Hearbreak Anniversary with Sylus
Summary: It was your anniversary with Sylus. One year of togetherness. But what if he does not show up when you expect him to? What if he was spending it with MC?
Pairing: Non MC! Reader x Sylus
Note: MC in this fic goes by the name Lina (my name... so if you are angry, you can be angry at me :3). This oneshot was based on this request. I will write this for the other LADS men too. Also I don't think any of these men would ever be the type to actually willlingly forget it. So I had to adapt the request a bit.
Rafayel version | Zayne version
Content Warning: injuries, panic, insecurities, self worth issues, blood, death, Sylus POV
It had been a year since you and Sylus had been together.
How this man, leader of Onychinus, with all his power, wealth, and the infamous reputation that made the N109 Zone bow at his feet—had fallen for you, of all people, remained a mystery. Perhaps it had been one of those dangerous, untraceable things, like the slow bloom of a wildfire, unpredictable and impossible to stop once ignited.
And yet, it had happened.
Sylus had told you he’d be back today. You remembered the way he’d said it, smug as ever, like he was indulging you in some little fantasy. “I’ll be back before you have time to miss me, sweetheart.”
That had been a week ago, before he left for a deal abroad. He had taken Luke and Kieran with him—his most trusted men, twins who seemed to share a single mind between them. And, of course, Lina, the Deepspace hunter who should have been arresting him, but somehow always ended up tangled in his orbit instead.
You hadn’t mentioned your plans to Sylus. If there was one thing you craved, it was the rare chance to catch him off guard for once.
The base was quiet today. You had given the chefs the day off and spent the better half of the afternoon in the kitchen yourself, cooking a meal that was hearty, rich—something that would remind Sylus that despite his empire of steel and blood, he had something warm waiting for him here.
And the gifts—what could you give a man who had everything? Who could have anything in the world with the mere curl of his fingers?
So, you made something with your own hands.
A hand-stitched crimson silk tie, embroidered subtly with black thread in the shape of a feather—your own nod to his empire. A custom-made pocket watch with an inscription hidden on the inside, words only he would ever see: Come home to me. And a small leather-bound notebook, filled with notes, half-written thoughts, and memories of the past year. A private piece of your heart, wrapped up in ink and paper. Next to the plates, a black velvet box rested, holding custom cufflinks shaped like crimson feathers, mirroring the streaks on his shirt.
The air in Sylus’ study was thick with the scent of the meal you’d spent hours preparing, rich spices and slow-cooked flavors meant to fill the room with warmth, with care. The table was set for two, lit by the soft glow of candles, the dim golden light reflecting off the dark mahogany of his desk. It was a quiet contrast to the usual sharp edges of the space, the atmosphere softened just for tonight. Just for him.
You had even opened a bottle of wine, anticipation humming in your chest like a live wire.
But the hours stretched, the evening creeping into the depths of night.
You tried calling him. But the line never connected.
How could that be? You had spoken to him just yesterday.
A cold unease coiled in your gut.
You tried calling Luke. Then Kieran.
The silence pressed in, thick and suffocating. The air smelled of rich spices, of the meal you had made, but the warmth had long since bled from the room.
Your fingers curled into the fabric of your dress as you paced.
Had something happened? Had the deal gone wrong? He never left you waiting without reason. And Luke and Kieran? They never ignored your calls.
A dozen worst-case scenarios flashed through your mind, none of them pleasant.Your heart pounded, and just when the thoughts threatened to spiral into something unbearable—
The screen lit up with Luke & Kieran. Relief surged, and you answered in an instant.
“Where the hell have you been? Are you all okay? Where’s Sylus?” The words rushed out, tangled with worry.
A beat of silence. Then, as expected, Luke spoke first, his voice carrying its usual playful lilt.
“Whoa, slow down, boss lady. We’re fine. Everything’s fine.”
Kieran’s voice followed, grounded and even. “Change of schedule. We’re flying back tomorrow instead.”
Your fingers tightened around the phone. “What? Why? Where’s Sylus?”
Another pause. You could hear Luke hesitate, which was never a good sign. “Ahh… yeah, about that—”
“Kieran,” you pressed, “where is he?”
There was a sigh on the other end before Kieran answered, blunt as always.
“Miss Hunter came down with a fever.”
“She was being fussy about seeing a doctor,” Luke added. “So, naturally, Sylus decided to stay and look after her.”
You heard Luke let out a nervous chuckle, the kind he only did when he knew he had just stepped into a landmine. “Y’know, the usual—boss being boss. Can’t have our little Deepspace hunter collapsing, right? He’s making sure she’s alright.”
Something in you twisted.
“He—” Your voice caught. “He’s staying behind for her?”
“Yeah,” Kieran confirmed. “We figured it’d be easier than dragging her onto the plane half-conscious. You know how she is.”
Luke chuckled. “Yeah, stubborn as hell. Kind of endearing though—”
The rest of his sentence faded into white noise.
Sylus wasn’t coming home.
Not tonight. Not for you.
Not for your anniversary.
Your fingers went numb around the phone as something heavy lodged itself in your throat. The carefully prepared meal, the handmade gifts, the effort you’d poured into making this night special—it all felt meaningless now.
Your free hand curled into a fist, nails digging into your palm. You swallowed, forcing your voice to stay steady.
“I see,” you said, quiet.
“Oh—wait, did you need something?” Luke asked, oblivious.
You almost laughed. Did you need something?
No. Apparently, you didn’t.
“Nothing,” you said. “Just… fly back safe, all of you. I’ll see you when you are back.”
You ended the call before they could say anything else.
Silence filled the room once more.
The meal on the table had gone cold. The wine in the glasses sat untouched.
And in the quiet, you stared at the chair where Sylus should have been—where you had thought he would be.
It wasn’t fair to be angry.
Lina’s sickness wasn’t something Sylus could have accounted for. If you had been in his place, you would have done the same—of course you would have. You would never leave someone behind in that condition, never abandon a friend in need.
But you weren’t Sylus. You weren’t a man who could summon entire fleets at a whim, who could command the world to bend at his feet.
Sylus had resources. If he wanted, he could have had her taken care of in the best medical facility in the world and still made it home to you. But he stayed. And you?
You didn’t even know where they were.
The thought stung, sharp and unrelenting, digging into the marrow of your bones.
You pressed your palm against your eyes, swallowing back the rush of emotions that threatened to consume you. Anger. Hurt. A rational voice in the back of your mind whispered that none of this was Sylus’ fault. That you were being unreasonable.
But emotions weren’t reasonable.
You had spent hours preparing this night. Thought of every detail. A meal made with your own hands. Gifts carefully chosen, stitched, inscribed. Every little thing was meant to remind Sylus that despite the world he ruled, despite the empire of steel and blood he had built, he had something warm waiting for him. Someone waiting for him.
A soul-bound connection...
You weren’t stupid. You had known about it, ever since Sylus told you—told you about a past life that Lina had no recollection of, about a sorceress and a dragon bound together by the threads of fate itself.
Not this life. Not this Sylus. Not this Lina.
But it didn’t matter, did it?
Your eyes burned, and you pressed your fingers against them, as if you could push back the rising sting of tears. No, this wasn’t Sylus’ fault. It wasn’t Lina’s either.
But that didn’t stop the pain.
Because it wasn’t just tonight, was it?
It was the lingering shadow of a story you had no part in.
But it didn’t matter, did it?
No matter how much you tried, no matter how much love you poured into this relationship, how could you ever stand against something forged by the universe itself?
It wasn’t just about tonight. It wasn’t just about the cold meal or the untouched gifts.
It was about that feeling—that sick, awful feeling twisting inside your chest.
You were nothing compared to a bond that had been written into the very fabric of fate. And what were you against that?
Mortal. Fleeting. A blip in the vast, endless history of what they had once been.
It made you feel so small.
No matter how much you tried, no matter how much you gave, the universe had already decided. Sylus belonged to someone else. Even if he chose you, even if he kissed you and whispered your name in the dark, you would never have what they had. You would never be the one his soul cried out for in the quiet.
The thought carved something deep inside you, raw and aching, a wound without a name.
You turned away from the dining table, from the abandoned dinner and the untouched wine, and picked up the plates with numb fingers. The weight of them felt heavier than it should have, or maybe it was just the weight of everything else pressing down on you.
The kitchen was silent save for the quiet clatter of porcelain as you methodically began packing the food into containers. Your movements were mechanical, automatic—store the food, seal the lids, stack them away. You barely registered what you were doing, lost in the storm raging inside you.
God, you loved him so much.
But was love enough? How was that supposed to stand against bonds forged by souls?
Your chest ached, your vision blurred, but you kept going. Container after container, hands moving with purpose even as your mind spiraled. You didn’t let yourself cry. Not now. Not yet.
It wasn’t until a cold gust of air brushed against the nape of your neck that you realized something was wrong.
The base was secure—always. Layers of defenses, reinforced doors, security measures that made it near-impossible for anyone to slip in unnoticed. And yet, something in the stillness of the space sent a prickle of unease down your spine.
Slowly, you turned your head.
The lights above flickered once. Twice.
Your heart slammed against your ribs.
The hum of the engine thrummed beneath Sylus’ fingers as the aircraft carved a path through the night sky. Outside the reinforced glass, the neon-soaked cityscape of the N109 Zone flickered like dying embers. His grip on the armrest was tight, his jaw set in a firm line as unease coiled in his gut.
He had tried calling you earlier, more than once, but each attempt had ended the same—no connection.
You always answered, always picked up on the first or second ring, even if it was just to snap at him for being an overbearing bastard. But tonight? Silence.
Kieran’s voice cut through the cockpit. “Dropping Lina off now. Shouldn’t take long.”
Sylus barely spared the exchange a glance as Luke helped the girl out, her feverish form was leaning against Kieran. He should have been relieved—getting her to the edge of N109 Zone meant she was going back to Linkon and being cared for.
Minutes later, when Kieran and Luke rejoined him, Sylus barely waited for them to strap in before he barked, “Move. Now…” as they drove towards the base.
Luke shot him a sidelong glance but, wisely, didn’t ask questions.
The base wasn’t far. They reached the outskirts in record time, but the second Sylus stepped off the vehicle, his pulse sharpened to a blade’s edge.
And right now, his own base felt foreign.
A flicker of movement caught his eye. His security grid had been tampered with. Not shut down—no, that would have triggered failsafes—but rerouted, bypassed just enough to avoid raising alarms.
Luke and Kieran noticed it at the same time.
Sylus turned to them, his red eyes gleaming under the low lights. One look was all it took.
They spread out, moving like shadows.
Kieran’s voice was calm, but there was an edge to it. “Boss lady was here yesterday.”
A muscle in Sylus' jaw ticked.
His gaze snapped to Kieran, but the man was already continuing. “Yesterday. Security logs picked her up before the system went dark.”
That cold feeling coiled into something heavier, denser. His gut twisted in a way he didn’t like.
Was she safe? Was she hurt?
And now you weren’t answering your goddamn phone.
He moved faster, his long strides carrying him through the halls with terrifying purpose. The first guard he saw was sprawled on the floor, unconscious, a dark bruise spreading along his jaw. Another lay slumped against the wall, barely breathing. Sylus crouched briefly, checking their pulse. Alive. But taken out efficiently.
A sharp exhale through his nose. He didn’t let the fear settle in his chest. Didn’t let it slow him down.
His mind burned through every logical step as he stalked through the base, checking rooms, searching for any trace of you. When he reached your shared room, his heart kicked up—only for it to plummet at the sight.
The door was ajar. The air inside was stale.
And everything was a mess.
The bed was unmade. The belongings scattered. Drawers left half-open. It looked like a fight had broken out—or someone had torn through the space in a rush.
Sylus never rushed. Never panicked. He was in control—always.
And yet, something dark and frigid curled in his chest as he pivoted, moving toward his study.
The moment he stepped inside, the scent of melted wax and aged wine hit him first. His gaze dropped, cataloging the scene in an instant.
A bottle of wine, uncorked.
Two glasses. One untouched.
The weight of realization hit him like a fist.
You had been waiting for him.
Something curdled in his stomach.
The back of his mind supplied a thought he refused to acknowledge. Had you left because of it? Had something snapped in you before someone else got here first?
Before he could spiral further, a voice crackled through his earpiece—sharp, panicked.
“Boss!” Luke’s voice. “Kitchen—now.”
Sylus was already moving before the transmission cut.
The moment he stepped in, his breath stilled.
The smell of food, faint and lingering, mixed with something coppery.
The table was overturned, food scattered, porcelain shards glinting in the dim light. A glass had shattered, its crimson contents smeared across the floor like blood—except there was blood.
Not just wine. A dark stain, drying.
Your phone lay cracked on the floor, its screen splintered beyond recognition.
Two unfamiliar men lay motionless nearby, their bodies in a puddle of blood where they had fallen. Not his men. Intruders.
Sylus’ blood turned ice-cold.
His fingers curled into fists, his Evol humming beneath his skin, barely restrained.
He should have been here yesterday.
That thought seared through Sylus’ mind like a molten brand, burning deeper with every heartbeat.
He should have flown back yesterday. Should have shoved Lina into a damn transport and sent her straight to Linkon without a second thought. Should have been here with you. Should have spent the night with you. Should have protected you.
Instead, he’d played nurse, wasted hours hovering over a feverish girl, while you—
His gut twisted as he moved through the wreckage. The kitchen was a battlefield, overturned chairs and smeared blood marking the violence that had taken place. His boots crunched over broken porcelain, and his breath came shallow, ragged.
He should have been here.
His study flickered in his mind—the candles, the untouched glass of wine, the boxes of presents you had set up. Always a step ahead of him. Always anticipating what he needed before he even realized it. You had been waiting for him. And he hadn’t come.
A sharp exhale hissed past his teeth, and he forced his focus back on the blood trail. It smeared across the floor, fading and reappearing in uneven patches—dragged footsteps. It wasn’t enough blood to be fatal, but it was too much for him to ignore. His pulse was a war drum in his ears as he followed it, every step carving another layer of dread into his spine.
Sylus barely registered his own movement as he wrenched it open.
Curled in on yourself, hidden between crates and spare supplies. Your limbs were tangled awkwardly, one hand clutching your side, the other barely shielding your face. Your breathing was shallow, uneven. A dark stain spread across your shirt—blood.
His knees hit the floor before he even processed it, his hands reaching, trembling. He never trembled. But now—
His fingers brushed your cheek.
His jaw clenched as he took in the bruises, the way your body remained so still, so eerily still—
It was slight, barely a twitch at first, but then—your breath hitched sharply, and before he could say a word, you jerked awake.
Wild, terrified eyes locked onto him.
And in the space of a heartbeat, you struck.
A flash of motion, a blade in your trembling grip—his grip shot out, catching your wrist before you could drive it into his throat. Your strength faltered, but your panic didn’t. Your chest heaved, your breath ragged and erratic. Fear clouded your gaze—real, visceral. You didn’t see him.
“Hey!” His voice was lower, rougher than he meant it to be. He forced himself to ease his grip on your wrist, slow and deliberate. “It’s me.”
You were still rigid, still shaking. He watched as your pupils dilated, as reality reassembled itself behind your exhausted eyes.
“It’s me, sweetheart...” he repeated, softer this time. His thumb brushed against your pulse point—too fast, too frantic.
A shudder passed through you, and then, slowly—finally—your body sagged. The tension bled out of your frame as your vision cleared, as recognition settled in.
Sylus caught you before you could slump forward.
His arms wrapped around you, pulling you against him, his body coiled with a thousand emotions he couldn’t untangle. You were hurt. You were bleeding. And he hadn’t been here.
His voice came quieter, steadier, even as everything inside him screamed. “I’ve got you, sweetheart.”
Sylus could feel the erratic hammering of your heart beneath his fingertips, the warmth of your blood seeping through his gloves. His mind was screaming, a cacophony of rage, grief, and self-recrimination, but none of it mattered—not when you were here, small and shaking in his arms.
And then, in a voice so quiet, so broken it shattered something inside him, you whispered:
The words weren’t an accusation. That would’ve been easier. No, they were worse. They were raw. A desperate, wounded thing, frayed at the edges. And gods, he would’ve taken a blade to the heart over this—over the way your voice cracked, over the way you curled into yourself, as if trying to make sense of the void he had left behind.
"I—" The word caught in his throat. It wasn’t enough. Nothing would be enough. He exhaled sharply, his grip tightening as though he could somehow hold you together when you’d already been torn apart.
"I’m sorry." The words rasped from him, raw and guttural. He pressed his forehead against yours, his breath uneven. "I’m so fucking sorry."
You swallowed thickly, the barest shudder rocking your frame. "I was waiting," you whispered. "I waited. But you never came."
Sylus squeezed his eyes shut. He had known—known—the moment he saw the candles in his study, the untouched wine, the careful arrangement of gifts, that you had been waiting. That you had planned this night, had prepared for him. And he had never told you he wouldn't be there.
And now you were bleeding in his arms.
"I should’ve told you," he murmured, his voice cracking. "I should’ve—fuck—I was too far up my own head. I was wrong. I was so goddamn wrong."
Your fingers curled weakly into the fabric of his coat. He could feel the way you were holding yourself together, could hear the pain in your ragged breathing, and yet—
A sharp exhale hissed past Sylus’ teeth, his jaw tightening. Even now, even after everything, you were asking about someone else. Worrying about someone else. His fingers trembled as he brushed your hair back from your face.
"You should be worried about yourself," he murmured, his voice softer now, almost chiding. "Lina’s fine. She’ll be fine. But you—" His throat tightened. "You’re the one who needs help right now, sweetheart."
Your breath hitched, and he felt you sag against him, whether from exhaustion or relief, he couldn’t tell.
"I saw the study, with the candles and the presents" he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper now. "I saw the kitchen with the food."
His fingers brushed against your cheek, reverent, as if touching something fragile, something he didn’t deserve.
“You were waiting for me.”
“I should have been here…” he whispered.
A sharp inhale from you, barely audible. “The food is ruined…”
"I know. But you did what you had to, sweetheart. You were brave," he murmured, pressing his lips to your temple. "So damn brave." His hands curled against your back, his grip steady, anchoring. "But you never should’ve had to be."
His voice shook then, something fractured bleeding through. "I should’ve been here. I should’ve been protecting you. I should’ve been celebrating with you, not—" He swallowed hard, his breath shuddering.
Not finding you like this. Not watching you bleed.
He tilted his head forward, burying his face against your hair, his breath unsteady.
“I failed you.” The words tasted like rust on his tongue. “I should have been here. I should have been protecting you instead of being away. I should have been celebrating our time, our love with you, not—” His jaw clenched, his grip tightening. “Not finding you like this.”
Another shudder passed through your frame. Then, slowly—hesitantly—you curled against him, your body giving out, trusting him to hold you up.
He held you like you were something sacred, something irreplaceable.
And for the first time in longer than he could remember, he felt his own confidence falter.
He had always been the one in control. The one who planned ahead, who anticipated every threat, every move. But now, kneeling here with you trembling in his arms, beaten and bleeding because he hadn’t been there—
He wasn’t in control of a damn thing.
But more than that—he hated that you had ever felt alone.
Sylus gritted his teeth as he slid his arms beneath you, carefully lifting you against his chest. The moment your body shifted, a sharp, barely-there whimper escaped you, and his stomach twisted violently. His hold tightened instinctively, as if he could somehow absorb the pain for you.
“I know, sweetheart,” he rasped. “I know it hurts. I’m sorry.”
Your breath was shallow against his neck, but you didn’t resist when he pulled you closer, cradling you against him as he rose to his feet. You were too weak to fight it. Too hurt. And that realization cut through him worse than any blade ever could.
“You need medical attention,” he said, his voice low and firm, more for himself than for you. “And I need to get you somewhere safe.”
His mind was already burning through possibilities. Where to take you. Who to trust. The fastest route, the safest location, the cleanest supplies. But beneath the cold, calculated thoughts was something else—something raw and unbearable, curling tight around his chest like barbed wire.
“You’re too damn patient with me,” he murmured, his voice thick. “I’m a fool. A goddamn fool, and I don’t deserve it.”
Your fingers curled again weakly against the fabric of his coat. He nearly stopped breathing. Even now, after everything, you still reached for him.
“I’ll make it up to you,” he promised. “Until my last fucking breath.” His heart slammed against his ribs, his mind spiraling with everything he hadn’t said, everything he hadn’t done. Every moment he should have been here, instead of lost in his own head, buried in responsibilities that suddenly felt insignificant compared to the weight of you in his arms.
“I love you,” he admitted, the words slipping free before he could stop them. “Too much to lose you. Do you understand?” His grip on you firmed, as if anchoring himself to the reality of having you here. “You are the only light in the perpetual darkness of N109. The only light in my life.”
He exhaled sharply, steadying himself, steadying you.
“And I will never lose that.”
His grip on you was secure as he carried you forward, out of the wreckage, away from the blood and broken glass
“You found me…” you whispered, barely more than a breath.
His arms tightened around you. “I’ll always find you.”
You shifted slightly in his arms, your voice weak but steady as you met his gaze, eyes glistening with the faintest hint of something like trust.
“I know you’ll make it right,” you whispered, your fingers brushing his cheek, a soft touch amidst the chaos. "You always do."
Sylus paused, his breath catching at the warmth of your words, a flicker of relief sparking through the storm of guilt that had clouded his chest. “Sweetheart, I never want it to get to this point, ever again and I never will let it come to that.”
"I don't need you to be perfect," you murmured, your eyes meeting his for a moment, steady despite the pain. "I just need you to stay."
Sylus' heart twisted, and he swallowed thickly, the weight of those words pressing down on him. He had never been the kind of man to believe in redemption—not for someone like him. But in that moment, he could almost taste it. The possibility.
He leaned his forehead against yours once more, his breath shaky but filled with something that burned a little less than guilt.
"I’ll stay, sweetheart," he vowed softly. "I’ll stay. And I’ll fight for us... for as long as you’ll have me."
The future between the two of you, uncertain as it was, seemed a little less dark. There were wounds to heal, scars to mend—but there was also time. Time that, for the first time in a long while, didn’t feel like it was running out.
Maybe, just maybe, there was something worth fighting for after all.
AN: reblogs, feedback and opinions are appreciated!
Rafayel version | Zayne version
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