fade into you.

some kind of night into your darkness, color your eyes with what's not there.

[poovyn]

vyncent ノ sylvie ⟡ 7teen seasian ⟡ they 丶 them ⟡ personal + art/writing blog , formerly spdrvyn ⟡ not spoiler or leak free !! for yume & selfshipping ⟡ spiderverse + multifandom ⟡ nsfw-centric & proship blogs dni

𓆰 rulebook ﹐ tags ﹐masterlist﹐writing comms 𓆪

[poovyn]

sorry that i haven't been super active on here as of late :') i'm more active on my other socmeds... i'm hoping to revamp this blog soon tho!

[abyssyby]

you indent a kiss onto his exposed skin. blanket askew, it rests just above the dip of his lower back. the curve of his shoulder invites you for another as he lay stomach down on silken sheets.

one more tender flutter on his neck, again on his shoulder, a final one on his cheek.

he is warm, too warm. worry begins to fester when still he doesn’t stir.

but then he grumbles.

“why did you stop?”

the sheets shift. muffled shuffles backdrop his suppressed grunts. his hand shoots out. trails lithe fingers over your arm that supports the rest of you as you hover over him.

not fully committed into his bed, having just returned from work. you would have changed straight away, were it not for his sleeping silhouette beckoning you to wander over like a spinning wheel’s spindle.

“more.” his voice is a growl from his chest, bringing your nails to his scalp.

“are you sick?” you ask. indulging him, raking through his hair. occasionally caressing the high point of his cheekbone.

“no.” he drawls. he points to his eye. it glows beneath his closed lid. a beacon in the sea; you a lost boat.

brushing your fingers over his brow, you are loath to flit away to even get dressed. but your slacks have mud, and your uniform stinks of the stale pine and blossoms from your air conditioned office.

“don’t leave.” he rasps, his fingers indenting in your skin as they encircle your wrist in a firm hold. the pillow carries more of his weight as he digs his face into its softness.

chasing serenity. resisting impulse. controlling desire.

“i’m here.” you reassure him. the skin of his forehead sears your lips as you kiss him tenderly. “i’m yours.”

he releases you for you refuse to lay on him with filth on your skin. when you return clad in only his shirt, he holds you to him like a raft in a raging stream. with every intention to cling until the torment subsides.

and even beyond then, he doesn’t believe he will ever let you go.

[so6ncie]

Hello! May I ask Love and deepspace love interests reacting to when their s/o asks them (out of pure curiosity) "What would you do if I disappeared?" (angst/fluff maybe?)

── 𝐈𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐄𝐀𝐑 ! asking the love and deepspace boys: "what would you do if i disappeared?"

❀ a single question—“what would you do if i disappeared?”—shatters the air, pulling out raw confessions of fear, desperation, and unspoken love. what begins as a careless curiosity turns into a flood of promises, possessive vows, and quiet reassurances. behind sharp words and aching vulnerability lies the truth they can’t deny: losing you isn’t an option, because their world only exists with you in it. content. angst, fluff, possessive love, protective behavior, vulnerable confessions, fear of abandonment, comfort after angst, emotional intensity, clinginess, soft reassurance final notes. 925 words / thank you for requesting <3 honestly i had to pull out the boys' vulnerable sides. anyway this was so sweet to proofread and write. i hope you enjoy it and it's up to your standards. thank you angel

೯⠀⁺ ⠀𝐒𝐘𝐋𝐔𝐒 He freezes the second you ask, his sharp eyes narrowing like you just ripped the air out of his lungs. “Don’t joke about that,” he says quietly, voice rough. His hand instinctively finds yours, squeezing tightly. “If you disappeared, I’d tear this world apart to find you. No one could stop me. I’d burn everything down if that’s what it takes.” When he finally looks back at you, there’s a rare flicker of vulnerability in his gaze. “…So don’t you dare leave me.” Then he softens, pulling you into his lap and burying his face against your neck. “You have no idea how much you matter to me. You’re the only calm I’ve ever known. So promise me you’ll stay. Let me protect you, even from yourself if I have to.” His arms tighten around you, strong and grounding, as though he’s terrified you’ll vanish if he lets go.

೯⠀⁺ ⠀𝐗𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐄𝐑 A low laugh slips from him, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. He tips his head back, staring at the ceiling for a moment before meeting your gaze again. “If you disappeared? I’d probably go insane,” he admits with a smirk that doesn’t hide the crack in his voice. “You think I’d let you slip away just like that? Not a chance.” He leans closer, voice dropping. “Even if you vanish, I’ll track you down. Wherever you go, whatever it takes—I’ll find you.” Then he exhales slowly, brushing his knuckles down your cheek with surprising tenderness. “But… I’d rather not imagine it at all. Because the truth is, I like it when you’re here with me. No running, no hiding, just us.” He presses a kiss to your temple, whispering, “You drive me crazy—but I’d rather go crazy with you beside me than without you.”

೯⠀⁺ ⠀𝐑𝐀𝐅𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐋 The question makes him go very still, his delicate features shadowed by something unreadable. “Disappeared…” he echoes softly, as though testing the word. His lips curve into a sad smile, but his eyes are glassy. “I wouldn’t survive it. Not really. The world would keep turning, people would keep breathing, but I’d be a hollow shell.” He cups your cheek tenderly, leaning his forehead against yours. “Don’t disappear on me. I’ve already lost too much beauty in this life—I can’t lose you too.” His hands tremble slightly as he pulls you closer, as though reassuring himself you’re still there. “You’ve made me believe in warmth again, in color… in something worth keeping.” He kisses your forehead, soft and reverent. “Stay with me. Even if I act like a fool, even if I fall apart sometimes. Just… don’t vanish. I don’t know how to exist without you anymore.”

೯⠀⁺ ⠀𝐙𝐀𝐘𝐍𝐄 He scoffs at first, crossing his arms over his chest like he’s brushing the question off. “What kind of dumb thing is that to ask?” he mutters, but his jaw is tight. After a pause, his shoulders drop and he looks at you with raw honesty. “If you disappeared, I’d lose my mind. I’d tear the city apart with my bare hands, hunt through every shadow. I’m not strong without you—don’t make me prove it.” He reaches out, pulling you against his chest. “You’re stuck with me, got it?” His grip on you eases as he buries his face in your hair. “I’m not good with words, but… you’re my home. The only place I actually want to return to at the end of the day.” His voice rumbles low, almost like a confession he doesn’t want you to hear. “So don’t you dare disappear, because I need you more than I’ll ever admit out loud.”

೯⠀⁺ ⠀𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐁 At first, he just smirks, but his golden eyes betray a flicker of unease. “If you disappeared, hm? I suppose I’d have no choice but to follow you into the void itself.” His words are smooth, but his hand tightens around your wrist possessively. “Don’t mistake my calm—I’d tear through dimensions, devour gods if I had to. There is no existence for me without you in it.” He kisses your knuckles slowly, lingering as though trying to anchor you to him. “…So never speak of disappearing again, little one.” Then his voice softens, low and honey-sweet. “Because I can’t imagine waking up to a world where you don’t exist.” He leans closer, brushing his lips across your ear. “You’ve woven yourself into me, body and soul. Whether you like it or not, you’re mine—and I am yours.” His arms wrap around you like a serpent coiling its treasure, not suffocating but protective, desperate to keep you near.

— 𝐬𝐨𝟔𝐧𝐜𝐢𝐞 2025: do not republish or copy any of my works. 𝓻𝓮𝓺𝓾𝓮𝓼𝓽𝓼 are open < request here >

[meruskies]

drew a casper after going through the worst art block of my life

[abyssyby]

to be devoured, to be held

— a storm brews in your head as you grapple with the longing to take up a little more space in sylus’s life— would he mind?

ʕ ꈍᴥꈍʔ: something i conjured up @ 2am thinking about spending time with sylus fresh-relationship, when things are still a little fragile & a little unsure. struggling w this myself, to all who do— you are allowed to take up space. you are enough. fueled by the singular image of sylus chasing fingers with kisses. also!!! the free 5 star henckskd i canT WAIT 😫. enjoy! ❀-urs

sylus x reader | angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, miscommunication, self-conscious reader, overthinker sylus, longing, smoochie kisses, face masks!

Sylus is visibly busy. He doesn’t move much when he works, resembling more a statue really— one carved with passion and love, if you were to gush. 

Were it not for the rapid flickering of his eyes and the tack-tack-tack of his fingers on his keyboard, you’d wonder if he was even breathing. 

Your gaze lingers on the thin-framed glasses you gifted him, now perched precariously on the bridge of his nose. He doesn’t need them, you’d think regeneration would grant him immunity against mere blue-light, but he wears them anyway. A silent gratitude, a heart-fluttering token of you in all his endeavors. Your fingers itch to push them up just that little bit. 

But he’s busy. 

You linger by the door of his office. Meticulous as you take in the set of his jaw, the slight pout of his lips, the subtle crease in his brow and his soft, disheveled hair. You swallow down the burn to run your fingers through the cloud-like tufts and smooth them away from his forehead. 

He’s busy. 

“Sweetie.” You stiffen, pulled from the haze by low, thundering endearment. His eyes never leave the screen, his fingers never cease typing. But you know he’s got every intention of luring you in like a siren. 

“Mm?” you reply, clearing you throat. How you can make a simple hum so utterly pathetic, you’ve no idea. Your face heats, your scalp prickles. Your gut churns at how little of him it takes to undo you.

But he only smiles, just the slightest bit. Eyes require strain to capture its split-second existence. “Need something?”

Your eyes widen. Oh, the last thing you want is for him to think you’re insensitive and entitled enough to distract him. “No— no! I’m okay.” 

His brow raises. The clacking beneath his fingers is silenced. Once shifting eyes now focused on you. “Are you sure?”

You nod. “Yes. I’ll go.” 

You’re turning away before he catches a glimpse of the tingles you feel beneath your skin. You shouldn’t disturb him. He had come home late last night. Slipped into bed to hold you for an hour at most before you felt him drift away once more. Back into his office. To his very important schedule. 

The lump in your throat is remedied by a big gulp of water but the irritation for your self-pity is a fire you cannot easily douse. 

You should be grateful that he accepted you into his home for the holidays. Overjoyed that he’d become more comfortable with your intimate (albeit shy) advances like fingers caressing his own, and lips brushing on any exposed speckle of flesh of his you see. He always indulges you with a shudder and a controlled breath. 

Looks at you like you’d wronged him, like he’s piously holding back unforgivable sin should he touch you back. 

And yet, your chest aches at the lack of attention. You grind your teeth. Dramatically and truthfully, you’re starved, thirsty, and craving for his regard. But how greedy would you be to demand that of him.

Digging your nails in your palms, you relent. He has enough on his plate. He invited you in despite his work schedule. Because you insisted, asked, wanted. And now you must adjust. Be mindful. Behave.

The skin of your cheeks is agitated, you’re sure, when you run your fingers down your face. In hopes to silence a groan. Annoying. Can’t help but be. You’re annoyed— with him, with his work, with yourself for being annoyed. 

Not knowing that as soon as you fled from the threshold, Sylus was quick to stand and follow after you. Had it not been for the shrieking of his infernal phone, you’d be eating your words and thriving in your greed for him by now. 

𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

In three hours, you’ve successfully explored the base in efforts of distracting yourself or making yourself useful— hit the underground gym, sketched the pristine dragon statue down the hall on a piece of sticky note, made an ice cream sandwich, taken a shower and applied your skincare. 

And he— he’d been standing from his desk every few minutes to look for you. But deals were falling through, there are new programs to be coded and all his men were apparently incompetent today. 

He caught glimpses of you— your hair disappearing around corners, your humming as you doodled and made snacks, your silhouette through fogged glass. But something always pulled him away— another problem, another issue, something infuriatingly needing his attention. 

And if he were just so terrible, he’d throw the entirety of Onychinus away just to join you in the shower. 

𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

The clay mask is tightening on your face when you exit the kitchen. Just beginning to crust at the edges, but goopy still. You might have mixed it wrong. The cucumbers you cut out rest on your cheeks for now, until you no longer need to navigate your way through the winding halls from the kitchen back to Sylus’s bedroom. 

A groan escapes your throat as you throw yourself into his plush mattress and silk sheets— knocking the breath out of you at the impact. Gravity pulls your spine down, pops each vertebra into place in a glorious melody of release. Then, you flip the cucumbers over your eyes and draw out a long, loud exhale.

Ten minutes, your app said, orange little happy face promising the silence of your thoughts. Ten minutes of focusing on your breath and your fingers and your toes and your skin. Ten minutes of listening to the sound of a ticking clock you otherwise would never have noticed. Of resisting the urge to twitch a muscle. Of constantly reminding yourself to unclench your jaw and relax your shoulders. Ten minutes of—

“A salad.” 

The bed dips on your side and your breathing— that you’ve been working so hard on— ceases. You feel his hot fingers on your arm, trailing, trickling down to your wrist and over your open palms. Drawing shapes. Making a home. “How appetizing.” 

You don’t need to remove your cucumbers to know the look he has on his face. Cocky, teasing and deep with that unspoken desire. “Got a moment away?” 

He hums. Fed up, he made one final call and warned his partners that if they did anything to disrupt his time with you again, heads would roll— or something along those lines. His phone rests ominously silent in his office. 

Yearning for him all day and finally having him, you are overwhelmed— his touch burns you, and you slip your wrist from his grasp without thinking.

He tries hard not to let that affect him. He is thankful for your lack of vision right now, because the scowl he gives you borderlines on homicidal. 

There is a cant to your tone— one you could not quite be rid of from your initial irritation despite it slowly fizzling away in his presence. One he bristles at. 

“You’ve had a lot on your plate.” you simply state, a supposed expression of sympathy. I feel bad for your workload, I’m sorry I cannot do anything to lighten it. 

But your lips had twitched, pressed into a firm line. This reads like criticism to him— You’d ignored me all day and now, now take this distance as consequence. He swallows. “I have.” 

You rise from your position. He’d laugh if he didn’t feel liquid dread swirling in his stomach now. You pulled away— you don’t want to be touched. Your tone— you don’t want to hear his excuses. He’d scorned you, and now knows not what to do with his lungs or limbs.

“Hungry?” you ask, a cucumber slipping down your eye to your cheek, finally revealing his perplexed gaze and— oh, no. He’s upset. Your mind connects it to your initial worries: of wanting too much, of clinging and pulling him away from the important things. And now he’s here, not there. Had he picked up on your discomfort? Were you so overbearing that he felt the need to check on you? You avert your gaze. 

“I— I made ice cream sandwiches.” because being useful right now seems like the best route. Offering him something he can take and consume for his benefit— that will soften the blow somehow. Make you worth his time. 

And he broods, swallowed in his own clouding thoughts, and follows you to the kitchen. “Alright.” 

The sandwich is a scoop of cookie dough squished between two graham crackers. You put a little mint leaf on top to make it look cute (Keiran commended this detail as Luke choked on it). 

You place it on a plate and serve it to Sylus quietly. 

He barely looks at it. No, he’s too busy, busy, busy with you. What you’re thinking; what you’re feeling. What you think— what you feel for him. “Sweetie—“ 

“It’s cookie dough.” you blurt to fill the deafening silence. Unintentionally loud, drowning out his gentle coaxing. “If— if you want vanilla, there’s vanilla. And, sorry, I don’t know if you like chocolate, but we have some. There’s strawberry too.” 

Sylus furrows his brows. Were you so upset that you didn’t want a word out of him? “Okay.” 

“Enjoy,” you say.

He frowns. “I will.” 

And as he eats, his gaze never leaves you. You in that ridiculous clay mask with cucumbers on your cheeks. In his shirt and your hair in a mangled twist. Your beautiful, divine self— upset with him.

Was it how he failed to approach you throughout the day? Was it something more specific? Something he said? The way he probed for your needs? How he didn’t look at you when you stood by his door? How he didn’t reach for you when you passed his office several times more?

He’d thought you’d wanted space. That you’d appreciate a day without his coddling and clinging, after being so ecstatic about you spending the holidays with him. He asked if you needed something, didn’t he? Asked and, inside, desperately wanted you to say ‘yes, you.’ But now… now?

“It’s delicious.” he finally comments. Shamelessly pushing, testing this boundary you seemed to have put before him. Ever so carefully. Not wanting to make it feel worse that it already does. He must show you how he appreciates you being here. 

“Oh?” 

“I’d like another.”

“Mm.” 

Shit. Has he miscalculated? “I mean… share one with me?” 

Your eyes widen. “Ah.” 

“Or, or not.” He’s fumbling. Tripping and falling over himself but who cares. He can’t take the bile rising up his throat with the way you look at him. Brows scrunched. Hesitant. Wary. It’s sending him into a spiral. “Just… sit with me, please.” 

The hoarseness of his voice is enough to make you soften. Something in you clicks, and your anxiety makes way for his. Work must have been a lot, you think. And he doesn’t deserve your insecurities getting the best of you when he needs you. 

You do as he asks once you take a strawberry sandwich out of the freezer and settle with your own fork. 

“The twins told me you liked strawberry best.” you start, voice now calmer than it was before. Returning like the gradual seeping in of the tide. Sylus— oh, Sylus revels in it quietly. “But I remember you snuck spoonfuls of my cookie dough from my fridge when you were at my place.” 

The acid neutralizes. “Oh?”

“And I thought,” he watches you take a bite, how your plump and shiny lips close around the fork. “What if that was another one of your cover ups? You are particular, yes, but never polarizing. 

“We had this whole debate on whether or not you’d like the strawberry more than the cookie. Luke was very adamant about you only having one favorite.” you cut another piece of the sandwich and bring it up to his lips. An offering. A truce. An understanding. “But if you’ve influenced me to be anything— it’s to be greedy.” 

He takes a bite from your fork. Curling his lips and dragging it over where yours had just been. He is zeroed in on your face, reading every tick, every twitch. And ultimately searching for any absolution. 

He catches your wrist, prays you don’t pull away, and removes the fork from your fingers in favor of his face. He presses his hard edges into the softness of your palm and closes his eyes at the contact. “Tell me what I did so I never do it again.” he breathes.

You frown, blindsided by this reaction— he’s… worried? Anguished and anxious because he thought he was at fault for something? “What?” 

He opens his mouth to explain again but you drag your thumb over his lower lip. He is compelled to silence. “I’m not upset with you.” 

He’s breathless. Clinging to your warmth. “Then what—“

 His lingering stare, almost a scowl, so focused on the micro expressions he cannot read. His sudden distance: a courtesy. It clicks— his upset really just… dejection.

Oh. 

He thinks you were punishing him. 

The thought slams into you, hollow and sickening. So afraid of asking for too much, of being too much— that you never realized how it projected onto him. What it looked like from outside the eye of the hurricane. How it would have made him believe… How could you have let him think—? 

The weight of it presses down, suffocates you harder than the insecurity ever did. You would never— never. But you share this, this inability to comprehend how utterly forgiving and needing the other is. 

So wrapped up in pondering a space you don’t deserve, you’d done this. That space, now, he is mourning. Begging you to fill again, as he drowns in desperation to fix a mistake he never made. 

“I thought I was being a burden.” you mutter, searching his eyes for confirmation that never arrives. “That I was lingering around you too much, hovering and you’d had enough—“

His brows furrow bringing an intensity in his eyes that worsens the caving in your chest.  He exhales then, more than air— everything that has choked and squeezed him inside.

“No. Never.” he cuts you off quickly, too overwhelmed by fear and sorrow and relief to even be the least bit composed. Oh, he was so relieved. His lips chase and kiss the tips of your fingers like a man starved. He mutters, low and clear against your skin, “Could never have enough of you, beloved.” 

You melt into his touch as he circles his arms around your waist and finally pulls you against his warm body. His breath tickles your neck as he presses his face into your shoulder, inhaling the scent of body wash, shampoo and you. “I am yours for the rest of the week.”

“No, stop that.” you argue, but your tone does not reflect. It dissolves, melts away. “Sylus, I’m not asking…”

“Neither am I.” he states, sturdy vibrations traveling from his lips down your spine. “I need to make you greedier. Be greedier for me.”

Your lips press together in a shy smile and you feather them over his pulse point. You seize control of your fingers. At last, you get to push his glasses up his nose, press on the fat of his jutted lip, ease the crumple of his brow and run your fingers through his soft, unkempt hair— just before you kiss him. Consume him. Devour him.

Sylus corrodes at the edges, unmoored at the feel of your lips on his. He presses, holding you to him, needing to be closer, closer, closer. To taste. To feel. To have. 

Putting your each wretched thought of unworthiness to shame. Silenced. Dust.

When you pull away, your eyes take a while to adjust, still giddy and tingling from the static in the air. He lingers, nuzzling into your skin, nose skimming reverently along your cheek. Once your vision returns you let out a genuine giggle. 

He swoons at the sound. Half lidded eyes and lips curved into a stupid smirk, asks, “What?” 

Your laugh escalates into a shriek as he dips to kiss you again and again. “Stop!” 

He’s grinning. The epitome of sunlight. “Why?”

You’re in tears at his appearance— light green smears of clay over his lips and cheeks, a stray cucumber hanging off his jaw. Shaky fingers go to right him, wipe away the remnants of a passionate kiss. Meanwhile, he turns to nip at your wrist and kiss your palm, and you think fondly: it is impossible to clean him up here. He is impossible.

“Come on.” you say instead, dragging him by his fingers which he meticulously intertwines with yours.

He follows, wordlessly, obediently. More than overjoyed to be led to— it does’t matter. He would be led anywhere as long as it were you. He savors how he can press on the soft skin on your palm, how he can so easily stop you in your tracks to kiss you soundly. All because he can. He can and he will. 

𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

Not long after, you’re wriggling in his iron grasp, tickled by the movement of his digits on the dips of your waist. You hiss, “Hold still!”

“I’m not the one squirming here, sweetie.” he chuckles, breathy and deep. His hand slides up the curve of your back and up the length of your arm, drawing one up over your head to pin you to the wall. “My little bird, trying to get away? Won’t you check your work?”

“You’re doing this on purpose.” you say pointedly, a fond grin on your gracious lips he cannot help but devour. You stop him in his tracks as he leans down, “We just got you cleaned up!” 

“I can clean up again.” he insists, leans again. To his displeasure, you turn your head to dodge him.

“Let me kiss you.” he whispers, begging with no sense of subtlety. Laid bare and open. With only the thought of tasting you. He nods to the jar in your hand. “Before you put that on me.” 

You click your tongue, but inside your belly swoops at his open expression. Head fuzzy with affection. “You said you couldn’t wait.”

“Your touch is enough to intoxicate and persuade. I am yours all week..” he purrs. He hopes you allow him a kiss— the sudden need make his ears pink. “Sweetie?” 

“One.” you relent, and he is quick to accept. Pressing his lips to yours lightly, to your surprise, as he swallows your gasp in delightful satisfaction. 

He pulls away clean, none of your replenished mask on his face. Then he drops his hands to cage your thighs on the sink you sit on. His eyes glint playfully as he inspects your flustered state, “Done playing around? I can’t wait.” 

You scowl at him— like he didn’t just beg you to… you sigh in kind exasperation and get to work.

To say he was putty in your hands was an understatement. Sylus has always been sensitive, that is a fact, but at every touch of your fingers on the bridge of his nose, the brush of the pads of your thumbs under his eyes, the scrape of your nails just under his jaw make him lose a shuddering breath. The devotion trickles down your spine like rain. 

When you place the cucumbers on his cheeks, he smiles, earth-shattering and gorgeous. Such a powerful man in a matcha-green clay mask. “There.” 

“Now we match.” he says so tenderly it aches. Every valve gives way.

For the rest of the afternoon, you are both in clay masks. Cucumbers over your eyes; happily wrapped around each other in bed like the greedy scum you are. 

𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆ more sylus thoughts ⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆

thank you for reading!

[fiendsgf]

lover, you should come over. ݁⋆ ۶ৎ ݁˖ .

featuring: sylus, caleb, rafayel

synopsis: your man may be a yearner, but that won't stop you from out-yearning him. based on this request. ♡

content: fluff & comfort! reader is yearner3000

sylus. ݁⋆ ۶ৎ ݁˖ .

The room felt unbearably vast without him. His side of the bed had cooled hours ago, leaving you restless and sulky in the tangle of sheets. You rolled toward the hollow he’d left behind, nose pressed into the pillow that still carried the faintest trace of his shampoo — sharp cedar, smoke, something darkly clean that was uniquely him. You breathed it in like it could trick your body into thinking he was still here, but it only made the ache sharper.

Your fingers drifted over the blankets where he usually sprawled, searching for warmth that wasn’t there. The air was heavy with his cologne, threaded faintly into the fabric, and still it wasn’t enough. It felt like every part of you was tuned to his absence — your skin prickling with the memory of his touch, your ears straining for the sound of his boots in the hall.

With a little whimper, you slipped out of bed and padded across the room. His closet yawned open like a forbidden door, lined with rows of pressed shirts and jackets. You ran your hand along them, overwhelmed by the sheer presence of him woven into every piece. Finally, you tugged free a black button-down, the fabric cool against your skin as you slid it over your bare shoulders. It hung loose, swallowing you whole, smelling of him so strongly it made your knees weak.

You wrapped your arms around yourself, burying your face against the collar as though you could fold him into your bones this way. Still, the ache remained. Still, you missed him like you hadn’t seen him in weeks instead of a handful of hours.

You stepped out of the closet, drowning in Sylus’s shirt, when a sharp caw made you freeze.

Perched on the high canopy of the bedframe, Mephisto tilted his metallic head, one crimson eye glinting in the low light. His wings twitched once, the faint whirr of gears filling the silence before another, even more insistent caw broke it.

You narrowed your eyes at him, clutching the loose folds of the shirt closer to your chest. “Don’t look at me like that,” you muttered, cheeks heating. “I’m not pathetic, I just…miss him.”

The crow ruffled its steel feathers with a grinding clink, letting out a noise that sounded suspiciously like a chuckle.

“Stop making fun of me!” you huffed, stamping your bare foot against the rug. “If you’re so smart, why don’t you tell your dad to come home already?”

Mephisto tilted his head again, gaze unblinking, before loosing another harsh, mocking caw that had you groaning in frustration.

“Stupid bird,” you grumbled, pushing past the heavy door into the hall, the long sleeves of Sylus’s shirt slipping past your hands as you walked. “Traitor.”

The base was quiet at this hour, shadows pooling in the corners as you padded barefoot down the hall. The sleeves of Sylus’s shirt slipped over your hands, brushing against your thighs with every step, the faint trace of his cologne clinging stubbornly to the fabric. It was a poor substitute for his arms, but it was all you had.

In the lounge, the dim glow of the record player caught your eye. You hesitated only a moment before kneeling to rifle through the stack of vinyls, fingers finding the one you knew by heart. His favorite. The one he always put on when the two of you ended up circling the room together, swaying like conspirators lost in your own secret world.

You set the record gently in place, lowering the needle until the warm crackle of sound filled the air. Strings swelled low and smooth, the melody wrapping around you like a memory. You could almost feel the ghost of his hand at your waist, the heat of his palm spanning the small of your back as he pulled you into a slow dance only he knew the rhythm of.

Curling up on the couch, you drew your knees to your chest, burying your face in the collar of his shirt. The cushions smelled faintly of smoke and leather, lingering traces of him that only made you ache more. You let the music play, trying to imagine he was here, that any moment you’d look up and find him standing over you with that insufferable smirk — ready to tease you for missing him this badly.

Instead, there was only the music and the silence between each note, deepening the emptiness until you thought you might drown in it.

“You look like a kitten licking its wounds, sweetie.”

The low rumble of his voice slid through the lounge, curling around you before you even had the chance to lift your head. Your breath caught. Then you saw him — leaning against the doorframe, silver hair catching the dim lamplight, that insufferable smirk tugging at his lips.

You didn’t think — you just bolted. The record player hummed in the background as you scrambled off the couch and all but launched yourself at him. He caught you with a quiet oof, stumbling back half a step before his arms locked around your waist.

A laugh rumbled in his chest, deep and warm against your ear. “Miss me, kitten?”

You buried your face in his shirtfront, clutching fistfuls of his coat like you might fall apart if you let go. The sheer relief of his warmth, his scent — him — made your eyes sting. Slowly, you tilted your head up, cheeks burning, lips parting as if to say something but only managing a little nod. Your eyes met his, wide and starry, and the smirk on his mouth softened, just barely.

He brushed a thumb over your cheek, tilting your chin so he could study your expression. “I was only gone for a few hours,” he teased, leaning down until his breath grazed your lips. “And here you are, acting like I vanished for days. What would you do if I actually left you for a week?”

You huffed, face heating even more, clinging tighter to him. “Didn’t realize missing my boyfriend was a crime.”

Sylus chuckled, low and rich, as though savoring the words. “Mm. No crime,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your temple. “But it might just be dangerous, sweetie. You keep looking at me like that, and I’ll never want to leave again.”

He guided you back toward the couch, one large hand warm at the small of your back. When he sat, he pulled you effortlessly into his lap, settling you sideways against him. His coat slipped from his shoulders as though it had been waiting for this moment, pooling around the both of you.

Before he could speak, you leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. Then another. Then another. Your lips flitted over his face in a frantic scatter — his jaw, the corner of his mouth, even the slope of his nose. A giggle bubbled out of you as you caught the faint flush climbing his ears, and that only encouraged you to lean down, brushing a trail against his throat where the collar of his shirt gaped open.

He tilted his head back with a low groan, ears burning crimson despite the smirk tugging at his mouth. “What’s all this for, kitten?”

You drew back just far enough to beam at him, cheeks flushed, voice soft but so earnest it hurt. “I’m making up for lost time.”

A laugh rumbled through him, though it was laced with fondness. He wrapped his arms snugly around your waist, pulling you closer until you could feel the steady thrum of his heartbeat against your ribs. He stole a kiss of his own, then another, slower this time, his lips warm and lingering on yours.

When he shifted like he meant to set you aside, you immediately latched onto him, arms tightening around his shoulders. “No—don’t let go,” you pleaded, muffled against his neck.

Sylus chuckled, giving your hip a squeeze. “Relax, sweetie. I just need to get changed. You can argue with Mephisto again while you wait.”

That was when his gaze dipped lower, taking in the way his black button-down draped over you, the hem brushing your thighs and the sleeves nearly swallowing your hands. His mouth curved into something sharper than a smirk, crimson eyes glittering.

“Well, look at you,” he drawled, thumb brushing over the fabric at your hip. “Stealing my clothes now? You know it’s dangerous to tempt me like this, kitten.”

Your cheeks burned as you squirmed in his lap, tugging the fabric tighter around yourself. “It smells like you,” you muttered, almost shy, as though that excused the crime.

“Kitten…” His voice went low, a dangerous sort of affection threading through it. He tugged you back into his chest, lips brushing your ear as he murmured, “You’re going to kill me.”

caleb. ݁⋆ ۶ৎ ݁˖ .

The morning light crept gently across the room, spilling in pale gold over messy sheets. Caleb’s arm was still heavy around your waist, pinning you close against the steady rise and fall of his chest. He’d been gone most of yesterday, the empty ache of his absence stretching every hour unbearably thin. Now that he was here again, you couldn’t sleep — afraid to waste a single second of his closeness.

You tilted your head to watch him. His lashes brushed faint shadows over his cheeks, his features softened in sleep, all the edges of his usual restraint melted into something almost boyish. The sight made your chest ache. Carefully, you lifted a hand, tracing the bridge of his nose with the barest touch of your fingertip. Down over the strong curve of his brow, along the delicate line of his cheeks, admiring the faint freckles decorating his skin.

“So cute,” you breathed, the words slipping out before you could catch them.

You let your fingers wander over his jawline, brushing along the soft curve of his neck, lingering where his pulse beat steadily beneath your touch. “I missed you so much yesterday,” you murmured softly, barely above a whisper. “You’re so mean for leaving me alone like that…” Your lips brushed against his temple as you sighed, “You better make it up to me today, you know.”

Sliding your hand through his hair, you marveled at how impossibly soft it was, tangling your fingers gently in the strands, tugging lightly as though you could tether him to you with nothing but touch. “I just…don’t want to let you go,” you admitted, pressing your forehead briefly to his temple.

Your gaze dropped to his mouth — soft, parted slightly in sleep — and before you could stop yourself, you let your finger trail lightly along the curve of his lower lip, tracing it like it was a map you wanted to memorize.

In the next instant, his hand closed gently but firmly around your wrist. Your breath caught as violet eyes blinked open, clear and focused despite the drowsy hour. Without a word, he brought your hand to his mouth and pressed a featherlight kiss to your fingertips, lips warm against your skin.

“Watchin’ me sleep, pips?” His voice was low and a little rough with sleep, but the amused curve of his lips gave him away. He brushed another kiss to your fingertips before smirking faintly. “Couldn’t keep your hands to yourself, hm?”

Heat rushed to your cheeks, and you ducked your head against his chest. “I can’t help it…” you whispered, embarrassed but too earnest to deny it.

That earned you a soft chuckle, the kind that made his whole chest move beneath you. He pressed his lips to the crown of your head, lingering there for a moment as if to seal the words away.

“Annnd… I heard you talking to me,” he added suddenly, voice low and teasing.

Your eyes went wide. “I–I was not! I mean…maybe a little…” you stammered, cheeks flaming.

He grinned, violet eyes sparkling. “I’m evil, huh? You were muttering about missin’ me, how mean I am…all that. You sure have a lot to say when you think I’m sleepin’, pips.”

“I meant what I said!” you shot back, fingers pinching his cheek lightly, trying to look stern but failing miserably.

Caleb’s lips curved into a soft laugh as he gazed down at you, eyes warm and teasing. You noticed the way his expression softened, the hint of amusement and affection dancing in his features. “If you had a tail right now,” you murmured, grinning, “it’d be wagging like crazy.”

His blush was subtle but undeniable, and he let out a low chuckle. “Hush,” he murmured.

Then, without warning, Caleb shifted. He slipped his arm free from around your waist and sat up, swinging his long legs over the edge of the bed. The cool morning air rushed in where his warmth had been, making you jolt upright in panic.

Before he could stand, you scrambled after him, throwing your arms around his shoulders from behind. You leaned your cheek against his broad back, clinging with all the strength you had. “Nooo, don’t leave me,” you whined, voice muffled against his shirt.

Caleb tipped his head back with a quiet laugh, shoulders shaking beneath your hold. “Pips… I’m just going to brush my teeth.”

You only squeezed tighter, burying your face into the curve of his neck like a child refusing to be parted from their favorite toy. He tilted his head slightly, violet eyes softening at your stubbornness.

“Hopeless little thing,” he murmured, amusement thick in his voice, though his hand still came up to rest over yours, keeping you pressed close.

Caleb sighed, shoulders dropping in defeat as your arms tightened around him. “I can’t say no to my favorite little cuddlebug,” he murmured, voice thick with amusement.

You grinned against his shoulder, triumphant. “You’ve never been able to.”

He gave a quiet huff of laughter, twisting just enough to glance at you. “Spoiled,” he accused gently.

“That’s your fault,” you shot back, smiling into his shirt.

The two of you laughed together, the sound soft in the quiet morning. Caleb let himself sink back against the pillows, tugging you into his chest as though you belonged nowhere else. You happily sprawled over him, nuzzling close before pressing featherlight kisses along the plane of his chest. The steady beat of his heart thudded beneath your lips, grounding you in a way nothing else could.

When you tilted your head up, you found his eyes already on you — violet gaze warm, almost reverent, like you were something fragile and priceless. The intensity of it made your breath catch, a hot blush rising to your cheeks.

“You really can’t get enough, can you?” His voice was soft, edged with a teasing lilt but carrying something deeper underneath.

You shook your head, smiling shyly. “No. Never.”

His lips curved as he bent to kiss you — slow, tender, the kind of kiss that promised he’d give you as much of him as you wanted. When you finally parted, you lingered close, your breath fanning over his skin.

“Can we stay like this all day?” you whispered, searching his eyes.

Caleb’s hand stroked gently up your back, pulling you even tighter into his arms. “As long as you want, pips,” he murmured, pressing another kiss to your hair. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

rafayel. ݁⋆ ۶ৎ ݁˖ . ݁

The studio was quiet, bathed in the soft, golden glow of the late afternoon sun slipping through the high windows. You moved with careful, deliberate motions, arranging everything just so. A stack of the softest blankets was draped over the couch, plumped and inviting. Your fingers lingered on the fabric, imagining him sinking into it, curling up against you.

On the small media console, you queued up your favorite movie — the one you both always ended up watching multiple times in a row — and turned the sound low so the sound wouldn’t startle him. Around the room, you placed little bowls of his favorite snacks, everything exactly how he liked it. Then you reached for the playlist you’d made together, pressing play; the soft, familiar melodies filled the studio, wrapping the space in warmth and anticipation.

You paused for a moment, leaning against the counter as your thoughts drifted. You remembered the way he’d pouted earlier in the week, that faint crease between his brows when you told him you couldn’t make it to the exhibition. How much you’d wanted to kiss that stubborn little frown right off his face.

Now, with the day finally yours, and with a little luck, you could do exactly that. The thought made your chest swell, heart skipping. You glanced at the couch again, imagining him walking in, that quiet, restrained smile tugging at his lips, and you pressing yourself into him until he could breathe nothing but you.

Your fingers brushed over the blankets once more, smoothing them as though by magic you could transmit all the longing you’d carried through the day. Both of you, you knew, were dangerously close to the same thought: you’d been apart too long, and tonight would make up for every hour.

The moment he walked through that door…you’d never want to let go.

Once the studio felt just right, you slipped quietly out, making your way to Rafayel’s bedroom. The familiar scent of him lingered faintly in the air, a mix of sea salt and something uniquely him, and it made your chest tighten in the sweetest ache. You opened his dresser drawer and reached for the bottle of his favorite perfume, pressing it lightly to your pulse points. The fragrance wrapped around you instantly, and you closed your eyes, imagining him leaning close enough to inhale it.

Your gaze fell to the sweater he’d left draped over the foot of the bed. You hesitated only a moment before slipping it over your shoulders, the soft fabric falling loosely around you. It was his, but somehow it felt like it had been made to fit you, like a warm hug waiting to be claimed. You tugged the sleeves down over your hands, letting yourself curl into it, imagining him standing in the doorway and catching sight of you like this.

A blush crept over your cheeks at the thought. You pressed your fingertips against the fabric, wishing it was his skin beneath your fingers instead.

You moved to the mirror, brushing a hand through your hair, smoothing it as best you could while sneaking small glances at yourself in his sweater. Every detail — every fold, every soft line of the fabric — made you ache to be close to him. The thought of him walking in, of finally being able to hold him, made your stomach flutter uncontrollably.

The quiet of the studio felt almost unbearable, each second stretching longer than the last, the anticipation of him returning making your chest ache with yearning you could no longer contain.

The sweater hung loosely around you, soft and comforting, and you tugged it just slightly over your hands, feeling closer to him somehow. Just as you were about to give yourself one last once-over in the mirror, your phone buzzed on the dresser.

Rafayel’s name lit up the screen. You swiped to answer, heart racing.

“Finally, cutie,” he said the moment you picked up, voice low and teasing. “This exhibition is sooo boring. Thomas won’t let me leave, and I’m stuck staring at paintings I barely care about.”

You sighed dramatically, leaning against the dresser. “Mm, I know the feeling,” you murmured, playing along. “Work’s been endless too…papers, meetings, deadlines. I barely have time to breathe.”

A soft laugh rumbled through the phone. “Mm, poor thing. You’re so busy suffering without me,” he teased, seaglass eyes sparkling in your imagination. “Sounds unfair.”

“Terribly unfair,” you agreed, feigning exhaustion. “I’ve been counting the hours until I can finally see you again.”

Raf let out a low, affectionate chuckle. “Mm…you’re evil, you know that? Always trying to make me miss you more.”

“I can’t help it,” you murmured, tugging lightly at the edge of the sweater, hiding your excitement. “I just…miss you so much.”

“And I miss you, cutie,” he replied, his voice softening though the teasing lilt never left it. “I’ll be home soon. You should just tell your boss you’ve got an emergency and sneak out early—then we’ll get home at the same time.”

You grinned, warmth rushing through you. “Bad fishie,” you murmured. “Trying to corrupt me with your tactics.”

He chuckled, low and easy, and it sent your heart tumbling. “Corrupting you? Puh-lease. I haven’t even suggested you quit and become my full-time bodyguard. I’m being extremely well-behaved.”

“Mm, sure you are,” you teased back. “Just hurry home. Maybe you’ll get lucky and I’ll actually beat you there.”

He sighed dramatically. “Don’t play with me like that, cutie. If you give me false hope, I might start crying. You won’t even know what to do with all the pearls.”

The two of you lingered in that easy rhythm for a while, trading playful remarks until a faint scolding carried through the receiver — Thomas snapping at him about “hiding in corners and scaring off clients.” You heard Rafayel laugh under his breath, the sound quick and guilty, before you both reluctantly said your goodbyes.

You padded back into the living room, sweater sleeves still tugged over your hands. The room glowed warm with low lamplight, the food laid out just right, pillows fluffed, everything neat in preparation for his return. You smoothed the throw across the couch one last time, nerves fizzing in your chest.

The faint sound of a key turning in the lock made you freeze.

The door opened, and Rafayel stepped inside, loosening his tie, brushing imaginary dust from his shoulders. His eyes lifted — and then widened the second they landed on you.

“…Cutie?” His voice was full of disbelief, then blooming into a laugh. “What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be at work.”

You smiled sheepishly, tugging the sweater closer around yourself. “I wanted to surprise you. I missed you too much to wait.”

He blinked, then let out a breathless laugh, dropping his tie onto the nearest chair before crossing the distance in three long strides. “You sneaky girl. I came home early to surprise you.”

You barely had time to respond before he swept you up into his arms, lifting you off your feet as he spun you once. His laughter brushed against your cheek, warm and unguarded, before he kissed you — quick, soft, then again, longer, his smile breaking against your lips.

“My fishie,” you teased when you finally pulled back, forehead resting against his, palms cupping his cheeks. “You’re so hopeless.”

“Hopeless for you, cutie,” he murmured, voice husky as he cradled your face in his hands and kissed you again.

The rest dissolved into warmth — your hands tangled in his hair, his arms wrapped tight around you, both of you laughing against each other’s mouths like you couldn’t get enough, couldn’t believe you were really here, together, at the same time, with all the missing finally soothed in the circle of his arms.

Rafayel barely let you go long enough to kick the door shut. He dropped his coat where it fell and tugged you toward the couch like a man starved, pulling you into his arms the moment he sat.

You went willingly, curling into him, arms looped around his neck, your face buried against the soft warmth of his neck. “I missed you so much, Raf,” you whispered, the words tumbling out as though you couldn’t hold them back. “I thought about you all day. I hate being away from you.”

He laughed quietly, but it cracked in the middle, betraying just how much he’d been missing you too. His arms cinched tight around your waist, and he nuzzled into your hair. “You’re not allowed to say things like that when I’m already this weak for you, cutie. Do you have any idea how close I am to never letting you out of my sight again?”

“Good,” you mumbled stubbornly, tightening your hold on him. “Don’t let me go. Ever.”

He shifted, just enough to look down at you, his eyes bright and intent. “You mean it?”

You gave the tiniest nod, pressing another kiss to the corner of his mouth, then another, and another, like you couldn’t get enough of him. He laughed against your lips, but every time you leaned in, he met you halfway, greedy for more.

“Mine,” he murmured between kisses, hands stroking up your back, anchoring you close. “All mine. You don’t know what you do to me when you cling like this, cutie.”

“And you don’t know what you do to me,” you countered, cheeks warm, though you refused to let go. You settled yourself more firmly in his lap, arms wound around him tight, practically molded to him. “You came home early and I still feel like I haven’t had enough of you. I don’t think I ever will.”

That earned you another low, helpless laugh, his forehead resting against yours as if he needed the contact as much as he needed air. “We really are hopeless, huh.”

You only smiled, brushing your nose against his. 

He kissed you again, and again, and again — both of you tangled so close neither one could tell who was clinging harder, just two hopeless, needy hearts who couldn’t get enough of being exactly where they belonged.

a/n: these 3 ignite the yearner in me i wont lie, i almost did a backflip when i got this request. thank you for your service anon i hope you enjoy <3

[mythblossoms]

Hello hello helllooo, Kai :3 did i read correctly you're taking fluffy prompts??? :D I would love your take on this prompt for any of the LADs LIs (surprise me! 😊)

i , sitting on the bathroom counter while their partner gently dries their hair with a towel after a shower, murmuring sleepy compliments

hiii emmy! you did read that correctly, i am taking some fluffy prompts requests! thank you sending for something in 💖 🥺

shift with sylus

wc: 1.2k

prompt 1. sitting on the bathroom counter while their partner gently dries their hair with a towel after a shower, murmuring sleepy compliments

content: light hurt to comfort, fluff, showering together, counter kisses, slightly suggestive but not really

a/n: thank you again for sending in a request! this just felt like a loverboy sylus moment for me 🥺

send a domestic fluff request

It's late when you return to the Onychinus base, the burn of neon lights still on your skin, the acrid tang of metal still on your tongue. A persistent ache that starts at the base of your skull and thrums through your body. Each step heavy as you discard your shoes and coat.

Tonight had been unexpected, a simple mission turned near fatal as you stumbled through the darkness. The twisted howls of the wanderers still echoed in your ears — a guttural, grating sound that amplified the throb at your temples. Pushing your body to exhaustion as you clawed your way through twisted undergrowth to a moonlit clearing. A brief advantage granted you the upper hand, turning them to bitter ash and leaving you on the ground, staring at a red-tinged moon and thinking of home.

You're not sure what brought you here first, your head or heart. Only that some inexplicable part of you felt compelled to be here in the stillness of night, with someone who knew you. Somewhere that felt real, tangible — like you could reach out to grasp at it and it would reach right back. Safe, seen, and home.

A somber tune echoed in the hall, a song you faintly recognized as something Sylus had played for you some quiet night weeks ago. A deep and mournful tune that reverberated in your chest, carving a hollow there and making a home. And since that night, things had shifted. Tectonic plates that arranged themselves and made space for something uncharted.

You found him just as you did that night — the door slightly ajar, back turned and book in hand. Dim lights casting dark shadows on his profile, shifting to acknowledge your quiet steps into the room.

With you, he's patient.

Quiet, as you settle into the couch. Still, as you curl into his warmth. Gentle, as his fingers slightly graze your shoulder.

With him, you can just be.

Hear the final notes of the violin call out to the home in your heart, feel the subtle weight of fingertips rest against your shoulder. Let your hand drift to his chest and try to match the even rise and fall of his breath.

He murmurs your name, the vibration faint against your hand.

"Sylus," you offer lightly, tucking your head close to his heart — hand still flat against his chest.

"This is a surprise" he laughs low, warm as his arm wraps around you. "Miss me?" You can feel his eyes on you, the questions that linger in the space between.

"Maybe," you mumble it into his chest, a delicate truth that prods at the hollow in your heart.

His fingers flex against your waist.

"You should rest." It's spoken softly, but the meaning heavy — the plates in your heart colliding then buckling, folding in on itself to forge something firmer and resolute.

You peer up at him, a small pout pulling at the corners of your mouth. "I just got here, and…" a small yawn stifles the words.

"And?" Sylus hums, slightly smug, cradling the curve of your jaw with his other hand.

"I just want to be with you right now."

At your words, something flickers in his gaze, tender and raw as his thumb draws a slow line across your cheek. "I'm here." He shifts your weight, lifting you up carefully as you curl closer to him. "And — we can go together."

"But you're not tired," it's a soft protest, your hands already linked around his neck, head already tucked snug against his neck.

Sylus holds you close as he turns off the lights and closes the door.

He's softer in the light of the hallway, the subtle warm glow dusting his cheeks.

"I'd rather spend my time with you."

The hiss of the shower echoes off the walls of the bathroom, leaving you entranced by the rain-like pattern it taps out on the tile. Secluded in the hazy steam that swirls against your skin.

His movements are slow, fingers deliberate as he unbuttons your shirt — carefully sliding it down your shoulders. Your hands seek the hem of his shirt, skimming the bare skin peeking out and pushing it up. Each touch is measured, an intimacy that makes your heart ache as Sylus presses a kiss to the inside of your wrist and gently guides you into the shower.

The hot water envelopes you, releasing the last traces of tension that lingered. His hands follow, soothing the ache in your spine. He washes your hair, thumbs drawing small circles against your temples before carefully rinsing. Time simply melts away as you lean into him and this moment, safe.

You're reluctant to leave the heat of the shower, your body languid and loose — a warm haziness slipped over your skin. You're convinced only by the lingering touches on your arm and the promise of his favorite robe. He ties it snug across your waist, pulling you closer by the sash and sneaking a soft kiss to your forehead.

For a moment, it feels like home. The lingering scent of the mint toothpaste, the dab of moisturizer dotted on your nose by his quick hands, warm subtle touches as two people share one mirror. The normalcy of it taking root in the hollow of your heart, blooming into something gentler.

"Your hair's still damp," you muse, running your fingers through the strands. Hanging on to this sense of home, of here, of now.

"Oh?," he hums, mirth evident in the upturn of his lips. "Will you dry it for me?" He leans closer, hands drawn to your waist.

"I don't know," you pause, pretending to think for a moment. "I think you're too tall for that." You gently tap his forehead.

His laugh resounds in his chest, deep and clear, as he lifts you up to sit on the bathroom counter. His nose grazes your as he moves closer, hands flat on the counter behind you.

"Is this better?"

Your hands slide up the back of his neck, fingers grazing through the damp hair at his nape. He leans into the touch, eyes closed. Another moment to cling to, as you lightly brush your lips against his.

"Much better."

His lips meet yours again, hands cupping your jaw and closing the small space between. Quiet reminders that you're paused here, together.

Time passes differently behind closed doors, measured in soft sighs and warm touch — disrupted only by cool strands of his damp hair between your fingers. You pull away slightly, pressing one more kiss to the corner of his mouth and reaching for a towel.

There's a light smile on his face, as you lightly tousle his hair with the towel, content as he traces the length of your thigh. (Tenderness settles in your chest.)

"You remind me of home," you mumble with a smile, the vulnerable words come loose — softened by sleep, and warmth, and the slight brush of his fingers.

"Home?" he breathes it out, the word fragile on his tongue.

You nod slowly, setting the towel on the counter and wrapping your arms around his waist. "Because you're warm." You lay your head against his chest and close your eyes. "And I feel safe, and think I feel a little homesick when I'm not with you."

He holds you closer, pulling you flush against his chest. His heart beats in your ear, each steady beat an echo of home, home, home. Hovering between lucidity and dreaming, he offers a too delicate truth. Hushed words that blend with the beat of his heart and rest in the warmth in your chest.

a/n: aaa i'm sappy but thank you again <333 i'm sorry it took a little bit to get posted!

[zaynezone]

to love

synopsis: Sylus isn't half bad at playing caretaker warnings: blood/injury, pain, mentions of violence, medical care, mild sexual references pairing: Sylus x fem!reader wc: 2.5k an: this is sorta a part two to moves but it can be read separately! i meant for it to be funny but it did not end up that way? still cute tho!

“Do you have to go?” You practically whine, your voice still rough from sleep as Sylus slips from your grasp and out of bed. The sheets, still warm with his presence, feel emptier the second he leaves them. You reach out in a half-hearted attempt to grab his wrist, but he only smiles, leaning back down to press a kiss to the crown of your head.

“Unfortunately, yes.” His voice carries the faintest regret, though he tries to cover it with humor. “I would’ve thought you’d be sick of me by now.”

You shake your head against the pillow, hair falling into your eyes. “Not possible.”

It had been his idea, really his decree, that you remain in bed after your injury. Specifically his bed, tucked under his blankets where he could keep you close. At first, the idea of enforced rest had sounded almost pleasant. But days of confinement had worn thin, the only bright spots being the hours Sylus spent with you. He’d read reports beside you, told you little stories in between meetings, and sometimes just laid there quietly, fingers idly brushing along your arm like he couldn’t help but remind himself you were still there.

Now though, his duties had caught up with him, and you could feel him slipping away with the day.

Before leaving, his hand sneaks beneath the blanket, tugging your shirt upward just enough to check the bandages he’d wrapped around your torso last night. His palm is warm against your stomach as he lifts the edge of gauze, eyes narrowing in quiet scrutiny.

“Does it hurt?” The question is soft, weighted with a tenderness his enemies would never believe possible.

You give him a small smile, hoping to ease that furrow in his brow. “It’s alright.”

He doesn’t quite believe you. His fingers linger a beat longer, brushing feather-lightly along the edge of the bandage before he lets the fabric fall back into place. Then, he takes your hand in both of his, thumb stroking across your knuckles. His voice shifts, low and serious. “I’ll have Luke and Kieran check on you every few hours. If you need anything, you call me. Immediately.”

“Sylus, it wasn’t that deep,” you insist, squeezing his hands back. “I’ll be fine. I don’t even need to be on bedrest.” You’d been trying to convince him of that for days, but, as always, he shakes his head.

“You need to heal. And,” his grin returns, nearly boyish and irritatingly handsome, “you should be thanking me for keeping you safe.”

You roll your eyes, though your lips twitch. “Of course. Let me thank you…properly?” Your hand drifts toward the tie of his pants, fingers brushing the knot suggestively.

He chuckles, leaning in to catch your lips in a soft, quick kiss before pulling back, amused. “Not for another week, sweetie.” With a wink, he slips into the bathroom to get ready, leaving you groaning into the pillow.

The day drags on. Luke and Kieran bring platters of food at regular intervals, and while their efforts to entertain you are…valiant, by the eighth terrible joke you’re ready to throw the pillow at them. Restless, you find yourself counting the hours until the sound of footsteps in the hall finally breaks the monotony.

When Sylus returns, the moment you see him your whole body unclenches.

“Hi, sweetie. Feeling alright?” His voice is warm as he leans down, kissing you in greeting. His hand immediately moves to tug the blanket aside, checking your bandages again like he needs to see them with his own eyes.

“Just like I’ve been saying all of last week, I feel fine, Sylus.” You lace your fingers with his, craving that closeness, giving his hand a small squeeze. “How was your day?”

His lips twitch into a faint smile at the contact, and he squeezes back. “The usual. The city doesn’t run itself.” He studies you for a moment, then brushes a strand of hair back behind your ear. The simple touch makes you melt. “Now, how about a bath?”

Your breath hitches at the suggestion, anticipation curling in your chest. Baths with Sylus usually ended in heavy makeouts and heat, but this time…you know it will simply be quiet intimacy, and you find yourself craving that just as much.

“Alright,” you murmur, leaning into his hand.

Without a word, he gathers you up into his arms. It doesn’t matter how many times he does it, he always carries you as though you’re precious, as though your feet will never touch the ground while he’s near. You bury your face against his shoulder, breathing him in, letting yourself relax into the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

The bathroom door swings open with a nudge, the tile already warm underfoot from the heating coils running beneath. Sylus sets you down gently on the cool stone of the counter, his hands braced on either side of your hips for a moment, steadying you as though you might topple without him. You watch as he turns toward the tub, rolling his sleeves to his elbows.

The sound of rushing water fills the space, steady and soothing. He leans over the bath, adjusting the taps with practiced precision, testing with his fingers until the temperature is just right. His movements are almost ritualistic, as though the act of drawing a bath for you holds more weight than anything else he did today.

“You know, I could have handled that myself,” you say, swinging your legs idly where they hang over the counters’ edge.

“You could have,” he agrees, glancing at you with a smirk. “But then what reason would I have to fuss over you?”

He pours something from a small glass vial into the water, and immediately the faint scent of lavender and cedarwood blooms in the air, curling around the room in fragrant wisps. Steam curls upward, blurring his outline for a moment before he turns back to you.

The way his eyes take you in makes you acutely aware of yourself, even perched there in one of his oversized shirts. He steps closer, hands sliding under the hem as he lifts it away with deliberate care, his knuckles brushing softly against your sides. You let him peel away the rest of your clothes, not because you can’t manage, but because the look in his eyes tells you he needs this. He needs to do this for you.

Once you’re down to bare skin, he eases his own shirt off in a single fluid motion. The sight of him like that, muscles outlined by the glow of the warm light overhead, hair still perfectly styled despite the long day, still steals your breath. He notices, of course, and the corner of his mouth curves in faint amusement.

“You’re staring,” he teases, his voice rougher than he probably intended.

“Can you blame me?”

His laugh is soft, meant for you alone, but as it fades, his gaze drifts lower, to the neat lines of gauze wrapped around your middle. The amusement in his eyes softens into something else entirely. He steps closer, his hand brushing against the bandages, fingertips resting lightly there as though to ask permission without words.

“Hold still,” he murmurs, the gentleness in his tone threaded with quiet command.

You exhale, letting your hands rest against the counter as he begins to undo his work. His fingers are slow and precise, teasing apart the first knot before drawing the cloth away in measured spirals. Each strip of gauze unwinds with the faintest rustle, slipping across your skin like a whisper. His knuckles graze you every few seconds, the fleeting touches both clinical and intimate all at once.

He’s frowning in concentration, brows drawn, mouth set in that way he does when he’s all focus and no distraction. You can almost see his thoughts: cataloging the wound, memorizing its progress, judging whether you’ve really been “taking it easy” like he told you to.

When the last piece falls away, Sylus lets out a slow breath. His hand hovers just over the healing cut, close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating off his skin, but he never quite touches the tender flesh itself. His eyes linger, sharp but softened by relief.

“It’s closing up,” he says finally, voice low, though it carries that underlying warning, better doesn’t mean healed.

“I told you I was fine,” you whisper back, though your words come out gentler than defiant.

He doesn’t argue. Instead, he leans down, lips brushing the uninjured skin just beside the wound. The kiss is featherlight, a silent promise pressed into you. You feel the faint tickle of his breath as he lingers there a beat longer than necessary, and your chest tightens.

When he straightens again, his eyes find yours, open, unguarded, and so tender it almost hurts to look at him. For just a second, it feels like the whole world has narrowed to this: the steam curling around you, the warmth of his hand against your hip, and the quiet intensity of his gaze.

Without another word, he scoops you up again, cradling you against his chest. He lowers you into the steaming bath with infinite care, waiting until you sigh at the enveloping warmth before slipping in behind you.

The water sloshes as he settles, drawing you back against him so your spine rests against the solid wall of his chest. His legs bracket yours beneath the water, his arms wrapping comfortably around your waist. You melt into the embrace, the heat of the water easing the last of your tension.

For a while, neither of you speak. His chin rests on your shoulder, and every so often, he dips his head to kiss the curve of your neck. His fingers trace lazy shapes just below your ribs, never straying too close to your wound, but always reminding you of his presence.

“This is much better than bedrest,” you murmur eventually, breaking the quiet.

“I knew you’d say that,” he replies, amused, though his voice is hushed, like he doesn’t want to disturb the peace hanging between you. “Maybe I should make this part of your treatment.”

“Daily baths with you?” you ask, smiling faintly. “Doctor’s orders?”

“Exactly.” His lips brush your temple, lingering. “Nonnegotiable.”

The room feels cocooned in warmth; the scent of lavender thick in the air, the candle he must have lit flickering shadows across the walls. You shift slightly, turning your face toward his until your cheek presses against his jaw. His hold tightens, as though you’re an anchor he refuses to let drift away.

“How was your day?” he murmurs after a long silence.

You squeeze his hand where it rests over your stomach. “It was fine. Same as usual.” You don’t want to sound too whiny, despite the mind numbing boredom of staying in bed for so long.

His chest rises and falls against your back in a slow, steady rhythm. The heat of him seeps into you, blending with the warmth of the bathwater until you can’t tell where one ends and the other begins. He doesn’t say anything right away, just lets the words hang heavy between you, his chin resting against the slope of your shoulder. Then he presses a long kiss into your damp hair, lips lingering as though he could memorize the exact texture, the exact scent of you in this moment. His eyes shut, his breath brushing against your temple.

“You scared me.”

The words are so quiet, so out of place in Sylus’s mouth, that you blink and turn your head in surprise.

“What are you talking about?”

His gaze is somewhere else, far away, his expression almost unreadable. “The other night. When you came here…bleeding.” His voice dips at the end, fraying on the memory. His eyes flicker down to where the water hides the scar beneath, and suddenly you understand.

A lump forms in your throat. You shift slightly in his hold, tracing idle shapes across the back of his hand under the water, searching for the right words. “I’m sorry for scaring you. But…this is my job, Sylus. I’m going to get hurt sometimes.”

He exhales hard, the sound edged with frustration, his grip around your waist tightening just enough for you to notice. “You wouldn’t get hurt if I was there.”

“You can’t always be there,” you counter softly. You don’t want to argue, not here, not now, not with the lavender steam curling around you and his arms still holding you close. But you both know this is the kind of conversation that doesn’t disappear if left unsaid.

His hand slides higher, brushing wet strands of hair away from your shoulder. He presses a kiss to the damp skin there, lips warm, almost desperate. “I could if you’d let me.”

You sigh, leaning back more firmly against him, your eyes slipping closed. “Sylus…I can handle wanderers on my own. I’ve done it before, and you know that. I love you, but I don’t need you protecting me every second of every day.”

You risk a glance back at him. His expression is complicated and conflicted. His eyes are fixed on your hand resting atop his beneath the water, watching your thumb brush over his knuckles as if the gesture itself is holding him together.

At last, he looks up, catching your gaze. The tension in his shoulders eases a fraction, though his lips press into a reluctant line before parting on a sigh.

“Alright.” His tone carries the weight of someone conceding ground, but only because it’s you. “But I meant what I said before. Call me if you’re alone. Please?”

Sylus rarely begs. The rawness in his voice, the way his eyes search yours for reassurance, it nearly undoes you.

“I will,” you promise, tilting your face up to press a kiss to his lips. It’s soft, grounding, meant to anchor him. When you pull back, his smile is there, small and fragile, the kind he saves for you alone.

“Good.” His voice warms again, the sharp edge blunted. But then that smile shifts, slow and dangerous, into something more familiar. His hand slips lower beneath the water, skimming the inside of your thigh with deliberate ease. “I suppose that means I should give you a reward?”

A shiver races down your spine despite the heat of the bath. You can’t help the laugh that bubbles out of you, quiet and breathless.

Maybe bedrest wasn’t the worst thing in the world.

[lvl109]

a lone tear slips down the curve of your cheek after the line goes dead. you don't realize it until a gentle hand lifts to wipe it away.

a disbelieving laugh comes next. a sudden jerk of your shoulders like you'd forgotten how to do so, the action strange and foreign to you. your limbs feel alien connected to you. the overwhelming urge to crawl out of yourself festers underneath your skin.

shame follows suit. it's heavy and overwhelming and all at once. suffocating yet familiar, like the unbearable presence of an old friend who knows too much about your past. you'd gotten too comfortable. too loose. you've bared too much of yourself to the light now. it prickles with the sensitivity of an open wound, of being watched for longer than you can bear.

“is the phone call over?” his voice parts through the static, making space for two where there seemed to constantly be one. you blink at him once, twice. his thumbs wipes at a stray tear again. you can't seem to find your voice.

he tries again. “is it okay that i’m touching you?” his hands retreat to hover near your face and the loss of warmth is instantaneous. the fear of him leaving is ice cold. you nod sharply, wincing at the dull pang of the beginnings of a headache forming. you relax only when his hands return to caress your face with the care you can't begin to understand you deserve.

as if he can read your mind, your phone is pried from a grip you didn't realize you were holding and slipped into his back pocket, sliding his fingers between yours to ease the throbbing pain beating in your palm. crimson hues shift across your face, the crease of his brow worried. concerned. no sharp wit now. no sly words or teasing remarks. you slowly realize he's laid bare, too.

“i love you,” he whispers at your hairline. a promise. a fact. despite it all. the baggage, the pain, the fear. “you are half of my soul. nothing you bear on your shoulders is yours alone.”

if he felt the tears that soaked his shirt upon your forehead moving to rest on his shoulder, he makes no comment on such. one hand finds your lower back to pull your body closer, the other finding its way to the back of your head. security. all encompassing protection.

one day you would find the words and tell him about the way your heart hung heavy between your ribs. that your chest hollowed out a deep chasm of endless pain some years ago that only deepens with every disappointment felt ten times worse the more it festered. that sometimes the energy to even get up from bed felt like a task too herculean to even attempt.

that you're afraid once the layers of your filth are peeled away by his hands, he'll see the full spectrum of your shortcomings and decide that your burdens were too heavy for two.

but selfishly, your fingers tighten around the fabric of his shirt, wanting him close in spite of it. your sniffles are soothed by circular and repetitive movements at your back, grounding even without words. and he lets you. he lets you take as much as you need without question. without hesitation. willing. it still surprises you.

i love you is a quiet declaration. a choice made because it's you. even if it took an eternity for you to accept that you are deserving despite your own thoughts.

[princessxmin]

Heyyy! Hope you're having a great day!

May I request a hurt/comfort fic w/ sylus? Like really angsty but w a happy ending. You can decide what type of scenario you want it to be!

Thankssss!

REQUEST RECEIVED...ENTERING THE PRINCESS'S COURT !

[♕]: thank you for requesting love!

ENOUGH ! — SYLUS QIN

⋆˚꩜.ᐟ : including — comfort fluff, established relationship, Sylus being an attentive lover, 'i love you's', cutesy shit <3 [♡₊˚ ♕]: her highness's decree: Remember my royals, you are always enough. You are always needed, do not ever think for a moment that if you were gone— if your presence wasn't around that people would not miss you. That your impact wouldn't be remembered. It would, because you are memorable. No matter who you are, that will never change my loves <3 [౨ৎ] synopsis: you haven't been having the best week per se, whether it was because of hormones, your workload as a hunter— or maybe something else entirely. You've been feeling off, and Sylus takes heavy notice and concern of that.

wrd count: 3.3k

Maybe it was your cycle, maybe it was your workload, or maybe it was something else entirely. But lately, you've been feeling more and more...useless? Or at least not as needed in a way.

Slaying wanders has always been a breeze but lately that's seemed like all your good for, just a machine with a sword. A hand to a weapon—which isn't inherently terrible. Maintaining safe environment's for the average person of Linkon is one of the perks of being a hunter.

However, lately the smiles and accolades haven't been enough to burn away the feeling of somewhat emptiness dwelling inside. And when you get home— god it's a whole new mental battle of self worth.

You love Sylus, that has always and will always be true, and you have no doubt in your mind that he loves you just as much if not even more!

And it comforts you— his love and affection keeps you grounded 90% of the time.

His touch on your skin, the tenderness and genuine care in his words when you're visibly worn out, the look in his eye when he sees you in the early mornings—it's damn near otherworldly how pure it is. How honest and devoted he is to you.

But despite it all. Despite his blatant love—lately, you've been questioning if you're deserving of that. Of him.

If what you are—who you are was enough for him. If he was truly happy with just you.

—

When you got home tonight, he was already there, waiting for you like always. The lights were dim, and Sylus sat in his designated reading spot like normal. You almost didn’t step inside right away—you actually almost turned back around just to avoid him seeing the obvious tired expression on your face.

But of course, Sylus noticed. He always notices.

The moment your boots hit the floor, his head lifted, and his gaze found you like it always does—like you were the only thing in the room worth paying attention to. And it should have been comforting. It usually is. But lately, even that warmth has been brushing up against the hollow inside you.

Burning and partially killing you from the inside out.

"Sweetie? Is everything alright?" His voice alone pings your heart— shit well now he's concerned— putting on your best fake-'i'mtiredbutreallyhappytoseeyou' face you nod.

Sylus stayed quiet, crimson eyes trailing over you with that unnerving patience of his. As if he were cataloging every twitch, every shift in your posture, every false little smile you tried to hold up for him. The silence stretched, heavy enough to make your chest tighten.

Then, after what felt like an eternity, his voice cut through the air again—soft, steady, but leaving no room for escape. “Come here. Sit with me.”

Your gut twisted instantly, knotted so tight it almost hurt. The last thing you wanted was to be under that gaze any longer, not when you weren’t sure if you could keep your mask from slipping. But you also knew there was no denying him. Not because he forced you, but because he asked like that—gentle, coaxing, as if the weight of the world could fall away if you just moved closer.

So you did what you always do: you tried to act normal. A shrug, a small hum, as if this were just another night, another simple request. You crossed the room, each step careful, measured, almost deliberate. By the time you lowered yourself beside him on the plush couch, your heart was racing like you’d just come back from a hunt.

You kept your smile, even let out a tiny laugh like you were fine. Shifting your body slightly towards him, you look up at your lover with what you hope passes for ease. But Sylus isn’t fooled. He never is.

Without a word, he reaches out and takes your hands into his, wrapping them gently but firmly, grounding you in that steady warmth only he's ever carried. His thumbs brush against your skin, deliberate and slow, like he’s trying to remind you he’s here.

“You know you can tell me anything,” he murmurs, voice steady but soft, like he’s afraid to push too hard and make you retreat. "I'd never judge your or cast you aside for anything you want to need speak on, sweetie."

Fuck.

Your vision blurs immediately, every syllable pressing against the fragile dam you’ve been building inside. Each word feels like a heavy waterfall, battering at the cracks, and your chest aches with the weight of it. You swallow, force yourself to keep your lips from trembling. “I’m fine,” you whisper, barely audible.

But your eyes betray you. Glassy, trembling, threatening to spill over.

Sylus’s expression shifts—pain flickers across his face, the kind that makes your heart lurch. He leans in just slightly, holding your hands tighter, his voice breaking with quiet plea. “I won't push you if you truly don't want to tell me, but if it's truly something that worries or bothers you—please tell me.”

A moment passes between you two, where a decision was to be made.

You could either stifle it down again, go to sleep in silk pajama's that he bought wondering if you're worthy of wearing them. Or tell the man you love— who's literally begging you to tell him what's wrong, to tell him what's been eating you up inside for almost a week now.

You open your mouth to speak, but no sound comes out, the look in Sylus's eyes the final push your heart needed for you to break.

And with that—the dam shatters.

Tears spill fast and heavy before you can stop them, breaking his gaze as you try to speak but nothing but unintelligible soft murmurs fall past your lips. Though Sylus doesn’t hesitate—not for a second. He draws you into his arms with a soft certainty that leaves no room for doubt. You tiredly collapse against his chest, clutching at his sweater as if you might unravel completely without something solid to hold onto.

Tears surely staining his expensive wool, but Sylus couldn't care less. He holds your shaking form with a soft stability, rubbing your back in circles and whispering sweet comforting words into your head.

Never rushing you, never demanding an explanation.

He just— holds you, steady and unyielding. The pass of his hands a wordless reassurance. The smell of his cologne and his natural scent slowly but surely calming your sobs into trembling breaths.

After giving you a few moments, Sylus's voice comes again, low against your hair. “Did anyone hurt you?” You shake your head quickly, pressing your face harder against his chest, desperate to make him believe it.

With a sigh, he leans back just enough to see your face, his eyes soft and brimming with concern. His thumb wipes at the streaks on your cheek, gentle as ever, though his expression carries the weight of worry he can’t disguise. “Okay, then what is it, sweetie?” he asks, gaze searching yours, heavy with love but aching to understand.

You take a shaky breath, trying to piece words together even as your throat feels tight. “I just…” your voice wavers, cracking under the weight of everything you’ve been holding back. “I’ve been feeling like I’m not… needed. Not really. At work, there are hunters so much better than me—stronger, faster. And me? It’s like I’m just…” You swallow hard, forcing the words out. “Just a hand to a sword. That’s all.”

Your gaze flickers down, afraid to meet his. “And then I have you. You always keep me grounded. You make me feel safe and loved and I—I do love that, I love you, but—”

The sentence fractures on your lips, breaking under the weight of your own doubt. Your eyes finally lift, meeting Sylus’s steady, unflinching gaze. The tears start building all over again, blurring him from view.

He squeezes your hands gently, that small gesture alone urging you on, telling you it’s safe to say the rest.

“Am I…” Your voice barely scrapes past your lips, thin and trembling, a tear slipping down your cheek as your eyes search his with desperate uncertainty. “Am I really enough for you? Do you actually like being with me—listening to me ramble, just… wasting time with me even when I’m being ridiculous?” A weak, broken laugh escapes you, sharp with nerves and heavy with ache. “When I’m not even being a hunter? When I'm just—me?”

The words fall heavy between you, tangled in tears that now roll freely down your face.

Sylus’s expression softens, though there’s a certain seriousness in his gaze that makes your breath hitch. His hands tighten gently around yours, grounding you before he speaks.

“Y/n,” his voice is quiet but steady, every word deliberate, “you’ve changed my life more than I think you realize. I could never see you as simply one thing—because doing so would be ignoring every other amazing factor about you. And I could never do that.” His thumb strokes lightly against your skin, his eyes locked onto yours with unwavering sincerity.

A shaky exhale leaves your lips as your heart melts, the softness of his words making you want to cry all over again. Your chest feels tight, like his love is too big to fit inside you, pressing against every hidden crack you’ve tried to seal away.

Blinking back tears, you silently gaze at him as he continues.

“Whether that's in the morning for you, when you're tired and soft, I see the sweetest part of you. When you’re bold and sharp, I can’t help but get enough of it,” he says sweetly, his voice warmer now, laced with something so genuine it makes your chest ache.

“You asked me if you’re enough? If I truly like being with you?” Sylus’s tone dips softer, almost fragile in how carefully he speaks. One of his hands lifts, cupping your cheek with a gentleness that makes your breath catch. His thumb traces the faintest line along your skin, lingering as if to anchor you in place. Your instinctively nuzzle into the warmth, the sudden affection making your shoulders drop as Sylus exhaled slowly. Taking a moment to admire your softness before leaning in, just close enough for his breath to mingle with yours.

“You’re more than enough. You’ve always been more than enough.”

Sylus's eyes search yours, unwavering, pulling you into the gravity of his sincerity. “Being with you—it’s not just something I merely enjoy or like. It’s what I look forward to. It’s the peace I never thought I’d have." He confesses, eyes low but filled with love as he spoke.

"You’re the part of my day that makes almost anything bearable.”

The weight of his words sinks into you slowly, blooming warm and overwhelming in your chest. Your lips tremble into a soft smile as you tilt your head, resting your cheek against your palm. Big, glassy eyes lock on his, wide and reverent. “You are too,” you murmur, the words fragile but certain.

Sylus leans forward without hesitation, pressing the gentlest kiss to your forehead. Your lashes flutter closed at the touch, your heart melting entirely at his quiet devotion. His breath brushes your skin as he whispers, “I’m honored to be your safe space.”

When he pulls back, you look up at him again—your tears no longer heavy with ache, but light, happy, shimmering. The words slip out of you before you can stop them, whispered through the crack in your smile. “I love you.”

Sylus’s lips curve into the softest smile, his velvety voice low and steady as he leans closer. “I love you too, more than you'll ever imagine.”

With that you shift from where you’d been sitting at his side, turning toward him fully. The need to be closer overwhelms you, and before you can second-guess it, you move into his lap, straddling him so you can hold him tighter. Your arms wrap fiercely around his neck, your body pressing flush to his as though the distance of even a breath would be too much.

Burying your face against his chest, the words spill out again, muffled but raw: “'luv you so much, Sy.”

Sylus exhales softly with a hum, his own arms enveloping you with the same steadiness he always gives, his voice low against your hair. “I love you more.” Arms arms locked securely around you, holding you close as the world outside fades into silence. And in that stillness, it’s just the two of you—hearts pressed together, breathing in sync, the quiet moment stretching into forever.

® princessxmin all rights reserved. please to not alter, copy or translate my work !

[art-by-ady]

Nothing beats a Jet2 Holiday/Honeymoon with Sylus ✨

Finally finished this part. I still want to visualize their other island adventures so bad 😩

[lushfa]

trying to figure out how to draw the other guyz since i only ever draw zayne and sylus Lawl i think ill do more studiez 💔💔💔

[harblkun]

[potentiama]

a whole zoo of them

[mrsqin]

open the door, kitten.

[c-dra]