#mc ambush

[hellinistical]

Caleb Caleb Caleb Caleb Caleb CalebCaleb Caleb CalebCaleb Caleb CalebCaleb Caleb CalebCaleb Caleb CalebCaleb Caleb CalebCaleb Caleb CalebCaleb Caleb CalebCaleb Caleb CalebCaleb Caleb CalebCaleb Caleb CalebCaleb Caleb CalebCaleb Caleb CalebCaleb Caleb CalebCaleb Caleb CalebCaleb Caleb CalebCaleb Caleb CalebCaleb Caleb CalebCaleb Caleb CalebCaleb Caleb CalebCaleb Caleb CalebCaleb Caleb CalebCaleb Caleb CalebCaleb Caleb CalebCaleb Caleb CalebCaleb Caleb CalebCaleb Caleb CalebCaleb Caleb CalebCaleb Caleb Caleb

Your greed sickens me.

[hakugin0]

LeviathanMCSatan sandwhich that's been cooking for weeks, now I perish back to my corner of shame kbye

[ Full Ver ]

[iron-sides]

why is no one on the realm deliberately sabotaging other factions weekly tasks in order to weaken them??? badboyhalo get on this

[nihiltism]

I know I've infodumped this before but not as its own post so let's go. what I'd do if I was in charge of making a live a live anime. I am ignoring the fact that I desperately want it to be a musical because that's not going to happen so ask me about my Separate thoughts about what I'd do if I was in charge of making a The Day The Night Slept The Album-ening of live a live.

ok so my Basic Idea is I'd let the show have a 13 episode (maybe 14? does that happen?) first season. I assume each of the first 7 chapters would need about 2 episodes, but I can see some that end in one like wild west or Definitely present day. I could also see some taking longer though, like distant future and near future. it'd even itself out I think to average to 2 episodes each.

it'd be an anthology series basically. a bunch of non-connected stories, but tied together by one key point. a narrator. see I have a Framing Device idea here and it's that we know odio from the very beginning, but never see his face or know who he is. this is very inspired by princess tutu here but here the stories are actively being Read by somebody outside of it, and occasionally he takes the reins to bend the retelling a bit, likely in the chapter boss' favor. note that while the anime is actually Playing and showing the characters, if the narrator does decide to kick in the characters will likely not be doing what he says they are, and they Definitely cannot hear him. it's an unreliable narrator story, but to the point where it's pretty easy to tell that he's biased. in practice how this probably would go would be like in princess tutu, occasionally when a character reaches a point that justifies his own philosophy in some way he'll cut in and monologue about The Nature Of Man Bringing Only Tragedy or whatever the fuck. also maybe cutting in to give the chapter villains some sympathy for the devil, maybe at the end to close each story out as he turns the last page? I dunno I don't want to be Too obvious but like. odio does sound pretty damn evil by default so maybe it'd be obvious anyway.

anyway! that's season one. anthology of short stories. on the final episode I'd leave it hanging on him picking up one last book or something, but I'd let that be told in either a short season (again, do these happen?) or a movie ??? anyway that would start out with the middle ages chapter, which I don't think will have any narration? I'm iffy on this? it'd be cool to see his retrospective thoughts on his own story but also, that's a bit heavy-handed, I'm not sure. anyway the thing is that around the end, when oersted breaks into his soliloquy at the archons roost. there I think we'd get a sort of cut-in, as halfway through our narrator starts reading it out himself. shut book camera pan Blonde Man Jumpscare I think that's the best way to go about the "oh shit the villain is the protag of that story" reveal. also it'd be fun. anyway that'd be either the beginning chunk or the first two? episodes?

from here I'm not Exactly sure how to frame it because all of the endings are Very important, but also kind of. happen at the same time? I do not know how to do this. the easy way would just be to have it remain anthology-ish, and have say the boss rush version of the dominion of hate be one story while the rest is another, but I don't think that fits into the framing device well. mm?? I have no idea. I think we're good without the bad ending of the dominion of hate happening as long as the "if you kill this dude you'll end up just as fucked as him" message gets conveyed in some way or another but I don't think we can skip the whole other version of the DoH.

maybe we can play it less as Actually Happening and more a what if scenario?? more odio just. Fucking Talking Alone Again about what Could be if not for Man's Folly^tm. I think that'd get the point across, be a good intro for the rest of the dominion of hate and stay in universe but it would Not have the added bonus of "ok you kicked around a bunch of jrpg protagonists now what. did that make you feel any better" unless we tried to hammer that home in a different way. and oh boy do I not have a single idea what to do with the armageddon ending. maybe instead just have him mention how if he and the other odios were Still denied he'd have the page burnt entirely or something. maybe at the end. shrugs. there's not a ton I can do here.

eh. anyway the actual dominion of hate would likely be more based in the protagonists than anything, likely picking a main character (Probably Akira) and not having a Narrator as much as just being in the mc's head from time to time. though I Do like the idea of odio still being there Attempting to nudge the protags and them being actually able to hear him this time, it'd have to be used infrequently. or not at all. there is a certain merit to them not knowing anything about him until getting to the archons roost but Us knowing a lot. I dunno. anyway I think this adaptation would have a lot more interactions between the protagonists (desperately needed) and I think that'd take up most of the runtime there, we can incorporate the trials if we want to (trial of heart is necessary to be sure but the rest really aren't, so it can be a good dungeon for the whole team to go through and have some more plot-motivated character moments) but I think Getting The Band Together might already take a good amount of time if we don't rush past good chances for character building or interaction. I want it to feel like the mcs Do actually start to be a team that is the thing I have the Most problems with about the game, though in doing so that will mean we're gonna have to do away with the 4 character party thing unless we want to have them split up sometimes. that's details. the point is that it's going to be All the mcs together most of the time and hopefully it doesn't feel crowded.

anyway from there it kind of goes as expected, except with the aforementioned (we don't need to have the bad ending be its own thing but we do need to mention the consequences). maybe somebody of the team Does try to grant oersteds wish before being held back or something. for similarities reasons I say oboro but this can be wiggled. anyway I also think around the actual Ending ending you'd get more than just one monologue from the mcs, you'd probably get more of like. an actual Conversation I guess? the mcs building off of each other's points to oersted? I dunno I'm spitballing here I do think it would Start Off with akira's ending though and then somebody scruffs him and continues off from there. I dunno the important thing is that everybody should get a word in or perhaps a hug in in the case of pogo. I think that's it though? I probably won't return to the plot device to show like another book being closed or whatever that is purely A Plot Device so it'd be weird to have it come back after oersted was Thoroughly Dead. I will say though if the live a live anime has an ED it's gotta have sin of odio in the A that's the law.

[orphicmusings]

nothing’s gonna hurt you, baby

summary: the aftermath of what happened in skyhaven with pre-relationship sylus. hurt/comfort, exploring mc’s trauma.

A simultaneous sigh blooms from both of your lungs as the last wanderer crumbles into oblivion. The dust of its essence floated up to the polluted night sky of the N109 zone, painting artificial stars for the pair of victors below. Sylus lifts his gaze to you after he scrapes what’s left of the aftermath from his fingernails. He looks infuriatingly unaffected. You, however…

“You look like shit.” He remarks playfully, his eyes softening as he holds out his hand to help you up. You, like he anticipates, softly slap it away and get up on wobbly legs. “Fuck off.” You retort, still trying to catch your breath, and he simply smiles- striding next to you and subtly offering you his weight to lean on. You tried stubbornly standing on your own, but found yourself surrendering to his quiet help as you walked back to his bike.

“I’m not letting you ride back to Linkon like this.” He huffed, handing you his spare helmet, the one that is practically yours at this point. “Spend the night at the base.” Coming from him, it sounded more of a purring command than a gentle suggestion. “Get some beauty sleep.”

You had felt your muscles tense and your heart clenched as you were rapidly reminded of the last time you stayed over someone else’s place. The sound of doors locking, the pills, the confusion, the breathing man that you still mourned. Before you could refuse, though, a traitorous yawn escaped your throat. You knew he was right, that you were in no shape to travel home, and it’s not like he could exactly traipse into Linkon at the moment to accompany you. Besides, you’ve been fighting alongside him for a while now, and while he has little weaknesses, you’re willing to exploit them if need be. “Alright.” You breathe your surrender as you put the helmet on, bracing yourself for his driving skills.

Luke and Kieran greet you at the door like eager puppies. What happened, boss? Boss lady? Did ya kill something? How many? How bloody? Any guts?

Sylus held out a commanding hand and answered for you, thankfully. “Don’t ambush the poor girl, she’s beat up.”

You rolled your eyes at that. “I’m not beat up-”

“Come.” He holds his arm out for you, and you defeatedly take it, blindly following wherever he deigns to go.

“My head…” You groaned at the harsh overhead kitchen light being flicked on, rubbing your temples. “Does the big bad mob boss happen to have ibuprofen?”

“I’m not headache proof, believe it or not.” He exhaled a small chuckle. “Sit down.” He ushered you to the sofa across from the kitchen table. You obliged, but not because he told you to, of course. You were achey, dirty and exhausted. He held a glass of water in one hand and two pills in the other, and you hesitated slightly as you let him give them to you. Turning the pills over in your fingers with a squint of your eyes, you looked for the label etched into the chalky red circles to identify that it was, in fact, ibuprofen.

Sylus noticed. Of course he noticed, he always does. “What?” He tilts his head, confused, but his tone still holds a hint of safe and familiar teasing. “You think I’m slipping you something?”

Swallowing back those nagging memories again along with the medicine, you force a chuckle. “Can never be sure with a lawless scoundrel like you, can I?”

He grinned, one of those rare smiles of his, toothy and reaching for his ruby eyes. “I may be a lawless scoundrel, sweetheart, but I’m not a monster.”

Not a monster, because a monster would do that.

Your best friend in the whole world would do that.

A deep breath left you, ready to be rid of this conversation topic. “Can I take a shower?”

His wide grin melted down to his signature smug smirk once again. “In which wing?”

Sylus’s living situation was fucking ridiculous. Four bathrooms with showers, three of them with tubs. For, what, three people? You shake your head in disbelief as he leads you to a guest room. Just as lavish as the rest of the place, the first thing that stares back at you is the neatly made king sized bed. A leather futon sits across it, right next to an enormous closet. Before you can gawk at any other evidence of luxury in the room, he shuts the door behind you. Your gaze instinctively flies to the knob, the phantom click still ringing in your ears. Your shoulders hunch, posture stilling as you find yourself waiting for it— but the door remains unlocked. If Sylus noticed, he gave you the grace of ignoring it and deciding he teased you enough for now. He opens the closet, unhooking a hanger from inside, draping a plush back bathrobe from it. “This should fit you.” You ran your hands along the fluffy material, unable to stop touching it. “And could I wash my clothes after-“

“I will.” He assures you with an interruption. “Leave them outside the door. I’ll find something laying around for you to change into so you don’t have to wait for them to dry.” You nodded, not expecting this level of consideration from him. It brings an irritating, fond heat to your cheeks. “Right. Thank you.”

“Just being a good host.” He smirks, opening the bathroom door. The bathroom was, of course, also fucking ridiculous. Dark marble walls, spotless black tile floors. A black Japanese bathtub next to the spacious shower stall. Woody, spicy potpourri wafted through the air from a bowl on the sink. He moves to shut the door, and you turn. “Um…” Swallow. “Is it okay to keep the door unlocked?” He frowned in confusion, and you quickly added, “It’s the steam. Too much in an enclosed space, I get a headache and I already have one, so I-“

“Okay.” He simply agrees, leaving you no room to over-explain and lie further. You’re almost taken aback with the ease he’s treating you with, but if you think about it, he’s always just accepted. He may question once or twice, but always nods his head without judgment.

You showered all of the blood and grime off your skin, but the reminder of Skyhaven clung under your fingernails no matter how much you scrubbed. It was something you had been pushing away from the forefront of your mind for weeks, almost a month now.

It’s not what you think it is, you remind yourself as you clench your fist, watching the hot water droplets roll off your knuckles. It’s Caleb. He was trying to protect me…

“No, we’re not doing this right now!” You mumbled aloud to yourself. Think, think, think of something else. You abruptly turned the valve to the wall, the water turning freezing cold. Your breathing seemed to slow down with the ice hitting your veins, and by the time you caught two chills, you stepped out and toweled off. The robe felt nice against your damp skin, the fuzz of it all absorbing the water droplets quickly. Opening the door, you see the clothes Sylus left for you in a neat pile: two items. A black satin button down with an “S” monogrammed into the breast pocket with golden embroidery, and grey basketball shorts. A dry snort found its way out of your nose. What a look.

You swam in them, of course, but in a cozy way. You folded the waistband of the shorts until they would aptly rest on your hips, and you didn’t mind the way the shirt’s sleeves hung past your fingers. The shirt smelled like him. Like his stupidly nice cologne, the familiar scent of spices and leather on the collar.

You let your exhausted body drive you to sleep.

The door is locked.

The eyes you used to seek comfort in refuse to soften.

You blindly take his sleeping pills.

The door is locked.

He pins you down on the sofa, next to a photo of the two of you in a frighteningly similar position, play-fighting and laughing.

He threatens to wrap a collar around your throat.

Your pleas fall on deaf ears.

The man in front of you is breathing, but he is long dead.

The door is locked.

Your heart drops you awake, out of breath and eyes watery.

You are not in your bed.

Where are you?

You push the covers off you before you could even remember, rushing to swing the door open. The force of the mahogany hitting the wall got the attention of your gracious host.

“Sweetie…” A deep voice rumbled up your spine. Sylus.

You’re with Sylus.

The pet name lacked all the familiar playful condescension, more of a brace, a concerned approach to a wild, wounded animal. “What’s wrong?”

You don’t answer at first, your clouded mind still assessing the situation. Your shoulders relax a fraction as you register your surroundings, Sylus’s base. You spent the night here after a hunt. You’re with Sylus, you want to be here, and the door was unlocked. Your grip on the doorknob loosens. Sylus slowly comes out from behind you and into your field of vision. “Sit.” He ushers you back into the room, sitting on the bed and patting the silk sheets. You slowly obey, perching on the bed with your knees hugged to your chest. A gentle expression paints his face, something you could’ve sworn you’ve never seen before. “I’m going to ask again.” He urges softly, slowly, the brisk command his tone usually carried melted away.

You can lie to anyone in your life. You could have said it was a bug in your blankets. A noise, he thought of an intruder. Even a nightmare about something else. You can lie to anyone in your life, except for the man in front of you who looks worried for the first time you’ve seen it. You can lie to anyone in your life, except for the man who seems to know your very soul despite only knowing you for a handful of months.

You don’t even try, clenching your fists so tight you’re sure your fingernails would draw blood out of the meat of your palm.

“I can’t tell you…” You murmured, holding back the flood. “Because if I do, it becomes real.”

He frowned, his head tilting to the side slightly. He pushed a soft smile out of the corner of his mouth. “I won’t tell reality if you won’t, sweetheart.”

You exhaled out of your nose shortly, an amused puff of air followed by a sniffle. “No, I’m…it’s serious.”

“I know.” He sat back on his elbows, blanketing the atmosphere with a sense of leisure and ease. That was something you had to admit he was good at. “I’ve noticed.”

You turn to him. “What?”

“You checked the pills I gave you.” He started. “I thought that was a one off, maybe you being extra careful, but then you announced you were gonna shower with the door unlocked-“

You scoffed shakily. “Okay, I didn’t announce-“

“The point is…” He interrupted. “You’ve been…off tonight.”

You don’t know how to answer. You know that at this point, if you open your mouth, the tears will start free falling.

“You don’t have to explain.” Fuck him for always reading your mind. “But you just need to tell me you’re alright. No guest feels unsafe under this roof.”

“It’s not you.” You assure shakily, resting your chin on your knees. “It’s…a long story.”

He nodded, accepting again. “I don’t have anywhere to be.”

“Um…” You suck in a breath through your nose. Here we go. The tube of toothpaste is squeezed. Your voice is slow, measured as you continue. “Remember about three weeks ago I went to Skyhaven?”

You began to unload. From the top. He knew of the explosion, the one you wrongfully blamed him for. The reminder of that moment brings a flash of mortified heat to your cheeks, expecting him to bring it up. You pause for it, the tease, the coy ‘Yes, kitten, I’m so bad,’ but it doesn’t come. His eyes just pave a delicate path down your face, waiting for you to continue. You watch them widen slightly when you tell him your childhood best friend survived, and that you found him up there. Your words shake and choke in your throat when you get to the next part, tears pricking the back of your eyes. You squeeze them shut, and feel a feather-light weight on your hand; his covering yours. A soft affirmation, a silent I’ve got you. The action is so tender, it pushes even more tears to your waterline. You purse your trembling lips at the gentleness of it all, the opposite of the force you two exuded over one another when you first met. You shoot him point blank in the chest, and he holds your hand like it’s precious gold.

“Sweetie…” He looks at you as if the sight of your face twisted in tears makes him violently ache. “Don’t cry.”

Which of course, makes you cry more. He closes the distance between you within a second, pulling you into his side. “I’m trying not to.”

“I know, sweetheart, I know.” He whispers gently, rubbing his thumb over your bare shoulder, the collar of his shirt hanging off of you. “It’s okay. Take your time.”

It takes a few minutes to gather the words, because how exactly do you say, I think my best friend held me hostage in his home and slipped me pills but I think it’s not really him based on zero evidence?

His thumb stopped its soothing rhythm. “He what?”

You cringe and stammer. You feel caught, for some irrational reason. “I-I know what it sounds like, but-”

“No.” He shook his head, his tone still soft but firm. “No, you don’t have to protect him.” He has to bite back the snarl in his voice, fight to keep his words gentle. “Not after he does this…” He wipes a tear from your cheek, his fingers lingering on the skin for a moment. “Not after he does this to you.” His voice shakes alongside yours, for different reasons. “You don’t need to tell me anything more, but you don’t protect him, either.”

You look up at him, drawing in a deep breath. It makes you realize that’s exactly what you’ve been doing all this time, refusing to acknowledge it. While he was ruining you, you were protecting his memory. At the same time, though, what you know about the professor and Caleb’s abnormal behavior flipping like a switch makes you doubt it was fully him that did this to you. Even if it wasn’t, it doesn’t mean it didn’t affect you so deeply that you’re crying into the arms of the person you’d least expect. You watch his fists clench. “He didn’t…” A hesitation. “He didn’t touch you, did he?”

You vehemently shake your head and you could hear a small breath of relief. “It wasn’t like that.” You go to explain again, to defend him, but stop yourself. “It was so scary.” He breathes a deep sigh, tightening his arms around you.

“I know.” He whispers. “I know, sweet girl, but you were brave.”

You scoff tearfully. “No I wasn’t.”

“You’re here.” He pointed out, brushing his hand through your hair. “Not there. I know your prowess firsthand.”

A pathetic half-laugh exits your chest, followed by more sobs. He holds you even tighter as you cling to his grounding familiarity. He does that for as long as you need it, waiting patiently as he assures you you did the right thing, that you’re safe with him, that he could walk into Linkon and take you home right now, bounty be damned; whatever it is you need to hear.

“I’ve got you.” He whispers into your hair. Your head is atop his chest, laying down now. Your eyes are closed, and he can tell you’ve cried yourself to sleep. “Always have. Always will.”

When your breaths turn steady, he moves slightly to get his phone from his pocket. One hand on your back, the other on the keyboard, he types a message to Luke and Kieran.

Farspace Fleet Colonel. Lives in Skyhaven. Name’s caleb. Need any and all information there is to know ASAP.

Another message.

Boss Lady will not let you hurt him, as much as I am dreaming the different ways I could make him hurt right now. Do not go after him. Just watch.

Two pairs of thumbs up from the twins follow the message, not needing any further instruction or explanation. He locks his phone and leans his head against the pillow, giving you a soft kiss on the forehead. It’s quiet now, the only sound surrounding him are your soft breaths and Mephisto’s caws into the night as he suddenly takes a trip up north.

[starmocha]

Oh oh oh since we're sharing pregnant mc hcs, how about one where they got a bit carried away, they did it, she got pregnant, he "died", by some miracle she didn't lose the baby, she's an excellent, doting, badass mom. then when he comes back he finds the love of his life with a little 1 year old baby girl that could be considered mc's perfect clone except for the eyes. the eyes are his. IMAGINE THE ANGST THE HURT THE TEARS THE LOVEEEEE!!!!!

🫵 are you guys using my Caleb-addled brain to sneak around my “I don’t take requests” condition. /lh 😔 this is who I am now, I guess. I see Caleb, I cave… 🥺

Endless Summer

It was an ambush, another attempt on his life.

It was the thirteenth time in three months, as a matter of fact. Caleb had thwarted all of the previous attempts with ease, always on guard, untrusting of those who claimed to have vowed their loyalty to him as their colonel.

As you learned, you couldn’t trust anyone in Skyhaven, much less the Farspace Fleet. Dark secrets surrounded this seemingly elite entity and though it appeared like the place ran like a machine with perfect precision and efficiency, there was still an insidious side that Caleb refused to let you see.

It wasn’t just his life they were after. They were after yours as well, using you as the ultimate pawn to get to him. Little do they suspect, while you may be his greatest weakness, you were also his strength, his sole reason to persevere.

This was to be a fatal lesson for many to learn.

It was supposed to be a celebratory banquet, thrown in honor of the Farspace Fleet’s Colonel’s latest achievements. There were no deceptions by the hosts, but a traitorous group seized this opportunity to trap the young colonel and all doors within the banquet halls locked, keeping many of the guests hostages in the process.

Within the center of the room, Caleb calmly eyed all of the familiar faces that loomed overhead on the second floor as all around, innocent guests rushed to the exits, banging and screaming for help. He tried to push you away, get you to safety.

They were after him, after all. You didn’t need to be in the crossfires.

You didn’t have time to react, hearing that first gunshot that led the way for the onslaught of bullets.

Something in Caleb snapped that night. The barrage of bullets that came at him and you from all directions would have taken down anyone, but they all froze midair only because of his Evol freezing them in their track and keeping them suspended as if time had frozen at this very moment. He soon, however, learned it was merely a distraction.

Ca…leb…

The moment he saw the crimson blood seeping from your side, that knife pulled out quickly, and you were falling, eyes closing, as he ran toward you yelling your name. His Evol flared out of control, the gravity in the room suddenly immensely heavy, as dozens of men were pulled to their knees in futile struggles.

Open your eyes, he pleaded, his uniform soaked with your blood. His face twisted in pain, a million thoughts rushing through his mind, all of the memories of the past resurfaced in quick successions. All of those years of smiles and laughter that transitioned to pain and distrust only to slowly return to some semblances of the past were now coming to an end before his very eyes. He couldn’t lose you like this, not when he had promised that he would make things right again, to be the man that you deserved. Please…please…

You struggled to breathe, the pain unlike anything you had experienced in your life. As he watched you teetered closer to death, he was filled with wrath, an anger that could not be calmed by any forces in this world.

Caleb held his hand out, and a gun laying on the floor levitated before it rushed into his grip from across the room, and without a thought or any remorse or even hesitancy, he fired bullet after bullet into each man’s head, a clean shot straight through the center, not flinching even as the surrounding guests screamed and huddled to the floor, covering their ears from that violent, horrid sound.

When the last traitor fell, Caleb dropped the gun with a clatter, and his arms wrapped entirely around you, pulling you closer to his body for warmth. Your breathing had weakened even more, but he could still save you. He hadn’t failed you. Not yet, not ever. You were going to live. He would make sure of it.

Even if he now realized you were safer away from him.

Colonel Caleb, you had only slept for four hours last night, the robotic voice of an OTTO said with some semblance of concern in its artificial vocal. It levitated after its owner as the young colonel adjusted his uniform. The robot continued, explaining, An adult man of your age requires ei—

“I’ve slept enough,” he interrupted firmly, ignoring the robot, whose monitor quickly displayed a digitalized look of concern. Caleb had thought often of shutting down the robot and dismantling it, but he could never carry through, remembering that he had purchased this robot for you.

In this cold, monotonous so-called-home of his in Skyhaven, Caleb had few things that reminded him of you. A few plushies you two had won together sat on his living room couch, some snapshots you two had taken together at a photobooth, and perhaps a few furniture pieces you had ordered to be sent directly to his home. You had been in the process of bringing warmth and life into this place when everything came to an abrupt stop.

If he hadn’t taken you to that banquet that night nearly two years ago, Caleb wondered how things would have played out. You wouldn’t have gotten injured that night, but he feared perhaps it would just delay that same outcome. That night, he found himself at a fork in the road, forced to make a decision that would change the course of both of your lives.

Keep you by his side, where he had foolishly believed you would always be safe under his protection, or, let you go, let you believe that whatever had happened that night, he was the one who had died, finally taken away by Death himself. It was better to let you believe he had actually died this time, to keep you from searching for him, to keep you far away from Skyhaven—to keep you from him.

Since that night almost two years ago, Caleb’s nightmares had worsened. He relived the dreadful night, but he had also had other terrifying dreams so horrendous, he would wake up screaming in cold sweats, completely disoriented, unsure if he was trapped within another layer of the nightmare, or if he was truly awake.

“She’s safe, she’s safe,” he would often mutter to himself, an attempt to convince himself that he had made the right choice, that setting you free was the only way he could keep you safe. As long as you lived, he would bear the weight of his sacrifice, even if it meant never seeing you ever again.

It was sunny in Linkon, not a cloud in the sky, and the weather warm and inviting, but to Caleb, it was a place he had forbidden himself from ever stepping foot in again, out of fear that your paths would cross. In all of those times since he had distanced himself from you, allowed you to believe he was dead, he had managed to avoid any reason to step foot in the place that was once his home.

When his adjutant, Liam, had informed Caleb that his schedule required him to attend a conference meeting in Linkon, the young colonel stiffened, the atmosphere in the room stifling almost as if he was using his Evol. He suppressed his initial instinct to yell, knowing Liam was well aware of Caleb’s situation and had in the past made the necessary arrangements to prevent him from having any reason to step foot in that city.

It seemed he couldn’t stay away from Linkon forever, so he resigned to this situation, still remaining vigilant in his stance. Linkon was a big city, and there was no reason for your paths to cross. He would make do with this troublesome situation for the time being.

Now, Caleb had intended to return to Skyhaven the moment the meeting ended, and yet, against his better judgment, he found himself wandering down familiar streets, lost in memories of happier times. As he walked, before his eyes, he saw the silhouettes of him and you as children running down the street after school to your favorite little vintage grocery store.

Caleb, you dummy, you can’t use your Evol!

Don’t blame my Evol because you can’t run fast on those short legs, pipsqueak!

Caleb chuckled. He couldn’t help it. The memories of those years seemed so much more carefree. He often wished to go back to that time when the only things that weighed on yours and his shoulders were school or silly childish arguments.

As he approached the old grocery store, closed just a few years prior, he was surprised to learn that it was now under new ownership. The familiar place of his childhood was now a small trendy café, popular with college students and young couples.

To his astonishment—and, perhaps, also relief—the vibrant hydrangea garden in the back remained. Bushes of the white, blue, and pink flowers bloomed in the garden, showing that its new owner took well care of the plants. They looked like the hydrangeas of his childhood, of those long summer afternoons that never seemed to end as he and you made this place just another secret hideout only you two would ever know. As he walked down a beaten path, distracted, he was stirred out of his nostalgic thoughts when he felt something bumped into his leg. He peered down, surprised to see a little girl in a light orange dress, the same color as the sunset he used to see in his airplane when he was a pilot, was clinging to his leg. He looked around, not seeing any adult in sight to indicate they were the child’s guardian.

He furrowed his brows, a little in annoyance, as he was not prepared to suddenly be grappled with the responsibility of a lost child. He knelt down lower, and immediately, he startled as he took in the little girl’s appearance, a near perfect carbon copy of you, but the eyes—he stared into sweet little violet eyes that mirrored his own, seeing his shocked face reflected in these orbs. The girl looked up at him with curiosity, the wind swaying her short bob while a little yellow chunky cartoon airplane hairclip held her side bangs in place.

Suddenly, she started tearing up, breaking Caleb out of his trance and for the first time in a while, he felt panicked, unsure of what to do. The girl started to cry and Caleb immediately lifted her up, her head resting onto his shoulder as he rubbed her back and soothed her.

He shushed her gently, his caregiver instinct reignited after years of dormancy. “Why are you crying, sweetheart?” he asked her gently, his soothing voice a complete opposite to the tone he used as colonel.

The girl sobbed. She looked so young, Caleb realized, surmising that she probably had barely started learning to speak.

“Are you lost?” he asked in that same tender tone despite knowing the child would be unable to answer him. He continued, “You miss your mommy, don’t you?”

He rubbed her back again, wondering with trepidation if this child’s mother was who he thought it would be. For just a second, his heart stopped when he felt the little girl gripping the fabric of his uniform with her small hands. Quickly, he recomposed himself.

“It’s alright,” he whispered, his hand smoothed the back of her hair. “Let’s go look for your Mommy, alright?”

“Ma...ma…” the girl struggled to say. She rubbed her face against Caleb’s shoulder, and he smiled gently, unbothered that his once pristine uniform was now covered in a child’s snot.

“Okay, mama,” he repeated, “I’ll help you find your mama, sweetheart.”

When he was just about to turn around to head back to the café, he froze again, hearing a familiar voice he hadn’t heard in years. He could feel his heart beating against his chest, actually feeling every heavy thump as the seconds passed and the voice grew closer, a name cried out—the little girl’s.

The child in his arms wriggled, and cried louder, seeing her mother over Caleb’s shoulder. “Mama! Mama!”

Stiffly, Caleb knelt lower and gently set the girl down to her feet, barely registering as the child toddled passed him to her mother.

A completely different feminine voice called out, angry. “Were you trying to kidnap a child in broad dayli—”

Caleb stood up and turned around, his face pale.

“Cale…Caleb?” You stared in shock, feeling like you were seeing his ghost again. Again.

“Mama…Mama…!” Your daughter nuzzled her face against your chest as you held her. You broke out of your trance and instantly redirected your attention to your child. You quickly soothed her, well aware that Caleb’s eyes were locked on you, his face just as shocked as yours but for entirely different reasons. Once the little girl calmed down you passed her off to your companion, saying, “Tara, take her back to the café.”

Tara looked at you worriedly, her eyes darting to Caleb with suspicion. One look into Caleb’s eyes, seeing that same, perfect shade of purple, and the young woman quickly understood the situation. She nodded quietly and took the girl from you. “Come on, sweetie, auntie Tara is going to buy you a cupcake, okay?”

You waited until Tara and your daughter were out of sight. You couldn’t look at him. You wanted to look at him, to make sure your eyes were not deceiving you, to make sure that this was not an illusion, not a cruel, mocking figment of your imagination. But you couldn’t. You felt cowardly in that instance, being afraid of the truth. Afraid of his reaction. Of everything.

“You were…you were pregnant?” he questioned, feeling a wave of guilt washed over him.

Just hearing those words made you realized this was him. This was Caleb, the man you thought was taken away from you. Again.

Suddenly, you broke down crying and you looked up at him with tears running down your cheeks.

“Caleb, you dummy,” you sobbed, “You fucking dummy!”

He gasped, unprepared when you rushed at him and started beating his chest half-heartedly with your small fists as you continued to sob and curse him over and over again. He let you carry out your anger, let you punished him as you saw fit in this moment, but when the punches weakened, he gently grabbed your wrists, lowering them to your sides before his arms wrapped around you in comfort, his apologies immediate.

“Yeah,” he agreed in that ever familiar soft and gentle tone reserved only for you, “I am a fucking dummy.”

You sniffled against his chest, gripping tightly the lapel of his coat.

The afternoon passed slowly, initially tensed and awkward, but eventually all of the missing pieces of the puzzle fell into place, and you both struggled to come to terms with the picture of the missing years. You peered at the man to your side, seeing Caleb hunched over, his cap in his lap, looking much like a sinner struggling to come to terms with his wrongs.

“You didn’t know,” you whispered after a while, wanting to break this stifling silence. You reached for his arm, but he tensed before his shoulders slumped again.

“That’s no excuse,” he said, looking up at you. He started to reach for your cheek, hesitating at the last second, as if he was afraid that you would recoil from his touch. He started to pull back but you grabbed at his hand, guiding it to your cheek. He stared in shock as you nuzzled your face against his palm, and you gazed at him with glistened eyes.

“You’re not allowed to die again,” you scolded him. “Promise me that.”

He nodded numbly, his voice clear and steady. “I promise,” he said, repeating in a more hushed, firm tone, “I promise.”

He leaned forward, guiding your lips to his, his words still repeating in between breath. You let him drown you in his kisses, let yourself dizzied and relent to his feverish promises. When your lips parted, just a few centimeters, his warm breath grazed over your trembling lips before he pressed another kiss to your forehead.

“I’m sorry,” he said, “I... will you…”

You looked up, seeing the struggles in his violet eyes. He appeared to hesitate again, unsure of what right he had to seek your forgiveness, wondering if he was overstepping the boundary between the two of you.

You gently coaxed him, seeing relief washed over his guilty features. “Will I what?”

“Will you…let me make things right?” he asked, “Let me…earn your forgiveness. I…please…”

He almost wanted to say, I can’t lose you again but the words died at his lips. He, of all people, had no rights to utter such words in your presence. He looked so defeated, beaten down to the point he no longer recognized himself anymore.

You took his hand, just like you always seemed to do, and you pulled him to his feet, to his surprise. He gazed at you questionably, his heart stopping at your words.

“Caleb,” you said his name so sweetly, “I want you to meet…our daughter.”

The summer air was warm even as the sky darkened, and stars after stars appeared above to illuminate the world below. The gentle breeze ruffled Caleb’s hair as he stared down at the sleeping girl in his arms. Maybe it was because she was still so young and impressionable, or perhaps she could already sense who he was to her, but the girl clung to him immediately, already feeling safe and protected in his presence.

His heart felt heavy, overwhelmed by guilt, a feeling of failure, and also of self-loathing, but as he gazed down at his daughter, another feeling stirred, just as intense but much more forgiving. He didn’t think he could feel such love as he did now as he peered down at the sleeping girl, nuzzled against him on his lap, peacefully slumbering away.

He wondered what she was dreaming of as he admired how much she resembled her mother. Hesitantly, he let his finger caressed her cheek, in complete, silent awe at how soft and delicate her skin was. He was almost afraid of hurting her, feeling a need to protect her just as he protected her mother. He looked up at you, his cheeks and ears reddening when he realized you had been laughing at his expense.

“It’s alright,” you told him amid your giggles.

“You’re laughing at me.”

“You deserve it, you big dummy.”

He let out a huff, in mock annoyance, but he agreed with you. “Alright,” he conceded, “I deserve it.”

“Do you want to begin your path to seeking forgiveness from us?” you asked him, a playful, teasing lilt in your voice, unmissed by Caleb as he raised a brow in curiosity.

“Just like that?” he questioned, confused by your leniency with him.

You nodded. “You still love me, right?”

“I’ve never stopped,” he said, his solemn words had you blushing against your better judgment, your heart quickening when he looked at you so lovelorn. You quickly composed yourself, returning to your mischievousness from seconds ago.

“You love her, right?” you asked, your eyes shifting to your sleeping daughter in his arms.

He sighed, mesmerized. “So much already,” he whispered, and again, you found yourself softening, touched by his sincerity.

“Okay, we’ll forgive you,” you answered, catching Caleb’s attention as he looked at you almost bemused by your easygoing attitude. “First step.”

“Which is?”

“You have to make us your specialty,” you said, laughing at Caleb’s look of complete bewilderment unfit for a colonel of his status. Clearly, you had blindsided him completely with this first condition. You clarified with a mischievous twinkle in your eyes, “You have to make your braised chicken wings.”

He stared at you as if not comprehending your words. You laughed and leaned closer to him, your head resting on his shoulder. “I ate a lot of braised chicken wings while pregnant,” you said, reminiscing to that lonely period in your life without his presence. You reached over and brushed your daughter’s flyaway hair out of her face, continuing softly, “But they weren’t as good as yours.”

Caleb let out a huff of breath, a soft, resigned laugh as he readjusted his arm, letting it wrapped around you as he pulled you closer into his embrace. He leaned over and kissed the top of your head. “Okay,” he answered, “I take it she also likes braised chicken wings then?”

You leaned into him, nodding once. “She’ll love yours more,” you said, and then looked up, your heart quickening again as you gazed into his beautiful violet eyes, grateful that your daughter had chosen to inherit this sole feature from her father. Breathlessly, you uttered softly, your words for his ears only, “She’ll love you.”

“And you?” he whispered back, that same hesitancy still prominent in his tone. He looked at you expectantly as he asked, “Do you still love me?”

“I’ve never stopped,” you echoed his words back to him, continuing in that same hushed tone, “I’ll always love my dummy Caleb.”

“Alright,” he said, his voice resigned, holding you just a bit tighter, as if he was afraid this was a cruel, taunting dream he would wake up from.

As Caleb watched your eyes closed, he looked down, eyes darting from you to his daughter, and he wondered if he deserved any of this. In the warm summer night, surrounded by the blossoming blue and pink and white hydrangeas, he silently apologized for his mistakes, promising that for the remainder of his life, he would become a better man, deserving of both of you.

Just like the little boy from long ago, once he had made a promise to you, he would never break it.

He swore it on his life.

[ittybittyfanblog]

Only You, Darling (Only You, Babe)

Summary: There were orders for your abduction. You were made to be the bait by a rival gang to get to the elusive head of Onychinus. Sylus doesn’t take it too well. Word Count: 4.8k Tags: mc x sylus, fem!reader x sylus (use of she/her pronouns), depictions of violence (it gets a little graphic), reader gets abducted and injured, strong language, protective!sylus, he’s a little unhinged here, self-indulgent! A/N: I can’t believe this game pulled me out of a three-year creative rut LMAO. I’ve been doing fanarts, now I’m writing again?? The power these pixelated men hold over me, man.  Anyway, enjoy!  This version of Sylus is probably a little OOC idk idk ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

It's close to midnight, and you're being followed.

On your six, a stocky man in an unassuming dark suit has been tailing you since you left the dingy bodega, a little over a mile away from your apartment, for about, three? five minutes—no, maybe even longer.

Shit, you mouth silently. Sloppy. You should’ve noticed him sooner, and the two other lackeys now closing in from up ahead. They’re armed too, if the hands hidden inside their jackets are any indication.

As if things aren't looking bad enough, you’ve decided tonight would be the perfect night to go weaponless, deciding against bringing your handgun with you since it was supposed to just be a quick run to the store for supplies. Namely, the late-night cravings sort of supply.

You clutch the wrinkled paper bag containing your coveted jalapeño Cheetos tightly.

This is what greed does to you, a mocking voice echoes in your head. Since when did your inner voice of reason sound masculine and oh-so-familiar? 

Exhaling quietly, you try to calm the rising beat of your heart and appear to be clueless of your surroundings. Walk at a normal pace. Look unaware of the men with the intention to… What even is this? An ambush? Good, old, regular robbery? No, it doesn’t seem like they're in it for something that insignificant. They wouldn’t even bother to be this cautious if it were. 

But then, what are they here for? The dangers you're more familiar with are of the monstrous kind in the literal sense of the word; entities that you face on a daily basis as a Deepspace hunter. Not the regular threats posed by mankind – which in this particular situation, suddenly feels more foreboding.

While racking your brain for ideas on how to slip away from their sight without escalating the situation, you fail to notice a fourth person hidden behind the dumpster inside the narrow alleyway on your left until you feel the cold, hard edge of a pistol gun hit your temple.  

With a shout, your hand shoots up in an attempt to yank the gun away from the hand holding it but the sudden burst of pain from the impact has left you feeling dizzy and off-kilter. The moment you throw your fists up to block your face, heavy fists strike you directly in a flurry of hits, colliding with your forearm and your unguarded ribs.

You let out a pained grunt as you stagger backwards, trying your hardest to keep yourself from falling back on your ass and ward off the next incoming attack. 

A sinister laugh alerts you of the others, now surrounding you in a circle. Shit!

You hastily shift your legs into a crouching position, bracing yourself as you attempt to sidestep the one in front of you before making a run for it. You spring into action, but before you can even take another step, an arm shoots out and coils tightly around your neck like a noose. A cloth that reeks of something distinct is slapped over your mouth and nose, rendering you unable to do anything but struggle. 

“Now, now— the boss wants her in one piece, John,” The stocky man, who’s apparently larger and more jacked up-close, pipes up. John tightens the limb circling your throat, preventing you from breathing, before slightly loosening his grip. 

 “I’d advise you from struggling too much, sweetheart. But if you insist on making this harder for yourself,” the man talking suddenly grins, revealing rows of crooked, silver teeth. “He ain’t said nothin’ about a couple of bruises.” 

You give him your dirtiest glare, trying to pull away from the death grip the burly man called John had on you, but you feel your muscles slowly becoming heavier and your vision starting to blur. 

Ch-chloroform?

You make a muffled shout, a scurry that earns you a heavy hit on the stomach, one last futile move to free yourself, but the inevitable effect of the potent substance starts to overpower you. 

“After all, we need to make sure that the big bad boss of Onychinus actually comes for his bitch, don’t we?”

Rendered completely useless, the men start to make quick work to restrain your arms and legs in a hogtie before carrying you down the street, to a shaded corner where a large, gray van is parked.

The barn doors open, and you’re tossed in carelessly to the back, landing painfully on the cold, hard floor. An involuntary whimper escapes your lips, feeling like one big bruise; splotches of red and blue start to form like a violent watercolor on your skin. 

The engine revs. Before completely losing consciousness, you think you hear a faint caw.

The car drives off the beaten path, into the night, leaving not a trace of evidence of what transpired mere minutes ago aside from a discarded brown paper bag and a deflated bag of chips. 

-

-

-

From a distance, flying towards the hazy skyline, a mechanical bird crows a bad omen. 

_____

In the dead of the night, the head of Onychinus sits as a spectator; a towering presence at the head of a table inside a private room, obscured in plain sight, in an unremarkable establishment far east of Linkon City. 

Unassuming as it may be, the room’s occupants are men of great renown, both in influence and notoriety. The CEO of a chain business in Azure Square, a regional manager of a well-known bank in Linkon, the head of a weapons trade representing a faction in the N109 zone… All hold significant power, all hold ulterior motives.

A meeting of minds; the type held only in the secrecy of the night, gone in the break of dawn. 

Sylus has half the mind to listen in on the droning exchange of fake pleasantries and plastic smiles as the men deal trades in nature that of weapons and favors. A number of hungry, beady eyes cast him furtive glances, fearful yet devout. Some cautious in the hope of earning his approval. 

“–the package will be en route to the agreed-upon address by the end of the week,” a stout man in spectacles finishes off, clearing his throat. Beads of sweat start to form at the back of his neck as red eyes bore into his, assessing. Deliberating. “O-or if Richard’s able to give me the go-ahead in advance, I’ll make sure it arrives by Friday,” a gulp—then, “sir.” 

All in reverence. 

He hums, his switchblade dancing idly in his hand, deliberately stretching the tension that hangs heavy in the air. He delights in this power to unsettle, savoring the authority that his mere presence commands—a demand for absolute deference. 

“Make it half that time, will you, Raymond?” Sylus responds amicably, not as a question. The man, Raymond, sputters. 

“That won’t be pos–” Sylus tilts his head, eyes shifting into something more dangerous. “Please, I’ll try to cut the time shorter but there won’t be any assurances.” 

The pale-haired man sighs in acquiescence. “I suppose that will have to do.” Raymond lets out an exhale of relief, but catches his breath as Sylus continues, “Any later than Wednesday, and I’ll come to claim it personally.” 

Raymond, more nerves than man, starts to blabber something in response—but stops when something black suddenly appears in a blaze of dark energy, near the shoulder of the intimidating man he’s trying to appeal to. 

Sylus raises a hand, and a large crow lands on his pointer finger. 

He caws, once. Twice. And shows a projection. 

The inhospitably cold room suddenly went glacial. 

All conversation halts to a stop as an overwhelmingly suffocating aura starts to emanate from the man—no, the being at the head of the table, making all that are in the vicinity freeze in fear. 

The devil posing as the leader of Onychinus abruptly stands up, and Raymond thinks, Oh I’m going to die here.

Without a word, the man disappears in a Stygian haze.

_

Five minutes later, only after they felt like death was no longer looming over their heads, did anyone dare to move a muscle.

_____

Your head hurts, and your mouth tastes of rust. 

Having been awake for longer than your captors are aware of – two (?) of which bickering near a barred slate of metal that you assume is the door after taking a quick peek from beneath the mess of hair concealing your face – you try to get your bearings together without arousing the suspicion of your present audience. 

“–bet it’s gonna take a while ‘fore that guy arrives. You think she’s enough to get him to show his face?” 

“Damned if I know. In any case, we got a pretty, li’l plaything on our hands,” a snort. “Make her worth the effort.” 

Where were you? From what it looks like, you’ve been transported into a nondescript underground bunker of sorts, dank with a hint of mildew and rot in the air; a rumbling air vent on your left masking any noise that escaped your mouth when you woke up. The area is poorly lit, save for the flickering bulb hanging precariously above your head as your main source of light – good for casting shadows to hide your bruised face, bad for the pounding headache you’re pretty sure is a concussion. And with your back seemingly close to a wall, you arrive at the conclusion that there are no other entryways, no way to leave, but the guarded door in front of you. 

In short, you have no idea where you are. 

Fuck—this is bad, you swear to yourself internally, trying to control the rising panic swelling up your chest. You never thought your nightcap would lead to this mess. Nobody knows about your current predicament, and it’ll take more than a day before your absence raises any alarms, so right now, you’re on your own. 

Think, think! What can you do?

What can you do? You have nothing on you, nothing you can use as a makeshift weapon to defend yourself with, and your hands are tightly bound behind your back by a thick, heavily twined rope with no give. The situation is slowly turning bleaker by the second, and it isn’t even your fault that you’re here in the first place! You were made a pawn, a mere bait in this messed-up dick-measuring contest between a crazy, sadistic, self-proclaimed head honcho and Onychinus’s own crazy, sadistic—

Wait a minute. Sylus. 

You send a strong prayer to anyone above that’s listening, and an angry telepathic shout for good measure to the one who’s unaware of his involvement – but nonetheless the source of your ruined night – in this attempt at kidnapping a perfectly law-abiding citizen of Linkon.

Sylus, as much as I hate your unfortunate tendency to stalk me through means that, honestly? Eludes the hell out of me, I really, REALLY hope that you’ve been keeping tabs toni–

“Hey, boss! I think this one’s awake!”

Fuck. No use pretending anymore. 

You hear heavy footsteps from outside the room before the corroded metal door swings open to reveal a large man, easily standing above six feet, sporting a neatly trimmed beard and an unsettling smile. His arms are covered in tattoos– overlapping, almost undecipherable. A gnarly scar runs from the side of his mouth to just above his brow bone; his right eye a cloudy gray, most likely a morbid souvenir from the sustained injury.

His functional eye zeroes in on your pitiful form, and his smile widens into a hostile grin. 

“Well, well. It seems like our esteemed guest is finally ready to join in the fun,” His voice sounds like gravel, with a mocking intonation. “I hope my men weren't too rough with you on the way here.” 

You let out a breath through your teeth, blinking a few times to try and rid the blurring in your vision. You have to bide your time– “Why am I here? What do you want from me?” 

The man cocks his head to the side, smile still in place. “I assume you already know. But I’ll indulge you your little questions, why not?”

He crosses the space separating the two of you with just a few, languid steps before he’s in front of you. He leans forward, brushing the messy locks of hair – dried with blood – away from your face in a deceptively calm manner. “The devil needs to pay his dues, but it’s been rather difficult to get a hold of him, you see,” he sighs in exaggerated disappointment. ”I intend to collect, so I waited patiently for the right moment, for an opening. For an opportunity. 

And here, the opportunity presents herself.” 

You sneer, moving your head back to let your hair fall from his creepy hold. “I’ve no clue what you’re talking about, mister, but I’m pretty sure you’ve got the wrong idea.”

He barks out a laugh before gripping your chin tightly between his fingers. “You’ve got a smart mouth on you. Maybe we can find a better use for it.” 

You feel it before you hear it. 

“Perhaps not.” 

Something vicious saturates the air, something intense and terrifying and wrong. The hairs on the back of your neck stand up, and some sort of primordial response deep within your brain is telling you to get away from it.

But then, the paralyzing fear melts away to something akin to hope when you realize the source of this new disturbance.

Relief washes over you when familiar ink-and-red tendrils materialize behind the man in front of you. The dark wisps dissipate like smoke as soon as it comes and in place, your savior – sporting an expression that could only be described as downright murderous – stands before you, all six feet of unadulterated rage.

Several things happened so fast, it was almost simultaneous.

A cacophony of shouts came loudest from the two men who had been on guard duty but screams also echoed from outside the room. You saw flashes of red, twin laughter, and blood spurting from the necks of the now headless guards, and then a symphony of bullets and a lot of things breaking rang across the room. 

Suddenly— 

Deafening silence. As if something has put an abrupt stop to the noise. 

Amidst all the chaos, the scarred man in front of you had no time to make a move before savage whips of crackling energy engulfed him, leaving only his head free from the smothering darkness. 

His expression betrays something wild and manic as he tries twisting around to look at the figure behind him. “You—”

Sylus pays no mind to the breathing, dead fool—lower than dirt on his feet, with the nerve to harm what is most precious to him—as he keeps his gaze solely on you; his eyes darting up and down as if taking inventory of all the bruises and scrapes you sustained from the abduction. 

You meet his eyes. “You came.” 

An indecipherable look passes his face, gone as quickly as it came. “A little too late. I apologize.” 

You weakly huff out a chuckle, wanting to shake your head but decide against it lest it aggravates your concussion. A prickling sensation, then the rope around your wrists falls off with a quiet thud. 

“Luke. Kieran.” 

“Everything’s all accounted for, boss,” Kieran announces, suddenly appearing beside your right, along with Luke who’s on your left. Both look no worse for wear.

 The latter gives you a sympathetic look. “Oh, man. They got you good, little crow.” 

“Caught me off-guard, s’all,” you insist half-heartedly. 

A sigh. “Transport her directly back to base. Attend to her critical injuries once you arrive, and keep her awake. I’ll handle the rest once I get back,” Sylus instructs the twins in a tone that brooks no argument.

They nod in sync and start making a move to carry you out, but you protest.

“Wait, you’re staying behind?” For some reason, the thought of being separated from him, even for a short amount of time, makes you feel ill. Well, worse than your current state, at least. 

Sanguine eyes soften when he hears the tremble in your voice. The offending man in front of you, reduced into something less threatening than a cowering dog in comparison to your rescuer, is forcibly pushed aside to make room for Sylus as he steps closer. 

He crouches low so that you’re looking down on him instead of up. One large hand covers both of yours, mindfully avoiding the fresh rope burns on your wrists, his thumb rubbing soothing circles on the unmarred part of your skin. 

“This will be quick, sweetie. I’ll be back by your side before you know it,” he exhales, closing his eyes for a moment. “I swear to you.”

You swallow, but nodded reluctantly. “Come home soon.” 

“I will.”

With that, you let yourself be carried out of the claustrophobic space you were confined to, into a larger room littered with unmoving bodies that you're frankly too tired to care about at the moment, up three (rickety) flights of stairs where you exit into what looks like the inside of an empty shipping container, before finally, finally getting out. 

A gust of salty wind hits you and you ask, “Are we near the docks?” 

“Yeah,” Kieran answers, carefully putting you down on the backseat of Sylus’ car. “Mephisto trailed after the van they stuffed you in before reporting back to the boss. We followed soon after.” 

Luke frowns as he inserts the key in the ignition. “We weren’t aware that they had eyes on you for a while now. An oversight on our part, won’t happen again,” he assures you. “Gotta give them props for that, at least.” 

Kieran, now getting in the passenger side of the vehicle, shoots him a look. 

“Anyway, we’re glad we got to you before they did anything… worse,” Kieran continues, then winces in a show of mock sympathy. “Can’t say the same to that fucker back inside. Haven’t felt Sylus’ bloodlust this strong in a long while.” 

You try to focus on their words, but you feel yourself nodding off as the remaining adrenaline slowly leaves your body. You know you should feel more worried about what the two were insinuating, but your mouth still tastes like you swallowed a bunch of coins and you just want a soft bed to sleep in for an entire day. Or three. 

“Oi, no sleeping. Doctor’s orders,” A snapping finger in front of your face forces you awake. 

You blink your tired eyes open in an attempt to stay lucid, the pulsing pain in your head becoming more prominent as soon as the threat of danger has passed. 

“This is gonna be a long night,” you sigh, wishing that Sylus will keep his word and be quick about… whatever he’s planning to do with your abductor. 

–––––

There hasn’t been much left of the man who proclaims to be the new head of an arms syndicate Sylus had dealt with in the past. He recalls the history of his relationship with the cartel being less than cordial, but nothing that would warrant his ire. Except for tonight.

He usually doesn’t leave a trace when doling out punishments; no, not anymore. Not in recent years. He prefers to be efficient about his killings, dissipating any evidence in thin air after reducing them into fine paste, rather than make a big show out of it. Quick and precise.

Except today… Someone had the arrogance, the absolute audacity to steal directly from the dragon’s nest.

The contents of which have always been kept in strict confidentiality. What is known, only chosen individuals bound to secrecy are privy to, and a lot of people would kill for. 

But unbeknownst to anyone else but its owner, only one thing in this hoard of secrets truly matters to the dragon. One solitary treasure alone he would burn planets for—and someone has tried to steal it.

Harm. the treasure. To get to him. 

It seems as if the new bloods needed a reminder of who, exactly, they’re stealing from. 

One who dwells deep within the underbelly of the cities both monster and men inhabit, that even the most heinous of sinners seeking solace in the dark, are afraid of. 

And what retribution tastes like to those who are foolish enough to bite more than what they can chew.

The poor soul unfortunate enough to be the first one to discover the carnage will witness that what was left of the man that had wronged the Onychinus kingpin is now stuck on the walls, the floor, and the ceiling of a basement where the treasure was held captive. They will find that the man’s innards are deliberately hung in a haphazard fashion, in all corners of the room like bloody, sinewy tinsel. 

And the centerpiece of this bloodbath is none other than the man’s decapitated head, forcibly attached to the hanging light in the middle of the room. A bulb crudely drilled past his cranium, while blood dripped down the floor in slow, ominous rivulets. 

They will understand in dawning horror that the one responsible for this... gross butchery, has left the head swinging. That the man’s mouth will forever remain agape in an eternal scream to immortalize the exact moment he realizes the gravity of his sin.   

Yes, Sylus is more than glad to remind them. 

_____

You arrive a quarter past four AM. 

Barely taking a step past the foyer, the twins immediately whisk you inside to perform an ‘emergency patch-up.’ Luke’s words, not yours.

“We’re your personal CNA while waiting for the head nurse to take over,” he explains cheerfully, wrapping another layer of gauze around your wrist. You hiss when Kieran dabs a cotton ball on the gash on your temple, peroxide fizzing as it comes in contact with the dried-up blood. Muttering out a “sorry!” Kieran does quick work in cleaning the injury and covering the affected area.

In no time at all, all visible wounds are bandaged and disinfected. The worst of your head wound had to be stitched up, but other than that, nothing seems to require immediate medical attention. There’s nothing left for you to do but to bear the aches that came along with the bruises – especially on your tender midriff – and to pop a tylenol for your throbbing headache.

You offer them a sincere, “Thanks. No, really.” before they leave you in Sylus’ room, after multiple reminders to “not sleep before the attending nurse arrives for the final diagnosis.” 

(You think they might have enjoyed playing caretaker a little too much.) 

With a lot more effort than you care to admit, you painstakingly remove your bloodstained clothes until you're down to your underwear, before draping yourself in a large, red, silk robe. A hot shower sounds heavenly to your sore muscles, but the soft mattress is calling to you more so you head straight to bed. 

With nothing else to occupy yourself with, you prop your head on a mountain of pillows – to keep yourself relatively upright – and let out a sigh. 

Tonight had been a shitshow. All you wanted was something to snack on while you binge through the last season of the show you were watching back at your apartment; you never thought a late-night run to the store just a few blocks away would result in… this. If not for Sylus’ intervention, you’re sure you'd be leaving with a lot more than a couple of scrapes. If not worse.

You're lost in your own thoughts when short, successive raps on the door catch your attention. It swings open before you have the chance to pipe out a, “come in!”

Speak of the devil.

Sylus enters the room, not a hair out of place. You notice that he’s changed into a casual, brown sweater and a pair of dark-washed jeans. His eyes meet yours, tightly-controlled expression relaxing as he crosses the room towards the side of your bed, wasting no time. 

“How are you feeling?”

“Still pretty sore, but Luke and Kieran already handled the worst of my injuries,” you answer, making a move to sit up. Sylus tuts disapprovingly, gentle as he puts a hand on your chest to prevent you from moving any further. He sits gingerly on the edge of the mattress, careful not to jostle you. Once fully settled, he let out a deep sigh.

“You had me worried for a moment there, kitten.” He admits, a slightly rough edge to his voice as emotion seeps into it. He regards you intently, like he’s trying to convince himself that you’re here, safe. 

Your hand reaches out towards his face. Without missing a beat, he leans in to nuzzle your palm, eyes closing shut. He reminds you of a big wolf, unbridled fire simmering beneath the surface, yet tame in the presence of his handler. 

“I’m fine now, thanks to you,” you assure him with a lopsided smile. “Give my thanks to Mephisto, as well. Tell him he gets a pass on the stalking this time.” 

Sylus opens his eyes, a hint of amusement and something else you can’t identify flickering through. “Oh, sweetie. You’ll be lucky if that bird gives you the privacy to bathe alone after tonight,” he jokes. 

He’s joking. Right?

You eye him for a moment before deciding to let it go. You're too tired to argue.

Instead, you cautiously ask a question you aren’t sure you even want the answer to. “What happened after we left?” 

Sylus expression doesn’t change except for the upward tick on the corner of his mouth; the same peculiar glint in his eyes coming across a little stronger. “They won’t be bothering you anymore. You don’t need to worry about anyone coming for you.”

“That’s not what I asked.” 

He hums. “Do you really want to know?”

You stare at him, and he stares back at you placidly. 

You purse your lips and look away. “Maybe not.” 

Sylus breathes out a laugh. He gently grasps your chin between his forefinger and thumb, guiding your head to meet his gaze once more. A softer look on his face, inching closer to yours.

Your heartbeat slightly picks up. In your vulnerable state, you feel a welling desire to bare your feelings to the man in front of you. You want to tell him how relieved you felt when you saw him in that cursed basement, how he was able to quell your fears with just his presence alone the moment he appeared in a familiar haze of black and red. Like your own, personal, vindictive guardian. 

Instead, you close the distance between the two of you, your lips meeting his. 

Sylus groans quietly, a hand cupping your face as he leans closer to deepen the kiss. Your eyes flutter shut, savoring the feeling of contentment from being this close to him. You feel, more than you see, how his taut body loses the remaining tension from the events that transpired just mere hours ago, how he finally relaxes as he loses himself in you.

Very carefully, he eases you further down, cradling your head with one hand until it rests on a pillow. His lips drift to the corner of your mouth, trailing soft kisses up to the apples of your cheeks, your forehead, then to your nose. 

He pulls back slightly, chuckling when you make a sound of discontent. When you open your eyes, you see him looking at you—half-lidded and tender. 

In a low voice, he instructs, “Rest. You need it.”

The feeling of exhaustion pulls you in, but before you surrender to it, you remind Sylus, “I’m not that fragile, you know. You don’t have to worry too much.” You poke his cheek and he catches the offending digit to bite it affectionately. “I’ll be up and running in no time.”

He doesn't speak for a minute, considering your words. His mouth sets into a thin line before letting out a sigh.

“And if you get hurt again? What then?" He whispers so quietly, seeming as if he's talking to himself.

"I'll get hurt again, that's for sure," You tell him, matter-of-factly. "But really, that’s just an occupational hazard. I’m sure you realize."

“Love — what a terrible, little thing,” he muses, half-forlornly, half in jest. "I’d rip this cold heart out and throw it in flames if I could.”

While speaking, his hand finds its way into the tangles of your hair, gently running his fingers through the strands in a lulling manner. His lips landing on the crown of your head softly. Reverently.

You hum sleepily.

“Of course you would, Sy.”

_____

“You’ll be glad to know that the artifact you had your eye on back at the auction will be arriving this Wednesday.” 

“Huh? But I thought it was already sold to someone else?”

Sylus shrugs. “I made a counteroffer.” 

“You didn’t have to. I told you it was fine.” 

“I know. But I also recall a certain someone telling me how much they wished they had placed a bid on it on our way back,” he pinches your cheek fondly. “Don’t worry about it, kitten. It’s yours.”

“Oh. Well– thank you,” you yawn in response, leaning your head to rest against his palm.

His thumb strokes your cheek. “Anything for you.”

[icharchivist]

Welp, time to put cat ears on Orologia

this will be my humble offering for this

orologinya.

[sylusxyou]

Anything For You | LaDS Sylus x Reader Fic

Summary: Sylus is known by most to be dangerous and threatening. You are the exception. When you call him in need, there is nothing that will keep him from coming to you. Even if he’s in the middle of teaching an ambitious group of criminals a lesson.

Pairing: Sylus x Reader (MC or non-MC, whatever floats your boat I think) 

Content: Lovesick Sylus, just plain sick reader, purely fluff

Word Count: 1.5k

Author’s Note: This is 100% inspired by THIS PIECE by @heartswithinreach. I read it and could not get it out of mind. Go like and reblog! Wrote this while I’ve been home sick from work. Still getting back into practice with writing. I kinda love the beginning of this but feel it falls apart a bit at the end. Regardless, I hope you enjoy!! Now back to writing the Sylus yachting fic…. 

When the sky was black with the cover of midnight, the N109 Zone came alive. It was a breeding ground for criminals and their unsavory dealings and any ordinary citizen would tell you to avoid entering it at all costs. Of course, there were one or two things about the N109 Zone that kept you crossing the line from regular civilization to lawless land again and again. 

The leader of Onychinus was almost more myth than real man. Somehow everywhere and nowhere all at once, nothing in the N109 Zone happened that Sylus wasn’t privy to. The most successful deviants in the N109 Zone were the ones that accepted their place below Sylus and dared not challenge him. It was inevitable though, that some would seek to rise above him. Greed was powerful and often stripped people of their senses. It wouldn’t take long for some to be consumed by it and forget the failure of those who tried before them. 

This evening Sylus found himself dealing with one such forgetful crime syndicate. These ambitious groups were little more than a nuisance to him. Most of the time he would avoid dealing with them directly. He trusted Luke and Kieran to do much of the dirty work and often these groups would take care of themselves, fighting each other to the point of no return. This group, however, had amassed too much wealth and too many followers. This one required Sylus’ personal touch. 

Intel indicated an ambush planned for an auction taking place on this night. Sylus had originally planned to send Luke and Kieran to buy out the inventory. It was meant to be a show of wealth more than anything but when he learned of the ambush it became a show of power. He couldn’t allow anyone to steal from him even what he intended to be his. 

That is how Sylus found himself on the roof of an auction house, lazily dodging bullets and fists as man after man desperately tried to land a blow on him. Perhaps one day the people he fought would present a challenge for him but today was not that day. At this point Sylus was simply delaying the inevitable, prolonging the fight to make coming out here worth his time. As he found himself particularly amused by one individual that continued to charge at him no matter how many times he was knocked to the ground, Sylus’ phone rang in his pocket. The ringtone was distinct and indicated the person calling was the one person Sylus would drop everything for: you. 

As Sylus sidestepped a punch he pulled his phone out of his pocket, “Kitten, this is a surprise. What’s got you calling me so late?” 

The men surrounding him paused a moment and glanced at each other. Their faces seemed to say, ’Kitten?’. Surely they heard him wrong. The softness in his voice was something none of them had heard before and directly contradicted the violent and corrupt man they knew him to be. 

On the other side of the phone you laid in your bed, head pounding and face burning up. After a long day at work you had come home and fallen asleep immediately. As soon as you woke up you knew sickness had overtaken you. You weren’t entirely surprised. This week had been particularly strenuous and each night was more sleepless than the last. Unfortunately, because the week had been so busy, you hadn’t had time to restock your refrigerator. Your stomach ached from hunger and it was too late to get a delivery driver to pick something up for you. It was an easy decision to make, calling Sylus, as he had been pressing you more and more to rely on him. It didn’t come naturally to you but you knew how you felt when he relied on you. Certainly you could allow him that same warm feeling by expressing that you needed him every now and then. 

You heard distant grunting through the speaker on your phone, “Sylus, what was that? Is everything okay?” 

Your voice came out weaker than intended and Sylus noticed immediately, “I’m fine, but forget about me. What’s wrong? You don’t sound very good, sweetie.” Suddenly any entertainment he was getting from humoring the ambitious criminals surrounding him ran dry. You were the only thing on his mind. His evol stretched out to wrap around each individual on the roof, holding them all in place. Despite their struggling, none could break free. 

“Are you sick?” 

A short cough escaped your lips, “It would seem so. I didn’t have time to get groceries this week and I fell asleep before I could order dinner tonight. I was calling to see if you could get me some soup but if you’re in the middle of something don’t worry about it.” 

Sylus couldn’t help but chuckle at your attempt to ask for help. Even when you were sick and hungry you didn’t want to be a bother. “Kitten,” he moved towards one of the men trapped in his evol, “there’s nothing I could be doing that’s more important than taking care of you.” The men exchanged looks of disbelief around Sylus once again. What woman would be demented enough to put their care in this monster’s hands? 

What they didn’t know is that your heart squeezed at his words. To them he was a monster but to you he was a dark angel. His hands were certainly dirty but he was mostly misunderstood. You saw a side of him unknown to others. It was a side that was gentle and adoring, a side that you treasured above all else. Though you felt bad asking him to drop what he was doing to come to you, you knew Sylus wouldn’t have offered if he didn’t really mean it. This was a chance to let yourself be loved, something you didn’t do too often. 

“Okay,” you squeezed your eyes shut, attempting to push out the unnecessary guilt you felt for being a burden, “if you mean that, I could really use some soup. Maybe a hug too.” 

Sylus grinned, another move that unnerved the men waiting for him to decide their fates. It wasn’t the grin of a villain reveling in the fear on his prey’s faces. It was a soft grin that made him seem in love. Onichynus’ legendary leader was known to be many things but in love was not one of them. 

“I think I can get you both of those things. You must be feeling really ill if you’re asking me for help and affection.” 

This made you blush, “Well, I’m trying to rely on you more. You know, like you asked me to?” 

“That’s good, kitten. It makes me feel good when you lean on me.” Sylus’ focus shifted on the man in front of him, his expression going from soft and loving to intense and determined, “I just need to wrap up what I’m in the middle of and I’ll come to you. It shouldn’t take me too long so try not to fall back asleep before I get there, okay?” 

“Okay, and thank you, Sylus.” 

“Anything for you, sweetheart.” 

With that Sylus ended the call and placed his phone back in his pocket. In front of him the man choked out a laugh, his throat constricted by the tendrils of Sylus’ evol. Sylus raised an eyebrow, “And what could you possibly be laughing at in your position?” 

Despite his fear the man managed to form a reply, “I just can’t believe the fearsome leader of Onychinus is the type of man who would be at the beck and call of some bitch.” Around him the other men groaned, aware that he could not have chosen a worse string of words than that. 

“I’m not surprised,” Sylus’ evol pulled tighter around the man, slowly closing his airway, “that a rat such as yourself would find it emasculating to take care of a woman.” Now his evol pulled every man in its grasp towards him, “One minute of her company is worth more than all of your lives combined. Luckily for any woman unfortunate enough to encounter you, I’m planning on eradicating you from the living world. Any last words?” 

Simultaneously the men began shouting pleas for their lives, apologizing for their botched ambush attempt and their colleague’s ignorant words. Sylus pinched the bridge of his nose, clearly annoyed by the noise, “How pathetic and uninspired.” He turned and began to walk away from the men towards the edge of the roof, “Thank you for the temporary distraction. I’m off to much better company.” With that his evol burst with power, destroying the men in its grasp. It only took a moment for Sylus to return to his home, his encounter with the sorry excuses for criminals already forgotten. The only thing on his mind now was what soup would make you feel better and how he couldn’t wait to hold you in his arms.

[buckyalpine]

Chicken nuggies.

Crack thought with all the fluff. ALL the fluff. Maybe a tiny dash of angst at the start but it's to set the plot.

Everything that could have possibly gone wrong went sideways as soon as the mission started. The team was ambushed. Bucky was separated from everyone else. His trigger words blared through the speakers and there was nothing anyone could do to stop the soldier from awakening.

Worst of all, you were badly injured. Steve groaned in pain, struggling to pull himself up when he saw the solider lock his eyes on your limp form, taking long strides towards you with purpose.

That wasn't good.

"Tony-I-I need back up, y/n is-what the hell"

Steve blinked watching his friend pick you up with the utmost care, holding you securely in his arms. A hydra agent attempted to order him, only to be silenced with a knife thrown to the throat. The soldier made his way towards the exit with you along with a limping Steve trailing behind him.

"Buck-

"Быстрее" [move] he ordered, carrying you close to his chest and sitting in his designated on the spot on the jet. He didn't say a word as the others filed in, growling when Tony didn't start the engine up fast enough. No one dared look in your direction, not wanting to make the wrong move and happy that Bucky had busied himself with looking over your injuries, mumbling in Russian while letting his hand brush over your cheek.

As soon as the jet touched the ground, he was on his feet and carrying you over to the medbay, refusing to set you down until he saw a doctor ready to help. While it wasn't exactly protocol to have him in the operating room while the doctors worked, no one was interested in arguing back with him when he placed himself in a corner, watching intently. His blue eyes which were normally filled with warmth and softness were now stone cold, eyeing every single movement of what was being done to you, his gaze relaxing when the surgeon gave him a shaky thumbs up.

He sat by your side the entire time, gear still strapped to his body, watching the steady beep of your heart monitor while you slept, the rest of the team quietly waiting outside. Sam peered in, quickly retreating back when Bucky glowered at him, getting up and closing the door so you could rest. He and Steve continued to peep through the little glass window, immediately ducking when they could feel steel blue eyes watching him.

"Do we try and help or-

"I don't want to die yet, also based on what I'm seeing, y/n in the safest place she could be"

You sighed happily as you blinked awake, feeling hazy as if you were floating upon the softest of clouds. The room was bright and clean, you could have been in heaven for all you knew.

Or you were just high as a kite from all the pain killers.

Then you saw him beside you.

Such a gorgeous man.

Handsome.

One who gave you butterflies with shy smiles.

"Soldat" You giggled, reaching over to stroke his scruffy cheek, brushing your thumb over the scowl on his lips, "Hi" You admired his sharp jaw, idly tracing over his features while his mouth twitched into something of a smile, all his muscles finally relaxing seeing you awake.

You yawned, stretching yourself out like a kitten out before rolling over with a flop to face the very pretty man who was sitting at your bedside. Your admiration was cut short with the rumble of your tummy.

There was only one thing you wanted now.

"Soldat, I want chicken nuggies" You demanded, the growl of your stomach solidifying your request. He simply nodded, getting up and out of his seat, making his way over to the one place he knew you'd want your "nuggies" from.

"H-how may I h-help you" The Mc Donald's cashier stared at the numerous guns and knifes strapped to the infamous soldier, his metal arm pointing to a kids meal combo that came with a 6 piece nugget.

A little red box was placed in front of him at lightening speed but that wasn't good enough. He peered into the bag, frowning when he saw a toy that you already had. He grabbed it and placed it back onto the counter, staring at the trembling employee while they rummaged to find a new one, grabbing fistfuls and stuffing into the bag instead. The soldier nodded when he was given one you didn't have before, making his way back to ensure you were fed.

It didn't take long for the news outlets to catch on that the Winter Soldier was out buying Happy Meals.

*Tony's suit, Thors hammer, Steve's now broken shield and some gentle deprogramming later*

"Still want more nuggies" You murmured against Bucky's chest, still a little hazy while he chuckled, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.

"I'll always get you chicken nuggies, doll"

[sharieb]

Ambushed by Love

Pairing: LADs x Non-Mc! reader

Genre: Fluff

Setup: How would the LADs boys react to non-MC just randomly assaulting them with kisses and words of love, and affirmations, only for her to then walk away as if what she did never happened

He’s at his personal workbench in the corner of the living room, building a scale model of a vintage aircraft, sleeves rolled up, tweezers in one hand and a delicate piece of landing gear in the other. His uniform jacket is folded neatly on the back of a nearby chair, and a half-drunk cup of coffee sits forgotten by the glue.

You sneak up behind him, drape your arms around his shoulders, and start peppering kisses on his cheek, jaw and neck.

“I love you so much. You’re so capable. So strong. So handsome. You’re doing amazing. I’m proud of you, always.”

He freezes mid-step, model forgotten in his hand. His eyes widen like he just got hit by a solar flare.

“Wait-what just-...What are you doing?” he murmurs, ears turning bright pink.

You kiss his cheek, give him a squeeze, and saunter off like nothing happened, as though you didn’t just short-circuit a legit Fleet Colonel.

The soft click of your footsteps feels louder than any siren.

Behind you, you can hear him call out to you:

“You… you can’t just do that!”

His ears are red, and the glue bottle, forgotten on the desk.

Did that actually happen?

He just ended up… staring at your retreating form, stunned.

He stands, hesitates, then calls after you.

“Seriously, come back here. I-uh-I wasn’t ready. You can’t just leave me like that.”

Later, when he returns to his model, he finds his hands shaking just slightly, and a tiny smile tugging at his lips.

Ten seconds later, he’s following you out of the room, heart pounding, trying to regain composure but failing miserably.

“Do it again. I wasn’t ready,” he mutters, clearly hoping you will.

He’s in his home office, a dim reading lamp casting gold light across polished wood and a spread of open files. His sleeves are rolled up, tie loosened, as he reviews a last-minute medical report on his tablet. Data charts flicker across the screen beside handwritten notes on patient vitals.

You creep in quietly, not to disturb him until you are behind his seat. 

“Zayne. Zaaayniiiee. 

You place your hands gently on his shoulder and massage them a little before you gently cup his cheeks from behind and tilting his head back just enough to begin kissing his face.

“Look at you being the most brilliant man I know,” you whisper, lingering for a moment.

“Your mind truly amazes me every day, my love.”

He stiffens like he just walked into a blizzard, his fingers pausing mid-scroll. The tablet lowers slightly as his brain tries to recalibrate, blinking up at you in pure disbelief.

Slowly, he turns to look at you, his stunned expression flickering with something warm and breathless, as if those few words just tipped his entire emotional equilibrium.

“W-What—wait, what are you—” He sputters.

You just smile and boop his nose.

“Just admiring my favourite snow angel. Okay, bye!”

And just like that, you give him a gentle kiss and stroll off as if nothing happened, your soft footsteps fading down the hall.

He’s left blinking, flushed, staring at the empty space you occupied, tablet now forgotten on the desk.

“...Was that real? That was… unexpected,” he mumbles to himself.

Cue him re-reading the same ECG report three times, then accidentally typing half a sentence into the wrong file.

Later, he’s standing near the doorway you exited through, hand lightly resting on the frame. He doesn’t say anything, just quietly waits.

But yet, there’s a tiny smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

And when you walk by again, his voice is soft:

“You’re dangerous, you know that?”

He’s lounging on the couch, boots kicked off, flipping through reports while music hums in the background. A low jazz melody crackles from the vinyl record player.

You drop into his lap like the little gremlin you are, plant a kiss right between his brows, and then start pressing kisses all over his face, then whisper:

“You’re the hottest man in five sectors. You make danger look so good. I’d fight someone just for looking at you too long.”

He blinks. Once. Twice. His hands hover mid-air where the book used to be.

“...What the hell was that, sweetie?” he murmurs, voice low and smug, but his ears are burning.

“Nothing really. Just getting high off you.”

You replied with a shrug and kissed his cheek sweetly one more time, before you got off his lap and strutted off with a little sway in your hips.

“You better come back and finish what you started, dove.”

He watches you just blow a kiss in his direction before you go, his lips twitching, then huffs a laugh.

“What the hell am I going to do with her?” he mutters - but his grin’s unstoppable.

Moments later, he retrieves his book to continue his reading, but just stares at the page, rereading the same line over and over with a smirk and zero focus.

But there’s a softness in the way he smiles after you, as if he’s already planning exactly how to return the favour. He swears under his breath.

He finally gives up, tosses the book aside again, and mutters to himself,

“She wants danger? I’ll give her danger. Just wait.”

“What is she doing to me?”

Rafayel was deep in his painting mode - shirt loose, sleeves rolled, smears of colour on his fingers and cheeks.

He’s at his easel, brush in hand, tongue poking from the corner of his mouth in concentration, with a canvas full of colour before him.

You waltz in, and without any warning, wrap your arms around him from behind, kiss his shoulder and whisper,

“You’re my favourite masterpiece, absolutely divine. A literal art god. Your brushstrokes are hypnotic. Your back muscles? Museum-worthy.”

He gasps dramatically, nearly flinging the brush.

“You-! I-! My heart isn’t ready for this kind of ambush, Mon ange-! You’re trying to kill me, aren’t you?”

"Maybe a little,”

You giggle, placing a couple more kisses on his cheek and behind his ear.

“Love you. ‘Kay, bye!”

You twirl away like a dancer leaving the stage, and vanish in a whirl of giggles and paint scent.

“Did... did I hallucinate that?”

He turns in a slow circle, looking around like he’s in a fever dream.

He ended up dramatically flopping onto the nearby couch, fanning himself with a palette.

“How dare you steal my breath and then leave me to suffer?!”

Then: “I need to paint her. Immediately.”

By nightfall, he’s created three wildly romantic sketches of you, labelled in the corner:

“Attack No. 1, 2, and 3.”

The next time you walk past his workspace, he calls out sweetly,

“You’ve got five seconds to kiss me again or I’ll have to chase you with a paintbrush.”

His cheeks are dusted pink, and the lines of your silhouette are already spreading across a fourth fresh canvas.

He’s curled up in a hoodie on the couch, having just woken up from one of his usual naps, the faint imprint of the cushion on his cheek and sleep still clinging to his lashes. Soft music hums in the background.

You waltz in and spot the cute sight of your boyfriend’s sleepy face. You made your way over to where he was, and lean down beside him, gently brushing his hair back, and start gently kissing his temple, jaw, and neck.

“You’re Stardust in human form. My favourite sky. You light up everything, you know that?” you whisper.

“I’d actually let you name a black hole after me.”

His eyes flutter open the rest of the way, dazed and still a bit dreamy from sleep.

“Mm… what?” he breathes, blinking up at you like you’re part of the dream.

“...Did you just say I can name a black hole after you?”

“Yup. You’re that important.”

You give him one more gentle pat on his head and stroll away like it’s nothing at all.

He stares after you, lips parting slowly as his hand rises instinctively to touch where you kissed him.

The sleepiness is completely forgotten. He’s still curled into the blanket, hands clutching it like it might anchor him to reality.

“You’re more dangerous than gravity,” he murmurs to the ceiling, grin sleepily and full of wonder.

Translation: He did it. He really named one after you.

Later that night, you get a quiet ping from your holocomm.

A file titled: [Unnamed celestial object > designation: YOUR NAME]

[asiatic-apple]

If requests are open, maybe some fluff with a fem reader with caleb please? go any way you please, and ty

Thanks for the req, nonnie! I was so excited to make my own choice for this one. Prompt #17 reminded me of when he notices a small cut on MC’s hand by stalking her Moment posts lolll—so I wanted to write something comical in the same vein. Hope you enjoy!

Last chance to send a request!

Playing doctor

Caleb x female reader

Prompt: carefully bandaging the other’s wounds, even if it’s just a tiny cut

Content: a little bit suggestive…especially at the end, caleb is such a mother hen, possessive!caleb

You’re sitting cross-legged on the living room floor, your back against the couch, surrounded by the chaos of tiny plastic parts and instruction booklets. Caleb’s plane model kit has taken over the entire area in front of the coffee table.

The glossy box it came in promised “historically accurate parts and museum-quality realism.” What it didn’t mention was that building it would feel like doing surgery with tweezers and a prayer.

While you carefully sort dozens—or maybe hundreds—of parts into organized piles, Caleb lounges beside you on the carpet, elbows propped on the table.

Excitement radiates off him like heat. He’s been infodumping about fighter jets for the past thirty minutes straight. And honestly, you’re enjoying it. His voice pitches higher when he’s animated, and his hand gestures get wilder the longer he explains the mechanics of wing flaps and thrust ratios.

He’s so adorable that your teeth ache. Something else, much lower in your body, aches too. But you try to ignore it for now. You’re barely looking down at the pieces in your hands anymore, too enamored by how passionate he is.

“And the thing about the intake valves,” Caleb says, flipping the instruction manual around to point out a diagram like it’s a national treasure, “is that most people don’t realize the way they rerouted airflow in this design actually boosted acceleration by–”

He gasps, loud and sharp, his face stricken in horror.

You glance down at the model parts in your hands, panic spiking. Surely you didn’t break something. There was no snapping sound, no loose plastic. Everything looks intact.

“What? What did I do?” you ask quickly, heart in your throat.

His large hands gently engulf yours, forcing you to drop the parts onto the floor as he peers down at your fingers with the intensity of a man defusing a bomb.

“Pip-squeak,” he scolds softly, brows drawn. “I told you to be careful.”

“Huh? I was being careful. I didn’t break–"

“The wingtips are sharp.” His voice is low and reminiscent of when he’s reprimanding his subordinates at the Fleet. “Didn’t I tell you that?”

You frown, examining your hand. There’s no blood. No scratch. Nothing.

But then he presses lightly on the pad of your pointer finger, and a faint sting blooms. One single drop of blood beads up at the tip like it had to fight hard to exist. You’re not even sure how he noticed something so miniscule before you registered the cut.

Caleb inhales like you’ve been shot.

You scoff. “You’re kidding, right?”

He is not.

Before you can protest, he drags you down the hall, mumbling about risk of infection and tissue trauma like you’ve barely survived a Wanderer ambush.

You don’t resist him tugging you toward the bathroom. Not because you agree with him, but because you’ve learned there’s no reasoning with him when you’re hurt. Even slightly hurt.

But growing up with him made you stubborn. And you like to push his buttons.

“Caleb,” you whine dramatically, “it’s literally a paper cut. I’ll be fine.”

“Nope,” he replies, popping the ‘p’ in that insufferably cute way of his. “It’s plastic. Which makes it worse than a paper cut.”

You snort as he pulls out the first-aid kit from the medicine cabinet like a man preparing for battlefield surgery. With the help of his Evol, you’re deposited on top of the bathroom counter while he digs through antiseptics and gauze with military precision.

“Uh huh, and is that your professional diagnosis?” you tease.

“It is,” he counters, holding up the antiseptic like it’s holy water. “You’re bleeding. And I’m not risking it getting infected. Not on my watch.”

You bite your tongue instead of pointing out how annoying or stifling his overprotectiveness can be sometimes. Mirth flickers in your eyes while you watch him gently dab a cotton round with antiseptic before hovering it over your finger.

“Sorry, pips. This might sting.”

You grin and hiss dramatically as soon as it touches your skin. “Oh god…the pain!”

He hums sympathetically, his lips twitching with a smile. “Shh, I know. It’s okay. Doctor Caleb’s here.”

He is such an ass sometimes. But you snicker anyway. “You know you’re insane, right?” you mutter, sticking your tongue out at the overbearing doctor.

He wraps your finger with one of the ridiculous smiley-face band-aids he likes to keep around for “emergencies.”

“Yeah. Insanely in love with you,” he retorts, kissing your bandaged finger with a proud little grin.

God, he’s insufferable. And you stupidly love him anyway.

You jump down from the counter and let him take your good hand before leading him back toward the living room.

“Come on, Doctor Caleb,” you deadpan. “Your patient still has a jet to build with you.”

“As long as you promise to let me handle the sharp parts,” he mutters, shooting the scattered pieces a distrustful look when you enter the living room again.

“No promises.”

He sighs heavily. “Then I’m saving the kit for later and wrapping both your hands in gauze.”

To prove his point, he grips both your wrists, locking them against his chest while you laugh and try to escape. He tugs you closer, the look in his eyes becoming a bit darker once you’re close enough for his lips to brush your temple.

“You should listen to your doctor.” His voice is lower, a delicious-sounding threat edged in his words. “I’m the only one who knows what he’s talkin’ about,” he murmurs.

You blink up at him, confused for half a second—until you remember Zayne. The actual licensed doctor who’s patched you up on more than one occasion. Who Caleb wishes you didn’t have to see anymore.

You smirk, deciding to play along. “But Doctor Caleb forgot something important,” you whisper, running your bandaged finger down his chest. “You didn’t prescribe any medicine for the pain.”

His brows arch, curiosity and heat mixing in his gaze.

You lean in just a little closer, your voice dropping to a teasing purr. “And I was such a good little trooper, helping you with your model kit all afternoon. Don’t you think I deserve a reward?”

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dividers by @/sister-lucifer

[harunayuuka2060]

*The field trip is coming to an end, and everyone has been asked to pack up their things to be ready when it's time to leave.*

Idia: Ah... finally. I can return to the comfort of my room.

MC: Why, Idia? Didn't you have a good time here?

Idia: Huh, no, obviously not. I wanted to ditch the whole trip, but Ortho kept dragging me back.

MC: *chuckles*

MC: I'd say you couldn’t bear to make Ortho sad, being the caring older brother you are.

Idia: ...

Idia: Speaking of Ortho, what’s keeping him so long?

MC: Ah, now that you mention it, he should’ve been here by now.

Idia and MC: ...

MC: I'll go check on how he's doing.

Idia: K.

MC: *walks away*

Idia: ...

Malleus: Shroud, where is my child? It's already time to leave.

Idia: *looks like he's panicking* Th-They're gone... Even Ortho... I couldn't find them...

Malleus: ...

Malleus: *heads off to search for his child*

Idia: *still tries to contact Ortho but with no avail*

Idia: No, please... Tell me this is just a prank...

MC: *hiding from the arcane hunters, holding Ortho safely in their arms*

Arcane Hunter A: Damn that fae! They're good at hiding!

Arcane Hunter B: Don’t worry! They won’t get far from here!

Arcane Hunter A: Haha, yes! With a robot in their arms, there's no way they could escape!

MC: ...

MC: I should warn the others, but moving recklessly might give away our hiding spot. And with Ortho unconscious... what should I do—

MC: *remembers the necklace given by Maleficia*

MC: !!!

Riddle: We can't just abandon them!

Ruggie: Yeah! We can fight!

Professor Crewel: Silence!

Riddle and Ruggie: ...

Professor Crewel: MC managed to inform us through the Queen of Briar Valley. They're facing arcane hunters who can neutralize magic. If we were at an advantage, don’t you think MC would fight them on their own?

Professor Trein: We don't know how many there are or why they're here. We can't take the risk of an ambush that could put the students' lives in danger.

Leona: What about the lizard? He already went ahead to rescue his child.

Professor Crewel: What—

Leona: All Diasomnia students to be exact.

Professor Crewel and Professor Trein: ...

Professor Trein: Oh this is not going to end well...

Sebek: Let’s hurry! They can’t be far away!

Diasomnia students: Yes!

Silver: *receives news from the birds in the area*

Silver: Sebek! Enemies are ahead!

Sebek: Everyone! Ready your weapons—

Lilia: Stop!

Sebek: L-Lilia-sama!

Lilia: MC wants us to retreat.

Malleus: Yes. It's dangerous.

Silver: M-Malleus!

Malleus: We can't risk everyone's safety.

Sebek: B-But Waka-sama!

Malleus: Retreat.

Silver, Sebek, and the rest of Diasomnia students: ...

Arcane hunter A: See? Surrendering was the easy choice.

MC: Now that we're your hostages, may I ask who your real target is?

Arcane hunter B: Heh, do you think we'll answer that?

MC: Why not? I could be a valuable source of information.

Arcane hunter A: Only a fool would believe that!

Arcane hunter B: And if you insist, we'll leave that robot behind!

MC: I apologize for asking.

Arcane hunters: Hmph!

MC: ...

Ortho: MC—

MC: Shh.

Ortho: ...

MC: *smiles* We'll be fine.

Ortho: ...

Ortho: *nods slightly*

[peanutpinet]

Hello again,

I have come up with another idea. Can we do a Sylus x reader where the reader gets injured protecting him when a meeting in his office goes wrong. And like she gets shot. She lives, but could we see how sylus would react and what he would do to the ppl in the meeting👀

Thanks

Pain - Sylus x MC Reader

Another request: I have come up with another idea. Can we do a Sylus x reader where the reader gets injured protecting him when a meeting in his office goes wrong. And like she gets shot. She lives, but could we see how sylus would react and what he would do to the ppl in the meeting👀

A/N: Hi so um it's been 2 months since I last posted. Apologies for that but life has been a bit much and since I didn't get Sylus' birthday card, I was a bit sad and didn't feel like writing but I've been trying.

Also, I had another request to have MC gets ambushed in their home and Sylus comes to rescue her so I thought that I’d combine these two requests together. Apologies but this might be a short one :')

I hope that everyone has been well and hopefully you enjoy reading this fic <3

Warnings: ambushed, injured reader (aka you), a little angsty (well sad), Sylus loving you because you're the only person he cares about (also the twins and mephie).

Dislcaimer: This work is completely fiction. I do not own the images nor the characters or you (the MC). All images were taken from Pinterest.

It all happened too quick. One minute you were just sitting around, waiting for Sylus to be done with his meeting and the next thing you knew, the lights were off, there was gun fire all around, and smoke was covering the penthouse.

Had you not been a hunter, you would’ve panicked in an instant which would cause you to cough your lungs out. You quickly covered your nose and mouth, preparing your gun that you always bring around ever since you were a hunter and calmed yourself for what’s to come.

You were skilled, yes, but even you had your limits. It was just too much. Adding an explosion of some kind of gas that not only limited your eyesight but also your breathing. But you couldn’t give up now, you had to keep going. Just long enough until you find Sylus or the twins.

You tried your best to get around his penthouse and find him, but you were ambushed, the assailant nearly taking you down, had your instincts not kicked in quicker. You heard them talk, along the lines of “We need her alive. She’s the only thing that could tame that monster.”

“No” you thought to yourself. Getting hurt was one thing, but being used to hurt Sylus, you won’t allow it. Luckily enough, you managed to break free from the assailant and fought back. In the middle of the fight, you were not only outnumbered but also taken by surprise.

Mid-fight, several gunshots were fired, but ultimately, the fight broke off as the entire scene was covered in black and red mist that swirled around the assailant’s body, wrapping around them like a snake as they were being lifted.

On the contrary, your body, knowing who had arrived, felt that it didn’t need to keep up with everything and slowly, your body was shutting down to rest after holding up for so long. While you could hear the assailants being muffled as the black and red swirls tighten their grip on them, the swirls instead held your body with tenderness that followed with a warm arm that replaced the swirls.

“Sweetie…” you didn’t need to open your eyes fully to know who it was that held you. The man who was feared by many, the man who people saw only do destruction, held you as if you were the most priceless thing in this world. The one thing, person, that he would fear for.

“I apologise for not acting sooner from the moment I sensed these vermin lurking around. I’ll make it up to you, I swear it” Sylus softly talks with you in contrast as his power was still holding the assailants like a piece of meat and threw them on the ground while he ordered Luke and Kieran to handle them for the time being.

“Deal with them but keep them hanging on a thread” Sylus stated and both Luke and Kieran went on to handle the assailants while Sylus took you to one of his many other manors.

Sylus tend to your injuries with the utmost gentle touch, worried that any slight pressure might hurt you further. Once he had handled your injuries, Sylus took his time to wipe your face, arms, and legs with a clean, warm cloth, making sure he cleaned you up from any blood or dirt.

“Sylus…” you croaked out

“Don’t talk, sweetie. Just rest” Sylus replied softly, continuing to tend to your weak form

“Don’t blame yourself. Couldn’t have known…” you trailed off, but Sylus shook his head. “Even if it was an ambush, I should’ve known. Should’ve been faster. Should’ve abandoned that stupid meeting the second you entered our home. No one should have even breathed the same air as you in our home, our sanctuary. This will be the last time, sweetie. I promise you. No one will ever come close to where we lay our head to rest anymore”

“Sy…stay” you mumbled as Sylus ever so gently tightened his hold on your hand. “Always, sweetie”

It was only when you were fast asleep did Sylus quietly slipped out into the night and arrived at a pleasant scene that he was pleased to see. The assailants who ambushed you in his home were hanging for their dear lives. Their bodies and faces were barely recognisable after what Luke and Kieran had done, but they were still alive nonetheless.

With what little voice they had left, the assailants tried to reason with Sylus that they were just doing their job but Sylus didn’t care. They had dared to enter his home, which was yours, the home that he built and ensured would be safe for you. For both of you where only the twins and Mephisto were allowed in. The home that was made to be a sanctuary, a place of warmth and welcoming, a place where you could be vulnerable and seek him.

Sylus wouldn’t allow this to pass. He would ensure that not only would the assailants’ employers know not to cross him, but he would make it known to everyone in the N109 zone that if any of them dared to so much as tracked you, entered his home, or even bumped into you, he wouldn’t hesitate to eliminate them and make them feel pain for he would not even touch you without your permission.

Sylus took his coat off and rolled his sleeves up, his evol enveloping his fists as he came face to face with the assailants. “It’s too late for apologies now. I may be considered a villain, but I’m not heartless” Sylus’ aether core glowed in his eyes, making the assailants cower in fear. “You’re going to help me send a message. If any of you so much as dares to look at her way ever again. I’ll make sure you get the first-class seat to feel what true pain and agony feel like”

By the early morning, just a few hours before dawn strikes, Sylus gently slips back in where he had left you. Seeing you asleep peacefully and unharm was all he could ask for every time you visit him. Sylus had showered and changed before coming back to you because even if he couldn’t leave his position in the N109 zone, he would always make sure that he didn’t bring any of that when he was with you.

Slowly, Sylus got under the covers and gently pulled you closer to him. Your body, instinctively knowing that it was him, relaxed further into the bed; your head slowly lay on his chest right under his chin as both of you lay together in each other’s warmth in the early morning.

A/N: thank you again for reading and to the one that requested, thank you for requesting and for being patient :') hope you all have a great day and manifesting everyone gets the LI they want for the upcoming 4.0 update xoxo peanutpinet

[h4venpha]

nah bcs. sylus myth when mc tries to ambush him in abyssal mark. he says “if you still have tricks, nows the time to use them, mortal.” as in.. another attempt at attacking him.

and instead when mc softens and runs her hand up his chest talking about “i was just bored and wanted to play around..” sylus SMIRKS. HE SMIRKSSSSS.

hes caught off guard obviously, the way his eyes dart down to see her fingers on his chest, before he looks back at mc with a raised eyebrow like “seriously?” while chuckling. he even has his hand wrapped around her wrist, guiding it further up.

LIKE CMON UGH HE WAS SOOO INTO IT AND WILLING TO FEED INTO THAT TENSIONNNN

[crescencestudio]

♥️ Honey Trap: Burned Release ♥️

A short night with your hitman ex-boyfriend after he gets injured while protecting you.

It's been two weeks after reuniting with your annoying ex-boyfriend Zachariah Crowley.

Two weeks of you working on trusting him again.

Two weeks of fleeting touches and unspoken words fuelled by memories of the past and a love that is still there.

But that fragile tranquility is shattered when Zachariah is left injured and bleeding after an ambush and It's up to you to get you both to safety.

Between stitching his wounds, all too familiar banter, and whispered confessions...

Will Zachariah finally tell you the truth about his betrayal?

WE ARE SO BACK!!!!

From the team that brought you Honey Trap, our short little game now has a short little sequel ❤️‍🔥

I helped out for the character art on this, and for those of you into the hitman/assassin genre and pathetic men, HAVE WE GOT SOMETHING FOR YOU!!!

Features

3000 words (Approx 20-30 mins playtime)

One partially voiced, cocky hitman ex-boyfriend who might not be your ex for much longer

Gender-neutral MC who is STILL tired of Zach's shit

One exhausted informant who is also TIRED of Zach's shit

Timed choices