone. Right now, they’re the only thing standing in the way of seeing you.

“Sweetie,” his tone is more urgent, a note of frustration too, just begging you to tell him what’s bothering you to the point of tears.

“I’m sorry,” you wipe at your eyes. “I’m just overwhelmed. I wanted to hear your voice. I didn’t know you were busy, I’m sorry-”

“If you hang up the phone- so help me, kitten.” Theres another pause as the twins laugh in the background.

“Headshot!”

“Where’s the confetti?”

Even through your tears, you fight the urge to smile at their comments.

“No, it’s just work. I’m supposed to finish like five reports by tomorrow, and I overestimated how much I thought I could do.”

“Well, how much more do you have to do?” He asks.

You glance over the scattered papers with disgust, lips curling up in distaste. “I’m only halfway done, it’s already taken me like three hours.”

There’s grunting over the line.

“Stay put, kitten. Wipe your tears for me and take a break, I’ll be there in twenty minutes.” Sylus says.

Your eyes widen. The last thing you wanted to do was interrupt his own work. “No, Sy, it’s okay. I just wanted to hear your voice-”

Sylus laughs over as a man shouting in pain. “You can hear it again… in person. Twenty minutes.”

The line clicks dead. Your phone hovers above your ear and you stare at it in disbelief. Sighing, you get out of the hard wooden chair and stretch your sore muscles. Its not like you had today off either, no you still worked the past five day and hadn’t given your body or mind proper time to recover.

Wiping the last of your tears, you shuffle the papers together neatly and try to tidy your apartment as best as you can before Sylus arrives. The dirty dishes are thrown hastily into your sink as a way to pretend they don’t exist, which they don’t right now. Your stomach growls angrily and you turn to rummage through your fridge.

“No food…” you frown at the half empty carton of milk, ketchup, and string cheese sitting lonesome on the shelves. Releasing a groan, you decide maybe to just change and freshen up instead.

Entering your bedroom, your eyes fall to the overflowing basket of dirty laundry sitting idly in the corner.

Oh shit. You were out of clean uniforms for tomorrow too.

“Fuck me.” You whisper in frustration, trying to keep your emotions at bay once again. The familiar sting enters your eyes again and you rub the bridge of your nose and take deep breaths to calm down.

A low chuckle rings out behind you.

“As tempting as that sounds, kitten, I don’t think now is the best time for that.”

Sylus stands tall behind you with his cocky smirk. His clothes were disheveled and wrinkled slightly from dealing with the idiots in the N109 zone.

“How did you get here so quickly?”

“My kitten needed me.”

He lets out a breath of shock as your arms quickly and tightly wrap around his torso. Your face is pressed into his silk shirt that was no doubt stained with blood. A teasing quip hangs on his tongue, but he swallows the words once he sees the slight tremble in your shoulders and feels the wetness on his shirt. Ever so gently, his arms wrap around your figure, one hand cradles the back of your head while the other slides up and down your back.

He dips his head down and his lips brush against your hairline, giving it a soft peck. “Did you overdo it again?”

You nod into his chest and sniffle.

“Alright.” Sylus bends down slightly and lifts your body into his arms. His forearm resting underneath the back of your thighs as the other brushes the stray pieces of hair away from your face. He walks to your bathroom and sets you on the counter while he turns on the shower.

“Sy, I don’t have any clean clothes.” You say, a bit embarrassed at admitting you haven’t been able to take care of yourself.

He only hums in response before his large frame disappears into your closet, remembering to duck his head this time. Sylus comes back holding a small duffel bag. Something he stored in your apartment a while ago; for emergencies, sleepovers, and anytime you missed him.

“Lucky for you, I do.” Sylus says and drops it on your bed. He starts to unbutton his shirt and tosses it to the floor. He comes up to you, his large fingers dipping underneath the hem of your old t-shirt. When you nod, he proceeds to lift it up and discard it with his. You hop off the counter and you both strip the rest of your clothes.

The warm water sprays across your bodies and the hot steam crawls up the shower door and mirror. Sylus stands behind you and runs a soapy loofah over your body. You hum in contentment as his large hands massage your hips and trail up your body.

There’s a soft click and you feel something drip on your head. Sylus places the shampoo bottle back on the holder and massages the thick liquid into your scalp. Your head falls back against his chest and his hand occasionally swipes across your forehead to prevent the suds from getting in your eyes. He repeats it with the conditioner on the tips of your hair.

Once Sylus makes sure the blood and stress is washed away, he wraps his arms around you once more, tilting your chin up to face him. His lips lower down to meet yours in a chaste kiss.

The kiss was nothing sexual, purely a reminder that he’s there. That you don’t have to struggle alone.

Sylus turns off the shower and wraps you in a towel before tying another one on his waist. He ushers you out into the bedroom and rummages through the duffel bag lying on your bed; cologne, accessories, and extra clothes. He tosses you his large grey sweater and your eyes light up at seeing the familiar piece of clothing.

Once you’re both dressed, he sits behind you on your bed and dries your hair with a towel.

“Are you hungry?” He asks, voice breaking the silence.

You slowly nod and your stomach grumbles loudly too. Perfect. Sylus takes your hand and leads you to the kitchen and starts rummaging through your cabinets. He lets out a low hum in dismay at seeing the bare cupboards.

“I’ll order in something for us. Are you craving anything?” His phone is already out, swiping through the food delivery app.

When his eyes meet yours, you feel yourself getting shy again. You play with a loose thread on the sleeve of his sweater.

“Maybe that ramen place in the southern district? You like that last time we had it, right?”

You nod.

Sylus orders the food and leads you back to the table where the reports lay.

“We’ll work some more. Then when the food gets here, we’ll stop to eat and continue again. Sound good?”

Again you nod.

“I miss that voice of yours, kitten.” His knee bumps yours under the table.

You can’t help the small smile that tugs at your lips.

“Okay.”

“There she is.”

—

You managed to get another report out of the way by the time the food arrived.

Sylus dragged you over to the couch and put on a show he knew you liked while the two of you ate. When you both finished, your bellies were full and Sylus pulled you back into his chest to relax while you waiting for the episode to end.

His arms is snug around your shoulders, his fingers rubbing over your arm. Your eyes start to flutter shut and Sylus chuckles before tapping your nose lightly.

“No, no. Not yet, sweetie.” He gently pulls you off of him and stands up, holding a hand out to you. “The sooner we finish, the sooner you can sleep.”

You groan dramatically, wishing anything to just curl into his arms for the night and sleep for the next week.

“Five more minutes?” You plead and give him your best puppy dog eyes.

“No.”

“Ugh.”

And so Sylus helps you get back into your rhythm. He helps you as best as he can and gives you encouragement when you need it.

Then another report is finished.

And finally, the last one is done.

You lean back in your chair and stretch your back once you’ve submitted the final report to Jenna.

“Now I can sleep.”

“Now you can.” Sylus gives you a smile.

Closing your laptop, you shuffle all the papers together and head for your bedroom with your fingers interlocked with Sylus’s.

He fluffs your pillows and straightens out the blankets before he lets you get in.

Now here you are, laying down on Sylus as he scrolls through his phone. His other arm is secured tightly around you as his thumb grazes your hip. Even though you’re painfully tired, you almost try to stay awake to savor the peaceful moment with your lover.

However, the exhaustion catches up with you and your eyes fall shut and your breathing evens out.

“Good night, kitten.”

—

The next morning comes and you groan as your body wakes up. Your hand goes to reach for Sylus but when you feel the empty space, you sit up and rub your eyes in confusion.

He was gone.

Frowning, you pull the covers off and step into your fluffy slippers. The apartment looked the same, but still no sign of Sylus.

Your eyes flicker to the kitchen and you do a double take when you see the sink is clear. Not a dirty dish in sight.

“Huh?”

You walk to the drawers and pull one open to see all your cutlery is put away nicely. You let out a smile when you realize Sylus did the dishes for you.

Your eyes catch a pink heart-shaped sticky note on your fridge.

Open me.

Opening the fridge, you gasp when you see it’s completely stocked. Different proteins, fruits, condiments, and vegetables neatly stacked the shelves.

A chime suddenly rings out through your apartment. The dryer.

There’s no way he did your laundry too. Your heart flutters at the gestures he did for you.

The front door opens and closes and you finally see your scary-looking boyfriend holding a tray of two coffees and a small paper brown bag.

“Oh, I was hoping to be back before you woke up.” Sylus says as he holds out the food. “I got us breakfast.”

You take the coffee and glance at the sticker. The customization is exactly how you like it.

“I also got us some muffins,” Sylus trails off when he sees your expression. Your lip wobbles and you cover your face with your hands as you start crying.

“Sweetie, I was hoping to get rid of the tears, not bring new ones on.” He sets the bag and down and quickly pulls you into his arms.

“You bought me groceries.” You cried.

“I did.”

“And did my dishes.”

“Of course.”

“And my laundry…”

“That was fun.”

You choke out a laugh and sniffle. “I’m just so thankful to have you in my life, Sy. Thank you for helping me.”

His hand brushes through your hair and he places a kiss on top of your head.

“Of course, kitten. We all get a little overwhelmed, I just need you to remember to ask me for help when you need it.”

You nod and wipe your eyes.

“But you never ask me for help when you get overwhelmed.”

Sylus scoffs.

“I deal with the twins 24/7 and you think I don’t get overwhelmed? That’s why I have Mephisto spy on you most of the time, I can check in on you whenever I want and knowing I have you in my life calms me down.”

“Aww, Sylus.” You coo and lift your hand to brush your thumb against his cheek.

Your phone pings on the counter and you briefly pull away to look at the notification. “Oh, it’s from Jenna.”

You’re silent as your eyes skim over the email she sent you, even rereading the words over and over again.

“No way.” You gasp, returning your eyes to Sylus’s crimson ones with a bright smile. “She told me the reports looked great and as long as I’m on call, I don’t have to go in today.”

“That’s amazing, sweetie.” Sylus brushes your messy hair away from your eyes. “What are you going to do today?”

You let out a content sigh and grab your coffee.

“Absolutely nothing, I’m just gonna sit in bed and relax.”

He lets out a low chuckle. “Do you mind if I join you? It’s just about time for me to go to bed.”

You notice his tired eyes and momentarily forgot he sleeps during the day like a vampire.

“Yeah! C’mon I’ll tuck you in.”

And the rest of day was spent with you tucked in bed catching up on relaxation while Sylus was sound asleep next to you with soft snores escaping him.

[navydoves]

Have you ever heard of the Omegaverse?

✎ᝰ summary: you wanted to try something new with sylus to spice up your intimacy. something quite strange.

✎ᝰ cw: fake omegaverse, explicit but no actual sex, mentions of breeding, scent/pheromone kink, perfume addict, dirty talk but it’s not mean, needy sylus, you get the idea, no Y/N, it’s all lowercase bro

✎ᝰ a/n: not sure where this came from. i proof read AFTER i published this and then realized i forgot a whole chunk so shoot me. anyway, enjoy.

࣪𖤐

it wasn’t like sylus couldn’t sexually please you. it was, quite in fact, the exact opposite. it didn’t matter if it was with his fingers, his mouth, or his thick, veiny cock that was most definitely imprinted deep within your pussy at this point from just how many times he’s had you face down in his bed—it didn’t matter how, but sylus managed to pleasure you intensely, lovingly, passionately every single time.

to say you were blessed was an understatement. he was your god given man, top to bottom, perfection crafted by the gods themselves you would think. patient, kind, loving, dominant, wealthy, all the traits someone could ask for in a partner. but sometimes… you wanted to push the boundaries of your relationship just to see how “nonjudgmental” and capable sylus was willing to be for you.

your history with fiction was lengthy. always having your nose in books from a young age, reading about magic treehouses and mouses with cookies. fiction wasn’t juvenile, it was freedom, it was creative, it was part of you. but as you grew up and left phases behind, you also gained responsibilities by the year. that passion was driven elsewhere. being a hunter required time, energy, and dedication, all things you put in to get to the rank you are today.

yet, your love for fiction never really left. maybe put on pause, but getting lost in stories was a feeling you missed. now more settled down in your life, with a boyfriend and stable job, you felt the urge to relive the fixations of your childhood.

one thing led to another and instead of opting for the local library to check out some books or maybe dusting off your shelves to find other forgotten ones, you find yourself online, preferring the “e-reading” experience instead.

bad choice? nah.

while sylus was out on “commerce negotiations” (what he half-heartedly described it to you as, so as spare you the details of potential bloodshed), you lounged in one his many common rooms within his large estate, almost bored of how you couldn't find eye-catching stories to read or even skim through.

your short-attention span was just about to reprimand you for spending so much time on a task that proved to be fruitless, until, that was, your eyes grazed over a certain, unfamiliar category. "omegaverse?" you mumbled to yourself before curiously tapping on the highlighted word. the screen of your phone loaded in several different comics and stories with titles and thumbnails that were dowsed in eroticism and innuendos. you've never really strayed away from mature, sexual themes but it also never really was the main focus of the stories you read-unlike what this "omegaverse" proved itself to be. it only took one click to really interest you, and before you knew, you were down a rabbit-hole of this alternate universe that was all about primality and mates. it was about humans, sure, but with more of a… cardinal touch to it. needless to say, it aroused you. even if you felt weird about it and were in slight denial that something so… bizarre could do this to you, you couldn't help it. especially when your thoughts drifted off and imagined sylus and you in a lot of these scenarios; scenting, marking, breeding. sure, you could do and have done these things with him to an extent, but it wasn't exactly the same.

your thoughts and sensations were interrupted by a familiar voice down the hall of the common room you were in. you swiped out of the tab you were on and put down your phone to greet sylus.

"sy, you're back. negotiations go well?" you asked with a gentle smile on your cheek whiling pushing yourself off the couch to go properly welcome him. he stood tall by the wall, leather jacket still on and hugging his form along with matching and equally as tight leather pants. his earthy, steel scent spilled into your nostrils and comforted you as you embraced him gently.

"'course it went well, when doesn't it?" he replied with a slight smirk to his lips and a lilt of smugness in his voice. he was right, you can't name one instance where his deals and bids didn't go his way. it was a true tell of his power in the N109, and something about his dominance in the field made you internally giggle. he wrapped a firm arm around your waist and kissed your forehead tenderly before pulling back. "don't tell me you were all worried about me? my little lady should know i'll always return home safe."

you chuckle slightly and remove your arms from his form. "nah, wasn't really worried, in fact i was more bored than anything else." sylus raised a brow.

"bored? i leave you my entire estate with rooms upon rooms to entertain yourself in and you're bored?" he teased just slightly. "what a needy kitten you are. i'll tell luke and kieran we'll build a few more game rooms if that'll keep you entertained." you knew sylus was more-so joking, but if you truly did ask for it, he'd build you a village.

you watch him move off the wall and slide off his leather jacket to put on one of the chairs that was tucked into the dining room table. he pulls the chair back and sits on it, elbow on the table and propping up his head on his palm. his legs manspread in fashion, his posture at ease, and his demeanor rather playful in the moment.

"i don't... really do much, not unless i have hunter work to do. which... i try not to bring to our quality time. i try to relax here, yknow?" you respond, embarrassed heat now burning at certain parts of your skin from just looking at sylus.

a low, throaty chuckle comes from sylus. he nods his head at your words and reaches out to take your wrist into his soft palms. it amazed you how nice the skin there was despite all of his dirty work.

"i know, love. you don't have to explain yourself to me. im glad you're resting up." he smiled and leaned in slightly to kiss and nibble at the crevice of your neck affectionately. "how was your reading?"

you tensed up slightly at his question and swallow. it wasn't exactly a lie that it went... nicely, after all, now you have a greater depth of internet niches and sex scenarios to think about, but you didn't want to just give him a rushed blanket statement and move on. no you wanted... more.

sensing your hesitation and slight tension in your body, sylus pulled back from your neck and looked up at you with a wondering expression. he tilted his head, making your heart flutter a little bit.

"you okay?" he asked in a murmur. he nudged his nose underneath your chin and brought a hand up to your hip to squeeze you from over your clothes. "do you need me, love?"

a shudder runs down your spine at yet another one of his questions. you knew what he meant. he took your flushed state as one of need, one of desire, and he wasn't entirely wrong... he just had the wrong context.

"err... sylus," you whispered while tilting your head down fully toward him and cupping his face, "you love me, right?"

"with every fiber of my being, yes."

"and you'd anything for me, right?"

"yes," he raised a brow, "how much do you want?"

"no this isn't about money,"

"then what is it, darling?"

you hesitated on your next words. like stated before, it wasn't like sylus couldn't sexually please you, you just wanted to try something…new.

"have you ever heard of the omegaverse?"

sylus's brows furrowed in confusion and then in ponder.

"no, i don't think i have. what is it? the name of an organization or something?"

you almost wanted to laugh at the absurdity of the situation, but you refrain. a small, silly grin grows on your lips as you shake your head.

"no it's a... genre, i think. i really don't know how to explain it to you but it's something i want to try between us. i can kinda... show it to you, if you'd like." you reach for your phone in your pocket and click on the few tabs of explanations you searched up for yourself in attempts to better understand this weird internet niche. sylus looked between you and the phone before fully immersing himself to the words on the screen. now, you were no longer flushing from nervousness or arousal, but from pure and utter embarrassment.

the feeling only grew once sylus fully took your phone from your hands and began reading more intently. he tapped at a few god-knows-what things and after a few very long, heavy minutes, he finally looks up at you. you tense again, posture rigid and skin hot. he smirked.

"i'm guessing i'm the alpha?"

-----------------------------------

your breath was heavy and coming out sporadically due to the full force of sylus's body weight atop of you. all 260 pounds (117.9 kg) of his body pressed into you and squished you into the mattress, sandwiching you between two forces. all 6'1 (186 cm) of his form towering over your shorter, smaller frame and taking advantage of your limited movement.

sylus's nose buried into your nape where your skin and hair strands met, making for the perfect concoction of your feminine musk. he let out a low groan and pressed his hips into yours as arousal built in his body purely from just your scent.

"my pretty," he purred against you, "you know better than to walk around smelling so nice when im nearing my rut, don't you?"

you whine softly in response. you couldn't believe how easy it was to convince sylus to do this, and you especially couldn't believe how good he was at playing the part. he chuckles, it's a genuine sound from him. he was, in fact, enjoying this.

"yknow it's only your scent that gets me going like this, love. can't stand the scent of other omegas, fucking repulses me. mmm," he presses into you again, "but when i come hooome, and i can smell yooou in the air, im reminded how lucky i am. reminded how perfect my sweet girl is.” sylus moves a hand to your face and tilts your head to face him better. his fingers gently dig into your cheeks, squishing them in an almost affectionate manner. "im all yours, you've got me hooked. im so... addicted to you."

you let out a small whimper but nod in agreement. he is all yours, thankfully so. words have failed you for the past several minutes due to the sheer amount of arousal coursing through your body, and only small noises were what you were reduced to. clothes weren't even off, lights hadn't been dimmed, yet sylus was able to fully and utterly make you putty, and you both loved it.

he loved seeing you this way, submissive and needy for him. while he let you have your fun in the past, here and there, at the end of the day it was always him taking control and guiding you once he had enough. and now, playing respective roles where you were an absolute submissive to him and he was an absolute dominant to you, made him prosper.

"mm, should i take your vow of silence as your way of telling me you like this side of me?" he chuckles lowly. you mewl softly in response. "atta girl. i knew since the time you snuck into my room to get off to my pheromones that you were a little filthy. i didn't know just how filthy you were, though."

sylus's fingers let go of your cheek and moved down to your shoulders to press you back down fully against the mattress. his weight was so deliciously suffocating you and you felt like you could get high on the pressure alone.

"now that i've got you where i want you," he began, a hand snaking between your front and the mattress and sliding down slowly to your pelvis, "i'll tell you exactly what i want to do with you. do you wanna hear?" you nod in response but it earns a disapproving frown from sylus. "use your words, angel."

"y-yes, tell me what you want to do to me," you groan out with need right before you close your eyes shut. sylus lets out an approving rumble and continues to move his hand down your pelvis until it was right under your bellybutton. he leaned into your ear and bit the skin of it gently which sent intense arousal shocks to right in-between your legs.

"im gonna breed you," he mumbled, "god im gonna breed you so good, so much, that there's no doubt you're pregnant with my children." you moaned softly at his words. while deep down, you knew that children weren't a thing you and sylus were looking for right now, the idea of him creamping you over and over again in hopes of impregnating you was incredibly erotic.

sylus laughed at your obvious infatuation with the idea and pressed his hand deeper against your pelvis. "mm, right here, our kids will grow. your womb will know my knot so well that it'll happily take my children. isn't that right? my pretty little omega, my pretty little wife."

without waiting for an answer, sylus flips you over onto your back and looks over your form appreciatively. baggy clothes and sweaters would never stop him from enjoying you, in fact, he loved imagining your pretty body underneath those layers. he dips his head down to your chest and nuzzles his head against the bump of your breasts, a low purr coming out of him again.

your hands instinctively go into sylus's hair and scratch his scalp tenderly as he moves his head lower and lower down your body. you felt an unfamiliar sense trepidation simmering within you but it only worked toward arousing you even further. something about the uncharted territory of this roleplay, of sylus made you nervous but deliciously so. you didn't know what to expect from him and you loved it.

"mmm, fucking delicious," sylus murmured as he took in the aroma of your clothes, imprinted with the various body sprays and perfumes he's bought you over the months. nothing ever enters your cabinets until careful deliberation on what suits you the best is done, and even then, he insists on customized, personally made scents just for you so that no one else but his love can smell like this. his cock twitched in his pants at just the mere thought that you smelled like his money, his gifts, his love. and in this case, his omega.

"s-sylus..." you whimper while arching your hips up to his hands that were now slowly moving your baggy shirt up to your waist. his hands were so warm, gentle, but so, so insistent. without response he dove his head into your stomach and sniffed, low rumbles of appreciation vibrating your body. he smiles against your skin and glances up at you.

"you smell so fertile, love," sylus groans softly, "your pheromones... i guess my rut is coming sooner than i thought. i can feel it... agh... im lightheaded...". you look down at him cup his face tentatively, worry spread across your face.

"are you alright?" you ask nervously. sylus lets out a shaky exhale that glides up your wrist. he grabs the back of your hand with his, closes his eyes, and tilts his head to the side to press a delicate kiss to your palm. it takes a few heart-pounding, stomach churning moments for him to respond, and each second felt like you were getting a new adrenaline rush. he looks back at you, eyes now intense and half lidded, shiner than usual in a way the pierced right through you.

"you have a minute to run," he mumbles. a simple, straightforward statement that made your mouth go dry. you stare blankly at him for a moment before getting up from the edge of the bed and looking around, hoping that something here had an answer for the absurdity of the situation. sylus glanced at the nightstand where a few of your perfumes sat there in their gorgeous, shimmering bottles. he stood and picked up one haphazardly and then handed it to you. "douse yourself in it and run."

you look down at the beautiful violet coloured bottle, elegance in a glass, and hesitate. it was an extremely expensive perfume and to... douse yourself in it like it was some moderately cheap, beauty supply store spray was frankly crazy. but in this moment, you weren't sure what it was, but everything was telling you to listen to sylus.

you shake the bottle gently and threw caution to the wind with the sprays. up and down your body in close proximity, you sprayed the scent to make sure it stuck onto you and you didn’t stop until that the word douse would be imprinted onto your skin. when you finished with milking the nozzle dry for what it was worth (literally), you carefully put the bottle down back on the stand and glance over to sylus.

"sixty."

sixty?

"fifty-nine."

fuck.

you rush out of the bedroom and down the corridor to one of the common rooms in the estate. the fact that this manor was particularly huge helped your escape tremendously. your legs took you farther and farther away from the wing sylus was on with each passing second. you weren't exactly sure where to go or if you should hide, but you had a feeling you should.

you found a hiding spot in a mostly unused storage closet one floor above where sylus was at. you weren't exactly sure what number he was on or if maybe he was already looking for you and you were too busy scrambling to hear him, but you had a spot now.

-----------------------------------

"one... zero," sylus hums. a small smile grows on his lips as he steps forward and out the bedroom he waited in. he did intentionally count slower than usual, just to give his pretty little lady some fighting chance, but he knew it was already over the minute you asked to do this roleplay.

he stepped into the hall casually and took long strides with confidence. the prominent boner in his pants stuck out terribly and made a show of itself with each movement of his hips. where was his precious omega? maybe behind this door? or that underneath that ottoman? or on that balcony?

no.

he knew where you were, or at least, he could take a very good guess. the perfume you doused left a prominent scent trail wherever you clambered around to, and that was his guiding phermone to finding you. although, lucky for you, it was also a disadvantage. each strong whiff of you to his sensitive nose made him groan softly and palm at his aching cock. he was so frustratingly erect that it felt like his groin was going to pop out of his pants anytime soon.

"mngh... darling..." he called out mockingly, "if only you could see the mess you've made of me right now. it's almost maddening, yknow?" he staggered down another hall and has to bite back a loud moan as he smells you everywhere. you were erratic in this hall in particular, he guesses, not that it's anything to complain about. it only got him readier for you.

"you're making this... so difficult for me. i wonder... how wet you are right now, just waiting for me to pound into your eager pussy." he stalked the hall for longer before stopping at the end of it. his back presses against the wall with a groan as he imagines you wrapping around his twitching cock and massaging him slowly, lovingly, with your warm walls. he reached down and into his pants to stroke himself for some type of relief but he refused to cum unless he was inside you.

after a few more minutes of stumbling around halls and rooms, groaning both in frustration and desire, sylus eyed a particular door in the middle of a hall on the opposite wing of his estate, a floor up. he can almost feel you throbbing behind there, maybe even taste the sweat and arousal on your skin. he smirked before moving toward the door and stopping right outside of it. he didn't open it, or knock, or even say a word, he just stood there, breathing.

you, of course, were behind that door, shivering in pure ecstasy and need. you heard his voice echo from halls down and it was exhilarating how he stalked you just by your scent. god this was so much better than what you had initially imagined when mentioning the roleplay. now, sylus was only a few feet away from you, intimidating you from just right outside the storage closet door.

you tried not to make a noise but pleasure just kept shooting down and in between your legs every time you thought about what would happen once he got his hands on you.

"won't you help your alpha?" sylus purred while eyeing down the door. "i've been such a good boy, yeah? giving you time to hide, taking the time to look for you, even waiting for you outside this closet. besides... you're the one who caused my rut."

he flashed a toothy grin that you couldn't see. he was enjoying this more than he thought he would, even if he was aching in every part of his body for you. he reached down into his leather pants again and a few moments later you could hear wet, squelching sounds coming from the opposite side of the door. the sounds made you squeeze your thighs together and tilt your head back. god, he was getting off and teasing you with the promise of his cock and he was reveling in that fact too.

"ngh... fu... god. im so hard, love. im swollen with all the fucking need in the world and i..." he grips the door with his free hand and grits his teeth. "i need you so bad. where else am i gonna put this cock, huh? no other omega fucking deserves it. its you who i want to impregnate."

you couldn’t take it anymore. you reached down your own soft felt leggings and began rubbing yourself over your absolutely drenched panties. you needed relief so bad, the past hour had just been you soaking yourself in arousal without any true stimulation, it was so close to driving you insane. and, especially now with sylus a breath away and teasing with the sounds of his cock like an animal, you were sure you were actually experiencing insanity.

you could hear sylus pump himself faster and the low growls that came in succession with it. he sounded like he was going insane too, actually.

“‘m gonna cum all over this door if you don’t come out and see me, love, and i don’t want to do that.” sylus’s teased. his grip on the knob became tighter making the veins of his hand become more prominent. you could hear the clacks of the brass of the doorknob move around, he truly was holding back.

you shouldn’t have kept quiet, that was the mistake you realized when the door came flying open and hit the wall beside it. you stared up at sylus from where you where sat on the floor, hand down your pants and eyes wide from exhilaration and a little bit of fear.

your eyes flit down to his very exposed cock that arched up to his abdomen and painted his shirt with pre-cum. it throbbed there and bobbed gently, back and forth, on its own. you could feel your mouth salivate at the creaminess, the thickness, the curve of his angry, needy, swole cock.

he looked at you with slight surprise in his eyes for a moment before smiling, eyes squinting with amusement.

“found you,” he breathed out.

before you could make a run for it sylus quickly bent down and grabbed onto your hips. you yelped in surprise but you didn’t move away from his (almost) bruising grasp on you. instead, you submitted to his touch almost immediately and from the low growl that came from his throat, you could tell he very obviously liked that.

he moved his hands down your legs, teasing the inner corners of your thighs before gripping both your ankles with one, strong hand. he flipped you onto your front and laughed at just how pliant you were being with him.

“you’re coming with me, darling,” he purred. he stood to full height and dragged you out the storage closet and into the hall, his steps slow and methodical. the rough bumps of carpet ground against you through your clothes and gave you a nice, scratchy feel on your nipples. the storage closet inched further and further away from you with each step sylus took toward down the hall.

you felt dizzy with desire, he’s never manhandled you like this before and you sure as hell weren’t complaining that he was starting now. and god, he must’ve doused himself in his cologne too because all you could smell—instead of carpet dust—was his intoxicating scent. his pheromones. it was a manly musk that resonated with oak and cherries, and, despite that scent always bringing a sense of comfort to you, it now brought you a heady sense of mind numbing horniness.

you felt yourself go non-verbal again from the sheer anticipation within you, now only whimpers escaping your tight lips. there was an aching emptiness between your legs that you knew could only be satiated by the hilt of sylus’s cock breeding you over and over again.

when another low laugh rumbles in his chest, you glance behind with trepidation in your eyes and found him already looking over and down at you. he gritted his teeth in a large smile.

“it’s time i actually start taking this roleplay seriously.”

࣪𖤐

a/n: first fic on here but i feel like im a bad fiction writer so idk how this is gonna play out. i also dk how tumblr works since im more of a reader on here but again… we’ll see how this goes. also im an xavier main. just had to mention that here cause i love him sm

[shaiyasstuff]

petty | sylus

synopsis : You thought a harmless prank—some red dye, a little glitter—would be funny. But Sylus, your cold, calculating boyfriend, doesn’t get mad. He gets petty.

content : fluff, chaos, N109 Zone au, just sylus being petty af, imagine: rom-com and slapstick comedy

writer’s note : i had this sitting in my drafts for so long LOL

You have no idea how you ended up here.

It was just a silly prank. One you decided—no, more like bullied—into pulling on Sylus.

Luke had that look in his eye, Kieran had that grin, and between the two of them, you’d made a series of very poor decisions.

It started out harmless.

Overheating the dryer until his clothes shrunk just enough to make him glare at his reflection in irritation.

Switching out his toothpaste with mint chip ice cream—cold, foamy, oddly sweet.

Juvenile, yes, but survivable.

But then Luke, bored of mild chaos, decided to up the ante.

Red dye. In Sylus’ face wash.

You should’ve stopped him.

You really should’ve.

Now you’re backed up against the cold steel wall of the corridor outside your shared quarters.

Sylus stands in front of you, arms braced on either side of your head, caging you in. His body radiates heat like he’s just stepped out of hell itself.

And his face?

Still damp.

Streaked red.

A slow, uneven flush blooming down his jaw and neck like a war paint disaster.

You press your lips together to stifle the laugh climbing your throat.

Not because you’re afraid—well, okay, maybe a little—but because if you so much as snort, you know he’ll make you regret it.

He doesn’t say anything. Just looks at you.

That unreadable, razor-edged stare.

Like he’s measuring the weight of your existence against the trouble you’re worth.

“Sylus,” you start, trying for innocent. “It was—”

“A prank,” he finishes for you, voice low, smooth. The kind of calm that usually precedes mass destruction. “I gathered.”

You open your mouth again, but the words die as he leans in closer, the tips of his silver hair grazing your forehead. His breath ghosts against your cheek.

“You find this funny?” he murmurs, voice like smoke and ice. “My face. My dignity.”

You hold your breath, eyes flicking up to meet his.

“I mean,” you squeak, “you do pull off crimson rather well…”

He doesn’t laugh. He doesn’t smile.

He just tilts his head slightly, gaze trailing down to your lips.

“I see,” he says.

You swallow.

“Sylus?”

He shifts forward, just enough that your bodies nearly touch, and then—click.

You glance down. He’s handcuffed your wrist to the pipe behind you.

One-handed. Effortless.

“What—wait, Sylus!”

He steps back, unhurried, brushing red-streaked water off his jaw with the back of his hand. He looks so composed now, it’s almost unfair.

“I’ll be in the lab,” he says casually, already turning away. “Don’t worry. Luke and Kieran are next. But you…”

He pauses at the doorway, glancing over his shoulder, “You can stay there and think about what you’ve done.”

“Sylus.”

“I’ll come back when I’ve decided how to retaliate.”

Your jaw drops. “You’re not serious—!”

He disappears around the corner, his footsteps fading.

You stare after him, wrist tugging against the cuff. “You petty, beautiful menace!”

And somewhere down the hall, you swear you hear him laugh.

You struggle against the pipe for a solid five minutes.

Nothing.

Sylus had apparently decided that if he was going to cuff you, it would be with reinforced titanium-grade handcuffs.

Because of course he would.

You’re still trying to twist your wrist free when two familiar figures round the corner, arguing loudly.

“—I told you he’d murder us, Kieran.”

“No, you said he’d probably murder us. I figured we had a 20% survival rate if we ran fast enough—oh.”

They freeze when they see you.

You, handcuffed to a wall like some criminally adorable hostage. Hair slightly tousled.

A vein twitching in your temple.

Luke whistles low. “Damn. He actually cuffed you?”

“What was your first clue, Sherlock?” you snap, yanking on the cuff. “The literal metal restraint on my wrist or the rage in my eyes?”

Kieran winces. “Hey, hey, don’t be mad at us—we didn’t put the dye in the face wash.”

“You told Luke to do it!”

Luke, affronted, points at Kieran. “You told me you cleared it with her!”

“I said it would be funny! That’s not the same thing!”

You groan and let your head thump back against the wall. “I’m going to kill both of you. Slowly. With a spoon.”

Luke bites back a grin. “I don’t think Sylus is done with you yet.”

“Un-cuff me before I scream loud enough to summon the Onychinus agents.”

Kieran rummages through his pockets. “You think he left a key?”

“Oh yeah,” you deadpan. “I’m sure Sylus, the most paranoid man alive, just happened to leave a key to his special-grade cuffs on me.”

Luke pulls something out of his jacket and grins. “Good thing I have my trusty lockpick set.”

You squint at him. “Why do you have that?”

“Don’t ask questions you don’t want answers to.”

Kieran leans in beside him, watching like this is a group project. “Careful, if you scratch her wrist again she’s going to throw you into traffic.”

“I will throw you into traffic,” you mutter.

“You’re so cute when you’re angry,” Kieran beams.

“Touch me and I’ll break your fingers.”

Luke finally clicks the lock open with a satisfying snap. Your wrist comes free, and you stretch it, rubbing the sore spot with a glare that could melt steel.

“Thanks,” you say flatly. “Now run.”

“Run?” Luke blinks.

“Yes. Run. Before he comes back.”

The overhead lights flicker.

The three of you freeze.

“…That’s him, isn’t it?” Kieran whispers.

You look up slowly, the temperature in the corridor dropping by a few ominous degrees.

“I think he’s coming to check if I’ve learned my lesson,” you murmur.

Luke’s already halfway down the hall. “NOPE. I’M OUT—”

Kieran grabs your hand and drags you after him. “We live in fear now. This is our life.”

Behind you, the sound of measured footsteps echoes through the corridor.

And somewhere between breathless laughter and panic, you realise, this isn’t over.

Not even close.

You bolt through the corridor with Luke and Kieran like you’re fleeing an exploding reactor.

“He’s definitely tracking us,” you gasp.

“He has cameras everywhere!” Kieran hisses. “We’re screwed!”

You dive into the living quarters and slam the door shut behind you. Luke immediately ducks behind the couch. Kieran throws himself dramatically into the pantry.

You stand there for a beat, hands on your hips.

“This is the dumbest thing I’ve ever been involved in.”

“You’re welcome,” Luke’s muffled voice replies from under a throw blanket that’s doing absolutely nothing to hide his legs.

You sigh, yank open a cabinet, and cram yourself inside.

There’s a broom, a vacuum hose, and a suspicious packet of cookies you’re pretty sure expired last year.

“Kieran,” you call through the cabinet slats. “Are you eating?”

“…No,” he says with his mouth full.

“I swear to every celestial body—”

Footsteps. Slow. Measured.

Near.

All three of you freeze like a trio of amateur criminals hiding from a prison warden.

The door creaks open.

You hold your breath.

Nothing.

No words. No movement.

Just the sound of the wind outside the window and your own heartbeat pounding in your ears.

“I know you’re hiding,” Sylus calls out. Calm. Even. Like he’s enjoying this.

Luke lets out a soft, wheezing squeak from under the blanket.

You slap your palm over your mouth.

Kieran drops a packet of crackers and panics. “Shit, he’s bluffing! He’s bluffing!”

You burst out of the cabinet. “He’s NOT bluffing!”

All three of you scramble again, crashing into each other like some bootleg spy movie.

Kieran ends up tangled in curtain strings, Luke slams into a chair, and you leap over the kitchen counter and miss, landing with a loud thud.

You’re wheezing on the floor when Sylus walks in.

Unbothered. Unhurried.

Looking like an avenging angel with red-streaked remnants still faintly staining his jawline.

He folds his arms and surveys the disaster with something suspiciously close to amusement.

He walks past Kieran, still suspended in the curtains like a very dumb chandelier.

Past Luke, now pretending to be unconscious on the floor.

Past you.

He doesn’t say a word.

Not a glare. Not a threat. Not even a smirk.

Just a quiet, “Clean up after yourselves,” as he heads into his study.

The door shuts with a soft click.

“…That’s so much worse than yelling,” you whisper.

Kieran groans. “He’s plotting. He’s going to take us out one by one.”

Luke peeks from behind the couch. “He knows we’re scared. That’s why he’s letting us marinate.”

“I hate both of you so much right now,” you mutter, collapsing into the nearest armchair.

Kieran flops beside you and steals the remote. “We should lie low. Maybe bake him something.”

“Cookies fix everything,” Luke nods solemnly.

You glare at them both. “If I die, I’m haunting you in shifts.”

—•

It takes you two hours to gather the courage.

Two hours of Luke stress-eating cereal straight from the box while Kieran googled “how to tell if your boyfriend is planning your murder.”

Two hours of internal debates and spiraling scenarios, most of which ended with your disappearance and Sylus calmly denying any knowledge of your existence.

So now you’re standing in front of his office door like you’ve come to face a firing squad.

You raise your hand, hesitate, lower it again.

Then knock. Once. Softly.

“Come in,” comes his voice, smooth as always.

You open the door slowly. He’s seated behind his desk, glasses on, sleeves rolled up, looking for all the world like a man deep in some technical report.

But you know better.

His eyes flick up to you—and stay there.

“I brought tea,” you say weakly, holding up the mug like a peace offering. Or a shield. “And… a cookie. But Luke sat on it.”

He doesn’t move. Just watches you, unreadable.

You inch forward, placing the mug on the corner of his desk. “Look, I didn’t know about the dye. I mean I did, but I didn’t think he’d actually—okay, no, that’s a lie. I thought it would be funny.”

Silence.

“I was wrong.”

Still nothing.

You shift awkwardly, gaze dropping to the floor. “I’m sorry.”

Finally, he sets his pen down and leans back slightly, eyes still fixed on you.

Then, just when the tension starts to crack your spine.

A small smile.

A smile.

Sharp. Amused.

Dangerous.

“It’s okay,” he says.

You blink. “It… is?”

He nods. “Of course.”

Too easy. Way too easy.

You narrow your eyes. “You’re not mad?”

“Not at all.”

“Really?”

“Mm.”

You inch back a step. “Why does that sound like a trap?”

His smile widens—just a fraction. “I said it’s okay. That’s all.”

You stare at him. He stares right back, like he can hear every thought racing through your brain. Like he’s already playing the long game and you just stepped into it without even knowing.

“Right,” you mutter. “Okay. Cool. Um. I’ll go now.”

You turn on your heel and walk—more like run—out of the room.

The moment the door shuts behind you, you press your back against it, eyes wide.

“He’s going to destroy me.”

And from behind the door, faint and unmistakably amused, comes the sound of Sylus quietly sipping his tea.

You return to the living quarters with the kind of haunted expression usually reserved for horror movie survivors.

Luke looks up from the couch, one leg slung over the backrest like a human pretzel.

Kieran’s on the floor with a blanket cape, eating cereal with a fork.

“Are we dead?” Kieran asks between mouthfuls.

“Not yet,” you mutter.

Luke raises an eyebrow. “That bad?”

“He smiled at me.”

Both twins flinch.

“Was it… the smile?” Luke asks, lowering his voice.

“The ‘I know exactly where your corpse would never be found’ smile?” Kieran whispers.

You throw yourself onto the couch and groan into a pillow. “No. It was worse. It was the ‘It’s okay’ smile.”

Luke gasps dramatically. “No. He went full passive-aggressive Zen reaper?”

“He said it like it was fine. Like I’m fine. Like life is fine. Nothing is fine.”

Kieran crawls up beside you. “That’s psychological warfare. He’s gonna lull you into a false sense of security. Then, boom—next week your toothbrush explodes.”

“I wouldn’t even be mad,” you say into the pillow. “I’d respect the commitment.”

Luke drops beside you, flinging a cushion over your back like a blanket. “You know what this means, right?”

“That I need to sleep with one eye open?”

“No,” he says solemnly. “It means we go deeper.”

You lift your head slowly. “What?”

“He’s playing mind games. So we play worse mind games.”

“I’m sorry, did you hit your head on the stupid stick this morning?”

Kieran grins. “He’s got fear. But we have unpredictable chaos. Sylus doesn’t know how to handle us when we’re not even handling ourselves.”

“Oh, he knows. He just hasn’t decided which part of the house he’ll burn down first.”

Luke leans in. “Okay, hear me out. What if… next prank, we frame someone else?”

“Kieran,” you snap, “Luke is spiraling again.”

Kieran slurps his cereal louder. “Let him spiral. I want to see where it goes.”

You sit up, rubbing your temples. “You two are the reason I’m probably going to end up in some Sylus-designed containment cube labeled ‘Idiot No. 3.’”

Luke perks up. “That means he already made one for you.”

You chuck a pillow at his face. “I hate you.”

Kieran laughs so hard he chokes on his cereal.

And somewhere in the walls—behind silent security panels—you know Sylus is watching.

Letting you run your mouths.

Letting you think you’re safe.

Which is so much worse.

—•

Dinner is suspiciously… normal.

Too normal.

The lighting is warm. The dining room pristine.

The food? Already served and plated like a five-star meal—elegant, balanced, perfectly portioned.

Which is already unsettling, because Sylus doesn’t cook. He commands kitchens into order.

But tonight, he did everything himself.

You sit stiffly at the table, trying not to choke on the silence.

Kieran sits across from you, eyes darting from his fork to Sylus like he’s waiting for the plate to detonate. Luke hasn’t even touched his food.

Which says a lot, because Luke once ate nachos that had been on fire.

Sylus, meanwhile, is the picture of grace.

Calm, composed, every movement deliberate as he cuts into his food with a quiet snick of silverware.

“How’s the meal?” he asks lightly.

You all jump a little.

“It’s great!” Kieran blurts. “So great. Best thing I’ve ever had. Better than oxygen.”

You nudge your plate with the fork. “Um. What exactly is this?”

Sylus smiles—just enough to show it’s a trap. “Roasted pepper-glazed poultry with herb foam.”

“…Foam?” Luke whispers. “Like… bubbles?”

Sylus turns to him. “Yes. But gourmet.”

Luke nods solemnly. “Tastes expensive.”

You take a careful bite. It tastes incredible, which only makes things worse.

Sylus never does anything without intent. You feel like each bite is a move in a game you didn’t know you were playing.

“Is that saffron?” Kieran asks.

Sylus doesn’t look up. “Would I use saffron so early in the week?”

Kieran panics. “No! Obviously not. What a stupid question. Forget I said it. I never even heard of saffron.”

You sip your water. Pause. Sip again.

“Why does the water taste like mint?”

Luke sniffs his glass. “Mine tastes like fear.”

Sylus hums. “I thought I’d try infusing it. Cleansing properties. Refreshing.”

You narrow your eyes. “You’re being nice.”

He looks at you. “Am I not allowed to be?”

“Not like this. You’re being suspiciously serene.”

Luke whispers to Kieran, “He’s baking the tension. Like a soufflé of dread.”

Kieran whispers back, “I’m scared to chew too loudly.”

Sylus finishes his plate, sets his utensils down with the softest clink, and dabs his mouth with a napkin. “Don’t worry. I’m not angry.”

You all freeze.

“I already told you,” he says, folding his hands neatly, “It’s okay.”

You grip the edge of the table.

“No, see, when you say that, it sounds okay, but it feels like I’m about to get smothered in my sleep with a silk pillow.”

Sylus smiles, serene as a saint. “You wound me.”

“Oh my god,” Kieran mutters. “He wants us to feel safe.”

“That’s when he’ll strike,” Luke hisses.

Sylus stands, slow and elegant. “I’ve had a long day. You three can clean up.”

And with that, he walks off—leisurely, utterly calm—leaving behind his perfectly empty plate and three very nervous idiots still staring at their forks like they might be poisoned.

“I think he put lavender in the bread,” Luke says hollowly.

“That’s a threat,” Kieran nods.

You don’t speak. You just slowly lower your fork onto your plate and say, voice soft with realisation.

“We’re already losing.”

—•

It starts the next morning.

Small things.

You wake up and stumble bleary-eyed into the bathroom, only to find your toothbrush… gone. In its place is a child’s pink glittery toothbrush with a tiny bow on the handle and a smug little unicorn printed across it.

You stare at it.

It stares back.

“…Sylus.”

You brush anyway. Because fear is temporary, but oral hygiene is forever.

Down the hall, you hear a scream. Luke.

You race to his room, bursting in just in time to see him holding up a shirt—his favorite shirt—now three sizes too small and bright neon orange.

“He sabotaged the laundry!” Luke wails. “It looks like a highlighter threw up on it!”

Kieran stumbles in a moment later, face pale. “Okay. You know the coffee machine?”

You all pause.

“…What about it?” you ask warily.

“I pressed ‘brew’ and it played classical music. Loudly. Very loudly. And then dispensed chamomile tea.”

Luke gasps. “Decaf?”

Kieran nods. “Herbal.”

You all stand there in silence, the full horror of that registering.

“Okay,” you say slowly, “He’s escalating. This is psychological warfare disguised as hospitality.”

Luke grabs your shoulders. “We have to go off-grid.”

You shake him off. “We live in his grid. He built the grid.”

Kieran paces. “Okay. Okay. So he’s playing the long game. Fine. We stay strong. We don’t break.”

You return to your room to get dressed, trying to reclaim some sense of normalcy.

Your closet is empty.

No. Not empty.

Reorganized.

Everything is sorted by color, occasion, emotional state, and the lunar cycle.

There are even handwritten labels.

LUNAR-ALIGNED NIGHTWEAR.

MILDLY ANNOYED LOUNGE SETS.

IF YOU MUST INTERACT WITH PEOPLE.

You stare.

It’s… kind of impressive.

Still terrifying.

Later that day, your comm device pings with a message.

Hope the toothbrush is to your liking. Unicorns are symbols of purity. Thought it was fitting. —S.

You don’t respond. You can’t.

You sit there in silence, chewing your unsatisfying herbal tea and wondering how one man could be so elegant and so unhinged at the same time.

Back in the kitchen, Luke is attempting to pick the lock on the pantry door—now password protected and voice activated.

Kieran sits on the floor, whispering sweetly to the coffee machine in the hopes it will forgive him.

And all the while, somewhere deep in his office, Sylus watches the surveillance feed with a slight, satisfied smile.

Checkmate? Not yet.

But the pieces were moving.

And he was always ten steps ahead.

—•

It’s late.

Too late for anyone else to be awake. The halls are quiet, dimly lit, the kind of silence that feels intentional.

You creep into the kitchen, determined to retrieve your emergency stash of chocolate hidden behind the vitamin supplements Sylus refuses to acknowledge.

You’ve earned this.

After a day of psychological warfare and sentient appliances, you deserve sugar and solitude.

But the moment you open the cabinet, you hear it.

“Looking for something?”

You jump, nearly drop the jar, and spin around.

Sylus leans casually against the doorframe. Half in shadow. White shirt slightly unbuttoned. Sleeves rolled. Watching you like you’re the most amusing thing he’s seen all day.

You swallow. “Just… needed a snack.”

He hums, low and thoughtful, stepping into the room. “You always get hungry when you’re anxious.”

“I’m not anxious.”

“Of course you’re not.”

He steps closer. Not fast. Not threatening.

Just… there.

Slowly closing the distance until he’s in your space. His eyes flick down to the jar in your hands, then back to you.

“You’ve been quiet today,” he murmurs.

You shrug, heart in your throat. “You’ve been… rearranging my life like an episode of The Big Bang Theory.”

He smiles. Slow. Dangerous.

“You should be grateful. I improved your morning routine, your closet, and your toothpaste. Not many people get this level of attention from me.”

“You replaced my shampoo with glitter gel.”

“I thought you liked shimmer.”

You glare. “Okay, what is this? Revenge lite? Psychological torment with a smile?”

He tilts his head, eyes glittering with that infuriating calm. “Do you think I’d waste my time with petty revenge?”

You hesitate. “…Yes?”

He chuckles. “Fair.”

He leans in just slightly—close enough that you can feel the warmth of him, the way his gaze flickers to your lips and back with deliberate slowness.

“But here’s the thing,” he says softly. “I’m not doing this because I’m angry.”

“No?”

“No.”

“Then what is this?”

His voice drops lower, velvet and ice. “This is a warning.”

You blink. “A warning?”

He raises a brow. “You see, I’m not interested in getting even. I’m not even interested in winning.”

He leans in fully now, mouth near your ear, voice like silk dragged over steel.

“I’m interested in reminding you… that you don’t play games with someone who invented the board.”

Your breath catches.

Then he steps back. Casual.

Smiling.

Completely composed, like he didn’t just dismantle your spine with a whisper.

“Goodnight,” he says smoothly, already turning to leave.

“Sylus—”

He glances over his shoulder, eyes cool, mouth curved in that infuriatingly perfect smirk.

“Sleep well, sweetie. I’ll see you in the morning.”

And then he’s gone, leaving you in the kitchen, heart pounding, chocolate jar forgotten in your hands.

You stare at the door, then mutter to yourself:

“Okay. Yep. We’re all going to die.”

—•

You don’t sleep.

Not really.

Not after that.

You toss. Turn.

Stare at the ceiling.

Replay his words on a loop in your mind.

You don’t play games with someone who invented the board.

You shouldn’t be thinking about the way he said it. Or the way he’d leaned in—close enough to smell your shampoo, the glitter one, traitorous and lemon-sweet.

Or how his voice had dipped low like he wanted to taste the words.

But you are.

And it’s driving you insane.

You last until just before sunrise.

Then you march down the hall in bare feet and defiance, fully intending to demand an end to this madness.

Maybe yell. Maybe shake him.

Definitely not… whatever this fluttering in your chest is.

You stop outside his office.

The door is open.

He’s seated at the far end, back to you, reading something on a tablet. He doesn’t look up when you enter, but he says, “You’re up early.”

Your jaw tightens. “You planned that.”

“I plan everything.”

You walk in, arms crossed. “The glitter. The water. The closet. The toothbrush. You knew it would get in my head.”

He finally turns in his chair, tablet abandoned. “And yet… you came to me.”

You stare at him.

He stares back.

It’s silent.

That heavy, brittle kind of silence where something has to break.

“You’re impossible,” you say quietly.

He tilts his head. “You’re the one who dyed my face red.”

You blink. “That wasn’t me! That was Luke!”

“But you knew.” He stands now, slow and deliberate, each step toward you heavier than the last. “And you laughed.”

“That was after the shock wore off.”

He stops in front of you, so close your breath hitches.

“You like testing me,” he says, almost gently.

Your voice is soft. “You like watching me squirm.”

His lips curve. “Only when you’re cornered.”

Your heart kicks up. “You don’t scare me.”

“No?” he murmurs, leaning in. “Then why do you look like you’re about to run?”

“I’m not—”

He reaches out—slow, precise—and tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear, fingertips brushing your skin like a dare.

You forget how to breathe.

“You know what the real game is?” he says, voice low enough to curl around your spine. “It’s not about revenge. Not anymore.”

You stare at him, pulse racing.

“It’s about seeing how long we can keep pretending this tension is just about pranks.”

Your lips part, but no sound comes out.

He leans in closer, mouth inches from yours. “So go ahead,” he whispers. “Run. Or…”

His breath brushes your skin.

“…stop pretending.”

And in that moment, the air between you threatens to collapse entirely.

Your heart is hammering.

You can hear it—feel it—each thud echoing through your ribs like a countdown.

But nothing moves. Not him. Not you.

Just that impossible closeness and the weight of everything left unsaid pressing in like gravity.

Sylus doesn’t touch you again.

He doesn’t need to.

He’s right there, his presence overwhelming in its stillness, in the way his eyes never leave yours. Not even to blink.

Not even for air. It’s like he’s daring you to look away first.

But you don’t.

You can’t.

The tension is a live wire between you, buzzing, pulsing, dangerously taut.

You could lean in.

He could close the distance. Just one breath more.

One slip.

One break in control.

And everything would unravel.

But neither of you moves.

Because this isn’t about the kiss.

It’s about the pause before it.

The ache of proximity. The heat of restraint.

The mutual, wordless recognition that something’s changed, tilted—irrevocably—but no one wants to name it yet.

His voice, when it comes, is almost a whisper. “Still not scared?”

You swallow, your voice quieter still. “Should I be?”

He leans in just enough for your foreheads to almost touch. “Terrified.”

And there it is again—that exquisite push and pull. That dangerous promise wrapped in affection, mischief, and a power you’ll never quite untangle.

You feel the breath leave your lungs. “Then why haven’t you done anything?”

Sylus doesn’t smile this time. Not quite.

Instead, his gaze drops—briefly—to your lips, then lingers there.

“Because I like this,” he says.

You blink. “What?”

“This moment,” he murmurs, voice velvet-dark. “Where you’re still trying to pretend you have the upper hand.”

Your pulse stutters.

“And when I finally take it from you,” he continues, “you’ll know it wasn’t by force.”

His eyes lift back to yours—slowly, intently.

“It’ll be because you gave it.”

Your breath hitches.

And still, he doesn’t move.

Not forward. Not back. Just there.

Waiting.

Like he can stay in this moment forever, balanced at the edge of something dangerous and devastating.

Just to watch you fall first.

He’s still watching you.

Still waiting.

Like he’s reading your every thought, every twitch of hesitation, every part of you that wants to lean in and the part that still clings to the illusion of control.

You don’t speak.

You just look at him.

And that’s all it takes.

Because Sylus moves with the precision of someone who’s already planned this moment ten steps ahead.

One hand rises—fingers brushing your jaw, your cheek, slow as silk.

The other curls gently around your waist, pulling you forward, not forcefully, but with the promise of no escape.

You barely get the chance to gasp before his mouth captures yours.

It’s not a gentle kiss.

It’s deliberate. Consuming.

Like he’s reminding you exactly who you’ve been playing games with.

There’s heat, yes, but more than that—there’s command.

The way his lips move against yours, the way his hand tilts your chin just so, the way your breath disappears entirely beneath his—all of it says, you’ve lost.

And god, you let him.

Your hands curl into his shirt, trying to hold on—anchor yourself.

But he deepens the kiss and everything tilts with it.

The pressure of his body, the taste of him, the sound you make without meaning to—it all blends together in something dangerous.

And then, you feel it.

A faint, thrumming pulse in the air.

A crackle of invisible tension winding around your wrists.

You pull back just barely, lips parted, dizzy. “What—”

Too late.

Energy winds up your arms like silken thread—cool, weightless, until it suddenly binds.

A shimmer of red-black tendrils coils around your wrists, tugging them behind your back, smooth as liquid steel.

Your breath catches. “Sylus—?”

He doesn’t answer right away.

He rests his forehead against yours, breathing steady, unbothered. “You like playing with fire,” he murmurs, voice low and calm. “But you forget—I am the fire.”

With a flick of his fingers, the energy coils tighten. Your arms are pulled behind you, secured to the low railing of the console desk behind you—elegant, efficient, inescapable.

Then, as if that weren’t enough—he slides a metal cuff into place around your right wrist.

You freeze the second it locks.

You know that cuff.

Dull black, sleek. Lined with tech that silences Evol abilities like a mute button pressed against your skin.

It hums to life with a faint click.

And suddenly, you’re still.

Held.

Caged.

Disarmed.

Your eyes widen. “That’s—”

“—the containment cuff from Tartarus, yes,” he finishes, calmly brushing your hair from your face. “You didn’t think I’d forget to prepare for retaliation, did you?”

You stare at him. “You kissed me just to—?”

He tilts your chin up again, eyes sharp, amused, infuriatingly tender.

“I kissed you because I wanted to,” he says. “Cuffing you was just… a bonus.”

Your mouth opens in protest, but he leans in again, this time slower, deliberate, brushing his lips over yours like a threat.

“Now,” he whispers, “let’s see how long you can behave… without your tricks.”

Then he steps back, leaving you bound to the desk, breathless and flushed, completely and utterly at his mercy.

And he smiles.

Not the cold, amused smile from before.

Something darker. Possessive. Knowing.

“You started this,” he says, voice velvet. “Now you get to see how I finish it.”

You tug against the energy binding your wrists. It doesn’t budge.

The cuff hums faintly at your pulse point, Evol completely silenced.

He stands before you, not gloating—no, that would be too easy.

Too human. He just watches.

Calm. Composed.

Like a man who could undo you in a thousand ways and hasn’t even begun.

“Comfortable?” he asks, voice like poured velvet.

You narrow your eyes. “This is so far beyond revenge.”

“Is it?” he muses, brushing a thumb under your chin. “You did challenge me. Repeatedly. In public. With unicorns.”

You glare. “You’re enjoying this.”

He leans in, mouth grazing the shell of your ear. “Immensely.”

And then—crash.

Followed by a shout.

And another crash.

You both freeze.

Sylus exhales, long-suffering, and turns his head just as the door to the control room swings wide open.

Luke bursts in, holding a smoking toaster. “Okay! Who set the oven to incinerate? I was making waffles—”

He stops.

Stares.

Kieran skids in behind him, carrying a fire extinguisher. “We may or may not have caused a minor electrical—”

Also stops.

Stares.

The three of you hold in silence.

You, flushed, cuffed, and restrained against the desk.

Sylus, standing in front of you with the casual elegance of a villain who’s definitely in charge.

Luke, blinking rapidly.

Kieran, slowly lowering the extinguisher.

“Oh my god,” Luke whispers. “Did we walk in on a—”

“It’s not what it looks like,” you bark.

Kieran’s already backing out. “It’s exactly what it looks like.”

Sylus doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t move. He just looks over his shoulder at them and says, calm as ever.

“Leave. Before I make it permanent.”

Luke raises both hands, stepping back. “Okay! Yep. Carry on. Nothing to see. Just… us. Not here.”

Kieran salutes. “We were never here.”

They vanish.

The door slams.

You exhale through your nose. “I hate them.”

“You encouraged them,” Sylus replies.

“I was peer pressured!”

He hums, reaching for your jaw again, thumb brushing your lower lip. “You always have an excuse.”

“I wasn’t the one who turned revenge into a bondage scene—”

He cuts you off with a low chuckle. “Are you uncomfortable?”

You open your mouth.

Then close it.

Then hiss, “…Yes. In the worst way.”

“Good,” he murmurs, brushing his lips barely—barely—against yours. “Sit in that discomfort. Feel it.”

He steps back again, and your body instinctively leans forward—straining just slightly against the binds.

His smile turns wicked. “That’s one.”

You blink. “One what?”

“One slip.”

You frown. “What is this, a score counter—?”

“Two.”

You shut your mouth. Scowl.

He watches you with open amusement now. “You’re very expressive when you’re trying not to be.”

“Sylus.”

He leans down, gaze inches from yours, voice soft.

“Be good, and I’ll let you go.”

You don’t respond.

His eyes glitter. “Or don’t. I’m patient.”

And he turns to leave. Leaves you there—bound, breathless, and burning.

“Oh my god!” you shout after him. “You’re the worst!”

From down the hall, Luke’s voice echoes faintly, “Is it safe to make waffles again?”

You scream, “NO!”

And Sylus’s laugh—low, dangerous, victorious—follows you like a storm rolling in.

masterlist

[heeikeuu]

In Your Embrace Is My Solitude

» how lads men comfort you during a panic attack

» pairing – lads x fem!reader

» genre – fluff, comfort, romance

» warnings – blood, panic attacks, teeny tiny angst, violence (please let me know if I missed anything)

note: my first official lads fic! Sorry for any typos in advance, enjoy!

ZAYNE:

Returning from a rough mission, you were badly injured and needed to attend to your wounds immediately. However you couldn't stop thinking about how you childishly fought with your fiance this morning because he kept telling you to not go alone on this mission but you argued back that you weren't a little girl and could handle yourself. But those words came to bite you right in the ass as you returned home at 1:30am covered in blood. It was hard to tell if it was mostly your blood or the wanderers. You weakly made your way to the hallway. You were nervous to face Zayne because you didn't want to burden your already tired and hard-working fiance, knowing he already does so much for you. What you didn't know is that he was sitting in the living room, worried sick, waiting for you. Your body froze seeing him. He looked at you and felt his heart drop. He instantly made his way to you, "What happened? Darling, are you alright? Why are you covered in blood?" His questions were rushing, but you could barely hear him anymore. Your anxiety spiked up further as you buried your face in his warmth. Zayne wasn't sure if he should hold you or not because he didn't want to make your injuries worse, but then he heard faint sobs and "I'm sorrys." Leave your lips. His heart ached, but he held back his tongue from scolding you. Instead, he gently inspected your body and held you. Your knees felt weak, and so did your entire body. Before you could collapse, Zayne carried you to the bedroom to care for your wounds and clean you up. Your body was still shaking as he wiped off the blood. Though Zayne wasn't a man of many words, he gently held your hand, "Next time, I'll be more careful, I'm sorry." You told him sincerely, "there is no need to apologize, darling. There will be no next time, I won't let you get hurt like this ever again."

SYLUS:

The night was very lively. You would argue too lively as the air felt stuffy. You had agreed to attend a charity event with your lover. However, you underestimated just how well known he would be during this event. You felt very uneasy, like eyes were on you almost as if they were trying to cut through the depths of your soul. Feeling your ears ringing as you were spacing out without realize. Suddenly, you felt a warm hand hold your own which was clamy, looking up you notice it was Sylus, he looked at you knowingly with a soft gaze and squeezed your hand twice, asking you if you're okay. You didn't want to ruin the night, so you simply nodded and flashed the best fake smile you could muster up, but he wasn't convinced. Pulling you towards his chest, he whispers to you, "Honey, if you're not feeling, we can always go home. There is no pressure to stay here, and I'm not going anywhere." His words eased your heart, making you calm down a bit more. Looking up at him, you no longer wanted to protest. Scared to use your voice, you just nodded again. He gently yet with a firm grip took your hand again and led you to his car to go home. His job was done for the night, and his wife was his top priority no matter what.

CALEB:

Waking up from a nightmare, you felt your sweaty body shake as you were trying to process that it wasn't real. Your hand instinctively reached out to your right side, expecting to feel your boyfriend next to you. However, you don't. You felt your anxiety spike up even more. You hadn't even bothered to check your phone or the time. You quickly got up from your shared bed and went to look for Caleb. You looked everywhere and couldn't find him. Tears flooded your vision further, scared that something happened to him like it did in your nightmare. What if he got into a fight with wanderers like the ones in you saw, you started pacing, heart pounding, hyperventilating now with tears streaming down your face because you remember the last thing you said to your boyfriend was that you couldn't promise to live a 100 years with him. After 2 minutes passed, you didn't seem to notice the soft click of the apartment door opening and closing, caleb came into view. Shocked at your state. Without hesitation, he immediately set down the groceries he got to make breakfast for you on the ground and ran up to check on you. Your body froze once you saw him and immediately ran into his arms. He held you protectively, "shhhh, I'm here, angel. Look at me, yeah?" He spoke ever so gently as he held your face in his hands. Looking at him, through your blurred vision, you see him kiss your tears away, his warmth a sharp contrast to how cold your body felt. "Do you want a distraction or a hug, angel?" He asked carefully, "a hug," you whispered. He held you until you calmed down and soon made you both breakfast to eat as it was 6am.

XAVIER:

You didn't mean to, but you had been spacing out too often today. You felt uneasy and kept trying to distract yourself however you could. You and Xavier were cuddling on the couch, watching old films together, but as Xavier was talking to you and explaining the movie's plot, you kept absentmindedly nodding. He eventually caught on and grabbed your chin, making you face him. "What's wrong, starlight? You've been out of it since this morning," He asked sweetly while carefully observing your body language. He noticed. He saw the way your eyes got ever so glossy, how your hands were sweaty, your fast heartbeat, and how you tried to discreetly stop your legs from shaking. You tried to speak but kept stuttering, "deep breaths, slowly." He talked you through it while holding your cheek with one hand and your waist with the other, bringing impossibly closer to him. You had trouble controlling your mind and often had panic attacks due to your intrusive thoughts. They always came unexpectedly and you couldn't stop them. You had been suppressing your feelings since this morning, but you ended up breaking down in front of your boyfriend. Tears were streaming down your face, "I-I'm sorry, I don't know what's wrong with me today," you voice muffled as he brought you to his chest, softly petting your hair and rocking back and forth with you in his arms. "It's okay, starlight. I'm not mad, I won't go anywhere, and yes I made sure to turn off the stove earlier" he joked at the last part making you giggle softly at his attempt to make you smile. You stayed like that for a while, feeling whole and safe in his arms.

RAFAYEL:

You were out with your friends having a great time after not seeing them for a long time, but you couldn't shake off the feeling of someone's piercing gaze on you. You brushed it off a few times. It's probably nothing, you thought to yourself as you excused yourself to the bathroom to wash up. Your heels clicking, but you were on high alert of your surroundings. Too high that you got lost in your mind, "going somewhere, miss?" An eerie voice spoke, flinching slightly. You look up and notice a strange man looking at you like you were deer caught in his trap. His smile got wider as he stepped closer to you. Shit what do I do, I don't have my weapons on me, you notice he had a knife, trapped between his large body, you felt your body and mind panic, you felt the cold dagger pressed closer to your pulse point drawing some blood in its awake. You tried to rack your brain on how to escape this situation swiftly, "You tell that lousy boyfriend of yours to not meddle in my business," the man threatened with a crazy look in his eyes. Rafayel? As if on que, your thoughts came to a halt as you heard his voice, the next few seconds were all a blur as you saw the man being pinned against the hallway walls with a deadly grip, "touching a woman without permission is a lousy move," Rafayel's voice said mockingly, "but touching my woman without her permission is a death wish." He spoke as the man cried in fear apologizing again and again. Rafayel wasn't having any of it. He threw the man onto the ground roughly before his gaze softened as he turned to look at you. Holding you in his arms, "shhh, it's okay, cutie, I'm here. I won't let anything happen to you, yeah?" His tone ever so sweet and soft. Your shaking body slowly calmed down afterward. Part of you knew that if you weren't here right now, that man would've been killed off in cold blood, yet you weren't scared of Rafayel. You knew he could never hurt you or let anyone hurt you.

Special tag; @imaluvsj7

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