#lads sylus drabble

[lotusapple-xia]

Thinking about Sylus who is so naturally warm.

When it’s winter and the N109 Zone is at its chilliest, Sylus will take your hands and hold them between his larger ones.

Blowing warm air on to your hands and rubbing his own over the backs of your palms to create more heat for you. His dragon side wants his mate to be warm in the embers of his love.

Meanwhile, you look up at his concentrated expression while huddling closer to him. His warm thick coat that wraps around his body is so soft you want to drown in the fuzzy cotton.

Sylus pulls you in by your waist so you’re trapped in the inside of his coat. He wraps the coat around you using his arms and lays his head on top of yours.

You and Sylus both stand under the street lamp, the cold wind all but forgotten with the warmth of your love.

[ollyissleepy]

𝐤𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮 (𝐩)

pairings: sylus x gay!reader summary: Sylus doesn't let anyone talk badly about his friend cw: homophobia and murder p=platonic

m.list

Sylus sits in front of a businessman, watching him go over the contract. The man had been getting on Sylus' nerves with the way he was presenting himself.

You walk in after finishing the errand Sylus asked for that morning. You were about to report it to him when the man, curious about who came in, looked up at you. His eyes stare you down, his face twisting in disgust. You hear him scoffing, but before you could react, Sylus turned around to check what could get such a reaction out of the man. When he sees you, his brows furrow.

"Is there a problem?" Sylus asked, turning back around to the man, one of his brows now lifted slightly.

"I just can't believe you would let somebody like them walk around," the man sneered, his face still scrunched up.

"And why is that?" Sylus moved his head to the side, already knowing what he would do to the man.

"They're sick people! They need to be put—" The gunshot echoes through the room, stopping the man from finishing his sentence.

Your eyes move to Sylus, who's still sitting on the couch. His hand is extended, the gun he's holding still releasing steam. The man, who just moments ago was carelessly running his mouth, had his head thrown back with a wound in the middle of his forehead seeping blood.

"Clean this up," Sylus ordered his men, standing up.

The men do what their boss ordered them to, getting rid of the body and cleaning up any mess that the blood might make. Sylus, on the other hand, makes his way towards you.

"Sorry you had to hear that," Sylus apologised, his hand squeezing your arm to reassure you. "Are you alright?"

[catbolt]

Sylus who awakens from a nightmare and acts immediately on his instinct to hold you, gripping you close under the sheets with one arm around your waist and one tucking behind your neck. You blearily look up at him, shaken out of your own sleep. “Sy?”

He doesn’t respond, only rests his chin atop your head, breathing in the smell of your shampoo, arms locked around you like a vice. You can feel his heart racing as you’re pressed up against his chest, the slight tremble in his hands. “Sy,” your voice grows more serious. “What’s–”

He silences you by pulling you in even closer, burying his head against your neck. For all the times he’s helped you pick apart your own struggles, he’s not very good with words when it comes to his personal feelings. You sigh, stroking a gentle hand across his bare back. “That nightmare again? The one where I’m stabbing you with a big sword?”

He nods, the motion almost imperceptible. His voice comes out like a low hoarse growl. “Sounds stupid when you say it like that.” The silent plea for reassurance, something his usual confidence rarely needs, is clear to you.

“Not stupid,” you correct softly, rubbing his back. As your touch soothes him slowly, his tight hold on you gradually relents. He sighs in frustration, leaning back on his pillow and staring up at the ceiling. You shift closer, sitting up on your hand to place a kiss in the center of his broad chest. His body tenses at the sensation, and he looks down at you, red eyes soft and almost murky with emotion. “See? No sword here,” you mumble, as you lay your head against his chest.

He only pets your hair in response, but you’re satisfied as you hear his breathing slowly steady, his touches becoming lazy and usual, not as if he’s still trying to convince himself you’re really here. He drifts off finally back into sleep, the rise and fall of his chest like a gentle ocean beneath your head.

[mephisto-reporting]

Wearing This Dress Was a Mistake…or Was It?

Premise: You decide to prank him by making him think that you'd be wearing that risque, revealing outfit when you are about to head out... only to find out that pranks have consequences. Pairing: Reader x Xavier, Zayne, Rafayel, Sylus, Caleb (Seperate) Note: Reader and the men are in a relationship. This is suggestive. Please do not interact if you are a minor. If you wanted to be added to my taglist, please DM, ask or comment :D Content warning: Suggestive. MNDI.

CALEB

Caleb was lounging on your couch like he owned the place, one arm draped lazily over the backrest, the other holding a can of soda that he swirled absentmindedly. He had taken a few days off, escaping from his duties as Colonel to come back to Linkon. And now, here he was, making himself right at home in your apartment like he had never left. The sight was almost domestic, but you knew better—there was nothing ordinary about Caleb. Not anymore.

He was on leave, a rare moment where he could shed the weight of his uniform and just be Caleb. It was a refreshing change to see him like this—less guarded, more relaxed—but something about it sparked mischief in you. You'd always had a playful, mischievous relationship with Caleb when you were younger. Pranks, jabs, teasing—it had all been part of the dynamic. And now that he was back, you couldn't help but feel a familiar tug to push his buttons just a little.

You'd planned this prank for a while. Slipping into the most scandalous, revealing outfit you could find in your closet, one that certainly wasn’t something you'd wear out in public. You had no intention of actually leaving—just giving Caleb the briefest hint that you were about to, and seeing how he’d react.

You walked into the living room, draped in the most inappropriate outfit you could manage. A fitted dress that barely covered your thighs, a deep V that left little to the imagination, and a loose, barely-there wrap that hung carelessly from your shoulders. Your intention was to get under Caleb’s skin, to push him just a little—just enough to remind him that the old pranks hadn’t gone anywhere.

When Caleb glanced up, his relaxed demeanor faltered for just a second, his sharp gaze lingering on you. There was a flicker of something darker in his eyes, something predatory. But he said nothing at first, just observing you with a cold silence that sent a chill down your spine. Your pulse quickened slightly under his intense gaze, but you pushed down the thrill crawling up your spine. This was just a joke.

You took a deep breath, feigning innocence. "I'm heading out to meet some friends," you announced, grabbing your purse.

The shift was instantaneous.

The lazy, relaxed Caleb from moments ago was gone. His can hit the coffee table with a soft thud, his entire frame tensing as he straightened up. His gaze darkened, trailing over your figure with slow, possessive deliberation.

"You're wearing that?" His voice was low, almost casual—but you could hear the undercurrent of something dangerous lurking beneath it.

You swallowed but kept up the act. "Yeah. Why?" You tilted your head, feigning confusion. "It looks good, doesn't it?"

"You’re not going anywhere dressed like that." he muttered, the words falling from his lips in a near-growl.

You smirked, crossing your arms over your chest. "What, you think I can’t pull it off?"

He stood in one smooth motion, and before you could react, he was standing in front of you, his hand gripping your wrist with a surprising amount of force. His fingers were warm, rough, as if he were trying to ground himself with the touch.

"If you're so insistent on showing this side of you to others," he whispered, his breath hot against your ear, "then it’s only fair that I get to see more of it, isn't it?"

Before you could protest, he hoisted you effortlessly onto his shoulder, your legs dangling in the air as he carried you toward your room like a caveman claiming his prize.

"Caleb!" You gasped, half-laughing, half-embarrassed by the sheer force of his actions. But Caleb wasn't listening. His grip was firm, his footsteps purposeful as he crossed the room.

He threw open your bedroom door, his eyes locking with yours with an intensity that made your heart race. "You think you can strut around like this for anyone else?" His voice was dangerously calm, but the heat in his gaze betrayed the undercurrent of rage—jealousy, possessiveness—swirling just beneath the surface.

You opened your mouth to say something, but he silenced you with a heated kiss, his lips claiming yours in a way that left no room for argument. His lips were urgent, demanding, but still with an edge of care as if he couldn’t bear the thought of anyone seeing you in that outfit.

"Do you want me to show you what that outfit can do to any individual with a working braincell?" Caleb murmured against your lips, his breath shallow as he gently pushed you onto the bed. He towered over you, his body a wall of heat and strength, completely commanding your attention.

You couldn’t help but laugh breathlessly, still shaken by the intensity of the moment. "It was just a prank, Caleb. I didn’t mean—"

His fingers traced the line of your jaw with surprising gentleness before his eyes darkened. "No," he whispered. "You didn’t mean to tease me like this, but now that you have, you’re not going anywhere. Not until I’ve had my fill of you. I don’t like the idea of anyone else looking at you like this.”

You opened your mouth to explain, to tell you weren’t actually heading out like this, but before you could say a word, he was on you, his lips crashing against yours with a possessiveness that left you breathless. His hands roamed down your body, tracing the curve of your waist, gripping you tightly as if he were afraid someone might take you from him.

You could feel his breath on your neck, hot and heavy, as he pulled away just enough to whisper, “You’re mine, understand?” His words were both possessive and adoring, a dangerous combination you knew too well.

And as your neighbors found out soon after, the only sounds that filled the air that evening were far less friendly than the teasing words you’d exchanged earlier.

RAFAYEL

Rafayel was early. Again.

Technically, he was supposed to be on time tonight—after all, it was his gallery event. But you knew better. You had predicted, with painful accuracy, that he'd find some way to ding-dong ditch his own damn celebration. Which was exactly why he was here at your apartment an hour before you needed to leave.

"I'm only here because Thomas would physically drag me if I didn't show up at all," he muttered from the other side of the door of your bedroom. "Consider this me being a responsible artist. All of you should be grateful."

You hummed, feigning disinterest as you checked your reflection in the mirror. "Oh, I am grateful, Rafayel."

"Good, as you shou—"

He cut himself off entirely as you stepped out from your bedroom.

You had planned this prank the moment you'd heard he was coming early. Because if Rafayel wanted to ditch the gallery, you'd at least make sure he suffered before he got his way. So, instead of slipping into something elegant and refined for an art exhibition, you had opted for something else entirely. It wasn’t even an outfit you would wear outside—it barely covered anything at all, and the material clung to your body in all the wrong places. A sheer, tight-fitting slip with lace accents, enough to leave little to the imagination. The fabric wasn’t completely transparent, but it did the job well enough to make every inch of your skin noticeable. Every inch of skin exposed was deliberate. Calculated. A direct attack on Rafayel's composure.

And oh, it worked.

His entire body stiffened, the lazy smirk on his lips frozen mid-form. His next grape missed his mouth completely, bouncing pathetically off his chin and rolling onto the floor. But he didn't even notice.

For a long, silent moment, all Rafayel did was stare.

Then, dramatically, he clutched his chest. "No."

You blinked. "No?"

"I can't take you anywhere like this," he lamented, waving frantically at all the exposed skin. "You—You will steal the show! The gallery will forget my masterpieces the moment you walk through the door!" Rafayel’s eyes flickered to the door, then back to you, his expression a mix of shock and something darker. “You’re kidding. You want me to take you to the gallery dressed like… this? Everyone will be staring, and I can’t have that.”

He turned his back to you with a huff, clearly flustered. He spun around to face you again, his eyes narrowing, and a flicker of possessiveness flashed across his face. “This is too much. I’m not taking you out like this.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Are you saying you’re embarrassed to be seen with me?”

His expression faltered, and for a split second, you saw a vulnerability in his eyes. But it was quickly replaced by his usual dramatic demeanor. “Embarrassed? No!! I just don’t want everyone gawking at my—especially when I’m the one who’s supposed to admire you tonight. How am I supposed to take you out like this? All eyes will be on you, and I don’t know if I’m prepared for that level of attention. How am I supposed to look at this…”

"Is that such a bad thing?" You teased, twirling a loose strand of hair around your finger.

"Yes!" Rafayel practically whined. He circled you like a predator, eyes flickering with a hunger he hadn’t quite named yet. "Some art should be displayed for the world, sure," he murmured, voice turning dangerously low. "But some art? This should be kept private. Mine."

You bit your lip, barely suppressing a laugh. "Raf, it's just a prank. I'm not actually going like this."

He stilled. Then, very slowly, he grinned.

"Oh?" he purred, stepping closer until there was barely any space left between you. His fingers skimmed the edge of your exposed thigh, tracing your skin before gripping it lightly. "Then you should go change, hmm?"

You moved to step back, but Rafayel caught your wrist. His grip was loose, teasing, but there was no mistaking the heat behind it.

"Ah, wait," he murmured, feigning deep thought. "Actually… No. That would take too long."

You frowned. "What—?"

"We're already late," he sighed, tone laced with mock regret. "And if we're already late, then it doesn’t really matter, does it?"

Before you could say anything else, Rafayel scooped you up in one swift motion, his hands firmly gripping you. “Forget the gallery,” he said, his voice practically a growl. “You’re not leaving this apartment until I’ve taken my time enjoying this… work of art.”

“Rafayel, wait!” You tried to protest, but he was already striding toward your bedroom, his grip firm around you.

“You don’t deserve to wear something this distracting for anyone else,” he muttered, his voice laced with a possessive hunger. “I’ll be the only one to appreciate it properly.”

Before you could even respond, his lips were on yours, demanding and heated, the rest of the world completely irrelevant. You could barely keep up with the intensity of his kiss as he stripped away the fabric, each motion more urgent than the last.

As the sound of Thomas’ calls rang through both your phones, going straight to voicemail, Rafayel didn’t spare it a second thought. The gallery? It was already a lost cause. Tonight, he had you—and he was taking his sweet time with it.

SYLUS

As Sylus prepared for his mission, a sense of anticipation hung thick in the air. He was packing his gear with the meticulous attention of a man who thrived on the chaos he created, readying himself for whatever dangerous task lay ahead. This lifestyle was no stranger to him —the dangerous, dark heart of his empire. But you couldn’t shake the worry that gnawed at you every time he walked out the door. Dangerous, illegal missions were a regular part of his life, and while you knew he could handle himself, the thought of him in harm’s way left you restless.

But you weren’t about to voice that concern—not when he took so much pleasure in riling you up with his teasing. Tonight, you had decided to give him a taste of his own medicine—payback, as you saw it. After all, his teasing and his ability to keep you on edge with his deep voice, knowing smirks, fleeting touches, and that intense gaze deserved a little retaliation. This time, you were going to make him work for it.

Fair was fair.

You stepped into the study, heels clicking against the floor, the sharp sound enough to draw his attention. His red eyes flickered up from his preparations, widening just slightly before narrowing with intrigue. You had dressed specifically to get a reaction—a short, black mesh dress that left little to the imagination, the sheer material teasing glimpses of lace underneath. The plunging neckline dipped scandalously low, while the cutouts along your waist accentuated every tempting curve.

Sylus let out a low, appreciative hum as he leaned back against the wall, taking his time raking his gaze over you.

“And where exactly do you think you’re going dressed like that, sweetie?” His smirk was lazy, but the sharp glint in his crimson stare was anything but.

You let your eyes linger on his figure for a moment, before casually offering, "Actually, I’m heading back to Linkon for a night out—clubbing with some friends." Your heels clicked softly against the floor as you took a few steps closer, and you could see his pupils dilate briefly, his reaction evident, though he masked it quickly with another smirk.

"Well, well," he drawled, his eyes still locked on your attire. "Funny, I’ve never gotten the pleasure of seeing you in such bold outfits before."

You shrugged nonchalantly, your lips curling into a playful smile. "I dress for the occasion."

A small chuckle escaped him, the sound rich and dark. "Interesting, these 'occasions' never seem to happen when I'm around." His eyes trailed over you once more, the intensity of his gaze making your pulse quicken.

He walked slowly, closing the distance between you in a few slow, measured strides. When he reached you, his fingers brushed against the exposed skin of your thigh, the touch featherlight, deliberate.

“I suppose I should consider myself unfortunate, then,” he murmured, trailing his hand higher. “But I’ll be damned, sweetie, you do look ravishing.”

You hummed, feeling the heat of his touch ghosting over your skin. "Maybe ypu were just not paying enough attention before."

His laugh was low, dark, full of amusement. "Oh, kitten," he purred, his hands drifting lower, tracing the dip of your waist before pulling you just a little closer. "Trust me, I pay attention. Especially when it comes to you."

Your breath hitched as his palm splayed possessively over your hip, his fingers teasing the hem of your barely-there dress. “Not worried about all the attention I’ll get?” you teased, meeting his gaze.

He let out a soft chuckle, the sound almost like a growl. "Sweetie, I know you can handle yourself if things go wrong." he said, his hands suddenly roaming over your skin, slow and deliberate, almost as if he were marking his territory. His touch was magnetic, entrancing. His fingers traced your jawline, grazing over the curve of your neck, and you felt the weight of his presence pull you in, closer to him with each movement.

He smirked, as if he could sense the effect he was having on you. "Go ahead. Have fun tonight," he murmured, pulling out his black card from his wallet and offering it to you. "Just don't have too much fun without me." His breath ghosted over your lips, hot and tantalizing, and you could feel his eyes trailing lower

You saw it then—the flicker of something dark and hungry in his stare, a silent challenge laced with possession. It made you want to push just a little further.

“What if I do?”

The moment the words left your lips, you barely had time to react before Sylus’s hands were on you. A startled gasp escaped you as he lifted you effortlessly, locking your legs around his waist. The back of your dress rode up, and his fingers pressed into your thighs, holding you firmly in place as his mouth found yours. The kiss was deep, slow, devastating. He wasn’t just kissing you—he was claiming you, drawing you in until the thought of leaving, of doing anything other than this, felt ridiculous. “Then I guess I’ll have to make sure you’re more entertained...” he murmured against your ear, his voice dripping with possessiveness, as if you were already his in every sense.

Without another word, he carried you through the mansion, his lips never leaving yours as his pace quickened. He didn’t even give you a chance to respond, his hold on you firm, commanding, as though the very idea of you going out tonight was laughable. His smirk never faltered, his confidence radiating in waves.

“You think I’d let that happen?” he said in a husky whisper against your lips, his voice thick with amusement. As he kicked open the door to his bedroom, he laid you down on the bed with a grin that sent a shiver down your spine. “Guess neither of us is going anywhere tonight…”

You tried to speak between stolen breaths, to tell him it was a prank, but he only smirked against your mouth, cutting you off with another slow, intoxicating kiss.His weight pressed you down onto the bed, his hands sliding over every inch of exposed skin. “It’s a good thing you weren’t actually going out,” he mused, voice dripping with amusement. “Because I plan to keep you here… All. Night. Long.”

A thrill ran through you as you realized just how easily he'd flipped the situation in his favor. And you weren't sure if you could—if you wanted to—fight it.

XAVIER

You had been scheming for a while, setting the perfect trap to prank Xavier, and today was the day you were finally going to execute your plan. You’d texted him earlier, asking him to swing by your apartment to pick up the meals you had prepared for him. You knew full well Xavier could barely cook an egg without burning it, so he was always appreciative when you made him something special. You always made quite a batch of food whenever he came over to pick it up so he could store them in his freezer.

He had a spare key to your apartment in case of emergencies, but today, you were going to make sure he’d get more than just food when he came over. He’d always been so calm and collected in most situations that it was infuriating at times. You had tried to get a reaction out of him before but had always failed. But today, it would be different. Today, you knew you would get him to falter. You’d been thinking of a little prank to get a rise out of him—and you knew exactly what would get under his skin.

When you heard the door click open, you made sure to pick up your purse slowly, letting Xavier get a good look at the outfit you’d chosen: A tight, revealing midnight blue dress that clung to your curves like a second skin, the plunging neckline barely covering what was necessary and the high slit on the side showing just enough leg to drive anyone wild. The fabric was soft, almost like a second layer of skin, and you knew it would make his blood run hot.

Xavier’s footfalls slowed, and the air seemed to thicken with tension as he entered the room, his eyes immediately darkening the moment they landed on you. His usually calm expression shifted, but only slightly, and his voice, low and even, carried an edge. “You have plans?” His tone was casual, but you could tell it didn’t match the storm brewing in his gaze.

“Oh, yeah, I’m heading out with some colleagues,” you answered nonchalantly, knowing full well that would get him riled up. In your mind, this was all part of the prank. You were expecting a laugh, a joke, maybe even a playful remark.

His eyes narrowed, the calm veneer slipping away. “Wrong answer.”

You tilted your head slightly, looking at him with feigned confusion. “Huh?”

“I said, wrong answer. You are not going out to meet them… in that?” He spoke slowly.

“Why not? What’s wrong with the dress? I think it makes me look nice.” You looked at your dress pretending that you didn’t know what was wrong with it. “Plus, I already made plans with them…”

He didn’t hesitate, slamming the door behind him with a soft thud. His hand rested on the doorframe as he leaned in, towering over you. “Your plan,” he said, voice gruff with unspoken demand, “is with me. Right here. And only I should be the one seeing you in that dress. And outside of it.” he added, his voice dark with possessiveness.

Your heart raced, though you maintained an innocent air. “Xavier, come on... I’m just going out for fun. It’s not a big deal.” You tried to laugh it off, but your breath caught as his hands trailed over your skin, tracing your body with an intention that left no room for interpretation.

 You didn’t have a chance to react before he was right in front of you, his frame crowding you against the door, his hands gripping your hips as he lifted you slightly.

He didn’t respond to your attempt at casualness. Instead, his gaze was fierce, intense, and utterly unyielding. The meals you had prepared was forgotten. The only thing on his mind was you—and the dress you wore, too.

“Why do they get to see you like this when it’s meant for me?” His voice dropped, each word heavier than the last.

Your breath hitched at the intensity in his voice. The heat between you was immediate, pressing, suffocating. Xavier reached up, his fingers gently grazing your neck, then sliding down to your waist, his touch possessive and slow.

You tried to laugh it off again, your playful nature not quite prepared for how serious he had gotten. “It’s just a prank,” you said, offering an innocent smile, hoping to break the tension. “I am not going anywhere…” You giggled, but it came out a little nervous. “I swear… It’s just a prank, Xavier.”

He blinked once,  the twice, confusion flickering in his eyes. His boyish, innocent looked returned, stunned at your words. He seemed to process it for a moment. Then, the intensity of his gaze returned, fiercer than before. He took a step forward, closing the non existent distance between you, and his lips were suddenly on yours—hard, commanding. His lips crushed against yours, his tongue immediately claiming dominance as he growled low in his throat.

Before you could even process what was happening, you were on the couch, his body pressing you into the cushions. His hands roamed, touching you everywhere. as he leaned down to whisper in your ear.

“Prank or not,” he said, his voice hushed but full of intensity, “you’ve got me thinking about you in that dress with them—with anyone else.” His hands moved lower, sliding over the fabric of your dress. “You thought teasing me would be funny, huh? Let’s see how funny it is now.” His tone was equal parts teasing and threatening, a dangerous mix that made your heart race.

You gasped as his hands found your thighs, pulling you against him, his body already pressing into yours. There was no more pretending, no more games. Xavier’s need was undeniable, and you couldn’t escape the heat between you.

His lips met yours again, deeper, more frantic this time, as if making sure you understood just how serious he was about what was happening between you. You didn’t stand a chance against him.

And when the night ended, teasing Xavier definitely wouldn’t be on your list of things to do again... or maybe it would be.

ZAYNE

The dress was daring—too daring, perhaps. The fabric clung to your body, smooth and sultry, dipping dangerously low in the front and riding scandalously high on your thighs. The sheer lace along the sides barely covered enough, teasingly revealing glimpses of skin beneath. It was the kind of dress that would have heads turning, and you knew it.

That was the point.

You had planned this all too perfectly. A new pastry café had just opened downtown, and you’d invited Zayne out for a date. You had been expecting a reaction when he arrived—maybe a subtle quirk of his brow, a small shift in his usual stoic demeanor. Something.

Instead, when you opened the door and greeted him with an innocent smile, his gaze flickered over you, and for a moment, there was nothing but silence.

Then, the door clicked shut behind him.

His expression remained unreadable, but his movements weren’t. The way he took his time removing his gloves, slipping them off with methodical ease before placing them neatly on the nearby counter. The way his fingers traced the hem of his coat, unbuttoning it in a slow, deliberate motion.

“Interesting choice,” he finally said, his voice calm—too calm—as his gaze finally lifted back to meet yours.

You grinned, shifting your weight just slightly to make the dress slide a little higher along your thigh. “Do you like it?”

He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he took a step forward, and you felt the weight of his presence settle over you. His fingers brushed your arm, barely there, before trailing down your wrist. The lightest touch. A doctor’s touch—controlled, precise. But beneath it was something else.

Something simmering.

“Tell me.” His voice was still even, his tone almost thoughtful as he lifted your hand to his lips, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your fingertips. “How far were you planning to go with this little game of yours?”

Your heart stuttered. He knows.

You feigned innocence, tilting your head as if confused. “Game? I was just dressing up for our date.”

“Is that so?” His lips curved, the barest hint of amusement slipping through. “Then I suppose you wouldn’t mind if we went outside right now.”

Your stomach flipped. He wouldn’t.

Would he?

Before you could respond, his other hand moved—so subtle, so swift—and in one seamless motion, he pulled you closer, his fingers splaying over your lower back. Your breath hitched as your bodies pressed together, the warmth of him seeping through the thin material of your dress.

His lips were close now, brushing against your ear. “You forgot,” he murmured, “I know you.”

Your skin burned.

You swallowed, trying to keep your composure. “Okay, fine. It was a prank.”

Zayne chuckled softly. The sound was low, velvety, but it sent a shiver down your spine. “I knew that before coming over.”

His fingers traced slow, idle circles against the small of your back, and suddenly, you were all too aware of how little there was between you. How easy it would be for him to simply pull—just a little—and the dress would slide right off your shoulders.

You blinked. “Wait, you—?”

“Of course I knew.” He leaned in, his breath brushing against your jaw. “You think I don’t know when you’re trying to get a rise out of me?” The heat in his voice made your knees weak.

Your heart pounded against your ribs as his fingers traced a slow path up your spine, dragging along the zipper of your dress.

“I knew the moment you picked up my call earlier and sounded too innocent. The way you sent me a picture of the food but conveniently cropped yourself out.” His fingers pressed, teasing, against the small of your back. “And now? Now you’re here, looking like this and expecting me to just let you waltz out into a crowded café?”

You barely managed a breath before he tilted your chin up with two fingers, his expression unreadable save for the faintest glint of something more. “Cute.” His lips brushed against yours, feather-light. “But you knew better.”

You shivered at the subtle challenge in his voice, the sheer restraint beneath it. “Zayne, we have a reservation—”

“Mm.” He kissed the corner of your mouth, slow and deliberate. “We’ll reschedule.”

“I—”

Whatever you were about to say was swallowed by his kiss. It wasn’t rushed or frantic—it was deliberate. A slow, consuming thing that left no room for escape. His hands were firm but unhurried as he guided you back, step by step, until your back met the nearest surface—the couch, the wall, you didn’t even know anymore.

Zayne finally pulled away, but only just. His breath fanned across your lips, his fingers still resting against your waist. He looked at you then, truly looked at you, his eyes dark with something unspoken.

“You wanted my attention.” His voice was a whisper now, a dangerous kind of quiet. “You have it.” Your protests faded the moment his hands slid lower, gripping your thighs just enough to make your breath hitch. His lips trailed downward, past your jaw, tracing a searing path along your neck before murmuring, “Tell me, was the prank worth it?”

And as his hands began to move, taking their time, exploring, savoring—one thing became very, very clear.

Prank or not, you wouldn’t be leaving for that café tonight.

AN: reblogs, feedback and opinions are appreciated!

Taglist: @cordidy, @natimiles @leighsartworks216 @notisekais @raining4food @fallthelong @pomegranatepip @juliuscaesarsstabbedback @krystallevine @lemurianmaster @nenggie @loverindeepspace@sinsodom@m00nchildwrites

[humanjarvis]

tantrum

synopsis: what makes sylus snap?

tags: fluff, sylus is tired and grumpy bc he misses you, he obliterates his phone with his evol, sunshine reader probably, cartoonish luke and kieran appearance (sorry boys) word count: 842

a/n: after that magnum opus line i really wanted to see sylus throw a tantrum and i kept mulling over what would actually make him do that because i can’t see him doing anything much worse than this. i think he’d find Actual grown man tantrums lame. anyway i don’t like this and will maybe delete? nvm but i had the writing urge so i sacrificed this concept from my wips. 

When you arrived at the base after your three-week business trip, your long-awaited homecoming was…tame, to say the least. You’d been expecting a teasing “How nice of you to join us, sweetie,” or a cocky yet vulnerable “I was beginning to think you’d run away.” But once you’d stepped through the front door, Sylus had barely said a word. A soft “Welcome home” and a kiss on the forehead, and before you knew it, you were cradled in his arms as he carried you to his office.

He’d sat you both down in his leather armchair, making you face him in a straddle. His tired eyes had searched yours, and a moment later, he’d buried his face into your neck, inhaling deeply. 

“I missed you,” you’d murmured into his ear, pressing a kiss to his hair. With a quiet groan, he’d tightened his grip on your hips and nuzzled into you even deeper.

That’d been 15 minutes ago. Basking in the comfortable silence, you’d traded kisses all the while—yours on his hair, his on your neck. 

But suddenly, a low buzzing noise cuts your reunion short: his phone is ringing.

When he makes no effort to answer, still breathing heavily in your embrace, you twist in his arms and accept the call before he can protest. 

A familiar voice crackles over the line. “Boss?” Kieran asks. “Next meeting’s in 10. The one about those stolen shipments from Linkon—we’ve been waiting to hear back for months. You coming?”

Sylus doesn’t answer.

“…Boss?” Kieran repeats. “Boss, you there? You oka—”

Red and black mist shreds the phone into pieces. 

“Sylus!” you yelp, jumping in his lap. “What’d you do that for? He’ll probably be worried. And how will I text you now?”

You pout up at him, and as you study his chronically calm expression, you see something unusual: Sylus’s eye twitches. Just for a millisecond, only moving a millimeter, but you catch it.

“I’ll have a new one delivered tomorrow. As for the meeting, I’ll stay here,” he says lightly, a tight, closed-lip smile on his face.

“But Kieran said it was important,” you reply in confusion. “Why don’t you want to go? Are you feeling sick?” you frown, starting to lift off of him.

“No,” comes his too-quick reply. “It’s just…the twins can go in my stead,” he decides simply, moving to lean into you again.

But before he can move an inch, a rhythmic sequence of knocks sounds at the door.

“Come in!” you chirp happily, too excited to see the faces you’d missed the last few weeks to notice Sylus stiffening under you.

Immediately, the door swings open, revealing two masked figures. 

“Hi Luke, hi Kieran!” you beam, and they wave back at you eagerly.

“Long time no see,” Kieran begins. “Boss, did you lose signal or something? I tried calling you about the meeting, but I think it disconnected. Anyway, we’re about to head down and—”

“Cancel it,” a frustrated growl rings out.

You all freeze.

Somehow, you’d been too wrapped up in your excitement to feel Sylus's body shaking—no, quaking—beneath you.

“W-what? But they’re already here!” Luke sputters.

“Cancel. It.” Sylus grits out the words as if holding back a snarl, and the power in his voice leaves no room for argument. 

“O…kay,” the boys say in unison, and as they back away slowly, you shoot them a sympathetic look.

Red tendrils wrench the door shut behind them, and when you’re alone once more, it’s like the man under you deflates.

His head returns to the crevice of your neck with a soft but unceremonious thud, and his deep exhales and burning hot skin tell you he’s trying to calm himself down. 

Uncertain and a little amazed—you’d never seen him lose his composure—you give his cheek a gentle poke. “Sylus,” you whisper. Nothing. 

“Psst. Sylus,” you try again, and there’s some force behind your poke this time. With bated breath, you watch as your finger sinks into the space under his cheekbone, sighing in relief when the corner of his mouth twitches upwards. 

Lifting his head up to make eye contact, you smile at him softly. “Hi.”

“…Hi,” he rumbles, and as his crimson gaze softens, the remaining annoyance dissolves from his face.

“Are you upset?” you prod gently. 

A brazen scoff precedes the dry chuckles that fall from his lips. “And what makes you say that, kitten?”

A squint and a slight tilt of your head is all it takes. 

“I haven’t had you to myself in a while,” he begins cautiously. “Three weeks is…a long time. The longest we’ve been apart. And then the moment I have you in my arms, well…” he trails off, gesturing to the shards of phone on the table. “I just want to enjoy you right now. Undisturbed.”

“Oh, I see,” you coo, cupping his face in your hands. “Is this your way of saying you missed me too?” you quirk a brow.

“Yes,” he responds through squished cheeks, honest and unabashed. “Now, won’t you stay with me like this for a little longer?”

[mwphisto]

Sylus hates his neck being touched.

You came to this realization one night when sitting on the couch beside him. Your fingers making their way to pinch at his ear lobe when he wouldn’t give you the remote. His neck hadn’t been your target, but his shoulder immediately shot up to block it off entirely at the sight of your fingers.

You didn’t mention it, acted like you didn’t even catch the very obvious flinch, and pinched his earlobe as planned. Last thing you wanted was to make him uncomfortable, it wasn’t even worth teasing him over.

Ever since, you’ve made a mental note of steering clear of Sylus’ neck… until now.

Your fingers found their anchor on the silk of Sylus’ shirt, fisting the material so tightly you felt as if it would rip apart under your hold. “Sy, please…” you needed him to hold you harder, kiss you harder, as if his presence wasn’t already all consuming. All you could see, taste, feel, smell, hear.

He flooded each of your senses, warm hands splayed across your hips and subtly guiding you in a rocking motion. “Please what?” Hushed, as if it physically hurt him to pull away from your lips for that long.

You could only manage a whine at his lips melting into yours again, the kisses bruising and wet. You’re losing yourself in him, so dazed by the force of his love that your fingers unravel from his clothing and slide inward.

Somewhere in your haze, you had known your intention was to cup his face. You needed to keep him close.

And, yet? Your hands had stopped once they wrapped around the column of his neck. Your hold wasn’t hard, nor was it restricting. But a gentle presence, a warm weight.

Sylus moaned audibly, making your eyes fly open with a gasp when you realized where your hands had stopped. There was a slew of apologizes on your tongue, ready to let go and beg for his forgiveness for crossing such a line.

Instead? Sylus shoved his tongue past your parted lips. A large hand leaving your waist to grab the back of your neck and pull you against him harder than before. He liked it.

[madamechrissy]

Dragon Sylus loves to breed you

Dragon Sylus x F! reader

nsfw- smut drabble hehe, he's got two dicks bc YES, wrote this for @honeybunnnnie hehe <3

Sylus loves to wrap his black scaled tail around your body, to drag you even closer to him, to sink even deeper in your slutty little cunt. He has beads of sweat just dripping down his strong, muscled chest right now as he fills you so full. A huge hand on your tummy, sharp nails pressing into your skin as he imagines filling you with so many dragon babies, the cum from both his cocks alternating as they take turns pumping inside you.

You were terrified when you first stumbled upon this cave, truly, running far away from an arranged wedding had led you right to this dragons lair. And this dragon, of course he LOVES pretty things, and loves to hoard them. Did you really not think he'd add you to his collection?

"Ah, a sweet little Princess, has stepped into my lair, hmm?" he had practically purred those words when you stumbled in that dark cave lit only by brilliant red flames, he had been laying right on towers of gold coins when his red eyes flashed and he saw you.

At first you'd been frightened, as he inspected you with those long fingers, taking your pretty dress off and leaving on your jeweled tiara, but soon he'd begun to pleasure you, and pleasure you he did. He drank from your cunt like it was the finest source of crystal clear water, he slid you down on one of his cocks, then the other, stretching you out so deliciously.

It has been days since you left the cave, and he's had you in positions you hadn't even dreamed of - an innocent girl, but now you're his and only his.

Sylus has you bent in a full mating press, back laying on the soft, tattered remnants of your pretty dress, he loves to fuck you on it, knowing you were supposed to marry some fancy lord somewhere, but you're never going to leave him. He's splitting you apart on one of his thick, veiny cocks, your thighs spread around his narrow hips, as you gasp out.

"Can you take them all, all my babies, hmm Princess?" he whispers, you're struggling to focus, eyes rolling back in your skull, his other cock is leaking that precum down, as he slips up and shoves his other cock inside you, now one of them slipping up and down your tummy, dragging on your clit as he strokes in and out. "Look at me."

"Hmm... you're... insane..." you gasp when he shifts your positions, and soon you're riding the huge dragon, one of his cocks stretching you past your limits, your walls quivering as you try to take it. Feeling the tip leaking, ready to pump more inside you again, because he just loves when his treasure gets an attitude.

You're already his mate, he knew it just by your scent when you entered that cave- but maybe you're just figuring it out.

"I said, look at me," he gently cradles your head with one of his huge claws, fingers wrapping it entirely, while you meet his ruby eyes, your hands gripping the cool, hard scales all over his strong body.

What Sylus doesn't realize is you want them. You want to have his babies inside you, but you're so nervous to say so still - all your experience is from this dragon. Sylus feels the heat on your cheeks as he drags you down the soaking wet length, moaning as he feels you dripping from one cock to the other, his mouth leaving marks all over your pretty breasts as he marks them as his own.

"Say it," he taunts softly, eyes soft for a moment, you inhale and roll your hips, watching his glossy lips part in a gasp as you do.

"I want them in me," he blinks in surprise for a moment, when you roll them again, using the hand in front of you to jerk on his other cock tentatively, hearing his ragged moan from his throat. "I want you to keep me."

He chuckles then, even as he's jerking, so sensitive, you feel him thickening and pulsing in your cunt and your hand, exhaling as he wraps that tail around your body, teasing one of your nipples. "Did you think I'd ever let you leave? My most treasured possession."

Sylus the dragon is rather sweet at times, but when it's about his seed he needs to make sure you take it, so he has to shove it deep in your cunt when she tries to push it out, his long fingers alone hitting your cervix again. He kisses you sweetly as he does so, but he must make sure you don't waste a drop.

"Keep it in, you can do it can't you?" His husky words are drowned out by your cries and your squelching wetness in the cave, but no one can hear you and if they did, it's not like Sylus would let you go.

[anantaru]

EX HUSBAND SYLUS

— ꒰ synopsis ꒱ — ex! husband sylus headcanons

— ꒰ warnings ꒱ — fem! reader, oral (fem! receiving), possessive ex husband trope, stalking, voyeurism, pervert sylus, he misses you, hitting it raw, masturbation, fantasizing about you

ex husband sylus who never took his ring off— what he will do instead was pretend he did. to save face in public? for sure. in reality it's tucked away in a drawer— your drawer, the one you used to keep your lip balms and perfumes in as his wedding band lays beside your jewelry. sometimes, when sylus was feeling especially sad, he takes it out and sleeps with it in his palm, mostly when he's feeling lost or conflicted.

ex husband sylus who still uses your name as his passwords and changes them every cycle, frankly, they always consist of things related to you, for example your birthday or favorite pet, most beloved color or nickname he used to call you— one in particular consisted of the coordinates of the place you honeymooned in.

ex husband sylus calls it "muscle memory" when his fingers twitch in that same obsessive rhythm when he dreams about you and the way they used to press against your hips too, fuck, his dream was slowly turning into a particular kind again, eagerly fantasizing on how he used to grip your thighs when he cummed inside you.

ex husband sylus who still watches you, wether it was through mephisto, luke and kieran or when he's got some time to spare himself. he still watches from a distance, not stalkerish in his own eyes— protective if he had to explain it— and well, of course he tracks your location silly, of course he still has access to your security cameras so he always knows when you could be in possible danger. (or when you could be bringing someone else home)

ex husband sylus watches you in agony each night, especially when you're alone— most dearly when you're touching yourself and sylus filthily mouths along with the whimpers you tend to make while bullying your fingers past your hole— fuck, he can practically taste you on his tongue, his teeth sinking into his fist just to stop himself from calling you, just to hold himself back from watching you in such intimate way.

ex husband sylus who wasn't dating, instead, he's trying to feel you again through proxies, through ghosts, yet it's never enough, nothing ever was. and every time he fucked someone else— and well despite it being rare, he's always thinking of you within it, pretending it's your soft cunt he's feeling, fingering someone and saying your name, or getting head while his brain replays the exact angle of your throat and how you adored taking him when lastly, finishing into someone's mouth, then plastering it back onto their face because it just wasn't you.

ex husband sylus who runs into you in public— by chance or "chance" when he immediately plays it cool with his signature crooked smirk and head being slightly tilt, that's how you knew him, casual as ever. regardless, what you do not see was that his hands were shaking and afterwards, he goes home hard, ever so frustrated and fists his cock until he's feeling dizzy, saying your name over and over like a prayer and a curse at the same time. this is when sylus realizes that he will never get over you and you could so much as brush past him, his dick will twitch like it remembers, and obviously it does, it always does.

ex husband sylus who dreams about the filthiest version of you, no matter how many times it's always the same— he fantasizes about you apologizing and sobbing, begging him to touch you again after the divorce was settled and in his dream, sylus doesn't speak, he just pins you down with that glacial calmness inside of him and fucks you deep and rough, until you scream his name the same way you did the night he proposed to you.

following this, when he wakes up at last, there's cum all over his hand and funnily enough, he hasn't even touched himself, in fact, his body doesn't need to anymore, at this point you're carved into his nervous system.

ex husband sylus who sends you encrypted messages, believing that you do not know that it's him. okay, at first you really thought you had gained a new stalker besides your ex husband, considering they came through systems you no longer used— apps you've forgotten, channels buried in layers of old code.

honestly, you think you're dreaming when you hear your old ringtone late at night— but he's there, typing while watching you, bleeding through the digital static like a ghost in the machine.

"you wore the red silk dress last night." "you touched yourself at 2:17 a.m. i almost came just hearing you." "i will never stop being yours."

yes, it's a bit creepy, so you delete them, but they always come back.

ex husband sylus who believes that, well, perhaps you two weren't a good fit on paper, but in bed? fuck, he's never felt peace like that again. on the outside, you were sweet, yes, but filthy, so fucking sexy that you used to ride him with both hands flat on his chest, whispering the nastiest shit into his ears— telling him how thick he felt in your tight cunt or how impossibly big he was, how much you needed his cum or how your cunt ached when he didn't fuck you hard enough, not to mention how full you liked to be of his warm, sticky cum over and over.

sometimes you'd even edge him just to watch him break apart right underneath you, letting him whimper and beg you to be able to spill himself inside your soft pussy. and what happened when you finally let him have it you ask? obviously you'd kiss him slow and open mouthed, your tongue tenderly dancing around his own, "i love you sylus," you whine as he cums untouched from that alone.

after all this time, he's never forgotten that night.

ex husband sylus who still uses your shampoo as your scent lives in his hair whenever he showers. sylus still uses your old bottle— down to the last dribble as his entire bathroom looks like a shrine of things you love— one of your old towels still folded on the rack like you're coming back, like it belongs there, because to him, it does.

ex husband sylus who, when he jerks off— daily, violently, he uses your lotion, the one that smells like your favorite scent, the one his nostrils would pick up on when he was deep into your guts. now, when he fists his cock and heaves out your name, nose buried in the sleeve of your old dress you forgot at his place, he's moaning like he's losing his mind, his cum dribbling all over his knuckles and making a mess only you, in his mind, were capable to clean up with your tongue.

ex husband sylus who's furious that you're letting anyone else fuck you— and listen now, even if you didn't, even if it was just a rumor, sylus seethes just imagining you spreading your legs for someone else's hands, not to mention someone else's mouth. when he comes across the rumor of you finding another partner, he doesn't sleep, he doesn't eat either— yet when you see him again by chance, there's something unhinged in his gaze, not angry of course, but hollow, like the version of him that once smiled has been overwritten with cold calculation.

but all it took was your voice, one tremble, one "sylus…" and he cracks again, immediately grabbing your face and saying, "don't ever make me think you've moved on again," as he suffocates the space between your lips to finally kiss you after all this time, with tears beading his lashes at being one with you again.

this wasn't supposed to happen, originally you just wanted to nod politely and pass him like strangers in a city that once belonged to the both of you, pick up the things you've left in his house and be gone for good this time. yet he said your name— your name, not the ghost of it, not the public version people used, but the one he whispered against your bare skin and suddenly you were trembling like a violin string plucked too hard.

fuck, he kissed you like nothing had changed, like it hadn't been months, like you hadn't signed papers with hands that wouldn't stop shaking now, like your lawyer hadn't had to slide the pen back into your grip, the same grip that was now entangled in his hair. after all, you could still remember when sylus stood across the room and refused to look at you, his jaw clenched so tight you could hear the bones grind.

his mouth still felt the same— dangerously soft and wickedly sure, feeling like memory, yet tasting like sin, as if his regret was set on fire. yet your body responded before your mind could even catch up and process on what was happening— your hands messily in his hair, your nails digging and dragging him into you, your lips parting because he needed to be let in.

you hated him, no, you loved him, fuck, you hated that you still loved him.

he drops to his knees and eats your pussy like he's starving— no prep, no teasing, just tongue fucking you with brutal, obsessive precision. you're gasping his name, thighs shaking around his head and cunt clenching on nothing, yet he doesn't stop even when your knees buckle and your hands fist through his silver hair.

you cum on his face that night, multiple times in fact, because he won't stop until he feels you sobbing, "you taste the same," he drawls hoarsely, wiping his mouth on your thigh, "fuck— you taste like you're still mine," as you're soaking him, messing up his chin with your slick when you're riding his face. sylus pins you open like it's a crime to let you close, eating you out like the only thing that could ever satisfy him was the sound of your wrecked little pussy and the way your slick stained his tongue so fucking nicely.

ex husband sylus who hates condoms now, you barely used them when you were married yet tried to be responsible, although now? he rips them from your hand, "we were married, do you think i care about this?" as he pushes his cock through you in one raw, thick, unrelenting stroke. he fucks you like it's the last time— because perhaps afterwards you might remember that you're still divorced and shouldn't be doing this.

everything that crossed sylus's mind right now was that if he doesn't fill you up, he'll lose you again. fuck, he's angry, but he doesn't know why, or maybe he just wanted to be mad at something— wanted to pretend it's not desperation that guided him, no aching grief that was wrapped in jealousy and lust as he could never forgive himself for letting you go.

in this moment in time, he's inside of you again and it feels like heaven— fucking you like the resentment's burning through his spine, and even though he was still mad, it's lost somewhere within the brutal rhythm of each thrust shattering your body. his hips crash into yours with punishing force as his nails bite deep into your soft hips like he's holding onto something that just kept slipping away.

and the sounds you're making, fuck, you must be joking, the slap of his balls against your ass repeatedly echoing the wet squelch of your cunt receiving his blows again and again— it made it impossible to think, let alone say his feeling out loud. and when he cums? he watches it leak out of you with a look of silent lust before greedily shoving it back in with his fingers, "i want it to stay," he whispers, "i want you so full that you have no other choice but to dream about me."

ex husband sylus who knows you were the only thing that ever calmed him down, the only one who could ever talk him off the ledge when his voice cracks with static and fury and guilt, you were the one that got under his skin and stayed there. but with you leaving? it wasn't just heartbreak, it was a full system collapse and now he's running on fumes as he just wanted to grab you forever, drag you back into his bed and his world, his hell, you could say, and ruin you all over again.

and ex husband sylus didn't want to lie to you, really, didn't want to pretend you had left something inside his house because he hated you, no, he wasn't selfish either, it's not your body he wanted, you have to believe him on that one— but because he still loves you with the sickness of a man who has never known how to live outside of your orbit. the way a dying star didn't simply fall into gravity— it clung to it the same way sylus clasped his arms around you this very second.

ex husband sylus's love was just like that, you see? like something terminal, like your absence alone was a wound he himself repeatedly presses into, over and over, just to remember what your warmth used to feel like.

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

[sayangrafayel]

LADS react to you asking them to set you up with someone else

This was a fun request. I might slip some dynamic duo rivalry here.. hmm.. maybe this is the same universe as loft talk. This is pre relationship prank!

Sylus, Xavier, Rafayel, Zayne, Caleb.

Sylus (Rafayel)

"Hey, Sy. Can you set me up with one of your roommates?" "I don't have roommates." "? What do you mean. You have four roommates. I want the artist!" "No I absolutely do not. What artist?"

Would NEVER let you meet Rafayel, no matter what it takes. Rarely ever bring you back to the loft anymore.

Considered moving out of the loft and everything but stopped once you tell him it's a prank.

Xavier (Jeremiah)

"Xavie, is Jeremiah seeing anyone?" "I don't know a Jerry." "Jeremiah." "I don't know who that is either."

He gets SOOOO jealous (that's why we like him)

Why would you ask him to set you up with someone else. He's right there. He's perfect for you in every way. 🥺🥺🥺 - Xavier, probably

Rafayel (Sylus)

"Can you set me up with one of your friends?" "I don't have friends." "Yes you do! That fruit guy is breathtaking!" "You know what else is breathtaking? If I were to hold his head underwater." "Sorry?" "I said I am also breathtaking!"

He fish. Fish forgor stuff. Roommate? Who? Sylus? Thomas? Who???? What are you talking about?

Becomes extra mean to Sylus the next day and Sylus was so confused as to why is his bestfriend who is not his bestfriend seems to hate him more than usual!?

Zayne (Greyson)

"Dr. Zayne, can you set me up with Greyson?" "Why?" "Because.. I want to?" "His name is Doctor Greyson, and do you really want to..?" "Yes please! Set me up with Dr. Greyson!" "...." "Zayne?" "If that's what you want."

I don't think he's gonna try to stop you nor does he realize you're testing the waters to see how he feels about you, defeatedly gives Greyson your number, but Greyson was so confused because why would he hit up Zayne's girlfriend???

"She's your girl, Zayne." "She is not." "Yes she is, she's just testing to see how you'd react, dummy. Now go and actually ask her out."

Caleb (Gideon)

Before you start pranking him, you prayed for Gideon's safety.

"Caleb, can you set me up with-" "He's gay." "I haven't even said a name!" "Yeah, everybody around me is gay. I'm their ally." "Caleb!!!"

He'd frown and keep telling you why would you need anybody else when you can have HIM. He's the one who knows you the best! He knows how to make you smile! He's 100% your boyfriend material! 😤

[randomfandomworks]

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

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

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

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

One of your hands lays gently on his chest.

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

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

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

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

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

[lotusapple-xia]

Cuddle Me!

✰ summary: Sylus cranks the cold air conditioner after a petty argument, so you cuddle him ✰ pairing: Sylus x reader ✰ content: fluff, established relationship, you being petty and Sylus is needy but doesn't want to admit it ✰ w/c: 772 ✰ notes: Had this random idea so i had to write it! this was written super quick so forgive me if its not as good. pls ignore that you could've gotten a blanket/jacket 😭. also Sylus debut on my blog yippeee <3

🪷Likes, comments and reblogs are always appreciated!

The chilly air raises goosebumps along your arms as you shiver where you sit in Sylus’s living room. Moonlight filters in through the silk curtains, and the sound of soft classical music playing on the vinyl speaker is the only sound in the room. Both you and Sylus are quiet, neither of you making a sound as your pettiness refuses to speak to him after the argument. You’re keeping to yourself with a book you promised yourself to finish reading while Sylus is cleaning a gun from his personal collection.

You don’t even know what the argument was about, just something silly that transpired into his smug attitude egging you on. Rationally, you know that he wasn’t mean or rude to you—Sylus would rather fall face first off his penthouse before being intentionally mean to you—you can't help but give him the silent treatment.

The chill of the living room gets colder and colder. You’re in a pair of red, satin pyjamas, one of the many that Sylus has bought you, and it’s not doing anything to protect you against the frustrating cold. You could’ve sworn that it would’ve been warmer, considering the heater was just on moments ago.

You stride over to the thermostat to crank up the heat. To your surprise, the screen displays an overwhelming blue, explaining the sudden coldness. You slide the dial high, until it turns a bright red and head back to lie down on the couch with your book.

After a few minutes, the cold seeps in again. You try your best to ignore it, curling up into a ball and tucking your legs under yourself. You don’t want to get up again. The leather couch is not helping your case. In fact, it’s actively making it worse.

“Cold Kitten?” Sylus’s smug voice calls out from the other side of the room. He seems completely fine. Content even. Watching you freeze to death as you’re curled up like a literal kitten. You huff and purposely ignore eye contact. Sylus seems ever more amused watching you try to conserve your heat in the bitter temperature.

Eventually, you can't take it anymore, so you stand up begrudgingly once again to head to the thermostat. It’s set to a cool blue yet again.

“Sylus, for all your boasting about your amazing house in the N109 zone, your heating system sucks.”

“Why don’t we use our body heat to warm us up Sweetie, hm?”

“Did you do this on purpose?” You phrase it like a question, but you know that Sylus is the one behind this. The dark red tendrils of his evol hover behind the thermostat like thieves hiding from police. You try to fiddle with the settings of the thermostat, but it remains frozen at the cold temperature.

You huff again and resign yourself to sitting on the cold couch in misery. Several minutes pass as the cold air runs over your skin, wrapping around your limbs until they stiffen. Your teeth slightly chatter and your hands shake until the book you were intent on reading is neglected.

You look up at Sylus. He’s wearing his signature slacks paired with a dark sweater. His legs are spread enticingly as he continues to polish the gun in his hand. You know for sure that his body heat will be more than enough to warm you up. He’s basically a heater personified. Whenever you both cuddled to sleep, it was common for you to wake up overheated.

You sigh. You can't believe you’re about to give in. But it’ll be worth it in the end, despite the teasing you know you’ll have to deal with. You stand up and stalk towards him.

“Sylus.”

“Yes Sweetie?”

You don’t answer as you sink down onto his lap like you own it, which you do, Sylus can attest to that. You wrap your limbs around him and bury your head into his comfy chest. His calming, natural scent and overwhelming warmth instantly cocoon you. Sylus wraps his muscled arms around your body, further warming you up. He presses a loving kiss to the top of your head as he blissfully cuddles you.

“You purposefully made it cold didn’t you?” You look up at him, chin digging to his chest.

“I did Kitten, but you weren’t talking to me no matter what I did. I had to do something.” Sylus crowed.

“Just say you’re needy next time,” you hide your smile in his neck, tightening your grasp around him. Previous pettiness floating away now that you and Sylus aren’t at odds anymore.

“I will always need you Sweetie, no matter what.”

[catbolt]

— SYLUS HEADCANONS

random assorted hcs for my man (fluff, 18+)

would be really into sending you sweaty post-gym bathroom mirror selfies

he thinks it's hot watching you put makeup on and so likes to watch you get ready to go out even if he's not coming with you. you get flustered a little with him just standing by your vanity in silence. "what, is it a crime to watch my beautiful girlfriend get ready for her girls night? then take me to jail. i'll just break out again."

ALWAYS has his hand on the small of your back if you're going literally anywhere it's like an unconscious habit

wears glasses for working or reading but keeps misplacing them so he has like 20 pairs floating around the house at any given time

would be excited when you get your nails done and always wants to help you pick a color/nail art design

very into pet names, always calls you "little dove, little bird, my dove, my flower, honey" etc.

is really bad at putting in contact lenses (dont ask me why i think this but i just know he has to use two hands and then drops them in the sink half the time)

he's a biter during sex and aftercare is kissing and licking every bite (it's the dragon talking)

he def has a size kink and likes being bigger than you. he would so pick you up to get stuff off the top shelf even when he could get it himself just because he likes picking you up

he says "honey i'm home" when he gets home bc he's corny like that

god at parallel parking

sings in the shower so loudly that it's audible throughout half the mansion

would be an audiophile/into really expensive headphones and speaker setups and would make you test out all his different headphones to try and find the most optimal setup for his music. "what do you mean moving the speaker two inches to the right doesn't make any difference, sweetheart? are your ears working correctly?"

sleeptalks about business when he's stressed which is always how you can tell if he's more stressed out than he's letting on

doesn't use instagram except to send you cat videos

always feeds you bites of his food off his fork to try anytime you're out at a restaurants

part 2!

[mephisto-reporting]

Jealousy, Jealousy with Sylus

Plot: Reader becomes jealous of Sylus and MC's closeness, distancing herself and seeking comfort in another LI. Sylus notices her growing distance and takes action. Based on this request. Pairing: Sylus x Non MC reader Content Warning: Insecurities, injuries, mention of blood, jealousy, angst, hurt/comfort Note: Reader is not the MC of the game. I think I got quite carried away writing this because I am a sucker for angst. [ A disclaimer note - Please be respectful of the request ]

The faint hum of the air condition echoed through the Onychinus base, its opulent, luxurious atmosphere doing little to distract from the knot twisting in your stomach. You stood across from Luke and Kieran, their crow masks tilted slightly as if to gauge your reaction.

"Boss isn't here today," Luke said casually, his hands tucked into his pockets. "He’s in Linkon, Boss man’s got other things to handle."

Kieran, his mask tilted slightly to the side, gave a confused grunt. "But I thought he was meeting with her...?"

Luke raised a brow, correcting him. "No, no, he was meeting with Miss Hunter."

Miss Hunter.

The words hit you like a sledgehammer, even though they shouldn’t have. You were a hunter too, an informant who had been feeding Sylus critical intel on the association’s movements for two years now. But she was different. Special.

Captain Jenna’s star pupil, with her rare Anhaunsen-class Resonance Evol, was someone Sylus had spent weeks trying to connect with, both literally and emotionally. You weren’t blind to the necessity of it; resonating with her was crucial for his goals, ones he hadn’t entirely shared with you but that you trusted him to pursue.

Trusted him. Loved him.

You forced a tight smile. "Thanks for the update. I'll let you two get back to it."

Luke and Kieran exchanged a glance, but you were already walking away, the echo of your boots swallowed by the hum of the base.

The ride back to Linkon was supposed to clear your mind. It didn’t.

The cool wind whipped against your face, but all it did was sting the tears pooling in your eyes. The road stretched endlessly ahead, yet the pressure in your chest only grew. Sylus hadn’t seen you in two months. Two months of unanswered calls and messages reduced to half-hearted responses when they came at all.

You understood why he was focused on her. She was crucial to his plans. She was everything you weren’t: poised, pretty, powerful, and, most importantly, someone he needed.

But understanding didn’t make it hurt any less.

The world blurred around you as your thoughts spiraled. You had always known your place in Sylus’ life. You were the informant, the quiet insider who helped him stay two steps ahead of the hunters. Somewhere along the way, though, you had fallen for him. For the man who wasn’t as cold and calculated as others believed. It had been two long years since you started working with Sylus. Two years filled with secrecy, lies, and hidden truths. But over those years, you'd found yourself tangled in emotions for him that you couldn’t shake. Sylus, with his cold authority, his dangerous smile, his complex nature… He was all you could think about. He wasn’t as dismissive as people thought. He had a way of looking at you when no one was watching—a fleeting softness that you cherished, even if you couldn’t be certain if it was real.

And now, it felt like you were losing him.

Your bike screeched to a halt near Meow’s Café. You hadn’t planned to stop, but the sight of the familiar storefront tugged at you. Perhaps a coffee and a moment to breathe would help.

The glass windows glinted under the midday sun, and your breath hitched as you looked inside.

Sylus was there. With her.

They sat at a small table, a deck of Kitty cards spread between them. He was leaning back, his smirk in full display as she laughed at something he said. It was the kind of laugh that reached her eyes, the kind of moment you had only ever dreamed of sharing with him.

You froze, your hands tightening on your helmet.

For a fleeting second, you wanted to march inside and demand answers. To ask him why he had time to play cards but couldn’t return your calls. To tell him how his absence had hollowed you out.

But you didn’t.

He looks so happy... you thought bitterly, swallowing the lump in your throat.

The truth gnawed at you. Every interaction, every ignored message, every unread notification on your phone—it was because of her. Because Sylus had more important things to do. She was the one who mattered now. She was the one who he had to resonate with, had to bond with, had to make fall for him.

And you? You were just a pawn, a tool—forgotten. And there you were. Alone. Watching through a window, the warmth of the cafe contrasting the cold, empty feeling in your stomach. He hadn’t even bothered to let you know he was back. He was with her. You couldn’t bear to watch any longer, but you couldn’t look away either. It felt like the world was spinning faster than you could catch up, and you were left stranded, dizzy, and abandoned.

Instead, you turned away, your chest tight and vision blurred. The world felt suffocating, the weight of your unspoken feelings dragging you down as you climbed back onto your bike.

It was for the best, right?

You couldn’t keep doing this. You couldn’t keep waiting for him, couldn’t keep fooling yourself that there was something real between you two. He was busy. He had her. And you.. well, you didn’t even know why you bothered anymore.

The ride back to your apartment was a blur of taillights and muffled engine noise. The city’s glow that usually brought you some sense of comfort felt glaring and alien tonight. By the time you made it inside, the suffocating silence of your small space was overwhelming.

For someone who prided herself on being strong and independent, you barely made it to your couch before the sobs overtook you. Hot, angry tears streamed down your face as you clutched a pillow to your chest, trying in vain to keep your cries muffled. It felt as though something within you had been ripped apart, leaving an aching, hollow void that throbbed with every thought of him.

You replayed the image of him at the café in your mind, over and over, as if some part of you wanted to punish yourself further. His smirk. Her laughter. The ease of their interaction. It contrasted so sharply with the heaviness that now weighed on your heart.

Every chime of your phone made you flinch, hope briefly sparking to life, only to be cruelly snuffed out when the screen lit up with messages from others—work updates, pointless notifications, or friends checking in. Nothing from him. Of course, there wouldn’t be.

You wiped at your face, your chest tightening as you scrolled through the last few conversations you’d had with Sylus. They were short, clipped responses. A "thanks" here, an "I’m busy" there. You’d convinced yourself for weeks that he wasn’t brushing you off, that his focus was just elsewhere. But deep down, you knew. You’d always known.

You weren’t as important to him as he was to you.

That realization settled over you like a heavy blanket, suffocating and final. And yet, you tried to convince yourself it was okay. He doesn’t owe me anything, you told yourself, though the thought only twisted the knife deeper. He’s free to choose who he spends his time with.

But it didn’t stop the tears.

The days that followed were a haze of exhaustion and numbness. You threw yourself into your work, spending long hours tracking and confronting wanderers. The physical exhaustion helped, even if just a little. At least when you were in the middle of a fight, the pain in your chest was drowned out by the adrenaline coursing through your veins.

Still, the nights were the worst. Alone in your apartment, the quiet crept in like a suffocating fog. You tried to distract yourself—reading, cleaning, even organizing old mission reports. Anything to keep your mind from drifting back to him. But it was impossible.

Each time you saw his name in your contacts, you hesitated. Your thumb hovered over the call button more times than you cared to admit, but the fear of hearing his indifferent voice stopped you every time. What would you even say? That you missed him? That you wanted to see him? That you’d fallen for him, even though you knew it would never be mutual?

No. You couldn’t do that to yourself.

You worked harder, pushed yourself further. Every wanderer you fought became a stand-in for your frustrations, your insecurities. You told yourself that if you could just stay busy enough, the ache would go away. But no matter how many missions you completed or how many late nights you spent staring at your phone, the weight in your chest never fully lifted.

By the end of the week, you were exhausted—physically and emotionally. But you were surviving. Barely. The bell above the door jingled softly as you pushed into the chocolatier’s shop, the rich scent of cocoa and vanilla wrapping around you like a warm embrace. The day had been grueling—hours of chasing leads, a narrow escape from a particularly aggressive wanderer, and not a single bite of food since morning. Your stomach growled in protest, a sharp reminder that you’d been running on fumes for too long.

Rows of meticulously crafted chocolates gleamed beneath the glass counter, their perfect swirls and shimmering finishes almost too beautiful to eat. Almost. You leaned forward slightly, scanning the display, your reflection ghosting over the pristine surface.

Dark chocolate truffles. Raspberry ganache. Caramel hazelnut clusters. The options were overwhelming, and your indecision felt heavier than it should’ve. Your chest still ached from the lingering emotions you’d been suppressing all week. The quiet joy of the shop felt alien, like stepping into a world you no longer belonged to.

Just pick something and go, you thought, your fingers tightening on the strap of your bag. But the choices seemed endless, each one whispering promises of sweetness you weren’t sure you deserved.

"If you’re struggling," a soft, measured voice spoke behind you, "the pistachio crème chocolate is an excellent choice."

Startled, you turned, your gaze falling on a man standing a few steps away. Tall and lean, he exuded an understated confidence that was both intimidating and captivating. Dark hair fell in against his forehead, and sharp hazel-green eyes, softened by gold flecks peered at you from behind thin-framed glasses. His white doctor’s coat was open, revealing a simple black shirt beneath, and he held a small paper bag in one hand.

You blinked, caught off guard by both his suggestion and his presence. "Oh, uh… thank you," you stammered, trying not to sound as flustered as you felt. "I’ll… I’ll try that."

The shopkeeper nodded and carefully packed your selection as you stole another glance at the stranger. There was an air of calm authority about him, a quiet assurance that made you feel oddly exposed, like he could see straight through you.

He waited patiently as the shopkeeper handed you your bag, but just as you were about to leave, his voice cut through the quiet again—this time, more direct. "Chocolates shouldn’t be your first meal of the day."

The statement was delivered without malice, his tone stoic and matter-of-fact, yet it hit like a stone to the chest. Your lips parted in shock, the question forming before you could stop it: How does he know? But before you could say anything, he was already moving toward the door. The bells jingled softly as it closed behind him, leaving you standing frozen in place. The stranger’s words lingered, intertwining with the rest of your messy emotions. Your fingers clenched the small bag of chocolates as you tried to process the brief encounter.

A soft gleam on the floor caught your attention, breaking your spiraling thoughts. A wallet, its sleek leather worn but well-kept, lay just inches from where the man had stood. You knelt and picked it up, your heart thudding as you opened it to check for identification.

The name embossed on his hospital ID was like a jolt: Dr. Zayne. Your eyes widened. Doctor Zayne? The name was familiar—a renowned surgeon whose skills and precision were legendary, often described as a miracle worker. You’d imagined someone older, more weathered, not… this.

For a moment, you stared at the ID, piecing together the puzzle of the composed, enigmatic man who had called you out so effortlessly. You tried the number listed on a card tucked into his wallet, but it rang unanswered, the sterile monotone only adding to your frustration.

"Of course, he wouldn’t answer," you muttered under your breath, chewing your lip as you debated your next move. The idea of keeping his wallet overnight felt wrong, and leaving it here in the shop seemed equally careless.

That left one option.

The hospital loomed ahead as you approached, its towering structure illuminated against the evening sky. Anxiety gnawed at your insides, twisting with every step you took through the sterile white halls. You weren’t sure why you felt so on edge—maybe it was the overwhelming sense of inadequacy that had been haunting you lately, or maybe it was the lingering impression of Zayne’s knowing gaze.

At the reception desk, you hesitated, gripping the wallet tightly as you cleared your throat. "Hi, um, I’m here to return something for Dr. Zayne. He… accidentally dropped this."

The receptionist barely looked up, taking the wallet with a polite but indifferent smile. "Dr. Zayne isn’t in right now. I’ll make sure he gets this when he’s back."

"Oh," You nodded, murmuring a quick thanks before retreating back toward the exit. You thought nothing of this interaction as you left. You did what you thought was right and left the hospital back towards your apartment.

The days blurred together in a haze of work and routine. You buried yourself in assignments from the Hunter’s Association, throwing yourself into dangerous missions with a single-minded intensity. Anything to keep your mind occupied.

Sylus messaged you once during that time, his tone professional as he asked for updates regarding a lead he was tracking. You’d responded quickly, sticking strictly to business. No pleasantries, no banter—just the information he needed. He didn’t press, didn’t call you out for your uncharacteristic coldness. Maybe he didn’t notice. Or maybe he did and chose not to say anything.

That night, you jogged through the dimly lit streets, your breath fogging in the cool air as you tried to exorcise the restless energy gnawing at you. The rhythmic slap of your sneakers against the pavement was grounding, steady. Jogging had always been your go-to, a way to clear your head and silence the endless stream of "what-ifs" and "if-onlys" that plagued your mind.

But no amount of movement could completely shake Sylus from your thoughts.

His voice, his presence—it clung to you, even now.

Why didn’t he ask how I’ve been? Why didn’t I?

You shook your head, annoyed at yourself. There was no point in dwelling. Sylus wasn’t the kind of person to give you what you wanted, and even if he did, could you trust it? Could you trust him?

The sound of skidding tires yanked you out of your spiraling thoughts.

“Look out!”

Before you could process the warning, a cyclist veered wildly toward you, their momentum too strong to stop. There wasn’t even time to brace yourself. The impact hit like a freight train, and suddenly, you were on the ground, tangled with the bike and its rider. Pain blossomed sharp and hot in your knees as the asphalt scraped them raw.

For a moment, you just lay there, stunned. The world tilted unsteadily, the city lights smearing together like a watercolor painting.

“Hey, you okay?” The cyclist’s voice snapped you back. They were scrambling off you, helmet slightly askew but otherwise unscathed. You shook your head to clear it, wincing as you sat up. You pushed yourself up, shaking the dizziness from your head, and checked on the cyclist who had crashed into you. They were already scrambling to their feet, looking slightly dazed but otherwise unharmed, their helmet and guards having done their job.

“I’m fine,” you managed, even as your knees throbbed in protest. “Are you?”

“Yeah, thanks to the gear,” they said, pulling off their helmet to inspect a small crack along its surface. “Guess it did its job.”

Relief washed over you. “Good. Let me just—”

“Wait.” A different voice cut in, firm but calm. You stood there, still trying to regain your bearings when a figure appeared beside you, moving with a grace that immediately caught your attention. Your heart skipped a beat when you saw who it was. Dr. Zayne. The same man who had crossed your path in the chocolatier's shop just days ago. His sharp eyes locked onto yours, and for a split second, everything else seemed to vanish. His expression shifted from mild surprise to something more concerned as he took in your state.

Without saying a word, he immediately began assessing you, his gaze narrowing at the blood now staining your knees. You winced, feeling the sting of the cuts that had begun to bloom with a fiery intensity, but you were determined not to show it. You were used to pain—used to the sharp discomfort that came with being a hunter. You didn’t need help. You could handle this on your own. You’d always been able to.

But Dr. Zayne wasn’t having any of it.

His voice, low and steady, broke through the haze of your thoughts. "You’re bleeding. Those need first aid," he said firmly, his frown deepening as he glanced at your scraped knees. "Sit. Wait here. I’ll be back in a minute."

You opened your mouth to protest, to tell him you were fine, but the words caught in your throat. He wasn’t asking. His tone, though gentle, was authoritative—demanding in its own quiet way. There was something about the way he carried himself, that calm, unflinching presence, that made it impossible to argue.

"I’m fine, I am a hunter." you managed to say, your voice rougher than you intended. "I can handle it at home. Really." You tried to force a reassuring smile

“Is this a hunter thing?” he interrupted, one brow arching skeptically. “Are all of you this stubborn about basic care, or is it just you?”

The words should have been biting, but his tone was almost... patient. Like he was accustomed to dealing with difficult people.

You flushed, suddenly hyper-aware of the sting in your knees and the heat of his gaze. “I’m not being stubborn,” you muttered. “I just don’t want to bother anyone over something so small.”

“Small injuries have a way of turning into bigger problems,” he said, folding his arms. “And I’m not bothered. As a doctor, I’m asking you to wait here. I’ll be back in a minute.”

Without waiting for your protest, he turned and strode off, leaving you no room to argue.

You sat stiffly on the bench, gripping the edge as the minutes dragged on. The ache in your knees was nothing compared to the gnawing discomfort blooming in your chest. Anxiety clawed at you, whispering insidious doubts.

He’s wasting his time on you.He probably thinks you’re pathetic and weak.Why couldn’t you have just gotten up and left?

Your fingers curled into fists, the tension radiating through your body.

The sound of footsteps interrupted your spiraling thoughts, and Dr. Zayne was back, carrying a small first aid kit. He knelt in front of you without a word, his hands steady as he cleaned the cuts on your knees. The gentle pressure of his fingers as he worked felt almost surreal. His silence wasn’t uncomfortable—it was just… calm. You found yourself drawn to it, to the quiet that seemed to settle around him.

"You’re lucky," he said, glancing up at you as he bandaged your knees. "That could’ve been a lot worse."

You nodded, the words caught in your throat. There were so many things you wanted to say, things you wanted to ask him, but you didn’t know where to start. So you remained silent, watching as he finished his work, his hands moving with the practiced precision of someone who had seen too many injuries to count.

When he was done, he straightened up and met your gaze. "You should be more careful," he said softly, his voice a little lighter than before, though there was still a note of concern underlying his words. "Next time, don’t run so late at night. You never know what could happen."

You forced a tight smile, the words feeling like they were coming from someone else. "I’ll keep that in mind," you said, your voice quieter now.

Dr. Zayne took a step back after finishing the bandages, his sharp gaze softening ever so slightly as he packed the first aid kit. You glanced at him, your mouth opening to thank him, but before you could get the words out, he said, almost in unison, “Thank you.”

Both of you froze, the simultaneous expressions of gratitude hanging awkwardly in the air. A surprised laugh slipped out of you, breaking the tension.

“You first,” he said, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

You swallowed, trying to ignore the heat creeping up your neck. “I was just going to say thank you for… you know, helping with this.” You gestured vaguely toward your knees, the bandages clinging to your skin. “You didn’t have to.”

The moment stretched between you, awkward yet somehow comforting. Zayne gave a small, almost amused smile at the simultaneous gratitude, but his gaze softened when it landed on you, his concern still present.

"Thank you for returning my wallet," he said, his tone steady but with a hint of appreciation.

His words caught you off guard. “Oh, right! That. It wasn’t a big deal, really.” You fidgeted with the hem of your sleeve, avoiding his gaze. “I found it at the chocolatier shop. I figured it was better to bring it to the hospital than leave it lying around.”

He nodded thoughtfully, his eyes lingering on you for a moment longer than necessary. “I appreciate it. Not many people would go out of their way like that.”

You tried not to let his kindness throw you off, but it wasn’t easy. There was something about Zayne that made you feel... small in a way you didn’t like to feel. He was kind, yes, but that kindness made you wonder if you were deserving of it. Why should you be the one he cared about?

But before you could dwell on that any further, his voice cut through your swirling thoughts.

"Have you eaten today?" His tone was light, but there was an edge of sincerity beneath it, one that made your stomach twist in a way that had nothing to do with hunger. It reminded you of that conversation in the shop, of how he had so effortlessly read through your tiredness.

The sheepish look that crossed your face must’ve been obvious, because Zayne sighed, the sound so deep that it almost felt like a reprimand. He pinched the bridge of his nose in a gesture that was both familiar and surprisingly endearing.

“You’ve got to take care of yourself,” he said, his voice almost too gentle for the weight of his words. “It’s not healthy to go without food, especially if you’re going to keep running around like you hunters do.”

You opened your mouth to protest, to tell him it wasn’t a big deal, but Zayne didn’t give you the chance.

"There’s a diner close by. It’s the least I can do to thank you for returning my wallet."

You shook your head instinctively, trying to backpedal. "It’s really not necessary," you said, but Zayne wasn’t having any of it. His eyes were firm, and there was an undeniable warmth behind them that almost made you feel guilty for refusing.

"Yes, it is," he replied, his tone steady but with a hint of finality. "Now, come on.”

You hesitated for a moment, the unease building in your chest like a brick wall, but the thought of Zayne’s calm, commanding presence made it impossible to say no. So, with a quiet sigh, you relented.

"I’ll pay," you muttered as he led the way, the words almost reflexive. You always felt like you had to pay your way—like it was your responsibility to do so, especially with someone who had helped you, even in the smallest of ways. You were used to standing on your own two feet.

Zayne only gave you a side glance, his lips quirking up in the barest of smiles. "No, you won’t. It’s my thank you, remember?"

The diner wasn’t far from where you had been, a cozy, low-lit place with a soft hum of quiet conversations and the clink of silverware against plates. The familiar scent of warm food—steak, mashed potatoes, and the unmistakable aroma of fresh bread—immediately filled the air as you stepped inside. You followed Zayne to a small booth in the back, the vinyl seats creaking under your weight as you slid in.

You wanted to say something—thank you, maybe—but the words felt stuck, trapped somewhere in the pit of your stomach, along with everything else that had been piling up for weeks. Zayne didn’t seem to notice, his focus already turning to the menu as he gestured for you to pick something.

You wanted to ask him more, to understand him in the same way you understood the empty streets you ran through, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that you’d just end up looking foolish. So, instead, you stared at the menu in front of you, unable to focus on the choices, as your mind churned with questions that had no answers.

Zayne ordered for both of you, his voice low as he made his choices, and when he looked at you, you caught a flicker of something—perhaps curiosity, or was it concern? It was hard to tell.

"You should eat more regularly," he said again, as though the words were a reminder he had to repeat for his own peace of mind. You nodded, letting the silence fill the space between you for a moment.

The food arrived, warm and satisfying, and you took a bite, surprised at how hungry you were despite the earlier denials. Zayne watched you for a moment, his gaze softening as you ate, but you couldn’t bring yourself to meet it. His concern, his care—it felt too much. You weren’t used to people worrying about you.

But as the meal went on, you found yourself starting to relax, the initial tension loosening from your shoulders. Zayne was easy to talk to, his calm, steady presence settling you in a way you hadn’t expected. By the end of the meal, you felt... lighter.

"Call me Zayne," he said when the check came, his voice quiet but sincere.

You blinked, a little caught off guard by the request. "Zayne?" you echoed, testing the name on your tongue.

"Yes," he replied with a small, patient smile. "It’s easier than 'Dr. Zayne,' don’t you think?"

You blinked, taken aback. “Are you sure? I mean, you’ve earned the title—”

“And I’ll still have it in the hospital,” he interrupted, amusement flickering in his eyes. “But here, it’s just Zayne.”

You nodded slowly, testing the name in your mind. It felt strange, almost too personal. But there was something grounding about it, too.

By the time dessert arrived, the knot of anxiety in your chest had loosened considerably. The warmth of the diner, the steady cadence of his voice, and the shared laughter over a poorly made joke had a way of pulling you out of your own head. For the first time in what felt like weeks, you weren’t obsessing over your failures or doubts.

As you finished your meal, Zayne pulled out his phone and slid it across the table. “Here,” he said simply. “Add your number. In case you ever need anything.”

You hesitated, the gesture feeling far more intimate than it probably was. But his expression was patient, expectant, and you found yourself entering your contact information before you could overthink it. When you handed the phone back, his lips twitched into a faint smile.

“Thanks again for returning my wallet,” he said, his tone lighter now. “And for the company.”

You felt your cheeks flush, but this time, it wasn’t entirely unpleasant. “It’s not a problem,” you murmured, a small smile tugging at your lips.

As you stepped out of the diner and into the cool night air, a strange sense of calm settled over you. Zayne walked you to the corner where your paths would diverge, his presence steady and reassuring.

“Take care of yourself,” he said, his voice softer now, almost intimate.

“You too,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper.

The diner’s warmth lingered even as you stepped into the cool night air. For the first time in what felt like weeks, your chest didn’t feel as tight, the oppressive weight that had been bearing down on you now lifting slightly. You still felt the ache of Sylus’ absence—a hollow, gnawing sensation that seemed to creep in whenever you let your guard down, but it wasn’t as suffocating as it had been. Instead, a new sensation fluttered in its place, tentative and fragile: excitement. It was strange to feel this way, to look forward to the possibility of a friendship formed under such unlikely circumstances. Zayne’s calm demeanor, his steady presence, had surprised you.

As you walked, the sound of fluttering wings caught your attention. Instinctively, your heart skipped, your mind jumping to Mephisto. You tilted your head to the dark sky, half-expecting to see the telltale silhouette of his familiar. But it was just a cluster of pigeons, their wings catching the faint glow of the streetlights as they soared away.

Right. Of course. It was unlikely that Sylus was watching you tonight.

You exhaled, a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, and forced your thoughts away from him. Zayne had offered you a rare moment of normalcy, and you weren’t about to let your memories of Sylus overshadow that.

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The following weeks were a blur of activity, and before long, you found yourself stationed at an outpost on the outskirts of Linkon. A metaflux surge had disrupted the area, and the temporary makeshift hospital was bustling with injured workers, hunters, and even a few civilians caught in the chaos. The air was thick with tension, the metallic tang of metaflux faint but persistent, a reminder of the unseen dangers that lurked just beyond the safety of the encampment.

Zayne was assigned as the doctor for the outpost, and you often found yourself crossing paths with him. At first, your interactions were brief—a nod here, a shared glance there—but over time, you began to talk. It started with simple pleasantries, discussions about the metaflux readings or the influx of patients, but it wasn’t long before the conversations deepened.

You learned that Zayne had a dry sense of humor, his sharp wit often catching you off guard. He’d tease you about your stubbornness, and you’d retort with a quip about his overly serious nature. Despite his professionalism, there was a warmth to him, a quiet compassion that made him easy to trust. And though you’d never admit it, you found yourself looking forward to those moments of shared laughter, those fleeting glimpses of something lighter amidst the chaos.

But even as your friendship with Zayne grew, Sylus lingered at the edges of your thoughts, a shadow you couldn’t quite shake. The conversations you had with him were sparse and strictly work-related—updates from the Association, bits of intel you passed along to him. It felt transactional, a far cry from the intimacy you once shared. Yet, every time his name appeared on your screen, your heart still raced, betraying the fragile boundaries you’d tried to set.

One evening, a message from Sylus broke the monotony of your routine.

‘Come over tomorrow night, Darling. I have an exquisite wine I’d like you to try—procured it during a recent deal.’

The invitation was simple, almost casual. For a moment, you imagined it—the rich scent of wine filling the air, his sharp yet alluring gaze fixed on you as he poured you a glass. But reality quickly crept in, dragging you back to the present. You couldn’t go. You couldn’t risk it. Not when your heart was still so fragile, still aching in ways you didn’t want to admit.

You stared at the screen for what felt like an eternity, your fingers hovering over the keyboard as your mind raced. The truth was, you wanted to see him. But you knew better. You had to keep your distance—for your own sake, if nothing else.

‘I’m tired..'

You typed, the words feeling hollow as they formed.

'Busy day tomorrow. Maybe another time.’

You hesitated before hitting send, the weight of the message pressing down on you. When his reply came, it was as simple as his invitation.

‘Okay.’

The finality of it hit you like a brick, and for a moment, you felt like your breath had been stolen away. He didn’t push. He didn’t argue. That empty “okay” hung in the air, leaving you with the quiet realization that, once again, you had lost yourself in the haze of someone else’s world.

You tried not to read too much into it, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that he had already moved on. That he didn’t care enough to fight for your attention. Instead, it felt like you were just a passing thought, like an aftertaste that wasn’t worth savoring.

Miss Hunter. The words echoed in your mind. You squeezed your eyes shut, willing the tears to stay behind your eyelids, but they pressed hard, a sting that never seemed to fully fade. You rubbed your forehead, trying to push away the thoughts. But even as you did, you couldn’t escape the suffocating feeling in your chest—the one that always came when you were reminded of how little you meant to him. You felt foolish, but you couldn’t help it. It was like you were always waiting for the other shoe to drop, for him to come back, to pull you back into his orbit with that practiced charm, that voice that made you feel wanted, if only for a little while.

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The dinner with Zayne had been a welcome reprieve. It had been two weeks since you last saw him, the demands of work pulling both of you in different directions. But tonight, seated across from him in a small, cozy bistro, you found solace in the familiar rhythm of your conversations. The mellow lights softened the sharp angles of his face as he recounted a mishap earlier in the week involving a particularly irritable patient.

His dry humor, paired with the subtle lift of his brow, drew a laugh from you—a genuine, light sound that felt foreign after the weight of recent days. For a while, the world outside blurred away. You weren’t Miss Hunter; you weren’t anything other than a person sharing a meal with a friend.

As the meal wound down, Zayne looked at you over the rim of his glass, his expression calm. “You’re doing better than when we first met.” he remarked softly.

You blinked, momentarily caught off guard. “Am I?”

He nodded. His calm demeanor always had a way of grounding you, and tonight was no exception.

The meal wrapped up with the two of you trading small updates and light banter. You paid for your half of the meal, Zayne insisting it wasn’t necessary, but you’d insisted back. There was a sense of normalcy here, something you weren’t willing to let go of easily. When you parted ways outside the diner, the night air was cool and quiet. Zayne’s warm farewell echoed softly in your ears as you waved goodbye and headed back toward your apartment.

As you walked, you felt lighter somehow. The stress of the past few weeks hadn’t vanished, but Zayne’s steady presence had reminded you of something important—moments of peace still existed, even in the chaos.

The faint scent of lavender greeted you as you unlocked your apartment door, a hint of the candle you’d left burning earlier. The lights were off, and the air felt too still—unnaturally so. Your heart skipped, the hairs on the back of your neck standing on end. A lump formed in your throat, panic curling its fingers around your chest.

You flicked the light switch, and the sudden brightness flooded the room, revealing the figure sitting on your couch. Sylus.

You froze. Your body stiffened, caught between fight or flight.

Your yelp of surprise filled the space, your pulse racing as you clutched the doorframe for support. “What—Sylus? What are you doing here?”

He was sitting on your couch, one arm draped casually along the backrest, his other hand resting on his knee. The dim light of the room softened the sharp edges of his face, but his expression was anything but gentle. His eyes, sharp and unyielding, tracked your every movement as if he were dissecting you with just a glance.

“How—what are you doing here?” you stammered, your voice shaky as your pulse raced.

Sylus didn’t respond right away. Instead, he tilted his head slightly, his gaze dragging over you slowly, deliberately. His silence was louder than any words he could have spoken, and it made your skin prickle.

“Darling,” he finally murmured, his voice low and smooth, laced with something you couldn’t quite name. “You look… exhausted.”

You blinked, still standing frozen by the door. His tone was soft, almost tender, but it was the way his jaw tightened, the way his fingers tapped against his knee, that betrayed his underlying tension.

“Y-yeah,” you stammered, your voice wavering as you took a cautious step forward. “It’s been a long day. What are you doing here?”

Sylus leaned back, the leather of the couch creaking faintly under his weight. “A long day,” he echoed, his lips curving into a faint smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Yet you had time for dinner.”

“I…” you faltered, scrambling for a response. “It was just…”

“Just dinner,” he interrupted smoothly, his tone unreadable. “With… someone else.”

The air felt thick, charged with a tension that made your skin prickle. You opened your mouth to respond, but the words stuck in your throat. His eyes narrowed slightly, his expression still calm but his body language telling a different story. The way his fingers drummed against his knee, the slight clench of his jaw, the flicker of something dark in his gaze.

Your heart pounded, your thoughts racing. Why was he here? What did he want? And why did his presence—his very existence in your space—make your chest ache in that familiar, suffocating way?

“I didn’t think…” You stopped yourself, your voice trembling. “You didn’t say you’d be coming by. You can’t just—”

“Can’t just what?” he asked, his voice dangerously soft as he rose from the couch, his movements fluid and deliberate. “Show up to see what’s wrong?”

Your breath hitched as he closed the distance between you, his height and presence suddenly overwhelming. “Nothing’s wrong…”you managed to say, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Is that so?” he murmured, tilting his head slightly, his eyes boring into yours. “Because from where I’m standing, it seems like you’ve been avoiding me, Darling.”

The accusation hung in the air, sharp and unyielding.

“I’ve been busy…” you said weakly, your voice lacking conviction.

“Busy,” he repeated, his gaze flicking over you again, this time with something close to disdain. “Too busy for me, but not too busy for… him.”

Your hands fidgeted at your sides, your breath coming in shallow bursts. You wanted to move, to put distance between you, but your legs felt rooted to the spot. “I didn’t think dinner with a friend would..”

“Friend?” he interrupted, the single word slicing through your sentence. His lips curved into something that might have been a smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

Your heart pounded painfully against your ribs, the anxiety swirling in your chest mixing with something else—something raw and painful that you didn’t want to name. The memories of your last exchange with Sylus came flooding back—the curt messages, the unspoken finality of his “okay.” You had tried to convince yourself that it didn’t matter, that you didn’t need his validation. But standing here now, under the weight of his gaze, you felt every crack in the fragile walls you had built to keep him out.

“I don’t understand what you want from me,” you said finally, the words trembling as they left your lips.

His eyes softened slightly, but the tension in his posture didn’t ease. For a moment, he looked like he wanted to say something, something important, but the moment passed as quickly as it came. Instead, he reached out, his fingers brushing against your cheek in a gesture so gentle it felt almost foreign.

“Don’t make me feel like I’m a stranger to you.” he said quietly, his voice carrying a hint of vulnerability that made your chest ache.

Don’t make me feel like I’m a stranger to you. The words echoed in your mind, repeating, twisting, until all you could hear was the raw edge of betrayal laced in his tone.

You let out a bitter laugh, the sound sharp and bitter, a little too loud in the quiet of your apartment. Your chest tightened, and for a moment, you felt the space around you grow smaller. You couldn’t breathe—couldn’t think. All you could feel was the heat of anger building inside of you, raw and unrefined.

“That’s rich,” you scoffed, finally managing to find your voice. “That’s really rich, coming from you of all people.”

Sylus blinked, a subtle flash of surprise crossing his face, but it quickly masked over. His lips tightened, his brow furrowed ever so slightly, but it wasn’t enough. You had to push, you couldn’t hold back now. The words were tumbling out before you could even stop them. Your breath hitched, a strangled sob lodged somewhere in the back of your throat, but you refused to let it spill. You wouldn’t let him see you break—not like this, not in front of him. You knew the truth. He knew the truth. It hurt, yes, but you weren’t the one to blame.

“You've been treating me like a stranger for months,” you continued, your voice trembling with anger you hadn't fully realized was there. “Barely responding to my messages, not answering my calls, and when I do see you, it’s like you can’t be bothered. You don’t even see me.” You felt the weight of every unreturned message, every unanswered call, every promise left in limbo. “I’ve had to hear from Luke and Kieran that you’re in Linkon. But you couldn’t even make time to see me.”

You felt the ache deep in your chest, that familiar, suffocating knot forming. He didn’t deserve your pain. Not anymore. You wouldn’t let him have that. Not this time.

You took a shaky breath, suddenly feeling raw, exposed. “You don’t have to feel obligated to check on me, Sylus,” you said, your words clipped and cutting through the thick silence between you. “You don’t have to feel pity for me. I know where I stand. I know my place in your life.”

His expression, that unreadable mask, cracked for the briefest of moments. His lips parted, his gaze flicking to your face, then back down to the floor. His jaw clenched. But his eyes… They weren’t the same as they’d been earlier. The hardness was gone, replaced by something far more dangerous, something even more intimate. The storm was gathering, but it wasn’t just in the air—no, it was inside him too.

“You know where you stand?” His voice was quieter now, but there was an edge to it, a slight tightness you hadn’t noticed before. He took a step forward, his body closing the space between you, like a wave of raw energy crashing toward you. His proximity only made your pulse race faster, but you couldn’t back down. Not now.

“I’m just an informant, right?” you bit out, every word feeling like it sliced through the night air, cutting through the tension like a blade. “You don’t have to pretend you care, Sylus. So don’t stand there with that look on your face like I’m some important thing you need to check on.”

The air between you grew heavy, thick with unsaid words and stifled tension. Every inch of your body was telling you to get away, to shut down, to stop this before it tore you apart. But your feet felt heavy, stuck in place. Sylus’s presence was like gravity, pulling you toward him.

"You think that's all you are?" he murmured, his voice dangerously low, like the calm before the thunder. The way he said it made your heart stutter in your chest. It was both a question and an accusation or a challenge.

But there was something else in his voice. Something you couldn’t quite place. His eyes were intense, too intense, and they searched yours like he was looking for the answer. The truth.

“I didn’t want to hurt you,” he continued, his words clipped, as though they were difficult for him to say. “But I couldn’t....couldn’t make sense of it. Of you.”

It was the first time that he seemed genuinely vulnerable, and it left you breathless and confused. You had always wondered if there was more beneath his cold exterior. You had always told yourself that he cared. But you had never dared to confront him.

His hand was close enough now to reach out, his fingers barely brushing the edge of your wrist. The air between you was still thick with everything unsaid, everything unhealed. And yet, despite the words that had been thrown between you, there was something undeniably magnetic in the tension. The ache in your chest, the rawness, the feelings of betrayal—they didn’t wash away just because you said them out loud.

God, you hated him for this.

But part of you yearned for him. That part that still felt tethered to him, despite the distance.

Sylus’s fingers hovered over your wrist, his touch like fire against your skin. For a moment, the storm between you calmed, leaving only the faintest echo of it behind. The weight of his gaze, the force of his presence—it seemed to drown out the rest of the world.

He said nothing for a moment, his lips parting as though he wanted to speak but couldn’t find the words. His eyes darkened further, not with anger now, but with something you couldn’t quite define.

You took a breath, your body suddenly feeling too small beneath his gaze. The storm was still inside. You had to move away. Your heart pounded as if it were trying to escape your chest, desperate to flee from whatever was stirring inside you. You couldn't—no, you wouldn’t—let yourself get caught up in whatever this feeling was. You were not some fool, ready to throw everything away for the temporary pull of his presence. You knew better than that. You had to.

Every instinct screamed at you to retreat, to put some distance between you and the mess of emotions bubbling under your skin. His sharp gaze was enough to make your knees tremble, and it took everything in you not to look back, not to let him see the quiet devastation that flickered inside you.

“You need to leave… Sylus.” You whispered. You staggered back a few steps, your breathing shallow, desperate. Your feet felt like lead, yet you forced yourself to walk away. You turned your back to him, willing your legs to move, hoping to escape before you got sucked into whatever dark vortex of feelings he was drawing you into.

He didn’t move. Instead, you heard the familiar click of his boots against the floor as he took a single, deliberate step forward. “Why?” His voice, low and curious, sent a shiver down your spine. It was almost too intimate, as if he were searching for a piece of you, trying to understand what you couldn’t explain.

You didn’t want to look at him. Didn’t want to see the quiet confusion on his face—the faint flicker of disappointment that stung like salt in an open wound. You couldn’t let him see your weakness, couldn’t let him know how badly it hurt to be around him, how badly it hurt not to be around him.

“Is it so you can run back to your precious ‘friend’?” The words dripped with something unspoken, something that made your stomach twist.

You couldn’t look at him. You couldn’t. Not when his voice—that voice, the one that threaded through the air like silk—was digging into your mind like this. The word echoed in your ears, almost mocking you, and you felt something fragile snap inside you. The weight of the years you’d spent keeping distance, of guarding your heart against him, against whatever he made you feel, started to unravel. But you couldn’t let it.

You took another step away from him. One more step, you told yourself. Just one more. You didn’t need this.

Dark tendrils wrapped around you as you move, pulling you back. He was using his evol to pull you back. You didn’t need him pulling you in again. But then it came. That touch. He pulled you to him, forceful yet intimate, and your breath caught in your throat. You were too close. Too close to the edge of losing yourself, of falling into his presence.

His hands...no, his fingers—snaked around your waist before you even knew what was happening. You gasped, body going stiff in surprise, but his grip tightened, pulling you back into him. You tried to keep moving, tried to pull away, but it was useless. His hold was ironclad, his presence consuming. His grip tightened slightly, but there was an almost comforting pressure there, a subtle reminder that despite the dispute between you, there was something undeniable between the two of you.

“Why are you running?” His voice was a whisper against your ear, the words smooth like silk, but there was something jagged beneath them—something urgent, raw.

You struggled to hold yourself together, but the more you fought it, the more it pulled—this unbearable need to lean into him, to give in to the chaos that his proximity stirred in you. You knew you shouldn’t, but everything in you wanted to. You felt the ache of wanting something you couldn't have, the sting of the distance you had put between you and the thing that was somehow both poison and relief.

His hands tightened slightly, his thumb brushing over your ribs in a movement that sent a jolt through your entire system. The words you wanted to say, the reasons you needed to get away from him, all felt so small and pointless now. How could you possibly explain this? This tension, this pull? How could you say that being near him felt like the most excruciating thing in the world, but also the only thing that made you feel alive?

“You’re not just an informant to me,” he breathed, his words slipping under your skin, curling into the tight spaces of your chest. “I didn’t realize I was hurting you this much. That you’d want to distance yourself from me...” His tone softened at the end, but it only made everything worse. The tenderness in his voice—his tenderness—was like a dagger in your side, making the blood in your veins freeze. You wanted to say something, anything, but all you could hear was the deafening rush of your own heartbeat. You tried to stay composed, but the words were caught in your throat, and your body was still pressed so tightly against his, your breath shallow, your pulse thudding painfully against your ribs.

Why was this so hard? Why couldn’t you just say it—say that you couldn’t let him get close again? That you couldn’t survive another wound, another aching, empty feeling in your chest because of him? But the way his hands tightened, the warmth of his body against yours, made everything you were feeling a little too real.

You could feel his heartbeat against your back, the rhythm in sync with your own, and the pull of him was growing stronger. You could feel your anxiety bubbling up, the gnawing fear at the pit of your stomach. Was this just him toying with you? Was he trying to pull you into his world of darkness and manipulation? Or did he really care?

Your head was spinning. The emotions warred within you—anger, confusion, guilt, and something else. Something that made your heart race faster and your thoughts scatter like leaves in the wind.

“Let me go,” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the storm that raged around you.

But you didn’t pull away. You didn’t push him off.

Sylus' grip on you tightened, his arm like a steel band around your waist, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you. His chest rises and falls against your back as his breath brushes against your ear, warm and heavy. It’s as if he’s afraid, like if he lets go for even a second, he’ll lose you forever. You can feel the tension radiating from him, but also something softer, something desperate.

“No, Darling,” he murmurs, his voice low and thick with emotion, his tone possessive, as though the very idea of you slipping away shatters him. “You’re not going anywhere and neither am I.”

"You’re going to stay," He pulls you even closer, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as he speaks again, quieter this time, but laced with something raw and vulnerable. "...and you’re going to listen to me. I won’t let you walk away from this."

You can hear the flicker of something beneath his words—regret. And then, his lips ghost over the sensitive skin of your neck, lingering just a little longer than necessary. He slowly spins you around, to face him. His voice softens, almost apologetic. “I know I was a dick. I know I didn’t respond to you, and I’m sorry for that. I didn’t know how to handle it… handle us. It confused me, and instead of facing it, I pushed you away.” His breath catches slightly, and you feel his chest tighten against your back.

His hand moves to cup your cheek, tilting your face slightly toward him, his thumb brushing over your skin as though it’s a promise, an apology. The weight of his gaze is intense, but there’s also something tender there, something that wants to pull you back in, closer. “I know you’re still hurting, darling. I see it. And I... I’ll spend a lifetime making up for it, because that’s what I want. A lifetime. With you. Not as some informant or some... thing, but as my beloved. You. By my side. Always.”

He pauses, letting his words hang in the air between you. His voice drops, the quiet sorrow of his confession sending a twinge of guilt through you. "I don’t have the right to ask this of you, I know," Sylus continues, his voice thick with emotion. "But seeing you push me away… It’s harder than I ever thought it would be. Harder than I want to admit." He presses his forehead lightly against your temple, his breath shaky. "I’ve never needed someone the way I need you, and I didn’t know how to tell you that. But I do. I need you."

You can feel him tense slightly, the shift in his demeanor telling you that his thoughts have turned darker. His voice lowers, the jealousy evident in the way he speaks, though it’s wrapped in a softness that almost makes it harder to bear.

"And Dr. Zayne... I can’t stand the thought of him being so close to you," Sylus adds, his voice low and thick with a possessiveness that unsettles you in its intensity. "It kills me, you know? Watching him with you, hearing you laugh like that with him, as if I don’t even exist." His arm tightens again, almost painfully, as if he needs to remind you, remind both of you, where you truly belong. "I know I have no claim on you... but... I can't help but feel like there’s a part of you that wants him in a way that... I can't compete with." His voice hardens, jealousy dripping from every word. "It eats at me, knowing he has a part of you that I’m fighting for."

"Sylus..." Your voice cracked slightly as you repeated his name, your breath hitching, caught in the tension between you. His name felt heavy on your tongue, like it was both a question and an answer. You had never said it so quietly, so vulnerably. The memories of earlier came rushing back—him with her, that delicate smile he gave her, the way she leaned into him just a little too comfortably. It had burned in your chest, the jealousy creeping in with a venomous ache.

The words tumbled out before you could stop them, too fast to gather, too painful to hide. "I felt the same... when I saw you with her," you confessed, swallowing thickly. "I felt so... so useless, Sylus. When I saw you with her, it felt like... like she was everything you needed. Better than me. And that... it broke me, Sylus. I felt like I wasn’t enough, like I wasn’t... worth it.”

The words stung, bitter and unrelenting, but the weight of them was finally lifted as you let them spill out. You felt exposed, naked in your insecurity, but somehow, it was all you could do to stand there and wait for him to respond. You could feel the weight of it, of how small you’d felt in that moment, how unworthy you had become in your own eyes. The self-doubt gnawed at your insides, each thought of her with him twisting like a knife in your gut.

Sylus’s expression softened, his features melting into a tender sadness, as though he were seeing you for the first time, truly seeing you. His hand reached out slowly, almost hesitantly, as if afraid to shatter the fragile space between you. His touch was a gentle comfort, his fingers brushing against your cheek, his voice a low whisper, "Darling, you're none of that... none of it, I swear."

You shook your head, feeling the tears threatening, but you couldn’t let them fall, not yet. His words were kind, but the ache in your chest was still there, an unhealed wound.

He continued, his voice steady but thick with something deeper. "I didn’t know you felt that way... about her, in the same way I feel about Zayne." His gaze met yours, and for the first time tonight, it wasn’t uncertain. It was so gentle, so soft, tender. "But you need to know, you're it for me, Darling…" he murmured, his fingers curling around yours, grounding you in the quiet storm of your emotions. "Yes, I want help from her, but..." He paused, as if weighing his words carefully, "...I need you more." His words were a balm to the wounds that had festered within you, but the tenderness in his eyes was what finally reached you. His hand slid down to your shoulder, his thumb grazing the skin there. His warmth surrounded you, and you let yourself sink into the comfort of his words. The jealousy, the insecurity that had burned so fiercely in you when you saw him with her, melted in the face of the tenderness he was offering now.

You swallowed, trying to steady yourself as your heart raced, the intensity of the moment almost overwhelming. “Zayne… Zayne’s just a friend,” you said, your voice fragile but firm, “someone who helped me... helped me see past the stuff in my head. After everything, I just... needed someone to remind me that I’m not broken.”

Sylus's eyes softened even more, the depth of his gaze sending shivers down your spine. He nodded slowly, his expression filled with understanding. The tension between you didn’t disappear entirely, but it was now laced with something more tender. More real.

“You’re not broken, Darling.” he repeated, and there was a quiet strength in his voice, something that made you believe him more than you ever had before. “You’re everything I’ve ever needed... and more.”

"I... I’m sorry," you whispered, a lump in your throat as you looked up at him. "I never wanted to make you feel like I didn’t care. I just... I was afraid you’d choose her over me."

Sylus’s fingers brushed against the nape of your neck, pulling you closer, his forehead pressing gently against yours. "You never have to apologize for that, Darling." he murmured, his voice warm, his breath mingling with yours. “It was my fault and I accept that.”

The room was quiet, save for the soft sound of your breathing, as Sylus stood before you, his face drawn with intensity. The flickering light from the lamp cast soft shadows across his features, but his gaze... his gaze was sharp, focused entirely on you.

"I love you, Darling" he said, his words lingering in the air as though they were the first time he had allowed himself to say them out loud. "I’m in love with you," he confessed, his voice steady despite the raw emotion that tinged it. "I’ve been in love with you for a while now, and I’ve tried to deny it. Tried to hide it from you and myself, but I can’t anymore. I won’t. I love you, and I need you to know that."

The breath you hadn’t realized you were holding caught in your throat. Everything in you froze, then splintered. The confession, so pure, so vulnerable, hit you with a force you hadn’t been prepared for. You stood there, unable to move, a mix of surprise and relief flooding your chest.

He loves you. Sylus. The one you had longed for, yearned, and hoped for in silence. Your heart stuttered in your chest, the world around you growing impossibly still.

"I…" you whispered, voice trembling, and you had to stop, had to steady yourself before the words could spill from your lips. "I’ve love you too," you said, your voice barely more than a breath, but it carried all the weight of everything you had kept inside. "I’ve loved you, and I never told you because I was afraid. Afraid that I was asking too much. Afraid of the rejection. Afraid that I wasn’t enough."

Sylus’s expression softened, his lips curling into a frown as he stepped forward, closing the space between you. His hands reached for you, but not in the way you had feared or expected. They were gentle, his touch a plea for understanding. "Oh, darling," he whispered, shaking his head slowly. "I’m so sorry. I’m sorry you ever felt like you needed to hide it from me."

He reached up, brushing his thumb along your cheek, and you flinched slightly, your emotions suddenly overwhelming you, raw and untamed. "We’re both idiots," he continued, his voice almost tender with the weight of the admission. "We’ve been skirting around each other, afraid of saying the one thing we both needed to say."

Your laugh came out soft, almost fragile, the tension in your chest breaking for the first time since Sylus had walked into your home. It was a quiet sound, but it was the first time you’d laughed all night, the first time you’d allowed yourself to feel something other than fear or uncertainty in the past few weeks with him involved. But that laugh didn’t last long. As soon as it came, the tears followed, the ones you had been holding back for so long, finally slipping free. The dam you had built up crumbled, and before you could stop them, hot tears streamed down your face. before you could even reach up to brush them away, his hand was there, steady and warm against your cheek.

"Don’t," you whispered, your voice thick with the ache you could no longer hide. "Please, don’t look at me like this. I’m—"

"Stop," Sylus interrupted softly, his hand holding yours gently, his gaze unwavering. "Don’t hide from me. I want to see all of you… everything you’ve been hiding. I know you think I don’t see it, but I do." His eyes locked onto yours with such intensity that you couldn’t look away. "I see it when you think I’m not watching. I see the way you pull back, the way you hide the parts of you that you think I can’t handle. But I am looking. I’ve always been looking. And I don’t want you to hide anymore. Not from me. And I’m here and I want all of you."

His words were a medicine to the parts of you that had been bruised, the parts that had feared being exposed, vulnerable. But in his eyes, there was only love. No judgment. No pity. Just... love. And it was enough. It was more than enough.

The tears that had slipped down your face slowed, but they didn’t stop. You didn’t try to wipe them away this time, allowing yourself to be seen for the first time in ages. The sobs that followed were soft but trembled with relief, with something finally breaking open inside of you.

Sylus’s arms were around you in an instant, pulling you close, holding you in the kind of embrace that made you feel as though you could finally breathe, as though the weight of everything you had been carrying could finally be set down.

"I’m sorry," you whispered, almost broken. "I’ve been so scared, Sylus. Scared of this, of being cast away... of losing you."

"You’ll never lose me, Darling." he murmured, his voice firm and unwavering as he pressed a soft kiss to your forehead.

You tilted your head back slightly, your face still damp with the remnants of the tears that had fallen, and through your wet lashes, you searched his face. Sylus held you close, his arms wrapped around you in a way that made you feel safe, even as the doubts lingered in your heart. You wanted to believe him, but the fear, the uncertainty, was still there, buried deep beneath the surface.

He must have seen it in your eyes, the way you still hesitated, the uncertainty you couldn't quite shake. Sylus made a half-frustrated sound in the back of his throat, his hands tightening around you for a split second, before they slid up to cradle your face. His thumb brushed against your cheek again, a tender, pleading touch, before he leaned in, his lips finding yours in a sudden, urgent kiss.

The kiss was unlike any other. It wasn’t slow, it wasn’t soft. It was intense, filled with desperation, as though he needed you to understand just how deeply he felt for you, just how much you meant to him. His hands cupped your face, holding you as if you were the only thing that mattered in that moment, as if the world had stopped turning just for you. His lips pressed against yours with a kind of fire, but it wasn’t angry, no. It was passionate, desperate in its own way, like he wanted you to feel how important you were to him, how much you had been wanted, loved.

Your hands trembled as they reached up, gripping the collar of his shirt, pulling him closer, wanting to bridge the distance between you, as though the kiss itself could erase every lingering doubt in your heart. Your breath hitched when you felt his pulse quicken under your touch, his heartbeat matching the frantic pace of your own. Each breath you took seemed to echo in the stillness of the room, mingling with the heat of his kiss, our lips moving together with a quiet urgency, the world beyond the two of you fading into a distant blur. You felt everything—every brush of his fingers, every subtle shift of his body against yours, the way his chest rose and fell beneath your palms, how his breath felt against your lips as if he couldn’t get close enough to you.

Your chests rose and fell together, the world spinning around you. You could feel the heat of him, the urgency that still lingered in his touch, the way he kept you close, almost as if he were afraid to let go.

Breathing became an afterthought, both of you gasping for air when the kiss broke, but neither of you pulled far enough away to lose the connection. Sylus’s forehead rested against yours, his breath hot against your lips as he whispered, voice still heavy with emotion. “Every day, from henceforth, I will work to make sure you never feel the need to doubt yourself. Not in my life. Not with me." His words, slow and deliberate, sank deep into your heart like a promise he would keep.

The intensity of the moment hung between you both, the room still, save for the soft sound of your breathing as you both slowly came back to reality. But in his eyes, you saw nothing but certainty—certainty that you were enough. That you always had been.

His hand found yours again, fingers weaving with yours, and he gave it a gentle squeeze, as if the simple touch was a quiet reassurance.

"You are everything to me," he murmured, his voice steady now, grounding you as much as his embrace. "And I’ll make sure you never forget that.”

Your eyes fluttered shut for a moment, absorbing his words, his warmth, his certainty. In his arms, you could feel the truth of his promise, somewhere deep inside, the doubts began to fade.

For the first time in a long time, you believed him. And when he kissed you again, this time softer, it was like the beginning of something new.

[ A disclaimer note - Please be respectful of the request ]

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[humanjarvis]

you’d been perplexed when sylus had called you in the middle of the day—which was usually his favorite time to rest. 

“can you come to the base, sweetie?” he’d rasped, voice thick with ruined sleep. “i need your help with something.” 

your confusion is all the more reason for you to head to the base. when you arrive, you let yourself in and greet mephisto with a poke on the beak before hurrying to sylus’s bedroom.

“is something wrong?” you breathe, all but barging in. quickly, you scan the room for threats or intruders before your eyes land on the hulking figure in front of you. 

the hulking figure who’s uncharacteristically hunched over his bed, head bent and looking defeated. 

at your voice, he looks up, and you know him well enough to see the relief and slight embarrassment in his ruby eyes. 

“…sylus?” you ask hesitantly, “what’s going on? you should be sleeping right now.” 

“i was asleep,” he agrees with a slow nod. “and then…i ran into a slight problem,” he responds carefully, eyes flitting forlornly to the side of the bed.

curious, you come to stand beside him, placing a hand on his sagging shoulder. it takes a few seconds, but then, you spot it: trapped between the dark oak boards of his bedframe is a small brilliant red gem, glittering slightly in what little sunlight fills the room. 

“are you able to retrieve it?” he asks quietly. “it must have fallen earlier. when you’re not here…i can’t sleep without it.” 

“o…kay?” you reply, your confusion only doubling. taking a moment to study him, you notice the small pout on his face and stroke his slightly mussed hair. “of course i’ll get it. just a sec.” 

a moment later, you’re kneeling down to stick your hand in the bedframe and wiggling your fingers until you feel the crystal’s cool surface. you pull it out in one fluid motion, blow the dust off, and deposit it into sylus’s waiting hand. flashing you a tired, grateful smile, he immediately places it securely under his pillow. 

“there you go!” you chirp, pleased to have helped him. “but…can i ask something? why didn’t you just fish it out yourself?” 

avoiding your gaze, he clears his throat before he speaks.

“…my hands were too big.”

[mwphisto]

Sylus needs to put you in every possible position, take you on every available surface, and not because he’s horny or kinky. While those two statements can also be very true — Sylus craves this level of intimacy and adventure because he’s determined to find the best way to be closest to you.

For Sylus, sex is far more than pleasure. It goes far beyond the realm of lust, too. Yes, he has lusted for you, but he has loved you first and loves you throughout. You’re never an object of his pleasure and satisfaction. No, far from it.

He desires the connection. To be so deeply intertwined with your body that he can’t tell where you start and he ends. If he could crack open your rib cage and crawl inside he would. To live next to your heart and be lulled to sleep by its steady and warm beating.

Sylus adores you, loves you so thoroughly that it should be no shock you never leave his bed on days off. He worships you, from the top of your head to the tips of your toes. There is not one inch of your skin that his lips have not caressed, that his fingers have not danced across.

It fills Sylus with immense joy to know that you could say the same about him. That your lips have landed on every inch of his body, have kissed every scar and freckle. That your fingers have trailed across the most intimate parts of him. The parts that nobody will ever see but you.

[syluses]

thinking of sylus comforting his wife reader!!

content: insecurity, comfort, fluff, soft sylus, slight possessiveness, suggestive content

sidenote: whaaaaat a fluffy drabble?? ( ᵒ̴̶̷̤◦ᵒ̴̶̷̤ ) yes ignore me yall it’s just about that time of the month u feel me 😞 taking preemptive measures to cope with pms which means writing small comfy lads drabbles :] dunno if anybody will fw this cuz it’s purely self indulgent LOL but yeah ♡ short n sweet (1.7k 🌝)

You haven’t left the full-body mirror for several minutes, now.

No, see- there’s just something about your reflection that’s keeping you rooted in place there.

Sylus has slipped in and out of the bedroom as he gathers his things to go, his black card the last accessory needed for the evening out- tucked safely in his pocket- but now, he settles into a lazy lean against the doorway.

Watching.

There’s a slight notch in his brow as he stands there, arms folded, and lets out a forbearing sigh.

“Sweetie: You look nothing short of captivating. You’re breathtaking,” he arches an inquisitive brow, “You know that.”

Wide-eyed, held prisoner by your own portrait staring back at you— no. You don’t.

You don’t know that, and fuck if that doesn’t gut him a little on the inside, but for all the efforts he’s made to remind you of your beauty (though, that’s putting it in gentler terms; he’s inculcated you, really. Drilled it in (and in more ways than one)), your insecurities are very much built with the intent to last.

Throughout much of your relationship, they have.

Sometimes they’re a quieter thing, manageable. Other times, they stick their foot in between you both and rear their despotic heads, bent on tearing you down- and if he’s left as ruin as well in the fallout, they don’t even care.

Those wheedling, rotten voices make compelling arguments sometimes, but they eventually lose out to the greater thing: your love for Sylus, and his for you.

…That’s not to say that the battle isn’t ever close, though...

Now is one of those times where it’s advancing on you, and fast.

Right now, stuffed in your glittering, cocktail dress, with its slip in the thigh and its low-cut cleavage a hair’s width from scandalous— it’s meant to be elegant, but you feel like a fool.

A whore, even. A cheap, low-end girl insinuating herself into a space where she doesn’t belong- a world full of class and finery you were truthfully never tailored for. You’re like a bull in a china shop or a sore thumb.

Your breasts are snug, your curves are embraced by the silk, and the makeup you’d spent over an hour perfecting- your done-up hair, too- is impressive even to the most critical part of your brain.

But still, your body- it’s….

Sylus, now propping off the doorframe, eyes tracking your every expression all the while, moves to slide up behind you when your gaze flutters to the floor no different than ash and remains there. Your chest heaving with the beginnings of a mini breakdown.

Whatever it is, whatever you are— you can’t bear to look. You don’t want to. You- You won’t.

You aren’t his graceful, sophisticated trophy wife- or even half the effortlessly beautiful model you’d seen depicted in the centerfold Sylus saw you originally fawning over, the one that spurred this rash purchase on in the first place- no, what you are is ridiculous.

Your glossy eyes flit up again.

It’s all awful. But like a bad car crash, you just can’t find it in you to really look away.

He brushes aside your hair with a lithe, broad hand, exposing your neck looped with fine gold and diamond (nothing you’re deserving of, either), and stoops down to kiss your shoulder. The ruby red eyes pinned to your crestfallen face never stray far from it though, even as you close your palm over the back of his while he clasps your waist, crooning in your ear with a heavy breath.

“Kitten, what’s troubling you?”

Like he doesn’t know.

“Everything,” you shake out, tears pricking at your lashline. All that keeps you from bursting out into waterworks like a child right this very moment is the knowing that your meticulously-applied mascara will wash down your cheeks in black rivulets, effectively ruining your foundation and eyeshadow in their paths.

“E-Everything’s troubling- just look at me.”

“I am looking at you,” he hums gently, breath warm agaisnt your skin where his chin is perched on you. “And I promise you, Sweetie, I’m not seeing the same thing that you are. Tell me,” he murmurs, pasting down another chaste, lingering kiss- to the exposed nape of your neck this time- for good measure, “Do I have any reason to lie to you?”

A muscle in your cheek jumps. Your lashes flutter down. “N-No…”

“You know,” he murmurs. “Loving you’s easier than you think.”

Hesitantly, you twine your little fingers around Sylus’s forearm, his wristwatch catching a blocky highlight from the dim, flax sheen of the light fixture behind you.

“You’re gorgeous. How perfect you are—“ he mumbles at your ear, voice low and velvety as ever, composed. And yet the undertone of desperation is there; woven like fine threads throughout- it’s like a broadcasting of his eagerness. “That’s all I can see,” he breathes. “But I want you to say it, though. What do you see?”

Your answer comes quick: the first of a few others of its kind. “A whore.”

In the full-body mirror, his brow quirks in subtle, slow motion. His lips draw back from the smooth column of your dazzling neck. “What?”

A whore? …That much is new to him.

“And I feel stupid- I… I feel gross in this dress. They’d think I’m some concubine hanging off your shoulder-“ the frantically spewed words and the growing tremble in your voice is the mark of a ramble, and yet you cut yourself short. Swallowing it down as you dip your head, eyes screwing shut.

He’d preach a whole sermon if he could for all the faith he has in you. Your self-consciousness and those silly, yet disastrous little things you hold near and dear to your heart— that dictate your life while you sit back and watch— would be dismantled as soon as he got behind the podium.

…But you just don’t hear a word he says, do you? You don’t hear to begin with.

Yes- Sylus has long understood that it’s not always as easy as that. That words can fall short. He’s always considered himself a man of action, but sometimes even then it’s hard to get through to you when you shyly evade his touch and weasel out of his arms before they can even wrap around you.

Stubborn woman.

Obstinate woman.

Make him break his neck while sticking it out for you, woman.

But oh he’d lift his hand to do anything for you, woman.

The day will come where he’s made you see it.

“Concubine,” he scoffs, laughing dryly. You don’t hear that often from him, that level of bitterness, but it’s there in bounds when he huffs in your ear and turns you around to look at him, lifting your jaw up in one graceful motion.

“Let me clear this up for you, Sweetie. When people see you, their first thought they have is not that you’re some… gaudy sidepiece. The opposite. And if there’s any lingering doubts in their mind,” he explains smoothly, taking your hand in his to kiss the back of it, holding your uncertain stare all the while. “This ring puts them all to rest.”

Scarlet pools ripple with warmth, an almost playful edge to them as he attempts to lighten your mood- but you don’t quite miss the flash of woundedness that passes through.

“Besides…”

Adoration, reverence, the resolve to make you understand these truths (that you’re beautiful; pure in his sight)- a little bit of exasperation and a little bit of vulnerability— they blur together on him like winded vanes of a pinwheel. Too fast to color, too fast to catalogue.

But evidently not fast enough to pass you by completely. And so as your heart squeezes painfully in your chest—

“Does your husband’s opinion not matter to you the most?”

You bluster, “It does,” doing your damage-control as you wrap your arm around his neck and pull him impossibly closer, a hand on his jaw to cradle it reassuringly. The flutter of something so briefly small in his eyes hauls you into reality, grounds you.

“It’s all I care about, Sylus,” you implore, “But don’t you understand that if they think poorly of me, it’ll just tie back to you in their heads? They’ll think lower of you if your wife isn’t—“

“Isn’t what?” He snips back, but leans into your touch.

You fall silent.

Eyes fiery, they search yours, his breath warm and minty against your parted, floundering lips. “What they want? Well, kitten, let me be perfectly honest with you,” he chuckles lowly, tone scraping the bottom of something undeniably possessive, “I don’t want any of them to want you…. It’s pretty reasonable that the idea of somebody craving what’s mine would upset me, no?”

Not providing him with an answer- frankly unable to- he again fills the space where you can’t.

“But I like you in this dress,” he states, gaze dropping down to rake over you in a few strained breaths. Your wine lipstick. Your décolletage and the jewels draped there, blinding, hanging over the valley of your breast.

…A hickey you did a half decent job at covering, he smugly supposes.

“Much more than like, even. So if they stare, what does it matter? Let them. Like I said,… they won’t be thinking anything poor of you-“ he offers a small, blithe chuckle, “the worst will be a jealous woman or two. Nothing worthy of ruining our night out, however.”

You take a moment to ponder all of his words. Not just this evening’s- but the countless that came before, too.

You weigh your options— stubbornly continue on in your self-sabotaging ways, thoroughly exhausting yourself and Sylus out in the process; or caving to his reassurances and choosing to believe them— and then weigh your eyes shut.

Slumping into his broad chest to let him hold you, you stand against the miniature insurrection happening inside you and go for the latter.

“You really don’t mind?”

A warm hand smooths down your back; the other, petting your hair in a featherlight hover to not ruin its style, pauses for a second. “Mind what?”

You huff. “You know. Me in this dress.” Earning a longsuffering sigh on his end.

“Why do you doubt yourself? I told you. You look breathtaking in it. You act like it’s such a problematic thing, Kitten, but I only know of one person who will want to have a word with you about it…”

“O-Oh yeah? Who?”

When your husband pulls back some just to stare at you, your hands resting on either of his broad shoulders as your heart hiccups in your chest, all that keeps you from erupting in another small bout of panic and dread is the daring little quirk of his brow— the barest of grins tugging at one end of his cupid-bow lips.

As an answer, he dips his head in and angles it just so to graze his mouth over yours, the tip of his bumped nose poking your cheek as he moors you to him by the small of your back and taunts,

“Perhaps you’ll just have to find out for yourself tonight, hm?”

Something’s in his pocket, you realize as he embraces you— semi-hard, just a little insistent against your tummy— and no, it is not his credit card.