Turth be told, Sylus has never had such a genuine and at ease smile on his lips as he had the first time you finally, finally fell asleep with him.
It was an uphill battle. For one, you struggled to sleep normally. Always going to bed too late snd waking up just before he was about to sleep himself.
And for two, even when hed try to go to sleep with you, you wouldn't. Not unless he was asleep. You'd cuddle with him, yes, but never sleep. Sylus kept his thoughts to himself, but he thought It was very cat like how you couldn't sleep if he was watching.
But tonight? You were just about tired enough. Your eyelids heavy as you laid in his arms, when normally you'd swear you two were just horizontally hugging.
And then you fell asleep. Breath evened out, body relaxing.
A victory in its own right. Sylus didnt even dare to breathe, in case his chest moving or warm air hitting your head would stir you. Even when his body started to feel numb, he didnt move.
Sylus would keep you here forever, if he could. Hopefully this was the first of many. A part of him, while wanting to just watch you all night, can't help but feel sleep, which is normally elusive at this hour, tug at him. Maybe due to the weight of you on his chest. Or, the snores leaving your mouth that youll deny come morning.
And well... when you finally do wake up, its to sylus' own gentle snores. He's so loud... but you arent too annoyed when you scoot closer and shut your eyes again.
Note: misunderstanding trope, also, this is not how it happens in real life, but this is supposed to be a crack fic sooo
"Thank you for coming to see me in such a short notice, Mr. and Mrs. Qin," your daughter's elementary school teacher said, sitting in the desk in front of you two.
"Of course!" you exclaimed, but at the sound of silence from your husband, you elbowed him slightly, only for him to return a grunt.
After a call from your daughter's teacher, you ran over as fast as you could. While you were the image of concern, your husband, unfortunately, was still in the "my daughter can do no wrong" phase, and came to the parent-teacher meeting with a sour attitude, his leather jacket, and arms crossed while he sat in the tiny chair in front of her desk.
In order to keep your daughter humble despite her father's spoiling, you had to be the strong front here.
"You see," she started out, "your daughter said something very concerning..." Her eyes darted from you to your husband.
"She isn't getting bullied, is she?" you worriedly blurted out. Your mind raced at a thoughts thoughts per minute. You didn't think you were vindictive, but if something happened to your baby, you would go scorched earth.
"What? Oh, oh no," she replied, shaking her head.
"She..." you started out slowly. "She isn't the bully...is she?" Sylus scoffed at your side, causing you to shoot him a glare that immediately shut him up.
You knew that your daughter was a very sweet girl, but you also knew that with Sylus as her father...she was used to getting her way, and with her boxing training, you knew that she could be a bit...rougher than others.
"Well—" the teacher started out while you grimaced. "She is very, very sweet with the girls in the class. She's extremely friendly with them, always sharing her school supplies and food with them, and they all seem to love her back. The boys...however..."
Sylus raised an eyebrow.
"I'll be very frank with you. She treats the boys in the class like servants. While she's very kind to the girls, she's very direct and assertive with the boys, and she has them carrying her water bottle and lunch pail, open the door, and pull out her chair for her."
Your jaw dropped—Every time you asked her how school was, she never bothered to mention this!
Sure, her dad always opened the car door for her, carried her backpack to and from pickup and drop off, and the twins called her "little boss," but you never thought she thought that was just how the world worked!
"And they let her?!" you said, aghast.
"Some of them have a crush on her, I believe—" You held Sylus from the back of his jacket once he straightened. "So I think that's why they let her boss them around. This shouldn't be encouraged. Once I saw this behavior, I pulled her aside to privately tell her that that wasn't appropriate, and she said her older brothers—"
Your jaw dropped even more. The twins?!
"Told her that if the boys in her class protested and wouldn't do her bidding anymore, like her mom to her dad, she should 'roughen them up,' 'use force,' and—I'm not even sure why she knows this phrase, and I had to decipher it when she told me because she clearly didn't know the words, she should 'whip him into submission.'"
"HUH?" you shouted, but Sylus burst out laughing beside you. Once he realized that this meeting wasn't about criticizing his sweet little dove anymore, his mood did a 180.
She was telling people you "whipped her father into submission"?! That you "roughen him up"?!
"Of course, you can see that this is highly concerning, and as a mandated reporter—"
"Sylus!" you shouted against his laughs. "Qin Che!" Oh, he knew you were serious when you pulled out his government name, but that made him lose his breath even more. "This isn't funny! Your daughter is going out there saying that I—I beat my husband or something!"
"Oh, I like it when you do though," Sylus cooed, putting his hand behind your tiny plastic chair.
"And I can't believe the twins taught her that—! Stop laughing and listen to me!"
The teacher's eyes widened when the situation became clear before her, and her face became more and more pink by the second.
"Don't worry," Sylus smirked toward the poor woman. "My wife may beat me, but," his smile grew wider as he leaned in as if he wanted to kiss you. Your head whipped around at the slander, jaw to the floor. "I let her."
Face aflame, you pushed his face back before his lips could connect with yours. In front of the teacher no less! You didn't want to make out in front of your daughter’s teacher!
"C'mon, I know you can hit me harder than that, sweetie."
Synopsis: You spent a yeah, trying to make something grow in N109.
Characters: Sylus x Non-MC!reader
Warnings: fluff
A/N: idgaf about N109 being unsuitable for plants. I want them there.
It was a quiet evening. You were curled up on Sylus’s lap, absentmindedly playing with his fingers while soft music drifted from the vinyl player.
“What are you thinking about?” Sylus asked.
“Nothing much,” you hummed. “Just thinking about spending an abysmal amount of money from your card.”
His chest rumbled beneath your ear as he chuckled.
“You? Spending an abysmal amount of money? Color me surprised. Didn’t you insist on working so you’d have your own money? I still think it’s ridiculous, by the way.”
You huffed.
“Well… yes, but I have one idea, and it’s pretty expensive, so…”
You traced random symbols over his hand with your fingertips.
“Oh?” His tone shifted, amusement giving way to curiosity. “Now I’m interested. What’s gotten into your head that you’re suddenly okay with using my money? Not that I’m complaining, mind you.”
“Nope, not telling you! It’s a surprise for your birthday.”
You giggled, pleased with yourself.
“Sweetie, do you realize my birthday was a week ago?”
“Hmph, duh. I’m already preparing for the next one. My idea is huge and will need a lot of time… and money. Honestly, it would’ve been easier in Lincoln, but I want to try doing it in N109.”
You kept idly playing with his fingers, pretending not to notice how attentive he had become.
“Now I’m curious,” he said slowly. “What are you planning that requires a whole year?”
“Nuh-uh. Not telling you. It’s a surprise.”
You grinned mischievously.
Sylus leaned back slightly, his arms tightening around you as if he were anchoring you in place.
“You’re planning something big,” he said after a moment, more thoughtful now. “In N109. Using my money. And refusing to tell me what it is.”
“Mhm.”
“And I’m just supposed to sit back and let it happen?”
“Exactly.”
A soft, disbelieving laugh escaped him.
“You’re bold.”
You smiled and settled more comfortably against his chest, your fingers finding his again.
“You love that about me.”
There was a pause.
Then, quieter:
“I do.”
His thumb brushed over your knuckles, slower this time, more deliberate.
“Just don’t overwork yourself,” he added. “Or stress over it. Whatever it is, I’d rather have you than your ‘perfect’ idea.”
You stilled for a second, then tightened your fingers around his.
“…You’ll get both,” you promised softly. “Just don’t try to find out what it is, okay? I know that if you really wanted to, you’d figure it out in seconds.”
“I promise, sweetie.”
That was how your year of grueling work began.
You declared one of the rooms in his mansion completely off-limits to everyone, especially Sylus. The twins had tried to peek in exactly once and very quickly learned that curiosity could, in fact, be a dangerous habit. And that you can be scarier than Sylus.
Sylus, to his credit, kept his promise. He only watched the charges roll in on his bank account with a faintly amused expression and let you do your thing.
You knew N109 was no place for plants. The environment was too harsh, the sunlight was nonexistent. But you wanted to give him something soft anyway. Something alive. Something that could grow in the middle of all that steel and darkness.
You spent an absurd amount of his money, argued with suppliers, ordered special equipment, canceled it, reordered it, then spent days testing conditions and making adjustments. Slowly, painfully, you transformed the room into a technological marvel – greenhouse, packed with advanced systems to regulate temperature, humidity, light, and airflow. It still wasn’t exactly what you had first imagined. Your original idea had been much bigger. But one year simply had not been enough time to make your dream as grand as you wanted it to be. Still, you kept going after every failed attempt. Every wilted sprout. Every adjustment that made things worse before they got better.
And now, a week before his birthday, you stood in front of the door with your hand gripping the handle, heart thudding painfully against your ribs.
You took a deep breath and looked up at him with an embarrassed little smile.
“It… was supposed to be bigger,” you admitted. “But I ran out of time.”
Sylus’s expression softened almost immediately, though the corner of his mouth still hinted at amusement.
Then, remembering something, you stepped back and pulled a strip of black fabric from behind your back.
“Here. Cover your eyes.”
With an amused smirk, Sylus lowered his head so you could tie the fabric around his eyes.
“Do you trust me?” you asked quietly, trying to sound casual despite how hard your heart was beating.
“I always trust you.”
That alone made your chest ache.
Once you were sure he couldn’t see a thing, you opened the door and carefully guided him inside.
The room smelled different immediately. Not like the rest of the mansion. Not like polished metal, expensive cologne, gunpowder. And certainly not like N109. This room smelled faintly of damp earth, fresh leaves, and something floral. You led him forward, one careful step at a time, until you reached the corner of the room. Then you stopped.
Your fingers tightened around his sleeve. You exhaled slowly.
“It’s not exactly what I planned,” you admitted, suddenly painfully aware of how small your voice sounded. “But… it’s something.”
You hesitated, then added, “You can take the cloth off now.”
Sylus did so slowly.
For a moment, he said nothing.
You watched his expression carefully, dread and hope twisting together in your chest as you waited for his reaction.
The corner of the room had been turned into a tiny flower field. Not a literal field, of course, but enough to give the illusion of one. A carefully arranged patch of rich dark soil and layered planters, all stretching out in rows of deep red daturas. Their blooms opened toward the artificial light above them like small, dangerous stars.
You watched Sylus’s face carefully as he stared at it.
At first, there was only silence. Then his red eyes moved slowly across the room, taking in every detail: the flowers, the lighting, the care with which everything had been arranged, the fact that you had clearly spent months making sure this would work. His expression changed little by little. The amusement faded first. then the surprise. Then something quieter, softer, almost reverent flashed on his face. His gaze returned to the flowers, and for a moment he looked completely still.
You swallowed.
“I know it’s not huge,” you said quickly, suddenly afraid he would think it was too small, too much work for too little result, too humble for his birthday. “And I know it’s not like the original idea. I wanted more space, more color, more…well, everything, really. But the environment here made everything harder than I thought, and some of the plants didn’t survive the first few tries, and…”
Sylus turned to you. You stopped talking.
He stepped closer, slowly, as if afraid that any sudden movement might break the moment.
“You did this for me?” he asked quietly.
There was no teasing in his voice now. No smugness. No faint grin.
You nodded, suddenly shy.
“I wanted you to have something that belonged to you. Something alive.” Your voice wavered a little. “N109 can be so cold sometimes. I thought… maybe this would make it feel a little less cold and lonely.”
He looked at you for a long moment. Then his eyes drifted back to the flowers. Something unreadable flickered across his face.
“You spent a year on this.”
You tried to shrug, though your throat felt tight.
“Yeah. More or less.”
Sylus’s hand lifted, hovering near one of the blooms.
“These are daturas,” he said softly, as if remembering a long forgotten dream.
You nodded, a little relieved that he recognized them.
“Red ones. I thought they suited you.”
A faint smile touched his mouth.
“They do.”
The words were so quiet you almost missed them. Then he looked back at you, and this time there was no hiding the emotion in his gaze. It was warmer than usual.
“You made a garden in my house,” he said, almost as if he still could not believe it.
“A tiny one.”
“Still a garden.”
You gave a small, helpless laugh.
“I know it’s not perfect.”
Sylus stepped closer until there was barely any space left between you.
His hand came up to your face, knuckles brushing your cheek with devastating gentleness.
“It is perfect,” he said.
Your breath caught.
“It’s mine,” he continued, voice low and full of something that made your heart skip a beat. “Because you made it for me.”
He pressed his forehead briefly to yours, hand still cradling your cheek.
“Thank you,” he murmured. “For this… for all of it.”
And suddenly, all the exhaustion, all the failed attempts, all the long nights and stubborn frustration felt worth it. Because the look in his eyes told you everything you needed to know.
as someone who loves gardening and planting, this means sm to me oh… i need this written word by word in my heart now oh author u are truly the best 🥹❤️🩹
Synopsis: After the worst day imaginable, you storm into Sylus’s meeting and remind everyone exactly who runs this place.
Characters: Sylus x Non-MC!reader
Warnings: mild violence, fluff
A/N: yeah i'm tired and want to order someone around
You had a really bad day.
It felt like everything had conspired to make your life miserable. You overslept and only woke up when your boss called. That meant skipping your morning routine, skipping breakfast and rushing out the door to catch an Uber.
The driver took the longest route possible and ignored your warnings about the usual traffic jam on the main road. So you ended up being even more late. By the time you stumbled into the office, there was already a mountain of work waiting for you. And since you were late, lunch was no longer an option as you had to catch up.
By the end of the day, you were stressed, overworked, starving, and on the verge of a breakdown. You barely remembered how you got to N109, driven purely by the need to fall into Sylus’s arms and forget everything.
The twins met you at the entrance and tried to stop you, but you brushed past them without listening. Your brain only registered one thing: Sylus was in the conference room. So that’s where you went, storming through the halls.
Only when you pushed the doors open and saw a table full of men did it finally register.
He was in a meeting.
Too late to back out now.
“The meeting is adjourned,” you said sharply, glaring at everyone.
Sylus raised a brow, lips twitching into an amused smirk. He leaned back in his chair, saying nothing, just watching.
A few of his men exchanged glances, unsure how to react. Sylus, who normally didn’t tolerate interruptions, was… letting this happen. And that was the only answer they needed. Most of them started to leave. Of course, one of the younger ones decided to speak up.
“I don’t think you have the right to order us around, missy,” he said smugly, ignoring the warning looks from the others. He also didn’t notice the way Sylus straightened slightly in his chair, eyes sharp with interest of a man ready to dissect a frog.
Unlucky for the poor bastard, you were too far gone to back down. You crossed the room in a few strides, gripping the back of his chair with one hand while the other shot forward to grab his chin, your nails digging into his skin.
“What? No one told you the truth?” you said coldly and leaned in closer. “The entire N109 exists for me. You’re all here to serve me.” Your nails pressed deeper, enough to draw blood. “So when I say the meeting is over, it’s over. And all of you need to get the fuck out.” Your voice rang with fury.
By now, most of the men had already slipped out. The poor idiot in front of you looked like his brain had completely shut down.
“Do I make myself clear?” you hissed.
He nodded quickly. Only then did you let him go.
He scrambled away, dragged out by the last remaining men. You caught a glimpse of the bloody crescent marks your nails had left behind and felt a dark flicker of satisfaction. The door clicked shut.
And just like that, all the anger drained out of you. You turned and made a beeline for Sylus, collapsing into his lap. Your arms wrapped around him as you buried your face into the crook of his neck, breathing him in, spice and whiskey, warm and grounding. The tight knot in your chest finally began to loosen.
“Well, well,” Sylus murmured, clearly amused. “That was quite a performance.”
You only whined and pressed closer. He let out a low laugh.
“Don’t get shy now. You were so fierce a moment ago.”
“Shut up,” you mumbled, clinging to him tighter. You took a breath, bracing yourself. “Had a bad day. Needed you. They were in the way,” you muttered quickly. Then added softer, “M’sorry.”
His arms tightened around you.
“Don’t apologize,” he said quietly. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
His fingers slid into your hair, gently threading through the strands.
“You’re not angry?” you asked, voice small.
“Why would I be?” he hummed. “You’re finally using your authority. I built this place for you. You’re the one in charge.”
He paused, then added lightly,
“I’ll adjust.”
Your chest tightened, overwhelmed, and you pressed closer, blinking back tears.
“Now,” he murmured against your hair, “how about a hot bath and a massage?”
His hand traced slow, soothing patterns along your back.
sylus never lets you top. not because he’s scared you’ll do a bad job. because he knows you’ll do too fucking well.
he’s a control freak. a snob. a bastard about it. he likes making you cry with your own pleasure, likes saying shit like “that’s it, sweetheart, use that brain for moaning instead,” while he’s got you bent over the desk he does diagnostics on.
he calls you greedy for asking and desperate for dripping, and then he lets you do both anyway, slow and mean, until you’re sobbing into the pillow and he’s wiping his cock on your thigh.
so when you ask—sweet as you can, pretty little “can i ride it?” like it’s innocent, like it’s not a death sentence—he just scoffs.
“you?” deadpan. flat. biting the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. “you’d break in thirty seconds.”
you pout. he raises one brow.
“oh, please. you’d get on top and cry the second you sat down. i know you.”
you tell him fine. you dare him. and for some reason—maybe he’s tired, maybe he’s cocky, maybe he wants to watch you try and fail—he says yes. big mistake.
because you don’t just sit. and that’s where he fucks up.
because you don’t flinch. don’t squirm. don’t stall out like he’s always expected you to. you just climb into his lap like you’ve done it a hundred times, like you haven’t been dreaming about it with your hand between your thighs for weeks, like the wet spot on your panties hasn’t already mapped out every single bounce you plan to take.
you brace on his chest. guide him in slow.
and when the tip catches—you don’t pause, don’t gasp, don’t even blink. you sink down in one slow, syrupy motion, hiss out a breath through your teeth, and say, perfectly calm, “huh. thought it’d hurt more.”
his hand spasms. he looks up at you like you’ve cursed him.
you smile. “you good, baby?”
“don’t—” he says, voice already raw. “don’t call me that.”
“why not?” you lean forward, hips grinding, slick soaking his thighs. “you’re letting me ride it, aren’t you? isn’t that what good boys do?”
he twitches. cock jumps. his fingers dig into your waist like he wants to ruin you just to win a single round, but it’s too late. he’s already losing. he’s already so fucking deep it should be criminal, and you’re still rolling your hips in lazy little circles like you’ve got all the time in the world and nothing to prove.
“fucking—stop—”
“why?” you murmur, syrup-sweet. “scared i’ll make you cum?”
he’s panting now, red creeping up his throat. he looks furious. he looks gorgeous. he looks like he’s seconds away from breaking—so you bounce. once.
and he chokes. “fuck—”
“what was that?” you tease. “you like that?”
you bounce again. slow. drawn out. and his mouth drops open. hands flying to your hips. not to stop you—oh no. just to feel it. just to hold on.
you’re ruining him. you know it. he knows it. god probably knows it.
he’s trying to glare but his eyes are glassy and his jaw is slack and his brows are pinched like he’s trying not to moan, trying not to admit that you were right and he was wrong and you’re better at this than he is.
and you are. you are. you grind again, clench down mean, and lean in to kiss the corner of his mouth just as you feel him throb.
“fuck—fuck—i’m gonna—”
“cum.”
“don’t—” he gasps. “don’t say that, i’m—”
“cum for me,” you whisper, and you swear to god he whimpers, full-body shudder, hips jerking once before he gives in, before he breaks wide open and spills himself inside you in hot, shaking pulses, cock twitching so hard you feel it in your ribs.
he pants. moans. melts beneath you like he’s been dismantled from the spine out. you don’t move. you stay seated. leaking. still smug. and you stroke his hair once, real gentle, just to twist the knife.
“thirty seconds, huh?” you murmur. he doesn’t answer. because he can’t.
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