A pre-relationship ZayneMC one shot that originated from this twitter interaction
warnings: pre-relationship; no smut, just unspoken feelings and slow-burn-esque tension; but obviously per the above screenshot, some vague discussion about sex; Zayne and MC are both mentioned to be virgins in this fic, idc if that does or doesn't fit your hc's; second person POV; only allusions to reader's gender are via "Miss Hunter" used one time and "sister" used one time; I think that's it, let me know if I should add something else
word count: 3.8k (oops)
a/n: it's not even 24 hours after I tweeted that reply and I gained like 100+ new followers on Twitter and have like 40-50 replies to go through requesting tags on this, which is a crazy response. I SINCERELY HOPE that you guys enjoy this and that I did not just build anticipation for people only to disappoint lol. Either way, happy to hear thoughts, even if they are critical! Feedback helps me improve, so I'm always open to suggestions 🩵
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"The doctor is ready for you," the receptionist calls to you over the lobby desk, making your heart lurch with excitement. You run your hands through your hair for the 18th time and take a steadying breath, swallowing the urge to launch out of your chair and skip down the hall, as over-eager as you always are ahead of seeing your childhood-friend-turned-primary-care-physician.
The surprise came six or seven months ago when, during a routine appointment with Dr. Noah, you were introduced to the new doctor that would be taking over some of his patients in his retirement. The air left your lungs all at once, pure shock nearly dropping you to your knees, when in walked the sweet, quiet boy from your childhood you gave up hope on ever seeing again.
The sweet, quiet boy your heart never forgot about, even after he disappeared from your life without a trace, even after all the years of separation, even after all the time spent wishing you'd somehow cross paths again. The sweet, quiet boy your heart never let you forget about, despite the many days spent wondering where he was in the world, despite the countless nights spent missing him, despite all the perfectly suitable romantic options over the years that just fell flat because that very stubborn heart of yours continued to hold on.
And while your heart rejoiced at finally being reunited with that boy, all those feelings flooding back in the instant he walked through that door, your body had become keenly aware that he was now a man: tall, strikingly handsome, elegantly styled, graceful in ways that seemed unfair, carrying the air of experience. It made reconnecting slightly difficult at first, a few awkward lunches or coffee meet-ups full of nerves in the very beginning, but it didn't take long for things to fall back into the same smooth, easy rhythm you had as kids, both eager to catch up on all the missed time.
And just like back then, it only took one glance from his piercing emerald eyes to pin you to the spot and make your heart race in ways you were sure would one day lead to a cardiac emergency. Ironic, you think.
Fortunately, should that happen, there's quite literally no one better suited to save you than the very same perpetrator. Unfortunately, it was quite troublesome to always be dealing with inexplicable tachycardia in the presence of your cardiologist, who was quite concerned.
As you knock on Zayne's office door, that tachycardia threatens to surface and you do your best to fight it mind-over-matter. But the second you hear his rich voice call for you to enter, the battle is lost.
"Good afternoon, Dr. Li," you greet with an impish lilt as you take a seat in the exam chair; you never were able to stop yourself from teasing him, then or now. He pauses his typing to cock an eyebrow at your obvious cheek and you can't help but snicker.
"Good afternoon, Miss Hunter." His pointed return has you laughing again, and you catch a little smirk as his attention shifts back to his computer screen.
Not wanting to interrupt him, you quietly study his features in the few moments it takes him to finish his task, admiring the chiseled angles of this new, matured face of his. Puberty sure was kind to him, you think to yourself. If cardiothoracic surgery ever grows dull for him, surely the modeling world would welcome him with open arms.
"Now then..." He suddenly shifts focus, forcing you to quickly reign in your leering. "Before we discuss the results of your most recent ECG, a bit of housekeeping is in order."
You nod as he returns to his computer and clicks a few times, presumably pulling up your medical record.
"We're due to update some information," he explains before flipping one of his monitors towards you. "Are these medications and dosages still accurate to what you're following currently?"
You rise from your seat and lean over his desk for a closer look, reviewing the list with furrowed brows and a hum. "Everything that's listed is still correct, but there's one prescription missing." With a finger to your chin, you meet his gaze, his brows similarly furrowed as he tries to puzzle out what medication would be missing. "As of this summer, I've been on a thousand milligrams of sucrose weekly, per the orders of my doctor's dentist."
Your face pulls into a delighted grin as his falls deadpan, one of his hands coming up to flick your forehead. With a chortling laugh, you fall back into your chair, rubbing your forehead as he returns the monitor to its original position.
"Barring that, everything looks correct, yes?"
"Yes," you give with a lingering little giggle, never shy about laughing at your own jokes. He shakes his head and rolls his eyes with a half-smile, painting the perfect picture of the phrase 'fond exasperation,' and you can't help the way it turns your grin just a little dopey or makes butterflies erupt in your stomach. These were the most precious of little moments with Zayne that made your heart soar.
With a pointed nod, he gets back to business. "Moving on. Any major illnesses in the past 12 months?"
"No."
"Any major injuries or surgeries in the past 12 months?"
"No."
"Any incidents in the past 12 months that required hospitalization?"
"No."
"Any new or worsening allergies?"
"No."
"Do you drink alcohol?"
"Socially."
"How often do you drink four or more drinks in one sitting?"
"Never."
He pauses to look at you, again with that cocked eyebrow that does funny things to your insides. "Does that actually mean 'never' or does that actually mean 'sometimes?'"
"Dr. Li, what do you take me for?" You feign offense with a hand to your chest, but he simply levels you with the same silent look. "Truly, I don't have the tolerance you must think I have." His eyes narrow a fraction as he considers you and your innocent smile for another moment, the intensity of his stare drawing heat to your cheeks. When he finally seems convinced enough to return to his questions, you release the breath you hadn't realized you were holding under his scrutiny.
"Do you smoke, either tobacco or marijuana?"
"No."
"Do you use any recreational drugs?"
"No."
"Are you sexually active?"
You should have expected it, should have known this question would come up at some point and been better prepared to school yourself, but your whole body involuntarily goes rigid. You quickly mumble out a "no," trying and failing to hide your sudden tension, painfully aware of his discerning gaze swinging your way to study your reaction. As you feel your neck to your crown grow flame-hot, you keep your eyes riveted to the floor like your life depends on it, sure that there must be visible steam emitting from your ears.
After a long, tumultuous moment of loaded silence, he finally says, in a voice both gentle and quiet, "I understand our...friendship may make this an uncomfortable topic... however, for the sake of your health, it's best to be honest here."
At that, your eyes flick up to meet his, then quickly return to their spot on the floor. "I am," you assert softly, suddenly feeling like you might suffocate in that office.
In your periphery, you can see the way he tilts his head, considering. "Your sudden nervousness would seem to imply you're lying." Coming out of anyone else's mouth, it would easily sound accusatory, but from Zayne, there was only a gentle observation and an even gentler request to understand.
"I'm not lying..." your brows knit together before you will your eyes to drift up and meet his again, only to be overwhelmed and have to avert them to some nondescript spot on the wall. "I'm...embarrassed."
He wheels his chair around the corner of his desk and stops directly in front of you, aiming to bridge the gap between you, both literally and metaphorically. Knee-to-knee, he tries to capture your avoidant gaze. "Did I embarrass you?"
"No, I--" The thread of guilt in his voice has you jumping to explain yourself, heart squeezing, but your voice dries up in your throat when your eyes meet his once more and find him so much closer than before. Your mouth opens and closes a few times and you have to force a hard swallow in order to try again. "You didn't embarrass me." Then, quieter, you add, "if anything, I embarrassed myself..." Despite the desire to avert your eyes again, you find you're unable to.
"Can you help me understand how, why? Is it that you find it embarrassing to not be sexually active at the moment?" His earnestness makes your chest constrict and--oh god, he's so close, does he seem like he's gotten even closer?
"Zayne..." Your stomach twists knowing what you've resigned to admit out loud to him. "I'm... a virgin..."
Something indiscernible flashes across his features and all at once you feel hot enough to burst into flames, yet you still can't tear your eyes from his. He hums, giving nothing of his internal thoughts away. "And that's... embarrassing for you? Being a virgin?"
"S-sometimes..." You take to chewing on your lip to try to ease the way everything in you is screaming to jump out the 4th story window to your left. "It just feels like..." With a slow breath, you search for the words, any words. "At my age..."
In your heart of hearts, you know you just saw the corner of his lips lift, despite it only being an excruciatingly tiny amount, and, unsure of what it means or where you stand with him, it fully plunges your thoughts into the chaos you were trying to keep at bay.
Was it embarrassing to be a virgin at any age? Certainly not. Unless there was one person--one devastatingly desirable person that you ached for mind, body, and soul--that you already had slim chances of ending up with, which could possibly become even slimmer if he knew of your inexperience. Zayne surely wasn't the type to care about a little inexperience, but an intelligent, successful, mature man with a face like that? It stood to reason he had experience under his belt and desired a partner that could keep up with him, that he didn't need to teach.
Another long-seeded insecurity starts to drag itself to the forefront, opening up a gnawing pit in your stomach the way it always does when it rears its ugly head: the possibility that Zayne might view you as family, a sibling even.
in your eyes, even during childhood, Zayne has always been the one your heart longed for, but what were you in his eyes? Were you ever anything more to him than the troublesome little girl next door he was forced to look after? He was always smarter, better focused, better at communicating, better at not scraping his knees at every turn, and he certainly never made you feel less than for any of that, but could it have slowly sealed you away in a position of juvenility in his mind? Now, presently as your doctor, is he simply taking care of an adoptive little sister with nostalgic, familial fondness?
And did admitting your virginity to him only further cement a perceived gap in maturity?
As you lose yourself in your internal spiral, he assess you, expression soft, before leaning back in his chair and picking up a pen to twirl idly.
"Would you feel better..." He begins, snapping you back into reality, your eyes refocusing on him and his uncharacteristically relaxed posture. "...if I told you I was also a virgin?"
You gawk, features blanching, sure that you couldn't possibly have heard him correctly. And then you realize: he must be joking, or otherwise lying to soothe your ego. "Yeah, right," you roll your eyes before fixing him with an incredulous glare, your turn to cock a brow in his direction.
The corner of his lips lifts higher, this time enough that that it would be noticeable even to one not so well-versed in Zayne's micro-expressions. "It's true," he insists with his barely-there smirk.
You cross your arms and lean back in your seat, unyielding. "I appreciate you trying to make me feel better about the situation, but I'm not buying it."
His little crooked smile widens into something big enough to be called a grin, at least by Zayne standards, and he huffs a laugh through his nose. "While I did say it to make you feel better, it isn't a fabrication. It's the genuine truth."
The two of you--languidly leaned far back in your opposing seats, knees nearly brushing--look at one another for a long, drawn out moment as you weigh his words. And you hate what those words are doing to your insides, the little butterflies that rise in your stomach, the hope their fluttering wings are starting to stir up.
"It just doesn't make sense," you finally level, which seems to amuse him even further.
"Why not?"
As you consider him, still steadfast in your skepticism, he tilts his head at you ever so slightly, maintaining his wisp of a grin, making your heart clench with how effortlessly handsome he is.
"You're too attractive," you offer, both as an answer to his question and as an accusation. He coughs and splutters as if you just threw water in his face, clearly caught off guard by such a blunt declaration, and yet his grin never falls. Before he can recover himself too much, you continue. "And too smart. Too kind and caring."
"Confusing that somehow such high praise is evidence against my candor." With a bemused, breathy chuckle, he rests an elbow on the arm of his chair and leans his head on his knuckles, eyes sharp and glittering.
"It just stands to reason that someone at some point must have made advances towards you." You lean forward, eyes narrowed, elbow planted on your knee as you drop your chin into your hand and study him.
"I was several years younger than everyone in my class, and far too occupied with course work to take notice. Beyond that..." In turn, he sits forward in his chair, forearms coming to lean on his knees as he brings his face close to yours. "... Am I obligated to accept advances from just anyone simply because they were made towards me?" His voice drops, sending a wave of goosebumps down your spine.
"N-no...I suppose not..." you concede, just a little breathless at the new proximity. You catch a whiff of his cologne and your eyes nearly roll back into your skull.
"You, on the other hand..." He pauses, tracing your features with his gaze, and it feels as though you might combust on the spot under such close attention. You take a long, steadying breath, willing yourself to keep a level head. "If we examine the reasoning you gave earlier, and the fact that you were surrounded by peers primarily within your own age group, to use your words... 'it stands to reason that someone at some point must have made advances towards you.'"
With your brain currently overloaded with equal parts nerves and desire, it takes a minute for his point to hit you. But when it does, you can't stop the cheshire grin that splits your face, finding a blunder in his words. "Dr. Li," you tease. "Are you calling me attractive?"
"Yes." He answers without hesitation, seeming nearly unfazed save for the bit of color that rises to his cheeks, in stark contrast to you who's gone from grinning to slack-jawed with just that one word. Your heart pounds so heavily in your chest you think it might beat its way straight out of your rib cage. "But that doesn't absolve you from the question," he continues, and it takes you even longer this time for your brain to pick up the pieces of the conversation and figure out how to close your gaping mouth.
"Advances..." you start, mostly in an attempt to pull yourself from your daze. "There were some..." With a hard swallow, you will more coherent sentences to find their way to you. "A few dates here and there, but nothing that went anywhere..."
"Hmm," he hums thoughtfully. "Because you didn't want them to? Or because they didn't want them to?"
You blink, feeling suddenly sober as you try to avoid saying the explicit truth on the tip of your tongue: because none of them were you. Shaking your head to clear the thought, you try to find the right thing to say. "A little bit of both, I suppose... I never really felt a spark with any of them, so at the end of the day, I would've cut them off anyway. Some of them just beat me to the punch."
He tilts his head to the side inquisitively. "You've never felt a spark with anyone?"
Your lips turn up in a slow smirk at his question, gaze dropping to the side. "Well, I didn't say that..." Heat returns to your face as you glance back up at him through your lashes, and the way his adams apple bobs elicits a fresh wave of butterflies in your stomach.
"My apologies for putting words in your mouth," he breathes, voice huskier than you've ever heard it. He's so, so close, close enough that his breath tickles your overheated cheeks, and you want nothing more than to close the short gap between you and touch your lips to his, to make sure he actually understands.
"W-what about you?" You try, blinking rapidly, attempting to stay grounded in the conversation and beat back the urge to attach yourself to his face.
"What about me?" With a single knuckle, he traces a feather-light line up the forearm you're leaning on, and it takes everything in you to not fall right out of your chair. You're almost certain he notices the goosebumps he leaves in his wake.
"Any dates? Any attempts?" You breathe, or, maybe more accurately, wheeze.
His only response is a low hum and a slow shake of his head.
"None at all?"
Again, a shake of his head. Somewhere in the back of your mind is a flash of disappointment that he doesn't consider any of your get-togethers to have been dates, but you quickly shoo the thought away; they were always proposed as meetings between friends, never actually dates, even if wait staff, cashiers, and baristas were constantly assuming you two were a couple on a date.
"Zayne, you've never been on one date?" The incredulity creeps back into your tone.
Still shaking his head, he explains, "I never had the time. Or the interest."
"It's still just... hard to believe," you murmur.
"That I didn't have the time for dating while I was finishing med school early, training as a combat medic, or starting my career as a surgeon?" He lifts a brow with a little smirk that's so cute it's painful.
"Yeah, okay, well, when you put it like that..." You roll your eyes and playfully bump his knee with yours. "But still, even with all that... no one's ever caught your eye?"
"Well, I didn't say that," he echoes, grin growing to a size that's surely bigger than you've seen from him before, eyes sparkling with mirth--and, you dare to let yourself think it this time, perhaps, a hint of affection.
All you can do is stare with a matching grin of your own and a stomach full of butterflies threatening to carry you away, desperately hoping that you're not somehow playing tricks on yourself, that this moment of understanding isn't something you managed to twist in to being inside your own head.
Just as you're finding the courage to reach out and make that direct contact, finally voice the scary question, Zayne's desk phone shatters the intimate silence and you have to restrain yourself from throwing it at the wall.
It takes him a moment, but he clears his throat and slides his chair back over to pick it up with a curt greeting.
"Yes, I'm just finishing up with the current patient now." A pause. "Thank you."
As he lays the phone back on the receiver, he meets your waiting gaze again and the fond smile that graces his face makes your heart squeeze for the upteenth time since entering his office.
After a beat, he clears his throat. "Well... I suppose I don't need to ask about a history of STI's..." He clicks through the remaining health screening questions left abandoned on his computer screen and you can't suppress the snorting laughter that bubbles out of you.
That easy, smiling quiet charged with unspoken understanding falls between you again once more, until you reluctantly tell him in a soft voice, "I'll get out of your hair."
It takes another moment, but you both stand and head for the door. As he reaches around you for the handle, you turn before he can pull it open, meaning to add one last thing, only to find yourself caged between his tall frame and the wood at your back. His scent washes over you and makes the room spin as you both process unexpectedly being chest to chest. You decide the pink hue of his ears is your favorite color, before remembering your favorite color has actually always been hazel green.
Attempting to chase that fleeting courage from earlier, you look up at him through your lashes and inhale deeply. "Zayne?"
"Yes?" He breathes, failing to hide his anticipation, if he was even trying in the first place.
"Are you... free for dinner some night this week?"
He gives a single jerky nod in response. "Thursday, I believe."
Your smile widens slowly before you whisper. "Good. It's a date, then."
Surprise flickers across his face before being replaced with his own slow smile. When you lean up on your tip toes to quickly peck his cheek, he inhales sharply, his body going rigid as a board, ears promptly ramping up into a bright crimson.
He's still frozen in place, processing the moment when you lay your hand over his to finally open the door. As you step out into the hall, you turn back one more time, having suddenly remembered something.
"We never discussed the results of my ECG."
Zayne finally thaws and leans through the door frame, capturing your chin between his fingers. "I guess you'll just have to make another appointment," he says in a low voice, just before his warm lips find your cheek in turn and your heart erupts in the halls of Akso Hospital.
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a/n: I really didn't expect this to turn out this long, sorry y'all lmao. I miiiight in the future write that date (which I think I could tie into Heart Within Reach? But I'd need to do a full reread to make sure I didn't somehow write myself out of that as an option) which might also get a future continuation of ZayneMC's first time together because that's kind of been rattling around in my brain too lol. Hopefully if you made it this far down, that means you enjoyed it. Thanks for reading!
Emotional Walls Your Character Has Built (And What Might Finally Break Them)
(How your character defends their soft core and what could shatter it) Because protection becomes prison real fast.
✶ Sarcasm as armor. (Break it with someone who laughs gently, not mockingly.)
✶ Hyper-independence. (Break it with someone who shows up even when they’re told not to.)
✶ Stoicism. (Break it with a safe space to fall apart.)
✶ Flirting to avoid intimacy. (Break it with real vulnerability they didn’t see coming.)
✶ Ghosting everyone. (Break it with someone who won’t take silence as an answer.)
✶ Lying for convenience. (Break it with someone who sees through them but stays anyway.)
✶ Avoiding touch. (Break it with accidental, gentle contact that feels like home.)
✶ Oversharing meaningless things to hide real depth. (Break it with someone who asks the second question.)
✶ Overworking. (Break it with forced stillness and the terrifying sound of their own thoughts.)
✶ Pretending not to care. (Break it with a loss they can’t fake their way through.)
✶ Avoiding mirrors. (Break it with a quiet compliment that hits too hard.)
✶ Turning every conversation into a joke. (Break it with someone who doesn’t laugh.)
✶ Being everyone’s helper. (Break it when someone asks what they need, and waits for an answer.)
✶ Constantly saying “I’m fine.” (Break it when they finally scream that they’re not.)
✶ Running. Always running. (Break it with someone who doesn’t chase, but doesn’t leave, either.)
✶ Intellectualizing every feeling. (Break it with raw, messy emotion they can’t logic away.)
✶ Trying to be the strong one. (Break it when someone sees the weight they’re carrying, and offers to help.)
✶ Hiding behind success. (Break it when they succeed and still feel empty.)
✶ Avoiding conflict at all costs. (Break it when silence causes more pain than the truth.)
✶ Focusing on everyone else’s healing but their own. (Break it when they hit emotional burnout.)
Can’t get over how funny Clayton is in Kingdom Hearts
He’s not affiliated with the other Disney villains, doesn’t even know about them, he’s just a poacher
And he’s such a shitty guy that he singlehandedly lures the Heartless to the Deep Jungle world
Then he loses himself/his heart to darkness/the Heartless or whatever but he doesn’t turn into a cool monster or get dark powers or anything, no, he just gets a large lizard to ride on
However! He doesn’t stay on the lizard for very long! So you and your party have to beat the shit out of a normal human man with no special powers who is trying to shoot you with a normal gun
Then the lizard falls on top of him and he dies
And because of Tarzan’s thing with copyright, nothing Tarzan-related ever comes back or gets mentioned ever again after kh1
Every other villain that gets killed in kh1 comes back but no Clayton’s just dead for real
Then the other Disney villains have a meeting where they make fun of Clayton for being cringe and fail
Dad!Sylus scents the baby every morning. Sometimes it’s as simple as just rubbing a hand against their cheek. Other times, especially when he knows he’ll be gone all day, he likes to sit and hold them for a few minutes.
Dad!Sylus often finds himself curling around the baby. He likes to put them on a big pillow and just keep them curled against him.
Dad!Sylus doesn’t understand the baby’s obsession with his evol but he still dangles it over them like a mobile and let them reach for it. He won’t let them touch it but their fascination is cute. He wonders what their evol will be like.
Dad!Sylus HATES hearing the baby cry. Something about the sound of the baby crying immediately sets his instincts off and he has to destroy whatever is causing their distress.
Dad!Sylus doesn’t let Luke and Kieran watch the baby anymore. He came home once to find them trying to skateboard while holding the baby and filming a video and nearly killed them both.
Dad!Sylus enjoys playing pretend. You have many videos of him getting offended when his card gets declined at the pretend grocery store. Or the pretend bank. Or the salon. Or a restaurant.
Dad!Sylus buys too many things for the baby. You quickly notice that he tried to compensate for his lack of parental presence and knowledge by giving the baby gifts. You quickly show him that being there for them is all that they need. The three of you start spending a couple of hours a day just sitting together and enjoying tummy time. It’s a work in progress to keep him from falling back into bad habits but it’s worth it.
Dad!Sylus scents the baby every morning. Sometimes it’s as simple as just rubbing a hand against their cheek. Other times, especially when he knows he’ll be gone all day, he likes to sit and hold them for a few minutes.
Dad!Sylus often finds himself curling around the baby. He likes to put them on a big pillow and just keep them curled against him.
Dad!Sylus doesn’t understand the baby’s obsession with his evol but he still dangles it over them like a mobile and let them reach for it. He won’t let them touch it but their fascination is cute. He wonders what their evol will be like.
Dad!Sylus HATES hearing the baby cry. Something about the sound of the baby crying immediately sets his instincts off and he has to destroy whatever is causing their distress.
Dad!Sylus doesn’t let Luke and Kieran watch the baby anymore. He came home once to find them trying to skateboard while holding the baby and filming a video and nearly killed them both.
Dad!Sylus enjoys playing pretend. You have many videos of him getting offended when his card gets declined at the pretend grocery store. Or the pretend bank. Or the salon. Or a restaurant.
Dad!Sylus buys too many things for the baby. You quickly notice that he tried to compensate for his lack of parental presence and knowledge by giving the baby gifts. You quickly show him that being there for them is all that they need. The three of you start spending a couple of hours a day just sitting together and enjoying tummy time. It’s a work in progress to keep him from falling back into bad habits but it’s worth it.
You’d probably get crucified if you ever said it out loud.
But it only reminds you of how your family can’t spend more than a few hours without going at each other’s throats, sharp jabs flying under the guise of strained laughter and reminiscing for old times' sake. You always seem to have gained weight, and your job always seem to fall short compared to your more "successful" cousins.
So you slip out of the noisy bustle of your childhood home. They probably won’t even notice you’re gone. And if they do—they might just feel relieved that you’ve taken the holiday blues with you.
Now you’re here, standing on a cliffside highway overlooking the city. The lights below are warm and inviting. Staring at them only makes you feel like an outsider looking in.
“What’s a kitten doing all the way out here?”
Your lips twitch at the familiar voice, the low, rich timbre of it instantly loosening the knot in your chest.
You don’t turn around or answer—or else you might cry. Instead, you keep your eyes fixed on the horizon, holding your breath as he steps into the space beside you.
“Wanna head back to the base with me? I heard Luke and Kieran are having a contest to see who can down the most mugs of hot chocolate.”
A hoarse chuckle escapes you, the sound foreign in the heavy quiet. You can almost feel the satisfied smirk tugging at his lips.
If there’s one thing about you that Sylus dislikes—a rare feat, considering how much he thinks the world of you—it’s this.
You’re hiding again.
He exhales a measured sigh, gaze fixed on the video feed projected from Mephisto’s surveillance. The camera, angled from a high vantage point outside your apartment window, captures you on your bed, cocooned in a tangle of blankets like some human burrito. The room’s overhead lights are off, the only glow coming from the crow-themed night light he’d bought for you some time ago.
At first glance, it might seem like you’re simply indulging in some well-earned rest—a deserved reprieve from the relentless grind of a hunter’s life. But Sylus knows better. You’ve been like this for days. Occasionally, you surface from your blanket fortress to grab tissues, sneezing or coughing before carelessly tossing the used ones onto the growing pile by your nightstand. Other times, you stumble out of bed, shuffling to the bathroom in a haze, likely to empty a stomach you’ve barely managed to feed.
He pinches the bridge of his nose. What a prideful, stubborn kitten.
Without a word, he grabs his motorcycle keys, slinging on his jacket with practiced ease before heading out the door.
A day in the life of Sylus usually consists of business deals, reviewing documents for estate acquisitions, attending exclusive gatherings, and—most importantly—burying his head in your tits.
“Sy,” you plead, voice hoarse from sleep, hands pushing against the sharp lines of his jaw. “I have to get ready for work.”
He doesn’t answer. Instead, his lips continue their path of bruising kisses along your chest, strong arms looped behind your back, holding you firmly in place by your shoulders.
“Sy—c’mon—please,” you pant, heat pooling low in your belly as dewy warmth gathers between your thighs.
His eyes flick up to meet yours. Without breaking eye contact, his tongue darts out, brushing rebelliously against a sensitive bud. The flat of it presses teasingly before he sucks, slow and deliberate.
You keen, back arching off his midnight satin sheets as your eyes squeeze shut. Your reaction draws a throaty groan from him, and he presses his hips into you, the hard line of his morning wood rolling against your damp folds.
“Sylus—hah—listen—“
“Do you really have to go?” he murmurs amidst his loving, circling the hot press of his tongue around your swollen nub.
You want to shut down his advances while you’re still coherent, while rationality hasn’t completely abandoned you. But then he takes your hand in his, guiding it down, down over the expanse of your flushed skin, until your palm rests against the weighty outline of him.
“You did this to me,” he rasps. “Now be a darling and finish the job, why don’t you?”
Thirty minutes into the auction, and he’s already tapping a vexed finger against the velvet armrest.
A vibration in the pocket of his dress slacks draws an irritated sigh. Without so much as glancing at the screen, he raises the phone to his ear. “Speak.”
“Sy?”
He pauses, a brow arching slightly at the familiar voice. “Miss Hunter,” he says, pleased, teasing. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
You don’t respond. He leans forward slightly, brows knitting together.
“Sweetheart?” he tries again.
“Can you pick me up?”
There’s no edge to your voice, no trace of the mischief that usually kicks off your calls. With him, you’re never the polished hunter they all know—always a little brash, a little demanding. But now, your words come quiet, empty.
He doesn’t miss a beat.
Rising to his feet, he shrugs on his coat. The wide-eyed stares of the auction organizers go unnoticed as he strides toward the exit, each step steady and deliberate.
With years of training and experience as a hunter under your belt, waking up in the dark hours of the morning comes naturally to you. Unlike most people, you're used to springing out of bed with zeal the moment your eyes flutter open.
But this morning is different.
You wake up disoriented, the heavy weight of fatigue pressing you into the midnight satin sheets beneath.
As you come to, you slowly register your undressed state and the warm, comforting presence of your lover sound asleep beside you. His face is nuzzled against your collarbone, your arm cradling his head. One thick, muscle-corded arm is wrapped protectively around your upper back, the other resting languidly across your torso.
A pang tugs at your heart as you take in the serene expression adorning his handsome features. Sometimes, you still can’t believe he’s yours—and you, his.
He stirs slightly, pulling you closer into his chest, and the subtle movement sends an unexpected jolt of pleasure course through you. Bewildered, you lift your head, eyes drifting downward to the source of the sensation.
He’s still inside you.
A shaky exhale escapes your trembling lips, eyes squeezed shut at the waves of pleasure pulsing from where you’re joined.
“Sy…?” you whisper, hand gliding over the broad expanse of his chest. His strong thighs are pressed firmly against your rear, supporting your leg draped over his hip.
He doesn’t reply, only burrows his face further into the crook of your neck, nose brushing against your throat. The warmth of his steady breaths against your skin pulls a soft, strangled sound from you, slick gathering between your thighs as your swollen folds throb with need.
Then, he starts rocking his hips.
They move with languid, shallow rolls—so unhurried and relaxed that you realize he must be dreaming.
You hesitate, not wanting to disturb him. You know how exhausting his week has been after the fallout with one of his arms dealers—but you’re teetering on the edge of insanity. You're beginning to soak the sheets and if nothing happens soon, you think you might actually cry.
And so, you start to meet his thrusts with small, subtle ones of your own, just enough to appease your arousal. The delicious friction makes you bite your lip, stifling the needy noises threatening to spill.
A sudden, sharp thrust knocks the air from your lungs, and the following deeper roll of his hips bullies a whine out of you.
“Having fun?”
The sleep-laced rasp of his voice sends goosebumps racing across your skin.
“S—Sy, you—mhm!”
A large, calloused hand cups one of your breasts, fingers pinching a sensitive peak as his tongue drags deliberately against the shell of your ear. His hips move with purpose now, his size and intensity growing with each thrust. The onslaught of sensations has you clutching his arm for dear life.
“Someone’s been busy,” he teases, planting a lazy kiss along your jaw.
“But you—hah—you started it,” you protest, mind barely processing anything beyond the space of you and him. A particularly deep stroke presses against that sensitive spot inside you and you whimper, toes curling in bliss.
His hand leaves your breast to grab your thigh, firmly holding it over his hip. Pinning it there with the back of his arm, he begins circling the swollen bud between your legs with deft fingers. His heated gaze locks onto the space where you’re joined, mesmerized by the way his length disappears into your warmth.
"You were in my dreams," he admits, voice dipping into a feral rasp as his gaze fixes on the thick ring of cream at his base. "Imagine my delight, waking up to exactly where they left off."
"You're insane," you croak, face growing hot at the revelation. He dreams about you?
"And if I am?"
Two thick fingers press into you, stretching you even further alongside his impressive girth, while his thumb takes over the slow, deliberate circles on your sensitive bud. With practiced ease, his fingers curl into that familiar spot that sends a surge of white-hot pleasure coursing through you, your hips bucking off the bed at the overwhelming sensation.
"Easy, easy," he murmurs, lips brushing tenderly against the sensitive spot behind your ear.
The steady roll of his hips, the intoxicating stretch of him inside you, the relentless stimulation from his fingers, and the sheer intensity of his lust-drunk gaze all bring you to your peak.
“I’m gonna cum,” you gasp.
“Yeah?” he groans, voice rough as he catches your outer ear with a teasing nip. “Let go, sweetheart. I've got you.”
And with those words, the tightly coiled tension inside you unravels.
He doesn’t stop, continues to pound into you as you ride out your high. The sight of your trembling body—your breasts bouncing with each movement, your attempts to muffle your cries, and the way you clench around him—drives him over the edge. A low groan escapes him as he follows, spilling into you with one final thrust. The feeling of him twitching deep against your fluttering walls, paired with the comforting warmth of his release, sends another ripple of goosebumps cascading over your skin.
For a moment, the room is filled only with your shared, breathless pants. Then, he presses his forehead against yours, his sweat-damp hair brushing your skin. With a low chuckle, he captures your lips in a tender kiss before collapsing onto your chest.
“Good morning,” he murmurs, half-lidded, scarlet eyes peering up at you.
You can only roll your eyes tiredly at the mischief dancing in his gaze. “Good morning to you, too,” you huff, feeling the familiar pull of sleep take over.
If only you knew the atrocities he would commit, all in the name of his devotion to you.
tags: sylus x reader, hurt/comfort
You’re lying on your side, head nestled on his lap. Above you, you faintly hear him humming—a low, gravelly tune, his steady hand gently carding through your hair. The melody is slightly discordant, but the rich timbre of his voice makes you close your eyes, leaning subconsciously into his touch.
The party downstairs is in full swing, but you don’t feel like joining in on the fun. Odd, considering how much you’d looked forward to this event—a celebration of his recent acquisition of a coveted arms manufacturing company.
But when you went to the vanity he’d built for you for a final once-over, your excitement faltered. The dress, while breathtaking and clearly crafted with care and intention, doesn’t accentuate the places you’d hoped it would. It must be your body, you think. It just doesn’t do the dress justice.
And so, you retreated to hide away in his room.
It wasn’t long before he found you, though.
He didn’t ask why you were there. Without a word, he made his way to the bed, propped himself against the headboard, and pulled you to him.
Which brings you to this moment, lying on his lap, lulled by his crooked yet endearing lullaby as his fingers thread through your hair.
“The dress is lovely,” you murmur. “Thank you for having it made for me.”
“It looks especially lovely on you—everything does,” he replies, sincere, pulling a small, rueful smile from you.
“You don’t have to compliment me all the time, Sy,” you say, chuckling.
The hand in your hair stills. “I mean every word of praise I throw your way.”
You pat his knee gently. “I know. I just don’t want it to feel like a chore for you, is all.”
A firm but tender grip on your jaw draws your gaze up to meet his. His garnet eyes burn with intensity, pinning you in place.
“Did someone say something tonight?” he asks, tone low. The subtle threat in his inquiry sends a chill down your spine.
“No!” you stammer, a hand darting out to press against his chest. “No one said anything. I’m just…my mind’s just all over the place.”
His eyes narrow, and a thumb brushes over the corner of your mouth. “If anyone dares to say anything to you, you tell me. Do you understand?”
“Yes!” you squeak, face now thoroughly warm.
He relaxes, releasing you before resuming his ministrations in your hair.
You take a few moments to calm your racing pulse. “You should stop being so scary,” you mutter, poking at the buttons of his tailored suit.
“I’m afraid being scary comes with this line of work.”
“It sounded like you’d kill the hypothetical person who said something mean to me.”
“Sweetie, I’d burn the world for you.”
Your retort dies in your throat.
His eyes are closed again, and he’s resumed his humming. You want to call him out on his joke, but deep down, you know he means it.
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