#Sylus love and Deepspace

[wetforsylus]

– sylus loves filling you up ༯

"there we go... look at you." he praised, pressing on your lower stomach as his eyes were nowhere on your face.

you squirm beneath him, feeling his dick pulsating harder in you. his thrusts were consistent yet broken, it was obvious he was trying to hold back.

"one- one more time, please sweetie?"

a whine left your lips as you nodded and rode yourself against him, feeling your stomach bulge at his hard cock sinking deeper inside you, a jolt of pleasure sparking through you when spurs of his come shot right through you.

"thaatss itt- relax for me, hm?"

"please!" you choke, grabbing onto his arms as your pants grew more desperate, tears stream down your eyes as you tried to catch your breath, feeling a warm, pooling feeling between your thighs.

your breath hitches at the sight of his slick drooling down your legs, you stare back up at sylus and notice his swirled pupils staring at the sight in awe, which made him gulp and look back at you one more time.

eyes silently begging for approval as he slowly pulled himself out, and before you could even speak another brutal thrust alerted you from your daze.

"last time, I swear."

[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

[ethjayy]

yeth

[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!

taglist: @fallthelong @mentaltrouble2201 @cordidy, @natimiles @leighsartworks216 @notisekais @raining4food @fallthelong @pomegranatepip @juliuscaesarsstabbedback @krystallevine @lemurianmaster @nenggie @loverindeepspace @sinsodom @lucifers-silhouette @sunsethw4 @kthehoeforfictionalmen @mentaltrouble2201 @seris-the-amious @cheezeandkrackers @lovesick-sylus @solifloris @astheskycries @kingsaltytree27 @mionie @kryuru @hoebii @meiniblr-blog @2013-1127 @solli373 @peachyaone @yvlaine @fromthechaoticmind @pathogenic @nevabetrice @roschea-arts

If you would like to be added to the taglist, please interact with this post

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

[harmonyrae]

I'm DEEPLY unwell...

"the laugh he lets out next was the last warning you'll get, because sylus doesn't say anything else— he just grabs both of your ankles and folds you in half, hips snapping forward with a brutal slam that punches the breath straight out of your chest."

I NEED HIM TO FOLD ME LIKE A CHEAP CHAIR I AM BEGGING OH MY LAWD

you say he's too small — love and deepspace

including. zayne, xavier, rafayel, sylus, caleb

warnings. fem! reader, brat taming, dirty talk, rough syx, big dicks, they took it personal, petnames used: darling, sweetheart, princess, brat, pretty girl

⋆. 𐙚 ̊ zayne

not the reaction you've expected yet zayne laughs like you've straight up offended him— a low, vicious sound dragging through the lengths of his throat as his hands dig into your flesh, dragging you down on his cock until your breathing was caught sharp in your throat.

"you wanna run your mouth, pretty girl?" his voice sinks low, dragging through the heat between you like smoke, his gaze glinting with something cruel and sweet, "then take all of it, come on, take every inch."

he grabs your ass with roughened palms, pulling you flush against him as he fucks into you with a brutal snap of his hips, "really, so small?" he spits, "you really wanna lie like that when you're leaking down your thighs?" as he starts pounding into you like he's trying to prove a point, thrust until your slick walls take his shape, pulse around him like he's the only thing you've ever known as each thrust felt heavier than the last— utterly thick and brutal rubbing on your walls, so deep it made your eyes roll back.

"can't even handle me," he growls, "you keep trying to squirm away— where's all that bratty shit show now?" you're crying from overstimulation, in fact, everything was just way too hot and too wet, your ass tingling where his hands kept slapping it, squeezing and holding you into place.

"darling," he pants, "you said it, yeah? now you take it," and zayne doesn't stop, not until he's spilling into you with a broken groan, pressing down so you cannot move an inch, grinding through the aftershocks just to make sure it sticks.

"that feel small?" he exhales through his teeth, something like a laugh dying in his throat as he sinks deeper into your warmth, "cause you'll be leaking for me for hours."

⋆. 𐙚 ̊ xavier

"...what did you just say?" confusion draws over xavier's facial features as his voice drops into a tone that doesn't even sound human anymore— turning quite disbelieving as his pupils blow wide, staring at you like he might devour you whole.

"you're really gonna say i'm small in the middle of it?" to tease him a little further, you decide to utter it once more, just to see what he'll do and fuck— he snaps, rightfully so as he grabs your thighs, spreads you open with both hands, wide enough that it burns, so you can see the outline of him as he slides back in, "does that feel small?" he snarls, voice thick with possession and something even worse— the urgency to prove you wrong.

"look at your pussy, baby, swallowing me like it's starving— look how fucking deep i am," and you do look as it ruins you, the way he stretches you, the fat base of his cock dragging against something so sensitive it made your stomach seize up, the wet squelch of your cunt fluttering around every inch he buries inside.

he draws back just enough to look, eyes gleaming like he's studying something rare and irreplaceable as his palm snaps sharp against your inner thigh, not out of rage but precision— a sound so wet and filthy it bloomed between you as he watches the recoil with a kind of cold interest that bordered on worship.

"don't lie, you're dripping, look, and i've barely even started moving," as he turns his head down and spits— right where you're joined, thumb smearing the globule of saliva into your clit and mixing it up with the filthy mess, like he wanted to make you see how wrong you were.

"i'll ruin you slow," xavier promises, voice husky, "fuck you until you can't sit without thinking of me, if this is small—" he thrusts deep and laughs, your vision whitening out, "—then you better pray i never really stretch you open."

your nails dig into his back like you're trying to anchor yourself to reality, in fact, to him, to anything, really— because you see, the way he fits inside you was devastating, your stomach coiling and wracked with the agony of being sprawled too rough, his cum thick and endlessly coming in white, warm ribbons as he groans with sin and need, as if your bodies were made only to drown together.

your breath catches onto every gasp as if even the air has become too much for you to endure, your hips stuttering and grinding without meaning, most importantly without will, just chasing the friction that made you feel alive as his cock was the only thing grounding you towards your pleasure.

a fractured hiss slips from him, the sound of a man too far gone as his jaw clenched, eyes wild, like your cunt was some divine punishment and he was utterly grateful to be ruined by it, "that's right, feel how big i really am, sweetheart."

"say it," xavier hisses like he's savoring it, like he wanted you to hear the desperation in his lungs, "say i'm not small— say you love how i fill you up," and you do, because it's true, correct? every single inch of you was wrecked by now, opened up around his cock like you were made to stay there.

⋆. 𐙚 ̊ rafayel

"oh?" rafayel gives you an intrigued look, his eyes flicking to where you're spread wide for him, all flushed and aching and already gushing around his cock yet spelling out something so laughable, "small?" you don't get the chance to respond before he pushes in with one fast snap of hips— rougher than he had any right to go as he smiles when your legs begin to shake immediately.

"funny," he hums, "considering the way you're clenching down on me like you cannot let go," he stops mid thrust when you whisper it once more, his cock stilled inside within a long pause as you can hear the tick of his jaw when he exhales.

he leans over you now, hand palming your breasts hard enough to make you gasp out into his mouth, "but you're trembling," he drawls underneath his exhale with his jaw locked, like the feel of your walls tensing around him was too much— like it was destructive on him of how tight you were, how greedy and how bratty you were to him yet rafayel still wanted more.

the man watches you like he's analyzing a painting, "you seem to struggle from something so small?"

"you feel that, no?" he growls, hips grinding in slow, devastating circles, "that's me stretching you out, filling every fucking inch— claiming you, so tell me again, come on, who's too small?"

at this point, you cannot even form the simplest of words, drooling down your own chin as your cunt was squelching and twisting around him loud enough to echo within your bedroom as he just grins filthily.

"that's what i thought," rafayel whispers, his tongue moves in slick circles over your tits, voice low like a secret carved out of sin as if he's telling your body what he's going to do without ever asking, like your entire soul was already promised to him, "you're gonna keep me inside for hours, sweetheart, i'll keep cumming until your body knows the shape of me."

⋆. 𐙚 ̊ sylus

what got sylus the most was the way you've said it to him— quite soft yet smug, with a saccharine coated pout like you're honestly disappointed in his ability to pleasure you.

what else was he supposed to do other than still himself inside you in shock, the deafening silence that followed next not really being silence, because in reality the atmosphere was charged— you could compare it to an animatic stillness as his grip on your wrists were slowly tightening just enough to make you shiver under him, "you know what you just said?" his voice echoes softly against your cheek, too soft, in fact, as if he was trying the words out on his tongue like a wine he's about to spit out.

the laugh he lets out next was the last warning you'll get, because sylus doesn't say anything else— he just grabs both of your ankles and folds you in half, hips snapping forward with a brutal slam that punches the breath straight out of your chest.

"so small?" he grits, voice breaking into something high and ragged, hips jerking as he fucks you into the mattress like he's attempting to fuck the thought straight out of your darling skull, "you're creaming all over me like you need it, and you've got the nerve to lie like that?"

your tits bounce from the force of his hips, and of course, of course, his hands are all over them, squeezing and pinching your nipples, spreading the mounds of flesh as if trying to claim every inch he's obsessed over as he leans in, biting down just under your nipple, growling, "gonna call me small when you can't even take all of me?"

"all this mess, and you still wanna lie?" and you feel it— the tension between your legs, the burning stretch and your swollen folds, how slick your pussy sounded every time he slams himself back in, every twitch of his thickness dragging against your soaked walls, your body straining and holding, straining and holding, the sheer pressure of him inside you enough to make your vision go halo, like you're being reshaped from the inside out into something that belonged to him.

alas, you put a mental sticker inside your head to never lie to sylus again— you simply can't, in fact, you're already crying from the rough pace he's going for, shaking so bad he has to hold you in place by your wrists just to keep going.

you feel him add additional grinds on your pussy whenever you swallowed him whole, his tip pinching against your sweet spot every time he sinks too deep— like he's reshaping your frame, like your body was always meant to swell around the size of him.

you sob out his name while being stuffed full, thighs shaking from the pressure as he bears down on you, a rhythm built from slow destruction, the pressure inside you mounting as your belly contracts tight, your cunt milking him raw and seizing from how thick and hard he moves and shoves his hips, "there, there's your truth, not so small now, am i?"

⋆. 𐙚 ̊ caleb

caleb pauses, his brain rewiring and blinking down at you in complete disbelief, "you really think that's funny?" he asks you earnestly mid thrust, like he didn't just bottom out and leave you totally whiny underneath his broad figure.

you nod devilishly, lips curled up into a smug little grin when, well, that's what does it, really— with that he leans into you like a challenge, tucking a hand behind your head with his fingers tangled tight in your hair, fucking through the tightness of your hole, all the way until you choke up his name, your smirk suddenly crumbling.

caleb kisses the corner of your tear stricken eye, his ragged breathing warm against your cheek as he coos, "not so small now, huh? it's like your body knows who it belongs to."

the man only just begun and doesn't think your thighs shaking around his waist was enough for you to understand to never say that again, not when your mouth falls open with a strangled moan of his name, not when you attempt to whine that it's too much when he just shushes you sweetly with his soft lips.

"hm, i forgot i'm dating a comedic," he says it like it hurts him and for a second, you see it flicker in his eyes, real heartbreak, or just feigned innocence? before his gaze twists into something dark, near devotional, "princess, oh princess," he coos, grabbing your face in both hands and fucking into you slow and tender like he's trying to reach your heart from underneath, "no, you don't mean that, you're just being cruel, aren't you? just trying to get me to break?"

his cock pulses deep inside you, thick and dragging over every trembling ridge of your cunt as your toes curl and your legs kick just a little, involuntary from the stretch, "you feel that, baby? you feel how your pussy's milking me already? tell me— does something small make your breath hitch like that?"

to caleb, there was nothing more mesmerizing than hearing your voice falling apart, adoring it whenever he's making you taste the consequences of every bratty little lie you've told him, "oh, you're perfect, you're so damn tight i can feel everything, you're gonna take it all for me, every inch, yeah? and then i'll ask if you still think it's small, okay?"

your whines come out in shattered bursts, your vision blurring as your body clenches around him, mind fraying at the edges from the slow, relentless drags of his thick cock grazing at your walls, in fact, you're shaking under him as he plays with your body, brain emptied by the way he keeps filling you up.

©2025 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify, claim as your own

[ladsrlife2]

Sugar Daddy! Sylus - Part 2

Sylus x Reader

You thought Sylus was just your mysterious, well-dressed sugar daddy. Then you landed an internship - only to discover he’s the CEO.

tags: 18+ nsfw/smut, elevator blow-job, office-sex, sugar daddy sylus, bratty mc

With the love of many on ao3 and tumblr, I decided to write part 2!! Hope you guys enjoy this as much as the first <3

Part 1 💗

────── ❀•°❀°•❀ ──────

“Not too shabby for a CEO’s office.”

You say, walking into Sylus’s office, arms crossed like you own the place.

Sylus lifts his gaze from behind his sleek desk, amused. His crimson eyes glitter like garnets under the sunlight pouring in through the wall-sized window behind him, the skyline stretching wide - cold glass and mirrored steel.

He turns slowly in his chair as you strut past the leather sofas, running a finger along their edge.

“I’m glad it wins your approval.” His voice is rich and smooth, like wine served in crystal.

You ignore the compliment, scanning the office until your eyes land on the opaque glass wall at the entrance.

“So,” you say, turning back toward him. “Why did such an important man call a lowly intern into his office?”

His gaze doesn’t falter. “Because I supposed the intern had a lot to say.”

His eyes flick down to your figure and back up again, unmistakably pleased by your new formal look. You don’t blame him. You’re wearing your carefully chosen pencil skirt, silk blouse, black tights, and favorite heels.

“Let’s hear what the CEO has to say first.”

He gestures for you to come closer with his hand. You ignore it - and instead hop up onto the edge of his desk, your legs swinging idly.

He chuckles lowly, leaning forward to place a warm hand on your thigh.

“Things are… complicated,” he says, voice dipping lower.

You arch a brow. “That’s new. You, saying things are complicated?”

“It’s a personal mess. I didn’t want you to get involved in it.”

You tilt your head. “What, are you secretly married or something?”

Sylus scoffs, offended by the absurdity. “No. Of course not.”

You look down at his hand and slowly interlace your fingers with his. A calculated move. You bring it to your lips, place a kiss on his knuckles, and look up with wide, injured eyes.

“Even if you were, you know I would’ve understood,” you whisper. “I can’t believe you doubted me.”

He looks at you the way someone might look at a monkey riding a unicycle - a sight both entertaining and ridiculous.

Yet you continue.

“I’d go through thick and thin with you,” you begin solemnly, one hand to your chest. “And I would-”

“-go through thick and thin with my money,” he interrupts dryly.

You gasp, scandalized. “That is outrageous! Even if you were poor! And married! I’d still be by your side!”

You clutch his hand to your chest dramatically. “Feel it - the heartbreak!”

You flatten his palm against your breasts.

He raises a brow. “…All I feel is a healthy heartbeat.”

He gives a light squeeze. You swat his hand away.

“See?! That’s all you think about! What happened to dignity? And honor? And chivalry?”

“Alright, alright.” He waves you down like he’s swatting away an overly dramatic stage actress. “I should’ve told you sooner.”

You lean back on your palms, lips curving into something between amusement and triumph. “You should have.”

“I’m sorry, kitten.” His tone straddles that fine line between genuine remorse and theatrical sarcasm.

You cross your arms, wordlessly demanding more.

“I’m sorry I doubted you,” he continues, slow and deliberate. “Even though you’ve been so loyal to me.”

The way he lingers on loyal - you can’t tell if he’s teasing or trying to guilt you.

“What could I possibly do to make it up to you?”

Your heart skips a beat in thrill.

“I don’t know,” you say, coy. “Nothing could mend this broken heart.”

“Right. I should’ve known kitten is not a materialistic girl. Perhaps I can make it up to you with... sincere actions.”

Nonsense.

“On second thought, I think maybe the new Ferrari collection looks rather beautiful.”

Sylus chuckles, shaking his head at your shameless audacity. “Unbelievable,” he mutters - and sighs. “Fine.”

“Really?!” you gasp, and before he can change his mind, you climb into his lap with all the grace of a triumphant winner. You wrap your arms around his neck, beaming. “Oh, Daddy. I think I’m healed already.”

He lets out a low laugh that reverberates through his chest as he pulls you in tighter.

“Maybe I should’ve picked something more expensive,” you say, trailing kisses across his cheek.

“Your greed knows no bounds,” He murmurs into your neck, and takes a second to deeply inhale your scent. “But I’m always impressed by your efficiency.”

You reply, voice quieter, like you’re whispering a naughty secret. “How about,” you say, locking eyes with him as your hand drifts lower to graze the outline of his cock, now hardening fast beneath your palm, “...I make up for my so-called greed… starting now.”

His crimson eyes flicker, darkening instantly.

You keep the gaze as you palm him harder, slow and steady. His cock stiffens beneath your fingers, straining against his pants.

Just as you start to unzip him, his hand closes around your wrist.

“As much as I’d like that, kitten.” His deep voice is full of restraint. “Unfortunately I’ve decided to keep my office sex-free. As CEO. Dignity, or whatever you were saying earlier.” .

You look at him, mouth open. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“I’m not.” Sylus says, mouth upturned into a smirk.

“You’re doing this just to get back at me, aren’t you?”

He raises a brow, voice calm. “Hardly. I made that rule when I founded the company. Years ago.”

“…and I respect that.”

Sylus laughs, amused by your forced diplomacy, and plants a kiss on your lips. “Why, thank you.”

Just then, the phone on his desk rings. You rise from his lap, smoothing your skirt, giving him space. As he reaches for the phone, his fingers brush your back in a quiet, lingering touch.

“I need to get back to work,” he murmurs. “Thomas will escort you back down.”

You pause at the door, glancing back. He’s already answering the call, voice level, posture straight, every trace of indulgence vanished. The tension in the room dissipates like smoke - replaced with cold, crisp professionalism.

It scratches something in you.

That he can switch off so easily, that you're left hot and bothered while he returns to work like nothing happened.

That kind of control is... infuriating. And sexy.

You follow the assistant down the hall, and step into the elevator and press the button.

As you watch the numbers decrease steadily, you begin to wonder:

What ever you should do to make sure Sylus breaks his precious little ‘rule’ that is oh, so unlike his character?

────── ❀•°❀°•❀ ──────

The opportunity presents itself.

It just so happens that Sylus doesn’t always use his exclusive elevator.

On your fourth day of work, you’re wrapping up a minor errand at a nearby bank around noon. You enter one of the three main elevators in the hall - only to find Sylus already inside, alone, head bowed over his business phone, texting.

Too immersed, he doesn’t notice you entering. You eye the buttons and see that only the top most floor - 53 - is lit. You don’t press 8, your floor.

Instead, you slowly walk towards him, slightly undoing the top most buttons of your silk blouse, heels clicking quietly on the floor. It’s only when you’re right in front of him, barely a hand’s width apart, when he looks up from his phone with a full look of caution.

His crimson eyes relax instantly when he realizes who you are.

“Oh, it’s you, kitten-”

His words taper off as his eyes fall to your cleavage, lush and spilling over your bra beneath the undone blouse.

His lips curl into a smirk.

“Hey, boss-man,” you say, voice low and slow. You raise a hand to his stomach and stroke down gently. “Busy day at work?”

“…Surely you didn’t walk into work like that.”

“And what if I did?”

He sighs, eyes briefly shutting as he rubs his temple, like he already knows you're about to test every limit he thought he had.

“Just button it up, before anyone walks in, please.”

The mirror behind him reflects floor 14.

“How about-” your hand trails lower to the waistband of his slacks.

With the way he jolts, you know he knows what you’re about to do. Before he can stop you, however, you slip past his hands and cup his balls, giving them a deliberate squeeze.

“-No.”

You know he loves it when you do that.

A sharp breath escapes his lips.

He catches your wrist, intent on stopping you - but as your fingers begin massaging his heavy sac, his grip slackens.

“Kitten.”

His voice is strained.

But despite his threatening words, his grip loosens like his body has lost all will to resist.

It’s been a week since he last had you. He’s as pent up as you’d expect.

You stroke him through his pants with your free hand, watching his dark, unreadable expression.

“You never said anything about no sex in the elevator,” you murmur.

Before he can respond, you unbutton and unzip him in one smooth, practiced motion.

The mirror now reflects floor 23.

And then you drop to your knees.

Before he can even utter a protest, his briefs are down and your lips wrap around his length. You take him all at once, warm and slick and deep into your throat.

A groan tears from his chest, and his hand flies to your hair, instinctive and desperate.

“Get off-”

You suck harder in answer.

His cock slides deeper into your throat, your nose buried against his pelvis, eyes glistening with the effort as you fight the urge to gag.

He curses low under his breath. His legs tremble.

Your throat tightens and releases in rhythm, massaging him in a way he can't resist. His grip loosens, turning from restraint to encouragement.

Floor 29.

You look past your wet, fluttering eyelashes and lock onto his dark, undone eyes.

You bob your head steadily, filthily, letting slick sounds echo against the mirrored walls.

His brows draw together, lips parting as he exhales through clenched teeth. There's amusement in his eyes now, despite the tension in his jaw, the tightness in his hips.

Of course he likes this. Who's he trying to fool?

Floor 35.

“Mmh-”

A soft moan escapes your lips, muffled by his cock, as he nudges you to go faster up and down his length.

You stroke the base with your hand, jerking him as your mouth works his length. The way his deep breaths border on groans, the way his hips buckle every time you suck, the way his balls feel hard as you massage it with your hand, you know he’s close.

Floor 45.

Just as he’s about to tip over, you pull off with a wet pop.

He gasps, blinking in disbelief, flushed and furious and painfully hard.

You stand smoothly, adjusting your blouse, fingers nimbly buttoning each undone hole.

His eyes blaze. His cock is still fully erect, standing against his stomach, flushed and leaking.

But the elevator begins to slow.

Floor 48.

He looks at you, about to speak - probably to curse you out - but you step in quickly, fixing his pants, zipping him up, tucking in his shirt like nothing happened.

The doors slide open.

A small group of employees stands outside. You walk out casually, slipping past them like a shadow.

“Sylus! We were just on our way to your office for the 3pm meeting! What a coincidence.” Chirps a perky female voice.

“Charmed,” he mutters back, tone flat.

You don’t turn around. But as the doors begin to close again, you risk taking a last minute glance. You jolt to find out he’s still watching you - crimson eyes burning with restrained fury, humiliation and… hunger.

The doors shut, and he disappears behind polished steel.

Serves him right, you think.

That’s what he gets for being pretentious.

…Or so you try to tell yourself.

You swallow hard, heart still racing.

You try to ignore his last minute, furious gaze from floating back to your mind.

Surely, he’s not that mad. Right?

────── ❀•°❀°•❀ ──────

“Sylus- Daddy- please, I’m sorry! Please, just stop- ”

You find yourself pleading for forgiveness in his office a few hours later.

You’re bent over his desk, the surface rattling beneath your body as he pounds into you, deep and ruthlessly from behind.

It’s been an hour. You lost count of how many times you came. How many times he came.

Your shredded black tights cling uselessly to your thighs, soaked in slick and cum, both yours and his, dripping down all the way down to your ankles.

Perhaps you should’ve known it would end up like this from the moment he ripped your tights apart and didn’t even bother to undress you nor himself before burying himself inside. “Isn’t this what you wanted so badly, kitten?”

He growls, punctuating every word with a brutal thrust.

Your legs tremble violently beneath you, your hands scrambling for purchase against the wood as he holds your hips in place, unrelenting.

“You’re right,” he mutters, almost to himself, breath ragged. “I should’ve known better.”

Your moans melt into the sound of flesh slapping flesh, echoing off the office walls.

“No-sex rule, my ass,” he huffs with a dark chuckle, angling his hips just so - hitting your g-spot with surgical cruelty. “Right?”

You cry out, body locking up as another orgasm crashes into you. Your legs give out, but he catches you easily, keeping himself buried to the hilt as you squirt down his cock, your body trembling uncontrollably in his arms.

“A-ah—!”

Your mind barely resets as you slump back into his chest. You reach for his forearms wrapped around your waist, clutching him like he’s the only thing keeping you anchored.

Tilting your head back, you look up into his yet insatiable crimson eyes, and ignore the occasional twitching of your limbs and murmur, “Please, Sylus. I’m sorry. I won’t- I won’t do it again.”

You jolt as you feel him starting to slowly grind his hips against yours, again.

“What was that?” He teases.

“No- wait.” You plead out, urgently. “Don’t you have work to do?!”

Sylus chuckles and answers, pleasantly. “I made sure to finish everything before calling you in.” He purrs. “Told all my assistants to call it a day, even.” He grinds into you, his cock dragging torturously along your oversensitive walls. “ We’re the only ones on this floor.”

You choke out a moan in disbelief. You’re about to open your mouth to plead some more, when he brings his mouth close to your ear, his hot breath fanning over your skin.

“Which means,” He whispers, “No one’s coming to save you, kitten.”

You vow to

Never.

Ever.

Tease him again.

────── ❀•°❀°•❀ ──────

You guys. When I write smut. It just flows to me so naturally. I never considered myself to be on the perverted side. I don't know if I should be happy or sad at my new hobby. Lol.

hope you enjoyed this :D

Likes and comments are life xx <3

[tbaluver]

WERE GETTING MARRIED! CONGRATS TO ALL OF US HAPPY BRIDES

[sylusgworl]

FALLING (IN LOVE) IS NOT A CHOICE ft. sylus

content: domestic fluff, gn!reader, established relationship, sylus becomes a sweetheart in your presence

a/n: i love him, that's it. wc: 1k . rbs are very appreciated <3

m.list

Never did you ever think you'd come to love the lonely scarlet eyed crow that towers over the N109 zone with power equal to none.

But fate told you otherwise.

Sylus had become such an essential part of your daily life, you couldn't even remember what your days used to be like before meeting him.

You'd grown familiar to seeing his drowsy face in the morning, his groggy 'good morning' with eyes still clad in sleep and ruffled silver locks brushing against his forehead.

You'd gotten used to his big arms cradling you against his body, whether you were sad or happy, lonely or in good company.

You'd gotten used to the way he'd welcome you whenever you'd drop by, putting you first before anything and anyone else.

Falling for Sylus wasn't in the plan, it wasn't premeditated. It wasn't supposed to happen at all.

But whose heart actually follows reason?

As you sit on the sofa, a warm blanket covering your bare legs and a book laying on top of them, you slowly peek up from the bland novel you were reading, trying to find him.

He is in the kitchen, a black apron hugging his waist so prefectly while he dextrously and with no difficulty flips the pan.

His eyes, those very same red eyes you loved getting lost into, slowly meet yours, as if he knew long before you'd been staring at him.

He smiles. his face, previously hardened by concentration, now melted, softened, the boss-man of Onychinus tamed by none other than you.

“It's almost ready, sweetie,” he says, his tone soft, the tone reserved only for you. You almost melt at the name he calls you by, even if you weren't new to the relationship, even if he had called you that plenty of times.

“Okay,” your answer is low pitched, almost a whisper, as you shift your body on the sofa, searching for a comfortable position, your eyes never leaving him once, even after he goes back to work, rolling his sleeves up to his elbows, the forearms glistening under the yellowish kitchen glow.

After you set the table and Sylus lays the plate in front of you, you're pleasantly surprised by what you see. He'd managed to make your favourite dish.

You look up, surprise flickering in your eyes and meet Sylus's gaze, amusement teasing his lip upwards, as he raises an eyebrow expectantly.

“So? Aren't you gonna eat?” his voice hides a tone of teasing, so you nod before diving in.

The dinner goes by quietly, air filled with your laughter at Sylus's hopeless attempt at singing, and numerous impersonations (of Sylus) Mephisto managed to land.

Dinner and dishes done, you ready yourself for bed. You find Sylus already waiting for you, burgundy sleepwear echoes the wine swirling in the cup as he studies a paper in his hand—probably a report.

“You're here,” he says, discarding the paper on the nightstand as soon as he looks up and finds you standing at the door.

You smile and dash to the bed, the mattress diving under your weight as you lunge yourself forward and land on his lap.

Sylus doesn't let you take him by surpise, ever. His arms are already there, expecting your whimsy act already.

“Oh?” he feignes surprise, locking you in his hold while hugging you, his warmth enveloping you into a calm and tranquility you can only ever find by his side.

You slap his shoulder, “don't pretend. You already knew about my surpise-attack,” you say in a disappointed tone, resting your head against his torso while feeling his breath against your forehead as a chuckle leaves his lips.

“I can never manage to lie to you, kitten,” he kisses your forehead, gently, the touch of his lips so soft and imperceptible you think you might've imagined it.

“Now, you need to sleep,” he sets your head on the pillow and slides the duvet over your bodies.

You close your eyes.

Yes, you truly loved this scarlet eyed lonely crow. Except, now that you were there, you hoped he wouldn't be lonely anymore.

© sylusgworl - 2025, all rights reserved / i don't allow anyone to copy, repost on other platforms or sell my works.

[tboy-sylus]

So sorry but this is all I can imagine him looking like LMAOOOO

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.

[sharieb]

hello! just wanted to say I LOVEEE the way you do non-mc content. that being said could i request a headcanon on: lets say non-mc and the LI’s broke up because the dudes were still hung up on MC (they end up regretting it lol). then later on see non-mc in public who has moved on to someone else who is doing everything they guys failed to do.

The One Who Never Got It Right

Pairing: LADs x Non-Mc reader Genre: Angst (Breakup regrets) Writer's notes: Thought I could be getting more fluffs to do, but instead I got slapped in the face with this one, welp, no rest for the wicked, I guess 😅

He sees you across the bustling Skyhaven terminal—laughing, radiant, clinging to the arm of someone who isn’t him.

The man by your side is kind-eyed, attentive. He holds your bag, listens intently, and actually smiles when you talk. He doesn’t look distracted or distant—he’s there. Present.

Caleb halts mid-stride, fingers curling around the edge of his datapad. For a moment, it’s like the mission debrief in his hand doesn’t even exist.

He remembers every time he cut conversations short, gave you half his presence, let you walk beside him in silence because his mind was always elsewhere—on MC.

He thought you didn’t notice. That you’d wait. That maybe you’d always be around until he figured himself out.

Now you’re smiling in ways he never earned.

The worst part? You glance his way. See him. Then look away just as easily, returning to your conversation without missing a beat.

He used to be the safe place. Now, he's just a distant name in your past.

Later that night, he types a message to you. Deletes it. Writes it again.

In the end, he just stares at your contact photo for hours, then shuts off the holoscreen. And for the first time in a long time, Caleb can’t strategise his way out of the ache in his chest.

Mission Log 6.14.3A — Deleted Draft I saw her today. Not MC. Her. The one who asked me to be present. To try. To stop living like the past was all I had left. I thought letting her go would make me noble. Thought I was sparing her the weight of being second to a ghost. But maybe she wasn’t second. Maybe I just never gave her the space to be first. And someone else did. I hope he keeps holding her the way I never learned how to. I hope he never makes her feel like a placeholder. …I hope she never looks back.

He saw you at a gallery opening.

You're dressed in something elegant, arm-in-arm with a gentle-faced man who looks at you like you're art incarnate.

The moment hits him like a palette knife to the ribs.

You’re glowing—not in a spotlight way, but in a quiet, contented kind of joy he never could give.

He flashes his usual grin to the crowd, but his fingers twitch at his side.

Because of that new guy? He’s whispering something in your ear. And you’re laughing. That laugh used to belong to Rafayel, once.

But he made jokes about still missing MC. Let you hear silence when you needed security. Let you fade beside someone else’s memory.

Now?

Someone else painting you with attention. Frames you with love.

He downs his champagne and pretends to care about the next exhibit, but he draws you three times from memory that night.

None of them capture your smile the way he just did.

He doesn’t stop drawing until dawn. Each page is more desperate than the last.

 Sketchbook Entry — Page Torn Out She asked me once what I thought love looked like. I told her it was impossible to capture - always shifting, always out of reach. But she caught it. She was it. And I? I framed her in glass and called it finished. She wanted a mess. Partnership. Splattered hands and stained shirts. I gave her monologues and empty wine glasses. I thought she was a phase. A warm red before I returned to ash. But she was permanent. I saw her smile today. It wasn’t for me. And for once, I couldn’t paint a damn thing.

He was leaning on the railing of a shadowed walkway, scanning the crowd below on a recon run, when he spotted you.

You're tucked into the side of someone unfamiliar—someone laughing with you, their hand laced with yours, feeding you a bite of something sweet.

The softness on your face is devastating. It used to be his. It was once the only softness he’d let himself keep.

He stays hidden, watching.

That guy kisses your knuckles. And you smile like you trust him completely.

His chest tightens, fingers twitching. He almost drops the comms unit in his hand.

You’d begged him once to try, to stop comparing you to MC. To see you. He hadn’t known how to let go back then. Now?

He’s thinking about how that man just wiped whipped cream from your lip without flinching—and how he never even learned your coffee order.

“Idiot,” he mutters to himself, pushing off the railing.

But he doesn’t go down there. He’s already done enough damage.

And this time… someone else didn’t waste the chance. He hates it. He admires it.

Mostly, he regrets that it wasn’t him who made you stay.

Encrypted Voice Log – Never Sent SYLUS.ENTRY_097.BURNOUT Timestamp: Corrupted “She looks better without me. You’d think that’d piss me off, wouldn’t you?” “It doesn’t.” “Not really.” “He holds her like he’s not afraid she’ll disappear. Like he’s not too busy sharpening knives to hold her with both hands.” “I didn’t know how to do that. Couldn’t stop chasing shadows.” “I told myself she was a game. A way to forget.” “But she was never small. Never temporary. She waited for me to look up. I never did.” “He did.” [long pause] “She’s not coming back. Good. Let her stay gone. Let her stay whole.”

It’s late in the museum observatory, and Xavier’s here to recalibrate a projection model—until he looks down from the upper dome and sees you.

You're walking hand-in-hand with someone else through the starlit halls. Laughing. Calm.

The person beside you spins you under their arm, and you twirl without hesitation, radiant under the artificial cosmos.

He stands frozen in the upper dome, unseen.

You once asked Xavier to dance. He hesitated, too quiet and too caught up in thoughts of MC to say yes.

But that stranger below? He didn’t hesitate at all.

And you look so light in his arms. So free.

Xavier leans his forehead against the glass, breathing deeply.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, even though you can’t hear him.

His star map reboots beside him, scattering constellations. But for the first time, he doesn’t reach out to correct them.

Because he knows now, you weren’t meant to orbit him forever.

And you didn’t. You became your own universe. One that he was never brave enough to explore.

Private Memoir Entry – Unpublished I was always afraid I’d look at her and see someone else. So I never truly looked. Not the way she deserved. She asked me once if I was choosing to heal with her or without her. I said, “Without.” She nodded. Didn’t cry. Just left. And now I’ve healed. Or so I pretend. But sometimes I think healing isn’t a choice. Sometimes it’s a cost. I gave up the one person who saw me in the shadows and stayed. And someone else saw her light and danced into it.

You’re seated in a corner café with a man Zayne doesn’t recognise—easy smiles, shared laughter, his coat wrapped around your shoulders.

Zayne was on his way to deliver lab files to the main district med unit but now… he can’t move.

His gaze locks on the way the man leans in to tuck your hair behind your ear. How your eyes crinkle with joy.

It’s the kind of comfort Zayne never offered you—not because he didn’t care, but because he was too distracted chasing clarity with MC.

You once told him you felt like his second choice. He never answered that. And now, someone else treats you like you're the only choice.

He doesn’t interrupt. Doesn’t approach.

But that image burns in his mind for weeks. It replays in the sterile quiet of his clinic, on late nights when no one needs stitching up.

And when he returns home, he finds one of your old letters still tucked inside his medical textbook.

He rereads it, fingers trembling, and realises too late—he could’ve loved you right, if only he’d let himself try.

His next patient finds him staring into nothing, stethoscope in hand, utterly elsewhere.

Medical Log – Never Filed Patient: N/A Status: Unreachable Treatment note: Emotional detachment leads to unintentional abandonment. Prognosis: Permanent loss. Notes: She used to come into my clinic with little things. Fake injuries. Paper cuts. Just to be near me. I knew. And I let her pretend. I let myself believe I had time. That once I stopped thinking about MC, I could finally give this girl the pieces I hadn’t sealed away. But healing is slow. And people… they don’t always wait for your hands to stop trembling. She’s warm now. She’s whole. And I still wear gloves to hold my regrets.

[wetforsylus]

– sylus losing his virginity to you ༯

"mmph! t-this? is this right?" he gulped, crimson gaze glistening at you as he continues thrusting himself in and out of you in a quick movement.

"y-yes!" you moan, rolling your hips against his, plump flesh hitting against each other at every minute passing, making sylus lose his mind at every thrust he sent.

"good? yeaahhh it is..."

as his pace grew quicker and quicker, his fingers were clawing at you like it was the end of his life, short nails left marks on your smooth skin, hand prints sinking in, leaving a dent that could last forever.

"ugh...'m close-" he shuddered, catching his breath at the brutal pace he was going at, couldn't even try to stop or control himself because he was so blinded at the pleasure he wish he experienced earlier.

"can I do it inside? hm?"

your eyes widen at the request and before you could even process what he said, another thrust slammed right into you, then another, and another, and it kept going, you could feel his cock pulsating harder and harder inside you.

you felt like your legs and whole body was going to melt at his touch, a burning sensational feeling sunk down to the lower half of your stomach, and fuck, you could cum any second now.

"please?" he begged in a low whisper, a hint of desperation laced in it.

you shamelessly nod, gripping onto the bedsheets as the final thrusts went through, and spurs of his mixture jolted through your body.

"feels so good.. hah.. again." he seethed, pulling out and looking at you for approval, eyes silently begging for your answer.

[txniesha]

Complication SylusxNon!MC reader pt.6

Synopsis: Some relationships are doomed to fail from the start. After all, how can a man destined to be someone else's, truly ever be yours?

CW: angst, cursing, typos

Word count: 1,138

A/N: This chapter is short but i feel like it really hits. It'll be a couple of more chapters after this before I wrap it up in a nice little boy of sadness!

He just stared at you, his eyes unreadable, not giving anything away. You hated when he did this, when you confronted him, and he just shuts down. You sigh frustrated and pull out of his grasp “I knew it, i knew i should've stayed in Linkon. You...you don't love me. You don't know what you want but you feel as if you're entitled to me, like no one else can have me while you do whatever the fuck you want” You look up at him  tears in your eyes “I can’t do this anymore Sylus and I know I say this all the time but I’m serious. I'm tired of being hurt by you, crying over you, letting you drag me back into this bullshit. And the blame isn't only on you as i keep allowing you to treat me this way, but I can't anymore” stray tears stained your cheeks as you spoke, and your throat felt tighter with each word. 

He shakes his head and grabs your face wiping the tears away “Don't” he says his voice hoarse “Don't say you're done with me. I can't let you leave; let you walk away. You're the only thing in my life that feels real, not prewritten, predestined, controlled.” he rests his forehead on yours and looks down into your eyes “[name] i need you. I want to show you off, love you without shame, i just don't know how to go against fate”  

 He leans down and brings his lips towards yours and kisses you, and you let him. You don't pull away, you lean into it. ‘I'm a fucking dumbass’ you say in your mind as he takes over your mouth. His tongue slipped into your mouth and rolls against yours. His kiss that started off gentle grew into a messy desperate and frantic one. He pushed you up against the wall his hand making its way up your shirt and cupping your breast. You pull away and look at you “Don't think you can fuck your way out of this conversation Sylus” you say shakily, slightly out of breath. His lips find their way to your neck and pressed soft kisses along it. “I’m not fucking may way out of anything, I'm showing you my choice” he murmurs into your neck, his finger now flicking your sensitive bud of your breast. You wondered if sleeping with him would just make you fall back in his trap and so you made up your mind.  

You pulled away from Sylus and shook your head “I can't Sylus, you can't keep fucking your way back into my life. If you want me you must prove it, and the first step is telling her that you don't want anything to do with her” He looks at you and shakes his head “I cant just not have her in my life, that's not how this works” he says his jaw clenching. “Sylus these bullshit ass answers you keep giving me aren't working anymore. Tell me the truth, the whole truth of why you can't let her go” You say looking at him. He turns and walks away from you causing you to turn your arms up in confusion and huff. You followed him into the living room where he poured a glass of scotch and sat down on the couch. “Her and I are connected in ways that are incomprehensible” 

He looks up at you, his brows furrowed “Shes the only one that can bring my suffering to an end. Our souls are bound and connected.” 

You look at him confused and bewildered “what fucking bull shit are you spewing to me right now” He sighs and runs his hands down his face frustrated. “See, i knew you wouldn't believe me. I'm not making this up, [name] this is a lot deeper than you know. Our bond goes back centuries and every lifetime I spend with her is a tragic one. I just wanted it to all end” he says, his voice strained and eyes desperate.  

He looks up at you and smiles softly even though it looks like it hurt to do the action “but then I met you. You gave me fire, passion, something I had never felt before” he grabs your wrist and pulls you down onto the couch with him putting you two at the same eye level. He grabs your face gently and makes you look at him. Your eyes were glassy, and your throat felt itchy with every word he said. “[Name] you gave me the passion to fight for what i want against that damned curse and that damned bond. I’m cursed to be with her and cursed to be away from you and that hurts me. So, I fight it and fight it and no matter how much I try to forget about her and be with you, it won't let me. I want you so bad it kills me to be away from you” he had your hand in his now, his face pressed against them as he spoke those last words, his voice breaking with each word.  

“Sylus” Your voice breaks as you look down at him. You had never once seen him this vulnerable. This un put together and broken. “How can you be with me if you're destined to be with her” tears flow down your cheek and drops onto his “How can you say you want to be with me if you were never meant to be mines to begin with?" He looks up at you, the bottom of his eyes red as if he was on the verge of completely breaking “please, don't do this to me. Please I need you, I can't” he gulps mid-sentence tightening his grip on your hands “I can't lose you, youre the most important thing to me”  

You pull your hands away from him and look away “I don't know.... if I can trust what youre saying” you stand and he stands with you, his forming towering over you easily and intimidatingly. “I need some time, alone, away from here, to think” you say turning away from him.

He doesn't reach out for you, doesn't try to stop you, he just stands there. “Will you come back” he asks silently, his voice raw with something you'd never heard. You don't turn to look at him. “It depends on what I find when I’m away” you then walk away and down to his bedroom to put on some clothes. You grab your things quickly and head towards the elevator.  

“[name]” Sylus calls from behind you, this time you turn to see the broken shell of a man standing there “I promise ill make sure what you find...is worth returning to” You don't answer, you just enter the elevator doors and leave.  

tags: @sillyfreakfanparty @crimsonmarabou @z3vl @96jnie @perqbeth @justpassingdontworry @malleus-draconias-rose @sleepykittyenergy @aboobie @syluslittlecrows @scrambledhuevos79 @madam8 @fandomenbylover@insidious-innocence @etherealsoul90 @xsammijoanneex @acasualattempt  @sylusgirlie7 @jasperjokester @animegamerfox @jae48 @goldenbirdiee @zoezhive @rxelarailuj @huuvu @simphoursonly  @athanasia-day @asakiyu @thirstblogforaparchedgirl @eolivy @caramelizedpopcirn @auraficial @dilf-destroyer-04@hebreeee@noxus123@satansdaughter123

[dissociativewriter]

OH MY! congrats on the 400 followers!!! and for the event can't you write some angst with sylus x nonmc, please??? don't know if you have listened to WILDFLOWER by Billie eilish, but i really wanna see what would be born out of that??? not pressure tho! (also sorry for my english but im not a native speaker haha)

thank you!! this was an amazing request! it took me a while to write it, but i really like this. i hope you do too!

request event

The base hadn’t been quiet in months.

It was nice, you thought. A welcome change. In all your years at Onychinus there was always a tense silence. Always something that seemed to say this was an operation, not a home.

That all changed when Miss Hunter arrived, though.

Everything seemed warmer, splashes of color dotted around and a constant hum of chatter echoed through the space.

You’d never seen Sylus like this. Even when he was laughing and messing around with Luke and Kieran, he hadn’t allowed himself to be this happy. It seemed like there was something holding him back, something expectant.

Now the air was lighter, his shoulders lost their tension, his laughs came more freely. Things seemed to be looking up.

That made the newfound silence all the more jarring.

Miss Hunter had left just as quickly as she’d came. It wasn’t a huge ordeal. She hadn’t made a big deal out of it. There was just an conversation, spoken in quiet tones behind closed doors. Next thing you knew, she was gone in a mess of tears and broken promises.

You’d let Sylus alone for a time after that. Taken up the responsibilities of Onychinus in his stead, the role practically second nature ever since he’d promoted you to second-in-command a few years ago.

It was quiet again. You didn’t see much of the Boss, and you never expected to see Miss Hunter again.

But she’d shown up at your doorstep one night within the first week of their separation. Tear tracks on her cheeks and a heart-wrenching sob asking for someone to talk to.

You’d obliged, of course. How could you turn her away when she was like this? Pulling her into you, rubbing her back as she sobbed into your shoulder. She blubbered that she didn’t have anyone to talk to, that none of her friends really knew Sylus enough to cry about him to.

She explained that even if they weren’t together, she didn’t want to expose him and his identity like that.

You nodded, holding her close as she seemed to cry herself dry. She did most of the talking that night. Talking about how it had been a mutual decision, how they both felt like they just weren’t right for each other.

Miss Hunter had said she never expected falling out of love to hurt so bad.

The next morning, Sylus emerged from his room for the first time in four days. Silvery hair messy, eyes bloodshot, usually steady hands now trembling at his sides.

You sat with him. Wordlessly offered him a cup of coffee. He took it with a nod of thanks, holding it close instead of drinking it, like he was willing its burning warmth to thaw the cold that had taken over.

It became a routine. You’d sit with him, allow the quiet that had been uncomfortable, that had had something missing, to settle until it became something resembling understanding.

Sylus tried to distract himself with the work of Onychinus. You limited his access and told him he needed to sit with his grief and understand it before it consumed him entirely, not avoid it with gunfights and business deals.

Sylus never was able to fight you when you got like this.

He let you take care of him in a way no one had in a long time. It was gentle, quiet. A cup of tea here, a gentle reminder there. Never asking too many questions, never pushing for something more. He didn’t mention how much he appreciated it. He knew he didn’t have to.

You should have seen it coming, you thought. He was vulnerable. You were there. You should have expected it when the touches began to linger, when he began reaching for you.

You always thought of her when he did that.

Maybe you brushed it off because you thought you’d never compare to her. After all, what was the worry, when she was so bright and outgoing when you just seemed to fade into the background.

“No one knows me as well as you do,” Sylus muttered one night, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “You’ve always been there for me. I think— no, I know…”

Your breathing felt like it stopped. All you could think of, all you could see in the back of your mind was Miss Hunter. Should you feel this guilty? This hurt?

Were you just a replacement, something to fill the void, that fresh wound that kept bleeding?

“I love you,” Sylus whispered, low and reverent.

You didn’t move your hand from his. You didn’t say how all you could think about was how Miss Hunter must have felt.

Sylus didn’t mean to hurt you. You knew that.

Maybe being quiet was for the best.

comments and reblogs appreciated and asks open! <3

masterlist

@dolledbunnytail @sleepykittyenergy @orbitraiden @coffeedragonhobbyist

[redpulsive]

SYLUS .˚○ • ° taking a bath with him!

18+ MINORS DNI

Content: fluffy, includes sfw/nsfw, nsfw includes cockwarming, genital rubbing, fingering and chest fondling. Keeping everything gender neutral!

ﾟ ⋆ ﾟ⛆ ﾟ ⋆ ﾟﾟ ⋆ ﾟ⛆ ﾟ ⋆ ﾟ

HELLOOO EVERYONE I’M SO SORRY </3 I was on a vacation and had a HUGE lack of motivation for writing when I got back, but I am I’m forcing myself to get back into it. Just wanted to write some soft and fluffy bulleted headcanons about Sylus taking a bath with you, I hope you enjoy 🙂‍↕️

If you haven’t visited the N109 Zone or Onychinus’ base in a while, Sylus always likes to run a bath for the both of you during one of your days of return. Of course he’d let you have the bath to yourself if you asked, but he just LOVES sharing these kinds of domestic moments with you.

Since people typically take showers more than baths, he gets a little over the top with the presentation of it. Soft music, wine, fruits, moody lighting, candles, assortments of bath salts, dried flowers, oils and bath bombs. He’d make sure to accommodate you for any skin or scent sensitivity you might deal with, and let you have full control of the bath time luxuries presented to you.

You’d be kept between his legs the whole time, which is something he could never get enough of. The two of you soaking together, indulging in leisurely bath activities as he gets to hold you against his broad chest. He’d treat you so delicately 🥺 all of his kisses and touches would be so tender and featherlight as he takes care of you.

Speaking of taking care of you, he’d insist on letting you relax so he can scrub you down and wash your scalp for you. He’s a sucker for that kind of intimacy, and it makes up for your time away from each other! You don’t have to lift a finger as you melt into his arms, letting him lather your body in soap and massaging it into your skin. His hands splaying across your body in all the places you’re willing to let him touch, his fingers gliding up to your head to care for your hair/scalp. He’d rub soothing circles against your noggin with his thumbs, cradling it in the water to give it a good rinse from the shampoo and conditioner he put on it.

All this man wants is for you to talk, whether you’re having a long conversation with him or yapping to him about all the things that happened when you were away. He’d listen to you talk about a stray cat fight that you saw on the street, workplace drama, the fact that you stubbed your toe before leaving to come see him again, he’ll want to hear it all. He’ll do anything to hear your voice, to let you unwind by speaking your mind. He’s a good listener, and it’s a perfect opportunity for the two of you to waste time together in the tub.

With all the sweetness Sylus is showering you with, the close proximity and intimate touching might put you in the mood. Sylus is smart, he’d figure it out even if you attempted to ignore it or tried to hide the fact you’re getting worked up. If you’re willing to let him help you, he’ll take his sweet time to draw out your pleasure.

Methods include:

Massaging and fondling your chest/breasts. His large and wet hands would snake up your body, pulling you back against his chest more before his palms reach yours. He’d rest his head on your shoulder, looking down at your chest and his hands as his fingers rub your nipples and playfully knead at your soft flesh like it’s dough.

Genital rubbing. He’d start by being gentle, riling you up as his fingers glide between your legs and touch you with the smallest amount of pressure. Light, but effective. He’s paying no mind to your soft whines and potential pleas for more contact, he’s taking his time with you. But once he deems you ready for more, his hand would engulf you and touch you more thoroughly. His strokes and rubs become rougher and more passionate, adding fuel to the fire by nipping and sucking at your neck and shoulder.

Fingering. With one arm wrapped around you to hold you still, his free hand is teasing your entrance. One of his fingers would lightly dip inside of you or put pressure against your entrance, hooked and eagerly rubbing against you like he’ll put it in at any second. But eventually he’ll whisper “I’m putting it in now, Kitten…” right into your ear, wanting you to give him the green light before continuing. With your permission or no protest, he’ll give you a soft kiss on the cheek while slowly slipping his finger inside of you. He’ll tell you just how good you are at taking it while gently pumping it inside of you, preparing you for more. One finger eventually turns into two, and gentle thrusts become deeper and faster with targeted precision. The sounds of swishing water and your own moans fill the bathroom as Sylus doesn’t stop, he goes back and forth between thrusting his fingers into you and curling them against your most pleasurable spot within your walls. He makes sure he’s not missing out on all opportunities to please you.

After the fact:

Cockwarming. We all know that Sylus loves to please you, it’s possible that he’d get hard while doing his best to make you feel so good. But he wouldn’t want to do everything in this moment, and he doesn’t feel the need to be pleased. So instead of fucking you, all he asks is to put it inside of you while the two of you continue to leisure in the tub. With his cock inside of you, he’ll casually rub your stomach and massage your hip/thigh while he peppers your cheeks, neck and shoulders with countless kisses.

All I’m saying is that I would have no problems in my life if I could spend one (1) day doing any of this with Sylus.

ﾟ ⋆ ﾟ⛆ ﾟ ⋆ ﾟﾟ ⋆ ﾟ⛆ ﾟ ⋆ ﾟ

[terriblesoup]

That quiet moment

A/N: So yes, I am supposed to be on a break, every time I think I finally reached the bottom of the pit I find out I can still feel the sun's warm threats on my face so here you go, a distraction.

Synopsis: Sylus and his love married and she calls him her husband.

Tags: fluff, sfw, very cute(to my standards), very short.

Word count: 480. (Don't judge me it's all I could pull, sleep deprived)

The room was quiet but not still. Somewhere, a candle flickered on the nightstand, casting long golden shadows across the linen-draped walls and painting the room in a warm, honey-soft hush. The night curled itself around the windows, and the world outside had gone silent, save for the occasional rustle of wind brushing against the glass like a dream trying to come in.

She sat on his lap, knees tucked on either side of him, her forehead resting against his. Her laughter had softened now, melted into that familiar quiet only love could shape. Her hands, ever tender, cupped his face like she was holding a vow made flesh. With each kiss she pressed against his brow, his cheek, the tip of his nose, she whispered the word like a hymn, like a promise she had waited too long to speak aloud.

"My husband," she said against his temple, another kiss. "My husband," against the corner of his lips. "My husband," laid gently on the line of his jaw.

His chest rose slowly beneath her, as if he feared any sharper breath might shatter the moment. One of her hands drifted down, her fingers splayed across the steady thrum of his heart. The ring on her finger, uniquely crafted, ancient in design and hers alone, caught the light and gleamed like moonlight off still water. It rested there, on his chest, as if marking something sacred.

They spoke then. Not of tomorrow, not of plans or worries or the mundane things that clamor for attention in daylight. They spoke of the past, their pasts. The sharp edges and buried sorrows, the regrets.

He looked at her with that gaze that always softened her, always undid her, and said, "I’ve made mistakes. We both have. But the only thing I regret now is not marrying you sooner. So I could've heard you call me that sooner."

She smiled then, wide and warm, brushing her nose gently against his.

"No," she murmured. "From the moment you entered my heart, my mind decided it already. It whispered it every time I looked at you. My husband. Long before I ever said it out loud."

His breath hitched, just slightly. He turned his head to kiss her cheek, slow and sure. When he pulled back, his voice was velvet and gold.

"Then I look forward," he said, brushing a strand of hair from her face, "to when you call me the father of your children."

Her laugh came soft and full, a sound he would carry into every lifetime. She tucked her head into the crook of his neck, the weight of her love settled warmly into his arms. Their eyes, caught briefly in the candlelight, gleamed with the kind of tenderness that only comes when hearts are no longer afraid.

Outside, the wind pressed close against the windows again. But inside, they held each other. And that was enough.

Dividers by @uzmacchiato