they should invent a high ponytail that doesn’t give me a headache and they should invent a low ponytail that doesn’t make me look like a miller’s apprentice going off to enlist in the continental army
sylus right now seems to have absolutely zero respect for the concept of working from home.
you’re sitting on the couch with your laptop resting on your thighs, typing out a report for the association. you are right in the middle of typing a very professional sentence when the cushion beside you sinks down drastically.
a second later, a silver head drops right onto your laptop keyboard.
sylus stretches out across the rest of the couch, completely unbothered, using your laptop and by extension–your lap, as his personal pilloww. his heavy shoulder blocks your view of the screen and his silver hair instantly presses against your keys, creating a random string of letters.
hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhjjjjjjkkg.
“sylus,” you sigh, staring down at him. “i’m in the middle of a report.”
“delete it,” he rumbles, voice low and lazy against your thigh. “it looks boring.”
“it’s an official report of a wanderer!” you say, trying to nudge his shoulder but he’s like a block of concrete. he dosen’t move an inch. “get off, you’re typing gibberish.”
sylus lets out a deep, vibrating huff that warms your leg through your pants. slowly, his head slides off the laptop and fully into your lap. he tilts his head up to look at you. his piercing red eyes are full of pure, sleepy mischief and that familiar, arrogant smirk is firmly in place.
“let the association handle it,” he says smoothly, reaching to slap the laptop shut. it snaps close, trapping his fingers before he pulls them free. “you’ve been staring at that little box for two hours, kitten. pay attention to me instead.”
“you’re a giant menace,” you huff, crossing your arms and glaring down at him.
“whatever you say, sweetie,” he replies with lazy fondness.
he dosen’t even wait for you to start arguing again. he reaches his large, long, hands up, hooks them under your arms and effortlessly pulls you down. you let out a large gasp as you slide off the couch cushions and collapse right into his broad chest. your laptop slides harmlessly onto the carpet.
sylus wraps his arms around your waist, locking you flag against him. he feels like a furnace, chest rising and falling beneath your cheek.
“sylus! let me up, i need to send that–”
“shh. you’re making too much noise, sweetie,” he chides playfully, voice dropping to a comfortable drawl.
he tucks his chin over the top of your head, long fingers rubbing circles into the small of your back, effectively melting all the tension out of your spine.
you try to wiggle out of his grip, but it’s completely useless. he’s too warm, too strong and entirely too comfortable. with a defeated sigh, you let your forehead drop against his collarbone, your hands curling into his shirt.
“i hate you,” you mumble into his chest.
sylus just chuckles, a deep sound that echoes right under your ear. he presses a quick, lazy kiss to the crown of your head, his grip tightening just a fraction to keep you right where you are.
“sure you do,” he purrs, his eyes closing as he settles in for a nap. “now stay still. you make a good blanket.”
synopsis: sylus has no fears. what? what do you mean, needles? that makes no sens—
alright, scratch that. sylus has one fear.
tags: fluff, needles obvs, vague description of vaccination process, reader is adamant that sylus gets this shot, he’s a chicken, resonating, domesticisms at the end
word count: 900
to combat a virus that seems to disproportionately affect evolvers, all eligible individuals have been given a new preventative vaccine.
almost all of them, anyway.
“come on!” you huff, pushing with all your might. “it won't be that bad!”
“why don't you try again, kitten? you almost moved me an inch that time.”
this early in the morning, the pharmacy parking lot is mostly empty. but by the time you finally manage to drag sylus inside, you fear they'll already be closed for the day.
you'd gotten your shot weeks ago, the only side effect being a bit of soreness. but every time you asked sylus how his shot went, he always found a way to dodge the question. after days of back-and-forth and a 30-minute interrogation, you’d reached a harrowing conclusion:
sylus was afraid of needles.
“it’s not as odd as you think,” he’d said while you gaped at him. “believe it or not, i value my life. why should i let a stranger skewer me and thank them for it?”
you’d booked his appointment at the store nearest to you the very next day.
“stop being a baby!” you groan. “it’ll literally take ten seconds.”
“i don’t know, sweetie.” planting his heels further into the asphalt, he halfheartedly picks at his nails. “i could get used to the sound of you calling me ‘baby.’”
“what if you get sick because you didn't get the treatment?” you change tactics, putting your hands on your hips. “i’ll be so sad and lonely.”
“you can set up a lawn chair next to my grave. be sure to wear sunscreen.”
your hands leave your sides to fly up in the air. ugh. “you—” ugh. “you…” ugh!!
sylus blinks lazily. “can we go home now?”
“no.” you breathe slowly through your nose, a slight wheeze blowing through. “you leave me no choice.”
snatching his arm into a crushing bear hug, you feel the familiar rush of resonance flow through your body. once you’ve adopted his evol, red and black ropes coil around his wrists.
mustering all your energy, you brace yourself and pull with all your might. in slow motion, your boyfriend torpedoes through the pharmacy doors.
despite his protests, you don't look back until you’ve made it to the reception area.
“there.” you stop resonating, and the ropes disappear. “now tell them you're here for your appointment.”
sylus only scowls at you, a slight growl rumbling in his throat.
if you weren’t in public, you’d growl back. instead, you cross your arms. “i can do that part for you, too, if you're feeling shy.”
as seconds pass, his hackles drop, and his figurative ears lay flat on his head. warily, he stalks toward the check-in station.
──────
the heat ripples off him in waves.
after fifteen torturous minutes of waiting, the short brunette pharmacist finally calls sylus to the back. when he hears his name, his body tenses. then, slowly, he slinks out of his seat.
“good luck!” you call from the comfort of your chair, flipping absently through a lifestyle magazine.
when you make no move to follow him, he stares at you in unease. “you’re not coming?”
“do i need to?”
his jaw clenches. “it would be nice.”
at that, you suppress a laugh—he doesn't need to be any more agitated right now. shrugging, you flip the magazine closed and follow him to the side door, where the pharmacist ushers you in with a warm smile. at least this way, you can keep an eye on him.
──────
it’s funny how a man with so many battle scars winces at the sting of a tiny needle. he nearly crushes your hand when it pierces his skin, squeezing with the force of an embattled legion. you only reclaim the feeling in your fingers once the needle is removed, and sylus’s deep exhale fills the room.
“alright, sir, you’re all done!” the pharmacist chirps. “we recommend you hang back here for around twenty minutes so we can monitor potential side effects, but after that, you're free to go.”
minus his twitching eye, sylus looks like he's frozen in time. ever the caretaker, you step in for him with a smile. “thank you!”
──────
the next morning, you attempt to roll out of bed and start your day, only to find that you can’t.
sylus can get touchy in his sleep, but usually not to this extent. this morning, his entire right arm is draped over you, its bulk anchoring you to the bed.
after several unsuccessful attempts to wriggle free, you trail your eyes up his topless body, all the way to his face. he’s gazing back at you, a slight smirk on his lips. because of course he is.
“after yesterday, i can barely lift it. so i guess we’re stuck here, just like this. for hours, maybe. who knows?” he yawns exaggeratedly and nuzzles into the crook of your neck, nipping gently at the skin. “these are just the consequences of your actions, i suppose.”
“oh, yes. it’s my fault for trying to keep you healthy.” grumbling, you try to lift his leaden arm, to no avail.
with a low, victorious hum, he soothes the sting on your neck with a kiss.
“fine,” you grunt. yesterday, he let you win. you suppose you can return the favor. “go back to sleep, then. you big baby.”
does the body ALWAYS have to keep the score? maybe we could just have a friendly game this time. maybe we can just have fun without putting numbers on it
sometimes life is getting a coffee so you have energy to call your friends, joining the call, and then having everyone leave before you're even halfway finished with the coffee
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