hey! i’m just here to have fun and scream about my favorite characters. I’m planning to eventually write for jjk, genshin, tears of themis, final fantasy vii, love and deepspace, and bluelock.
brace yourself for lots of fluff, and emotional chaos. 💫
“it’s not that cold,” you said earlier, brushing him off like it was nothing, already halfway out the door before he could argue properly.
sylus had looked at you for a second longer than usual, like he was deciding whether to push it.
“…take a jacket.”
“i don’t need one.”
he didn’t respond after that, just grabbed his own coat and followed...
it starts off fine, the air is crisp, a little chilly, but nothing unbearable. you walk beside him like normal, talking, pointing out random things, hands tucked into your sleeves like that would somehow count as protection. see? completely fine. you almost want to say it out loud again just to prove a point. but as time passes, the cold settles in deeper, it’s quieter at first. subtle.
the kind that creeps up your arms, brushes against your neck, slips under your clothes like it belongs there. you ignore it, you’re fine... you’re definitely fine. you rub your hands together once, then again, a little more firmly this time.
sylus notices, of course he does but he doesn’t say anything yet. instead he just glances at you briefly before looking ahead again. you keep walking until a few minutes later, you drift a little closer to him. not obvious, just a step and then another until your arm brushes against his.
he still says nothing, but you can feel it, his awareness shifting, attention settling on you without actually turning his head. you pretend not to notice but unfortunately the cold gets worse. your fingers are freezing now, and you don’t even remember when you started curling them into your sleeves so tightly.
another gust of wind hits. this time, you don’t hide it, you shiver, shoulders pulling in slightly and without thinking, you move closer again. closer than before. your arm presses fully against his now, your side leaning into him just a little, like it’s accidental. like you didn’t mean to.
all of a sudden he stops walking. you blink, caught off guard, nearly bumping into him.
“…you’re cold.”
it’s not a question.
you immediately shake your head. “i’m not"
another breeze cuts through you before you can finish. your body betrays you instantly, a small shiver running through you. silence. slowly, you look up at him. he’s already looking down at you pretty unimpressed.
“…i told you.”
you open your mouth to argue, but nothing comes out this time. because… yeah. you’re freezing. he exhales quietly, like he expected this from the beginning, then his hands move, already unbuttoning his coat.
“sylus, you don’t have to...”
“turn around.”
you hesitate.
“…what?”
“turn around.”
there’s no room to argue in his tone, calm but firm. you do it anyway. a second later, warmth settles around you. his coat, heavy and still holding his body heat, drapes over your shoulders, the fabric swallowing you whole. his hands come up behind you, pulling it properly into place, adjusting it like it actually matters. your breath catches slightly. it feels… close. intimate in a way that makes your chest tighten. he steps back once you’re settled.
“…better?” he asks.
you nod, a little too quickly. “yeah.”
your voice comes out softer than you intended. you pull the coat tighter around yourself, sinking into the warmth, into him, really. it smells like him too.
you turn back to him, still slightly flustered. “you’re going to be cold now.”
he just shrugs lightly.
“i’ll live.”
you stare at him for a second.
“…i hate when you’re right.”
that earns the smallest reaction. a faint, almost invisible smirk. you step closer immediately, naturally, like it’s where you belong now, his coat wrapped around you, your shoulder brushing his arm again. only now, when the wind hits, you don’t feel it as much.
We’ve seen cameos of the littles with our OG3 LIs, so I was thinking, what ab mister caleb himself
Imagine if you will big bro Caleb so excited for TWO new little pipsqueaks to spoil (mini-squeaks if you will) only to find out they’re carbon copies of their daddy even from birth hehe
Doesn’t take long before they have him wrapped around their chubby little fingers tho hehe
icymi, i have a short little uncle caley intro here!
but in honor of his birthday, here's a bit more of them too hehehe
sylus x reader | caleb & reader (platonic) | sylus & his family
Caleb's falling asleep.
"Bedtime is at eight, so make sure to get them ready by seven thirty." The list seems endless at this point, even to you, but your eyes still widen at Caleb's disrespectful yawn.
"I'm sorry, am I boring you with how to protect my children?" you hiss.
He blinks open half-lidded eyes. Dangerous for someone driving on the freeway if he weren't who he is— colonel bozo. "Yes."
"Ugh." You turn in your seat, crossing your arms over your chest. It doesn't occur to you that you always act like a child whenever you're with him, despite being a whole adult with a husband and kids and a big, dangerous job.
He notices, though, all the time. Despite being the top-status hunter that you are now, you're still that stupid kid who swiped boogers on his shirt and stuck bracelet beads into your nose all those years ago. And despite drifting apart, it's nice to know you still trust him enough to turn your brain off around him.
He's impressed, he admits. He never would have thought you'd be this kind of mother— rules and regulations, bedtime schedules, and sweets restrictions. "I know how to care for kids."
"Not mine," you murmur bitterly. And it stirs something awful in the pit of his stomach, something he doesn't appreciate.
The air shifts. Once comfortable silence between you now has been tainted by an awkward poison and you groan at the clamminess that grips you to its attention. "Oh, Caleb, I didn't mean that."
"No, it's whatever," he says— so falsely nonchalant if it weren't for his bottom lips sticking out like a broody teenager.
"Caleb..." you sigh, adjusting yourself on the passenger's seat to face him. "I'm sorry. I'm just... not used to having people babysit."
The engine hums. He swallows. "Even me?"
"No, of course not. It's..." complicated. You'd love to say you trust him, that all your life you have. But the family you've grown has been so personal to you, so apart from who you were then, and so much of who you are now that it's hard to present such a change to someone who knew you from so long ago.
Not to mention, he is an official government branch superior— and you are also married to and have children with Linkon's most infamous criminal.
You just can't be certain how these two worlds could possibly mix.
You sigh. Even if— you know Caleb is good, and he would never do anything uncalled for, especially your own.
Your worries slough off your shoulders like rain, and you smile at him. "You're right. I'm being silly."
"You are," he states smugly. Your eye twitches at the tone and you want to smack the back of his head. Though relief now loosens his tongue and warmth seems to return to his words. "I'm the best babysitter there is."
He believes that to be true so much it almost gets you. But, the last time he's met the babies was when they were born two years ago.
You wonder if he can keep up. Now that you think of it... you can't wait to see.
"Mama!" you expect the cannonball of a child running into you as soon as you open the door. Lucian is caught in your arms in a second flat and peppered with kisses.
His giggles are melodious. Halting only when he spots the stranger standing behind you. He taps your cheek to let you know, "Man."
You turn. Caleb stands there in full uniform, tall and cast in the shadow of the afternoon sun behind him. He waves sweetly at Lucian who hides his face in your shoulder. "It's okay, sweetheart. This is Uncle Caleb."
"Unka-Keweb?" he murmurs, peeking up at the man with purple gumdrop eyes and chocolate brown hair.
"Where's Kyros?" you ask, entering further into the residence and shutting the door behind you. In your arms, Lucian tracks the Keweb with a watchful glare. "Kyros?"
On the couch, you spot your other toddler shoving cookies into his plastic dinosaur toy's mouth. When you call his name, his ears perk and wobbly knees jog towards the sound of your voice. "A'mama!"
But he stops, dead in his tracks, when he bumps into a man-who-isn't-papa's leg. Gasping, he scrambles back and slinks behind an ottoman.
Caleb frowns. Had he scared him so much? Maybe he should have changed into something friendlier and less... military.
You take it upon yourself to follow him and lift him into your arms like a kitten by his armpits. Soothing both boys into your embrace, you ask them to hear you out.
So, Caleb finds himself seated, back ramrod straight, at the edge of your living room floor, at least ten feet away from the children who approach him like spicy kittens.
"Bet you're wishing to hear the rest of my rules now, huh?" you tease him from across the room. He scoffs at you but doesn't respond.
He's too busy marveling at the little boys who've grown so much since he last saw them.
"Hi," he whispers softly, extending an arm out to the braver twin closest to him. Lucian, if he remembers correctly, flinches, but waves his little hand back.
"Don't worry, I'm a nice uncle." Caleb says, selling himself. "I'm a cool uncle."
"Cool: Unka Doter Sayne." Lucian protests, associating the word to only one man. Caleb's eyes widen at the rejection— and at the very fact that he must also still compete with Zayne as cool uncle too.
"No." he shakes his head, a little too eagerly. "I promise I'm cooler."
"Unkie-Doter-Sayne make ice." Lucian gestures with his hands like a princess conjuring flurries. "Like dis."
You snort. Caleb feels a crick in his neck. "Oh yeah? I can make things fly, y'know."
"Papa fly." Kyros chimes in, still so far back but seemingly tuned in to the conversation.
Caleb huffs. "Huh, I guess I'm not so unique."
"Aww, don't sell yourself short, big guy." you sympathize with him. The boys are so comfortable in their own familiar circle that sometimes they just can't help but act cautious around someone new. But you're sure that if anyone can win their hearts, it would be Caleb.
You pat his shoulder. "Let me go look for Skye, and we'll be on our way."
He barely even looks at you, too focused on trying to figure out how to climb the cool ladder in these boys' books. He didn't become colonel because it was easy after all— he loves a challenge.
The littles' eyes follow you until you are out of sight, then they zero in on their new guest.
"Mini-squeaks." he addresses them, scooting a little closer. Lucain holds his ground. Kyros shies back just that little bit. "Tell me... does Uncle Zayne have this?"
He thrusts his open hand out. The littles gasp, disbelieving and loud, at the golden contents of his palm.
"Caleb?" You call. You've been upstairs packing a few things, and haven't heard any commotion from your boys in a while. You worry if they've eaten their uncle whole— and if this is the first time you'll discover that they could do that at all. "Lucian? Kyros?"
Sylus follows behind you with his luggage. Dreading the fact that you've convinced him to attend the meeting and leave his sons with the colonel and not Luke or Kieran or him.
Deep inside, he was hoping for the boys to scare him off. Then, there would be no other choice than to stay home (which he would happily oblige).
Someone screams in the playroom.
Sylus drops the bags down the stairs and races behind you, who started sprinting.
"AAA!"
You open the door to Lucian, whizzing across the air, so close to your head that you smell his powdery scent... mixed with a distinct sweetness.
"Wee!" he coos, arms spread like a hawk as he dives down and lifts up with the speed and precision of a fighter jet.
"Papa." Kyros waddles towards Sylus on the ground, revealing to him red and green candy wrappers in his hands and a show of his tongue licking at the roof of his mouth repeatedly. "Papa, appa-candy."
Sylus huffs a heavy breath and brushes the caramel off of his son's cheeks. "How many have you had?"
"I two years old." he answers. Sylus... wants to sob.
"Caleb!" you sneer at the man in the middle of the chaos, controlling your little one's gravity with an effortless finger. On his face is plastered a smug-ass smile.
"They love me!" he cheers, completely missing the tone of the room as you fill it with your negative energy. His joy is puppylike when he floats Lucian into his arms and the baby grasps his neck and hugs him. "See? I got this."
He catches Sylus's incredulous gaze and perks up. "Hey, Skye!"
"Caleb," you whine, seeing the mess and the sweets and the flying toddler. It wasn't that you think he couldn't do it, it's that you know your own children can be very manipulative if they wanted to. And so far, they've gotten this poor man to give them uppies and candies within the span of half an hour. "Are you sure you can do this?"
"What, you don't want me to babysit anymore?" he says, enunciating his words slowly and clearly so that certain someones can exclaim—
"No!" Lucian cries, squeezing Caleb's neck tighter in his embrace. "Kie'Caley, stay!"
"Ke'Caley fun, mama." Kyros says, tugging at your shirt so you can hear him. "Can stay? Pease?"
You gape at the three of them. Sylus is at a loss for words.
Caleb laughs at your expressions.
"Bedtime is at eight, so PJs on by seven thirty. Red toothbrush is Lucian's, and Kyros's is orange. Nest bed needs two pillow fluffs before Kyros is tucked in, and I will go vroom, vroom, vroom on the racecar bed before Lucian gets in— of course, to check if the tank's full."
Your jaw is to the ground. Sylus has to pick it back up before he moves forward with Kyros in his arms to finally address Caleb.
"Three pillow fluffs," he corrects. "And make sure Sunny is to his left."
"Sunny?"
"Dwagon." Kyros supplies.
"Ah." Caleb nods, figuring he'll find out later. "Got it."
Sylus gives him a final once-over, considering him for once, as someone beyond your seemingly foolish relative. And giving his uniform and badges the credit they deserve— the credit he deserves. For only the clever can work out his children so quickly. "We'll be back tomorrow morning."
Caleb nods in understanding. Simple, respectful.
Sylus gives Kyros to you and squeezes your shoulder when he exits the room to ready the car.
You are left in the silence of what has just conspired; the blessing that has been granted. And are somehow still doubtful.
"Hey. I got this." Caleb reassures you, propping Lucian up in his arms again as they give you matching boba eyes. "They're safe with me."
And when Kyros wriggles out your embrace to waddle over to Caleb's leg— Caleb will tell you how it melted his heart later— your heart softens.
When Satoru bought a new bed for you two to share, you had assumed it meant you would finally regain some personal space.
This was proven to be, in fact, false.
This was the third night in a row that you had been awakened by your husband's long limbs smacking you in your sleep. One lanky leg flopped over your own shorter legs while his arm draped over your stomach. It had become a routine of sorts; he would join you in bed around 4AM after finishing his duties, then around 5AM, he would begin his shenanigans.
At first, it was smaller, less irritable things like accidentally nudging you in his sleep, or snoring, but as time went on, his unconscious body seemed to turn restless. Satoru began to spread out on the bed, taking up around seventy five percent of the mattress, leaving you a sliver of space to occupy.
His lanky frame lay sprawled on the bed, limbs stretched out on top of your own as if you were his personal body pillow.
It eventually became insufferable; you couldn’t sleep with his constant invasion of your personal space, so you begged him to buy a bigger bed.
And that he did, except it somehow made the problem worse.
Now you lie awake, 5:17AM, with your husband snoring happily next to you, his leg draped over your hip, arm stretched over your collarbone, and face tucked into the crook of your neck. You didn’t understand how he managed to somehow take up the entire king-sized bed.
You huffed, trying — and failing — to push his body off of you, “Gosh, why are you so damn heavy?” You muttered under your breath, hand moving to nudge him awake.
“Toru, get up!” You whisper shouted, “You’re suffocating me, you oaf.” Gojo blinked groggily, bright blue eyes piercing the dimly lit room, “As much as I adore you, I’d like to get my three hours of beauty sleep, babe.” He groaned, nuzzling further into your neck, “Yeah, Toru. Me too, get off.”
He whined, pulling you further into his embrace as if he was trying to trap you. You rolled your eyes at him, hands still trying to push him away so you could actually enjoy your sleep. “Why do you hate me? I’m just trying to cuddle my wife,” he peeked up at you, blue eyes widening in faux puppy eyes.
“No, you’re suffocating me. Seriously, baby, how do you take up so much space?” He lifted his head, gasping in mock offence, “Are you calling me overweight? That’s so hurtful, I’ll have you know I have an amazing physique.” You stifled a laugh, brushing your fingers through his snowy hair, “Yes, Toru, I can see that, but I wouldn’t be surprised if all those sugary snacks caught up to you.”
“I’m just saying you sprawl out a lot, Toru, I’m trying to sleep, and I feel you practically on top of me.” He hummed into your neck, seemingly contemplating how to respond, “I just enjoy being close to you, is that a crime?”
You giggled, “It is when I’m practically being strangled.” Satoru whined louder this time, “It’s not fair, you deprive me of physical touch, babe.” You swatted his shoulder lightly, “Be quiet, you big baby. No one said we couldn’t cuddle. I just said stop confusing me for the mattress.” He pouted, “But you’re so soft.”
Leaning down, you kissed his pursed lips, “Just cuddle me like a normal person, okay?”
“But I’m not normal,” he sleepily argued.
You laughed, tugging lightly on his messy hair, “I know, baby. I know.”
onychinus wasn’t really an official office, but there existed a home-base of operations.
with clean-cut interior, bulletproof glass conference rooms, desks scattered with both paperwork and technology alike under the ambient warm light surprisingly considerate of people who are sensitive to brightness, the building stands central north of the N109 zone.
this, as far as dwellers and factions know, is the home of the infamous ruler of onychinus. the dragon’s den. the keeper’s castle.
and this young, new assistant who is trying to make something of himself in the tower of bodies trying to climb upwards on the social ladder starts work today.
onychinus promises worth in exchange for loyalty. no questions asked.
he can do that.
he hasn’t even been sat an hour yet on his new desk before the phone started to ring.
briefed that all calls should be handled with promptness and professionalism, he takes it barely at the first ring. not expecting the voice that comes through.
“helloo?”
it takes him a moment to recall the script. “service?”
“can talk to papa?”
papa? he’s spent all week memorizing the names of the organizations affiliates. not one is called papa. had he missed something? so soon shall this be the end of his career?
he swallows. ponders—this can either be an enemy with technology to change their voice, or… no, how could a child know this number?
“hello? can talk to papa?”
“who is this?” he demands, harsh.
it is lost on the voice. he dictates his own learned script slowly. “my name… is… keewo.”
keewo… neither was that on the list. had he missed a page? was it the phonetic alphabet? code?
his palms begin to sweat. phone calls should never last more than a minute unless necessary. and the time ticks dangerously closer to forty seconds.
and his supervisor seems to he counting with him, because across the room, polishing a newly shipped in protocore weapon, his eyes meet ones behind a crow’s mask.
“you are not in our system.”
“what tissem?” the voice breathes, mouth too close to whatever receiver he was using. “can talk to papa pease?”
“are you a child?” forty seconds… the masked man rises from his seat.
“no. i boy.”
“how old are you?” forty-three. he’s placing the weapon down.
“i two. oh-most, twee.” the boy says happily. “can talk papa now, pease?”
forty-nine. his eye twitches. “who is papa?”
“my papa!”
fifty. shit. the supervisor is a few steps— “what’s his name?”
“uhh… uh…” fifty-three.
fifty-four.
fifty-five.
“papa name is… uh—“
“you dialed wrong.” fifty seven.
“no! i pwactice.” he harrumphs on the other end. fifty eight. “my papa name sy-woos!”
fifty-nine.
sylus.
his blood runs cold.
at sixty, like clockwork the phone is snatched from his hand. but the masked man who’d given him strict instructions that day has frozen in his own place a few paces away.
behind him stands a ghost never meant to be witnessed by mortal eyes. this shadow clad in darkness that only allow his red irises’ glow to pierce through. he lowers his head—respect, fear— he cannot say. but his heart beats like hooves in of a stampede.
“kyros.” says sylus. mister sylus— he would be instructed to call him were it not deemed unnecessary because he never comes in. “papa is working, angel.”
he barely hears the commotion on the other end. doesn’t even register the way the ominous entity of a man’s voice softens to an unbelievable timbre just above him.
“i know, i miss you too.” he says. footsteps fade along with the voice as he retreats with the wireless into the private office reserved for him alone.
he’s done for, surely. how could he have dismissed the boss’s son? how could he have known? no matter; he should have. and now—
“hey.” the masked supervisor squeezes his shoulder and he jumps like a cat.
the man— he isnt sure which twin this is but there were two of them earlier— snickers. “scared?”
he swallows.
“don’t worry about it.” he points to the dock missing its handheld, towards the light glowing orange. “forgot to mention, if it’s this color, always redirect to the main phone.”
he swallows. the boss doesn’t like to be bothered with trivial things, is what he knows. right?
but his supervisor adds. “he doesn’t like missing calls from very important people.”
he has no time to process before sylus returns and the handheld clicks in place in the dock before him.
crimson eyes examine him and he feels like his skin is peeled apart and soul exposed for a moment before sylus slowly turns away.
you call out for sylus as you step out of the bathroom, fingers holding your dress in place and when he walks in, you swear the air shifts a little.
“can you please help me zip this?” you ask, turning your back to him without thinking twice. like it’s the most natural thing in the world to trust him like this.
there’s a brief pause before you feel his fingers brush against your skin, warm and careful and your breath catches without warning. he moves slowly, almost too slowly, like he’s aware of every inch of space between you, and suddenly it feels… intimate in a way you didn’t expect.
by the time the zipper reaches the top, his hand lingers for a second, and when you turn around to face him, you catch the way he looks away just slightly. jaw tight, like that small moment meant something a lot bigger than either of you were ready to say out loud.
you're standing way too close, frowning up at him like his tie personally offended you.
“stop moving,” you mutter, fingers fumbling with the fabric for the third time. it’s slightly crooked, again.
sylus isn’t moving, he hasn’t been... but he watches you anyway, quiet, patient, eyes softer than they should be for something this small.
you huff, tugging at the knot. “why is this so hard?"
it slips loose completely. you freezes.
“…don’t say anything.”
“i didn’t,” he replies, calm as ever.
another attempt. you go up on your tiptoes this time, still not quite reaching right, brows furrowed in pure concentration. it would almost be impressive if it wasn’t so… endearing. he exhales quietly, then without a word he bends down, just enough and suddenly you don't have to reach. your hands pause for a second, eyes flicking up to him. he’s already looking at you.
“…better?” he asks, like it’s nothing.
you swallow, turning back to the tie quickly. “yeah. don’t get used to it.” but your fingers are gentler now. and when you finally fix it properly, smoothing it down against his chest, you don't step away straight away... neither does he.
sylus knew something was wrong the moment he heard the third “ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!” from the bedroom.
he lowered his book slightly, eyes flicking toward the noise.
“…it’s 8 in the morning my love, what's wrong?”
from the bed, you let out a frustrated groan, aggressively clicking. “WHY DOES IT KEEP REMOVING IT FROM MY CART?! STAY. IN. THE. CART.”
that did it... curiosity outweighing peace, sylus set his book aside and made his way over. he leaned against the doorframe, watching you glare at your laptop like it had personally wronged you.
“…what exactly are you fighting?”
“my happiness.”
he blinked.
you didn’t look away from the screen. “it's limited edition, and the site keeps crashing....”
“…you’re yelling at a website over a jacket.”
“but it’s jungkook’s limited edition calvin klein leather jacket, SO I NEED IT!...”
sylus’s brow twitched.
“…i can buy you a hundred leather jackets.”
“i don’t want a hundred jackets, i want THIS one. WAIT, OH MY GOD...”
you froze, silence. then...
“I GOT IT.”
you shot up, grinning like you’d just won the lottery. “TWO PIECES. I GOT TWO PIECES.”
sylus stared at you, unimpressed. “all this… for that?”
you nodded, already grabbing your phone. “you don’t get it.”
“no,” he muttered, watching you walk off, “i really don’t.”
the moment you disappeared into the hallway, excitedly calling your friend, sylus’s expression shifted. he pulled out his phone.
“…find me the full collection,” he said calmly. “i don’t care what it costs.”
he hung up, glancing toward the hallway where your laughter echoed. a faint scoff left him.
~ ~ ~ ~
a/n: live footage of me crashing out yesterday, i did secure the leather jacket but now my wallet hurts :( i need sylus's black card next time
please have your age in bio and read my pinned post byf!
~900 words, SFW, rafayel x fem!reader, established relationship, fluff, light angst, hurt/comfort, anxious reader, reader doesn't want children, kissing, fear of pregnancy mentioned, male seahorse pregnancy mentioned, artistic nudity briefly mentioned
inspired by this xavier fic by @starkissedxav and this sylus fic by @heartofonychinus. the lotus divider is by @sseuda and the glittery dividers are by @diviniyae. i hope you enjoy reading!
The anxiety has been eating away at your stomach like a parasite, a painful discomfort in your gut telling you this is a mistake. Every time you try to bring up what's on your mind, you end up chickening out like a coward. You're afraid of his reaction. You're terrified that if you bring this up, you'll be destroying this relationship with your own trembling hands.
Rafayel notices your anxiety. He knows you've been working up the courage to tell him something. He never presses or pushes you, never demands answers. He waits patiently with gentle assurances and light-hearted quips until you finally manage to breach the topic with him while he's painting.
"Rafayel, are you busy?"
"Nope," Rafayel replies, dipping his paintbrush onto the painter's palette held in his left hand. Two nude figures—a man and a woman—are present in the painting as indistinct blobs of paint, their features in development as part of the artistic process. The beginnings of a lotus flower unfurling its petals blooms between the lovers' mouths, blossoming in the midst of their kiss. "What's up?"
You notice something red near their feet. "Is that a pomegranate?"
"Yep."
You're not sure why your gaze is drawn to that particular spot in the painting. The pomegranate looks forgotten at the bottom of the painting, as if discarded. You can feel the nerves you've steeled for this moment crumbling already. You need to focus.
"I have something important I need to tell you."
Rafayel pauses in his brush stroke, setting down his paintbrush and palette. He turns to face you with an innocent smile and a warm, caring gaze, gentle like an ocean's cool breeze. "I'm all ears."
Oh god. You feel nauseous. You can't look at him. What if you're about to crush his lifelong dreams? Could you handle seeing his heart break?
He deserves to know. It wouldn't be fair of you to keep your thoughts to yourself. You have to tell him.
"I don't want kids."
Your words come out in a jumbled rush, tripping over one another in their desperate scramble to be free.
"I've never wanted kids. I'm terrified of being pregnant. I've never dreamed of having a family. I've known since I was a little girl that I never wanted to be a mother. I'm sorry. I know I should've told you sooner but I—"
Soft hands grasp yours. Only at their touch do you realize you've squeezed your eyes shut in fear. You slowly open your eyes to see Rafayel still smiling at you sweetly. He pulls your arms towards him, guiding you to face his painting with him.
"Do you know what pomegranates represent?" Rafayel asks.
You blink twice. "What?"
"In many cultures," he continues, "pomegranates represent fertility and abundance. A fruitful wish for many offspring."
Rafayel swipes his index finger over one of the petals on the white lotus flower, catching some of the white paint on the pad of his finger.
"The lotus represents purity and enlightenment, resilience in the face of adversity. It rises above the mud and blooms beautifully." Rafayel's gaze turns to you, cerulean seas and candy pink eyes glimmering like the sunrise on a winter morning. "The lovers don't need the pomegranate’s seeds to be happy. They discovered the ultimate happiness through their own love." His finger brushes your cheek, spreading the white paint near your lips. "Just like us."
Your voice breaks, emotions overflowing like a dam ready to burst. "Rafayel…"
He holds your face in his hands the same way a sculptor caresses their most lovely carvings. "I wanted to make this painting for you so that when you see it, you wouldn't feel guilty anymore. I want you to see only beauty, both in this artwork and yourself."
You grasp his wrists tightly, struggling to hold on. The emotions have flooded out of your heart, an outpouring of hope and relief and endless love for the man before you. Your voice comes out in a whisper, a delicate and sincere melody drifting on the winds of spring. "Thank you."
"There's nothing to thank me for. Don't cry, cutie," Rafayel says tenderly, brushing away your tears with his thumbs. "You know, I'd totally carry the babies for you if you did want kids, but alas, I can't carry my female counterpart's burdens for her like male seahorses can."
His absurdness makes you laugh in the midst of your sobs. "You're an idiot."
"Your idiot," Rafayel replies with a silly grin. You sniff and hurriedly wipe away your tears.
You wrap your arms around his neck and pull him in suddenly for a kiss, surprising him. Rafayel's hands naturally come to rest on the small of your back and between your shoulder blades, curving your body closer to his. Like the lotus in the painting, love blooms and unfurls across your lips and his, pure and sincere. It's an eternal love that will never wither for as long as you both live, a love that doesn't need a helping hand to be true. A gentle promise for a lifetime of happiness ahead. Deep in your heart and his, beating as one, you can feel it blossoming—
The enlightenment of lovers.
i suck at endings, sorry. ty for reading ૮꒰˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶꒱ა | masterlist
“let’s take a photo,” you’d said casually, like it wasn’t a big deal. like your heart wasn’t already racing at the idea of standing that close to him on purpose.
sylus, of course, had simply nodded. “if that’s what you want.”
now he’s standing beside you, too straight, too still, like he’s been positioned there for inspection. you glance over and immediately sigh.
“you look like you’re about to interrogate the camera."
“im standing,” he replies calmly.
“that’s not the issue.”
you step closer before you can overthink it, fingers catching the front of his coat as you gently tug him down. He follows without resistance, but now he’s too close... close enough that your breath catches.
you ignore your rapid heartbeat, lifting your phone. “just, look at the camera. and maybe… try smiling?”
“i am.”
“you’re not.”
“this is my neutral expression.”
“that’s worse.”
before the awkwardness can swallow you whole, you act on instinct, leaning in and pressing a quick kiss to his cheek just as the camera clicks. you pull back, already reaching to check the photo, then pause. sylus hasn’t moved.
his eyes are on you now, not the phone, not the camera, just you. something in his expression has shifted, composure slipping just enough to make your chest tighten.
“…what was that?” he asks quietly.
“a kiss?” you say, suddenly very aware of how close you still are.
“i’m aware.” his gaze flickers briefly to your lips, then back to your eyes. “…why?”
“it’s normal,” you mumble. “couples do that in photos.”
he goes quiet for a second, like he’s processing that. then his hand comes up, slow and deliberate, fingers brushing your jaw as he tilts your face toward him.
“stay still.”
your heart stutters. he leans in, close enough that you think, this is it... click. you blink.
“…did you just...”
he tilts the phone toward you. the photo shows you completely flustered, him closer than before, hand still on your face, except he’s not looking at the camera. he’s looking at you.
“…you didn’t even face the camera,” you mumble.
“…why would I,” he says softly, “when you’re right here?”
your face burns instantly.
“…take another one,” he adds.
you glance up. “…you want another?”
“yes.”
this time, when you lift the phone, he doesn’t need guidance. his arm comes around you naturally, pulling you closer like it belongs there.
and when the camera clicks, he’s still not looking at it. only you....
the air still crackles from the aftermath of the protocore resonance. emergency lights pulse faintly through the shattered remains of the venue, casting everything in fractured shades of red and gold. the evacuation has long since begun, voices, footsteps, distant alarms but sylus stands outside it all. still and quiet.
like he’s waiting for something that won’t come. or something that always does… and still never stays. sylus exhales slowly, gaze tilted upward toward the night sky. the same sky he has seen through every version of this life. every cycle and very loss.
“…it’s fine,” he murmurs to no one.
he turns slightly, already preparing to leave. whatever lingering hope had remained in him is neatly compartmentalised, locked away behind calm indifference. if you does not remember him… then you does not remember him. that is all. that is always all.
behind him, the ground shifts. soft sound, metal clinking against stone. he pauses, not because he expects anything but because his body remembers before his mind dares to. something drops lightly from your hand. you don’t even realise you’ve picked it up at first.
it’s small, cold metal, unfamiliar weight but the moment your fingers close around it, your head splinters. a sharp inhale then, everything breaks. memories flood in like a collapsing dam. not gradual and definitely not gentle. in fact they're violent. a sky torn open by lightning and a cavern of obsidian stone.
a hand, his hand reaching for yours through smoke, fire and blood. his voice calling your name in a way your soul remembers even if your mind does not. stayrus. your knees nearly buckle.
“no, wait…” you whisper, breathless.
another flash, him laughing, low and rare, as you sit beside him in a place that no longer exists. you gripping his hand like it was the only thing tethering you to the world. warmth. safety. devotion so deep it hurt and then loss... so much loss you cannot breathe around it.
tears spill before you even understand why you’re crying.
“stop…” you gasp, clutching your head. “please...”
but it doesn’t stop. it rebuilds you. piece by piece. until there is nothing left of who you were a moment ago. only her. only you. the one who remembers him. your breath comes out broken.
“…sylus…”
no response. you look up sharply trying to look for him... seeing nothing but emptiness you begin to run. the corridor outside is nearly empty now, bathed in emergency light and silence. your footsteps echo too loudly, too desperately, as you follow instinct more than thought.
he would go this way. he always leaves this way.
“wait...” you whisper to yourself, faster now. “please…”
your chest tightens with every step. what if you’re too late? what if....
you push through the final exit and stop. there, outside sylus stands alone beneath the open sky. still facing away as if the world has already ended for him. your heart cracks.
“…stayrus.”
the name leaves you before fear can stop it. he freezes, completely... not a movement. not a breath. just stillness so sharp it feels like the world itself has been cut. slowly he turns and for the first time in what feels like centuries… he looks at you like you are real. not a possibility. not a fading dream. real.
his expression shifts, so subtly it almost hurts more than if he had broken outright. the calm fractures. just slightly. just enough for something long buried to surface.
“…that name,” he says quietly.
your vision blurs again. you step forward. hands shaking.
“my beloved dragon…” your voice breaks immediately, but you don’t stop. "my sylus…”
his breath catches, that does it. that is what breaks him. tears gather in his eyes, not falling yet, but there. held back for so long it looks almost foreign on him. you reach out towards him. hands trembling as they rise to his face, like you’re afraid he’ll disappear if you don’t hold him properly.
“i’m sorry,” you whisper, tears streaming freely now. “i’m sorry it took me so long to remember you…”
his hands move before you finish. grasping your wrists. anchoring you. as if he doesn’t trust this moment to stay.
“but i do now,” you continue, voice shaking but certain. “i remember everything and i’m not leaving you again. i promise.”
a silence. heavy and sacred then, his forehead lowers to yours and something in him finally breaks open.
“…you’re back,” he says, voice rougher than you’ve ever heard it. “my love…”
a breath a lifetime of waiting in that pause...
“i’ve missed you.”
and then he pulls you into him. not gently. not cautiously, but like someone reclaiming the only thing that ever made the waiting worth it. your arms wrap around him instantly, holding on like you’re afraid this might still be a dream and for the first time, neither of you are alone in it.
