nekomasmngr

[nekomasmngr]

By the time Sylus gets home, you’ve been asleep for enough time to feel well rested.

He goes on about his usual routine: disarming himself, checking that everything is running smoothly, having a steaming shower. If he notices that you’ve been staring at him the whole time he’s been coming and going in and out the room, he doesn’t say anything.

Maybe he’s not even aware that you’re awake. After all, Sylus doesn’t like disturbing you, especially not when you’re sleeping. Or maybe he just likes to feel your eyes on him — he’s mentioned it before. And so, you scan his every move, the way his muscles ripple under the satin robe he likes to wear after showering, and how he flexes as he throws on his pajamas.

You stare at him for so long that you’ve started to drift off again. Perhaps you weren’t entirely awake and your longing for Sylus’ presence made you conjure him up, almost like a genie had granted you a wish; and your wish would always, always be him.

You feel his lips press to your forehead, his slender fingers softly caressing your cheek before he sits on the bed, the expensive mattress barely dipping under his weight, “Get some rest, sweetie.”

Sylus lies down next to you and now it’s your turn to feel his eyes on you, while he traces your features softly with the tip of his finger, as if he intends to commit you to memory in that precise moment.

For a brief second, you’re tempted to start one of your bantering moments, those when you both pretend you’re not equally crazy about the other even though you spend the entire day longing for him. Even in your busiest moments, your brain still supplies you with brief moments of intense yearning, like your souls are trying to constantly reach for each other.

You both end up falling asleep, but before the sun rises, you wake up again. This time, Sylus’ back is facing you. So strong, yet so soft. Your dragon, in all his glory. So vulnerable, with all his scars, lying there next to you.

Instinctively, you raise your hand, the unbearable need to touch him taking over you. And yet, you stop yourself, fingers tingling as your hand hangs mid-air. Sylus barely shuffles and you lower your hand softly, your eyes burning holes on his pale skin, a confession in the tip of your tongue.

Still, you hold back. You can just stare at his back the whole day. At least until you’re courageous enough to mutter the three words that have been stuck in your throat for so long.

[nekomasmngr]

Note: Sylus is just the fluffiest man ever. He deserves all the love in the world and I shall be first in line to give it. ♡︎

Creds to @/strangergraphics & @/omi-resources for the banners.

No warmings ◡̈

Word Count: 1,040

Protective!Sylus/Reader Headcanons

♱ Sylus is so protective over you in a way that you thought only existed in all the movies you’ve watched and books you’ve read.

♱ It’s not overwhelming in the sense that it’s too much or suffocating. It’s overwhelming because you never thought someone could ever love you so much that your entire existence is what completes theirs.

♱ Sylus hesitated to tell you how important you were to him. He had difficulty accepting it himself when he came to the realization that you were his endgame, because loving someone meant vulnerability—even weakness.

♱ I feel like the moment he realized you meant the world to him was when he saw how seamlessly you mended into his life and daily routine without judgment. I’m still imagining him as the leader of Onychinus, so he’s still that feared arms dealer that everyone whispers about.

♱ I don’t believe he hid anything from you. He laid everything out on the table. For one, it’s because he doesn’t lie to people and two, putting everything out there left no room for you to find something to leave him for later. Sylus doesn’t necessarily have a fear of being abandoned, but he views it as an expectation. If you knew what and who he was from the beginning, he knew it wouldn’t be long for you to be solidified in whatever decision you choose.

♱ But when you stayed, when you held him and told him that there was nothing unlovable or unworthy about him, you were stuck with the man for life.

♱ “I’ll never disappoint you. Everything I do from this point forward will always and only be done with your wellbeing at the forefront of importance. Thank you for choosing me.”

♱ He definitely has a tracker on you, at least two. One in your phone and another in a necklace he gave you (you still don’t know about that one).

♱ He proposed the idea of you moving in with him a few weeks after you officially became a couple. While every part of you wanted to say yes, you had to be realistic. The relationship was just starting to get serious, but Sylus had already started moving you in without you being aware.

♱ I’m talking he buys an exact replica of your wardrobe, shoes, jewelry and extras. He’s got at least double of your favorite body wash, perfume, lotion, and hair products. Basically, all the things that make your house a home, he brought it to his place. All your books, records, and movie collections are in his home and if they’re classics, he tries to find original copies just because he loves to make you happy.

♱ “When you tell me that you are ready, there’s no need to wait so that you can gather your things. I have everything you need and more, ready for you to come home. Just like me, it’ll be waiting.”

♱ Sylus became so protective of you because you were the only thing in his life that seemed real. He did nothing, as he says, “to earn you love”, but Sylus being who he is, is what won you over completely. You didn’t question him when things felt a little concerning or judge him when it got scary. You stuck by his side, praised him, believed in him, trusted him. You loved him, something he thought he’d never experience.

♱ He appointed a personal driver and bodyguard(s) to you whenever he’s unable to be around you and they’re what he deems the best available. But if he finds better, he’ll replace them without any issue.

♱ He threatens them for sure LOL. I don’t think he’s light about it either. Like he’s gruesome and detailed about what he’ll do to them should they fail in keeping a smile on your face and your safety secured.

♱ And he goes to you for daily reports. You think it’s the cutest thing despite him being so serious.

♱ “Should you have any concerns or complaints about who I’ve assigned to you, bring it to me directly, sweetie. I’ll handle it.”

♱ He buys you everything. He wants you to feel secure in every aspect within his control. Keeping you happy is what keeps him happy because for him, you’re all that matters. So emotionally, physically, mentally, financially and whatever other -lly there is, he’s going to make sure you have the best because it’s what you deserve.

♱ You bring up a gaming system? He’ll buy it. You bring up a hobby you’re thinking about getting into? He’ll have nothing but the best supplies delivered to you. You want a baby? He’s more than willing to start the family he’s been ready to give you since you first time you told him you loved him.

♱ He has hurt people when it came to you. You don’t know this, but times when someone has called you out of your name or disrespected you and you told him about it, he didn’t go as far as to off them, but he made them feel what will happen should they or anyone else dares to ever try it again.

♱ “Your first mistake was believing you had the privilege to be in her presence. Your second and final one was disrespecting her and thinking there’d be no consequence.”

♱ Sylus loves your skin. HEAR ME OUT!!

♱ You’re just so soft, you always smell so good, and he lovessss to feel you. The man is addicted to rubbing you, licking you, touching you, anything he can do to be close to you because unfortunately, living in your skin just isn’t gonna happen. Like he’s addicted to you and only you get to see how serious he is about it.

♱ He hates seeing you cry, especially if it’s about something he can’t directly handle.

♱ “Tell me how to make it better, kitten. Nothing is unreachable when I’m here to correct it. Talk to me.”

♱ Basically, you’re like porcelain to him. By no means does he think you’re weak or that you need saving. But because you let him be your shield, because you allow him to be the one to protect you from all the dangers and the harshness of the world, he doesn’t take that responsibility lightly.

♱ You are his happiness. You are his reason.

[nekomasmngr]

“Muah,” you beam, pressing a soft peck into Sylus’s cheek. “Muah!”

Another. And another. And another scattered little kiss along the skin of his face as he sits with you situated comfortably on his lap, hands tracing up and down your hips. It’s late—somewhere close to the sun’s routine time to rise, and somewhere close to Sylus’s routine time to fall asleep. He’s a lot easier to bend to your whims like this, when he’s tired and limp under you and lets you have your way.

He hums, curling his lips into an sleepy smile as he murmurs, “you missed a spot.”

“You don’t get to get picky when you get free affection,” you say instantly.

His smile drops. Something of a grouchy scowl (that’s more like a pout, if you’re being honest) drapes along his lips and forces them into that downward curl. Your lips do the exact opposite, curling up at the sight of his dissatisfaction.

“Well, sweetie,” he drawls, “who knew you could be so stingy?”

“I’m not being stingy,” you grin, purposely missing his lips as you press your next kiss, landing it right over his Cupid’s bow and watching as his eyes flash impatiently. “I’m teaching you a valuable lesson.”

“Which is?”

“We don’t always get what we want.”

“Funny,” Sylus quirks a brow, that awful, terrible, nightmarish and dangerous smug look returning to his features as his eyes narrow, “because I always get what I want. It’s as simple as taking it.

The room is spinning and shifting and tilting on its axis as you feel everything move in a blur—one second you’re on top of him, sat on his lap, and the next second he’s hovering over you, melting your body into the mattress like it could swallow you whole under his weight.

“Sylus!” You screech, earning a low chuckle from him, “get off of me you brute!”

“Not until you give me what I want.”

“No!”

“Then I’m not moving.”

And true to his word, he settles himself on top of you, promptly pressing all his body weight over yours as his drapes his figure on top of you. He’s heavy—in a pleasant sort of way. He feels like comfort and home and warmth pressing into you and crushing your bones with nothing more than body mass and willpower. You like it. And as if on cue, your hand instinctively finds the back of his head to smooth through his hair.

Sometimes your body just does that. Admits he’s what you want and what you need against its will. Admits it likes him there and welcomes him like your souls are two halves of a whole—one involuntary muscle responding to him at a time.

“You’re heavy,” you whine.

“This could all be solved rather simply if you’d just give me a proper kiss, sweetheart. But you insist on hissing like a stray kitten in an alleyway.”

“And it’s just too easy to ruffle your feathers,” you giggle, rubbing a hand along the nape of his neck and feeling him shiver under your touch, “who knew a kiss could have you so worked up?”

“I’m not worked up,” he grumbles quietly. You smile wider. He pinches your hips in warning without even looking at you.

“Spoiled,” you murmur, “that’s what you are.”

“Spoiled is what you are with how you swipe my card,” he retorts, earning a glare from you. His eyes are half lidded—heavy, and tired, and slowly closing shut against his will as he stifles a yawn, giving you a poor attempt at a smirk.

“No kisses for you forever.”

“I think that’ll cause you more distress than me in the long run.”

“Don’t you ever get tired of talking?” You huff exhaustedly.

“I’ll stop talking long enough for a quick nap if you give me a proper kiss,” he negotiates. Like the proper, opportunistic business man that he is. So good at playing his cards right and getting the deal he wants so badly, just enough that he always walks away with the better end of the stick.

Sly, you’d call it.

Persuasive, he’d correct.

And you’re convinced. Persuaded and swayed into his trap because all he has to do is give you those sweet, tired little blinks of his eyes and that hopeful little look as he stares at your lips before you cave and fold like a piece of paper into his awaiting palms.

“You’ll finally sleep and leave me alone if I give you a kiss?” You pretend to bargain.

He nods earnestly, “oh yes, sweetie. I’ll be out like a light faster than you can call Mephisto over to be witness of our deal.”

“Okay,” you roll your eyes. “One kiss.”

“So stingy,” he chuckles.

“I’m not—”

He kisses you. Props his head up, still blanketing you with all his weight as he kisses you softly. Like he means it. Lips carving out lips like he’s mean to mold your flesh to fit the shape of his. You gasp, and he lets out a soft sigh into your mouth, closing his eyes and pressing into you as much as he can.

When your hands twist into his hair, he lets out a soft groan, slumping more weight into you (if that’s even possible) before his breathing gets shallower.

When he finally pulls away, his head tucks itself back into your neck as he mumbles, “told you I’d get what I want.”

It comes out like a soft slur. Your eyes widen instantly.

“Sylus, no—I have to get up for the day so don’t even think about—”

He’s asleep. Heavy, limp, and comfortably on top of you. You try a sad, futile attempt to shove him off, but he’s stuck. Glued to you like his life depends on it. (Sometimes it does, you think. Sometimes it feels like he lives only for you. Only knows how to breathe when he’s sure you’re there to listen to his soft breaths.)

“You asshole,” you mutter, “you spoiled, obnoxious asshole.”

He always gets what he wants—the feeling of your delicate body under his, and the nails that trace his scalp softly in defeat are good enough proof of that.

Early bday drabble. Long fic to come. Stay tuned. This is a sylus only blog. I don’t even like mydei even a little bit. What else? I think I’ve covered all my bases

[nekomasmngr]

He’s half-awake, voice thick with exhaustion when he answers his phone. “Speak.”

For a moment, you don’t say anything. Just let the tinny static brew between you, your mouth forming around words, but nothing comes out.

He sits up in his bed, the sheets sliding down his naked torso and puddling around his hips. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?” he dotes after pushing his hair back from his face.

You sigh, shaky, warring with yourself before putting on your grown-up pants and just…saying it. “Sylus. I’m sorry. I know it’s late.”

He chuckles, the sound of it thick and syrupy. Had you not been fighting for your life in your bed, you’d be up for some guided masturbation. But—

“It’s alright, sweetheart. I was just about to get up, anyway. What’s wrong?”

You worry your bottom lip between your teeth. Pull on some loose skin. “My period’s on.”

Fabric rustles on his side. He sits up, alert, elbow propped on his knee, spine rigid. “Is it?”

“Yep.”

“What do you need me to do?”

Your chest warms. You smile all wobbly, eyes watering—stupid hormone imbalances.

Sylus is always so eager to care for you. Always a life preserver, a buoy when you’re sinking. “I could use some company. Maybe a heating pad and some chocolate.”

He’s moving before you can fully articulate your thoughts. Tugging a shirt over his head, shimmying into some sweats. Keys jangling, shoes clicking over the floor. The phone’s wedged between his shoulder and cheek as he starts his motorcycle, his sleepiness thrown to the wind.

“Any particular brand of candy bar you’re craving? Or should I surprise you?”

You smile. Chuckle. “As long as it isn’t that gross stuff with the cherries in it, I don’t care what you get.”

“Be there in twenty,” he soothes, soft as velvet.

“Take your time.”

He’s punctual, as always. Kind enough to remove his shoes upon entering your home—spare key, courtesy of being your doting and trustful boyfriend. He flows into your bedroom like smoke, brows furrowing up at you cocooned like an emotional, pained burrito in your bed.

You shimmy away from the wall to face him, your cat poking its head out from your restraints before leaping out to greet him with a nudge to his shins and an affectionate brrrrp.

Sylus smiles, crooked, rueful, holding up a crinkly bag of confectioneries in one hand and an adorable Menstruation Crustacean in the other. His peace offering. His passcode for entry.

You wiggle away from the edge of the bed, closer to the wall, wordlessly signaling for him to join you. He snorts, shaking his head. Crosses the space between your door and bed in three measured strides. Shrugs out of his jacket, neatly dropping it on your rolling chair. Drops his keys and phone onto your nightstand before crawling into your castle.

He props himself against your headboard, flanked by marshmallow-y pillows. Smirks at you, opening his arms, patting his chest.

You worm your way towards him, curling against his body like a content little feline. His chin finds the crown of your head. Hand smoothes over your back, chest vibrates with mollifying humming as he lures you back to sleep.

[nekomasmngr]

cw: none. timeskip haikyuu.

you can’t help but watch him.

there is something so comforting in how kuroo does everything with so much calm and serenity. the way he is on the bathroom, shirtless and shaving with so much care the small beard that has grown on his perfect face this last week. he has a towel on his waist and there are some drops crossing his broad chest and you follow their paths across your boyfriend’s body.

you’re just leaning against the doorframe, yet it feels like entering heaven. the muscles of his back flexing slightly with each move while tetsuro is looking so focused looking at himself in the mirror, glancing at you to give you a soft smile each time your eyes cross. his golden eyes locking with yours for a few seconds before he picks up with his task in hand.

some people say perfection doesn’t exist, but that’s because they’ve never seen kuroo tetsuro.

[nekomasmngr]

Hello! After gathering my courage, I’m excited to share my first piece of writing here. I prefer a love that's warm and homey, not rushed — something slow and real. I hope you enjoy it and that it resonates with you.

Synopsis | Your first time — where Sylus tries so hard to be gentle, even when every part of him is burning with need, because he refuses to scare or hurt you.

The world outside didn’t matter. There was only Sylus — and the way he looked at you, like you were something fragile and precious he had no idea how to hold without breaking.

He hovered above you on the bed, his tall, broad frame almost eclipsing you completely. His white hair, usually so perfectly in place, was a tousled halo around his fierce, too-bright eyes. His tailored suit had been tossed aside, shirt half-unbuttoned, clinging to him like a second skin.

He could crush you without meaning to. And maybe that's why he moved like every breath was a war he fought against himself. You reached up — hand trembling — and brushed your fingers against his cheek.

He flinched. Not away from you — never from you — but from the tenderness he found in your touch. As if he didn’t believe he deserved it.

“Sylus...,” your voice came out small, breaking, but it made his whole body shudder.

He leaned down, so slowly, giving you a lifetime to pull away. You didn’t. You never would. His lips met yours, feather-light, trembling with restraint.

His hand — massive compared to yours — cradled the side of your face, thumb stroking a line just under your eye. You were so small beneath him and he was so painfully aware of it. Every move he made was hesitant, asking permission without words, terrified of hurting you even by accident. You felt the strength coiled under his skin, barely held back. The shivering in his shoulders. The quiet, desperate way he breathed you in.

The kiss deepened when you rose up slightly, pressing closer to him. That small, instinctive motion cracked something inside Sylus.

He let out a low, guttural noise, something helpless and broken, and gathered you up against him — hands sliding down your sides, so, so carefully, like he was touching something sacred.

He kissed you harder, but still shaking, trying to anchor himself. You could feel the tension in him — the way he trembled from the effort of holding himself back.

His knee nudged your thighs apart almost without thinking, but the second he realized, he froze, forehead pressing against yours, breathing ragged.

"Tell me to stop,” he rasped.

You opened your eyes — wide, dark brown, shining — and shook your head.

"Please, don't stop, Sylus.”

Sylus swore under his breath, voice low and guttural, and kissed you again, this time deeper, slower, almost reverent. His hands roamed over your body, mapping every curve, every tremble, with aching tenderness.

Every time you gasped, every tiny whimper you couldn't hold back, Sylus paused, shuddering, checking you were okay. His fingers traced the curve of your hip, the small of your back, everywhere but where you needed him most — afraid to rush you, afraid to ruin this moment.

You finally had to reach for him, small hands fumbling at his shirt, pulling him closer, grounding him.

"I'm not glass," you whispered, voice cracking with emotion.

At that, Sylus broke.

He kissed you like he was starving, his body pressing more firmly to yours, surrounding you. He shifted lower, carefully easing you back onto the bed, his weight a heavy, comforting presence. Even then, he bore himself up on his elbows, not daring to let himself rest fully on you, not wanting to overwhelm you.

You felt every second of it — how carefully he aligned himself with you, how his big hands framed your hips, almost reverently, thumbs stroking soft, absent circles against your skin.

Sylus stilled above you, his breath ragged, and for a long moment, neither of you moved. His ruby-red eyes were soft, studying your face with a mixture of concern and reverence, as if trying to read every flicker of emotion there.

He could feel it in the way you tensed, in the delicate tremble of your body beneath him. He needed to be sure. Needed to make sure this was something you wanted. Something you were ready for.

“Are you okay?” His voice was rough when he spoke, barely a whisper.

His fingers gently brushed the side of your face, a question in the touch. His thumb stroked across your cheek, eyes locked onto yours, checking for any flicker of hesitation. His tone both urgent and tender.

“I need to know, if you need me to stop... just say the word.”

His body remained poised, controlled, a silent promise not to move further unless you were ready. It was as if every inch of his being was focused on your comfort, the intensity of his usual self-control now wrapped in a gentle restraint.

You could feel his heart beating beneath you, wild and frantic, but every part of him was waiting — waiting for you. He leaned in, so close you could feel the warmth of his breath against your lips.

“Do you need more time?” His voice was softer now, his words a reassurance. “I’m not going anywhere, but I need to know you’re okay.”

Sylus’s gaze flickered down to your body, then back up to your face, never once breaking his careful watch. He didn’t want to rush you, didn’t want to overwhelm you. The weight of his desire was tempered by a raw vulnerability that he rarely allowed anyone to see.

“Please, just tell me what you need.” His words were thick with emotion, and it was clear: He’d do anything for you — but only if you were ready.

Sylus’s hands trembled slightly, though his touch was steady as it traced the outline of your jaw, lingering near the curve of your neck. It was almost as if he were memorizing the feel of you — every inch, every soft curve — as though afraid to break the fragile moment.

His gaze was unwavering, locked onto yours, his red eyes filled with something so much more than hunger. There was love there, a tenderness that clashed with the fierce reputation he wore in the outside world.

“Let me know if I’m pushing you too far,” he murmured, his voice a deep growl of raw emotion. “I’ll stop if you need me to. I won’t do anything you’re not ready for.”

The words were both a promise and a plea, as if he couldn’t bear the thought of causing you pain, emotional or physical. Even as the ache in his body grew stronger, he remained still, his body poised in a perfect balance of restraint. He wanted you so badly, but more than that, he needed you to feel safe — to feel wanted for you — not just in the ways he desired.

“I don’t want you to feel overwhelmed. You’ve never done anything wrong. If you need a moment, I’ll give you all the time in the world.”

His thumb brushed across your lips, a soft, reverent gesture. There was no question in his voice, no uncertainty. Only the raw devotion that he had for you — the willingness to move at your pace, to honor your body and your feelings in the way he had promised.

He waited for you, reading your face, looking for the tiniest shift in your expression. His own breaths were coming in shallow gasps, but he held back. He had to be sure. He couldn’t risk moving any further unless he knew you were ready, even if the burning desire inside him made him feel like he might break from the weight of it.

You could see the conflict on his face, the way he fought against his own instincts, his own overwhelming need for you. You could feel the weight of his desire, but it was tempered with something far deeper — respect.

Finally, he spoke again, his voice steady, though laced with longing, “You’re not alone in this. I’m right here. And I’m not going anywhere.”

You met his gaze, your breath coming faster now, the uncertainty still gnawing at you, but the reassurance in his eyes began to calm your nerves. You knew he was being so careful with you, so patient — and something in his touch, in his gaze, made you feel like you could trust him completely. You were scared, yes. But in his arms, it didn’t feel like fear.

“Are you sure?” you whispered, your voice small, tentative, but full of longing.

You wanted this, wanted him — and yet, there was still a part of you that feared he might change his mind. Sylus smiled softly, the edge of his usual sternness softening as he lowered his forehead to yours.

“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.” His voice was steady now, calm but full of deep emotion. “This is you and me, and nothing else matters.”

He let his lips hover just above yours, his breath mingling with yours, and for a moment, time seemed to slow. The world outside disappeared. There was only him, only the warmth of his body, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your ear. You could feel his care wrapping around you like a blanket, pulling you closer to him.

“Are you ready?” he asked gently, his voice barely above a whisper. His lips brushed against your ear as he spoke, the tenderness in his tone making your heart flutter. “We go at your pace. Always.”

There, in that moment, you knew — with him, it would never be about rushing, never about expectations or pressure. Sylus would never push you. He was waiting for you to decide, for you to choose, and that small action — giving you the control — made all the difference.

With a soft exhale, you nodded — shy, vulnerable, pulling him closer, feeling the safety and love in his arms. The moment of hesitation melted, replaced with the quiet heat of desire, and Sylus pressed forward so gently, inch by careful inch, it almost broke your heart.

When he finally entered you, it was with a broken, whispered groan, his forehead pressed to your shoulder, his whole body trembling with the force of holding himself back. You clung to him, burying your face against his neck, holding your voice, breathing him in, feeling the stretch, the pain, the fullness, the heat, the trembling, the love that were brought by him in waves.

He lifted his face and now was inches from yours, his breath warm and shallow against your skin. His lips brushed yours with an almost reverent touch, and the kiss was soft at first, lingering, as though he were savoring the moment. When he deepened it, it was still slow — tender — as if each second was a treasure, each caress a reminder of what they were building together.

You gasped softly, not from pain, but from the overwhelming sensation — the intimacy, the reality of him being inside you, a slow, burning stretch that made your chest ache.

Sylus froze the moment he heard it, panic flashing across his face, his voice cracked, “Am I—?”

He swallowed hard, his hands trembling where they cradled you, still fighting to be impossibly gentle. You shook your head quickly, pulling him down, and your hands caressed his ethereal face.

“No... please, don’t stop,” you whispered, voice breaking with emotion.

He kissed you then — so tenderly you thought you might fall apart — and continued moving, slower than the ticking of time, easing into you with painstaking care. Every shift, every small adjustment was deliberate, carefully timed — he made sure you felt no discomfort, only the slow, steady pressure of him, pushing and pulling with a tenderness, giving you the chance to breathe, to guide him as much as he guided you.

His eyes never left yours, constantly checking for any sign of discomfort, any trace of hesitation. Every shallow breath he took was laced with restraint, as if he couldn’t bear the idea of hurting you, even by accident. And with each glance and breath, his red eyes softened, the intensity of his usual gaze replaced with something gentler, something that only you could inspire.

Suddenly, a dark thought crawled into your mind. Your body — soft, curvier than the women you knew he had always been surrounded by — tensed under him at first, old insecurities bubbling up, unwelcome. You couldn’t help but wonder — if he noticed, if he compared.

But, as if you speaked your insecurities out loud, Sylus shifted slightly, framing your face between his hands, his red eyes burning into yours — not with lust, but something rawer. Deeper.

“You don’t even know, do you...” he murmured against your lips, voice rough with emotion.

You blinked up at him, confused, trembling.

He pulled back his face — his gaze softened unbearably — to whisper, “Only you,” he said, voice cracking, “Only you.”

Tears welled up behind your eyes, but this time they weren’t from fear. They were from relief. From the kind of love that could see every imperfect part of you — and cherish it like it was the rarest thing on earth.

Sylus rocked into you again, still painfully slow — cradling your body like something he couldn’t bear to lose, pausing every few seconds to brush your hair back, to kiss your forehead, to murmur your name like a prayer. His hands, so large and strong, mapped your curves with almost desperate reverence, fingers splaying against your hips, your waist, your back — not to control, not to claim — but to worship.

The deeper you sank into him, the more you realized that this — this slow, loving rhythm — was what you’d needed all along. It wasn’t just about the physical act. It was the quiet, aching connection between two souls finding their way toward each other.

“You’re perfect,” he whispered against your hair. “You’re mine.”

You were overwhelmed — not by the physicality, but by the depth of emotion. The way he worshiped you with every touch. The way he looked at you, like you were his whole world and he was terrified of ruining you. Tears slipped from your eyes — not from pain, but from something far deeper.

Sylus felt them immediately. He pulled back just enough to see you, panic flashing across his face again. But when he saw your smile — trembling, tearful, utterly happy — he made a broken sound, held you tighter, and kissed you fiercely, again and again, like he could taste the emotion between your tears.

As the night wore on, Sylus’s steady movements became more familiar, and with that familiarity came a deeper understanding of one another. You both moved together, a dance of trust and tenderness, of soft gasps and shared warmth. There was no rush, no moment of doubt — only the slow, steady building of something undeniable.

The world outside of the two of you ceased to exist. There was only the space between your hearts, the soft press of your bodies together, the heat of your connection radiating in every touch. Sylus’s movements were deliberate, never hasty, as if he wanted to make sure you felt every inch of his affection, every ounce of his love.

When the two of you finally found stillness, when his body rested against yours, and your limbs tangled together under the warmth of the blankets, there was no need for words. Sylus’s arms wrapped around you protectively, pulling you closer as if to keep you from ever drifting away.

“You’re mine, in every way,” he whispered, his lips against your forehead, as if he needed to remind you that this moment, this love, was real. “And I’ll spend every day making sure you know it.”

His voice was thick with the weight of his emotions, the words wrapping around you like a warm embrace. You didn’t respond immediately, not needing to, because in that moment, you knew. You felt it. The bond between you was unbreakable, forged not just in the intensity of the physical, but in the quiet tenderness that only the two of you shared.

You curled into him, feeling his heartbeat steady and strong beneath you, the soft warmth of his skin against yours a constant reminder that you were loved. Not because of how you looked, or because of any expectation, but because of who you were — the woman he’d chosen, the woman he would never let go.

Sylus held you close, his breath slow and even now. You buried your face against him — listening to his heartbeats, breathing in the smell of his skin, feeling his warmth. As you drifted into a peaceful, contented sleep, wrapped up in the softness of his love, finally you let yourself believe:

You were safe.

You were loved.

You were understood.

[nekomasmngr]

A relationship with Scoups [ part 1 ]

⤹ sinopsis. How I think it would be to be in a relationship with Cheol representing it with images from Pinterest.

[nekomasmngr]

kuroo has tried to confess to you twice.

the first was a mistake, a spur of the moment confession as you cried over the boy you just broke up with. the guy was an ass, he didn’t treat you right. he made you commute hours to go see him, he didn’t show up to any of your big events. he didn’t even plan any dates or ask you to hang out. kuroo confessed mid-breakdown, just days after your breakup, as he handed you a cup of coffee (your regular order, nonetheless) and tried to haul you out of your three day hibernation.

he didn’t talk to you for weeks after that, he kicks himself for it to this day.

the second confession went wrong. jealously festered in him after hearing about the date you went on as you worried about getting ghosted. you sat on the phone with him pacing back and forth in your bedroom, checking your texts over and over. and kuroo couldn’t help the way his blood boiled as you continued on and on about your date and how he paid for your meal and how he drove you home and…

“there’s someone i’m thinking of asking out,” he told you.

“you should go for it!” you obliviously replied in the mess of your anxiousness.

“it’s you.”

you froze in your tracks, as the rambles of getting ghosted turned into apologies about how you weren’t ready for a relationship and explanations he already knew, given how much you two spoke. kuroo should’ve given up, he should’ve moved on with his life and accepted that you two were friends and never anything more. he probably should’ve given you some distance, allowed himself the space to get on with his life, and hopefully find someone better.

but he’s stubborn, and frankly, he thinks he’s not going to find anyone as perfect for him as you.

so now he sits on the floor of your bedroom, an air mattress set up next to him as you shower in the bathroom. the onigiri wrappers still sat on the floor, your reward for just barely making it to the convenience store before closing. he hears your laughter in his ears, and a part of him can’t help but smile, his heart sinking slightly.

and he begins to wonder, what is he truly doing here?

a cloud of steam emerges from the bathroom.

“tetsu what time is it?” you mumble as you hang up the wet towel.

tetsu, the stupid nickname you’ve called him since you first met. It’s yours and yours alone, yet he knows you’ll never be his.

your voice sends a jolt down his spine, “somewhere close to 2:30,” he answers.

you sit next to him, resting your head on his shoulder. “are you sleepy yet?” you mumble with a sigh.

kuroo’s heart leaps, too scared to actually take a look at you. your wet hair seeps through his shirt, but he truly doesn’t have it in him to care. “a bit, yeah,” he lies, wrapping his arms around you, something that’s become a matter of instinct in your time of friendship.

you lean in closer, eyes shut and a sigh leaves your lips. “we should sleep then, yeah?’

we. the collective we, as if you two were grouped under two letters, as if you two were together.

what was kenma calling it? a situationship?

god, kuroo hated that word. it’s not even a real word.

“we should,” he tells you, before shuffling slightly. “now are you gonna sleep here or are you actually going to get in bed?”

“in a second,” you mumble, rubbing your eyes. “you’re comfy.”

he laughs, “should i take that as a compliment?”

“knowing you, i thought you would.”

“then thank you,” he nods. “glad to be a pillow for you.”

you straighten up, before standing and padding to your bed. “you’re more than just that, you know?”

he quirks a brow, a smirk on his face despite the slight waiver of his voice. “oh really? what am i then?”

“an amazing friend,” you start as you shuffle into bed. “the person who accompanies me on my late night convenience store runs, the person who brags about their grades being significantly better than mine.”

“i don’t say it like that.”

“you totally do, don’t deny it.”

and he scoffs, shaking his head as his lips curve upward.

“you’re the person who was there for me when it felt like no one was, the person who’s willing to help me with anything i need. i feel so safe with you and know i can trust you, and yes, you do make a good pillow.” you sigh and kuroo meets your gaze, the way your eyes shine making his heart sink slightly. “thank you for being here.”

and his heart sinks more, “anything for you.”

you smile at him, “i’m gonna head to bed then, wake me up if you need anything. good-”

“hey can i ask you something?”

you hesitate, “yeah what is it?”

“what am i doing here?”

you blink, “what do you mean?”

“while you were in the shower, i was just thinking, i’m in the room of the person i like, and they know that i like them,” he explains. “they know i like them, yet they continue to be so nice to me and keep me in their lives even though we both know it could possibly be better if i did otherwise.” he meets your gaze, searching in your features for a semblance of an answer. “so really, why am i here?”

you shake your head, before your back hits your bed. “you’re gonna make me say it?” you mumble.

and his stomach drops. “yes, i am,” his voice becoming stern.

“it’s because,” you hesitate, hands covering your eyes. kuroo’s heartbeat thrums in his ears, careful eyes watching you frozen in bed. the air remains quiet, and all kuroo can find himself doing is watch, his third confession lingering in the tense air. maybe this one might be the last one, maybe once he hears you turn him down again, he’ll finally give up for good. they always say third time’s the charm, maybe this one will finally get your message into his brain. a sigh leaves your lips, and kuroo swears his body tenses.

“it’s because i like you.”

and kuroo blinks, “you do?”

you immediately sit up. “what do you mean i do? of course i like you.” and he just stares at you. “i never ask you to sleep over,” you explain. “i told myself that if i didn’t tell you how i felt by the end of today, i was going to drop it and never bring it up again. i told myself i would move on and never act on my feelings.” you finally meet his gaze, eyes widening when you see his jaw slack. “what,” you question, voice getting higher. “did i say something wrong?”

“i thought you were going to reject me,” he mumbles rather candidly.

“i could never,” you tell him. “i didn’t even really reject you the second time you confessed. i just said i wasn’t ready for a relationship, not that i didn’t have feelings for you.”

he blinks, “oh.”

“i thought you picked that up,” you sigh.

he runs a hand through his hair, mentally face palming, “honestly, all i remember is that you didn’t stop talking for ten minutes straight.” you sigh, “i mean, seriously, who yaps for that long?”

“someone who doesn’t know how to say yes but also say no,” you mumble.

“you could've said maybe,” he tries. “i could’ve gotten more of a hint then.”

and you can’t help but giggle, sliding off your place in bed to join him back on the floor. you meet his gaze, his eyes still full of disbelief, “tetsu, i like you.”

kuroo swears he’s dreaming for a second.

he blinks, his answer rather instant. “i like you too.”

you reach for his hand, squeezing it. “so, it’ll stick in your head,” you joke poking his head with your other hand before getting back up.

he keeps a tight grip on your hand, pulling you back to the ground. “tetsu?” his hand rests gently on your cheek as he leans forward, adrenaline coursing through him as his lips meet yours. his heart pounds, his thoughts running at a million miles a minute.

but everything seems to slow when you kiss him back, your hands reaching for his cheeks. and for the first time that night, kuroo feels his heartbeat slow.

he pulls away with a small grin. “so it’ll stick now in yours,” he mumbles.

you hesitate for a second, “you know what? i don’t think it’s sticking,” there’s a slight lilt to your voice.

“you don’t?” he questions.

“i don’t,” you nod rather proudly.

kuroo can’t help but shake his head, his grin growing wider by the second. “there’s no harm in trying again.” and this time, you’re the one to pull him in. your hand rests on the back of his neck and you can feel him smile.

third time’s the charm, they always say. luckily, this time, it worked in his favor.

haikyuu 2021/2022 renaissance era frrrr - I haven't written in so long pls be so kind with feedback she's a little rusty lol, but thank you for reading <3

[nekomasmngr]

𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐃𝐄𝐄𝐏𝐒𝐏𝐀𝐂𝐄 ⋯ 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐒𝐀𝐘 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐃𝐎𝐍’𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐊 𝐘𝐎𝐔’𝐑𝐄 𝐁𝐄𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐈𝐅𝐔𝐋

𝐗𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐄𝐑

You sit beside Xavier on the bench in the park, watching people pass by as golden afternoon light filters through the leaves. The air smells of fresh-cut grass and distant food carts. A stylish couple walks past, the woman’s laughter musical, her confidence evident in every step.

“I wish I was pretty like her,” you mumble, more to yourself than to him, your fingers absently tracing patterns on the wooden bench.

Xavier turns to you, his expression shifting to one of genuine confusion. His brows furrow deeply, eyes widening just a fraction.

“What... did you say?” he asks, his tone remaining even despite the clear puzzlement in his eyes. He shifts his body toward you, giving you his full attention.

“Nothing, just...” you gesture vaguely toward the retreating couple. “Sometimes I don’t feel very attractive. Especially around people like that.”

Xavier stares at you for a long moment, looking genuinely bewildered. The silence stretches between you, broken only by distant children’s laughter and birdsong.

“I don’t understand,” he finally says.

You start to explain, feeling suddenly self-conscious under his unwavering gaze, but he gently places his hand over yours, the warmth of his palm surprising against your skin.

“No,” he interrupts, shaking his head slightly. “I mean I don’t understand why you would think that. It doesn’t make sense.” His thumb traces a small circle on the back of your hand. “You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen,” he states matter-of-factly. “I’ve always thought so.”

Coming from Xavier, the sincerity in his voice makes your heart skip.

“You don’t have to say that,” you protest weakly, looking down at where his hand covers yours.

Xavier shakes his head, leaning closer. “I wouldn’t say it if it wasn’t true. I don’t...” he pauses, carefully selecting his words, “understand how you can’t see what I see.”

His fingers tighten around yours, the pressure gentle but grounding. “Every time I look at you, I...” He struggles with the words, clearly moving outside his comfort zone. A faint color touches his usually pale cheeks. “From a purely objective standpoint, the way you look—” He stops, frustrated with himself, and takes a deep breath.

“That’s not what I meant to say.” He closes his eyes briefly. When he opens them, there’s a rare vulnerability there. “What I mean is that you’re beautiful. In every way that matters. Your smile when you’re excited about something. The way your eyes light up when you talk about things you care about. How your whole face changes when you’re lost in thought.”

He reaches up with his free hand, hesitating just shy of touching your face. “I’ve remembered every expression you make. I’ve studied them all.” He looks away, embarrassed by his own earnestness. “You’re beautiful. Please, don’t think otherwise.”

The tension in his shoulders eases slightly, as if relieved to have expressed something he’s held inside for too long. He doesn’t let go of your hand for the rest of the afternoon.

𝐙𝐀𝐘𝐍𝐄

You’re helping Zayne organize his medical journals in his office as late afternoon shadows stretch across the polished floors. The pristine space feels both clinical and comforting—much like the man himself.

As you reach up to place a heavy volume on the top shelf, you catch your reflection in the large window overlooking the city. The bright lighting does you no favors.

“Ugh,” you mutter, tugging self-consciously at your clothes. “I look awful today.”

Zayne glances up from his desk where he’s been meticulously updating patient files. He sets down his pen, the soft click audible in the sudden silence. His eyes, usually so focused on his work, now study you with that penetrating gaze that seems to see beneath surfaces.

“What brought this on?” he asks, his voice filling the room.

“Nothing specific,” you say, turning away from your reflection. “Just... some days I don’t feel pretty, that’s all.”

Zayne stands. He gestures to the leather chair beside his own. “Sit.”

You comply, watching as he leans against his desk, arms folded across his chest. The setting sun through the windows casts half his face in shadow, highlighting the sharp angles of his features.

“Are you overthinking again?” he asks directly, but there’s no judgment in his tone. “Or did someone say something to you today?”

“Just overthinking, I guess,” you admit, fidgeting under his steady gaze.

He nods once, as if confirming a diagnosis. “I see.” He’s silent for a moment.

“Beauty is subjective,” he begins. “But if you’re asking for my opinion...” The corner of his mouth twitches in what might be the ghost of a smile. “You’re more than perfect. Inside and out.”

When you start to protest, he raises a hand to stop you.

“I don’t make observations lightly. You know that.” His eyes hold yours. “I’ve studied human anatomy for years. I’ve seen thousands of faces.” He leans forward slightly. “None of them affect me the way yours does.”

The admission seems to surprise even him, a rare moment of vulnerability from someone so carefully composed.

Suddenly, he reaches into his desk drawer and pulls out a small chocolate wrapped in gold foil. It’s from the exclusive chocolatier across town—the one he pretends not to favor.

He places it in your palm, his fingers lingering against yours longer than necessary. “Here,” he says, his voice dropping lower. “Sweet for the sweet.”

Before you can respond, he leans forward and places a kiss on your forehead. The momentary closeness allows you to catch the subtle scent of his aftershave mingled with antiseptic.

“Now,” he says, straightening himself, “wait for me to finish organizing these journals so we can go home. I’m thinking of dinner at that place you like on Fifth Street.” He turns back to his desk, but not before adding, “And no more nonsense about not being pretty. I won’t have the person I care for most questioning their worth.”

𝐑𝐀𝐅𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐋

You’re sitting on the private beach adjoining Rafayel’s seaside studio, watching him add final touches to a vibrant seascape painting. The ocean stretches endlessly before you, waves crashing rhythmically against the shore. The air tastes of salt and fresh breeze. Seagulls circle overhead, their calls mingling with the gentle lapping of water against sand.

Rafayel stands before his painting, completely absorbed in his work. Paint splatters decorate his rolled-up sleeves and there’s a smudge of blue across his cheekbone. The wind tousles his already disheveled hair as he captures the dance of light on water.

A group of beautiful people laugh further down the beach, their perfect silhouettes outlined against the setting sun. You glance down at yourself, then back at them, feeling suddenly out of place in this picturesque setting.

“I don’t think I’m pretty enough for this place,” you whisper, the breeze carrying your words away—or so you think.

Rafayel’s hand freezes. He turns to you slowly, paint-speckled fingers stilling on the canvas, his expression transforming from focus to complete disbelief.

“What did you just say?” His usually playful voice has an edge to it now, sharp as broken glass.

“Nothing, just thinking out loud,” you reply, regretting having spoken at all.

“No, no, no,” he sets his palette down with a clatter on the small table beside him. “You don’t get to say things like that and dismiss them as ’nothing.’” In an instant, he takes a seat on your side. “Did someone say something to you?” he demands, looking around the empty beach as if searching for culprits. “Which human do I need to have a word with?”

“No one said anything, Rafayel. It’s just how I feel sometimes,” you admit.

“That’s even worse! Your own mind betraying you like this?” He runs his fingers through his hair. “This is an emergency. A catastrophe of the highest order!”

He grabs your shoulders. “You are an absolute masterpiece. Do you understand? A masterpiece. I know art. I create art. I live and breathe beauty in all its forms. And you—” he pokes your cheek lightly, leaving a tiny dot of turquoise paint, “—are the finest creation I’ve ever laid eyes on.”

When you try to look away, embarrassed by his intensity, he gently tilts your chin back. The setting sun reflects in his eyes, turning them to liquid gold. “The ocean is jealous of your depths. The stars envy your brilliance.” His voice softens, becoming almost reverent. “And I would swim across every sea before I let you believe you’re anything less than stunning.”

He wraps his arms around you suddenly, clinging like a child. “Now don’t say such ridiculous things again. It offends my artistic sensibilities.”

He then stands, pulling you up with him. “Come on. We’re going to watch the sunset together. I’ll show you how I see you.” He places a brush in your hand, his fingers lingering. “And maybe then you’ll understand why I can’t look away.”

𝐒𝐘𝐋𝐔𝐒

You stand before the massive floor-to-ceiling windows in Sylus’s penthouse suite, overlooking the sprawling N109 Zone from stories up. The city stretches below like a circuit board of neon and shadow, vehicles and people reduced to tiny moving points of light. The luxurious room behind you is bathed in the soft glow of artfully placed lamps illuminating his collection of rarities—collections plucked from across time and space.

Catching your reflection in the darkened glass, superimposed over the glittering cityscape, you murmur without thinking, “I don’t know why you keep me around. I’m not even pretty.”

The room falls silent. You hear Sylus set down whatever gem he was examining, the soft clink of crystal against metal followed by his steady steps as he approaches.

“What an odd thing to say,” he remarks, his voice silky yet sharp as a blade, “because you’re entirely incorrect.”

You turn to find him watching you, head slightly tilted.

“Did I hear you questioning your beauty?” A smirk plays on his lips, but his eyes remain serious, almost stern. “After all this time with me, you should know very well that I have exceptional taste.”

He closes the distance between you. He places his hands on your waist, positioning you both so your reflections are visible in the window. His gaze in the reflection holds nothing but admiration.

“Do you think I surround myself with anything less than perfection?” He gestures to the rare treasures adorning his collection shelf—items worth more than most people earn in a lifetime. “Do you imagine I would waste my time on someone who didn’t captivate me entirely?”

His fingers trace your jawline, feather-light. “Hundreds of rare gems, ancient artifacts, priceless paintings—I collect only the extraordinary, the unique.” His voice drops lower, more intimate. “And yet, not one of these treasures compares to your presence and beauty.”

When you start to protest, he places a finger gently against your lips. “I don’t tolerate self-deprecation from the one person in this universe I genuinely cherish.”

He turns you to face him fully now, both hands cupping your face with surprising tenderness from someone so powerful, so used to taking what he wants. Your disbelief must show on your face because he chuckles softly.

“Your beauty is not up for debate, not even by you. Challenge me on anything else if you wish, demand whatever your heart desires—but on this matter, I will not yield.”

He steps back after brushing a kiss against your forehead, apparently considering the matter settled. “Now come here and tell me what you want instead of what you think you lack. That’s much more productive, don’t you agree?”

He gestures to the plush sofa. “Sit down and tell me about your day today. I haven’t heard you talking about it.” His expression softens further. “Let’s talk about that instead.”

As you join him, he casually drapes an arm around you, pulling you closer. “And tomorrow,” he murmurs against your hair, “I’ll show you exactly how beautiful you are to me. I have something special planned—something worthy of you.”

𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐁

You’re absently scrolling through your phone as you accompany Caleb while he sorts through Fleet reports in his home office. The space reflects his dual nature—military precision in the organized shelves and structured workspace, but touches of warmth in the photographs and mementos from his DAA days. The soft glow of multiple screens illuminates the room as rain patters against the windows, creating a cozy atmosphere.

Caleb sits at his desk, brow furrowed in concentration as he reviews security protocols. His uniform jacket hangs on the back of his chair, sleeves of his standard-issue shirt rolled up to reveal his forearms. Despite the late hour, his posture remains perfect—the Colonel, always on duty.

Glancing up, you catch a glimpse of yourself in the reflective surface of a dormant monitor. The unflattering blue light highlights every perceived imperfection.

“Ugh,” you mutter under your breath, running a self-conscious hand through your hair. “I look terrible today.”

Caleb’s head snaps up from his work. “What did you just say?” There’s a sudden alertness in his posture, as if responding to a threat.

“Just that I’m not looking my best,” you shrug, trying to downplay it, surprised by his intense reaction. 

Caleb stands, his chair rolling backward. His eyes narrow as he scans the room like he’s searching for enemies in a combat zone. “Who put that idea in your head?”

The protective edge in his voice takes you by surprise.

“No one, Caleb. It’s just how I feel sometimes.” You set down your phone, touched by his concern even as you try to ease it.

His expression darkens for a moment before he walks towards you. “Hey,” he says, crouching beside where you’re seated and taking your hands in his. “Look at me.”

When you meet his eyes, they’re filled with the same warmth they held when you were both kids, before the Fleet, before the incident—before everything changed.

“I’ve watched you grow more beautiful every single day since we were kids,” he says, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. The calluses on his palms catch slightly against your skin. “Sometimes I still can’t believe I get to be with you.”

He reaches up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, his touch lingering. Rain continues to drum against the windows, creating a private world just for the two of you.

“You’ve always been the prettiest person in any room to me. Always will be. Nothing compares to coming home to you.”

His smile returns. “And trust me, I’ve had plenty of people try to catch my eye over the years. None of them even came close. It’s just not possible when my mind can only think of you.”

He presses a soft kiss onto your forehead, his lips warm against your skin. “So no more of this ‘not pretty’ talk, okay? Or I’ll have to issue an official declaration about how gorgeous you are, and that would be really embarrassing for everyone involved.”

Based on this request.

[nekomasmngr]

hiyaaa can I request a similar vibed piece to the xavier comfort fic you posted recently but with sylus instead ? I've gone back and reread that piece at least 30 times I swear, it's genuinely so comforting :') but maybe reader comes home exhausted (or maybe Sylus notices and comes to them?) from a long day or week just like truly drained and in need of comfort.... yeah haha

no worries if not of course! thank you for sharing your writing with us :D

of course!! as a sylus girlie myself, this was extremely adorable to write 🥹 also im soso glad my writing was able to help comfort u<3

.  𓂃 ଓ ۪   ݁ FOR YOU, ALWAYS 𓈒      s

SUMMARY: after a long, exhausting day, you break down on the couch, overwhelmed and alone—until Sylus comes home. he notices your tears instantly. cold and composed to everyone else, he becomes soft for you, pulling you into his arms without hesitation. he offers quiet comfort, steady affection, and a simple promise: whatever you need, he’s yours.

WC: 570 <3

NOTES: quite short but it has all the fluffy caring sylus🙏 send in more reqs, id love to do them!!!

The apartment is quiet except for the faint hum of the city beyond the windows and the occasional sniffle you try to muffle in the blanket pressed against your face.

You’re curled up on the couch, wrapped in one of Sylus’s oversized hoodies—the only thing offering any comfort right now. The day had just been too much. Everything that could’ve gone wrong did. You’d held yourself together all the way home, but once the door shut behind you, it all crumbled. The tears came fast. Silent, angry, frustrated.

You weren’t even sure what was hurting more—the stress, or the way it all felt so… lonely.

The lock clicks.

You freeze, sitting up a little too quickly, hurriedly trying to wipe your face, but it’s useless—your eyes are red, cheeks blotchy, nose stuffy. You barely get the blanket up before the door opens.

Sylus steps in, sharp-eyed and unbothered as ever in his dark coat and gloves, shutting the door behind him with a quiet thud. He’s already scanning the room before he’s fully through it—and then his gaze lands on you.

His cold, calculating expression falters. Only for a second. But it’s enough.

He doesn’t speak right away. Just shrugs off his coat, tosses it to the side, and moves toward you with quiet steps.

“You’ve been crying.”

He doesn’t ask. He states it. Calm, observant, as if pointing out the obvious. But his voice—low and cool as it is—has a subtle shift. A soft undercurrent.

“I’m fine,” you lie, wiping your face again.

He stops in front of you, tilts his head just slightly, studying you the same way he analyzes the world around him. And then—without asking—he kneels down beside the couch, resting his arms on the cushion next to your legs.

“Liar.”

You let out a watery breath, trying to smile. “It’s nothing serious. Just… one of those days.”

His fingers brush against your knee, gentle despite the gloves, and then he peels them off, setting them aside. The moment his bare hand touches your leg, it’s grounding—warm, steady.

“Who do I need to hurt?” he asks flatly, as if that’s a normal offer.

You laugh softly through your tears. “It’s not like that.”

Sylus narrows his eyes slightly. Then sighs. He rises, leans down, and scoops you up from the couch without warning.

“Wha—Sylus!”

“Shut up.” It’s not mean. It’s just him. “You’re clearly falling apart and your first instinct is to hide from me?”

He carries you easily, settling down on the couch with you in his lap like you belong there—and you kind of do. His arms wrap around you, one hand smoothing down your back, the other settling on your thigh. Not possessive. Not demanding. Just there. Steady. Solid.

“I hate seeing you like this,” he murmurs after a beat. “Tell me what you need. Say the word, and I’ll get it. I’ll do it. Anything, you know that."

You don’t respond right away, just bury your face in his neck and let yourself breathe him in.

“I just wanted you.”

He exhales like the answer physically affects him. His hold tightens around you.

“You have me,” he says, softer this time. “You always have me.”

And for the next hour, he doesn’t let go. Doesn’t pull away. Just holds you close, his fingers tracing idle circles on your skin, whispering things he’d never dare say out loud in front of anyone else.

Only for you.

[nekomasmngr]

Recipe for a Birthday

Pairing: Sylus x Reader

Genre: Fluff

Rating: General

Word Count: ±900

Summary: You’re trying your best to bake Sylus’s birthday cake.

Author’s Note: The story is set right one day before his birthday. Happy birthday, Sylus! ♡

✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡ ˚✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡ ˚✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡ ˚✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡ ˚✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡ ˚✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡

It isn’t perfectly curated Protocores or brilliantly shiny gems that make a birthday truly special.

Not for Sylus, at least.

For him, it’s simpler, quieter—it’s you.

You may not realize it, but just having you here in his kitchen—dusted with flour and scented like vanilla—is all that matters. From where he stands, leaning on the doorway with arms crossed, his crimson eyes dart around following your every move: rolling dough, measuring ingredients. He’s studying everything, grinning absentmindedly at your every gesture. The way your brows furrow when you double-check the recipe, how your nose scrunches up when you nearly spill the milk, and the little bounce in your step when you finally get the measurements just right.

You may look messy, but to him, you’re radiant. You’re real.

And gods, how long has he yearned for this?

His mind drifts to fleeting memories: the lair, the organ in the middle of the cathedral, the datura field. With you now in an apron in front of him, those days feel so far away. You’re here now. In his kitchen. Celebrating his birthday. It feels like he’s been waiting a lifetime for this moment—for the chance to simply admire his beloved.

No chaos. No battle cries. Just you.

You’re finally his again.

“This is ridiculous,” your voice snaps him back to the kitchen. You huff looking at your half-done work, entirely oblivious to Sylus’s presence behind you in the doorway. “I’m sure I’m already following everything on the recipe.”

He doesn’t say anything, though—just lets out a chuckle, which gives himself away.

“Sylus!” You turn around and sigh. “What did I say about entering the kitchen?”

The corners of his lips tug further upwards, his tone feigning innocence. “Sweetie, I’m just standing here.”

“You’re leaning there and grinning like that, which is worse. Besides, you’re going to spoil the surprise. I’m not letting you see this birthday cake until it’s done.”

He honestly doesn’t care much about the cake. It could taste like cardboard with frosting, and he’d still appreciate it—and eat it wholeheartedly.

To you, however, making the cake feels like a matter of national defense. It needs to be perfect. The whole day tomorrow with Sylus needs to be. After all, from your recollection, this is your first time celebrating his birthday. And you already have everything planned—a trip to the wildlife park, a Lil S birthday badge, an invitation letter.

What could go wrong?

The cake. It looks off. It tastes off. Are you even doing this properly? You thought about adding fruit—pomegranates? Oranges? But how do you even make that work? You planned to draw a dragon with frosting as well—but are you even creative enough? Skilled enough?

Your dedication is endearing to him, nevertheless.

As if sensing your frown-fueled frustration, Sylus steps farther into the room, prompting you to hurriedly slam the recipe book shut. Ignoring your flustered action, he cups your face in his large hand.

“Kitten, I’m sure it will turn out great,” his thumb gently brushes a flour-dusted line on your cheek. “And if it doesn’t... I’ll still eat it. Even if it gives me a stomachache.”

“Sylus!”

His laughter rings as he gives your head a gentle pat. “But I doubt I’ll have to risk my life for it. You always pull it off in the end—not because it’s perfect, but because a certain hunter has worked so hard to make it for me.”

You feel a bit more at ease. He always has that quiet kind of reassurance—the kind that makes you feel safe and secure without needing many words. You know full well that to him, a flawed cake is still a perfect cake. And yet, you can’t help but want it to be just right. After everything he’s endured, he deserves nothing less.

You’re just about to tiptoe toward him when a loud bang and a flurry of eager footsteps make you both jump apart. Luke and Kieran present themselves, bursting into the doorway with shopping bags in hand.

“MISS HUNTER! WE ARE—whoops—”

“Sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt—”

“It’s alright, boys,” you quickly wave your frosting-smeared spatula. “Just put those on the counter, please. Oh, and please do kindly escort your boss-man out of the kitchen before I turn him into one of my cake decorations.”

With a synchronized “Yes, Miss Hunter,” they march in, ready to drag the Onychinus’s leader away. “Boss, time for a strategic extraction,” Kieran chirps. “Classified operations in the kitchen, Boss. You’re not cleared,” Luke adds.

“The twins are your henchmen now?” Sylus shakes his head. “Sweetie, I have to sa—”

He doesn’t get the chance to finish, however. Before the twins get to him, you tiptoe once again, cutting him off with a bold kiss and silencing the protest right off his lips.

“Shush. I have the potential to take over Onychinus, yes, yes,” you say casually as you pull away. “Well, happy advanced birthday, Sylus. Let me finish this cake in peace and I might just consider that job offer—if you’re lucky enough.”

The Big Boss himself hasn’t managed to produce any reaction as Luke and Kieran stop in their tracks, visibly trying to avert their eyes.

“Did you see anything?”

“What? Nope. No, yeah, nothing—oh, wow, would you look at that sky? It’s so bright today—”

“Out.” You point toward the hallway with mock sternness. “Stop distracting me, all of you.”

The twins scramble to obey, dragging Sylus out with them—though he keeps glancing over his shoulder, trying to register what just happened.

Seems like his birthday is already perfect—and it hasn’t even started yet.

[nekomasmngr]

i just finished sylus' bday event and his card and oh im so not normal about him anymore its official

his va did such a good job 🥺 i wish we could've marked his laugh voice lines cause they were divineee hearing sylus laugh – i'm clearly missing out cause i always procrastinate on the story, cards and myths but i just wanna take my time but nvm ok i'll do it

(recently caught up to caleb's story line and he's also fighting zayne for that top 2 spot in ny heart)

also the ost???? its drama worthy infold drop the ost rn!

one sad thing tho, i wish we were able to write more on his bday card, i cant remember if we had no limit for raf's bday card but i think they limited it bc of all the hate he got which is so weird and unnecessary

now its time for me to resist...spending more dias to get at least 1 more copy of his card...but im 25 wishes close...thats 3750 hmm fml my money 😭

[nekomasmngr]

sylus's little twins — intro

— meet Lucian & Kyros, sylus’s little energy storm! ٩(^ᗜ^ )و ´-

ʕ ꈍᴥꈍʔ: hi hi hi! im so excited to get this out hehehe, a formal-ish introduction to the twin boys i've been writing about in my boydad!sylus au. they were initially passing thoughts, but with all of your continuous enthusiasm towards the littles, they'd grown into these darling characters. i hope you enjoy & love them as much as i do! ❀-urs

kyros & lucian highlight | sylus x reader | parenting hcs/scenarios, little twin hcs, mama!reader, soft boydad!sylus 💕 ft. big twins (luke & kieran)!

general info:

☆ Lucian was born first, Kyros 10.9 minutes later 

ദ്ദി(｡•̀ ,<)~✩‧₊

sylus was there for all the check-ups & ultrasounds but only found out you were having twins during the last check-up. 

Lucian has always been more energetic and drawn to the spotlight, even in the womb— Kyros, sleepier and cozier, has tucked himself behind his brother in all their photos. It wasn't until the final weeks that Lucian decided to reveal his first little surprise to his parents— when he shifted and made way for them to meet the second heartbeat. Sylus had to take a seat. "Beloved, breathe," you chuckled, rubbing his thumb with your own as he blinks away the spots in his vision.

sylus barely slept the first three days they were born, watching all three of you like a guard dog 

not so much worried that something terrible will befall something so wonderful 

but just… taking it all in— something he'd never thought he'd have in any lifetime, and yet here you are. giving, giving, giving— his generous heart.

he walked to your side of the bed, pressed kisses to your forehead as you slept. you’d stir awake to him brushing your hair out of your eyes, feeling your cheekbones with the pad of his thumb. eyes soft and teary like melting lava. you yawn, catching his wrist with your fingers. “you okay? is something wrong?”  he smiles, shakes his head. “no. everything’s perfect.” 

he hovers over the boys constantly. quick to pick one up when he stirs.

"hello, little one, shh..." he murmurs. his voice breaks at the volume, unused to being so careful before. but he is trying. he will try everyday. "papa is here. papa's got you."

cant help but poke on their cheeks as they sleep, or ruffle their hair with his finger (they're so small, he can't believe it)

the first twin to grab his finger and hold on is kyros, and sylus needed several minutes to compose himself 

when one or both cries, sylus is always the first to respond. he checks diapers, gas and if it’s hunger, he wakes you gently (he's master of the night shift atp)

tummy time was difficult for him in the start, fearing the baby wouldn’t like it, that he’d run too warm or he accidentally shifts them the wrong way. but once he starts, it becomes his favorite pastime.

he hums to them, sings to them, reads to them. theres always at least one strapped to his chest as he goes about his day in the base.

when they get a little older and they can roll over on their bellies, sylus spends hours on his belly too, studying their faces and expressions. his sole purpose is to make them react. peek-a-boo is a favorite.

when lucian starts to babble (kyros will follow soon after) sylus is over the moon. he loves talking back to them. 

“ahh-ah. ooo-ea-ea.” kyros coos, pulling his legs up and down as if bouncing. “i understand, but mephisto is made of metal.” sylus says, chin resting on the nest his forearms had formed on the edge of the bassinets. “ah a wi wi waaaghu” lucian counters. “i didn’t see it that way. maybe i will try to change his synthetic fibers.” sylus nods. “ji ji aah! ah!” kyros. “and pre-record wheels on the bus, yes.” 

sylus 🤝🏻 nursery rhymes (he sings them in the shower??)

you and sylus both love watching them discover each other— like, they’d just forget the other exists for a while until they glance beside them and see their faces staring back. the giggles, the smiles, the eventual spit up— magical

the big twins (kieran and luke) sob when they realize their names are inspired by their own 

"Luke, hold Kyros's neck steady," you advise as you hand him the baby. Luke sits excitedly on the couch, arms out, nodding enthusiastically. it was an amusing little position he was in— he'd cocooned himself between all the throwpillows in the living room and looked like a bird in his nest. "Yes, got it." he says. he's done his research. he and Kieran practiced on cantaloupes while you were away. "Cradle the baby to support his hips and back." Kieran quotes from the LinkiHow, sitting on the other side of the couch, also cocooned in all the pillows. Sylus gave them tired but fond looks. "This is Lucian." Sylus says, placing his son carefully in Kieran's awaiting arms. It takes a minute, but you can always count on them to make a connection. Luke says it jokingly, "Hey, boss man, they both have our initials." You smile unironically. "Do you like it?" Kieran freezes, getting the implication almost immediately. "What?" It snaps into Luke a second later. "What?!" It's very difficult to cry with newborns in their arms. Good thing the pillows minimized the trembling.

never lets you and sylus hear the end of it

"When Lucian climbs on my shoulders, we're a giant robot called Lu-lu." Kieran snorts. "Lemon?" "Can you shut up for once in your life?"

"Boss man, how's mini me?" "Boss hunter, can we borrow the little twins? Namesakes have to bond." and the famous "Hey, dad," one too many times to Sylus. (sylus never corrects them)

steals them away when they’re able to sit up on their own, stays within the base, but at the sight of the masks, the little twins are sent into fits of happy wiggles 

kieran and luke are first to experience the two playing more intricate pretend scenarios (they're big influences)

the little twins’ first prank is to doodle on sylus’s face (sylus was awake, giggling even, but the little twins were 100% sure they got away with it. big twins supervised.)

Lucian the blinding flash of lightning 

pronounced: loo��see・yan

also called “Cian” (see-yan) 

also known as: angel (mama & papa), little boss (big twins), JAWS (kieran when lucian bit him the first time), little dragon (papa) 

has bright, carmine eyes, forever shining with mischief

socialized very early when he refused to be apart from mama or papa 

first word is “mama”. sylus was very excited for you (“papa” followed soon after)

"Say papa." Sylus coaxes, bouncing Lucian on his knee. His boy's bright eyes focused on his mouth, as he made popping noises to emphasize the p's. "P-p-aaa. Papa." Lucian followed the movements with a gummy little smile. But no sound emerged from his mouth. Sylus did everything in his power to make him vocalize, but Lucian's will was stronger than his father's charm. And then you came. Kyros had just gone down for his second nap, and you plop down beside Sylus and Lucian. "It's mama." Sylus points out. And with his full chest, proud and loud, Lucian booms. "Mama!" You scream. Sylus is speechless for a moment but cheers nonetheless. Showers Lucian with kisses and praise. Maybe Kyros will get his p's right.

always strapped on someone’s chest or back in his early days, wriggling in the carrier and testing the bounce

kieran and luke’s test gerbil— uh, sorry, play buddy 

Lucian, having been exposed more to people and positive reinforcement, was quick to gain confidence to try things without fear or even consciousness of failure 

so he flips over first, sits up first, crawls first, has his first steps first and is running by the time kyros can put one foot before the other without support

but he has more little scrapes and bruises from being so active 

loves mama! loves loves loves mama. mama gives him kissies and sweeties. and mama says “yay! Lucian!” in the most beautiful voice 

loves papa too. is a little intimidated by him— only because papa is the first to see his mistakes when he tumbles and falls. papa makes that “tsss” noise when he picks him up. 

but then papa gives warm hugs. and his hair is soft. and papa is tall, and lucian likes sitting on his shoulders. 

lucian loves the sky. you'd "sun" them often when they were little, just sit outside in the shade for the warmth and the nutrients. it was lucian's favorite thing, having developed a Pavlovian response to the words "sun time!" before he even knew what they meant— he'd be wriggling already.

lucian thinks kyros is a little mouse. he adores kyros, always cheers him on like everyone does for him— “ya! go keewo!” 

but kyros looks so small (theyre the same size) 

and lucian is overcome with the responsibility of protecting his brother 

lucian loves hugging kyros (coined the term "squeezy-squeezes"), learning from everyone around him how to treat his brother

sometimes can get a little too rough

made kyros cry once— he cried harder. 

The twins have been in their little playpen for a while, throwing stuffed-balls that jingle at each other as a game of catch. Kyros catches with your help, his back against your belly. Your arms like wings maneuver his to catch the ball in a gentle clap. "Cat!" Lucian says. He's already mastered the act of throwing down to a tee. But somehow a heavier rubber ball had rolled into their soft ball pile, and he'd chucked it at Kyros's nose. "Oh!" you startle first, bending down to see Kyros's face already puckered up in a silent sob. "Oh, darling." Sylus is already at the door at the sound, taking in the scene before him. Your worried fussing, Kyros's reddening nose and... A wailing, louder than the offended's fills the room. Terror-stricken and horrified, Lucian empties his little lungs at the image of his brother sobbing because of him. "Lucian." Sylus sighs, picking him up and rocking him side to side. Mama and papa danced side to side, soothing, as they sang a painful little harmony for them for a while.

absorbs how you and sylus interact. 

⟢ places both palms on papa’s face to look in his eyes — "papa, shmeeties." (sweeties) ⟢ presses his nose to papa’s cheek when he's in his arms and papa is talking to someone else ⟢brushes your hair back from your eyes when you're telling him, "lucian, no more sweeties, okay?" ⟢ kisses your forehead the most ⟢ pokes papa’s lips when he’s idling or reading

likes sweeties (candies, cakes, ice creams, u name it)

loves to climb! loves going up, up high! 

needs that vestibular input when he teeters on the edge of something (effectively giving sylus daily heart attacks)

does not like hats :( 

drags kyros by the hand everywhere (kyros does this too! learns it from lucian)— one time when kyros couldnt quite walk yet, you find lucian dragging him face-planted across the floor. kyros kinda just went with it

started the trend of running up to you or sylus when you get home from missions and throwing himself in your arms

sensitive. doesnt like being scolded but understands to an extent why. sylus is good at explaining discipline to his toddlers.

“papa doesn’t want you to get hurt. so I'm saying it in a strong voice so you listen and remember,” sylus explains firmly. “love lucian? papa?” he asks, snot and tears running down his blotchy red cheeks. sylus softens, huffing the through his nose and wiping his son's tears away with his thumbs. “of course i love you, angel. just, please stop sliding down the bannister.”  oh, sylus is so very tired.

sleeps with his limbs strewn about

sylus is always hit in the eye when they nap together

Kyros the gentle rumble of thunder

pronounced: kee・ ros

also called “kyro” ("kee-ro" as Lucian so lovingly puts it, unable to get that s sound just yet)

also known as: angel (mama & papa), little boss (big twins), KYYYYROSSS (luke, when they lift him over their head like a presentation to the gods), and turtle (papa)

his eyes are a darker shade of red, like a stormy sea of blood. and so his little baby stares are extra O.O when he’s watching everyone around him

kyros was sickly during his first few months, which led to him being a little less socialized compared to his brother

sylus was very doting on kyros, worried immensely, didnt know a wink of sleep for the first three months of thunderous little coughs rattling such a small, fragile body 

he held him more, gave him the medicine, took shifts with you when you forced him to get rest

but kyros pulled through. he’s healthy by the time the third month rolls in, and so he starts rolling, too

kyros watches lucian do his firsts and copies. less trial, less error— the little owl he is

his babbles were quieter, and so you whisper to him hushed words of affirmation 

"ehh? egh ah!" kyros coos, eyes locked onto yours as if actually making conversation at 4 months. "yes, angel, you’re very handsome." you smile back, exaggerated nods, and a lilting voice. "ah-ooo, oo-eeh." "much muuuuch more than papa." you affirm. and suddenly sylus is right behind you. "hm? sorry?"

he does get his p's right!! but first word is “pito” (mephisto -> phisto -> pisto -> ⊹ ࣪ ˖ pito ⊹ ࣪ ˖), his baby monitor

loves papa. oh, sylus really did a number on him by sticking with him during those sick months. now he’s formed an attachment.

most comfortable with papa. likes being held by him, snuggles his messy little hair in the crook of sylus’s neck, mouths gummy little kisses on sylus’s cheeks.

had a phase where he relayed all his thoughts in a whisper to papa. sylus would broadcast it for everyone else to hear. he'd nod in approval with a little "mhm."

loves mama too, of course. loves mama’s voice. mama’s scent. he almost always falls asleep in your presence. never, ever fussy with you. 

has developed very particular sensory needs— preferring deep pressure hugs, dimmer lighting, and more gentle, quieter sounds

he works through most issues, but in his toddler stage, he’s easily spooked and startled— cries often when he is

loves lucian! lucian is eternally amusing to him. his favorite slapstick. lucian, his walking chatty clone— tumbling over and startling him and making him giggle. he loves Lucian.

lucian's hugs! love that!

lucian's games! so fun!

lucian's attempts to string him along (even if he ends up waxing the floor with his forehead)! owwie, but yes!!

kyros feels his feelings deep and slow. disciplining him is like yelling at a baby duck with too-large eyes and a pouty little lip 

it's very hard to stay mad at him (sylus struggles the most)

“kyros? you understand why papa is mad, right?”  kyros doesnt move. doesn't even look at him. sylus swallows.  “kyros, papa is mad because…” kyros starts hiccuping, choking on silent tears. “papa mad.” sylus digs his nails into his palms. “papa... mad because you almost got hurt. got an ouchie.”  kyros nods. “Papa mad. ouchie.”  on second thought, sylus isnt that good at disciplining toddlers. "kyros, say you understand." "un'tad." kyros weeps. "okay." sylus grabs his baby and cradles him to his chest. he peppers kisses into his hair and holds him tight. “no more. all done.”  “all done.” kyros sobs. sylus has to hold his back too.

kyros likes the nighttime, the outdoors. when he was sick, sylus often stood on the balcony and talked to him about the stars. somehow that absorbed. 

kyros thrives in music. you discovered this, when he was fussy one day, and you were tired and aching, and decided to hum a tune into the crown of his head as you rocked him side to side 

he quieted instantly, and you realize the vibrations of your voice have resonated in his skull— effectively calming him by buzzing like a bee

aside from papa, lucian is his next pillar of support. he tends to grasp onto lucian's hand and tug on his shirt when he gets that little bit scared.

likes the kitchen. happy to be in a carrier as you or sylus cooks. he likes the scents and the chop-chop-chop sounds. 

likes hats :) 

the first to bap! lucian when they got into a little argument. big emotions overwhelmed him easily, so when lucian took the stuffie from his hands, his little fist came down on lucian's thigh— it didnt hurt, but they were both told off and both cried 

kyros clung to lucian all day after that — “sowwi, see-yan, sowwi.” 🥺

the big twins still navigate around kyros more cautiously, trying to learn his subtlety, but they get it eventually. kyros reminds them of themselves when they were much smaller, seeking comfort and a safe space. they do everything in their power to provide that for him (and lucian too) 

kyros asks with little words, speech at a slower & steadier rate of development 

"papa home?" "squash! more?" (uses the little more gesture) "pease?" "hug! hug!" "one, two cookie? pease?" (spams the more gesture again)

uses your and sylus’s pet names for each other to address you sometimes

“ma bub (my love), papple juice, pease?” to papa  “peepie (sweetie), up?” to mama “peepart (sweetheart), pease? pease, peepart?” “na-night dadin' (darling)!” to lucian

likes apple juice 🧃💕

is super mesmerized by mephisto, but still gets surprised at his movements— flinches when mephisto shakes, freezes up when mephisto stretches his wings— but is trying to be friends. likes the jingling windchime sound mephisto does when he shakes his feathers.

loves story books. he appreciates whoever reads to him, curling himself around whoever’s arm, chubby little cheek pressed to a bicep as half-lidded eyes follow fingers hovering over words (will eventually learn to read first)

sleeps in this little kitty loaf position, with his fists in his eyes and his body curled in this child’s pose/fetal position 

sylus has to right him in his sleep so he doesnt ache in the morning

ʕ ꈍᴥꈍʔ: if youve made it this far, i wish i could give you a big hug. thank you for reading all about the littles. they're full of life & love, and there will be stories where they bring that out of sylus, mama & the big twins too, and i hope you stick around for that <3 ❀-urs

✧˚ ⋆｡ read more with the little twins here | first little twin headcanon | author's pick: little twins & big twins fic | more sylus thoughts ✧˚ ⋆｡

feel free to send in messages/questions/drabble requests about them in my inbox, I'll be happy to gush about them some more hehe ( ⸝⸝•ᴗ•⸝⸝ )੭⁾⁾♡

dividers by @saradika-graphics

thank you for reading!

[nekomasmngr]

✧. ┊ HQ CLUB ROOM - a hq x reader server

fandom is all about connection and community to me, and if you feel the same, i might know a spot...

✧. ┊about the server:

welcome to anyone age 18 or above

writers, artists, readers–it doesn't matter how you participate in fandom as long as you enjoy haikyuu and reader inserts

it has an additional selfshipping area

there's also an additional nsfw area

possible future events like big bangs or gift exchanges

absolutely no ai allowed there

the server is not meant to take away any of the community here on tumblr or elsewhere. it's supposed to be a little add-on, something that hopefully encourages more engagement in all fandom spaces!

goes without saying but you absolutely don't have to follow me in order to join, i'm just setting up the walls of the club room and nothing more

if you're interested in joining, please fill out this form to receive your invite link! that's all ♡

[nekomasmngr]

little comforts with the lads li’s

(a self-indulgent imagining of them with a neurodivergent MC)

✨ xavier & overstimulation

(not the sex kind, sorry. but probably that too) Xavier completely understands when you get overwhelmed by existing. he gets the same feeling sometimes. you develop a code for it eventually, a combination of eye contact and eyebrow-raising that signals to the other person that you need out, whether from a Hunter’s Association party or a grocery store with way too many people. back at home, you’ve created a haven together- eye masks and soft blankets for him, headphones and fidgets for you, whatever makes you feel peaceful and calmed. the ceiling lamp is absolutely not allowed- Xavier drapes the walls with soft spheres of light or swirls a firefly-glow of sparks along the bed in a warm canopy.

🎨 rafayel & hyperfixations/jumping hobbies

you might as well consider collecting hobbies a hobby in itself. crochet needles and yarn, jigsaw puzzles, a wood burning setup, a console and video games- whatever brings you joy, Rafayel is enthusiastically behind it. he doesn’t judge you for wanting to learn a new art style out of the blue- he’ll sign up for a pottery class with you and buy you pounds of clay. he loves your passion and enthusiasm and matches it with his own. he loves being creative with you, in whatever form it happens to take that day. plus, with the amount he spends on paint and canvas, he’s not about to judge you for getting boxes of new supplies for something. he’s hyping you up every time! even if it isn’t an interest he shares, he’s happy you’re happy.

🩺 zayne & health anxiety/ocd

no matter how many times you ask for it, Zayne is happy to give you reassurance. yes, that chicken was cooked all the way. you have a weird flutter in your chest? of course he'll listen to your heart. he listens to every symptom, every worry with unfailing patience. after all, he wants to be your protector, your safest place- this is just one way to be that for you. he never makes you feel irrational for your fears, just steadily helps you face them each and every time. he doesn't judge your compulsions, but he offers his expertise whenever you ask- he lets you take your temperature ten times a day but also explains the normal range and when to actually worry.

💭 sylus & overthinking

okay hear me out, this goes both ways: he helps ground you when you’re overthinking negatively but also supports you when you’re being enthusiastic about literally anything. he’s all in- if you have a favorite tv show he’s watching every episode and reading every analysis of it so you can discuss. he’s fully invested in your office drama, your gossip, your made-up stories about the bird family that lives outside your apartment window. but he also soothes you when you spiral into worry or fear. he happily goes through what-if scenarios with you, most of them ending in him spectacularly defeating anything that could ever threaten you. he makes it clear over and over again that you’re completely safe with him, physically and emotionally.

��️‍🩹 caleb & insecurity

his life mission to make you feel adored. he makes a point of worshipping every part of you, especially anything you consider a "flaw". nothing is too much or too little- you're perfect exactly as you are. if he overhears you complaining about your thick thighs on a call with Tara, he's going to be buried in them later that night, pressing kisses to every inch. he loves working out and training with you. if you want to get healthier he's gladly cooking fresh ingredients into nutritious meals and helping you build up a fun fitness routine- but if there's even a hint of it being because you don't like the way you look in the mirror? he's going to benchpress twice your body weight in front of you just to prove he can. or better yet, he flings you over his shoulder easily and brings you to the bedroom to "work on your confidence".

[nekomasmngr]

update: sylus came home but at what cost ;-; 90 pulls and had to crack out the wallet

i still want R3 im crazy

[nekomasmngr]

Noticed a little detail on sylus bday cake

Look at the twins ughhh my boys are included on the cakeee