hoodie
There's many reasons you love it when Sylus wears his your hoodie.
read on ao3
➻➻ ABOUT | 2000 words. sylus x gn!reader.
➻➻ TAGS | slice of life. domestic fluff. established relationship. teasing. banter. self-indulgent. (very self-indulgent).
NOTE: Sylus in a hoodie has plagued me for more than 24 hours now so I had to do something about it xx
He was almost always in suits.
Sharp, dark, tailored swaths of high-quality fabric that pressed him into the shape of a man meant to intimidate. Meant to dictate, govern, and rule.
Everything about him was buttoned up, molded into perfect presentation, each polished pleat a reminder that he belonged to no one in the room. That he was steel-edged and unreachable.
Sylus was a man born to battle, his clothing was his armor.
That was, until he knew he had a day at home with you. That's when it all fell away. That's when the head of Onychinus became Sylus. Casual, no pretenses, no reputation or intimidation to uphold. The belly of the beast exposed only to you.
Sometimes it was sweatpants, sometimes silk robes. Sometimes it was his boxers and a cotton tee. Sometimes he even kept the fuzzy socks you'd slip onto his feet, quirking a brow in amusement but doing nothing to take them off.
But your favorites were his hoodies.
Thick, warm, oversized in a way that only seemed to magnify every inch of his broad shoulders, sturdy chest, and wide biceps, Sylus' hoodies were perfect for admiring, laying on, burrowing into, and, of course, stealing.
His hoodies signified comfort. Home. And most importantly, that he was staying with you.
“That’s definitely the same model I showed you the other week. Look at the grip.”
“No, it isn’t. The barrel’s too long.”
The film on the screen was half-forgotten, its pivotal scene just background noise as you and Sylus debated, your attention far more on each other than the plot. His arm was stretched across the back of the couch and you were curled into space it made at his side. Head nestled into the warm notch between his neck and shoulder, the hood of his hoodie serving as your pillow while you finished off your carton of ice cream.
You were enjoying the feel of his rumbling voice, but you straightened at his remark, gesturing toward the screen with your spoon before you set it and the carton down on the coffee table.
"That's just the angle of the camera," you asserted, stretching feeling back into your frozen fingers as you leaned back into him. "I promise you, it's the same one."
"Sweetie, I've handled more weapons than you can name. Are you really trying to argue about guns with an arms dealer?" Amusement painted his expression as he pulled his phone from his pocket and started typing. "Here, I'll just check the production company's website. I'm sure the list of every model they've used has been-" A quiet pause.
Your grin widened. “Say it. I was right.”
Sylus pursed his lips, an attempt to hide his rueful smile, you were sure. Though, there was a spark of admiration in his eyes as well when he cleared his throat, theatrically took your cold hand into his warm palm, pressed a lingering kiss to your knuckles and humbly admitted, "You were right, kitten." He glanced back up at you, a thread of sincerity lacing between the humor. "I'm sorry for doubting your gun knowledge. Now... how can I make it up to you?"
"Hm," you mused as your hand, still not fully thawed from your frozen indulgence, slipped out of his grasp and straight into the wide sleeve of his hoodie, pressing against the hard lines of his forearm. "I think this'll do."
The heat radiating from his arm soaked into you instantly, soothing the chill in your skin.
He quirked a brow. "And what, exactly, is 'this'?"
"You stole my moment of genius, I'm stealing your body heat to avoid frostbite." Your fingers rubbed back and forth along the path of his veins, the muscle there flexed instinctively. "I feel like it's a fair trade."
Sylus exhaled through his nose, shaking his head affectionately when you nestled yourself back into his side and faced the screen.
He looked at you, down at two forearms in one hoodie sleeve resting in his lap, and muttered, "First deal I've ever made where I wanted my opponent to ask for more."
The morning light slanted through the windows, painting the room in muted oranges and pinks as the shadows in the living room lightened. Sylus was stretched longways on the couch, his long legs making his feet press up against the arm rest as he read to wind down his day. The hoodie he wore hung comfortably over his frame, sleeves slightly pushed up, the soft fabric tracing the lines of his shoulders and arms in a way that made him look relaxed but still impossibly appealing.
His eyes had been skimming the pages, but he looked up, features softening when you approached. "You alright, sweetie?"
"Yeah, I just thought I'd join you."
“I'll move over." He started shifting to make room when you stopped him.
"No, no need." You motioned to him to still his movements. "I don't want to disturb you."
Then, without another word, you reached out, plucked the book from his grip, and placed it onto the coffee table. He let out a quiet hum of confusion when you lifted up the hem of his hoodie as high as it would go and started sliding underneath, staying utterly still the entire time you wriggled through it until your face popped out of the (now rather constricting) neck hole and pressed your face into the contours of his throat.
You couldn't move, what with your arms trapped at your sides by the straining fabric of his hoodie, but you couldn't deny the comfort of being pressed so closely to him, warm, languid, connected.
Suddenly, tucked into your new shell with your chest pressed against his, your whole torso shook as a deep, rich chuckle rolled from him, crescendoing into a hearty laugh. “Is this your way of not disturbing me?” he asked.
You hummed in agreement as you felt the weight of his surrendered arms finally secure around you — one hand splayed across your back, the other cupping the base of your skull — completing your cocoon.
He chuckled once more, low and amused, before tugging gently at the lobe of your ear. “I could just get you a blanket, you know. Something designed for this exact purpose.”
You tipped your head back enough to meet his eyes, stubborn fire in yours. “No blanket. Just this.”
"As you wish, kitten." Sylus let out a resigned sigh, pressing a gentle kiss to the crown of your head before letting his cheek rest against yours, his warmth and steady heartbeat lulling you both toward sleep.
His hood was slung over his head, revealing only a few tufts of white hair and shadowing his face while the late afternoon sun stubbornly broke through the blinds. On weekdays, he used this time to nap before you arrived home from work, but today was Saturday and his focus was locked on the screen and his thumbs flying over the controller.
His character was winning.
You narrowed your eyes at the screen, not willing to glance away as you pushed your character to catch up. “Don't look so smug."
“I'm always smug when I win,” he quipped back, eyes also glued to the screen. “You’re being too predictable.”
"Predictable," you scoffed, leaning forward and mashing the buttons with sharp precision. "Just because you know me well doesn't mean I can't still keep you on your toes."
He tilted his head, the hood slipping lower over his forehead as you closed the distance between your characters. “Is that so? Then why has your character been two steps behind mine this whole game?"
That's what pushed you over the edge. What made you spring from the comfort of your custom gaming chair, lean into his beautifully surprised face, and pounce on the dangling drawstrings of his hoodie to yank them taut.
"I'll show you predictable," you muttered. The hood was cinched shut, leaving only a nose and lips poking out of the circle of fabric as you plopped back into your chair and grabbed your controller.
He was frozen in place, to your delight, showing no evidence of predicting your move as he dropped the controller to release his hood.
"Seems I've drawn out the kitten's claws." Laughter shook his chest as he tugged at it to loosen the strings. The chant of your character's in-game victory resounded from the screen. "Are you sure you're prepared for the consequences of this declaration of war?"
Content with your win, you stood up and bent down to kiss the top of his fabric-covered head. "If the war's against you then victory is my only outcome."
With a low huff, he finally tugged the drawstrings loose, pushing the hood back into place the nape of his neck. His eyes caught yours, gleaming with promise.
Before you could react, his hands found your waist and, with one fluid movement, lifted you up and threw you over his shoulder.
“We’ll see about that," he growled through your squeals, the game screen still showcasing replays of your win to the empty room.
It was an object of curiosity for him, your knack for stealing his hoodie. Freshly laundered from his closet, off the back of a chair after he'd already worn it. At first, he thought little of it. Just one of your habits, like leaving a half finished drink on every surface of the flat, humming under your breath when you cooked.
But the more it kept happening, the more the curiosity had lodged itself in his mind. You’d worn the damn thing more than he had at this point, he was sure of it.
His phone buzzed in the pocket of his sweatpants and he swiped it open. "Sweetie."
“Hey,” you greeted. “Sorry I'm late, I’m on my way now. Shouldn't take me too long to get there."
"You don't need to apologize to me," he said warmly. "Luke and Kieran on the other hand… they might need more than that. They were excited for you to be the guest while they attempted cooking tonight."
Your laugh crackled through the speaker. "Suddenly, I'm kind of glad I got held back at work."
He’d offered to buy you one of your own on more than one occasion. The same cut, the same color, brand new and all yours, but you always refused and he wasn’t sure why. You’d matched clothing with him before, wearing similar cuts or styles and didn't seem to mind. In fact, you were the one who'd encouraged it and the more he'd thought about it, the more he'd liked the idea of you wearing the same garment he wore.
So he didn’t understand. Not until this moment, when he’d picked it up from the bathroom counter—left behind after you’d slept in it the night before—and pulled it over his head to wear before you arrived.
Because as the fabric fell into place, the scent of you ensconced him. Your shampoo, your skin, your sweat. And beneath both, subtle but unmistakable, the added scent of him. Both of your fragrances swirling around him into something familiar and unique and special. The lingering ghost of you pressed against him as surely as if you were still there, crammed into the torso of the garment with him.
"You guys want me to bring anything?" you asked.
"No need," he reassured, taking his phone from the counter. "Once you arrive, we’ll have everything we need here.”
A faint smile tugged at his mouth as he found the website on his phone with one swipe. And with one more, he cancelled the order for the hoodie he'd ordered for you.
This one was the only one he wanted you to wear from now on.
➻➻ MASTERLIST
Soft and fluffy and comfy 🥰
(I want his hoodie too.... preferably from the chocolate shop 🥲)
