#Sylus X reader

[sweeteviltrap]

🫵 fake idgaf-er, fake nonchalant, big phony, down bad loser etc.

[mephisto-reporting]

You Don't Have to... For Me

About: You step out of your comfort zone to share special moments with him. He sees right through your act. How will he respond? Pairing: Female Reader x Xavier, Zayne, Rafayel, Sylus, Caleb (Seperate) Note: Reader and the men are NOT in a relationship but there is implied mutual interest. Trigger warnings: Fears, insecurities, mild panic, mild food aversion, sensory discomfort

Author’s Note: Hey! Some of the discomforts and fears in these stories might not apply to you personally — I chose them based on what each LI seems to enjoy and what the reader might quietly endure just to spend time with them. This concept was inspired by a conversation with my dear friend and chaos enabler, Ivy ( @xaviersknight )

If you enjoy my writing and want to support me, you can buy me a Ko-fi! ☕

SYLUS

There’s a boxing ring in his penthouse.

Of course, there is.

It shouldn’t surprise you—nothing about Sylus ever plays by anyone else’s rules. He doesn’t live, he orchestrates. Even the things that should feel raw and violent, like boxing, feel too elegant when he’s involved.  Of course, he had a private ring, glinting under moody downlights like something out of a crime drama. Polished floors. Blood-red ropes. A small stack of gloves in varying sizes, already laid out for you. The floors smell faintly of clean sweat and expensive disinfectant.

You're underdressed for this, somehow. Even though he told you to wear something comfortable, even though you showed up in sleek workout leggings and a cropped tee, even though you tied your hair back the way you always do when you mean business—none of it feels right under his gaze.

“Welcome to my little playground…” Sylus speaks from across the ring.

He’s already inside it, lounging lazily against the ropes like a king waiting to be amused. Black tank top, gloves hanging loose from his fingertips, a thin sheen of sweat already glinting across his collarbone. He looks carved from obsidian and marble, every inch of him dangerous and divine.

You swallow. Smile.

“It’s not so little,” you reply.

“Oh? Planning to flatter me into going easy on you, kitten?”

There it is—kitten. The word slides off his tongue. You offer a half-laugh, stepping forward like it’s all a game. But inside, your stomach twists. Tight. Unrelenting.

You don’t like boxing.

It’s too much. Too close. Too exposed. Every movement is a risk. Every breath, a beat away from being cornered. It’s not just the physicality of it—it’s what it forces out of you. Anger. Instinct. Too close. Too loud. Too... visceral. You liked knowing where your limbs were. You liked boundaries and clear lines and space to breathe.

But Sylus was unpredictable. Impossible to read. A storm of velvet and barbed wire. And once, just once, you’d heard him say: “Boring things don’t interest me.”

He hadn’t said it to you. But it stuck. And it doesn’t take much for the mind to twist things.

Boring people don’t interest him, either.

And the thought had stuck in your ribs ever since — echoing in your bones every time he teased you, called you “kitten” or “sweetie” like it was second nature. You didn’t want to be boring to him. You didn’t want him to lose interest. So you said yes.

Of course you said yes.

He tossed a pair of gloves toward you — you caught them, barely.

“You’ll need help with the wraps,” he said, walking over before you could protest.

He took your hands gently, like you were a glass weapon. Thumb brushing your palm. The silk of his touch was deceptive — soft, delicate — but you could feel the power beneath it. Coiled control. Calculated intimacy. Like he knew exactly what strings he was tugging.

“You nervous?” he murmured without looking up.

“No,” you lied. “Why would I be? This is just practice... right?”

You step into the ring.

He doesn’t rush you. Just watches.

You’ve seen him like this before—when he’s stalking someone through a deal, or when he’s circling the truth in a conversation. It’s not hunger. It’s focus. He’s studying you, already inside your head.

“I thought we’d start with light sparring,” he says. “No pressure. Just a dance.”

You force your lips into a smile, ignoring the cold sweat trickling down your spine. “Just don’t break my nose.”

“I’d never mar you, sweetie...” His eyes crinkle, playful. “Unless you ask me nicely.” He was joking, of course. Sylus never hurt you despite his reputation.

He moves first. Not striking. Just circling.

Testing.

You follow. Clumsy. Too stiff.

“Relax,” he says, not unkindly. “This isn’t a war. Not yet.”

You take a breath.

Try again.

The first time he taps your shoulder with a jab, you flinch. He sees it. Of course he does. You don’t have to look to know he’s watching your reactions more than your form.

“Something wrong, sweetie?”

“No.” You lie so fast it burns your throat.

He jabs again—light, teasing. You respond with a wild swing. Miss entirely. He tilts his head, the corner of his mouth lifting.

“Getting bold, aren’t we?”

Your chest tightens. You can’t read him. You don’t know if he’s impressed or amused or—

Disappointed.

That’s the word that hurts most.

You move too hard next time. Overcorrect. You nearly trip over your own foot as your glove grazes his chest and he catches you—arms snapping around your waist, steadying you like it’s nothing.

Your face is close to his. Too close. His breath is warm against your cheek. He smells like clean sweat and spiced cologne. He doesn’t let go right away.

You look up, startled.

He’s staring at you again. But something’s different.

Less amusement. More... calculation.

And then, softness.

“Why are you hesitating?” he asks. Quiet. Not a whisper, but close.

You blink. “I’m not.”

His brow arches.

You try again. “I just... I’m not good at this.”

“I noticed.”

You flinch.

But his voice is gentle now. Not mocking. Not amused. Just... honest.

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t explain the heat rising in your chest. The way your gloves suddenly felt too heavy. The sweat gathering at your lower back. The eyes on you — his eyes — making it impossible to breathe.

It wasn’t the fight. It was the nearness. The intimacy of it. The way his presence filled the ring like smoke, clinging to your skin and thoughts alike.

You stepped back, then again. The ropes pressed against your spine.

His gaze followed you — not taunting. Not cruel. Just watchful.

“You don’t like this....” he said quietly.

You stiffened. “It’s fine.”

“No, sweetie.” He took a step forward. “You’re not fine.”

You looked down, fingers curling into the gloves. “I didn’t want to disappoint you.”

Silence stretched.

“I heard you say once,” you added, voice quieter now, “that boring things don’t interest you. I just… I didn’t want to be that.”

There’s a pause. A shift.

Then, a laugh.

“Is that what this is about?”

You don’t answer.

His hand rises, gloved, brushing lightly beneath your chin until you meet his gaze.

“Oh, sweetie...” he sighs, and it’s the softest thing you’ve ever heard from him. “You think I invited you here to impress me?”

You nod. Barely.

He exhales, the sound tinged with remorse.

“I invited you here because I like watching you try,” he says, lips curving into a gentle smile. “You could throw cotton balls at me, and I’d still find it riveting.”

You blink fast.

He leans in, voice barely audible. “If I wanted perfect form, I’d spar with one of my... business associates. If I wanted dull, I’d drink alone. But you... you make things interesting just by showing up.”

You feel the tears prick your lashes before you can stop them.

His hand—still gloved—cups your cheek gently. The rough texture of the leather is at odds with the tenderness in his touch.

“You don’t have to prove anything to me, sweetie,” he murmurs. “Just be here. That’s enough.”

You nod. It’s all you can manage.

“Besides,” he adds, voice lighter now, “your form is atrocious. But your pout is lethal.”

You laugh—shaky, but real. He grins, triumphant.

“There she is..." he whispers.

You don’t spar again that night. Instead, you both sit in the ring, backs against the ropes, gloves off, drinks in hand brought up by someone who clearly knows better than to ask questions. Sylus lounges beside you, knee brushing yours, casual in a way that still buzzes under your skin.

He talks, and he listens, and he teases, and he lets you unravel yourself in pieces—not all at once, but enough to make you feel seen. Safe.

And when you leave, hours later, he walks you to the door and leans against the frame, arms crossed, lips curved.

“Next time,” he says, “we’ll do something that scares me.”

You raise a brow. “Does anything scare you?”

“Just one thing,” he replies, eyes holding yours.

You want to ask what.

“But that’s a discussion for another time.” He taps your forehead, leading you to his car. his hand, extended, waited for yours without force, without pressure.

Just... waiting.

And when you placed yours in his, he didn’t let go.

CALEB

You could hear his grin through the message.

Got us two VIP passes to the Amusement Park’s Firelight Festival tonight. :p Rides, food, fireworks… and a parade with glowing dragons, just like the old stories you love. ;)

And then, like it wasn’t a big deal, like it wasn’t making your stomach twist in a dozen knots .

 Come ready to fly,.

You smiled when you read it.

You really did. He remembered that you liked parades and fireworks. You’d told him when you hung out with him once.

And then immediately set your phone down and groaned into your pillow.

Rides. He said rides.

He didn’t know. You never told him. It was embarrassing. Heights just... did something to you. The tilt of the world. The way it all dropped away beneath you like gravity forgot how to love you. That sick feeling in your stomach, the one that clung like static even hours after you were back on solid ground.

You liked fireworks. Parades. Candy stalls and fuzzy prizes you’d never win.

But coasters? Loops? Platforms you could see through?

Nope.

And yet, here you were — standing at the entrance of the park’s glowing gates. breath caught somewhere between your throat and your heart, watching him wave at you from across the crowd.

Caleb was all light. All warmth. That stupidly charming smile that could’ve powered the whole island. He was in his casual clothes – Sleeveless white shirt, baggy jeans and shades and his dark hair was a little tousled like he’d run here.

“Hey!” he beamed, trotting toward you. “Look at you. You showed up. Thought I’d have to fly over and drag you in myself.”

You laughed — or tried to. “Would’ve been easier if you had.”

“Oh? You saying you wanted me to sweep you off your feet?” He winked, already walking backward toward the gates, tugging you by the wrist. “Next time just say the word and I will come pick you up from your doorstep.”

He had the same boyish grin as always. Same lopsided energy. But beneath the laughter, there was something tight about him. Focused. Like he was trying to be carefree — like he was carrying something heavier than he let on.

You squeezed his hand. He looked at you, surprised. Then softened.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Yeah,” you lied. “You?”

“Always,” he said, but didn’t let go. “And even more so now that you are here.”

The park was a living constellation. Lights danced in every direction — strung along towers, wrapped around trees, woven into the very air like stardust. People bustled by with caramel popcorn and glowing necklaces. Children squealed. Music floated from every corner.

And high above it all, looming like metal beasts with neon eyes, were the rides.

You avoided looking at them.

Caleb was thrilled. He practically vibrated next to you, pointing out different ones, telling stories, dropping trivia. “That one,” he said, eyes sparkling as he pointed at a monstrous looped coaster. “It was inspired by the early zero-G training modules for astronauts. Goes up to 3Gs on the final drop. Wanna try it?”

You smiled too fast. Too wide. “Sure.”

With VIP passes, the wait time was almost non-existent.

You stared up at the metal track. It twisted into the clouds, lights flashing like a heartbeat. Every scream that echoed down from the peak made your stomach twist tighter. You tried to breathe.

Caleb was rambling about pilot protocols and how G-force affected vision, and you were nodding, smiling, trying to look normal.

But the closer you got, the worse it felt.

Your hands shook when you buckled in.

Caleb noticed. “You cold?”

You shook your head too fast. “I’m fine.”

The harness clicked into place. The floor dropped out from beneath your feet.

And then — the ascent.

The world shrank beneath you. Each click of the coaster’s gears echoed like a countdown.

You felt him look at you.

“…Hey?”

You didn’t respond.

You couldn’t.

Your hands were white-knuckled fists. Your eyes were squeezed shut. Breathing shallow. Chest tight.

“…Hey.”

His voice was gentler now.

“Hey. Look at me.”

You did.

He was watching you. Really watching you — not with teasing, not with that easy charm. With concern. With care.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” he asked softly, the lightest tremble in his voice.

“I didn’t want to ruin this evening…” you whispered, ashamed.

The ride lurched — nearly at the peak now. A second more and it would drop.

The wind screamed as the peak crested.

He reached over — twisted in his seat, even with the restraints — and grabbed your hand with his left. “Close your eyes. I’ve got you.”

It was warm. Heavy.

But steady.

“Hold on to me,” he said, voice low. “Don’t look down. Don’t think about anything else. Just me.”

And then — the fall.

You screamed.

Not just out of fear but because it was everything all at once. The terror. The relief. The way Caleb held your hand the entire time, grounding you when the sky fell away.

When the ride slowed, your breathing did too.

You didn’t let go.

He didn’t ask you to.

Later, you sat on the grass, away from the lights, a bag of half-eaten cotton candy between you. The fireworks were a long way from happening and there was time to kill.

Caleb leaned back on one hand, the other tucked around your shoulder.

“Sorry,” you murmured.

“For what?”

“We’ve been here for a while now because I did something stupid. I ruined the evening for you... You were so excited.”

“I didn’t bring you up here to make you uncomfortable.” he said finally. Soft. Almost guilty.

You winced. “You didn’t. I just…”

“You hate heights.”

He gave a sheepish little smile, rubbing the back of his neck.

“You think I dragged you out here for the rollercoasters?”

You glanced at him.

“I did it for the fireworks. For the stupid nebula cotton candy. For the look on your face when the parade started. For you. Not the rides.”

You looked down. “I just didn’t want to seem—”

“I don’t need you to be fearless,” he said. “I just need you to be you. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

You swallowed hard.

He tugged you in closer. “I’m serious. If you’re scared, if you’re upset, if you hate rollercoasters — I want to know. I want to know you. Not some version of you that’s trying to be what you think I want.”

You looked up at him, eyes stinging a little.

“I do like the parade though,” you whispered.

He smiled , soft and golden, all heart. “Good. Because I booked the best spot for it.”

You tilted your head. “How?”

“I’m a Colonel in the Farspace Fleet,” he said with a wink. “Perks of the uniform.”

You laughed. The sound felt free now.

He watched you with a look you couldn’t name. Something warm. Something more.

Then he said, softly, “Thanks for trusting me.”

You leaned your head on his shoulder. “Thanks for holding my hand.”

He skipped the thrill rides without hesitation, instead loading your arms with candy and glowsticks and ridiculous souvenirs. You sat together on a private bench as the parade passed by, a blur of shimmering lights and music. When the fireworks finally exploded overhead in bursts of gold and violet, he leaned just a bit closer.

“Thanks for coming with me,” he said, his voice low and almost reverent beneath the sky’s celebration. “Even if the rides were a bust.”

“I’d go anywhere with you, Caleb,” you said.

And this time, it wasn’t a lie.

ZAYNE

You stand in front of the mirror, tilting your head as you assess your outfit for the third time. Casual. Put-together—but not trying too hard. The denim jacket is a little snug across your shoulders, the black tee just low-cut enough to count as flirty if Zayne noticed such things. He always seems so calm, so unfazed. And yet, every time he looks at you, your stomach flips like a coin midair.

You check your phone. Zayne.

I’ll pick you up in ten. Wear something comfortable.

Comfortable? That’s rich, considering what he’s roped you into.

Pool.

You had smiled like it was nothing when he’d brought it up over coffee earlier this week, his fingers casually tapping the rim of his mug, eyes steady on yours. “There’s this place I used to go to when I first joined Akso. It’s quiet. Good for unwinding. Would you want to join me? I can teach if you’d like.”

And you, ever the glutton for punishment, had said yes.

You’ve never played pool in your life. Something about the geometry, the angles, the calculated strength of the strike… none of it sounded appealing to you. Your hand-eye coordination is barely enough for catching projectiles thrown at you. But it’s Zayne. Calm, composed, frustratingly attractive Zayne. And he invited you. That has to mean something.

The pool hall is tucked between a laundromat and a late-night ramen bar. A few patrons linger at other tables, but Zayne seems to know the owner, and within minutes, he’s leading you to a far table in the corner, away from the noise.

He’s already in his element, chalking his cue. “We’ll start with the basics,” he says, offering you a stick. “Grip. Posture. Precision. Pool’s all about intention.”

You take the cue stick and try to mirror him. You can already feel the weight of the evening pressing at the back of your neck like an invisible hand.

The first round is a disaster.

Your fingers curled around the smooth wood, already clammy. You lined up awkwardly, bent forward, and—

Crack.

The cue ball wobbled. It barely tapped the triangle of colored balls, scattering them half-heartedly.

"Solid attempt," Zayne said, not unkindly, but with a teasing tilt to his voice. “You aimed with your heart, not your eyes.”

You told yourself to relax. He didn’t expect you to be great. He wasn’t like that.

Was he?

Zayne moved with confidence, sinking two shots in a row. His posture was perfect, movements fluid. When he lined up his next shot, he looked back at you briefly, one brow raised as if to say, You watching? You nodded, smiled. Pretended to be fascinated by the game instead of calculating how many more turns you’d have to humiliate yourself.

Your second shot went worse than the first. Your hand slipped on the bridge, the ball skidded, and you felt your cheeks heat. Zayne came up behind you then, gently placing his hand on your arm to guide your posture.

“Here,” he murmured, breath warm near your ear. “Relax your grip.”

Your fingers froze.

He was so close. His hand so steady. Yours... not.

You nodded. Said nothing. Tried again. Failed again.

The next few rounds were even worse. You miss the cue ball entirely once. Twice. Then you scratch it. You try to laugh, but it comes out thin. Zayne doesn’t scold you, he’s not cruel, but he’s precise, his words clipped with surgical clarity.

You nod. Try again. Fail. Again.

“Your wrist’s too loose.”

“You’re leaning too far. Keep your core stable.”

“Don’t look at the cue, look through the shot.”

With each miss, your shoulders tighten. Your knuckles go white around the stick. You feel the blood drain from your face as a couple nearby chuckles softly. You know it’s not about you, but your skin crawls with embarrassment anyway. You didn’t like people watching you mess up.

Zayne watches, silent for a few beats. Then he speaks, voice lower this time. “You’re holding your breath.”

You hadn’t realized you were.

He places his cue stick down gently and walks toward you, his steps soundless on the hardwood floor. He stops just within reach, but doesn’t touch you.

“You’re not enjoying this.” he says softly.

You froze mid-bend.

“I—” you began, but he raised a hand.

“Don’t lie.”

You straightened slowly, cue stick still in hand. “I didn’t want to disappoint you,” you admitted, voice barely above the background hum of the jukebox. “You’re so good at this. I just wanted to spend time with you.”

The silence between you was soft, not sharp.

“I invited you here because I like spending time with you,” he said. “Not because I needed a pool partner.”

You blinked at him, uncertain.

He continued, voice lower now. “I can be... singularly focused. Too much, sometimes. But I don’t want you pretending to be okay with something just because I picked it.”

Your grip on the cue loosened. “I didn’t want to ruin the evening.”

He tilted his head. “It would ruin it more if you spent it uncomfortable.”

You want to deny it. Laugh it off. But your throat is tight, and your heart feels like it’s pressed against a wall.

“I just—” You force a shrug. “I wanted to spend time with you. That’s all.”

Zayne studies your face. “So you dragged yourself into something you hate just to do that?”

“I don’t hate it,” you mutter. “I just... don’t belong here. Pool isn’t exactly my thing.”

His expression shifts, not amusement, not disappointment. Just something softer. Quieter. The kind of look someone gives when they see through you instead of at you.

“I noticed,” he murmurs. “Your shoulders were locked. You didn’t blink once in thirty seconds.”

You try to smile. “So much for subtlety.”

Zayne chuckles. It’s a quiet sound, rare, but warm. “I’m a doctor,” he says. “Reading body language is half the job.”

There’s a pause. Then he leans forward—not close enough to touch, but close enough that you can smell the faint trace of cologne on his shirt. He lowers his voice. “Next time you want to spend time with me... just say it. You don’t have to contort yourself into something you're not. It wouldn’t feel right if you were uncomfortable the whole time.”

You blink, stunned into silence.

“I don’t want your time if it costs you your ease,” he adds. “That’s not the kind of presence I want to be in your life.”

Your chest aches, not with shame, but something closer to relief. The kind that comes when someone lifts the weight off your shoulders before you even realize how heavy it’s been.

He straightens up and gently takes the cue stick from your hands.

“Come on,” he says. “Let’s ditch this and go to that ramen place next door. You can make fun of my spice tolerance there. Does that sound good to you?”

You grin, heart hammering, the tension finally cracking like ice. “Only if you let me steal your gyoza.”

“Negotiable,” he says, brushing past you with the ghost of a smile. “Come. The night is far from over. You don’t have to change who you are around me,” he said, tone calm but sincere. “I’d rather have the truth.”

Your heart thudded, unsteady but warm.

You nodded. “Next time... you’ll be the one out of your element.”

He smirked. “I look forward to it.”

And he meant it.

XAVIER

The elevator hums quietly as you check your reflection for the fifth time.

Comfortable. Cute. Relaxed. That was the goal.

You’d chosen your favorite knit sweater — the one just baggy enough to hang off one shoulder — and paired it with soft leggings, fuzzy socks, and a warm-toned scrunchie pulling your hair back in a loose twist. A look that said, “I didn’t try that hard,” while clearly being planned down to the scent of the vanilla lip balm on your mouth.

Because this wasn’t just dinner.

It was dinner at Xavier’s apartment.

You cradle the two grocery bags in your arms a little tighter, filled with neatly packed slices of marbled beef, a few delicate cuts of lamb, some fresh shitake, enoki, and bok choy, plus the greens. There’s also a small six-pack of fruit-flavored soda you thought he might like — and two mochi ice cream desserts in your bag's chill pouch.

You’d been excited all day.

Xavier’s apartment was what you expected: neat, quiet, lightly decorated in soft colors and odd trinkets he didn’t think twice about but made your eyes linger.

In the center of the living space, a low table had been arranged with two cushions on either side and a full hot pot setup. The induction stove was small but new, clean and white, already buzzing  gently beneath a divided metal pot. Steam curled lazily into the air.

He padded barefoot across the room, sleeves rolled, hair loose and a little ruffled from sleep, and took the bags from your arms wordlessly. When you tried to insist you could help, he simply said, “Sit. You’re the guest.”

And so you sat.

And then he poured the broth packets in. The setup was clean and minimalist, just like him — a pale wood table, small ceramic sauce dishes, dipping bowl sets, and a yin-yang shaped hot pot cooker with two separate sides of broth.

Except this time… both sides were red.

Not a gentle tomato-based red.

Not one side miso, not mushroom.

The liquid turned dark crimson almost instantly.

You blinked.

“Hot Mala. It’s… strong,” he said. He stirred with a lazy rhythm, the aroma already clawing at the back of your throat.

You swallowed hard. Bright crimson oil glistened on the surface, flecked with floating peppercorns and crushed chili. You felt your soul begin to sweat.

“...Both sides?” you asked, feigning a casual glance.

“Spicy’s better,” Xavier said, crouching at the table. “I only bought the twin-pot style because the seller said it was popular.”

Your tongue already tingled at the idea of the red broth. You weren’t just bad with spice — you were barely functioning around a mildly spicy samosa. Anything more, and your eyes would water and your face would burn like a reactor core meltdown.

But you looked at him — quiet, warm, fond in that unreadable way of his as he placed dipping bowls beside the stove.

And you smiled.  You did what you always did with people who mattered more to you than your own comfort.

Because the thought that you might ruin this calm, carefully arranged evening over something like spice tolerance made your chest tighten.

“It looks perfect,” you said.

He sat across from you, cross-legged and relaxed in dark joggers and a white hoodie, a bold choice for hot pot, especially with the red broth.

He leaned over the table with all the grace of a sleepy cat, selecting slices of meat and guiding them into the red broth with long chopsticks.

“You brought good cuts,” he noted, nodding. “I trust your judgment.”

And then, a pause — his eyes narrowed a little at the pile of greens beside him.

“Except… this.”

You laughed softly. “It’s not that bad.”

He gave the vegetables a look that could only be described as betrayal. “It smells like sadness.”

You tried not to laugh. But your heart twisted. Not because of his words.

Because while he bantered the smell of chili oil and peppercorn was already beginning to sting your throat. You reached for your dipping bowl, adding soy sauce, onions, minced garling, lime and sesame paste with trembling fingers, trying to busy yourself.

And when he dropped your favorite mushroom into the red broth, you didn’t protest.

You only smiled.

The first bite singed.

You chewed slowly, nodding like it was fine, like your tongue wasn’t slowly blistering from the inside out. You chased it with soda. Swallowed a second piece — lamb this time — and made a soft sound that you hoped passed for enjoyment but probably sounded more like someone dying of quiet regret.

You blinked the tears back.

He watched you.

You looked down at your bowl.

“Too spicy,” he said, softly.

Your fingers tightened on the chopsticks. “No. It’s okay.”

“It’s not.”

You flinched, barely. He was still neutral in tone — not accusatory. Just… certain. Like a man who already knew the sky was blue and didn’t need convincing.

“I didn’t want to ruin it,” you said quietly. “You were excited.”

“I’m always excited to see you,” he said, without a hint of irony. “But I’m not excited to watch you suffer.”

That stilled you.

“I thought you didn’t notice.”

“I notice everything about you.” His chopsticks stilled above the pot. “I just don’t always know what I’m supposed to do with it.”

You laughed despite yourself, hand gripping your drink as you coughed lightly. “Okay. I admit it. I’m bad with spice. But I didn’t want to say anything.”

“Why?”

You hesitated. “Because I… uh… You invited me. I didn’t want to be difficult.”

His gaze didn’t waver. “You’d rather be in pain than tell me the truth?”

You winced. “When you say it like that, it sounds stupid.”

“It is,” he said gently. Then added, “But I’ve done worse.”

Then he shifted.

With a flick of his wrist, he transferred the vegetables — yes, even the sad greens — and a generous portion of meat into a plate. He grabbed the serving ladle and began to scoop the broth from one section of the pot into a bowls.

“I have a mild instant soup base in the kitchen, it's delicious too.” he said, standing up. “Give me five minutes.”

“You don’t have to—”

“I do.”

You blinked again, but this time not from spice.

“Why?”

“Because you’re here,” he said simply, walking to the kitchen. “And I like that you’re here.”

Your throat tightened.

The new broth was clear, soft, comforting. The moment he brought it out, you wanted to cry.

Not just from the relief of no longer melting from the inside out.

But because someone had noticed.

Listened.

And changed something just for you.

“You didn’t have to,” you said softly as you ate. “Really.”

“I know.”

And then, as if to demonstrate further solidarity, he reached into the spicy broth, pulled out a bok choy… and stared at it like it was his mortal enemy. Then, with slow determination, he bit into it.

His whole face remained unchanged.

But you saw the twitch.

“…Was it worth it?” you asked.

“No,” he said, deadpan. “But now we’re even.”

Later, when you left, he walked you to the door barefoot, holding the empty mochi container like it was the most interesting thing in the world.

“Next time,” he said, after a pause, “you pick the broth.”

“Next time?”

He blinked. “If you want.”

You looked up at him.

He stood in the doorway — hoodie sleeves half-pushed, hair still tousled, the faint scent of chili oil clinging to him like a memory. His expression was unreadable again. But the warmth behind it? That wasn’t hard to see at all.

“I’d like that,” you said.

And you were already planning it.

RAFAYEL

You shouldn’t have said yes.

That thought rings in your head as the last rays of evening sunlight melt into amber, stretching across the mirror-glass surface of the lake. Everything is quiet — too quiet — save for the light chirp of insects and the steady ripple of water as Rafayel swims deeper, his silhouette cutting sleek lines through the reflection of the sky.

He’s graceful.

Unfairly so.

Water clings to his skin like it belongs there, catching on his lashes, beading along his shoulders, tracing the lines of muscle down his back and arms as he moves. And you, standing at the shallow edge in your swimsuit, arms folded like a makeshift barrier, feel like a tangled bundle of nerves held together by one wrong decision.

Not the lack of footing. Not the invisible things beneath the surface. Not the way your limbs felt disconnected and sluggish, or how you could never quite get the rhythm of your strokes right without swallowing water or tipping awkwardly sideways like an overfilled tote bag.

You could swim. Technically.

You just… didn’t like it.

It was clumsy. You were clumsy. You’d passed the mandatory swimming exam at school, survived a few hotel pools on holidays ut lakes? Open water? With things brushing against your legs, invisible weeds tangling near your feet, the ground disappearing beneath you with nothing to hold?

It made your skin crawl.

But the way Rafayel’s eyes lit up when he talked about it… You didn’t want to ruin that.

So you came.

You still remember yesterday evening when Rafayel had flashed that impish grin and tossed you with “Wear something cute. I’m kidnapping you for a swimming adventure. No complaints,” — you’d said yes.

Because he was Raf.

And part of you always said yes to him. Hoping, stupidly, that it  might be something worth remembering.

Maybe he’d laugh. Maybe he’d tease. Maybe he’d say something flippant and walk away…

Or maybe — just maybe — he’d notice you like you notice him.

“You’re not gonna melt, cutie,” he calls from a few meters out, resting easily on the surface of the water. He floats with infuriating elegance, his arms outstretched and his purple hair haloed around his head. “Or are you actually made of sugar?”

You snort softly, hugging yourself tighter. “I just… don’t want to ruin the peace. It’s nice just watching.”

“You mean it’s nice watching me.” He grins. “Go ahead. Get your fill. I don’t blame you…”

Your lips twitch despite yourself.

And that was Rafayel in a sentence — smug, sharp-tongued, beautiful enough to get away with it. But underneath the teasing, you knew his invitation wasn’t just about swimming.

He wanted to share something.

And you wanted to be part of that world , his world , even if it made your stomach twist.

So you step in.

Slowly. The water’s cool against your skin, not cold, but shocking in contrast to the warm evening air. You move step by careful step, feeling the soft sand shift beneath your toes, the occasional ripple brushing your calf like phantom fingers.

It’s fine.

You can do this.

You make it chest-deep before you hear his voice again.

“Come closer.”

He’s farther now, maybe eight or nine meters out, treading water with that casual, effortless grace.

You hesitate.

He notices.

There’s a pause — one of those strange suspended silences that exist only between people who know each other too well and not well enough at the same time.

Then you smile. Not because you feel okay, but because you want him to feel okay.

And you swim.

Clumsily. Arms too wide, breath too shallow. You keep your chin above water, trying not to panic, trying not to think about the darkness beneath your feet or the silt that clouds around your knees when you kick.

But then — something brushes you.

A slip of lake weed? A fish? A strand of hair?

It doesn’t matter.

Terror shoots up your spine like ice.

You gasp sharply, flail, and instinct kicks in — wild, desperate kicks, arms slapping water, trying to go anywhere but where you are. You can’t feel the bottom anymore. You can’t find a rhythm. Panic closes your throat like a fist—

And then he’s there.

Strong hands caught you.

You didn’t even realize he’d come until his arms wrapped around your waist, one hand steady at your back, the other curling under your thigh to anchor you as you trembled.

“Hey. Hey,” Rafayel’s voice was lower now. All the teasing had dropped out. “I’ve got you. You’re alright.”

You tried to speak, but your throat burned. Your hands clutched at his shoulders instead, nails digging in. He didn’t flinch.

His face is close. Closer than it’s ever been. Water drips from his lashes, and for once, there’s no smirk, no teasing spark. Just something… protective. “I’ve got you,” he murmurs. “Breathe. You’re fine.”

And somehow, you do.

He holds you for a moment longer. You feel the strength in him, the calm. The quiet assurance that, at least in this moment, nothing would dare happen to you.

And then you’re moving.

Back toward the shore.

He doesn’t drag. He glides, guiding you like something precious — like you’re worth holding onto.

“I didn’t know,” he said, his voice just above a whisper, “You should’ve told me you didn’t want to swim.”

“I didn’t… I thought I could handle it,” you croaked out, cheeks burning with shame. “I didn’t want to ruin it.”

“Idiot, guppy” he muttered, but there was no venom in it. “You think I brought you here to watch you suffer?”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. The humiliation was sharp and bitter in your chest, mixing with the leftover panic.

He walked the last few steps, carrying you until the water kissed only your calves. When he set you down, your legs wobbled.

“You could’ve drowned,” he said quietly. “And then what would I do? Swim around this stupid lake yelling at your ghost?” He knew he wouldn’t have let that happen. So did you. But he was making a fair point.

That startled a laugh out of you, hoarse and awkward, but it made him smile.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered. “I just… I didn’t want to say no to you.”

He looked at you, for a long moment. Eyes clearer than usual. “You don’t have to prove anything to me,” he said. “If you want to spend time with me, just say so. You don’t have to drown for it, cutie.”

You blinked. Then frowned. “So what, you’re not gonna make fun of me?”

“Oh no,” he smirked, the old glint back in his eye. “I am absolutely making fun of you. But—” He reached for your towel, flicking it playfully over your head, “…only after I make sure you're not cold, scared, or crying.”

He plopped down beside you on the ground, towel around his shoulders, hair dripping. The lake shimmered behind him, but he didn’t spare it another glance.

He looked only at you. “You’re an idiot,” he says, voice bright with performative scorn. “A pretty, sweet, stubborn idiot.”

You blink.

He reaches out and dries your wet hair with surprisingly gentle fingers using the towel.  Then, with a smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth, he says, “Next time, you sit on the shore, look pretty, and cheer for me. Deal?”

You open your mouth to protest.

“And,” he adds, lifting a finger, “You’ll bring snacks. Preferably something cold. I’ll get out, pretend to suffer from exertion, and you’ll feed me with loving devotion while telling me how brave I am.”

You laugh. This time, genuinely.

“…Deal.”

He bumped your shoulder with his, light and easy. “That’s my good little guppy.”

And somehow, as the light faded and the stars blinked into view above the treetops — you didn’t feel so out of your depth anymore.

AN: reblogs, feedback and opinions are appreciated!

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[baobei-bu]

when he's sick 🌡

[lymericslimerick]

𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘰𝘰 𝘩𝘰𝘵, 𝘵𝘰𝘰 𝘩𝘰𝘵 | LADS + when they send you a picture of themself

warnings: humor, suggestive (sylus), all creds to owners for the pics, self indulgent a bit lol

.˚₊‧˗ˏˋ ─── xavier

.˚₊‧˗ˏˋ ─── zayne

.˚₊‧˗ˏˋ ─── rafayel

.˚₊‧˗ˏˋ ─── sylus

.˚₊‧˗ˏˋ ─── caleb

[themagicafox]

Sylus: So…can you join Onychinus NOW?

[mwphisto]

LaDs: How they sleep

~ in honor of the new quality time feature coming soon lol

Xavier starts to glow when he falls into a really deep sleep. Soft snoring, lips slightly parted, typically sprawled on his back with his arms at full mass

Zayne sleeps stiff as a fucking board if you’re not in the bed with him. Lips barely parted, mostly breathes through his nose. Molds himself to your body.

Rafayel tosses and turns like a rotisserie chicken. You’d think he’s fighting demons. He’s accidentally smacked you a handful of times and stayed asleep.

Sylus is surprisingly the most normal sleeper. Stomach sleeper, snores like a beast, one hand is always inches from the gun under his pillow.

Caleb has insomnia, not even that chip can force a shut down of his body. When he does sleep it’s usually in awkward positions. Drools a lot.

Xavier will sleep on top of your body if he falls asleep with you in his bed already. Often times he’s out like a light before you’re done with your night routine.

Zayne twitches occasionally, startling you into a half awake state before he settles and clings to you again. That’s how you know he’s okay most the time.

Rafayel could crawl into your skin when you’re asleep. You’re so warm and soft. He could have you snuggled into his side and still hog the blanket entirely

Sylus tangles his legs with yours when you’re sharing the bed, that or one arm is slung over your middle. He tries to keep a little distance cuz he knows he snores. (Bonus points if you sleep like the dead, nothing is waking you up, not even his monstrous snoring)

Caleb talks in his sleep. Sometimes it’s unnerving like “don’t go, don’t leave me” other times it’s “apples are not purple” like okay king pop off?

[whenstarsundress]

— i is for innocence

“you’ve never done this before, have you?” sylus asked softly, fingers brushing the inside of your thigh as you lay back against the pillows. you were wide-eyed and pink from cheek to chest. your breath caught in half of a gasp and a soft whimper, and that was all the answer he needed.

his smirk was lazy. full of that dangerous kind of affection. the kind that meant he was about to ruin you sweetly, slowly, and not feel the slightest bit guilty for it.

“didn’t think so,” he murmured, eyes never leaving yours. “you blush too easy.”

you tried to look away, but his fingers caught your chin and tilted your face back toward him.

“no hiding,” he whispered. “let me see it.”

his hand slid down over your stomach again, between your thighs, just grazing the edge of your panties with a feather-light touch.

“look at you,” he purred, like velvet sin. “such a good girl, letting me touch you like this.”

“i–i trust you,” you breathed, voice trembling.

he paused at that. just for a second something flickered in his eyes. a bit of softness. definitely a crack in the heat.

but then he leaned in, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “you shouldn’t.”

your thighs squeezed together instinctively, and he chuckled, low and wicked.

“mm, too late now,” he said. “you let a wolf into your bed, sweetheart. and now i’m gonna take my time.”

his fingers slipped under the fabric, finally touching you where you were soaked and needy. you gasped too loud, too surprised, and he groaned, dragging his teeth over your throat.

“this wet already? just from my voice?” he hissed. “fuck, you’re perfect.”

you squirmed, overwhelmed and eager, unsure of where to put your hands, but he grabbed one wrist and pinned it above your head with effortless strength.

“don’t move,” he said, kissing your pulse. “i’ll show you how it’s supposed to feel.”

and he did. one finger. then two. crooking them slow, watching you fall apart under his touch like he’d been made to do this. you moaned so sweet for him, and he groaned, teeth gritted, eyes locked on your fluttering lashes and trembling thighs.

“you were made for me,” he growled. “my innocent little angel.”

and when you came with his name on your lips and clutching the sheets, undone by nothing but his fingers and voice, he kissed you so sweet. so gentle.

“say thank you, baby.”

“thank you, sylus,” you whispered with flushed cheeks, and his grin turned into a soft smile.

[sweetstrawberrysky]

Ranking the LADS from who is most to least likely to playfully smack your ass while walking past you.

Sylus - No explanation needed, the man is shameless, especially if your relationship has long since been established. Yes, he full expects and accepts your revenge of smacking his own butt in return, even if you put more force into your smack than he did for you.

Caleb - It’s more of a “your butt was calling for me in those shorts, it’s not my fault please don’t be mad at me, pipsqueak” type of slap. He is simply unable to refrain if you’re wearing shorts around him. The man just wants to feel your ass and chuckle at your reaction, all the while his ears are turning beet red because he never thought he would get the chance to be this bold with you.

Rafayel - His would be a playful tap. Walking past you, quickly giving you a once over because he wants to remember every inch of you at every chance, then spontaneously deciding to give you a little love tap. Only to immediately regret it when you turn around and start attacking his own butt.

Zayne - It would mainly center around you being a little cheeky or saying something he wasn’t expecting you to say, and he lightly pinches your butt/hip area in retaliation. His is definitely more of a playful scolding, and he loves the slight jolt that wracks your body because of it.

Xavier - Let’s be real, you’re the one smacking his butt in this relationship. If anything, he’s more likely to full on grab your butt just because he wants to. Let’s say you’re simply cuddling and his hands venture just a little bit, enough to simply hold your rear/the top of your thighs. It’s up to you if want to keep cuddling or let things get heated, he’s not complaining either way.

[ruby-kissed]

Dragon Sylus was hiding behind a chamber wall, watching you slowly take off your jewels, your gloves... and now you're unraveling your corset. His ruby red eyes widen at the sight before him.

So different yet so enticing, he thinks.

He doesn't quite understand the feeling but what he does know is this moment seems private and he must remain quiet. He believes he is discreet and he is! Except for his tail that is thumping wildly on the floor with excitement.

[lalalotta]

[nsfw!] sylus eating you out

stayed up all night and smoked the whole liquid from my vape but it was worth it, i think

[d0rothydraws]

Dragon sylus eating you out.

His tongue is thick, long, rough. You've never felt anything like it before but it's so uniquely him. His fingers are thick, clawed. He is gentle with them, aware of how easily he could hurt you. But God they feel good, streching you out as he licks at you. You can feel his hunger for you. The way he growls slightly and his it sends vibrations through your body. Your body clenches, your legs stiffen and he takes his free hand, opening you up more.

Your hands fly to his horns, gripping. Pulling him closer. Deeper. The next few moments are a blur as you find yourself crying out, voice cracking as pleasure claws through your body.

He pulls back after he cleans you with his tongue. His chin, his lips glistening with your essence. And then, he lowers himself again, kissing your inner thighs as he makes his way back to his meal.

Greedy as always

Especially for you.

[kannady]

Genuinely love the Ever, Ever After series. Reading every paragraph of it has me clutching to my pearls <3 I LOVE IT SO MUCHH SHIWJEIEJW

ever, ever after

pairing: sylus x non-mc reader

summary: sylus didn't love you. how could he when she was around? but would he come look for you if you willingly step into EVER's boundaries?

word count: 4k

a/n: okay so! an early update cus ill be super busy and tired tomorrow, then squid game s3 will be coming out AND a lads update is coming out on friday with fans heavily speculating we'll get a sneak peak of the sixth li. so im guessing we'll all be super busy. i really hope ur enjoying this series and TYSM ANON you literally made my day!! i hope you enjoy this chapter as well. lemme know your thoughts!

read rest of the chapters here!

III

Your heart sank like a stone in water as Dr. Voss’s expression shifted. A slow, chilling transformation from  curiosity to something far more dangerous. His cold eyes flicked from you to Sylus, still restrained behind the glass, then back to you, and in that split second, you knew. 

Oh, shit. I’m done for.

But survival instincts kicked in, sharp and automatic. You straightened your spine, forcing your voice into something resembling professionalism.

"I was just checking his vitals before lunch," you said, gesturing to the monitors with a steadiness you didn’t feel. "His levels plateaued. The serum isn’t affecting his Evol anymore. I thought-" A breath, calculated. "I should ask if he was experiencing any side effects. Protocol 9-D, right? Patient-reported data?"

The lie slithered out smoother than you expected. Voss’s eyebrow arched, his gaze lingering on you for a heartbeat too long before he stepped closer to the observation window. The silence stretched, suffocating, as he scrutinized the vitals himself. You could almost hear the gears turning in his head, the suspicion coiling tighter.

Then, miraculously, he nodded. "You’re right." His voice was clipped, but the tension in your shoulders eased a fraction. "We’ll halt administration. Clearly, this batch isn’t potent enough." He turned to you, and for the first time in your two years at EVER, something resembling approval flickered in his expression. "Good catch, Dr. (Y/N)."

The praise should’ve felt like a victory. Instead, it sat heavy in your chest. You nodded stiffly, avoiding Sylus’s gaze, but you could feel it, burning into you like a brand. Even now, even half-drugged and strapped to a chair, he was watching. Waiting.

You mumbled an excuse about lunch and all but bolted from the lab, the doors hissing shut behind you. The hallway was deserted, the fluorescent lights humming softly overhead. For a moment, you just stood there, pressing your palms to your eyes until stars burst behind your lids. 

What the hell am I doing?

Your phone was in your hand before you could second-guess it. Luke’s number rang once, twice, then disconnected. Kieran’s didn’t even go through. You stared at the screen, your reflection warped in the black glass. A new, ugly thought slithered into your mind. What if he didn’t come alone?

Sylus didn’t do anything without a plan. And if he was here, in EVER’s clutches, then where was she? The woman whose laughter had haunted you long after you’d left. The woman he’d loved in some other life, maybe even in this one.

Your fingers tightened around the phone. What if this was all part of some elaborate scheme, and you were just a pawn again? A distraction. What if she was waiting in the shadows, ready to step in the moment EVER’s defenses crumbled?

The idea should’ve infuriated you. Instead, it just made you tired. Two years of running, of building a life where you were finally someone else, and here you were, right back where you started. Caught between Sylus’s games and EVER’s cruelty, with no idea which side would destroy you first.

You shoved your phone back into your pocket and started walking, your heels clicking a sharp, staccato rhythm against the tile. It didn’t matter. None of it did. Because whether this was a trap or some twisted reunion, one thing was certain. You were already in too deep to walk away now.

Your lungs burned with the breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. The immediate crisis was over, Voss had bought your lie, at least for now. But the relief was temporary, fragile as glass. You knew what came next. A stronger serum. A more aggressive extraction. And Sylus, proud, untouchable Sylus, wouldn’t survive it.

The thought sent a fresh wave of panic crashing through you, your pulse hammering so loudly you were half-convinced the entire lab could hear it. What do I do?

Luke and Kieran weren’t answering. That left only one option.

Her.

Her very presence had been like a blade pressed to your ribs, a constant reminder that no matter how close you stood to him, you would never be the one he truly saw.

You swallowed hard, your fingers twitching at your sides. She worked at the Hunters Association, you remembered that much. But you couldn’t go now. Not in broad daylight, not when you didn’t even know her name. The realization was a bitter pill. Two years of resentment, of stolen glances and silent comparisons, and you’d never even learned what her name was.

No, you’d have to wait. Slip away after hours, linger near the building’s exits like some kind of stalker, and hope to catch her leaving. The idea made your skin crawl, but what other choice did you have?

For now, you forced yourself to move, to slip back into the rhythm of your day like nothing was wrong. Mara had mentioned a new restaurant, some place with dumplings she’d been raving about. You went, more out of obligation than hunger, sliding into a seat just as the lunch rush began to thin.

The food arrived, steam curling off the plates in fragrant spirals. You picked up your chopsticks, took a single bite, and then just stopped. The flavors blurred together, tasteless as ash. Your mind was elsewhere, spinning in frantic circles.

What if she doesn’t help? What if she laughs in your face? What if she’s the reason he’s here in the first place?

You pushed the food around your plate, your appetite long gone. Around you, the restaurant buzzed with conversation, the clatter of dishes, the occasional burst of laughter. None of it reached you. You were trapped in your own head, drowning in scenarios that all ended the same way, with Sylus’s lifeless body on an exam table, and your hands stained with the consequences.

By the time you made it back to the facility, lunch had bled into the afternoon, the sky outside the windows already darkening toward evening. You barely had time to stash your bag at your workstation before the alert chimed on your tablet.

“Emergency meeting. Conference Room A. 5 minutes.”

Your stomach dropped.

You knew, even before you stepped through the doors, what this was about. The room was already half-full, researchers murmuring to each other in hushed, excited tones. Voss stood at the front, his expression unreadable as he tapped something into a holoscreen.

Then he looked up, and his gaze landed squarely on you.

“Now that we’re all here,” he said, his voice cool and precise, “let’s discuss Phase Two.”

The screen behind him flickered to life, revealing a new formula, twice as complex as the last, with a list of side effects that made your blood run cold.

Cardiac arrest. Cerebral hemorrhage. Ischemic stroke.

Voss’s lips curved into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “We begin testing tomorrow.”

Across the room, Mara caught your eye, her brows furrowed in concern. You realized, distantly, that your hands were shaking.

You curled them into fists.

The meeting passed in a blur of muffled voices and flickering holoscreens. Words like "enhanced serum" and "immediate testing" caught your attention once in a while, meaningless noises against the roaring in your skull. You sat stiff-backed in your chair, fingers clenched around your tablet hard enough to leave imprints, your mind a thousand miles away, trapped behind that observation glass, watching Sylus’s body convulse under the serum’s assault.

When the meeting ended, you stood mechanically, following the stream of researchers out the door like a robot rehearsing actions. Your footsteps echoed down the hallway, perfectly measured, your body moving on autopilot while your thoughts spiraled.

What were you going to do?

The question looped in your head, but there was no answer. No plan. Just the crushing weight of what was coming, the knowledge that tomorrow, they would strap Sylus back into that chair and pump him full of something even worse. And you would have to watch.

A hand closed around your wrist, yanking you sideways into a dim storage room. The door hissed shut behind you, and you blinked, momentarily disoriented, as Mara’s face swam into focus. Her usual playful smirk was gone, replaced by something sharp and searching.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” she demanded, voice low. “You’ve been zoning out all day. And in there?” She jerked her chin toward the conference room. “You looked like you were about to vomit.”

Your throat tightened. I can’t tell her. The truth was a grenade in your hands, pull the pin, and everything would blow apart. Mara was your friend, maybe the closest thing you had to one in this place, but this? This was too big. Too dangerous.

“It’s just…” You swallowed, scrambling for something, anything, that wasn’t a lie but wasn’t the whole truth either. “This is serious stuff we’re doing now. I can’t- I don’t know if I can take it.”

Mara’s eyebrow arched. “Excuse me?” She crossed her arms, leaning back against a shelf of sterile supplies. “What about the other experiments you performed? The neural overwrites? The memory wipes?” Her voice dropped, almost mocking. “Those didn’t bother you?”

The words hit like a slap.

She was right. You had done worse. Writen protocols that scraped a person’s mind clean, designed machines that could drain the blood out of the subjects with a few clicks. But those subjects had been monsters, rapists, murderers, traffickers from the N109 Zone’s darkest corners. You’d seen their files. Known what they’d done. It had been easy, then, to tell yourself you were making the world better.

But Sylus? Sylus was different.

What exactly was he to you?

The question lodged in your chest like a bullet.

Mara sighed when you didn’t answer, pushing off the shelf. “Look, I won’t push. But get it together.” Her gaze flicked to the door, then back to you, uncharacteristically serious. “I noticed first because we’re friends. The moment someone else does? You’re in trouble.”

She left without another word, the door clicking shut behind her, and just like that, you were alone.

The silence pressed in, thick and suffocating. You slumped against the wall, your legs suddenly unsteady, the cold metal biting through your lab coat. Your tablet slipped from your fingers, clattering to the floor, but you didn’t bother picking it up.

You couldn’t walk away now. Couldn’t pretend you hadn’t seen him. Couldn’t let them kill him.

But helping him? That meant betraying EVER. Meant throwing away everything you’d built, your career, your safety, the fragile peace you’d carved out for yourself.

And for what?

For the man who’d watched you walk away two years ago and hadn’t followed?

Your hands trembled. You pressed them to your face, your breath coming too fast, too shallow.

Somewhere, in the back of your mind, a voice whispered. You already know the answer.

You’d known it the moment you saw him behind that glass.

You were going to burn your life to the ground for him.

And the worst part was you didn’t even know why.

You slipped out of the storage room with measured steps. The hallway was empty, the hum of distant conversations and clicking keyboards the only sounds. Okay, you’ve got this. 

The plan formed in your mind like a lifeline. After work, you’d go to the Hunter’s Association. Even if Sylus had some grand scheme in motion, you needed to know. And then? Then you’d step away. Wash your hands of this mess.

You took a deep breath, steadying yourself before pushing open the lab doors. Inside, the scene was exactly as you’d left it, researchers hunched over glowing screens, fingers flying across tablets, the air thick with the sterile scent of ozone and disinfectant. No one looked up as you entered. No one except Mara.

Her gaze met yours for a brief moment before she deliberately turned back to her work. The unspoken "get it together" was evident on her face. You forced yourself to move, crossing the room to your workstation.

The observation window drew your attention like a magnet. Empty, of course. Sylus wasn’t there, why would he be? The serum testing was done for the day, and EVER had no reason to keep him in the lab when they could stash him in some high-security cell instead.

You sank into your chair, fingers hovering over the holoscreen as your thoughts churned. None of this made sense. If Sylus was here, it had to be part of a plan. That’s how he operated. So where was the cavalry? Where were Luke and Kieran, bursting through the doors with guns blazing? Where was the distraction, the sabotage, the anything that would explain why the most dangerous man you’d ever known was sitting in a cell instead of burning this place to the ground?

Unless he wanted to be here.

The thought sent a chill down your spine. You shook your head, as if you could physically dislodge it. No. That was a rabbit hole you couldn’t afford to go down right now.

You threw yourself into your work, losing hours to data streams and prototype schematics, your hands moving on autopilot while your mind raced. The second your shift ended, you were out the door, your coat barely shrugged on as you all but sprinted for the transit station.

The Hunter’s Association loomed ahead, its sleek facade lit by the dying light of the sunset. You hesitated at the entrance, suddenly unsure. Were you too late? Too early? Would she even still be here?

You planted yourself across the street, leaning against a lamppost like you had every right to be there, your pulse thundering in your ears. Minutes ticked by. Ten. Twenty. Just as you were about to give up, to turn and walk away, you saw her.

There she was.

She stepped out of the building beside a coworker, a tall man with silver hair and piercing blue eyes, his posture relaxed, his laugh carrying across the street. And her. Even now, after all this time, the sight of her hit like a punch to the gut.

She was beautiful. Effortlessly so, her hair catching the golden light, her smile easy as she listened to something the man said. You’d spent years trying to forget the exact curve of her lips, the way her eyes crinkled at the corners when she laughed.

Your feet moved before you could stop yourself, carrying you across the street. The man noticed you first, his gaze sharpening as he subtly shifted his stance, one hand drifting toward his hip. A weapon. Of course. Hunters were never unarmed.

She followed his line of sight, and her eyes locked onto yours.

For a heartbeat, the world stopped. Her smile froze, her breath catching audibly. You saw the exact moment recognition dawned, the way her eyes widened, her lips parting in something like shock. Then she  turned to the man, murmuring something too low for you to hear. 

He hesitated, his gaze flicking between the two of you before nodding and walking away, though not without a final, lingering glance in your direction.

And then she was walking toward you, her steps measured, her expression unreadable. Up close, she was even more striking. The scent of her perfume hit you like a memory. The last time you’d been this close to her, you’d been standing in Sylus’s study, your hands clenched at your sides as they stood side by side. 

Now, she studied you with an intensity that made your skin prickle.

"You," she said finally, her voice softer than you remembered. "I wondered if I’d ever see you again."

The words settled between you, heavy with unspoken questions.

You opened your mouth. Closed it.

What the hell were you even supposed to say?

Your mouth went dry. The words tumbled out before you could stop them, awkward, stilted, painfully inadequate. "Um… hi?"

Her expression softened, something unreadable flickering in her eyes. Then, to your absolute shock, she stepped forward and pulled you into a hug.

You froze.

Her arms were warm, her perfume dizzyingly familiar, something floral and expensive, the same scent that had lingered in Sylus’s study long after she’d left. Your hands hovered uselessly at your sides, your brain short-circuiting. What the hell was happening?

She pulled back first, her smile small but genuine. "Where have you been?"

The question threw you. You blinked, scrambling for words. "I just… left. For work."

"Work?" Her brow furrowed. "You worked for Sylus."

"Well, yeah. And then I left."

She studied you for a long moment, her gaze sharp in a way that made your skin prickle. Then she gestured across the street to a dimly lit coffee shop. "Let’s talk there."

You followed her numbly. This wasn’t how you’d imagined this going. You’d braced for hostility, for cold indifference, not this. Not soft smiles and casual hugs and a conversation you had no idea how to navigate.

The coffee shop was nearly empty, the air thick with the scent of roasted beans and burnt sugar. You slid into a booth by the window, the vinyl seat creaking under your weight. Silence stretched between you, heavy and suffocating. You couldn’t stop staring at her, the way her fingers tapped absently against the table, the way the dim light caught on her hair.

Finally, you couldn’t take it anymore. "Have you been in contact with Sylus?"

She raised an eyebrow and then laughed.

The sound was bright, effortless, just like you remembered. It sent a sharp pang through your chest. You frowned. "What’s funny?"

She wiped at her eyes, still grinning. "I haven’t talked to him in, let’s see, over a year now. And the last time we did talk?" She leaned forward, her voice dropping. "He called me in the middle of the night asking if I knew where you were."

Your heart stuttered.

The world narrowed to the sound of your own pulse roaring in your ears. He’d asked about you. Not just in passing, not just as an afterthought. He’d called her. In the middle of the night.

Your voice came out strangled. "What did he say?"

She shrugged, stirring her coffee idly. "Like I said, he wanted to know if I’d seen you. And honestly? We never talked, so I was no help. But I have contacts, so I tried looking for you anyway." A pause. Her expression shifted, something almost wistful creeping in. 

"It was like you’d vanished. The last I heard, Sylus ransacked the entire N109 Zone trying to find you."

Your stomach twisted. You’d known, on some level, that he’d searched. But hearing it out loud, hearing her say it, made it real in a way you weren’t prepared for.

"I’m sorry," you said automatically. "I had to go away."

She waved a hand dismissively. "Not my business. But what does catch my attention…" She tilted her head, studying you with renewed interest. "is why you’re asking if we’re in touch."

You stiffened. She laughed again, softer this time. "Why would we be? We’re hardly friends. He just helped me out when I needed assistance, and that was it."

Something fragile and hopeful fluttered in your chest. You crushed it immediately. "Aren’t you two…" You trailed off, gesturing vaguely. "A couple or something?"

This time, her laughter was outright delighted. "Oh, come on." She leaned back, shaking her head. "He’s a criminal. The most wanted man in Linkon City. Not exactly my type." A smirk. 

"Besides, why would we be a thing when he always had eyes for someone else?"

The words hit like a runaway train. Your breath caught.

Someone else.

The implication hung in the air between you, thick and undeniable. You opened your mouth to say something, but words were lost to you.

She took pity on you then, her expression softening. "You really didn’t know?"

You couldn’t answer. 

After all this time?

You sat there, stunned, the words "he always had eyes for someone else" ringing in your skull like a gunshot. The coffee in front of you had gone cold, untouched. She watched you with something between amusement and pity, her fingers idly tracing the rim of her cup.

You stood abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor. "I have to go."

She didn’t stop you. Just arched a brow as you fumbled for your bag, your movements jerky and uncoordinated. "Sure," she said lightly. "But he did find you, didn’t he?"

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. Your throat had closed up, your pulse hammering so violently you were half-convinced she could hear it.

The walk home was a blur. The city lights smeared into streaks of gold and neon, the sounds of traffic and chatter fading into white noise. Your mind was a storm, thoughts crashing into each other with brutal, unrelenting force.

Sylus had eyes for you.

The idea was laughable. Absurd. And yet not so impossible to imagine.

Memories surfaced. The way he’d linger just a little too close when reviewing your work, his breath warm against your temple. The way he’d leave notes in his precise, elegant handwriting, notes you’d saved, tucked away like some pathetic secret. The way he’d asked you to live with him, for fuck’s sake, as if that was a normal thing a boss would do.

You let out a shaky breath, your fingers tightening around the strap of your bag.

There was a time, a time when you would’ve begged for this. When the mere possibility that he might feel the same would’ve sent you spiraling into dizzy, reckless hope. But now?

Now you didn’t know what to feel.

Because it didn’t matter. Not really.

You’d help him. Of course you would. You’d get him out of EVER’s clutches, and then you’d move on. Both of you. That was the plan. That was the only plan.

So why did that thought make your chest ache?

A gust of wind cut through you, sharp and biting. You barely felt it.

Why the hell is he even here?

The question gnawed at you. If Sylus had orchestrated this, if this was some elaborate scheme, why wasn’t he doing anything? Why wasn’t he fighting? Why weren’t Luke and Kieran kicking down doors? Why was he just sitting there, letting them pump him full of serums that would kill him?

You scoffed, raking a hand through your hair. Hypothetically speaking, if you didn’t help him, if you walked away and let EVER do what they did best, he’d die. Just like that. No grand escape. No last-minute rescue. Just a cold, clinical death on an exam table, his body discarded like faulty machinery.

The idea was so wrong it made your teeth hurt.

Sylus shouldn’t die quietly. Sylus shouldn't have to die at all. He was a force of nature, a storm given human form. He didn’t just let things happen to him.

Unless he was here for you.

But no. That was insane. That was pathetic.

You shook your head, but the idea stuck, stubborn and insidious.

Because if he had come for you, if he’d let himself get captured, knowing you worked here, knowing you’d see him, then he’d gambled everything on the hope that you’d help him. And that meant he’d gambled on you caring. Did he not think of the possibility that you might not? That you might walk away? That after two years of silence, you might look him in the eye and let them take everything from him?

A bitter laugh escaped you.

Of course he had. Sylus thought of everything. That was the problem. Which meant maybe this wasn’t a gamble at all. Maybe it was a test.

The realization settled over you like a cloud.

Tomorrow, they’d give him the stronger serum. Tomorrow, he’d die, unless you did something. And he’d known that. He’d known. But why was he putting you on the spot like that?

You stopped walking, your apartment building looming ahead, its windows dark and empty.

What the hell am I supposed to do now?

She wasn’t involved. You couldn’t and wouldn’t drag her into this. But that left you with exactly zero allies, zero resources, and zero time.

You exhaled sharply, your breath fogging in the cold air.

Things weren’t any better than they’d been this morning. If anything, they were worse. Because now you knew and that changed everything.

Lemme know if you wanna be added to the taglist!

tags: @nm4565natty, @dysphxriaii, @animegamerfox, @floofycookie, @food4me-always, @dummiebunny, @starllight613, @natashahbarry, @hao-ming-8, @eve-rockin-blog, @sylusgirlie7, @babygirl-panda19, @chaoticfivesworld, @wakeupr41, @poptrim, @brailsthesmolgurl, @seung185, @mimiu3usoft, @theplaid-wearingmoose, @moonchildjae00, @pinksaiyans, @vintag3u, @peachystea, @69-gojos-wife-69, @harusansthings, @dyeinsomniadontwake, @perqbeth, @dramaticalsachan, @dana-nite, @blusterry-bomb, @miffysoo, @his-ocean-emissary, @totallytaurus4, @sleepykittyenergy, @terriblesoup, @mcdepressed290, @ikesimpleton, @meyline, @decaf-nosebleed, @ili6a, @moonlight-inthe-sea, @adeptustemptations, @sylussweetkitten, @roschea-arts, @blipblopblopblip, @eolivy, @coeurdeveea, @sylussplushie, @thestarsaboveme, @cordidy, @bxtchopolis, @sabage101

[wetforsylus]

– sylus teaching you how to jerk him off  ༯ 

"pump your wrist quicker.. mm yes, good, goood."

you listen to him and move your wrist in a quicker movement, fingers sliding along his hard length, tightening at the tip and then slicking down to the bottom.

desperate whines fill the room, sylus was trying to hold himself back from not making too much noise but it was impossible when you were the one touching him.

"s' this right?" mocking innocence filled your sweet voice, staring up at him with batted lashes.

a broken moan left his lips and he nodded, scooting himself closer to you. long fingers fumbling on your arm, trying to guide you back to the pace he wanted.

"you're doing so good for me, hm? k-keep going.."

addicted by your touch, the warm sparks of your fingertips not listening to his guide and going in the pace you want just made him even closer to release.

"close?"

a chuckle left his lips and he shook his head, trying to deny that you were completely right.

and seconds before you could tease him any further he couldn't hold it in anymore.

[syluspeach]

Sylus needs a break…(+18)

“Baby, please…you need-ah,fuck-needa stop…”

Sylus’ fingers dug into the fat of your thighs as he held you down on his sensitive cock, the smooth motion of your hips coming to a halt. The growing pressure in your tummy disappeared. Your eyes burned in desperation.

“But I want more, Sy.”

Your whines and cries are overlooked, the male under you trying to catch his breath. His chest rose and fell as he tried to straighten out his thoughts. You had been riding him for a while now. His cum drops from your cunt and down his swollen length.

“Needa break, sweet girl…you’re sucking me dry. Taking every last drop.”

The dazed look in your eyes showed how far gone you were.

“Makes me feel so full…so warm. Needed you in me all day.”

He was surprised by the amount of times you came but were still wanting more. Your abdomen was distended by his seed and cock, yet you refused to stop. The back of your thighs was sticky with release, intensifying the plopping sound of skin meeting.

His usually sweet angel had to have been possessed by some unknown sex demon.

His skin was hot and sweaty against your palms. By the way your nails dug into him, he’d surely find little crescent shapes littered across the broad expanse when he looked in the mirror later.

He couldn’t deny that you looked beautiful on top of him. Your skin heated under his touch, your eyes sparkling in delight as you began rocking your hips once more. Your mouth fell open, breaths pushed out of you with each press against your battered cervix.

Slowly, the tension in his body disappeared and his hips bucked up to meet the swirl of your hips. As he got rougher by the second, tits bouncing in his face, a smile spread across your pretty face. Sylus’ heart warmed at the sight.

In the end, how could he deny you when you begged him so sweetly?

[lymericslimerick]

Idk if you're comfortable with it (and if not, ignore this ask!) but maybe a smau where the lads guys notice that reader has been skipping meals on purpose lately?

𝘌𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘐 𝘭𝘦𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘪𝘯 (𝘌𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦) | LADS + when you've been skipping meals

warnings: mention of weight related issues (eating disorders, weight related insecurities, and diet culture), hurt-ish, comfort, allusions to an LI having some sort of eating disorder (raf and caleb)

.˚₊‧˗ˏˋ ─── xavier

.˚₊‧˗ˏˋ ─── zayne

.˚₊‧˗ˏˋ ─── rafayel

.˚₊‧˗ˏˋ ─── sylus

.˚₊‧˗ˏˋ ─── caleb

[mwphisto]

Sylus eats.

Like I’m talking he goes to town. The first time you eat a meal with him that’s more hands on, way better eaten with your fingers than your utensils, you kinda just… grow a bit awestruck. Because for some reason, watching Sylus chow down on a fucking greasy burger renders you speechless.

For one, you never imagined him to be someone who’d like such messy, greasy foods. Now? Your jaw is a bit slack, your pupils dilated as you watch him man handle that damn piece of food and go to fucking town.

He notices, of course, and his eyebrow is arching as a peculiar look crosses his face. Then? He’s swallowing, laughing a bit as he places the food back on the plate and wipes his mouth before licking his fingers clean.

“Get your mind out of the gutter, kitten.”

I had the most bizarre thought while half asleep last night and woke up still thinking about it so naturally I had to share it.