Sweet Seals For You, Always
⁂
pixel skylines
Xuebing Du
sheepfilms
will byers stan first human second
No title available
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
JVL
Sade Olutola
Kiana Khansmith
No title available
JBB: An Artblog!
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
Stranger Things
Aqua Utopia｜海の底で記憶を紡ぐ
Monterey Bay Aquarium
Three Goblin Art
d e v o n
shark vs the universe
seen from United States
seen from United Kingdom
seen from United States
seen from Spain
seen from Malaysia
seen from Germany
seen from United States
seen from United Kingdom
seen from United Kingdom
seen from Japan
seen from Iraq
seen from United States
seen from Italy
seen from United Kingdom
seen from United Kingdom
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Malaysia
seen from Germany
seen from United States
@crazybutconfidentaf
Crow family Pt. Pretty music
Sylus is badly hurt.
Kieran: I did hear you say you were gonna kill him if he messed up.
MC: I didn't-
Luke: I heard it too-
MC:
Luke: But if you're gonna kill me too, then all I heard was pretty music.
MC and Kieran:
Luke, quietly: Lalala..~
Cigarettes After Sex (4)
Pairing: Sylus x Older!Non-MC reader
Genre: Fluff
Summary: You're an independent woman working as a lawyer that is stuck in the capitalistic grind to support your son - Arthur the black cat and your reading addiction but quite content with her life. What happens when you run into Sylus with his charm in a chance encounter that is dead set on courting you. Or, in other words, what happens when an unstoppable force (Sylus) meets an immovable object (Non-MC)?
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3
The bright sun and the sand between your toes were exactly what you needed. Working as an executive meant that you could take vacation at a time that was actually convenient for you and it would not be wrong to say that you exploited it as much as you can. So, that is why you were currently in Spain enjoying the sun and sipping your cocktail without a care in the world. But being executive also meant that you stay on top of whats happening in the company and especially your department even when you’re on vacation and thats why you’re thankful to Elijah for giving you a quick summary of important happenings everyday to your personal phone because of course you left your work phone with him.
Not only did that let you disconnect from work but also from Sylus which you felt was important. You were 36 and you could not afford to make foolish choices like you were 26. Its been a week and you would be lying if you didn’t think about him occasionally but the frequency has been reducing since day 1 and you’re confident that by the end of next when your vacation ends you would have snapped back to your old self.
With that confidence, you went back to all your planned activities and all the fun workshops you had signed yourself up for.
Two weeks of sun and no work really did wonders to your mood and motivation to get back to work. You were at work pretty early despite it being Monday and noticed that Elijah had yet to arrive. So, you just opened your laptop and went through all the emails and messages that you missed and checked your schedule to see if you had any meetings that day.
By the time you were responding to the third email, Elijah walked into your office and placed your work phone on your desk.
“Did you have fun without me here?” You asked with a smile as you grabbed the bottle of Rioja Wine you had got for him as a thank you.
“Oh yea absolutely. It was so much fun being buried in paperwork and getting threats of losing my job.” He responded with snark that was not rare for him.
“Sorry threats of what? Who the fuck had the audacity to do that?” You could not think of a single person in this company that would do that. Everyone knew how competent Elijah was and how much you trusted and relied on him. They couldn't be that stupid, can they?
“Your rich boyfriend.”
Sylus?
“First of all, he is not my boyfriend. But what in the world prompted him to make such threats? He’s just an investor.” You were progressively getting madder the more you think about it. Who does he think he is?
“He texted and called multiple times before I told him you’re on vacation and threatened me when I refused to tell me where you were.”
Oh.
“Thank you, Elijah. You should not have had to deal with him and I’m sorry you had to go through that. I will take care of this. Here, I got this Spanish wine for you and from what you’ve just told me, seems like you deserve one more of this.” You handed him the neatly wrapped package.
“How about a raise instead of the second bottle?” He asked shamelessly as he inspected the bottle.
“I will definitely consider this during appraisal.” You promised him as he left your office.
Once the door closed behind you, you called Sylus right away.
“I’m surprised you’re calling me for the first ever time.” Sylus answered the call in two rings despite his tone indicating that he was probably asleep.
“Did you threaten my assistant? For doing his job?” You cut to the chase right away, not in the mood for pleasantries.
“I was just using persuasive motivation to get some information out of him. He is fiercely loyal to you. You should keep him close.” You could hear rustling sounds from the other end and refused to create a mental visual for yourself. You cannot let all the efforts from the last two weeks go to waste.
“Gee thanks for your stamp of approval. I desperately needed it." You snarked. "Regardless, what gives you the right to threaten my assistant?” You didn’t need him to tell you about Elijah. You had been working with him for the last four years and you knew more than anyone about his affiliations and work ethic.
“He refused to give me what I needed.” He stated simply and that just made you even more angry.
“Welcome to the real world. You don’t always get what you want. You can’t expect everyone to just hand everything to you just because you act like a petulant child.”
“I can sense that you are mad.” He stated, his voice taking a more cautious tone.
“Mad doesn’t even try to cover what I’m feeling right now.” You had to take a few deep breaths to prevent yourself from saying something you would regret. “I am definitely not happy with what you did and I hope you can take this as a learning opportunity to improve.”
“Why are you taking to me like I’m your intern?”
“Because I can’t talk to you like you’re my friend because you’re not my friend.” You knew that was harsh but you were also really anger despite your calming techniques.
Sylus didn’t say anything and you might have thought that he hung up on you if not for the breathing sounds you were able to hear. “I’m sorry.”
“I’m not the one you need to apologise to.” You were curt but you were also finally drawing a boundary with him after pretending to try for so long.
“I will apologise to him as well.” Was all Sylus said before he hung up.
You could sense that he was mad or at the least disappointed but it was done. Setting your phone aside, you went back to your work and entered the routine of answering emails and attending meetings that could have been emails.
It was some time after noon when Elijah came back to your room with a bunch of documents that needed your signature.
“What did you do?” Elijah asked making himself comfortable on one of the chairs across from you.
“What do you mean?” You had no idea what he was talking about and were looking at him really confused.
“Your rich boyfriend, I mean. He apologised.”
“He did?” You knew that Sylus was a man of his word but you didn’t actually think that he would apologise to Elijah.
“Yea and offered me money. But I refused it.” He said trying to look nonchalant.
“Why?” You were curious because coming from someone like Sylus, it had to be a lot of money.
“Well, there was a chance he would hold that against me and legally that might look like trouble that I would very much like to avoid. I’d rather take gift vouchers or an all expenses paid vacation for two to Crete.”
“So, you took the vacation instead of acting like a scammer.” You stated with a smile.
“Of course, I did. But the question is what did you do?” He asked leaning forward, his elbows on the desk. He almost like one of those comical villains but you’d keep that to yourself (for now).
“I just told him in strict terms that what he did was unacceptable.” You informed him with a shrug.
“Seems like you were really hard on him seeing how he hasn’t texted you all day.”
“How do you even know that?”
“You haven’t looked at your phone all this while and smiled or giggled like a fool.” He back up having the wherewithal to know that would piss you off.
“I do neither of that. I am a grown woman. Now get back to work and make sure the draft contract for the construction project is on my table by this evening.” You scolded him with no bite and went back to your laptop.
With Elijah pointing it out, you took your work phone out and noticed that Sylus had indeed not texted you even once since the phone call. Tamping down on whatever feeling was threatening to surface, you placed your phone back on the farthest corner of the table and decided to go about your day.
—
Two days after that call, you were now in Caleb and McKenzie’s living room playing with your goddaughter, trying to make her giggle. She was only one year old and you were already smitten and determined to earn the title of being her favourite aunt and for that, you were not below playing dirty. That was why this one year old who had barely started walking was surrounded by more toys than she could handle.
“You’re going to spoil her rotten with all these toys. She’s going to think auntie will just get her anything if mama and papa say no.” McKenzie scolded you as she sat on one of the massage chairs looking at the both of you.
“Please, with Caleb as her father she’s already spoiled. Also of course, auntie will get her anything she wants. She’s an angel and deserves the whole world.” You said cooing at the sweet girl that was munching on her fish shaped teething toy like it was actual fish.
“That is probably the only thing the two of see eye to eye on.” Caleb agreed as he handed McKenzie a mug of warm tea and kissed her forehead.
“Kids really are miracles huh?” You remarked, placing a soft kiss on the baby’s chubby cheeks that was starting to give you cuteness aggression.
“What did you do?” McKenzie suddenly asked without any preamble.
“What did I do?” You asked, looking confused, not knowing what she was getting at.
“You don’t suddenly decide to spend your whole evening with Celine without warning. So, whats’ up?” McKenzie explained looking very much like her detective self.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I just missed this sweet angel and wanted to see her.” You feign obliviousness because she was right. But you were not yet ready to talk about it. Or so you thought because five minutes later, you were telling them all about what happened with Sylus and how he hasn’t texted you since that call.
“Wow, I keep thinking you’ve reached a level of stupidity and you keep disproving me.” Caleb commented, earning himself a plushie to his face.
“So you’re disappointed he’s not texting you after you told him you’re not friends?” McKenzie always got straight to the point and despite how the words were so blunt, it still felt like a sharp knife to your heart.
“I am not disappointed. Just wondering?”
“So you’re not just an idiot but an idiot in denial.” Caleb stated and you decided then that one of these days, you were going to cause him bodily harm in a way it doesn’t get traced back to you.
“Do you like him?” McKenzie asked, giving you a sharp look that said she already knew the answer but wanted to hear it from your mouth.
“I barely even know the man.” You stated, pointedly not looking at her hugging baby Celine like she was the only one grounding you.
“Do you want to like him?” This time, she sounded softer as if trying to soften the blow.
“I don’t know. Its all fucked up in here.” You said with a sign, pointing to your head.
“Don’t swear in front of my daughter.” Caleb scolded you but thankfully didn’t try to take her away from you.
“Sorry. I just- I genuinely don’t know. He has been nothing but nice to me but lets be honest his background is a little intimidating and not to mention he’s like a decade younger than me. Just the thought of dating him makes me feel like a cradle robber.”
“Please, you don’t know about half the domestic violence cases I’ve had to deal with. Those men are the real cradle robbers with more than 25 years in age gap. 10 years is absolutely nothing in comparison.” McKenzie said in an attempt to reassure but you’re not sure if it had the intended effect.
“You cannot make a choice on his behalf. Besides, you don’t even know if that’s what he wants.” She continued acting as the sane voice of reason.
“And what do I do if that's what he wants?” You asked, still not looking at her.
“Sounds to me like you want him to want that.” Caleb interjected and his voice made it clear that he was trying to help and not be a bitch (for once).
“And if that's what he wants, I know you’ll figure it out without jumping to assumptions and conclusions.” McKenzie said without letting you answer Caleb.
“You have much more faith in me than I do.” You chuckled, finally looking at the pair.
“Well, you tend to underestimate yourself and we are just here to remind you that you’re not a total idiot.” McKenzie replied.
“Well, the last part is debatable.” Caleb said with shrug, breaking the emotional atmosphere in the room for which a part of you is glad. But you wouldn’t be you if you didn’t chuck a toy truck at him.
“Alright, enough fighting. Caleb made dinner so lets all go eat.” McKenzie announced walking you all to the dining room.
You were feeling a bit better after this conversation but at the same time you didn’t think you had it in you to face Sylus or initiate the first contact with him. You figured you would enjoy the good food and the company for now and worry about this later.
—
It was Friday evening and you were more than ready to go home and take a warm bath to wash away the stress of this week and relax during the weekend. But as if you had earned the wrath of the gods, Elijah walked into your office like a harbinger to let you know that you had a last minute client meeting to get to. In a rush to make sure you made it to the restaurant on time, he didn’t even give you the full details of the client.
Praying and hoping to god that you remember all the necessary details about your clients, you walked into the restaurant to your secluded table only to notice that the said client was none other than Sylus.
Before you could just turn back around and flee the scene, he noticed you and also noticed that you noticed him. Well, there goes your grand escape plan.
“Hi.” You said, sounding very awkwardly as you sat down across from him.
Sylus looked at you for a few seconds and went back to looking at the menu with just a nod. In this moment, he looked very much like the investor Sylus that you heard a lot of stories about from your boss and colleagues from the other departments. You could not find any trace of the playful Sylus that you had a glimpse into for all those weeks.
Taking a deep breath, you decided to cut into the awkward air by being honest and straightforward. “Sylus, I’m sorry.”
“And what is it that are you sorry for?” He asked, still refusing to look at you.
“For what I said that day over the phone. I was harsh and should not have said things I didn’t mean, no matter how angry I was.” You paused for a few seconds but he still refused to react to your words. So, you continued,“I do consider you one of my friends. I understand that you don’t want to talk to me and I’ll respect that but you need to say it.”
“What made you think that?” Sylus asked, finally looking at you.
“Well, I was a bitch to you even though my reasons were valid and then I refused to apologise to you until now even though I could tell that you were upset at what I said.”
“Is that your threshold for ending friendships?” Sylus looked halfway between amused and offended.
“Just for the clingy ones.” You tried joking, hoping it would lighten the mood and you were able to breath a sign of relief when you saw him crack a smile.
“Well, now that you’ve apologised, how do you plan on making it up to me?” Sylus asked, leaning forward with his signature smirk.
“Well, dinner is on me of course. What else are you expecting?”
“I’m glad you asked. You can do two things to make it up to me.” The proud smirk he was donning as if he had achieved something great immediately clued you into one of the things he was going to ask. “Your personal number and hanging out for drinks that are not an apology.”
“That’s doable.” You nodded confidently with a smile. You knew that if he accepted your apology that you would have to give him your personal number and he had been asking for it for quite some time anyway. If that was all it took to earn it forgiveness, you would do that.
“Then we have a deal.” He extended his hand to shake on it, which you reciprocated happily.
The two of you spent the evening, having a nice meal and the conversation flowed easily between the two of you just like always. You talked about everything and nothing with topics ranging from how your week was to the things people do in meetings and board rooms that give you the ick.
True to your word, you paid for the dinner and bid each other farewell as you both walked to your respective cars.
As you got into your car, you decided to text the culprit of the evening letting him know that he can kiss his raise goodbye for the trick he pulled. Not waiting for a response, you went home to take the long awaited bath and cuddle your cutie Artie.
Taglist: @thehyperfixationgirly
LADS!Dad SMAU Edition (bc me and my bestie had been having fun creating texts with our own LI's)
-Featuring: Dad!Sylus
Dad!Zayne Here | Dad!Rafayel Here
note: this is also based on a Dad!Sylus AU, but this time it is a short one-shot that you can read here (again, it is not necessary to read it, but if you're curious about it you can check it out and make me happy interacting with it ^^)
Please don't copy or repost without my permission :)
Love what hurts
Summary: One little phrase throws Sylus for a loop.
WC: 277
Pairing: Sylus x GN! Reader
Tags/Warnings: No use of Y/N. Pre-established relationship (he's so husband coded). Angst, pain and suffering (aka my favourite meal). Hurt no comfort. Soft until it's not anymore LOL. Not proofread (I haven't drank my coffee yet).
A/N: Cranked this out in like half an hour after making myself a pot of coffee. Walked into the kitchen and looked out the windows and hurt my eyes and all I could think of was Sylus and how he's sensitive to light.
Feedback is appreciated and comments/reblogs are welcome!
Read on AO3 here!
Do not repost, translate or use my work for training AI Divider credit: @sweetmelodygraphics
Sylus was up in the kitchen to make your coffee just the way you like it, braving the early morning sun streaming through the windows making the whole kitchen glow a beautiful golden. He hears your soft footsteps pad down the stairs just as it finishes brewing, and as you walk into the kitchen to greet him, you wince and close your eyes.
"Sun hurting your eyes sweetie? And here I thought you loved the sun in the morning, I opened the curtains just for you."
"What can I say, I can't help loving what hurts me." You shrug with that little smirk of yours and make your way to the pot of coffee your perfect husband perfectly brewed for you.
And Sylus just stands there.
Thinking.
'Loving what hurts me.'
What did that mean? Does he hurt you? Does his love?
You'd been married for years, dated for even longer. You'd been together over a decade in domestic bliss.
And just as he was about to ask, you woke up. Love and Deepspace still open on your phone resting on the pillow next to you, Sylus fast asleep on the sleep function.
"I wish loving you was easier Sylus, I wish it didn't hurt to wake up."
Exiting out of the sleep function, you did your dailies, Sylus fast asleep in Destiny Cafe as the sun streamed golden through the windows. Fingers hovering over the home button on your phone, you whisper "I love you Sylus, I'll see you tonight." and you closed the game.
And as Sylus watched from the other side of the screen, he realised, and he understood.
"I love you too."
Crow family Pt. ???
Interviewer: If Sylus and MC are both in danger, who would you save?
Luke and Kieran: Bossman.
Interview: ..why not MC?
Luke: Because Miss Hunter is the threat..
Kieran: And we say that with love.
trying to be the wife that makes sylus cute lunches for work in the morning but the minute you try to sneak off into the kitchen, his grip on your waist is cable-like as a vise, his chin is hooked on your shoulder and half his body weight threatens to crush you.
“where are you going?”
unwilling to give up the surprise, you whisper, “nowhere.”
he scoffs. in hindsight, you could have lied better. but for now, he wins the satisfaction of keeping you pressed against him. “then you don’t have to go.”
you’ll try again. but for now, he kisses your neck and pulls you unbelievably closer. allowing the large puff of your duvet to swallow you both whole.
when he hums, you sigh. okay. lunch can wait til tomorrow.
cuteness aggression : sylus edition
for all the kittens that want to sit on sylus' lap and call him ''a gentle giant'' :) modern AU
zayne / caleb / xavier / rafayel
it was a rainy sunday morning. you had woken up before sylus (which was rare) and pulled yourself away from his hold quietly. you had brushed your teeth, tied your hair in a bun before tiptoeing your way down to his kitchen.
it was so peaceful and calm, listening to the drops of rain against the window as you cooked breakfasts. you made coffees and glanced at the clock. an hour had passed, surely he was already awake ?
you quietly sneaked your way up the stairs, feeling excited at the thought of having a lazy sunday with sylus. it was rare for you both to stay at home ; even if you had free time, sylus always opted for dates outside. and today, you could use the excuse of rain to stay in.
together, lazy, relaxed, and with nothing to bother your alone time with him.
you pushed the door slowly as you squinted your eyes at the giant figure laying on the bed. with how dark the room was, it was quite impossible to know if he was awake.
that is until you saw him stir up, his silver hair sticking in all directions. he made a noise, somewhere between a yawn and a groan. he flipped on his back before extending his arm toward you : come here, kitten.
you walked over and got on the bed before he pulled your wrist, gently guiding you to sit on his lap. his eyes were barely open, his warm big hands rested on your hips, his bare chest exposed to the cool air.
good morning, kitten ; his husky voice gave you chills. then gently, he caressed the curves of your waist, tenderly, lovingly. he smiled softly before closing his eyes again.
you leaned down and softly planted kisses all over his collar bones, then his shoulders, then his neck, then his adam apple. his breathing hitched every single time your soft lips touched his burning skin. he dug his fingers onto the fat of your hip as he blinked his eyes open.
then you gently bit down on his cheek. he practically purred, or groaned -- it was difficult to differentiate as you continued your attack of kisses and bites.
a feisty kitten in the morning, sylus hummed as he grinned, amused.
you've rarely seen sylus in such disheveled state. even if he just woke up, sylus would still look handsome, manly, perfect. but now, he looked like a mess.
a cute mess. it was very hard to not notice how his grey hair seemed unusually fluffy, how his manliness no longer seemed so dominant but instead, warm and inviting.
he looked like a giant teddy bear. you squished his cheeks together, his lips puckered : ''you look so cute, sy''
he was now fully awake. he pointed his index finger at his pouty lips, a silent request for a kiss, which you gladly did.
cute, huh ? show me just how cute you find me, kitten. his hands gripped your hips firmly as he sat up, nuzzling against the crook of your neck.
this tender moment was certainly not going to be the last. in fact, sylus was already making a mental note to look ''messy'' the next morning so he could experience more of your kisses and bites.
🍎🐦⬛ Archive #001 (smut, voyeurism) 🔞
“You’re late, again.”
Caleb shuts the apartment door, only to stop dead in his tracks. Right across from the entrance, Sylus sits on the sofa. You are draped right over him, facing away from him, your thighs spread wide as you take every inch of his massive cock. From where Caleb stands, the view is completely unobstructed. He can see exactly where your body melts into Sylus’s.
“Damn. What a view,” Caleb mutters, his voice dropping low.
“W-welcome home, Caleb-ah!”
At your voice, Sylus deliberately lets your weight drop flat against him. Your belly stretches, completely filled out as you bottom out on his length.
Sylus lets out a low chuckle, acting completely unfazed by the tight grip of your walls, though a sharp tick in his jaw gives him away. “Go take a shower, Caleb. She’s been waiting for you.”
“What’s the matter? Can’t handle her hunger by yourself?” Caleb counters, stepping closer.
Sylus flashes a smug, dangerous grin. “I can go all night without you, if that’s what you want.”
To prove his point, Sylus hooks a hand under your thigh, lifting it high until his slick length pops completely out of you. A heavy mix of your arousal and his cream spills out instantly, dripping like a glistening honey. Caleb freezes, staring at the endless flow.
“Fuck… look at all that…” Caleb breaths out, his own pants straining hard.
“Tell him, kitten,” Sylus purrs, his voice dark and demanding. “How many times have I filled you up tonight?”
“D-don’t remember… nngh…” Your mind is completely fried.
Caleb’s breath hitches. He tears his eyes away and practically bolts toward the bathroom.
As the door shuts, you look back over your shoulder, your eyes wet with tears. “S-Sy… put it back in, please…”
Sylus grips your hip hard enough to bruise, his smile turning sharp and wicked. “Relax, kitten. I’ll keep you warm until he’s clean. Then we’ll see how much you can really take.”
The intruder | part 1 | part 2 | part 3
Summary: a continuation of a cat hybrid!mc/reader x sylus story. After Sylus kills your owner in a business deal gone sideways, you follow him home without asking for permission. This part is a story about some of the consequences of that decision, and how you unintentionally returned to your human form. To be continued in part 4. 4,268 words.
Content: mass murder, sushi, eyeball licking, fluff and angst, Sylus having the time of his life.
And thus begins your life of fable—the dread dragon, feared by all, rumored to cannibalize his enemies and scorch the territories with flames and salt the fields of anyone who dares oppose him—now always appears in public within his empire with a little black cat on his arm, who lounges in his lap as he negotiates deals in the most exclusive night spots in the N109 zone.
The dread dragon, Mr. Qin, is known to always get what he wants.
But everyone knows black cats bring bad luck.
And so, at first, rivals and begrudging business associates assume he's lost his touch. Maybe gone a little soft, or daft.
So, like sharks circling chum in the water, failing to see the wicked hook in the bloody gloom, they begin to test their luck.
Previously reliable suppliers start 'misplacing' certain parts of shipments. The best parts. Rivals begin to edge in on the dread dragon's turf, causing ruckuses at businesses he is known to own—nightclubs, casinos, and a chain of cat cafes he recently acquired. They intimidate the employees, the nearby residents, offering better 'protection' than what the dragon can offer these days, what with his true colors showing as a frivolous peacock with a weakness for literal pussy.
After all, as quickly as a king can rise, a king can fall, they say.
Mr. Qin takes it all in stride, receiving the increasing reports of insulting chaos encroaching into his domain calmly, only tapping his finger against the kitchen counter as he lounges on a stool, idly watching you eat your weight in perfectly seared wagyu beef on a delicate plate of china.
"You gotta do something, boss-man," one of the magpies, the one with the scar—Kieran, says agitatedly one night. He's almost vibrating with indignation.
"We can take care of it. Just give us the word—we can have charges in every single one of the upstarts' bases within twenty-four hours," the other magpie, Luke, shifts from foot to foot, just as restless as his brother.
They're both clothed, now—all black ensembles, cargo pants with as many belts and buckles and pockets as Mr. Qin seems to have on his 'casual' outfits. Unfortunately, they've have never appeared before you naked since that first night.
"And just one detonator! One click and—" Kieran cries.
"Boom! Like the end of Fight Club!" they crow together, miming entire skyscrapers collapsing one by one, complete with sound effects.
"Only the film version,"Mr. Qin just sniffs disdainfully. "The film was completely unfaithful to the book."
"Not the point, boss! The point is, BOOM!" Luke's eyes are wide, like a little kid who thinks that if he just explains his genius plan to the grown-up slowly and loudly this time, the grown-up will eventually come around to seeing his genius vision.
Leaning forward, Mr. Qin rests both elbows on the counter. "Many bases these fools own are prime real estate. Destroying them would be a waste, when I can simply take over and lease the premises to tenants with a better sense of self-preservation than their current occupants."
The twins' shoulders slump in unison.
"However, I do have some small fish that need frying, so you're welcome to throw grenades into their ponds instead."
Immediately perking up, the magpies are so overjoyed that they'll get to blow anything up in the near future even if it's not as cool as Fight Club that they shift right out of their clothes, winging around the room in a flurry of chittering, dive-bombing Mr. Qin's head, and then zooming out of the kitchen when your back has arched enough to let them know that if they continue, there will be Consequences.
Luke had to lose a few feathers before they both understood that you mean business when it comes to protecting Mr. Qin's glorious hair.
"Did you eat your fill, Kitten?" Mr. Qin asks idly.
You answer with a satisfied purr, slinking over to him and rubbing your cheek and body along his arm and chest leaning over the counter.
Thoughtfully running a hand over your back, he scritches behind your ears. "Good. I hope your appetite is as endless as always, because it's time to kill two birds with one stone, and you're going to help me do it."
More food, and helping Mr. Qin?
A truly fabled life indeed.
Later that night, you find yourself in a familiar setting. To the average patron, it's a small place. So small that the waiting list for a reservation is known to stretch into years, and not just months. Just a few stools along a bar, a few small tables for two along the windows facing a quiet city street. The waiting list is so long because it has always been, essentially, one person operation. The art of sushi has been passed down for generations in the same family, with the parent training their child who then takes over the business and continues the family legacy. All they make is sushi, and they simply make the best sushi in the world. No wonder that the menu prices reflect such exquisite offerings.
However, to those in the know, beyond the tiny dining area, there is a back room. Larger than the dining room out front, but still small as far as rooms that serve its purpose typically are. Back here, there are no chairs.
The room itself, windowless, only narrow enough to contain the long table, still feels light, airy, with its blond wood-paneled walls lined with alcoves containing lovely vases and elegant flower arrangements. The effect is serene, a counterpoint to the blood soaked, high tension decisions that are made within its walls.
At the far end of the room, next to the door leading to the front and the kitchen, a beautifully carved liquor cabinet sits. The respective lackeys accompanying their bosses mix the drinks and serve —warm sake. Whiskey and soju. Bourbon and scotch. Serious drinks for supposedly serious people.
The clientele sit on cushions, shoes off, socked feet whispering across the tatami mat floor when they must move around to obsequiously pour their boss's drinks or discreetly hand them documents for review.
To enter this dining room, weapons must be surrendered at the door to the restaurant's only staff aside from the chef—the sous-chef, in training under her mother, this generation's current chef. This is a neutral location, after all, and all must walk in having surrendered their means of harm to others. That is the sacred rule of this hidden room, inviolate for years stretching back into memory.
Mr. Qin sits at the head of the long, low table. He has said nothing, simply nodding his head as the guests initially filed in and took their seats. He's relaxed as you curl into his lap, cradled between his crossed legs. The picture of indolent insouciance, his serenity sharply contrasts with the acrid stench of nervous fear wafting through the air from most of those seated around the table. All but one person reeks of guilt—not remorse, but the feeling of having done something that, if discovered, will warrant swift, horrifying punishment.
The sous-chef, tall and svelte, enters repeatedly, bringing in each round of sushi, carefully plated, one item at a time, to be savored in its individual glory before the next round is brought.
As the food arrives and empty plates depart, the guests share surface-level pleasantries, innocuous and polite.
All lies. Tigers wearing bow ties.
You don't pay attention to the particularities of meetings like this—they mean nothing to you, provided no one smells of violent hostility towards Mr. Qin. They can hate all they like. They can look all they like. And so long as Mr. Qin smells calm, you don't trouble yourself with his fleeting anger or amusement, with what's actually being said underneath the sheathed words.
As Mr. Qin's silence stretches, the discomfort in the room rises. But he waits, patiently, occasionally sipping some fizzy concoction that reeks of gin, as the people in the room grow increasingly restless. They desperately try to avoid staring as he hand-feeds you a portion of each priceless dish carefully prepared by the internationally-renowned chef, even as indignant disgust thickens their already foul scents.
After more than two hours of his silence, and as the meal is entering its final course, the sous-chef brings one of the highlights of the menu: fugu sashimi. Or, raw pufferfish.
A delicacy, and incredibly dangerous if prepared by inexpert hands due to the neurotoxin naturally occuring within it. You perk up, having heard of fugu before, back before, before, before…. you shake your head, ears flapping.
It's prized as such a delicacy not only because of its taste, but because the thrill of eating something so deadly often evokes a euphoric feeling in the one eating it. Some even report an aphrodisiac quality to their experience of consuming it.
As the sous-chef places the dish before Mr. Qin, you lean over to take a lick, but for once, his large hand slips between your nose and the fish.
"Not tonight, Kitten. I'll share fugu with you another time, under more convivial circumstances."
This gentle denial, given as if you're an actual person, is the final spark that ignites the simmering, resentful ire of the gathered guests.
"How much longer must we endure this grotesque display of poor manners before we get down to business?" One of the guests demands, loud and irritated. Many others grunt or nod in accord, finally brave now that someone else has drawn a target on his own back.
Mr. Qin simply hums, not taking his eyes off you. "Would you say that bringing an emotional support kitten to an establishment that allows them is less polite than say… theft or extortion from your valued business partners?"
The room goes quiet as the clink of chopsticks against plates and everyone's breath ceases.
Finally, the mutinous guest who was brave enough to initially complain clears his throat. "That is a serious allegation, Mr. Qin." He glances around the room, as if gathering support from his counterparts. "Do you have proof?"
"Proof, hmmm," your human, ruby eyes glinting in the low light, muses. "My kitten is all the proof I need."
"Ha, yes. We've all noticed lately how your… behavior, has changed recently. As if you've become more… distracted." The leader of the mutiny, though his confidence is growing with Mr. Qin's seemingly bizarre behavior untempered by shame or concern, remains cautious in choosing his words. The scent of fear, but also derision, intensifies.
"If I were distracted, you would be free to continue your unwise flirtation with my ire without consequence," Mr. Qin slips a thin slice of the fugu into his plush mouth. His subsequent noise of pleasure elicits a purr from your own throat, as you enjoy seeing him happy as much as experiencing your own happiness.
The leader of the mutiny has the audacity to roll his eyes. "You must be confused, if you think anyone at this table would dare cross you." His fear fades as his conviction that Mr. Qin has lost his marbles rises.
"Let's find out, then." Mr. Qin runs one long, elegant finger along the top of your head, down your spine. "Kitten, could you kindly indicate everyone at this table who is currently gambling with their life?"
The noises of disbelief, confusion, and disgust shatter the otherwise quiet room as you, without hesitation, rise to your paws, tail straight up in the air, and hop lightly on the table. Winding your way around and over the plates of each guest, you stop to sniff, growl, and then turn, showing your own asshole to every single asshole in this room who reeks of the scent of smug betrayal and lies.
When you stop before the one person who now smells of fascinated curiosity, the same one who hasn't smelled guilty since the beginning, you flick your tail in satisfaction and briefly nose her palm in respect, and then trot your way back to Mr. Qin's lap. He rewards you by lifting your small body into the air and nuzzling into your furry tummy. "Thank you, sweetheart."
The leader of the mutiny scrambles to his feet rather ungracefully from a cross-legged position, and seethes over the table. "This is absurd, and exactly why we can no longer trust your grip on the N109 zone. This dinner is over!"
He turns to leave, only to stop abruptly as he almost runs into the sous-chef. She stands, relaxed, legs spread a bit, one foot in front of the other. It's almost a boxer's stance, if not for the razor-thin sushi knife held, blade down, in her fist.
A knife-fighting stance.
"The meal is not quite over," she says calmly. "I must ask you to return to your seat."
The mutineer sneers as the rest of the patrons stiffen, reaching for holsters and knife sheathes out of instinct, only to remember that they're empty. "This place's neutral status is sacred. How dare you threaten us within its walls? We'll raze you to the ground if you don't stand down this instant."
The sous-chef remains unruffled. "Mr. Qin's house, Mr. Qin's rules."
The mutineer spins around, raising a finger to point at Mr. Qin, but stops, a confused look crossing his face. He lifts his fingers, now trembling, to his lips instead. As if they're already tingling as the puffer fish's neurotoxin surges through his veins. "What the fuck have you done?"
Mr. Qin ignores him, turning instead to the only person who hasn't double-crossed him in the room. "Please, continue. It would be a shame to leave this divine dish unsavored."
With wide eyes, she lifts her chopsticks and slips another slice of fugu into her mouth, as the mutineer drops to the tatami, unable to breathe another word. The remaining patrons begin to slump in turn, some straight backwards with quiet thumps, some sprawling forward onto the table, the cacophony of dishes clinking and drinks spilling rising into a crescendo until the only sound remaining is the quiet chewing of the person left alive at the table.
"Thank you for another lovely dinner, Rin-san," Mr. Qin nods to the sous-chef in appreciation. "My regards to your mother." She nods in turn and slips out of the room. Turning back to the final guest, he waves his hand. "Stay, if you'd like. But when you are done, spread the word of what happened here tonight. I'd rather focus on my Kitten, instead of fools, for the near future."
"Of course, Mr. Qin."
And that, was that.
Your days continue—nights, really, drifting along at the dread dragon's side. The unrest in his domain evaporates, so much steam from screaming kettles boiling empty into silence. Now, when business partners or rivals see the black cat on his arm, the only scent in the air is terror.
Everyone knows black cats bring bad luck, after all.
To them. Not to Mr. Qin.
Mr. Qin's house, Mr. Qin's rules, after all.
This makes you purr, eliciting an answering pleased rumble deep in Mr. Qin's chest. You don't question why, simply reveling in the satisfaction of enemies quivering in fear and your human's pleasure in their amenability to his desires.
One night, months later, Sylus lounges in his huge, standalone marble bathtub. It sits before a soaring window as the N109 zone's sky lightens almost imperceptibly, signaling the coming dawn that this rancid part of the world never sees.
You slink along the rounded edges of the tub, enjoying the challenge of not slipping from either side while still remaining as close to Mr. Qin as possible as he soaks in a place you will not follow, mo matter the depth of your devotion to him. He twirls a glass of wine from languid fingertips, steam rising from the warm water, rippling with every little movement of his powerful body.
"You could join me," he offers, offhandedly. He's not looking at you, instead gazing into the wine before taking a sip. In his scent, a deep interest belies his seeming indifference to any response from you. "If you wanted to change into… something more comfortable."
Continuing to glide along the smooth stone, you ignore him. No way you want to get wet. If you need to get clean, which you do not, thank you very much, as you are already pristine and perfect in every way at (least in terms of hygiene, even if not in temperament), that is what your tongue is for, not a death pool ready to drown you and make you look ridiculous with flattened fur if you do manage to escape.
"Shame." His gaze, which you are pointedly ignoring, is so heavy behind you that it slightly raises the fur along your spine. It remains on you for a beat before he sighs and casts it toward the window and the glittering city below. "Perhaps I am losing my mind, after all," he murmurs, but there is no conviction in this assertion in his scent. Whatever is puzzling him, he is sure he knows the truth of it.
More months pass. You don't know how long you've been with him. Only that he has never stopped showing you the kindness, the care, and the companionship that he offered you from that very first night.
Perhaps you should have seen it coming. Perhaps you should have run long before it was even a possibility.
But how could you know to run, if you didn't think it were possible?
One can't return to the past, after all. Time doesn't flow backwards, no matter how much you throw yourself against the bars of the cage.
What's done is done. Caleb is dead. And with Caleb, your old self died too.
You are a cat, with a dragon-like human who needs to be protected, and cherished, and adored, as he does for his cat.
That is all there is. That is all you need.
Mr. Qin reads aloud to you every dawn before bed, as the morning sun spills over everywhere that is not here, signaling his night, and yours as well.
Whatever he happens to be reading, he reads out loud, with his rimless, gold accented reading glasses glinting in the light of the lamp on the nightstand, some kind of stained glass, Tiffany-style thing, designed to look like a crimson flower with wicked points. His words are the lullubies to your dreamless, peaceful nights curled at his side. By the dawning of the night, you often wake, curled up on his chest instead.
One such night, you wake to find that he is already awake too, staring at you with calm, curious eyes. You have the strange sense that he has been awake for awhile, but for some reason has made no effort to move you aside all the while, no effort to get up and start his version of the day. You've trained him well.
It's as if he's waiting to see what you'll do, now that you're awake too.
You roll a little, crouching on your belly like you're on the hunt for a mouse and want to remain as low as possible. The corners of his full lips lift slightly, the interest sharpening in his ember-eyes. Creeping forward, you brush your nose against his.
He doesn't move, just continues to watch you. There is something about his eyes that is so maddening, if you look into them for too long. Especially his right eye, the same one that glowed so bright, almost blinding, when he took you to the mall. You haven't seen it glow like that since, but you have the urge, all at once to—
you surge forward, as if pouncing on a mouse, and lick his right eyeball.
Both his face and scent reveal shock, fading to surprise, and then amused disgust.
"I don't know what I expected," he laments, a low laugh rumbling through his chest and through your body still crouched on him.
He lifts you into his arms and swings out of bed, and thus your day begins.
That night, he reads The Traveling Cat Chronicles by Hiro Arikawa as you're falling asleep.
"As we count up the memories from one journey, we head off on another." His rich voice is a soothing bass rhythm as he reads. "Remembering those who went ahead. Remembering those who will follow after. And someday, we will meet all those people again, out beyond the horizon.”
The words melt into you, fusing into the marrow of your brittle bones, seeping into spidering fractures you hadn't realized were there. Somehow, these words are comforting. Deep lilac, shot with sunset orange and pink, fills your half-asleep consciousness. But for once, that strange mewling is nowhere to be heard.
All the while, Mr. Qin's voice cradles you, a steady vessel carrying you safely on an endless river free from memory as you drift into dreamless sleep.
The waking is easy.
The waking has been easy, for months now. Maybe over a year?
You don't know how long you've been with him.
You should have seen it coming.
The waking is easy.
Warmth. Smooth skin, soft silver fur under your cheek. Long legs, entwined with yours. Your body rises and falls with his breath as you're draped over his soft, firm, pillowy steel-muscled chest.
The waking is easy.
You should have seen it coming.
The past can't be undone, nor can a leopard change its spots.
A cat who is not only a cat can't stay a cat forever.
The waking is easy.
Red eyes meet yours, crinkling at the corners with such genuine, unguarded joy that they are briefly rendered unfamiliar to you. You've never seen him smile so fully.
"There you are, sweetheart."
You can only live your head, chin resting against his chest, gazing placidly at him, easy in your waking, not suspecting anything amiss. Yet his handsome face with its severe contours, his long nose and the regal profile—it all seems … smaller. Everything about him seems smaller, somehow.
He's still huge, but he's less… giant, somehow.
He's gorgeous, actually. He's gorgeous not just as a sculpture in a museum, but attractive in a way that is physically painful, not just in your chest from your heart squeezing in the face of such artistic, divine beauty, but painful everywhere. His bulk under the entire length of your body. The soft hair along his legs brushing along your own legs. His heart jack-hammering in his chest underneath yours, matching your own jack-rabbiting beat. His skin against yours, silk and electricity.
His skin against your skin.
Not your fur.
You should have seen it coming.
He lifts his hand and brushes his thumb along your cheek. "I knew you'd be magnificent, if I were right." His voice is soft, steeped in awe. "But I hadn't realized just how truly breathtaking reality would be."
You should be able to smell the truth of his words, not just hear it in his voice.
But your nose, the scents in it—muted, and yet more colorful. He still smells delicious, musk and sleep, warmth and citrus, clean sweat. But all the layers of his feelings—
You can't feel his feelings from the way he smells anymore. He's an opaque polaroid instead of a neon mural, and you can only fumble for the clues of his feelings by the crinkling of his eyes, the timbre of his voice, the slowly tightening lines of his full lips as his smile fades into concern.
His soft silver eyebrows draw together, the furrow between them deepening.
"Kitten," he says, cautious. "I'm still me."
You wonder why he's saying this until his other hand joins his first, both palms now cupping your cheeks.
"And you're still you."
Oh.
You're shaking. Rolling tremors, an earthquake under your skin.
He thumbs along the sensitive skin under your eyes soothingly. "Breathe with me." Taking a deep breath, expanding his big chest where its pressed under yours, he coaxes your breath from your body.
After all this time, under his shelter, in his care, sheltering him, caring for him—what can you do but follow where he leads?
He's still him.
Even if you don't know what you are, anymore.
"Mr. Qin," you croak, helpless. Your cheeks are hot, and wet. Moisture slicks the paths his thumbs take, back and forth. The air is thick with its salt.
The furrow between his brow fades, his lips curving in pleasure again. "Surely we're on a first-name basis by now, Kitten, what with you watching me bathe and piss for over a year, and now waking up naked in my bed. Call me Sylus."
You look down, see the truth in the swell of your chest pressed against his own, feel the truth in the silk sheets along your bare back and ass.
Of course. It's not like you can take your clothes with you when shifting from human to animal, animal to human . Any movies or games that depict such idiocy are just censored nonsense.
But that's unimportant. You frown back up at him, the inexplicable tears fading as indignation rises. "If you didn't want company while you were on the toilet, you should have locked the door, Sylus."
He blinks in shock, eyes widening ever so slightly, but recovers quickly. "It took you long enough, but oh, were you worth the wait," he laughs—hearty, breathless, excited.
You don't need his scent to know that he's delighted.
Thank you for reading! there will be a part four with you learning how to human (or trying) and Sylus courting his kitten. I'm having a great time writing this. I'd love to hear what you think in tags or comments! People asked to be tagged so I'm going to try to do that in the comments.
Also, please note that for dramatic effect, everyone was affected by the pufferfish neurotoxin at the same time. This is not realistic at all, so Rin-san convinced her mother to add a little extra 'seasoning' to the sashimi to ensure the dramatic end that Mr. Qin was aiming for. So don't come at me if you're some kind of marine biologist or pufferfish connoisseur. Or actually do, I love all feedback. Okay bye!
the intruder - part 1 | part 2
Summary: A continuation of the story in which you're a cat!hybrid living in captivity and Sylus kills your owner in a business deal gone sideways. You decide to sneakily follow your savior home without asking for permission. It picks up directly after the events of part 1. This part is the story of your first night with Mr. Qin. word count: ~6,100
Content: fluff, fluff, more fluff. Um, cat!mc/reader is very invasive of Sylus's personal boundaries but he doesn't mind. Sylus uses his aether core eye on an unsuspecting mall employee because he's such a bad man. Etc. A sprinkling of angst as Kitty!Caleb haunts the narrative. Will be continued (and maybe will end if i do it right??) in part 3.
As you nestle next to Mr. Qin's formidable ass, the adrenaline that cursed bird sent spiking through your body with his malicious racket begins to fade.
This has always been your problem. The second you're told that you can't do something without a decent explanation as to why, your hackles rise along with the fur along your spine, and every muscle in your body tenses in defiance. Your heart, clenching in fury, renders you incapable of simply accepting the boundaries, the obstacle, the audacity of whoever told you no.
Even if you weren't that interested in whatever it was to begin with, simply being told you couldn't do it made you determined to prove them wrong.
When you were a kitten, this character defect was obnoxious, but the damage was limited to arguments with Caleb over why you shouldn't cross the super busy road to explore that shadier part of town. Over why gorging yourself on too much fish scored through successful dumpster diving was inadvisable. Over why you couldn't just pick a fight with any old bully when they told you that you couldn't hunt on their turf—instead, you had to be strategic about it, topple the bully from his spot at the pinnacle of his little gang, take over, and then run the gang yourself.
But this character flaw is the same thing that got your brother killed.
If you had just listened. If you had just recognized that your captor's threat was no threat, but a promise.
If you could just control yourself—the defiance at your core—and recognize defeat before it crushed you completely, before it cost you everything.
If you could just accept that sometimes, there's no reason at all. That some things, you just can't have, because the universe is cruel, because you were born with an extraordinary gift into a world filled with men who are eager to twist gifts into curses for their own gain. Sometimes, if you're an unlucky black cat, your demand for freedom is met with a simple, implacable No.
No. I will not let you go. No, it's not your body, or your mind, to set free in museums of lofty artistic ambition, to soar from tree to tree in gently swaying branches, to set adrift across the pages of human ingenuity in all the books you long to read—not anymore.
And the only reason for it?
Because I can.
Because I'm holding the key to your collar, to your brother's collar, and to both your lives.
If you could just accept that a cage could still be a home as long as Caleb was locked in there with you.
You thought you had finally learned your lesson, the night that bastard took Caleb from you.
And yet.
You hadn't even planned on getting any closer to Mr. Qin tonight. You hadn't wanted him to know about your presence in his home at all, until you were thoroughly convinced that your initial instincts about him were true—that his base could be a safe harbor while you figure out what you want to do, now that no collar chokes you. Now that your body, your mind, your life are all your own again. Such as they are, without your only family at your side.
You hadn't intended to reveal your presence tonight.
And yet. You are you, and you have failed miserably in trying to change yourself your whole life. The bizarre mechanical monstrosity passing itself off as a real bird doesn't want you anywhere near its owner?
Ha.
You charge forward, first rubbing your butt all of the bird's master's leg. You hope the the robotic raptor has olfactory sensors in that big stupid beak of his so the next time he gets close to Mr. Qin, he smells your butt all over him. The more agitated the winged demon becomes, the brighter your spiteful glee glows. You balance on Mr. Qin's formidable leg, stretched in front of him under the silky sheets, and prance along that meaty calf, over his slightly bent knee, the nice muscular cushion of his big thigh, before slithering down and taking your time, sweet and slow, in finding the perfect position to curl up next to him.
He's warm, the sheets are soft, and this close to him, your vision blurs, the room spins a little. His scent is so concentrated here in his nest where he's been sleeping, his skin bare, his silver fur flowing across his big pectorals and down, down, to the pungent place where his legs meet his torso.
You're drunk on him. It's headier than catnip. Than boxed wine pilfered from art exhibitions open to the public, poured into plastic champagne flutes and carried in your hand as if it's the most expensive vintage in the world as you gaze thoughtfully, critically, at vibrant paintings on the gallery's walls.
But even through the drug-induced haze of his pheromones blanketing you, you're not so far gone that you don't realize what a huge gamble you just took. You are the intruder here. He said so. The bird has every right to defend his owner from an unknown entity who took advantage of his owner's security oversights to waltz right into his territory and make yourself at home.
You curl tighter into yourself, face tucked into the crook of your hind leg, pretending to be calm as your heart races faster as your adrenaline spikes again.
You can't help the flicking of your ears, listening for any change in Mr. Qin's breathing. For any retaliation, punishment, danger in response to your stubborn, invasive provocation of his bird.
The bird that came first, he said.
You hate that bird.
Mr. Qin's scent doesn't change. No anger, or indignation. The tired amusement remains steady, the fatigue slowly overtaking the amusement. But there's also something else. Something deep, deceptively calm. Calm in the way riptides smooth the ocean's surface, luring inexperienced swimmers into the dark gaps between the foaming waves. Once you're caught in the rip, there is no escape no matter how hard you swim. Only surrender, and the hope that you'll be released when the tide is good and ready to let you go.
It reminds you a little of Caleb, but it makes your heart race for reasons unknown yet entirely unrelated to adrenaline.
You don't know the word for it. You've never smelled it on anyone before.
Inexplicable. Maybe simply instinct. You don't overthink it.
The important thing is that you weren't wrong: your heart rate slows, tense muscles turning liquid.
He's safe.
The room is quiet—even the bird seems to have settled—and soft rain patters against the windowpanes on the other side of the blackout curtains. A chill draft brings the smell of fresh rain, stirring the curtains draped, half-open, around the bed.
After a few minutes, a featherlight touch along the edge of your ear startles you into flicking it. The touch retreats. You miss the touch already. So you flick your ear again.
Nothing.
You flick both ears.
Nothing.
Okay, maybe Mr. Qin isn't as smart as he initially seemed. You're clearly going to have to train him.
Lifting your head, you're startled again as you meet his eyes, banked crimson embers glowing in the dark of the bedroom. He's looking down at you, the hand that must have just touched your ear resting on the soft-looking fur of his bare abdomen.
You crane your neck and run your cheek along the satin skin of his stomach, next to his hand, next to his belly button. He exhales, a little puff of mint-scented breath. Surprised, pleased. You rub your cheek on his stomach again.
Finally, he gets the memo.
Lifting his hand, bigger than your head, half the size of your body, he gently runs his fingers along the top of your head, along the back of your neck, now light and free of any collar, down along your spine to where your tail begins. The callouses on his fingertips catch pleasantly on your fur, subtly tugging. A soft vibration fills the quiet bedroom.
"You like that," he murmurs, and only then you realized that you're purring.
You haven't purred in years. You didn't even realize you were doing it.
You force yourself to stop. To not give too much away. What if he stops because you like it so much?
He withdraws his hand.
You growl.
"Purr for me again, and I'll keep petting you." His voice, sleepy, filled with that warm riptide again.
It's dangerous.
But he's safe.
The deal he offers sounds reasonable. You let yourself purr. His hand moves again. It's not like your captor's hand at all. With every calloused caress, a sense of cleansing follows. As if he's a mother cat, licking you clean. The way Caleb used to do.
Safe, at last. Heart calm, full of sorrow, of relief, you don't remember falling asleep.
You drift awake slowly, as slowly as you had settled into sleep. Cracking open one eyelid, the memories of the day… the night before pad softly back into your waking mind.
Your captor. Following Mr. Qin to his insecure base. The fight with the mechanical crow that ended in your unequivocal victory.
Both eyes open now, you enjoy the view of the bedroom, curtains to the outside world thrown open, the nocturnal cityscape glittering beyond the gently swaying curtains of the bed. Yawning, tongue sticking out before running its long length along your fangs, you revel in the serenity of this quiet place that smells like Mr. Qin. No cage, no dreaded footsteps, no electric shocks coursing through your sore muscles, rattling your bones, leaving you in a puddle of your own piss, tongue almost bitten through.
A pitiful little mewling sound breaks the silence, irritating you.
As soon as you notice it, it stops.
Shaking your head so hard your ears flap, you hop lightly off the bed and go in search of Mr. Qin. His cold absence in the bed must have been what woke you. You have never liked sleeping alone. Curled up with Caleb and taking a nap was one of your favorite places to be in the world, even inside the cage.
You're going to have to train Mr. Qin better. He needs to learn not to leave you in bed alone.
At least there's no sign of that wretched avian, now.
Padding through the bedroom, you follow his scent. Luckily, he's not far. Paw beans further cushioned by the gaudy rugs thrown over the cold marble, your nose leads you to a half open door. You bat it open the rest of the way with a forepaw, finding Sylus standing, legs wide, back to you, burgundy silk pajama pants slung so low on his ass that the top swell of it is exposed under the dimples of his lower back, along with the cleft between his cheeks.
Oh, he's peeing.
You sit back on your haunches, enjoying the view of his broad shoulders sagging in a relieved sigh, drowned by the deafening steady stream against the toilet bowl. You've never understood how men could piss so loudly. Your ears flick along with your tail as you grow impatient. Did he drink an entire lake last night? It's taking him forever to finish.
He shakes his dick (which unfortunately you can't see), pauses, and then leisurely hikes his pajama pants back up over his magnificent ass before turning and jerking to a halt when he sees you sitting serenely in the doorway.
Finally! You refuse to stand and hop about eagerly like an undignified dog, but your fluffy tail gives away your excitement, flicking, flicking, flicking.
"What a bold little intruder," Mr. Qin lifts an eyebrow, momentary surprise melting into dry amusement. "Is no territory off limits for you?" He flushes the toilet before striding to the expansive bathroom counter, marble like the rest of this palatial penthouse, and washes his hands. His eyes meet yours in the huge mirror. "I suppose not, considering how insouciantly you invaded my home yesterday. Now that you've made use of my bed, did you sleep well?"
He asks as if you can understand him. As if you can answer him.
Unease slithers from your tip of your tail to the tip of your nose.
But no. There's no way he could know. Maybe he's just an extrovert and talks to everyone, including creatures like you. He does keep a mechanical crow that sleeps in his bedroom. He's just weirdo.
You pad over to him and wind yourself around his calves, rubbing your scent all over him. Someone needs to protect him from people or animals that would take advantage of his eccentric benevolence. After several passes across his legs, now people will know that he's yours. You're courteous, marking him with a warning. If they ignore it, the consequences are on them.
"I'll take that as a yes." He's a little pleased, a little smug.
You follow him as he saunters out of the bathroom. You jump from chest of drawers, to bookcase, to his desk, as he heads into a huge walk-in closet, always keeping him in view. He swaps out his pajama pants, the silky material sliding down his massive ass, his long legs, revealing a pair of black boxers with gold thread—he's garish down to his skivvies, how extraordinary—with casual jeans, ripped from the knees and up the thighs with little threads hanging at the tears—and then pulls a soft black sweater embellished with a gold embroidered feather motif over his head.
You stare at him, marveling at how he actually matches his underwear to his sweaters. What a peacock.
Hopping down from the tall chest of drawers you were just nosily sniffing, you land light as the feather stitched into his clothing and swish your way over to him, sniffing his jeans (fresh, citrus-cotton scent) and batting at the threads dangling from the ripped fabric.
"Not that I'd begrudge your amusement at my expense, kitten, but be informed that these are limited edition jeans."
You let him know what you think of these jeans riddled with holes by chewing on one particularly long thread until it slips too far down your throat, causing you to hack a little.
"Now, now, no need to hurt yourself in the process of betraying your woeful taste in fashion." The room tilts as he sweeps you up with one arm, draping you over his forearm and wearing you like a furry vambrace, palm flat so you can rest your chin on it and observe your surrounding as he carries you out of his bedroom and ferries you effortlessly to the kitchen.
The room responds to his presence, low lighting increasing in brightness but still not harsh to your sensitive eyes. Mr. Qin carries you to the gramophone, still wielding you on his forearm he crouches, the fingers of his free hand drifting across carefully displayed record sleeves on the shelves underneath. Humming tunelessly, he plucks one from from the collection and agilely plops it one-handed onto the player.
What's new pussycat? WHOAAAA, WHOAAA, WHOAAAAAAA, Tom Jones wails from the gramophone's sound horn.
Pussycat, pussycat
I've got flowers and lots of hours to spend with you
So go and powder your cute little pussycat nose
Flattening your ears on your head, you turn your head, slow-panning to meet the smirking gaze of Mr. Qin.
Pussycat, Pussycat, I love you, yes I do
You and your pussycat nose
You dig your claws through his pretty sweater's sleeve and launch yourself off of his arm, landing lightly on the back of one of his couches, tail up haughtily.
Not only does he have atrocious taste in fashion, his musical tastes also leave much to be desired.
You're so thrilling and I'm so willing to care for you
So go ahead and make up your big little pussycat eyes
Under Tom Jones' bellowing, Sylus snickers behind you. Ignoring him, you spring from surface to surface until you land with only a slight skid on the smooth marble surface of his kitchen island.
You're hungry.
"Not a Tom Jones fan, huh, Kitten?" Mr. Qin inquires. Again, you refuse to look at him.
You're delicious and if my wishes can all come true
I'll soon be kissing your pussycat lips— WHOAAAA WHOAAAAA
It's only at the crescendo of Jones' wailing like a tomcat that the carefully cut steak immaculately plated on a silver platter ornately etched with dragon motifs enters your field of vision.
Ears flicking forward, tail whipping, you can't conceal your curiosity. Or your hunger.
The steak he was cooking last night…
You turn to look at him again just as he lifts the gramophone arm and replaces Tom Jones with a new record, this time something dramatic with cellos. He doesn't return your gaze, just fiddles with the volume, mouth quirked. His profile, with its long, sloping nose, is magnificent.
"Finally ready to eat, Kitten?"
His delicious smell overpowers you so thoroughly that you hadn't noticed the steak at all when you walked by the kitchen island where he had apparently been preparing it just for you last night, nor when he swept into the kitchen with you this morning.
Your tail swishes, swishes. Circling the platter, you bat at it, and it too slips across the slick counter.
"Don't be coy. Go ahead and eat your fill."
Now that you can smell it, the delicious meat fills your nose, overwhelming everything else.
You can forgive him telling you what to do. His ridiculous taste in music, his preening fashion.
To be fair, you would have forgiven him anything, after he removed your collar. After he exterminated your captor.
But now, after he meticulously sliced this perfectly grilled, tender steak, just for you, you would kill for him.
He's never getting rid of you, now, whether he likes it or not.
You lean down, pierce one expertly, thinly sliced piece with your fangs and do exactly as he tells you.
He doesn't let you rest, that first night with him. Belly full of delicious meat, blinking and sleepy, Mr. Qin shrugs into a leather jacket and cruelly carries you in your now-established spot on his forearm out of his penthouse. The mirrors in the elevator infinitely reflect the soft sheen of his silver hair, his broad shoulders, your little black form tucked against his pillowy chest, repeated over and over and over again, as if revealing parallel universes where in every one you are like this, tucked safe in his arms, sheltered by the easy strength of him. His heartbeat is fast and steady under your cheek.
The car ride wakes you up after he tosses you playfully into the passenger seat of one of the many vintage muscle cars with a deafeningly loud engine and roars out of the underground parking garage. The city flows in neon streaks past the car windows. He huffs in surprise as you hop over his hand casually resting on the gear shift and onto his lap, peeking up over the steering wheel.
"Just this once, kitten. We'll get you a seatbelt while we're out tonight."
You stretch your claws our and dig, just a little, into his stupid ripped jeans—not hard enough to draw blood, but enough to let him know that you want to be in his lap, forever.
"Non-negotiable," he responds, as if he heard your protest loud and clear and still insists upon his absurd safety measures.
Hmph. You don't need them. You always land on your feet.
The entrance to the luxury mall sweeps up into the night, brightly lit and inviting against the dark. Mr. Qin strides through its automatically opening doors like a king sweeping into his palace, not deigning to look left or right at store after store of expensive, luxury goods, the delicately tinkling fountains, the art nouveau curl of the iron banisters and stained glass windows mimicking French palatial residences. Even when you were free, you never would have dared enter such an exclusive cathedral dedicated to the worship of wealth, of ruthless consumerism, of the 'haves', since you and Caleb were always the 'have-nots.' Both of you had been working hard to improve your circumstances, studying like hell at the library where the books were free and the heating was always on in winter. You had been so close to the university entrance exams when your captor's thugs ambushed you one night returning to your small, cheap but clean apartment tucked in Linkon City's underbelly. Though it was in a run-down part of town, it was still far enough away from the N109 Zone to feel safe.
Mistake.
Maybe it was complacency. Maybe it was the hope for a better life, so close, dangling before you like a mouse by its tail, mesmerizing by virtue of your future, inexorable domination over it—maybe it was that hope which eclipsed your caution. In your arrogance, your gleeful aspirations in being able to own your own library, possess a lifelong entrance ticket to any museum in the city as a benefactor of the arts after making it big yourself, of sculpting with your own hands and claws pieces that would move others the way you stood before the classical masterpieces from long-dead artisans and marveled at the drape of fabric carved in cold stone, of strong forearms clutching glorious swords raised in revolt against corrupt systems of power—
But no. It was your loud yowling about how you didn't want ramen for dinner again, you wanted to shift and hunt for birds and mice, despite Caleb saying it was too dangerous to do it too often, that you had to protect your cover as emo students cosplaying as cats, furry-adjacent but not so obsessed as to attend cons or actually join the furry community.
Your fault.
Always your fault.
That strange mewling has started again.
Mr. Qin pauses. You look up at him curiously, wondering why he stopped walking, only to meet his intense gaze, the furrow between his brows more pronounced than usual, as if he's worried about something.
Swiftly approaching footsteps resound on the glossy floor and drown out the mewling, drawing your attention from Mr. Qin's beautifully sculpted face.
"Sir, Place Vendôme has a strict no pet policy." The security guard's tone is sharp and firm, but respectful, as if he's not sure who, exactly, he's dealing with yet.
"Not to worry." Mr. Qin's scent doesn't change. As always, he's relaxed, slightly amused even when confronted with petty rules. A certain spicy thread joins his normally delicious aroma—fun. He's having fun. "This is my emotional support kitten. I have a license to carry her wherever I go."
The security guard's eyebrows draw together, bright eyes sweeping Mr. Qin from the tips of his shoes to the top of his shining head, and he softens his voice. He must recognize the stupid, limited edition jeans. "Even so, these are our house rules. We would welcome your patronage if you would be so good as to return without your… cat at a later time."
Mr. Qin laughs, dark and low, the spice in his scent layering, deepening, warming like the rising magma of a re-awakening volcano. "While normally I would tell you to fetch the general manager to resolve this little issue, I'm afraid I have more pressing concerns that require my attention tonight."
The security guard's brows knit tighter before relaxing completely, his soft lips parting, square jaw growing lax. Puzzled, you glance back up at Mr. Qin whose right eye is now glowing as bright as molten steel, so bright as to almost blind you. Slowly, it fades back to its normal, ruby glitter, as his standard delicious scent also returns to normal.
"Yes sir, good, sir. Your emotional support kitten license is current, my apologies for disturbing you. Please enjoy a complimentary Kir Royale at La Folie d'Oiseau bar in the penthouse for your trouble after you've shopped to your satisfaction. I will inform all necessary staff to expect you and your elegant companion and to satisfy any desires you may have during your visit today," the security guard gushes euphorically, slow and sleepy, as if he's having the most wonderful dream and can't think of anything he'd like to do more than tell the entire mall that the cat weirdo in the stupid jeans is to be treated like royalty.
"Of course," Mr. Qin answers, gracious, patient. "But only because I'm in a very good mood tonight."
Without waiting for a response, your human sweeps past the security guard and does end up indulging in the Kir Royale himself, while also offering you the bubbly, sweet drink in a little saucer of your own after he acquires what he came here to acquire. As if it's completely normal to offer your pet cat alcohol at an exclusive bar at the most expensive mall in the world. You lap it eagerly, enjoying the fizzing in your belly, the lulling effect of the alcohol. You don't remember the trip back home.
You blink awake as the elevator doors open silently into the foyer of Mr. Qin's penthouse. His footsteps resound down the long hallway on the slick marble floor, the footsteps of a god entering a temple dedicated to his glory. On his arm, you lazily observe the shopping bags drifting beside you, encased in that swirling red and black, sparking mist. They keep pace as he makes his way to what appears to be the heart of his house: the kitchen, the living area, the view of his domain glittering menacingly far below.
As you're approaching the doorway, your ears flick as they're accosted with the unmistakable cacophony of bird screeches.
The shopping bags precede you, momentarily blocking the view as Sylus sweeps into the living area. Following the ear-splitting noise, your gaze is drawn to the huge chandelier sparkles as it looms from the high ceiling above. Two magpies, black and blue feathers brightly sheened under the refracted light, appear to be teasing Mephisto with a ruby the size of a quail's egg. They flit among the tinkling crystals, sending the entire chandelier swaying with their rapid landings and launches, as Mephisto flaps behind them in focused pursuit.
CAW! CAW! CAW!
CHITTER! CHITTER chitter chitter CHITTER!!
As soon as Mephisto seems to close in on one magpie, it tosses its head, sending the ruby sailing through the air. The other magpie catches it, chittering gleefully, dropping elegantly as a ballistic missile as Mephisto agilely swerves from the previous magpie and gives chase.
Mephisto seems to be having the time of his life as he flaps after the magpie now circling the kitchen island.
Mr. Qin heaves a sigh, as if he's used to such a loud spectacle, even as the chandelier sways dramatically above as the second magpie rejoins the other among its priceless layers of crystal and silver.
The bags settle themselves on the kitchen island's counter and Mr. Qin's evol dissipates. He nudges you gently off his arm next to them. As he begins to rummage through the bags and lift the items he purchased out, one by one, you rub yourself along his arm, letting your tail wind around his wrist.
A wand tipped with elaborate, beautiful peacock feathers. Little crystal balls with jingling bells in them. Several hand-stitched plushie mice filled with catnip. Robotic frogs made of a silicone material that hop across the counter when powered on. Carefully gift-wrapped bags of treats, their openings cinched with with an overabundance of scarlet, curled ribbons.
You sniff disinterestedly at each item, puzzled as to why Mr. Qin went to all the effort to acquire these things when you're perfectly satisfied with napping, being held by him, and clawing at his stupid jeans.
"The tower tree designed to resemble the base will take two days to make and arrive," he raises his voice, ever so slightly, to be heard over the birds above.
You turn your back on all the toys, flicking your tail disdainfully.
"Oh, I see how it is," he snickers. "My little kitten couldn't contain her glee as she rampaged through the pet store, but now that I've fulfilled her desires by purchasing every item she deigned to claw at, she's bored already."
Tail flicking dangerously, you spin around and swipe at Mr. Qin's gold-threaded sweater with a curved claw. Still laughing, he grabs your paw, holding it gently and harmlessly against his abdomen. "Keep that up and I'll get you solid gold kitty claw clippers to render your talons a little less dangerous to my wardrobe."
Oh, hell no. You spin again, tail puffed and back arched, ready to show him just how difficult you'll make it for him to get anywhere near your weapons when the vibration of his rumbling laughter rolls through your body again, softening your indignation and causing you to pause just long enough for his big hands to gently cage you. They feel so good on your body, an intoxicating mix of assured strength and dexterous care for your fragile bones, the small size of you in his powerful grip. Yowling in feigned protest, you let him slide you across the counter without a struggle until you're snuggled up against the sweater you just tried to assault.
Your token protest must have finally gotten the attention of the circling birds, because both magpies abandon their play with Mephisto and divebomb toward you and Mr. Qin.
The threat evokes the reaction that such things always do: instead of cowering against the shelter of Mr. Qin's broad body, you jump, swiping at one of the magpies with a claw-tipped paw.
It playfully swoops out of your reach just before contact, while the other takes advantage of your fall back to the counter, flying behind Mr. Qin and… trying to pluck one of his soft silver locks waving gently over his shirt collar with his wicked beak?!
Although Mr. Qin takes the assault in stride and elegantly ducks, causing the magpie to chitter gleefully and flit away again, you will not stand for this!
As the heinous bird swoops back in again for another go at Mr. Qin's precious hair, you leap onto his shoulder and with a vicious swipe knock the magpie away, triumphantly confirming that not a single silver hair was snatched in its vicious beak.
Slinking around Mr. Qin's shoulders, you drape yourself over the back of his neck to shield him from further insults to his person, growling menacingly as the magpies swoop and dive around you, squawking all the while.
Mephisto adds to the ruckus, cawing loudly, zooming back and forth at the periphery of your battle with the magpies in between dropping the ruby, catching it, and flapping up again with the glittering stone in his beak.
The magpies seem completely unfazed, chittering in amusement as they circle and divebomb, always just out of the reach of your razor swipes. A rumble shakes your body pleasantly—Mr. Qin is laughing.
"That's enough roughhousing for today. You're going to give Kitten here a stroke and we just got her." He waves the birds away. "Go get changed. I want an update within ten minutes."
Shockingly, they swoop back into the air in utter obedience, careening across the room and perching on matching atrocities behind a big black leather couch. You had first thought they were some kind of modern sculpture, but apparently the thrusting sculptures resembling ineffective coatracks are actually perches, similar to the cursed crow's perch in Mr. Qin's bedroom.
"I'm used to it, Kitten," Mr. Qin reassures you, reaching back to stroke tenderly along your back, smoothing the fur raised there. "They know exactly how far they can go before incurring my wrath. No need to protect me from my own men."
You purr under his touch, rubbing your face against his throat.
Tail flicking, you wish you could tell him, Men? What men. This is exactly why you need me around, and why you are not allowed to trim my claws. It's the open emergency exit all over again. Having your fur pulled hurts. I know from experience. Even in jest, they should pay you the respect you deserve. Wild animals like those birds can turn on you in an instant. As such an animal myself, I know this all too well. My captor insulted you and incurred your wrath, but from now on I will be your wrath for anyone who dares insult you.
But you can't tell him. Not in this form. And you can't remember any other form. Not really. When you think too hard about it—
that wretched mewling that has been haunting you since you invaded Mr. Qin's territory rings in your ears.
"Kitten—" the amusement leeches from his voice, and your whole body tenses. Has he found the source of that awful, pitiful sound? Is it another intruder, just like you?
You don't care how pathetic such a stray is, Mr. Qin belongs to you now. It's bad enough that you have to share him with several feathered abominations. There's no room for anyone else!
"Boss, the shipment's waiting for your inspection in the armory," a familiar voice pulls your attention to the couch where the magpies were previously perched.
A tall handsome man, nude, whose wiry muscled body is conveniently blocked from the waist down by said couch, grins at you and Mr. Qin.
"And the vermin are exterminated!" Crows another man, a mirror of the first, except one half of his face, neck, and lithe torso are ravaged by wicked scarring. He too is naked, and the scars that twist his grin somehow make him more, instead of less handsome. Like shattered fine china repaired with molten gold.
The men who killed all the assholes who knew you and Caleb were kept in abysmal conditions as cats, let alone as human beings, are the chaotic magpies.
They're hybrid shifters, just like you. You stare at them with huge eyes.
They don't have collars on of any kind. Their scent is gleeful, relaxed, eager. One of them has a buzzing, electric scent where the other smells more calm, mellow, but their scents mingle, morph—as if the electric energy of the one bolsters the other, and the serenity of the other tempers and soothes the first.
Something inside of you aches, recognizing the synergy of siblings who really care for each other.
You force your thoughts away from the ache, focusing instead on the bolstered certainty that Mr. Qin, despite doing business with men like your captor, is absolutely nothing like him. The easy admiration that his men, bird-human hybrids just like you are a cat-human hybrid, is all the testament you need, if you still had any lingering doubts.
No wonder Mr. Qin didn't concern himself with them taking their little game of trying to ruffle his feathers too far. They aren't just semi-tamed birds. And they genuinely love him.
"What part of 'go change' did you two misunderstand?" Mr. Qin rubs his forehead, as if infinitely tired. But his scent remains… amused. Contented. He's not actually annoyed with them, but there is a thread of something… bitter. Just a little, as he glances between your intense stare and the naked men who are clearly twins.
"What was there to misunderstand?" the unscarred one grins. "We went…"
"To the other side of the living room," continues the other, mirrored grin widening.
"And we changed into our human form!" finished the first.
"You knew perfectly well I meant go to your rooms and change not only form, but into clothes." Mr. Qin says calmly. "Begone, and take Mephisto with you."
Mephisto ruffles his feathers from his perch in indignation, but before you can puff up and threaten him into obedience, your vision is blocked by one of Mr. Qin's gigantic hands just as the twins are about to walk past the censoring couch—and before you can see anything really interesting.
You twist a little, gently nipping at Mr. Qin's fingers, but by the time he removes his hand, it's just the two of you in the room.
Well, being alone with Mr. Qin is even better than mirrored muscular-man butt. And they did take the cursed robot bird with them.
As Mr. Qin scoops you back onto your customary perch on his forearm, the bitter, possessive scent fades.
The rest of the night is spent in his armory, a yawning, warehouse-like space spanning an entire floor below the penthouse. He sets you down amidst the large packing crates with some of the cat toys he had bought for you earlier.
Snubbing them, you amuse yourself while Mr. Qin inspects the crates' contents with a joyful, almost aroused scent, by jumping from crate to crate, jostling the heavy weaponry packed into incredibly fun packing foam that you shred to your heart's content. It's like being at an indoor playground with ball pits and foam pits to jump into, with tubes to wriggle through, jungle gyms to crawl all over—the kind you used to sneak into when you and Caleb were children, always through the back exit, propped open by haggard employees on their smoke break. The thought causes that horrible mewling again, but it quickly fades after Mr. Qin pauses in his examination of a shoulder-mounted rocket launcher with an embedded glowing protocore, dropping it carelessly back into the crate and rushing over to you.
He rocks your tiny body in his arms, your head tucked under his chin. His scent is thick and comforting around you, electric, sparking with rage underneath the soothing familiarity of his calm self-possession.
You have no idea where that awful, mournful, humiliating sound is coming from, but you don't snub the reaction it elicits from your savior. You would never admit it, but you don't dislike it at all. You don't understand why he's doing this for you. But you will forgive him anything, after he saved you. You will kill anyone to protect him, after his consistent care and attention to your needs, you who are just a wretched stray. And you'll let him do anything to you now, simply because you know he'll never want to do anything to you that hurts, after seeing how much his men adore him, and the way he uses those big, calloused hands capable of killing with a snap of his fingers to soothe you when that horrible mewling distresses you so. If it makes him feel better to snuggle you with such fierce tenderness, you'll allow it.
For now.
okay so i had a few people ask to be tagged: @mia-menaceinaction @valiantchaosvalkyrie @harmlesscouch @yokoyokai thank you for your interest!
thank you so much for reading and for all the love and support on the previous part of this story! spoiler alert: kitten!mc/reader is going to unintentionally wake up as human!mc/reader in the next part, after some more kitten hijinks, and I'm also hoping to finish it in the next part with roughly the same amount of words. i'm trying to post smaller chunks instead of marathoning the fic, so here we are. i only proof-read it once, please don't stone me for errors. i'd love to hear your thoughts and ideas on this one too in comments or in tags!
★ — friends with [few] benefits !
summary: in which you’re friends with benefits with the lads guys (who want you).
ft. xavier, zayne, rafayel, sylus & caleb
notes: MDNI / NSFW the boys are all pretty normal i fear (a lil toxic on some of them) but ummmmm i’m afraid you’re #superultramegaevil in these i’m sorry. no explicit mentions of gender (!!!) mentions of sexual acts, cursing, and brief mentions of injury (for reader) but nothing to crazy. again…reader you’re kinda at fault for all of these so be kind them maybe, that’s it (i think)
p.s. gulp…the contact names are changed just a tiiiny bit except for caleb’s bc of the assumed backstory! (also i don’t know why caleb’s is so long help me)
a/n: well! ummm….ty for reading (- -)(_ _)
© cocoaxia
Cigarettes After Sex (3)
Pairing: Sylus x Older!Non-MC reader
Genre: Fluff
Summary: You're an independent woman working as a lawyer that is stuck in the capitalistic grind to support your son - Arthur the black cat and your reading addiction but quite content with her life. What happens when you run into Sylus with his charm in a chance encounter that is dead set on courting you. Or, in other words, what happens when an unstoppable force (Sylus) meets an immovable object (Non-MC)?
Part 1 Part 2
A/N: I do not know the actual geography of the LADS universe so I decided to adapt it to the real world and my current circumstances (cuz whats a fanfic without some projection??) also that means that the reader is south indian and speaks tamil :)
I know this is short chapter but I wanted to give myself the consistency of writing everyday. I do have a lot planned for these two and I'm very excited about writing for them.
Its been close to three weeks since that night that you met Sylus (again) and he has been randomly texting you, inviting you to grab the drink that he offered. But work kept you busy. Or at least thats what you told him.
The day after that party, when you woke up with a headache (god you really were getting old), you looked him up on LinkedIn and his profile was honestly impressive. He went to one of the top universities in France with a business degree and worked at one of the top financial investment companies until he started his own investment company ‘Onychinus’.
His father was the President of the a huge conglomerate that dealt with pretty much every product under the sun and after reading this part, it all made sense to you. The young investor with the confidence paired with a carefree attitude. And one part of you was intimidated if you were being honest.
You were just a regular person that climbed the corporate ladder through sheer luck by meeting the right person at the right time and of course, your own talent. You came from a family that made just enough money to live a comfortable life but not enough where you could indulge and you moved to Switzerland from India city for your Masters only because you were able to take a student loan. If you hadn’t met your professor there who was well connected, you might not have the job you have right now. A job that finally allows you to indulge and just have a comfortable life. But that still doesn't compare to the wealth that the Qin family has accumulated and you were not an idiot. You knew that that kind of money came with power and that was what intimidated you.
That and the fact that he was a decade younger than you.
You were not ignoring him or ghosting him. You were just maintaining a respectful distance between the two of you and you hoped he would catch on to it or get tired or bored and move on.
The buzz of your phone pulled you out of your reverie and to no one’s surprise, it was him. This time it was a video of him and his brothers at what looked like sports arena and he sounded very drunk when he was criticised the player for not doing the move? You were not a sports person and you couldn’t even tell what sport he was talking about despite this being the fifth video he had sent you in the last 30 minutes. So, yea, that was some nice respectful distance you were maintaining with him.
After pretending to understand what he was talking about, you finally admitted to him that you had no clue but you supported his assessment nonetheless. With that you locked your phone and handed it to your assistant to answer any call that comes through and not respond to any of the texts no matter what (You still hadn’t given Sylus your personal number and he didn’t ask for it either). With that distraction gone, you were finally able to get your work done.
You didn’t notice that the sun had already gone down and that everyone on your floor were already packing up to go home until your assistant knocked on your door.
“You have a call from Mr. Qin and he insists on speaking to you right now.” Elijah said placing the phone on your desk.
“Thanks, I will take care of it. You should go home, it is getting late.” You tried your best to not be the monster boss that makes their subordinates stay longer than necessary and that was exactly how you earned the title of ‘tolerable boss’.
“Right back at you.” Elijah said with a smile before he went back to his desk and you picked up the phone.
“Sylus?” You called out to him as soon as the door closed.
“Who was that man who answered your phone?” He sounded sharp like he was angry but his voice also had that tone that made you think he was pouting.
“That was my assistant Elijah. He had my work phone because I had a lot of work that I needed to get done.” You explained even though, rationally you knew that you didn’t have to.
“Oh. Then give me your personal number. I don’t want to talk to him every time I call you. Besides, you have my personal number already.” And this time, even though it was an audio call, you could tell that he was definitely pouting. The mental image was cute and you let out a slight chuckle.
“Are you laughing at me?” Sylus asked, his voice going back to the sharp tone.
“Are you still drunk?” You asked, trying to change the topic and stifle your laughter.
“No.” He replied immediately which let you know that it was a massive lie. “I am merely inebriated.”
And that made you lose all composure and let out a bright laughter.
“Right. And how was the match? The sports event you attended?” You asked to get him talking about something else.
“It was okay. The players all chose the dumbest move they could have and lost the match. Fucking idiots. I hope their coach finally teaches them how to play.” And that was how Sylus spent the next 20 minutes talking to you about all the wrong moves they made and how they could play better.
In the last few hours, you hadn’t miraculously developed the knowledge and understanding of the sport (you still didn’t know what sport it was but you have an inkling that it is football). So, you just treated his rambling as a podcast and got back to work.
After he was finally done ranting, he grew quiet and with a soft voice, he asked “Are you still at work?”
“Yea, I am. Although I’ll start wrapping up soon.” You replied still typing yet another email.
“Its already 8. Its Dinner time.” He reminded you.
“Yea, I probably have something left in my fridge that I can just eat.”
“Give me your personal number.” Of all the things he could have possibly said, that was not what you were expecting and it made you pause your typing and stare at the phone.
“What?”
“Give me your personal number.” He repeated with a tinge of impatience in his voice.
“I heard you the first time. Why do you want my number?”
“To talk to you. Just you.” His voice was getting deeper and you refuse to acknowledge what that was doing to you.
“We are talking now.”
At your refusal to budge, he let out a huff. “Fine. If that’s how you want to be.”
You did not know what that meant but you were not going to ask. So, instead you settled for, “You should drink water and get some rest after today.” To which he just hummed in response.
“You sound tired. I’ll you rest.” You didn’t want to make him stay up but he refused with a sharp no.
“I want to listen to you. Talk to me.” He said after a few seconds, his voice tinged with sleep.
“Talk to you about what?” You really should stop encouraging him. You were usually good at drawing boundaries but there was something about him that made it hard for you to push him away.
“Anything. Tell me about your day.”
And that was how you found yourself leaning back on your chair and talking to him about all the random shit that happened starting from how the intern powered through his presentation without noticing that he was sharing his entire browser and not just the slides and told everyone about his ao3 interests. About how Elijah was fielding all the stupid questions from operations for you because he knew your temper. About how you hated the restaurant you picked for lunch but had to suck it up because it was a work lunch with a client.
You were rambling until you could hear the soft snores that were coming from the other side of the phone and that made you smile. With that smile also came the realisation that you were colossally fucked.
Cigarettes After Sex (1)
Pairing: Sylus x Older!Non-MC reader
Genre: Fluff
Summary: You're an independent woman working as a lawyer that is stuck in the capitalistic grind to support your son - Arthur the black cat and your reading addiction but quite content with her life. What happens when you run into Sylus with his charm in a chance encounter that is dead set on courting you. Or, in other words, what happens when an unstoppable force (Sylus) meets an immovable object (Non-MC)?
Part 2
A/N: Hello! I am back with my random burst of inspiration for writing and this is what I have so far. I saw a few posts talking about Sylus with an older woman and that got me writing. Sylus in this is 26 and reader is 36. I am supposed to finish grading papers yet here I am. Reader exhibits ADHD traits and a smoking addiction (stay safe guys!)
It was just another regular day in your life where you were stuck at work, wanting time to move fast so that you can go home and cuddle with you cat as you read some novels. Some would say that was a sad and boring life for a 36 year old single woman but you couldn’t care less. You were happy and content with your life (except your job but that was because of your stupid boss). Your boss was on your ass wanting you to finalise the draft for the upcoming major investment into your company. Tired of trying to force yourself to work, you decided to take a quick smoke break and grabbing a drink from the cafe nearby.
You made your way out of the office building and found a somewhat quiet spot near the sidewalk and took a cigarette from your purse and that was when you noticed that your lighter is out of fuel and you forgot to buy a replacement. Of all the days, it had to be today. Cursing yourself, you were looking around to see if anyone around you might have one and that’s when you spotted him - An incredibly tall man with silver hair and sunglasses looking at his phone like it personally offended him. He wore a suit with red blazer that had black tiger stripes. He sure had an odd sense of fashion paired with an aura of a man who thought everything was beneath him.
Deciding that you were only going to ask if he had a lighter and not for his first born, you decided to slowly approach him.“Excuse me. Hi. So sorry to bother you but do you by any chance have a lighter on you?”
The man stared at you with a scrutinising look, like you indeed had the audacity to ask for his first born like the wicked witch of the East. But a second later, he reached into his suit and handed you a very fancy looking lighter.
Not wanting to waste any more of his time and your break, you quickly lit your cigarette and handed the lighter back to the man with a thanks. Walking back to your previous spot, you took a few drags from the cigarette while mentally making a list of all the things you needed to get done so that you can leave this hell hole asap. Lost in your thoughts, you failed to notice that the fancy lighter man had walked to stand closer to you.
“I am Sylus.” He introduced himself without a preamble, snapping you back to reality.
“Sorry?” You said as you didn’t catch him the first time, making him repeat himself. Once you registered what he said, you reciprocated by introducing yourself to him.
“Long day at work?” He asked and you figured he was trying to make small talk for some unfathomable reason. Small talk cost you nothing other than the loss of depleting brain cells but eh, what the heck, sure.
“You could say that. Just a boss that can be a bit of a dick. Nothing I can’t handle though. You look like your driver ditched you.”
“What makes you say that?” He inquired, looking intrigued at your assessment of his situation.
“You were looking at your phone like you were ready to murder someone and now you’re here at the sidewalk making small talk with me in your rich fancy suit.” You replied with a shrug. You had the habit of people watching and observing things that other people usually don’t notice or register.
“Rich fancy suit?” Now he was just smiling at you or rather your words which should have made you self-conscious and filter your words but your brain said not today.
“Yea. I mean yeah this is a bougie law firm and everyone might wear something that looks expensive but only a rich rich person who does not care about other people’s opinions would wear…that.”
“What’s wrong with that?” He turned around and leaned on the wall to fully look at you.
“The design is definitely a choice, I’d say. It’s not for everyone and nor can everyone pull it off.” You really should stop talking but you were just digging your grave further and further.
“So, you’re saying I’m pulling it off?” He asked with a smirk, clearly fishing for compliments.
“Weirdly, yeah.” You replied with a small smile of your own as you snuffed your cigarette butt on the sidewalk. “Anyway, it was nice meeting you, Sylus. I unfortunately have to get back to my job. I hope you’re not stranded for too long, though.”
“It was nice meeting you too, Miss. I hope we meet again.” He said extending his hand for a handshake that you took. He definitely had a sharp handshake that a lot of those business gurus talk about on instagram.
“Well, you never know.” Was all you said as you made your way to the cafe to grab a cup of hot chocolate before going back to your desk. You did not think too much about this encounter unbeknownst to you that this five minutes might change the trajectory of your life as you know it now.
sylus is trying to read a report on his tablet.
you’re sitting on the floor, right next to his legs, ignoring him. instead, you have a pad of bright yellow sticky notes. you’re writing silly things on them and sticking them all over his pants.
this human belongs to me.
shiny things collector.
long leg man.
very expensive pants.
sylus dosen’t stop you. he just shifts his leg slightly so you have a flat space to write. he looks handsome– his silver hair a little messy, dark sleeves rolled up to his elbows and collar open. mephisto is perched on the arm of the sofa, watching you. the mechanical crow lets out a sharp caw and suddenly hops down, grabbing the sticky note pad with his beak.
“hey! give that back,” you yell, reaching for him.
mephisto drops the pad right into sylus’s lap, and flies up to the ceiling, clicking his beak at you in a very smug way.
“i see someone wants to start a fight,” sylus murmurs, a lazy rumble vibrating in his chest. he reaches down and peels one off his leg, reading it with a small smirk. “so, i belong to you, sweetie?”
“you know you do,” you say, leaving over his knees to reach for the pad. “now give it back, i have more notes to write.”
before you can scramble and grab it, his hand shoots out. his long fingers, wrap firmly around your waist. with one smooth, effortless lift, he pulls you straight up off the floor. then, you feel the red and black coils of his evol wrapping around you. you let out a gasp as you fly through the air, landing in his lap.
sylus’s rather massive arms wrap around your body, securing your back firmly against his broad chest. he’s so big and warm that you feel completely swallowed by him, your nose buried in the rich scent of his cologne.
“sylus!” you huff, face burning hot.
“quiet down, sweetie. you’ve had your fun, now it’s my turn.” sylus says smoothly, his ruby eyes gleaming with mischief.
sylus presses a kiss to your cheek, before grabbing a pen from his pocket. he casually strikes out the ‘me’ from the sticky note and writes his name.
then, he sticks it gently right onto your forehead.
“hey!” you laugh, trying to swat his hand.
sylus catches your wrist easily, his voice dropping to a find velvety whisper. he uses his thumb to turn and tilt your chin up, making you look at him.
“there,” he teases, his thumb rubbing a warm lazy circle into your jawline. “fair is fair. now it’s official. you belong to me too. any objections?”
“you’re ridiculous,” you mumble, giving up your fight and curling closer into his chest to hide your blushing cheeks.
sylua lets out that low, satisfied laugh, the one you love so much. he tightens his arms around you, locking you into his warmth so thoroughly you can’t move.
“good,” he whispers, leaning down to press a sweet, lingering kiss right over the sticky note on your forehead. “then you’re staying right here. don’t move.”
⋆｡°✩ Constellation Discovered ⋆｡°✩
PRETEND BOYFRIEND !
⋆｡°✩;; Sylus, Caleb ⋆｡°✩;; You ask them to pretend to be your boyfriend. Just for a day. ⋆｡°✩;; Part 1: Xavier, Rafayel Here!! || Part 2: Zayne ⋆｡°✩;; Modern AU! No such thing as evols and such.
SYLUS
A couples only VIP event for a franchise you like. You don’t get why they're even having this event- but there is a limited edition merch you REALLY want and who else to ask but rich, black card holder, Sylus who is additionally, a hot man and also a friend of yours?
Why not ask him?
“You know, I could just order it online, or get it delivered to you–” You cut him off with a shake of your head. “No! It’s for the experience, Sylus! The Ex. Per. Ience!” You emphasize your words with claps. He doesn’t seem to get you, with the way he raises his brow, but Sylus sighs. “Okay. Alright. Run it over with me again?”
You beam, then you launch into another long, excited talk, missing the way Sylus smiles at the shine in your eyes.
He snaps out of his staring when you turn back to him, grin wide and expecting. “So?”
Sylus blinks, and agrees, despite the later half of your talk coming in one ear and out the other because he was a bit too preoccupied with staring at you.. You throw your hands around him in excitement, screaming a “Thank you!” Before you pull away to pull out the website to grab tickets before it runs out.
You’re dressed to impress, definitely. Your favorite fit with additional merch of the fandom hanging off of your figure, to match the event, and Sylus is, of course, looking sharp in his black polo shirt, rolled up to his forearms and white pants. You comment that he looks like he’s going on a fancy date, ignoring the fact you find him terribly, irrevocably, hot at the moment.
He hums, and grins at you. Cheeky, mischief swimming in his eyes as he looks at you, “Well, this isn’t exactly fancy, but I have to dress for the occasion.”
You blink. Your cheeks flush red, and you swat his arm. “This isn’t a date!” You hiss.
Sylus chuckles, “But I thought it was? Y’know. For your merch. For the Ex. Per. Ience?” You glower at him, but you couldn’t exactly refute him. You did ask him to come here with you and pose as a couple, just for you to grab the limited edition merch. With his card. Because he offered. Who are you to refuse when he literally forced you to take it by tricking you after you resisted multiple occasions?
You huff out a sigh. “Yeah. Okay. You’re right. Pretend date, though.”
There’s a slight twitch of displeasure on his lips, but he nods. “Mhm. Got it.”
Throughout the event, you get multiple compliments. “I love your outfit!” A girl smiles at you, then glances over at Sylus, gasping slightly before leaning over to you, “Oh my god is that your boyfriend?”
You flush, and nod. “Oh. Uhm. Yeah! He is.”
“He’s lucky to have you.”
Sylus glances over, and smiles, having heard the whisper, and interuppts with a proud, “I know.” He looks at you, and you flush a deeper red. The girl giggles at his response, nudging you cheekily while you smile.
“What a cute couple!” (Sylus smiles wider at that.) She laughs, and waves over her own boyfriend. “Do you mind if we take a picture with you? And you socials! I would love to talk to you more.”
You beam and nod. “Of course!”
When you take the picture, you find yourself leaning into Sylus, his hand on your waist as you pose for the camera.
Following that, you exchange socials and part ways with the other couple. The event takes most of the morning, and you find yourself sitting on a bench by the venue. Sylus had brought you there the moment he heard you begin talking about the ache in your feet from all the standing and the walking, and now here you are.
Your bags are filled to the brim with merch.
It’s quiet for a moment before he speaks up.
“We should go to more of these events.”
You give Sylus a weirded out look. He smirks. “But as a real couple, y’know?”
“Wha–” You splutter, eyes wide.
“The people we met already think we’re a cute couple.” He says with a seemingly nonchalant energy, smirking. “So why not make it true?”
You’re frozen in place, mind racing. “You’re joking.” You manage to say, face already flushed.
“No.” He turns to you then, the insufferable smug smirk on his face still present, but theres a seriousness in his eyes that really makes you think. “I’m not. I’m serious.”
You blink. Then you notice the redness of his ears, the nervous opening and closing of his hand by his side and you realize that he really is serious, and that despite the smirk and the nonchalance, he’s very nervous.
“You… like me?” You say, voice quiet. He nods, slowly. “For a long time now.”
“...Really?”
“Really.”
A slow smile begins to make its way on your face, and you giggle. His eyes flicker down from your eyes to your lips, and Sylus finds himself smiling at your giggle. “Are you laughing at me?”
“No- well, I’m just thinking that you- well, look cute.” You giggle. He smiles wider, leaning over to you as his voice turns soft.
“(Name), I like you.”
“I know.” You smile. “I like you too.*
He blinks. “You do?”
“I do.”
Sylus smiles. “Then can I kiss you?”
“Shoot your shot, pretty boy.”
He laughs and leans in.
CALEB
To be fair– this started because neither of you cared about the rumors that fly around. So imagine your surprise when you were invited to an afterwork night out with some of your work friends, and was specifically told to “Invite your boyfriend! We’d love to get to know the guy.”
You had to pause, blink, and stare at them before they offer a tidbit that makes you realize they were talking about Caleb, your childhood friend and best friend, also conveniently your roommate. (“The tall, hot guy with pretty eyes who always brings you lunch! Yeah, you’re very lucky [name]!”)
When you told him about the invite minutes later, phone in hand, brows furrowed, disbelief laced in your voice, he just laughed. Laughed.
You sputter, “Are you– Did you just laugh!? Caleb!!”
He’s still laughing, voice cracking through the speaker and a pout plays on your lips as he wheezes. “God, Pips! That’s the funniest thing I’ve heard this week.”
“I’m serious, Caleb! They want you over after work for a night out. Can you believe that?”
“I’m serious too.” He lets out a snort. You balance your phone between your cheek and your shoulder as you pack your bag. “I can go. Besides, it’ll be funny to play along with it, yeah?”
You pause. “Are you doing it just for the shits and giggles?” You can hear him grin on the other side of the phone.
“Yeah.”
You groan, then sigh. “Yeah. Yeah you’re right. It’ll be funny.”
“Great! Now hurry up, pips, I’m waiting for you downstairs.”
Swinging your bag over your shoulder, you hum. “Did you bring takeout?”
“Always.”
You grin. “I’m on my way.”
“So what’s the plan?”
“Plan?” Caleb raises a brow at you, mouth full of his hamburger. You wave a french fry at him, “y’know. What do we do during the work night out thing?”
He shrugs. “Act like a couple?
You make a face. “And how do we do that?”
“... Just act normal?”
“We barely look like a couple, Caleb.” You steal a few of his french fries. He lets you.
“If they assumed I was your boyfriend, I think that’s enough proof that we look like a couple, Pips.”
You stare at him. Then shrug. “Okay. Sure.”
-
“So where is he?” Tara asks as you head down to the ground floor. Your other work friends turn to you, and you smile. “He’s downstairs, waiting.”
“Ohhhh.” You see the grins on their faces and you roll your eyes. “Really, guys? You invited him.”
“Yeah, but he always waits for you.” Tara says with a smile.
“And bring you lunch when you forget it.” Another pipes up.
“Yeah! And whenever he calls during breaks, you light up like a Christmas tree.”
At that, you freeze, your cheeks feeling a bit hot at what your friend notices. “No– really? Does my face really do that?”
“Pfft- yeah! We always know it’s him because you literally perk up.” Tara giggles.
“Wh-” You pause. Really??? Do you really-???
A voice interrupts your racing thoughts, and you look up. “Hey, Pips.”
Caleb’s leaning on the wall by the door, dressed in a button up and slacks- and he’s smiling when he spots you. He waves, and when he sees your friends behind you, he ducks his head in greeting to your friends, who grin and greet him back.
Then you feel it- your entire body perk up and despite yourself, you’re grinning. “Hi.”
Your friends snicker. You ignore them.
He takes your bag, swinging it over his shoulder and tilts his head at you and your friends. “so, where to?”
“Right!” Tara claps her hands. “So there’s this really nice place downtown-!"
-
You separate from Tara and Simone by midnight. Caleb is holding your heels, and had switched them out with sandals he brought fully knowing you would complain about your heels. He’s only listening to you ramble, and you mention something about how your friends were assuming a lot of things and that they don’t know any better. He speaks before he could stop himself. “Youre friends do know better than you.” Caleb hums. You furrow your brows and glare at him. “What do you mean by that?”
“They know how much I love you, and you don't."
The words hang there between you like they’ve weight. Even the night sounds seem to dip for a second—like the world is politely pretending not to listen.
You stop walking.
Caleb doesn’t. Well, not immediately, anyway.
He takes two more steps before he realizes you’ve gone still, then turns back slowly, heels dangling from his fingers like he forgot he was holding them at all. “Pips—”
“What did you just say?” Your voice comes out quieter than you mean it to.
Caleb blinks. Once. Then again. Like he’s replaying it in his head and realizing, too late, that it’s too loud for the space it landed in. “…Nothing,” he tries.
You stare at him.
He exhales through his nose. “Okay. Not nothing.”
Silence stretches again.
This time, it’s not the city that feels loud—it’s your heartbeat.
Caleb scratches the back of his neck, suddenly less sure of himself in a way you’re not used to seeing. “I said your friends know how much I love you. And you don’t.”
There it is again.
Not a joke. Not a tease.
Just… Caleb.
You open your mouth, then close it. “That’s— that’s not a normal thing to say.”
He gives a small shrug, like he’s already accepted that about himself. “Yeah. I know.”
“You can’t just say that like it’s—like it’s a fact.”
“It is a fact,” he says simply.
Your breath catches, sharp and unhelpful.
Caleb notices. Of course he does.
His expression softens a little. “Pips…”
“Don’t ‘Pips’ me right now,” you mutter, but there’s no heat behind it. Not really.
He steps closer, slow this time, like he’s approaching something he’s afraid might disappear if he moves too fast. The streetlight catches in his hair, in the faint crease between his brows.
“I didn’t mean to make it weird,” he says.
“You didn’t make it weird,” you shoot back immediately, then pause. “Okay— you did. But not like… bad weird.”
That gets a quiet huff of laughter out of him.
A real one.
Relief flickers across his face for half a second before something else settles in again—something more serious.
“I just meant…” he starts, then stops, like he’s trying to find the version of himself that doesn’t sound like he’s about to ruin everything.
Then he goes for it anyway.
“I’ve been in love with you for a long time.”
The air feels like it shifts.
Your fingers tighten slightly at your side.
Caleb keeps going, like if he stops now he might lose the nerve entirely.
“And I think everyone can see it except you. That’s what I meant.”
You swallow. “That’s not true.”
He tilts his head. “It’s not?”
You think of Tara. Of Simone. Of the teasing. The “always waits for you,” the “lights up like a Christmas tree,” the way your friends said it like it was obvious.
You hate that your silence answers for you.
Caleb watches you carefully. Then, softer—almost careful enough to break himself on—
“I’m not asking you to say anything back,” he adds quickly. “I just… I couldn’t keep hearing you call this normal when it’s not normal for me.”
Your chest tightens again, worse this time, because it doesn’t feel like pressure—it feels like truth pressing outward.
“Caleb,” you say, and his name sounds different in your mouth now.
He straightens a little at that. Waiting.
You look down at the sandals in his hand. At how he brought them without being asked. At how he’s always been like that—already there, already ready, already yours in all the ways that never had a label.
Then you look back up.
“You’re really bad at timing,” you say weakly.
That makes him blink.
“…Yeah?”
You nod once. “Yeah. Because now I’m thinking about it.”
A beat.
Then, carefully—“Is that a bad thing?”
You let out a breath, half laugh, half something else entirely.
“No,” you admit. “It’s just… unfair.”
His shoulders loosen a fraction. “I can work with unfair.”
That earns a real laugh from you this time, small but real, and something in his expression changes at the sound—like it lands exactly where he’s always wanted it to.
You shift your weight slightly, then glance away first, because looking at him too long suddenly feels dangerous in a way it never used to.
“…So,” you say, quieter now. “You’ve been in love with me for a long time.”
“Yeah.”
“And you just… decided to drop that after a work night out?”
He snorts. “I didn’t decide. It kind of just—came out.”
“That’s your defense?”
“It’s not a defense,” he says, stepping just a little closer again. “It’s an explanation.”
You steal a glance at him again.
He’s looking at you like he always has, apparently. You’re just noticing it now.
“Okay,” you say slowly. “And what now?”
Caleb doesn’t answer right away.
Instead, he lifts his free hand slightly, hovering—not touching you yet, still giving you the choice he probably should’ve asked for years ago.
“That depends,” he says quietly. “On whether you want me to keep acting like your friend… or if you want me to stop pretending I’m only that.”
Your throat feels tight again.
But this time, it’s not from surprise.
It’s from the realization that nothing about him has ever really been pretending.
You step forward first, and tilt your head up at him. Enough to brush your lips against his.
Caleb freezes for a split second, before his hands find your waist, deepening the kiss further.
©ahnaiee [do not repost, copy, translate, or modify]
Smitten Kitten
| Masterlist |
FANDOM: Love and Deepspace
PAIRING: Sylus/Fem!Reader
RATING: T
WARNING(S): Too much fluff, a cute cat, CatDad Sylus (canon)
Notes: Sylus came home in my first 10-pull! Have some fluff.
Taglist: @kingraspberry12-blog
“I had a cat when I was little,” you’d told him one night. Out of the blue, while you were sitting together with a glass of wine and a movie. Nonchalant. Conversational. The memory had randomly popped up when a scene of a little girl and her little kitten showed up on-screen.
Sylus glanced over, silently waiting for you to keep talking.
“Well— it wasn’t my cat,” you’d told continued, “but Caleb and I fed it so much it might as well have been— anyway. We— I had a cat. Cute little stripey cat. She was the sweetest cat ever. We called her Chew because Caleb was into Star Wars and she had a habit of, like, chewing on you.”
You couldn’t help but smile at the memory. “Grandma didn’t want to keep her, but she never really got after us for feeding her. Anyway, she disappeared after a while and we never saw her again and I cried like a baby. Dunno why I’m giving you blackmail material, but if you ever meet him, Caleb’ll probably tell you all about it. Point is, I miss that cat.”
Your boyfriend chuckled as you rested your head in the crook of his neck again. “So Kitten had a kitten… ironic, isn’t it?”
“Are you jealous that cats like me more than you now?” You teased back, taking another swig of your wine.
“I could never. In fact, I think it’s amusing.” He smirked and added, “I still have the pictures from when you were a little kitty yourself.”
Your cheeks flushed with heat. “That’s a compliment, by the way! Cats love me!”
—————
You forgot all about that conversation. You returned to Linkon, suddenly busy with new missions, and after a couple of weeks, Sylus texted.
Why dont you come visit this weekend? I think you deserve a reward for working so hard my dear Miss Hunter.
You had smiled fondly to yourself, shaking your head as you texted back: Miss me that much already?
He had sent a smirking crow emoji. You could almost picture his near-identical expression. I think ive kept you busy enough. I have a spa trip already booked for you.
Well. Sylus was nothing if not intuitive. As soon as you read his reply, your shoulders began to ache.
Sweet deal, Mr. Sylus. Alright, I’ll drop in after work on Saturday.
The next three days all but crawled by. You couldn’t help but glance at the time while you were working, and you almost wanted to go to bed earlier just so time could pass faster.
Finally, Saturday came. You buzzed about for the whole work day, earning you some comments about how much energy you had. Tara giggled with you about being excited to see your boyfriend, and Jenna raised a brow at you when you kept coming back for tasks.
“This is a lot, even for you,” she’d stated flatly. “Why dont you take the rest of the day off? Don’t burn yourself out.”
You almost protested until you realized it meant you could see Sylus faster.
Shooting him a quick text, you hurried home to shower and change before making your way to the Zone.
You’d scarcely walked in the door when Mephisto fluttered over with an accusing cry.
“What is it, Mephie?” You asked as he perched in your shoulder.
He nibbled at your earring. “Caw!” He repeated.
“Welcome home,” Sylus greeted, appearing in a doorway. He was in casual clothes, and there was… a mini feather wand in his pocket? He smiled at you, beckoning. “Come here. I have a present for you before your spa trip.”
“A spa day and a present? What did you do?” You joked, following him into a sitting room.
You stopped short when you heard a mewl. Mephisto grumbled to himself.
You stared at your boyfriend in shock. “Sylus,” you began slowly, “did you… get a cat?”
He smiled wider. “Not just any cat, sweetie.”
He turned and reached into an open cardboard box, holding up a cat. A very familiar-looking cat.
“Chew?” You gasped sharply. “But— no, Chew wouldn’t be… that was over a decade ago!”
“You’re right. She’s not your original cat.” He answered, scratching the purring kitty under her chin. “I was able to find one of her great-grandkittens.”
Your gaze softened as you accepted the cat. She looked up at you with a trilling meow, nuzzling into your chest and closing her eyes in contentment. Your heart melted. Mephisto fluttered away from your shoulder just as Sylus pulled you in to lean against him.
“Oh, Sylus,” you breathed, gently petting along her back. “How on earth did you…?”
“I have my ways.” He answered. “Besides, while you were a cat, the base became so lively. And I have all of these supplies… I think I like the idea of having another cat around, dont you?”
You were about to ask what ‘another’ meant until you realized he was teasing you. Shooting him a faux-annoyed glance, you rested your head against his chest.
“So the big, bad leader of Onychinus will have a purring cat on his lap in all of his business meetings?” You chuckled. “I’m a little jealous. I thought I was the purring cat on your lap.”
His laugh, buttery and warm, vibrated through you like the purring. “If you ever want to be a cat again, I have my ways to make that happen, too. And our little kitten might want a friend.”
Mephisto piped up grumpily from one of his perches.
You rolled your eyes while Sylus gave his bird a smirk. “I won’t make you play babysitter for this one,” he relented.
You smiled down at the dozing cat. “What to name her… it would be a little weird to also call her Chew. But she looks just like her.”
With a hum of thought, you tilted your head as she opened her little olivine eyes. “How about…”
—————
“Nyx!”
Your call was answered by happy trills as the cat trotted up to you.
True to her name, Nyx loved the night. She especially loved sleeping - next to Sylus, of course. She loved you, but she loved him. From day 1, she was mainly Sylus’s cat. She followed him everywhere, nuzzled around and around his legs, and perched on his shoulders like a sleepy little sentinel. She lived like a spoilt princess, pampered by her dad and played with by the twins. (You’d seen enough selfies with them and the cat to definitively say they were just as taken with her as you and Sylus were).
Even Mephisto didn’t hate her as much as you worried he would. While he mainly stayed away, Sylus sometimes sent you videos of the crow waving around a feather wand or dangling a toy from his beak for Nyx to swat at. Your favorite was the photo of his settled atop her, midway through preening his feathers as she slept.
Now that you came to visit, she greeted you with a mouthful of meows and leapt up into your arms for pets.
“Oh, Nyxie,” you cooed, nuzzling your cheek to hers as her tail curled around your hand. “Have you been keeping things in line around here? Hmm? Where’s your dad?”
She mewed happily and jumped to the floor, leading you through the hall to Sylus’s office. The door was cracked open, just enough for her to squeeze through.
You could hear him laugh, and you pushed the door open to see him close his laptop to pet her as she stood with her front paws on his chest.
He looked up as you entered, and his happiness shone on his face. “You’re back already, sweetie?” He inquired.
You waited for the cat to climb up and curl around his neck before you sat in his lap. “I’m back,” you echoed with a light sigh.
Nyx’s purrs rippled pleasantly through Sylus’s neck and chest, and you smiled, his hand pressing between your shoulder blades as a comforting weight.
the one where sylus cannot stop laughing at you (you're pissed)
Just a little drabble inspired by the recent cat card. Remember when Sylus snorted and could barely hold back his laughter? I'd be so fucking irritated LMAO like AIN'T SHIT FUNNY!!!
CW: sylus x cat!mc, fluff, sylus gets cuteness aggression, mc is actually aggressive (lol not really but she is IRRITATED), established relationship, sylus is obsessed, mc is too hehe, cursing
A/N: i'd like any feedback if you're willing to take the time! thank you for reading anyway!
MC is sitting across the room from Sylus, angrily knitting away while her cat-ears twitch around on top of her head, her tail poofy and flicking in annoyance.
Sylus wants to eat her. She’s so irritated. So cute. So her. So his.
His Dragon-Li.
He smirks at her, crossing his legs lazily as he watches her with an amused twinkle in his eyes. “Kitten…” He drawls. But MC ignores him, despite the fact that one of her cat ears involuntarily twitches in his direction. She violently stabs at the yarn, her face scrunched up in a scowl. A scowl that would usually scare most people away, especially in her line of work. A scowl that Sylus adores.
He chuckles quietly to himself before standing up and strolling over to where she’s sitting by the window. She stubbornly refuses to look up, but that’s okay. He crouches, softly twirling his finger around the tip of her tail. She shivers, feeling tingles all over her body, and immediately swats at him, her teeth bared. He laughs heartily. “Sylus it isn’t funny!” She keeps swatting at him, her knitting project (no longer really a project and rather another victim of her wrath), dropped and forgotten on the floor. He dodges her swats, though he doesn’t back too far away, allowing her to get closer to him of her own accord before snatching her up in his arms. MC feels herself being ensnared in his arms, his warmth enveloping her as he rubs his face on the top of her head, frizzing up the top of her hair and making her pin her cat-ears to her head. She grumbles, keeping the scowl on her face as she refuses to completely forgive him, though she allows him to touch her. Sylus takes note of the fact that she goes still in his arms, though she does dig her nails in his chest as punishment.
He welcomes it, even nipping at one her cute little ears, which makes her yelp and give a another half-hearted swat on his chest. So cat-like, so MC that he can’t help but laugh harder. It's like the biomodifico evolver just brought out what he already saw in her.
“Kitten, forgive me. But you have to admit, it’s funny.” He laughs freely, damn near giggling, his chest vibrating with his amusement. MC, surrounded by Sylus’ scent and the precious sound of his laughter, huffs, still trying to hold on to her indignance, though her tail wraps around his waist and her ears relax.
“To you! I didn’t laugh at you when you were turned into a Caracal! You fucking—“ But his unabashed laughter, one that only MC can draw out of him, drowns out her curses. And despite the fact that her pride is on the line, and despite the fact that she definitely plans to get him back for this later, she starts chuckling with him.
Then eventually, both of them are filling the room with sounds of laughter.
