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zara-renata · 7 days ago

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Creature Feature with Sylus Qin | ao3 | lads fic masterlist

Summary: You and Sylus dress up for a Halloween gala. This is a short little Sylus series interlude, occurring after these idiots finally get together. Can be read as a standalone.

Notes: Sylus x gn reader, Sylus x mc, second person POV Established relationship This story contains: fluff, banter, two utterly infatuated fools, mentions of alcohol use, smooches

You stand in front of Sylus’s ornately framed, three-paneled mirror in his disgustingly large dressing room, turning your body this way, and then that way, admiring the silver and gold sheen of the full set of plate armor you’re wearing from every angle.

The whole thing fits you perfectly, from the greaves covering your feet with their wicked points, perfect for kicking an enemy while they’re down, to the strangely sexy cuisses encasing your strong thighs, up to the cuirass, the breastplate shining brightly under Sylus’s tasteful spotlights. The pauldrons soaring from your shoulders are huge, imposing, probably designed more for intimidation than for use, but you feel like a badass as you flex your arms. The whole suit is made from what seems to be super lightweight plates, but underneath is a form fitting, incredibly soft leather bodysuit. It fits you like a glove—like the gloves currently on your hands, underneath elaborate gauntlets with built-in brass knuckles. They don’t look brass, but you can imagine punching the living daylights out of someone with these bad boys, even so.

At the edge of each piece of armor, where one plate ends and is layered over another, the silver bleeds into gold. Intricate, savagely flowing designs are engraved into the silver from your greaves to the bevor protecting your neck, and each gleams as if carved and then filled with liquid gold. The engraving of an anatomically correct diagram of a heart, gripped by the uncanny hand of some humanoid monster with sharp claws instead of nails, shines like the sun over your own heart. You stare at the design for a while, in awe of the delicate yet vicious design of the hand, the details of the heart’s chambers, its arteries, its meat gripped by the sharp, sharp claws.

You shake yourself out of your trance and gently touch the hilt of your greatsword. The plate armor is not real; it can’t be, with how light it is. You suspect carbon fiber, or some other strong yet lightweight material that mimics the shine and strength of real metal plate, but without the weight. But this sword… it’s real. Forged from carbon steel, sharp enough to slice paper. The hilt is intricate, encrusted with rubies but not in such a way as to affect the comfort of the grip. You could kill a very large wanderer with this as your weapon, if you could lodge it at the base of its skull or through its heart. You heft the sword with both hands, swinging it through the air experimentally. It feels fucking good .

You hear Sylus’s voice drifting from outside the dressing room.

“Are you ready, darling? May I finally gaze upon your wondrous, surprising form, oh conquering knight of my heart?”

You scowl. Sylus had balked at your insistence that the two of you put on your Halloween costumes in separate rooms, so that you could surprise each other. Well, so that you could surprise Sylus at least a little bit, since he had picked both his and your costume out, while you had no idea what either looked like before he presented you with the elaborate black box, as large as a coffin, tied with a red ribbon and giant bow. The two of you had agreed to go as a dragon-slaying knight and the dragon-to-be-slayed, but you had expected to go to one of those temporary pop-up Halloween stores to get your costume before Sylus surprised you with the coffin containing this exquisite work of art. He has been making petulant, snarky comments ever since you pushed him out of the dressing room and slammed the door.

“It’s not like I am going to actually be surprised, beloved. I did design the thing, after all,” he grumbled. “I’d much rather watch you put it on.”

“Think of it as a test of patience. You like challenges, right?” You twirled your finger, as if to say turn around and go on, now, shoo.

He frowned. “It’s not fun if it means you’re far away.”

“I’m literally right in the next room,” you laughed. “Now, out!” You planted your shoulder against his back and pushed as he planted his feet and leaned back against you with equal force, refusing to budge.

The tendrils of his evol drifted from your ankles, slithering up your legs, winding around your waist—up, up, up, until they brushed against your lips in an insubstantial, shiver-inducing kiss.

“Using your evol to distract me is not going to work,” you gritted out, blowing a raspberry at the tendrils. They dissipated where your breath blew through them, but reformed almost instantly. You decided to switch tactics.

“If you concede, and allow me to put on the costume by myself, I’ll let you take it off me after we get tonight over with,” you offered as you step aside so quickly that Sylus, who was leaning so much of his weight on you that your sudden move sent him stumbling backward with a huff before catching himself gracefully—a falling cat spinning in mid-air to land on its feet. He immediately tucked one thumb into his trouser pocket, the picture of studied casualness after almost falling on his big, fat, sexy ass.

“Fine. But only if I decide which parts I get to take off… while you keep the rest on for me, until I’m satisfied,” he counter-offered, the tip of his tongue sweeping out to lick his lower lip as his eyes raked you from your toes to your eyes.

Eyes which you rolled at him. “Yes, if you’re a good boy for me right now, and get the fuck out so I can pretend that you’re stunned to see me in the whole getup.”

“I can’t believe I let you kiss me with that mouth,” he laughed softly. “Deal, but you won’t have to pretend.” He then disappeared in a whoosh of air, ink and scarlet tendrils, and a puff of feathers. You ran to the dressing room door and slammed it shut before he could change his mind.

And now here you are, dressed as a knight in shining armor. You feel like a real knight, capable of slaying the largest of predators, impervious to fire and claws. You bare your teeth in the mirror and then grin in satisfaction. This costume is so cool that it almost makes up for the fact that you have to wear it to a Halloween masquerade gala hosted by one of Sylus’s business rivals, where Sylus hopes to conduct some shady deal that you asked he not discuss with you in case things go south and you need plausible deniability regarding the aftermath. You grip the sword a little tighter. At least you’ll be armed.

You’d much rather stay at home tonight on one of his big couches in the theater room, stuffing yourself with Halloween candy (full sized candy bars, thank you very much, because your boyfriend is fucking rich and can afford to give away the good stuff), watching horror film after horror film until you’re too sleepy to keep your eyes open. You don’t care what you watch, really, as long as it’s scary. Sylus prefers the classics—films shot in black and white, filled with the golden age of cinema ingenues and actually scary looking vampires. You snort, remembering his reaction to the Twilight vampires after he agreed to watch the entire quadrilogy with you. He promptly got bored, asked if you’d like to play a drinking game with soju shots where you had to take a shot every time Bella bit her lip or Edward stared menacingly. You one-upped him, adding a shot for every time Edward acted like a red flag and every time Jasper looked like he was in pain. You were both quickly tipsy, and the rest of the movie was ignored while he argued with you about what behavior, exactly, qualifies as a red flag, until he gave up in the face of your tirade, nodded until you seemed to run out of steam, and leaned in, licking up your neck, licking into your mouth, and kissed you breathless. You never made it to the second film.

Tonight, however, you’d just be happy watching the Alien series, or a bunch of indie horror films that you haven’t managed to watch this year. Sylus likes to lie on you, crushing you into the couch underneath him, as he rests his cheek on your stomach, insisting that you pet his hair through the whole movie. If you’re watching something scary and he senses you tensing at a particularly suspenseful part, he’ll gently lift the hem of your shirt and press soft kisses into your abdomen, nosing along your skin. If he is ever frightened by anything you watch, you’ve never been able to tell.

“Are you so desensitized to real life fear and violence that movies do nothing for you?” you asked him once.

He just stared steadily back at you, eyes glowing like fire-lit gems, until he drew you into his arms and kissed the top of your head. “Only one thing scares me, darling.” He breathed deeply. “And when you’re in my arms, I don’t need to fear it.”

You didn’t ask what scares him, and he didn’t tell.

But no. No scary movies for you tonight. No eating snickers until you could burst and tossing almond joys at him for having the audacity to include such inferior candy bars on your Halloween menu. You have to go to a fancy-ass gala full of rich criminal bastards because you love Sylus more than you hate being at large public events and the underworld in general.

You bare your teeth in the mirror again, and then yelp as a whoosh of air, black and red mist, and your beautiful boyfriend materialize at your back, scaring the shit out of you.

You gape at his reflection behind you in the mirror, feeling your heart begin to gallop. His soft silver hair is swept up and back from his high forehead, from which sprout two large … horns? Black, smooth and shiny like obsidian, spiraling up and back, ending in sharp, wicked points. His cheeks are layered with gorgeous jewel-like scales, red and black, slowly blending into the pale cream of his skin. He’s wearing a black leather collar, and a large ruby rests in the hollow of his throat. A black leather harness is strapped over his torso, but it doesn’t do much to cover him except to frame his tits in the most delicious of ways, because most of his chest and stomach is bare. The same pretty scales cover his big shoulders, the thick biceps of his arms, his pecs, his 8-million pack. He’s wearing tight black leather pants and knee high black leather boots. But the showstopper of his costume is the long tail, fully covered in those jewel-like scales, thicker the closer it gets to his ass, thinning towards the tip, which ends in a beautiful, sharp-looking blade the shape of a feather. It’s crimson, edged in black, like the rest of his costume’s color scheme. The tail flicks back and forth, like a cat’s, in a motion that seems completely organic, even though you know that’s not possible. This is just a costume, after all. Right?

“My eyes are up here, kitten,” he teases, and you have a really hard time tearing your eyes away from that swishing tail.

You try to cover your utter fascination with his tail by scoffing. “If you wanted my eyes on yours, you wouldn’t be wearing that harness with your big tits out.” You let your eyes drift to said pillow pectorals. You want to put your face in them, but you’re worried you’ll mess up the.. Make-up? Stick-ons? of the scales. They look so real.

His response is to hunch a little and then flex one pec, sending it bouncing, and then repeat on the other side. “It’s one way to ensure that your eyes are on me all night, instead of wandering,” he says smugly.

You laugh. “As if my eyes aren’t always on you, no matter how you’re dressed,” you murmur, the affection for this man swelling inside you.

“Yes, but tonight there will be lots of interesting costumes, and I know you’ll be fascinated with them, and insist on asking their owners why they chose them, and if they made them by hand or had them ordered, and they’ll be so captivated by your charming interest that I’ll have to interrupt business in order to remind them that you came with a date,” he says fondly. “You look magnificent, by the way. Just as I knew you would when I had this costume made for you.” He sounds satisfied, in the way an artisan is satisfied with his masterpiece.

You feel yourself glowing under his praise. “It’s so badass, Sylus. Thank you.”

His tail flicks faster. You want to ask him how it works, but he distracts you. “Does the badass costume make up for the fact that I’m dragging you to a gala instead of letting you laze around, intent on giving yourself diabetes and a heart attack?”

“Candy and a scary movie do not automatically lead to diabetes and heart attacks, you big drama queen.” You turn around so you can see him in real life, and not just in the reflection. Your costume is silent as you move, unlike a real suit of armor, and so comfortable and easy to move in. It’s truly a work of functional art.

He opens his arms, and you go to him. He wraps his arms around you, despite your oversized pauldrons. He kisses the top of your head. “I know you’re disappointed though. I will make it up to you, when we get back tonight,” he murmurs.

You look up, luxuriating in the softness of his eyes, the fond smile on his beautiful, and now slightly foreign face. The scales glitter under the dressing room lights. You notice now, from this close, that he must be wearing contacts. His pupils, instead of the usual round shape like any human’s, are now slit like a cat’s or a reptile’s. You admire them for a moment—he really paid attention to the details of his slutty dragon costume, just as he cared for the details of your dragonslayer knight costume.

“Sylus,” you breathe his name. Being able to say it—to roll it around your mouth, the name of this man you love so much—is a joy for you, every single time you say it, and every time he looks at you in response. “I don’t care what we do, or where we are. Tonight, or any night. I just like being with you.”

Sylus’s tail whips back and forth so fast that it knocks over one of the dressing room benches before it wraps around your armored leg and curls round and round, the flat of that blade-like end patting your plated ass in a sharp little rhythm, like it can hardly contain itself.

“How does that thing work—” you try to ask, but suddenly Sylus’s lips are on yours, and he’s kissing you softly, slowly. One big hand drifts up the back of your neck, cups the back of your head as the other drifts along your jaw. As he licks your lower lip, he thumbs it to open your mouth—you part your lips, bare your teeth, and bite his thumb.

“My fearsome dragonslayer,” he says softly on an exhale. You close your lips around his thumb and suck, never taking your eyes off his. “We’re going to be late,” he sighs, not sounding upset at all. You just nod.

He lifts you, armor and all, and in a poof of feathers, a whoosh of air, and the dissipation of black and red mist, he transports you to his big bed, where you make each other very, very late for the Halloween gala.

#love and deepspace #sylus x reader #sylus x you #love and deepspace sylus #my fanfic #i only had a little time at work today to write a halloween specific thing #i hope it's fun #lads sylus

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