The word mate always seemed so fictional to Valko.
Ever since he was a pup, the whole concept was treated like some kind of myth that only the chosen ones could experience. They described it as meeting the person who was placed on this world for you, the person who was your perfect match—the person who would move heaven and earth for you just to make sure that you were at your happiest.
It was all bullshit to him.
Not because he was some kind of anti-romantic asshole who didn’t believe in soulmates. He was just more of a ‘see it to believe it’ kind of guy, and he hadn’t met anyone, nor had he heard of anyone in this century meeting their mate.
Like he said, it was apparently some kind of religious encounter that not anyone was blessed with.
To his surprise though, it seemed like he was part of the blessed margin after all.
“Val?” His cousin, Reyna, gently placed a hand on his shoulder to gain back his attention, but his eyes were enraptured by you, standing on the balcony. You had a bow and arrow in your possession, and it was pointed directly at him.
However, the second your eyes met his, you paused. The arrow slipped from your fingers, falling down several floors below and inevitably alerting the guards stationed there.
“Valko.” Reyna was shaking him now.
When he still remained immobile like a goddamn statue, Reyna followed his gaze and let out a gasp, mistaking his staring as alertness that someone who seemed like they had bad intentions managed to infiltrate the wedding—and not because you were making his heart race so fast, blood pumping so hard in his veins that he didn’t understand whether what he was feeling was a rush of adrenaline or something else.
Whatever it was, there was no denying it.
Whoever you were.
You were his mate.
*****
“Don’t touch her.”
You closed your eyes, wanting the ground to swallow you whole.
You had failed your father. Practically disowned yourself the moment you let your defenses down and didn’t shoot the young chairman like you were tasked to do. It was the only thing he had ever entrusted you with, and yet you had proven to him that you truly were his worthless daughter. If there was even a chance to get away from this territory, you weren't sure if you were still welcome in your pack.
Maybe Dad would shout insults and profanities at you for your incompetency. Maybe he’ll go back to how he had always been with you, treating you as invisible with passive-aggressive remarks leaving his lips whenever you were in the same room. Whatever it was, you knew you deserved it.
After all, it was one thing to fail your father, and it was another thing to discover that this Ao chairman you intended to kill was supposedly your mate. From the looks of it, it seemed he knew that as well, considering how the second your eyes met earlier and you were discovered by security not long after, he was there to play the role of your knight in shining armor, stopping them from seizing you or murdering you on the spot.
“Chairman Ao, do you know this woman?” you heard one of the guards ask him.
Your eyes were still closed. You couldn't bear to open them. You didn’t want to look at his face and feel that strange pull again that you felt at the balcony.
His scent was already intoxicating enough. Masculine… woody… the sea…
You kept your hands fisted at your sides to prevent yourself from climbing onto the fellow and sniffing the fuck out of his neck.
“Yes, I know her.”
That made you snap your eyes open. So much for self-control.
You glanced up and saw that he was staring at you, his amber eyes fixated on your face, moving from one feature to another like he was trying to figure you out. You couldn’t blame him. Before this night, you weren’t even aware mates still existed. Yet here you were, in the company of yours.
He finally looked away, instead directing his attention to the four men who had caught you and dragged you to the office near the musician’s gallery. It was where you had been manhandled and threatened, but you were too stunned and puzzled to fight back properly or even feel any pain. All you could think about was this Ao guy, how warm it felt when your gazes met, and how the wolf inside you wanted to find him as soon as possible—not because you were still hoping you could go forth with your plan, but because you were restless at how he was no longer in your line of sight and needed him close.
“Leave us,” he told them. “You can tell my father and mother that I have this handled and that they have nothing to worry about.” He then turned back to you, a confident smirk shaping his mouth. “She won’t hurt me.”
There’s a slight mocking lilt to his tone that made you snarl, and the guards took an automatic step to detain you, but he just raised a hand at them, giving them a pointed stare before making a shooing gesture toward the door. They huffed, regarding him with an incredulous look. Nonetheless, they followed his command, and then you and the young chairman were all alone.
You focused your attention on the carpet, wishing you could hold your breath so you could get his stupid delicious scent out of your head.
“Stop kneeling there like you’re praying to me, princess,” he said, his footsteps telling you he was walking to where you were before a strong pair of hands gently hauled you back to your feet. It made your gazes meet once more, your eyes landing on those smoldering amber pupils of his.
“Do you feel it too?” you couldn’t help but ask immediately, jaw clenching as you hated to even acknowledge the reality of who he was to you.
He arched an eyebrow. “That you’re my mate? ‘Course, I do. It’s the only reason I’m keeping you alive. Being charitable to gatecrashers isn’t exactly my forte. Especially to gatecrashers who look like they were sent here to kill me.”
“I was sent here to kill you,” you confirmed, seeing no point in denying it.
“Yeah, that wasn’t hard to miss, seeing you with the bow and all.” He wiggled his fingers dramatically and then leaned back on a desk, still giving you a scrutinizing look.
As he checked you out, you didn’t shy away from doing the same.
Up close and with dimmer lighting, his hair didn’t look that red anymore. In fact, it seemed to be tinted with a bit of purplish hue as well, styled neatly that his forehead was out exposed and the strands didn’t even reach his ears on the side. His amber eyes remained to seem molten under your gaze, and as for his build…
Well, he was huge. Massive. Abundantly so now that he was up close.
His shoulders were wide, his pecs and biceps stood out despite the layers of clothing he sported for the wedding, his thighs were perhaps milliseconds away from destroying his black slacks, and you significantly had to crane your neck up a notch just to speak to him, causing you to think that if you wanted to reach those inviting lips of his, you would have to haul him down and push up on your toes to pull it off.
You blinked.
Why the fuck were you already imagining to kiss this guy?
God. My brain chemistry is already being altered by this stupid mate hypnosis shit.
“What’s your name?” He broke off your internal monologue, apparently done with his inspection just as you were having a mental crisis.
“You first.”
“You don’t know it?”
“No.”
“You were sent here to kill me, and you don’t know my name.”
“Nobody outside your pack does,” you said with a grimace. “Your parents made sure of that.”
“Ah. Their overprotectiveness did have its advantages.” He snorted mostly to himself. Then he spoke again, “It’s Valko. And you?”
You told him yours; he raised his eyebrows at the mention of your last name.
“From the North pack?”
You nodded.
“Interesting.” Valko crossed his arms. “Very interesting.”
You tried not to squirm as he checked you out again, but your body was fighting a war you didn’t know which to side on. A part of you felt relieved and enchanted to meet your mate, yet another side wanted to run away and escape because it felt like the universe was on its way to truly transforming your life into a farce.
“Look,” you began all of a sudden, not wanting this interaction to drag on, “if you don’t plan on killing me, how about you just let me go and we can forget everything that happened tonight.”
“Let you go?”
“Yes.”
“But why? We’re just getting to know each other.”
Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “There’s no getting to know each other,” you said.
“Because you were supposed to kill me?”
“Because you’re from the East pack,” you stated. “I’m the enemy. There’s no point in acting chummy as if us being mates will suddenly bring world peace.”
He laughed at that, and instead of you getting pissed off about it, the sound tingled your insides. A good feeling. Like morning sunlight on your face. Like drinking the first sip of lemonade on a very hot day. “I know that, princess. I’m not stupid,” he replied. “But like I told you, I’m only keeping you alive because you’re my mate. That doesn’t mean I’m supposed to let you go.”
Your hand automatically drifted on your side, close to the thigh where under your dress, a dagger was strapped and didn’t get taken when you were frisked upon your capture.
Valko’s eyes snapped at the movement. “Oh, come on. You know better than to assume I’m keeping you here to torture you.” He pushed himself off the desk and started to march towards you.
You didn’t move even when you told yourself you were better than this.
That sure, you weren’t the world’s best fighter, but you knew that if a potential threat was approaching you, you weren’t supposed to let your guard down.
You weren’t supposed to allow him to stop so close to you, let him touch your neck as your pulse drummed under his palm, let him tilt your face up for you to look at him—
And you definitely weren’t supposed to let him bend down and take a deep inhale just below your ear, the tip of his nose touching your lobe slightly that that contact made sparks travel all throughout your body, your own hands having a mind of their own as you leaned closer and gripped the front of his suit.
After what felt like an eternity of taking sniffs of your neck, he finally retreated. A sharp exhale escaped you as your eyes locked, a smirk already dancing on that devastating mouth of his.
“Sweet,” he murmured.
Your knuckles turned white as your grip on the fabric tightened.
gentle reminder: this author loves feedback! let her know your thoughts if you enjoyed reading this fic and you’ll add 100+ points in her writing motivation meter ♡
୭ৎ ࣪ ׅ ⊹ author’s note: i absolutely don’t know what happens next so if i’m able to write a part 3 of this it’s probably gonna be a like a fast forward or basically not in a chronological order lmao shdjshdjhs (this is also not proofread yet and i’m so rusty when it comes to writing now sooooo)
It was everything you trained for. Everything your father molded you to become, and the single thing you knew would finally grant you his approval.
Since the death of your mother, he never really looked at you the same. You can understand why—or at least you tried to. The people around you always said that it was because you were the spitting image of her, and every time Dad looked at you, he only got the reminder that Mom was no longer here and that he had to raise you by himself, his child who you knew deep down he always regarded as weak and not fit to continue his legacy as the so-called great Alpha of the North.
Yet for some reason, three months ago, he went inside the training grounds where you were practicing your archery and handed you a single red envelope.
It was a wedding invitation, addressed to someone named Jenna Lin.
But that wasn't the detail that piqued your interest. It was the fact that the mentioned wedding was Faye Ao and Henry Lang’s, two werewolves from two of the most powerful packs of the region.
For a decade, your father had been plotting to overthrow those exact packs. Stripping them of their power would allow yours to rise, finally securing the resources and connections he’d been desperate to snatch as it would help strengthen your territory and give more to your people.
“What's this supposed to mean?” you asked him, twisting the thick paper around, scanning through the dozens of details written on them.
He gave you an irritated stare, as if you were meant to understand this without his explanations. “You're going to the wedding.”
“I am?”
“You'll be posing as Jenna Lin. She’s an investor from the West territory, no one important enough to be recognized but her name can get you in the reception ceremony. From there, you can survey the venue, spot your target, look for a good spot to conceal yourself, and then go for the kill.”
You blinked.
You didn't want to ask another question that would make you appear stupid, but you were so confused that you had no choice but to do so. “Kill?” you echoed his words.
Dad smiled. It was menacing, an expression so foreign to you that it made you wince.
“You want to prove yourself to me, girl?” he began. “Then you can start by killing the young chairman of the Ao family. An intel of mine told me he's chosen to be next Alpha of their pack. You kill him, you get their weak spot—and you show me that all these years I spent my money hiring teachers and mentors for you wasn't put to waste.”
So, that's how you found yourself in this situation. Perched in one of the empty rooms overlooking the grand ballroom, an unused musician's gallery covered in heavy velvet drapes that you managed to sneak into after you had to pose as one of the staff and abandoned the whole Jenna Lin persona once it no longer served any more help.
It was dark from where you were positioned, the said curtains further helping you in your task to assassinate the Ao chairman.
“Red hair… yellow eyes…” you muttered under your breath, your gaze shifting from one corner of the grand ballroom to another.
That was the whole flaw of this plan that Dad laid out for you.
You didn't know what this chairman looked like. You didn't even know his name for God's sake. Nobody who wasn't part of the Ao pack really had a clear image of him due to how his parents were smart enough to hide his identity from the rest of the state. However, according to your father, another piece of information he managed to have was that this guy had a red mane and eyes that looked amber.
Aside from that, you were going here completely blind, praying that you didn't kill an innocent bystander who only had the same features as your target.
But then after approximately 30 minutes of you observing the hundreds of guests, you caught a tall and huge man with cropped red hair by the left, his back facing you as he talked to two women you recognized as prominent members of the Ao family. Relying on instinct alone, you raised your long bow, aiming at the back of his head, waiting for him to turn around so you could confirm if he had the yellow eyes you've been told of.
If he did, you would let go of the arrow.
Only…
The moment he did turn around, that wasn't what happened.
Or, it did, but not how you intended it to play out.
As the arrow slipped from your fingers, it fell down the balcony where some of the guards were standing by—and then your eyes and the Ao chairman's eyes connected, freezing you on the spot and rendering you useless. There wasn't even a single care in your body regarding the fact that your cover had been blown and that in seconds from now, you were positive you were going to be captured and interrogated by the men of this pack.
Fuckity fuck.
Your heart pounded. Your ears rang. Goosebumps rose all over you. And yet you still couldn't tear your gaze away from him.
You gritted your teeth.
Of course.
Of fucking course.
Out of all the people in the world, it had to be him.
This stupid chairman had to be your mate.
gentle reminder: this author loves feedback! let her know your thoughts if you enjoyed reading this fic and you’ll add 100+ points in her writing motivation meter ♡
୭ৎ ࣪ ׅ ⊹ author’s note: i have been dead for months but i will not tolerate the valko erasure!!!! anyways,,, just had to put this out there bc it has been on my mind and i tried writing it second pov but my brain wouldn't cooperate so here we are mehehe. idk if there will be another part of this (maybe there will bc i haven't mentioned valko directly in this part and i want at least one confrontation or like interrogation scene lmao) but yeah 😫
edited [07/05/2026]: changed this from first pov to second pov as my brain finally cooperated! lmao
y’all... this account has been dead for so many months BUT i was so excited about valko’s release and thought about writing for him bc i love werewolf aus too lmao and now i’m sad about it jahshjdhsjdhsjd
when sylus realizes his crime empire needs an heir to survive, he turns to the last person he should—you, his ex situationship he swore he’d never see again, yet the only woman he trusts to play the role of his wife… and mother to his heir.
for you, the offer is as dangerous as it is stupid. however, with your beloved bar on the brink of collapse, you deem you have no choice but to sign the contract that binds you to the man who once shattered your heart if you want to save the sole thing you consider important.
pairing: sylus qin x reader
word count: 3.6k
rating: 18+
content: angst, fluff, nsfw | non-canon compliant (means too that sylus does not have his evol and is just a regular human) | mafia au, exes to lovers, enemies to lovers if you squint, marriage of convenience, forced proximity, fake dating | ft. mafia boss!sylus, bar owner!reader, human!mephisto + consigliere!mephisto
warning/s: mature themes, swearing, mentions of violence, threats, intimidation, and blood
[ series masterlist. ]
EPISODE 04. the one with the engagement party !
News traveled fast once you agreed to marry Sylus.
In the morning, you sat down with him again, this time with Mephisto, who was more than willing to play the part of counselor. You and Sylus were presented with a contract that stated your respective conditions in a much more professional form (which you had to really read thoroughly to ensure you weren’t being secretly scammed or fooled by the amount of jargon used in the document).
Both of you emphasized some points, asked for clarifications of other parts that seemed unclear still, even snorted at the other new terms and conditions the other party wanted in addition, and then finally, you and Sylus signed the contract, keeping copies of your own alongside Mephisto who said he’ll have one too for his own safekeeping.
“That settles it then,” Sylus said, standing up from the chair, causing you to follow suit. “Are you okay with being married in three months?”
You nodded. “Yes. It’s not like I have anything else important to do for the rest of my year.”
“Good.” He smiled, and then suddenly began to rummage for something in his jeans pocket, fishing out a red velvet box and handing it to you.
“Is this supposed the engagement ring?” You took a guess.
“Open it, kitten.”
You opened the red velvet box.
A gorgeous ring with a pink diamond sat nicely on the cushion. The band was silver; there were tiny, intricate gems around it, and its overall appearance screamed elegance and luxury, like Sylus wanted anyone who would get a look at it to know that you weren’t just any woman in his life.
You knew instantly that the whole ring was going to act as a statement of his devotion to you. It was a way of his to tell the people that you deserved to be bought such lavish jewelry, that nothing simple would be gifted to you because that was how precious you were to him—his wife, the eventual mother of his child.
Your fingertip traced the large gemstone in the center absentmindedly before looking up at him. “Not even going to bother getting on one knee, huh?”
Sylus snorted at that, plucking the ring swiftly from where it was nestled in the box, and went down on one knee.
You smirked and crossed your arms. You were waiting for what he was going to say for his ‘proposal’ speech.
“Sweetie,” he started, lifting the ring towards you, “I know the last thing on earth that you want to happen is to marry me. However, we’ve already made the bargain, the contracts have been signed, and now you belong to me, as I promise that I will belong only to you from now on. So, really, do you have any other choice than to say yes as I ask you most graciously if you would do me the honor of being my wife?”
The theatrics and the mischief glinting in his ruby eyes made you scoff, yet a smile played on your lips nonetheless at the ridiculousness of it.
“I do.”
He grinned.
With utter gentleness, he grasped your hand and pushed the ring to your second finger. The diamond gleamed, reflecting light from the mini chandelier dangling in his office, while your heart pounded hard inside your chest, in disbelief at the fact that you were at this very second Sylus’s fiancée—that you were marrying this man in approximately 12 weeks, about to build a family with him, and be a part of his future (regardless that all of this was going to be fake and a mere ruse to keep his enemies at bay).
“Thank you,” he murmured, his lips planting a kiss on the pink gem. “You’ll be safe with me, ____. No matter what. I swear this to you.”
You squeezed his hand.
It’s been a month since then.
You’ve been living in his mansion, eating in his dining room, reunited with the twins, Luke and Keiran—who, by the way, didn’t bother to hide the fact that they were the masterminds behind Sylus approaching you to be his betrothed—and have spent every other day going shopping, replenishing your wardrobe with clothes that deemed fitting for a mob wife (whatever that meant), as well as spending more time with Sylus, polishing the stories you two were inevitably going to share to anyone who might ask about how you and Sylus ‘fell in love’.
Aside from that, since part of your conditions was that Sylus would permit you to handle The Grim even when you marry, you’ve been taking care of the other repairs that are way overdue. Needless to say, your employees were surprised at the sudden and further renovations you’re making to the place—not to mention the huge pink diamond ring you have on your finger.
“You’re getting married?” Tara, one of your full-time employees who is tasked behind the bar, asked and gaped at you like you just announced that you’re from another planet. “What? You don’t even have a boyfriend, boss!”
You winced, the lines you rehearsed with Sylus already flowing out of your tongue without difficulty. “Uh, well, remember that guy I was having kind of like a situationship last year?”
“The one with the white hair?” She perked up at that. “Red eyes? Broad shoulders? Who rides a motorcycle and who is also like, really hot?” Tara is full-on grinning now. “Wait, don’t tell me he’s the guy that you’re marrying?”
“Yeah, he… he and I reconnected for a few weeks now. He realized he always loved me, blah blah blah—”
“And he asked you to marry him?”
“Yes.” You laughed, your face heating up. “Crazy, right?”
“Crazy romantic, you mean!” Tara squealed, and you winced once again.
It didn’t take long before your whole crew discovered your engagement. They were ecstatic, reckoning that it’s about time that their ‘super hyperindependent boss’ had someone to rely on, and you think that they’re not entirely wrong, considering that you are using Sylus as your personal bank account.
From the day you signed that contract with him in the presence of Mephisto, he has given you one of his black cards and given you the freedom to buy whatever you wanted with it, even without his permission. He has been so generous and kind—to the point it was unnerving at times—and made sure that your comfort would be put above everything else.
You, on the other hand, are not yet certain if you’re being a good fiancé. You’re still guarded when around him, still unwilling to let yourself loose truly, but you are making the effort of being at least pleasant to be with. You’re even the one who proposed having dinner every day together with him and the twins, so that you’d feel the semblance of being a family together sooner or later.
Additionally, being away from him for almost a year had made him a stranger all over again. And you don’t want to be married to practically a stranger. After all, this man is supposed to be the only man you’ll be allowed to welcome into your bed; you’re not keen on letting just anyone touch and pleasure you just because you’re horny (or doing your part by trying to get pregnant), so you decided that making the effort of bonding with him would be the logical thing to do.
“Ready, kitten?”
His voice snaps you out of your thoughts.
Before you can reply, the door to your bedroom opens slowly, and Sylus’s head peeks out, his gaze landing on you.
Tonight is your engagement party, and it is intended to be your first formal public appearance as his fiancée. You’ve been all over your head since morning, mostly because you’re still convinced that you might not be that good of an actress, like you tell yourself to be, and that you’re afraid that if someone confronts you about your real relationship with Sylus tonight, you’ll blow your cover and confess the whole plan.
Not to mention that you’re not used to dressing up fancy. For this evening, you’re wearing a red, form-fitting dress that complements your figure. Your makeup is glamorous and elegant, your hair is styled in a high bun with loose tendrils framing your face, and you’ll be wearing these beautiful black heels that make your legs look longer.
Overall, you believe that you look convincing enough to be seen as a soon-to-be mob boss’s wife.
“Well, don’t you look dashing,” he says, stepping inside your room and closing the door behind him. He doesn’t shy away from raking his eyes over the entirety of your figure, a pleased expression flashing on his face. “Very… scrumptious, I might say.”
You snort. “Thanks for using an adjective that would describe a snack.”
“Oh, you are not a snack. I actually would categorize you as a whole buffet.”
You laugh at the absurdity of it. His lips quirk up in a smirk.
“Are you nervous?” he asks as he approaches you. You’re seated in front of your vanity mirror, fiddling with the necklace you’re supposed to wear, and upon Sylus seeing it, he plucks it out from the palm of your hands and begins to clasp it around your neck.
“Kinda,” you say. “I mean, this is like a formal event. I’m not used to attending those. Much less be the spectacle of the night.”
“Don’t overthink it. If it makes you feel better, the people would most likely be trying to be in your good graces. So, better prepare yourself to be praised for the whole duration of the party and have a bunch of guests kiss your ass.”
“Not literally, I hope.”
“Oh, no, only I can do that.”
You elbow him hard on the stomach from where he’s still standing behind you, and he chuckles.
“There.” He finishes helping you wear the necklace, tugging the pendant lower, letting it rest beautifully between your collarbones. “All done.”
“Thanks.”
“Shall we then?”
You nod and take his outstretched hand. However, when your thumb unconsciously brushes against his knuckles, you take notice of a few cuts that you can guess are in the healing stage based on their appearance and texture, meaning that it might not have been long since he got them.
“Sylus.” You start.
“Yes, sweetie?”
“Why do you have these?” Your thumb brushes on the dried-up cuts once more.
He glances at them, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. “Business. Don’t worry about it. Sometimes you have to use brute force to prove a point.”
“And what point were you exactly making that time to use your fist?”
Sylus thinks about it, like he’s not sure if he should tell you the truth or not, but settles for the former anyway as he says:
“That if someone doesn’t want to experience an early and untimely death, then they shouldn’t be messing with what’s mine.”
****
The engagement party is as bad as you imagined it to be.
Only because it’s coming from you, a person who prefers not to have the spotlight and would like to have plenty of opportunities to escape whenever she pleases at a party this fancy and grand. Aside from that, it’s actually a great function; the dishes served are immaculate, you can order any drink you want at the bar, and there’s a live band playing romantic jazz music.
In addition, you’re glad to see your employees from The Grim enjoying the party. Even though Andrew and Tara have been nonstop teasing you and congratulating Sylus in a rather sly manner, their presence alongside the part-timers who got to attend brings you at ease even a little bit, reminding you that not every person in the room is scrutinizing you secretly in their minds for bagging one of the richest men in the country.
Speaking of the devil, Sylus returns to your side after fetching you a drink. He’s been nonstop teasing you all evening too, pointing out how it pains him to see your forced smile as you talked with dozens of guests, and that apparently, the friendliest tone you can muster whenever you speak with the people congratulating you for the engagement also makes his eardrums hurt.
“Don’t hate me,” he begins as he hands you your champagne flute, “but my brother is in attendance and he wants to meet you.”
Your eyes widen, snapping your head towards him before leaning closer and hissing. “What? You invited Damien?”
“Naturally. He is family after all.”
“Yeah, but he’s the guy after Onichynus!”
“Yes, but he is still my brother,” he reiterates patiently. “Look, kitten, I’m not thrilled that he accepted my invitation. I only invited him for formality, so you can imagine my surprise to see him here.”
“And now he wants to meet me.”
“And now he wants to meet you,” he confirms with a sip of his drink.
You want to argue, but then the rational side of your brain says that if not today, you’re bound to meet his villain of a brother anyway. Even then, despite not meeting Damien personally, you got the message that he’s not a particularly likable fellow. You often overheard Sylus and Mephisto talking about him with scowls on their faces, making it obvious that they thought the eldest Qen child was a nuisance and a liability.
“Fine.” You frown, conceding.
“Great.” He smiles and offers his arm. “Come on, sweetie. On the bright side, he’s with Tessa and the kids, so we should expect that he won’t act like such a bitter bastard in front of his family.”
“Wow. Can’t wait to meet him,” you say in a monotone, earning an amused chuckle from Sylus.
He leads you to the farthest side of the room, where a man in his late 30s stands tall, bearing the same silver hair as Sylus and that arrogant smirk on his lips. Standing beside him is a woman with strawberry blonde hair, and two young boys you assume are his kids. Unlike Sylus and Damien, they do not have the distinguishable white mane, but instead have their mother’s hair color, with its shade bordering solely blonde.
“Damien,” Sylus begins, and the man turns away from the guests he’s speaking with.
His dark brown eyes fall on you; the smirk on his lips transforms into a full-blown grin.
“May I introduce you to my lovely fiancée, ____,” Sylus gestures a hand towards you, before he then turns back to Damien and nods at him. “____, this is my older brother, Damien. And this is his wife, Tessa, and his boys, Stephen and Joaquin.”
Tessa gives you a radiant and polite smile. Meanwhile, the boys wave at you, uninterested, averting their eyes elsewhere quickly as they focus on the brand new desserts being placed on the long table nearby.
“____,” Damien repeats your name. “I’ve never heard of you before. Sylus has never mentioned that he was seeing anyone before this… sudden engagement.”
“Entirely my fault, really,” you tell him, wearing the friendliest smile you can muster. “I wanted to keep everything on the low. Sylus and I didn’t really plan on getting so serious in such a jiffy. It was all casual until this guy right here—” you pat Sylus’ chest ever so affectionately, your hand rubbing against his pecs that heats his gaze— “decided he couldn’t live without me.”
Sylus laughs at the declaration, raising an eyebrow at you, yet plays along. “I was helpless under her spell. I don’t think I’ll meet a woman as beautiful, brilliant, and headstrong as this one. No one can handle me the way she does.”
“What can I say? I’m a miracle worker.” You grin at him.
Damien peers at the two of you, his eyes flickering from you to Sylus and back at you. “Well, I’m glad it worked out,” he says quite warily. “I never thought my brother would one day want to get married, but here we are.”
Sylus tips his glass towards him. “When you know, you know.”
“____,” Tessa calls for your attention, “I heard you own a bar? That sounds wonderful.”
You nod. “Yes. However, it’s currently under renovation. Though I’d love for both of you to visit once everything is in order.”
“Of course! I always love supporting small businesses.”
You grit your teeth at that. You don’t think it’s intended to come off as an insult; Tessa has that vibe wherein she’s just tactless and out of touch by nature. It still annoys the hell out of you, though.
Calm down. Think pleasant thoughts. Be the charming and amicable fiancée you’re meant to be.
“It’s not that small,” you amend, still using that over-the-top preppy tone you’re starting to loathe seriously. “I have tons of regulars. Some companies like to go there for dinner and other events. I’ve been running it for over five years now.”
“On your own?” Tessa asks, and you nod. “Wow. Must be pretty tough.”
“I always like a nice challenge.”
“Hence, she said yes when I asked her to marry me,” Sylus chimes in, the way he’s looking at you causing your lips to quirk up as it feels like you two are in some kind of joke, which you kind of are, given the double meaning of his words.
Then Sylus abruptly kisses your temple; it gives you a mini heart attack.
“Isn’t that right, kitten?” he adds.
You squint your eyes at him, hoping it’ll come off as playful as you think it to be, even if your shoulders have gone a bit rigid under his hold and you’re clutching onto his coat too tightly. “As if it’s a challenge to have forever with the love of my life,” you reply.
Sylus chuckles, grinning at you, and you take that as a cue to grin back, doing a girlish giggle before turning back to Tessa and Damien, who both have forced smiles on their faces until they’re making excuses to greet some family members and are congratulating you for the engagement.
Once they’re out of earshot, you pinch Sylus’s side and he grunts.
“Next time,” you grit your teeth, “can you give me a warning before kissing me?”
His eyes snap to yours. “Are you that worked up over a simple kiss on the temple?”
“Yes, because I was unprepared.”
“Unprepared,” he drawls. “That’s ridiculous. There’s no need to prepare for a kiss, especially if said kiss wasn’t even on the lips.”
“Still, it’s better to let me know.”
“Fine. I’ll make sure to warn you next time I decide to kiss you.” Sarcasm drips from his tone, and you don’t bother rolling your eyes; instead, you sip from your champagne flute haughtily,
Later on, as you and Sylus get called in front of the crowd by Mephisto, asking you both to do a toast for this engagement party, Sylus takes the lead, doing a grand speech about second chances, finding the one you want to spend your life with, and being lucky enough to be chosen by his beloved (a.k.a. you)—all the while looking at you, his eyes shining in mirth, as if he truly is madly in love with you and not merely playing his part in this whole ruse.
When he finishes speaking, he raises his glass and glances at you again. “To fate, for leading the woman of my dreams back into my arms again, for knocking some sense into me that I ought to keep her this time around.”
The guests murmur their awe and agreement, clinking their glasses before taking a drink.
You feel Sylus’s hand tighten around your waist; when you look at him, you see his gaze already on your mouth.
“I’m about to kiss you now, ____,” he says, his voice low and husky.
You down your champagne in one go, doing it quite brashly because of the nerves. “Okay,” you reply.
Without further ado, he leans down and captures your lips, a warm palm of his landing on your cheek as his thumb brushes against it tenderly. Your heart races, your mind goes haywire, but you will yourself to stay focused and kiss him back, parting your lips a bit for him to give him something to work with, as you don’t want to appear like a damn robot who is being kissed for the first time.
He pulls back for only a few centimeters away, his breath fanning your chin, and you’re staring at his glazed ruby eyes. No matter how much you want to pretend otherwise, you can’t deny that kissing him still makes you want to keep coming back for more.
“Again?” he asks, like he read your mind.
You swallow hard and bring an arm around his neck. “Yeah. For the guests.”
Sylus smirks. “Of course, sweetie. Wouldn’t want them to think I don’t like kissing my fiancée.”
“Exactly.”
Both of you kiss again, and this time you hear teasing hoots and applause.
Regardless, it doesn’t overshadow the voice that’s shouting in your head, a voice that you know is right, but what you ignore for your own very stupid desires:
Do not enjoy this too much! He doesn’t love you, there is no happy-ever-after in this scenario, and you will only get hurt again if you let him in too much!
You push all those thoughts down. All you take into account is the fact that Sylus is still the damn good kisser you remembered him to be.
And hell, did you miss being on the receiving end of it.
gentle reminder: this author loves feedback! let her know your thoughts if you enjoyed reading this fic and you’ll add 100+ points in her writing motivation meter ♡
୭ৎ ࣪ ׅ ⊹ author’s note: thank you so much again for every single one of you who is still reading this mini series! hehe,, i might not reply to comments (i am sorry sometimes i am just too awkward and cannot think of a good reply; also i find it so funny whenever i encounter a comment that says they keep forgetting that mephie is human here lmao) BUT REST ASSURED I APPRECIATE THEM SOOOOO MUCH AND THEY MAKE ME SMILE <33 anyway,, this is kinda my warning too that i might not get to update as often as i would like even more since i just landed a new job and will be starting next week hehehe and that job will involve a lot of writing so i have to see if my brain cells can still squeeze some energy for this fic 💔
when sylus realizes his crime empire needs an heir to survive, he turns to the last person he should—you, his ex situationship he swore he’d never see again, yet the only woman he trusts to play the role of his wife… and mother to his heir.
for you, the offer is as dangerous as it is stupid. however, with your beloved bar on the brink of collapse, you deem you have no choice but to sign the contract that binds you to the man who once shattered your heart if you want to save the sole thing you consider important.
pairing: sylus qin x reader
word count: 3.6k
rating: 18+
content: angst, fluff, nsfw | non-canon compliant (means too that sylus does not have his evol and is just a regular human) | mafia au, exes to lovers, enemies to lovers if you squint, marriage of convenience, forced proximity, fake dating | ft. mafia boss!sylus, bar owner!reader, human!mephisto + consigliere!mephisto
warning/s: mature themes, swearing, mentions of violence, threats, intimidation, and blood
[ series masterlist. ]
EPISODE 04. the one with the engagement party !
News traveled fast once you agreed to marry Sylus.
In the morning, you sat down with him again, this time with Mephisto, who was more than willing to play the part of counselor. You and Sylus were presented with a contract that stated your respective conditions in a much more professional form (which you had to really read thoroughly to ensure you weren’t being secretly scammed or fooled by the amount of jargon used in the document).
Both of you emphasized some points, asked for clarifications of other parts that seemed unclear still, even snorted at the other new terms and conditions the other party wanted in addition, and then finally, you and Sylus signed the contract, keeping copies of your own alongside Mephisto who said he’ll have one too for his own safekeeping.
“That settles it then,” Sylus said, standing up from the chair, causing you to follow suit. “Are you okay with being married in three months?”
You nodded. “Yes. It’s not like I have anything else important to do for the rest of my year.”
“Good.” He smiled, and then suddenly began to rummage for something in his jeans pocket, fishing out a red velvet box and handing it to you.
“Is this supposed the engagement ring?” You took a guess.
“Open it, kitten.”
You opened the red velvet box.
A gorgeous ring with a pink diamond sat nicely on the cushion. The band was silver; there were tiny, intricate gems around it, and its overall appearance screamed elegance and luxury, like Sylus wanted anyone who would get a look at it to know that you weren’t just any woman in his life.
You knew instantly that the whole ring was going to act as a statement of his devotion to you. It was a way of his to tell the people that you deserved to be bought such lavish jewelry, that nothing simple would be gifted to you because that was how precious you were to him—his wife, the eventual mother of his child.
Your fingertip traced the large gemstone in the center absentmindedly before looking up at him. “Not even going to bother getting on one knee, huh?”
Sylus snorted at that, plucking the ring swiftly from where it was nestled in the box, and went down on one knee.
You smirked and crossed your arms. You were waiting for what he was going to say for his ‘proposal’ speech.
“Sweetie,” he started, lifting the ring towards you, “I know the last thing on earth that you want to happen is to marry me. However, we’ve already made the bargain, the contracts have been signed, and now you belong to me, as I promise that I will belong only to you from now on. So, really, do you have any other choice than to say yes as I ask you most graciously if you would do me the honor of being my wife?”
The theatrics and the mischief glinting in his ruby eyes made you scoff, yet a smile played on your lips nonetheless at the ridiculousness of it.
“I do.”
He grinned.
With utter gentleness, he grasped your hand and pushed the ring to your second finger. The diamond gleamed, reflecting light from the mini chandelier dangling in his office, while your heart pounded hard inside your chest, in disbelief at the fact that you were at this very second Sylus’s fiancée—that you were marrying this man in approximately 12 weeks, about to build a family with him, and be a part of his future (regardless that all of this was going to be fake and a mere ruse to keep his enemies at bay).
“Thank you,” he murmured, his lips planting a kiss on the pink gem. “You’ll be safe with me, ____. No matter what. I swear this to you.”
You squeezed his hand.
It’s been a month since then.
You’ve been living in his mansion, eating in his dining room, reunited with the twins, Luke and Keiran—who, by the way, didn’t bother to hide the fact that they were the masterminds behind Sylus approaching you to be his betrothed—and have spent every other day going shopping, replenishing your wardrobe with clothes that deemed fitting for a mob wife (whatever that meant), as well as spending more time with Sylus, polishing the stories you two were inevitably going to share to anyone who might ask about how you and Sylus ‘fell in love’.
Aside from that, since part of your conditions was that Sylus would permit you to handle The Grim even when you marry, you’ve been taking care of the other repairs that are way overdue. Needless to say, your employees were surprised at the sudden and further renovations you’re making to the place—not to mention the huge pink diamond ring you have on your finger.
“You’re getting married?” Tara, one of your full-time employees who is tasked behind the bar, asked and gaped at you like you just announced that you’re from another planet. “What? You don’t even have a boyfriend, boss!”
You winced, the lines you rehearsed with Sylus already flowing out of your tongue without difficulty. “Uh, well, remember that guy I was having kind of like a situationship last year?”
“The one with the white hair?” She perked up at that. “Red eyes? Broad shoulders? Who rides a motorcycle and who is also like, really hot?” Tara is full-on grinning now. “Wait, don’t tell me he’s the guy that you’re marrying?”
“Yeah, he… he and I reconnected for a few weeks now. He realized he always loved me, blah blah blah—”
“And he asked you to marry him?”
“Yes.” You laughed, your face heating up. “Crazy, right?”
“Crazy romantic, you mean!” Tara squealed, and you winced once again.
It didn’t take long before your whole crew discovered your engagement. They were ecstatic, reckoning that it’s about time that their ‘super hyperindependent boss’ had someone to rely on, and you think that they’re not entirely wrong, considering that you are using Sylus as your personal bank account.
From the day you signed that contract with him in the presence of Mephisto, he has given you one of his black cards and given you the freedom to buy whatever you wanted with it, even without his permission. He has been so generous and kind—to the point it was unnerving at times—and made sure that your comfort would be put above everything else.
You, on the other hand, are not yet certain if you’re being a good fiancé. You’re still guarded when around him, still unwilling to let yourself loose truly, but you are making the effort of being at least pleasant to be with. You’re even the one who proposed having dinner every day together with him and the twins, so that you’d feel the semblance of being a family together sooner or later.
Additionally, being away from him for almost a year had made him a stranger all over again. And you don’t want to be married to practically a stranger. After all, this man is supposed to be the only man you’ll be allowed to welcome into your bed; you’re not keen on letting just anyone touch and pleasure you just because you’re horny (or doing your part by trying to get pregnant), so you decided that making the effort of bonding with him would be the logical thing to do.
“Ready, kitten?”
His voice snaps you out of your thoughts.
Before you can reply, the door to your bedroom opens slowly, and Sylus’s head peeks out, his gaze landing on you.
Tonight is your engagement party, and it is intended to be your first formal public appearance as his fiancée. You’ve been all over your head since morning, mostly because you’re still convinced that you might not be that good of an actress, like you tell yourself to be, and that you’re afraid that if someone confronts you about your real relationship with Sylus tonight, you’ll blow your cover and confess the whole plan.
Not to mention that you’re not used to dressing up fancy. For this evening, you’re wearing a red, form-fitting dress that complements your figure. Your makeup is glamorous and elegant, your hair is styled in a high bun with loose tendrils framing your face, and you’ll be wearing these beautiful black heels that make your legs look longer.
Overall, you believe that you look convincing enough to be seen as a soon-to-be mob boss’s wife.
“Well, don’t you look dashing,” he says, stepping inside your room and closing the door behind him. He doesn’t shy away from raking his eyes over the entirety of your figure, a pleased expression flashing on his face. “Very… scrumptious, I might say.”
You snort. “Thanks for using an adjective that would describe a snack.”
“Oh, you are not a snack. I actually would categorize you as a whole buffet.”
You laugh at the absurdity of it. His lips quirk up in a smirk.
“Are you nervous?” he asks as he approaches you. You’re seated in front of your vanity mirror, fiddling with the necklace you’re supposed to wear, and upon Sylus seeing it, he plucks it out from the palm of your hands and begins to clasp it around your neck.
“Kinda,” you say. “I mean, this is like a formal event. I’m not used to attending those. Much less be the spectacle of the night.”
“Don’t overthink it. If it makes you feel better, the people would most likely be trying to be in your good graces. So, better prepare yourself to be praised for the whole duration of the party and have a bunch of guests kiss your ass.”
“Not literally, I hope.”
“Oh, no, only I can do that.”
You elbow him hard on the stomach from where he’s still standing behind you, and he chuckles.
“There.” He finishes helping you wear the necklace, tugging the pendant lower, letting it rest beautifully between your collarbones. “All done.”
“Thanks.”
“Shall we then?”
You nod and take his outstretched hand. However, when your thumb unconsciously brushes against his knuckles, you take notice of a few cuts that you can guess are in the healing stage based on their appearance and texture, meaning that it might not have been long since he got them.
“Sylus.” You start.
“Yes, sweetie?”
“Why do you have these?” Your thumb brushes on the dried-up cuts once more.
He glances at them, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. “Business. Don’t worry about it. Sometimes you have to use brute force to prove a point.”
“And what point were you exactly making that time to use your fist?”
Sylus thinks about it, like he’s not sure if he should tell you the truth or not, but settles for the former anyway as he says:
“That if someone doesn’t want to experience an early and untimely death, then they shouldn’t be messing with what’s mine.”
****
The engagement party is as bad as you imagined it to be.
Only because it’s coming from you, a person who prefers not to have the spotlight and would like to have plenty of opportunities to escape whenever she pleases at a party this fancy and grand. Aside from that, it’s actually a great function; the dishes served are immaculate, you can order any drink you want at the bar, and there’s a live band playing romantic jazz music.
In addition, you’re glad to see your employees from The Grim enjoying the party. Even though Andrew and Tara have been nonstop teasing you and congratulating Sylus in a rather sly manner, their presence alongside the part-timers who got to attend brings you at ease even a little bit, reminding you that not every person in the room is scrutinizing you secretly in their minds for bagging one of the richest men in the country.
Speaking of the devil, Sylus returns to your side after fetching you a drink. He’s been nonstop teasing you all evening too, pointing out how it pains him to see your forced smile as you talked with dozens of guests, and that apparently, the friendliest tone you can muster whenever you speak with the people congratulating you for the engagement also makes his eardrums hurt.
“Don’t hate me,” he begins as he hands you your champagne flute, “but my brother is in attendance and he wants to meet you.”
Your eyes widen, snapping your head towards him before leaning closer and hissing. “What? You invited Damien?”
“Naturally. He is family after all.”
“Yeah, but he’s the guy after Onichynus!”
“Yes, but he is still my brother,” he reiterates patiently. “Look, kitten, I’m not thrilled that he accepted my invitation. I only invited him for formality, so you can imagine my surprise to see him here.”
“And now he wants to meet me.”
“And now he wants to meet you,” he confirms with a sip of his drink.
You want to argue, but then the rational side of your brain says that if not today, you’re bound to meet his villain of a brother anyway. Even then, despite not meeting Damien personally, you got the message that he’s not a particularly likable fellow. You often overheard Sylus and Mephisto talking about him with scowls on their faces, making it obvious that they thought the eldest Qen child was a nuisance and a liability.
“Fine.” You frown, conceding.
“Great.” He smiles and offers his arm. “Come on, sweetie. On the bright side, he’s with Tessa and the kids, so we should expect that he won’t act like such a bitter bastard in front of his family.”
“Wow. Can’t wait to meet him,” you say in a monotone, earning an amused chuckle from Sylus.
He leads you to the farthest side of the room, where a man in his late 30s stands tall, bearing the same silver hair as Sylus and that arrogant smirk on his lips. Standing beside him is a woman with strawberry blonde hair, and two young boys you assume are his kids. Unlike Sylus and Damien, they do not have the distinguishable white mane, but instead have their mother’s hair color, with its shade bordering solely blonde.
“Damien,” Sylus begins, and the man turns away from the guests he’s speaking with.
His dark brown eyes fall on you; the smirk on his lips transforms into a full-blown grin.
“May I introduce you to my lovely fiancée, ____,” Sylus gestures a hand towards you, before he then turns back to Damien and nods at him. “____, this is my older brother, Damien. And this is his wife, Tessa, and his boys, Stephen and Joaquin.”
Tessa gives you a radiant and polite smile. Meanwhile, the boys wave at you, uninterested, averting their eyes elsewhere quickly as they focus on the brand new desserts being placed on the long table nearby.
“____,” Damien repeats your name. “I’ve never heard of you before. Sylus has never mentioned that he was seeing anyone before this… sudden engagement.”
“Entirely my fault, really,” you tell him, wearing the friendliest smile you can muster. “I wanted to keep everything on the low. Sylus and I didn’t really plan on getting so serious in such a jiffy. It was all casual until this guy right here—” you pat Sylus’ chest ever so affectionately, your hand rubbing against his pecs that heats his gaze— “decided he couldn’t live without me.”
Sylus laughs at the declaration, raising an eyebrow at you, yet plays along. “I was helpless under her spell. I don’t think I’ll meet a woman as beautiful, brilliant, and headstrong as this one. No one can handle me the way she does.”
“What can I say? I’m a miracle worker.” You grin at him.
Damien peers at the two of you, his eyes flickering from you to Sylus and back at you. “Well, I’m glad it worked out,” he says quite warily. “I never thought my brother would one day want to get married, but here we are.”
Sylus tips his glass towards him. “When you know, you know.”
“____,” Tessa calls for your attention, “I heard you own a bar? That sounds wonderful.”
You nod. “Yes. However, it’s currently under renovation. Though I’d love for both of you to visit once everything is in order.”
“Of course! I always love supporting small businesses.”
You grit your teeth at that. You don’t think it’s intended to come off as an insult; Tessa has that vibe wherein she’s just tactless and out of touch by nature. It still annoys the hell out of you, though.
Calm down. Think pleasant thoughts. Be the charming and amicable fiancée you’re meant to be.
“It’s not that small,” you amend, still using that over-the-top preppy tone you’re starting to loathe seriously. “I have tons of regulars. Some companies like to go there for dinner and other events. I’ve been running it for over five years now.”
“On your own?” Tessa asks, and you nod. “Wow. Must be pretty tough.”
“I always like a nice challenge.”
“Hence, she said yes when I asked her to marry me,” Sylus chimes in, the way he’s looking at you causing your lips to quirk up as it feels like you two are in some kind of joke, which you kind of are, given the double meaning of his words.
Then Sylus abruptly kisses your temple; it gives you a mini heart attack.
“Isn’t that right, kitten?” he adds.
You squint your eyes at him, hoping it’ll come off as playful as you think it to be, even if your shoulders have gone a bit rigid under his hold and you’re clutching onto his coat too tightly. “As if it’s a challenge to have forever with the love of my life,” you reply.
Sylus chuckles, grinning at you, and you take that as a cue to grin back, doing a girlish giggle before turning back to Tessa and Damien, who both have forced smiles on their faces until they’re making excuses to greet some family members and are congratulating you for the engagement.
Once they’re out of earshot, you pinch Sylus’s side and he grunts.
“Next time,” you grit your teeth, “can you give me a warning before kissing me?”
His eyes snap to yours. “Are you that worked up over a simple kiss on the temple?”
“Yes, because I was unprepared.”
“Unprepared,” he drawls. “That’s ridiculous. There’s no need to prepare for a kiss, especially if said kiss wasn’t even on the lips.”
“Still, it’s better to let me know.”
“Fine. I’ll make sure to warn you next time I decide to kiss you.” Sarcasm drips from his tone, and you don’t bother rolling your eyes; instead, you sip from your champagne flute haughtily,
Later on, as you and Sylus get called in front of the crowd by Mephisto, asking you both to do a toast for this engagement party, Sylus takes the lead, doing a grand speech about second chances, finding the one you want to spend your life with, and being lucky enough to be chosen by his beloved (a.k.a. you)—all the while looking at you, his eyes shining in mirth, as if he truly is madly in love with you and not merely playing his part in this whole ruse.
When he finishes speaking, he raises his glass and glances at you again. “To fate, for leading the woman of my dreams back into my arms again, for knocking some sense into me that I ought to keep her this time around.”
The guests murmur their awe and agreement, clinking their glasses before taking a drink.
You feel Sylus’s hand tighten around your waist; when you look at him, you see his gaze already on your mouth.
“I’m about to kiss you now, ____,” he says, his voice low and husky.
You down your champagne in one go, doing it quite brashly because of the nerves. “Okay,” you reply.
Without further ado, he leans down and captures your lips, a warm palm of his landing on your cheek as his thumb brushes against it tenderly. Your heart races, your mind goes haywire, but you will yourself to stay focused and kiss him back, parting your lips a bit for him to give him something to work with, as you don’t want to appear like a damn robot who is being kissed for the first time.
He pulls back for only a few centimeters away, his breath fanning your chin, and you’re staring at his glazed ruby eyes. No matter how much you want to pretend otherwise, you can’t deny that kissing him still makes you want to keep coming back for more.
“Again?” he asks, like he read your mind.
You swallow hard and bring an arm around his neck. “Yeah. For the guests.”
Sylus smirks. “Of course, sweetie. Wouldn’t want them to think I don’t like kissing my fiancée.”
“Exactly.”
Both of you kiss again, and this time you hear teasing hoots and applause.
Regardless, it doesn’t overshadow the voice that’s shouting in your head, a voice that you know is right, but what you ignore for your own very stupid desires:
Do not enjoy this too much! He doesn’t love you, there is no happy-ever-after in this scenario, and you will only get hurt again if you let him in too much!
You push all those thoughts down. All you take into account is the fact that Sylus is still the damn good kisser you remembered him to be.
And hell, did you miss being on the receiving end of it.
gentle reminder: this author loves feedback! let her know your thoughts if you enjoyed reading this fic and you’ll add 100+ points in her writing motivation meter ♡
୭ৎ ࣪ ׅ ⊹ author’s note: thank you so much again for every single one of you who is still reading this mini series! hehe,, i might not reply to comments (i am sorry sometimes i am just too awkward and cannot think of a good reply; also i find it so funny whenever i encounter a comment that says they keep forgetting that mephie is human here lmao) BUT REST ASSURED I APPRECIATE THEM SOOOOO MUCH AND THEY MAKE ME SMILE <33 anyway,, this is kinda my warning too that i might not get to update as often as i would like even more since i just landed a new job and will be starting next week hehehe and that job will involve a lot of writing so i have to see if my brain cells can still squeeze some energy for this fic 💔
when sylus realizes his crime empire needs an heir to survive, he turns to the last person he should—you, his ex situationship he swore he’d never see again, yet the only woman he trusts to play the role of his wife… and mother to his heir.
for you, the offer is as dangerous as it is stupid. however, with your beloved bar on the brink of collapse, you deem you have no choice but to sign the contract that binds you to the man who once shattered your heart if you want to save the sole thing you consider important.
pairing: sylus qin x reader
word count: 3.1k
rating: 18+
content: angst, fluff, nsfw | non-canon compliant (means too that sylus does not have his evol and is just a regular human) | mafia au, exes to lovers, enemies to lovers if you squint, marriage of convenience, forced proximity, fake dating | ft. mafia boss!sylus, bar owner!reader, human!mephisto + consigliere!mephisto
warning/s: mature themes, swearing, mentions of violence, threats, intimidation, and blood
[ series masterlist. ]
EPISODE 03. the one with the negotiation !
The entirety of his estate is as big and grand as you remember it. Both of you pass through a huge black gate, guarded by men who, upon one look at Sylus’ vehicle, open it without question and even offer a nod of acknowledgment. Then it takes a minute or two before you arrive at the main entrance of his mansion, its sight causing your stomach to churn at the realization that you are here again after so long, after cursing the ground it stands on and throwing a violent kick at those polished doors when Sylus told you he no longer wished to see you.
And yet here you are, escorted by Sylus himself. You’re not sure if you should feel triumphant or disappointed for being in the same place where a piece of your dignity was stripped away.
Mephisto appears all of a sudden, jogging to the passenger’s side and opening the door for you. His straight, raven black hair falls a bit on his eyes, and even at this time of the night—or almost dawn, really—he’s sporting a black long-sleeved button down and black slacks, paired with black leather shoes, ever so refined and respectable.
“Miss ____.” He greets while offering his hand.
You take it, and he helps you out of the vehicle, just in time when Sylus rounds the car and throws the keys in his direction. With a swift movement, Mephisto catches it.
“Still working overtime, Mephie?” you say with a gentle smile, ignoring the way Mephisto’s gaze moves from the bruise on your forehead and neck. He’s polite enough to avert his gaze quickly and feign ignorance.
“No such thing. My job description includes being on call 24/7.” One end of his lips curls.
“I hope you’re being compensated handsomely.”
“Or what?” Sylus chimes in, grabbing your duffel bags from the backseat and carrying them easily as he slams the door closed. “You’ll encourage him to report it to HR?”
You roll your eyes.
Sylus smirks at you, then gives Mephisto a look that the latter nods to. Mephisto walks to the driver’s side and gets in, soon driving away to the garage just as Sylus gently grasps your wrist, urging you to follow him inside.
He doesn’t slow his pace, and despite the lack of words explaining where he’s exactly leading you to, you know where he’s heading—his bedroom, judging from the stairs that both of you take and the hall you enter. But he surprises you by going to another room you’re not familiar with, dropping the bags on the floor beside the queen-sized bed with navy blue sheets. The whole room is empty, clearly uninhabited by anyone.
“I’ll get ice for your bruise. Do you want medicine for the pain?” he asks.
“Just ice would be fine.”
“It’s not hurting?”
You shake your head. “No.”
“And your neck?”
“It’s fine.”
“Are you sure?” He furrows his eyebrows, frustration flashing in his eyes, like he thinks you’re purposely downgrading your injuries, which you can’t say you aren’t doing.
“Yes.” You sit down on the edge of the bed. “But I would like water, if that’s okay.”
Sylus leaves and doesn’t bother closing the door behind him.
You take in your surroundings, the thumping of your heart slowing down now that you’re somewhere safe. It doesn’t occur to you that you’ve been so tense the whole ride going here, as now that you are alone, you can let out a deep breath, your body aching to shut down as fatigue seeps through your bones.
But you can’t let your defenses down yet. You still have to talk to Sylus. You still have to make it apparent to him only to what extent you are willing to do if you agree to marry him, since no doubt your presence here means that you have succumbed to what he wants, as he said. Nonetheless, you believe that you still have the upper hand in this situation, as Sylus is already in the process of paying your debt, while at the same time, you are in no possible way already carrying his desired heir.
He returns rather sooner than you hoped, and your back tenses unconsciously. He hands you a cold bottle of water, all the while placing the ice pack on the bruised side of your forehead, holding it there as you drink.
“What did they do to you?” he asks.
You gulp, and gulp, and gulp, almost finishing the whole bottle in one go. “They hit my head with the butt of the gun. And James put his hands around my neck when I was trying to negotiate.”
You don’t elaborate further. You don’t think you can, especially now that the feeling of fear climbs back up again, the sensation of James’ calloused fingers wrapping around your neck and its tightening hold causing you to lose air, replaying in your mind. You genuinely believed that you were going to die, that your staff was going to walk in the next morning for their shift and see your lifeless body behind the counter, and the reminder causes you to withhold a shudder.
“How did you get them to leave?” He brushes your hair tenderly to the side so it won’t cover the bruise.
“I don’t know. James just dropped his hands, then gave me a final warning. He took some of my cash, though, and the other guys he was with thrashed some of the liquor I had in stock. I cleaned them up before calling you.”
“Alas, your priorities are not in the right order.”
“I didn’t want my staff to see it,” you sheepishly explain. “They don’t know about the whole borrowing money thing. I don’t want them to get involved. Three of them are still in college, and the other two are good people with families.”
“And you? Do you not think yourself important?”
You look down. “Well, not important as them. I don’t have someone to mourn for me when I end up being murdered.”
He snorts.
“I’m not saying that to seem pitiful or what.” You glare at him. “It’s the truth. You know that.”
Sylus nods. He does know that you’re an orphan, that the relative who raised you—your beloved grandma—has already passed away six years ago, and that the bar you’re so keen on keeping was in some sort of way her last gift to you. You regarded it in that manner because when you were in that phase in your life wherein you finally figured out that what you wanted to do was start a business, your grandma did not hesitate to give you most of her life savings so you could buy the lot and building where your bar stands.
The Grim is proof that someone loved you; that someone believed in you. Hence, you couldn’t let it go, even when that fire caused you thousands of yuans for repairs and renovations. Giving up on it feels like letting down your grandma, and you couldn’t let that happen, not when it was her approval and love alone that you have always sought.
“Perhaps you are correct,” he answers, letting you take the ice pack from his hands when you petulantly take it, “I’m not certain if I would mourn, but given our circumstances, I would hate for you to get murdered.”
It’s your turn to snort. “Of course. I’m very aware that you are in desperate need of me to give you a kid.”
“Yes,” he says. Then his expression shifts; it becomes wary, intense, and then ultimately softens. “And you were good to me, cared for me even when I pushed you away. That isn’t something I can forget. If something terrible happened to you tonight…” His red eyes shine brighter, like he’s imagining it and what he would do if it did. “I wouldn’t have hesitated to avenge you. Regardless of how I know, I would have gained myself another enemy.”
Your throat feels dry at his confession. Whenever he says words like these, it’s hard to be reminded that what he needs from you is only a strategy to strengthen his hold on his own empire. Although sincerity drips from his tone, your heart refuses to lower its guard entirely, not wanting to be made a fool again like that night last year.
“Sylus…” you say, trying to think of an adequate reply, for you to start leading negotiations now that it is implied that you have agreed to be his wife by asking for his aid—but as soon as his name escapes you, your stomach loudly grumbles.
You realize that you haven’t eaten anything since four o’clock in the afternoon.
He glances down at your stomach, and he smiles a bit. “Come on, kitten. I already asked the cook to prepare something for you. We can continue talking in the dining room.”
****
Sylus watches you devour the plate of roast chicken, marbled potatoes, and steamed vegetables without a word. They’re the same meal he had earlier with the twins during supper; he’s surprised that a large portion was left, to the point that some could be served to you. It’s as if the cook knew you would arrive tonight and did a bigger serving than usual.
“Not too fast,” he murmurs, sliding the can of soda in your direction. “Eating too fast can give you indigestion. Or cause you to choke.”
“Is Amanda still your cook?” you ask, heeding his suggestion by chewing more slowly.
“Yes.”
“I figured. Her marbled potatoes are the only ones I can tolerate. She makes them really flavorful and moist.”
“So, what I’m hearing is you miss my cook more than you miss me?”
You give him a look. “Brave of you to assume I missed you in the first place.”
He smirks. “Not even a little? There weren’t nights wherein you thought only my company could satiate you?”
“You know, you are a walking contradiction, Sylus,” you say, countenance hardening. “How can you ask me that when it was you who asked me to forget what we had? Who told me that it was better to no longer think about you? You may be only teasing, but I expect you have better taste than poking fun at that matter.”
He presses his lips together and nods. Guilt presses in his chest, an aching reminder that he is cruel for trying to convince you to marry him when he was so determined to banish you from his life before. “True. I apologize for that.”
You seem satisfied with his response, as evidenced by the fact that you do not send him a glare. You continue to eat, chewing and swallowing, drinking and sighing in content. Until finally, you finish your meal and the last sips of your soda, putting down the can with a quiet thud.
“Okay.” You fold your hands over the table. “I’m ready to talk now.”
“About what?”
“Conditions,” you say, annoyed that he had to ask for clarification. “You already told me when we last met what it is that you want from me, but I want to know the whole thing. Particularly, the other things I have to do once I agree to be your wife.”
He has to stop himself from curling his lips into an amused smile at how you’re still acting as if it’s not a done deal already. He doesn’t contradict you, though; he is not so heartless to force your hand, to not give you a choice when the stakes are high in your part. He wants you to feel certain that you can still back out while no vows have been spoken between the two of you.
“Well, to be frank, other than bearing my child, I would ask that you do not take any lovers outside of our marriage.” He lets his statement sink in first, aware that the sound of it may be ridiculous. “Although we are not marrying for love, I don’t want you to be with other men. Other than the fact that I forbid myself to be regarded as a cuckold in the case others discover it, I also don’t want our kids to learn one day that their parents are… coupling with other people. It wouldn’t set a good example.”
You blink at him, obviously astounded. He’s sensing that you’re tempted to tease him for preaching fidelity, but you don’t give in. You do, however, chuckle and cross your arms, leaning back on your chair as you direct a patronizing stare at him.
“That means you wouldn’t have lovers of your own too? No other women? You’ll be fine with that?”
“It’s not like I would practice celibacy. How are we going to conceive a kid if we’re not going to fuck?”
You pause. Sylus revels in the pleasure that the term sparked an effect on you. “Yes, but what if I’m already pregnant? What if I had already given birth and given you an heir? Are you still expecting that we have sex?”
“Yes?”
You laugh, incredulous. “Oh, that is shameless of you.”
“I wouldn’t force you, kitten,” he says with a roll of his eyes. “We would only sleep together if both of us want it. If you deem me undesirable after all that and no longer want to share a bed, then be it. But all I’m pointing out is—we can do better than our hands or rely on toys if we’re feeling sexually frustrated. It would be absurd considering our history. I don’t think it would be the time to act prude or let pride get in the way when our only choice is each other.”
He waits for you to argue, to still act as if you do not want him, that you do not feel the carnal passion burning in your veins whenever your eyes meet. Even seeing you in your bar that first time you met again two months ago, Sylus could feel the familiar desire reverberating between both of you. One provocative invitation from you would have made him forget the purpose of his visit and take you right there.
“Fine. What else do you expect of me?”
He smiles at the acceptance of your defeat with this argument.
“You would have to attend events with me as my wife, and we would have to pretend to be the loving couple that everyone would assume us to be.”
“Okay, I can do that. Anything more?”
“I expect you to be loyal, ____.”
“Didn’t I already agree that I wouldn’t sleep with other men?”
“Yes, but what I mean is, being loyal to me, that I would not put my guard up whenever I’m around you. I’m not asking that you protect me—that is my job, after all—but I do ask that I feel safe with you. That I can sleep knowing that my wife will never betray me, that she will not kill me as I’m dreaming, or lead me to my own demise.”
You stare at him. Your expression softens for a fraction, as if it’s sinking in to you how hard his life is that he always has to have his walls up, to be vigilant because he never knows when the enemy will strike and how they plan to achieve it. And Sylus would tell you that your assumptions are true, that this is the reason why he can’t choose just any girl to be his wife, that it has to be you that he marries because you already let him see a piece of your heart and soul—and for that, he can be at ease.
Or at least, would not blame his lack of discretion for it, but rather his own heart for trusting you so blindly.
“Okay,” you say again, exhaling. “I will.”
“Then that is all.”
You raise an eyebrow skeptically. “Really? That’s all you’re asking me?”
“Why do you sound disappointed?” He snorts.
“I was just expecting more than that,” you say, still with this confused expression on your face. “I mean, I know being pregnant and all isn’t easy—and heaven knows I wasn’t really planning to get a kid soon—but you’re paying for all of my debt. My balance isn’t exactly small. I’m also asking you to protect me, and since I’m going to play the dutiful and loving wife, I’d need to appear as a doted-on spouse, judging from the clothes and accessories I wear alone. I’m assuming you’ll pay for all of that too.”
“Of course, I’ll pay for all of it. As soon as we get married, you’ll be taken under my care. You’ll have anything that you need and want,” he says. “But, kitten, don’t mistake what I’m asking you as something merely easy. Remember, a marriage is a lifetime bond to me. You’re essentially giving your life and freedom to me. Though I’m not going to treat you as a prisoner, but as I’ve mentioned, I will not allow you to be with other men. Your life will revolve around me and our child—or even children, if that is what you would want in the future.”
You don’t seem scared off by what he said. You just look solemn, contemplative, and a hint of confusion still.
“You can sleep on it,” he adds after a while. “We can discuss it again tomorrow morning.”
“You know I’ll end up agreeing, anyway.” You snort, the chair you’re sitting on scraping on the floor when you push away from the table, preparing to stand. “You already talked to Mephisto about paying Viper, right? Our deal is practically sealed.”
He smirks. “Not entirely. You can still decline what I’m offering—but you’ll have to pay me instead of Viper. I won’t be as bad as him, I can promise you that. I just can’t say the same when it comes to the interest that will accumulate if you don’t pay me on time. Money is money, after all.”
“Which means that if I end up not agreeing, you’ll blackmail me,” you deadpan.
Sylus chuckles, not hiding his amusement at the annoyance bubbling out of you once more. “Not blackmail. Just look at it like… motivation. Or an easy way out. You won’t have to pay, and be rich by my side at that.”
You scoff and roll your eyes. “Whatever.” You stand up then. “If that’s all, I’ll get going to my room. Thanks for the meal. And… for coming for me.” The last part is mumbled, your gaze set elsewhere.
“Yeah, that’s all. Goodnight, sweetie.”
“Night.”
His eyes follow you as you go to the hall where your room is. The door thuds, indicating that you’re already inside, and Sylus lets out a breath, leaning back on his chair, hoping that by the day ends tomorrow, he will finally become an engaged man.
gentle reminder: this author loves feedback! let her know your thoughts if you enjoyed reading this fic and you’ll add 100+ points in her writing motivation meter ♡
when sylus realizes his crime empire needs an heir to survive, he turns to the last person he should—you, his ex situationship he swore he’d never see again, yet the only woman he trusts to play the role of his wife… and mother to his heir.
for you, the offer is as dangerous as it is stupid. however, with your beloved bar on the brink of collapse, you deem you have no choice but to sign the contract that binds you to the man who once shattered your heart if you want to save the sole thing you consider important.
pairing: sylus qin x reader
word count: 3.1k
rating: 18+
content: angst, fluff, nsfw | non-canon compliant (means too that sylus does not have his evol and is just a regular human) | mafia au, exes to lovers, enemies to lovers if you squint, marriage of convenience, forced proximity, fake dating | ft. mafia boss!sylus, bar owner!reader, human!mephisto + consigliere!mephisto
warning/s: mature themes, swearing, mentions of violence, threats, intimidation, and blood
[ series masterlist. ]
EPISODE 03. the one with the negotiation !
The entirety of his estate is as big and grand as you remember it.
Both of you pass through a huge black gate, guarded by men who, upon one look at Sylus’ vehicle, open it without question and even offer a nod of acknowledgment. Then it takes a minute or two before you arrive at the main entrance of his mansion, its sight causing your stomach to churn at the realization that you are here again after so long, after cursing the ground it stands on and throwing a violent kick at those polished doors when Sylus told you he no longer wished to see you.
And yet here you are, escorted by Sylus himself. You’re not sure if you should feel triumphant or disappointed for being in the same place where a piece of your dignity was stripped away.
Mephisto appears all of a sudden, jogging to the passenger’s side and opening the door for you. His straight, raven black hair falls a bit on his eyes, and even at this time of the night—or almost dawn, really—he’s sporting a black long-sleeved button down and black slacks, paired with black leather shoes, ever so refined and respectable.
“Miss ____.” He greets while offering his hand.
You take it, and he helps you out of the vehicle, just in time when Sylus rounds the car and throws the keys in his direction. With a swift movement, Mephisto catches it.
“Still working overtime, Mephie?” you say with a gentle smile, ignoring the way Mephisto’s gaze moves from the bruise on your forehead and neck. He’s polite enough to avert his gaze quickly and feign ignorance.
“No such thing. My job description includes being on call 24/7.” One end of his lips curls.
“I hope you’re being compensated handsomely.”
“Or what?” Sylus chimes in, grabbing your duffel bags from the backseat and carrying them easily as he slams the door closed. “You’ll encourage him to report it to HR?”
You roll your eyes.
Sylus smirks at you, then gives Mephisto a look that the latter nods to. Mephisto walks to the driver’s side and gets in, soon driving away to the garage just as Sylus gently grasps your wrist, urging you to follow him inside.
He doesn’t slow his pace, and despite the lack of words explaining where he’s exactly leading you to, you know where he’s heading—his bedroom, judging from the stairs that both of you take and the hall you enter. But he surprises you by going to another room you’re not familiar with, dropping the bags on the floor beside the queen-sized bed with navy blue sheets. The whole room is empty, clearly uninhabited by anyone.
“I’ll get ice for your bruise. Do you want medicine for the pain?” he asks.
“Just ice would be fine.”
“It’s not hurting?”
You shake your head. “No.”
“And your neck?”
“It’s fine.”
“Are you sure?” He furrows his eyebrows, frustration flashing in his eyes, like he thinks you’re purposely downgrading your injuries, which you can’t say you aren’t doing.
“Yes.” You sit down on the edge of the bed. “But I would like water, if that’s okay.”
Sylus leaves and doesn’t bother closing the door behind him.
You take in your surroundings, the thumping of your heart slowing down now that you’re somewhere safe. It doesn’t occur to you that you’ve been so tense the whole ride going here, as now that you are alone, you can let out a deep breath, your body aching to shut down as fatigue seeps through your bones.
But you can’t let your defenses down yet. You still have to talk to Sylus. You still have to make it apparent to him only to what extent you are willing to do if you agree to marry him, since no doubt your presence here means that you have succumbed to what he wants, as he said. Nonetheless, you believe that you still have the upper hand in this situation, as Sylus is already in the process of paying your debt, while at the same time, you are in no possible way already carrying his desired heir.
He returns rather sooner than you hoped, and your back tenses unconsciously. He hands you a cold bottle of water, all the while placing the ice pack on the bruised side of your forehead, holding it there as you drink.
“What did they do to you?” he asks.
You gulp, and gulp, and gulp, almost finishing the whole bottle in one go. “They hit my head with the butt of the gun. And James put his hands around my neck when I was trying to negotiate.”
You don’t elaborate further. You don’t think you can, especially now that the feeling of fear climbs back up again, the sensation of James’ calloused fingers wrapping around your neck and its tightening hold causing you to lose air replaying in your mind. You genuinely believed that you were going to die, that your staff was going to walk in the next morning for their shift and see your lifeless body behind the counter, and the reminder causes you to withhold a shudder.
“How did you get them to leave?” He brushes your hair tenderly to the side so it won’t cover the bruise.
“I don’t know. James just dropped his hands, then gave me a final warning. He took some of my cash, though, and the other guys he was with thrashed some of the liquor I had in stock. I cleaned them up before calling you.”
“Alas, your priorities are not in the right order.”
“I didn’t want my staff to see it,” you sheepishly explain. “They don’t know about the whole borrowing money thing. I don’t want them to get involved. Three of them are still in college, and the other two are good people with families.”
“And you? Do you not think yourself important?”
You look down. “Well, not important as them. I don’t have someone to mourn for me when I end up being murdered.”
He snorts.
“I’m not saying that to seem pitiful or what.” You glare at him. “It’s the truth. You know that.”
Sylus nods.
He does know that you’re an orphan, that the relative who raised you—your beloved grandma—has already passed away six years ago, and that the bar you’re so keen on keeping was in some sort of way her last gift to you. You regarded it in that manner because when you were in that phase in your life wherein you finally figured out that what you wanted to do was start a business, your grandma did not hesitate to give you most of her life savings so you could buy the lot and building where your bar stands.
The Grim is proof that someone loved you; that someone believed in you. Hence, you couldn’t let it go, even when that fire caused you thousands of yuans for repairs and renovations. Giving up on it feels like letting down your grandma, and you couldn’t let that happen, not when it was her approval and love alone that you have always sought.
“Perhaps you are correct,” he answers, letting you take the ice pack from his hands when you petulantly take it, “I’m not certain if I would mourn, but given our circumstances, I would hate for you to get murdered.”
It’s your turn to snort. “Of course. I’m very aware that you are in desperate need of me to give you a kid.”
“Yes,” he says. Then his expression shifts; it becomes wary, intense, and then ultimately softens. “And you were good to me, cared for me even when I pushed you away. That isn’t something I can forget. If something terrible happened to you tonight…” His red eyes shine brighter, like he’s imagining it and what he would do if it did. “I wouldn’t have hesitated to avenge you. Regardless of how I know I would have gained myself another enemy.”
Your throat feels dry at his confession. Whenever he says words like these, it’s hard to be reminded that what he needs from you is only a strategy to strengthen his hold on his own empire. Although sincerity drips from his tone, your heart refuses to lower its guard entirely, not wanting to be made a fool again like that night last year.
“Sylus…” you say, trying to think of an adequate reply, for you to start leading negotiations now that it is implied that you have agreed to be his wife by asking for his aid—but as soon as his name escapes you, your stomach loudly grumbles.
You realize that you haven’t eaten anything since four o’clock in the afternoon.
He glances down at your stomach, and he smiles a bit. “Come on, kitten. I already asked the cook to prepare something for you. We can continue talking in the dining room.”
****
Sylus watches you devour the plate of roast chicken, marbled potatoes, and steamed vegetables without a word. They’re the same meal he had earlier with the twins during supper; he’s surprised that a large portion was left, to the point that some could be served to you. It’s as if the cook knew you would arrive tonight and did a bigger serving than usual.
“Not too fast,” he murmurs, sliding the can of soda in your direction. “Eating too fast can give you indigestion. Or cause you to choke.”
“Is Amanda still your cook?” you ask, heeding his suggestion by chewing more slowly.
“Yes.”
“I figured. Her marbled potatoes are the only ones I can tolerate. She makes them really flavorful and moist.”
“So, what I’m hearing is you miss my cook more than you miss me?”
You give him a look. “Brave of you to assume I missed you in the first place.”
He smirks. “Not even a little? There weren’t nights wherein you thought only my company could satiate you?”
“You know, you are a walking contradiction, Sylus,” you say, countenance hardening. “How can you ask me that when it was you who asked me to forget what we had? Who told me that it was better to no longer think about you? You may be only teasing, but I expect you have better taste than poking fun at that matter.”
He presses his lips together and nods. Guilt presses in his chest, an aching reminder that he is cruel for trying to convince you to marry him when he was so determined to banish you from his life before. “True. I apologize for that.”
You seem satisfied with his response, as evidenced by the fact that you do not send him a glare. You continue to eat, chewing and swallowing, drinking and sighing in content. Until finally, you finish your meal and the last sips of your soda, putting down the can with a quiet thud.
“Okay.” You fold your hands over the table. “I’m ready to talk now.”
“About what?”
“Conditions,” you say, annoyed that he had to ask for clarification. “You already told me when we last met what it is that you want from me, but I want to know the whole thing. Particularly, the other things I have to do once I agree to be your wife.”
He has to stop himself from curling his lips into an amused smile at how you’re still acting as if it’s not a done deal already. He doesn’t contradict you, though; he is not so heartless to force your hand, to not give you a choice when the stakes are high in your part. He wants you to feel certain that you can still back out while no vows have been spoken between the two of you.
“Well, to be frank, other than bearing my child, I would ask that you do not take any lovers outside of our marriage.” He lets his statement sink in first, aware that the sound of it may be ridiculous. “Although we are not marrying for love, I don’t want you to be with other men. Other than the fact that I forbid myself to be regarded as a cuckold in the case others discover it, I also don’t want our kids to learn one day that their parents are… coupling with other people. It wouldn’t set a good example.”
You blink at him, obviously astounded. He’s sensing that you’re tempted to tease him for preaching fidelity, but you don’t give in. You do, however, chuckle and cross your arms, leaning back on your chair as you direct a patronizing stare at him.
“That means you wouldn’t have lovers of your own too? No other women? You’ll be fine with that?”
“It’s not like I would practice celibacy. How are we going to conceive a kid if we’re not going to fuck?”
You pause. Sylus revels in the pleasure that the term sparked an effect on you. “Yes, but what if I’m already pregnant? What if I had already given birth and given you an heir? Are you still expecting that we have sex?”
“Yes?”
You laugh, incredulous. “Oh, that is shameless of you.”
“I wouldn’t force you, kitten,” he says with a roll of his eyes. “We would only sleep together if both of us want it. If you deem me undesirable after all that and no longer want to share a bed, then be it. But all I’m pointing out is—we can do better than our hands or rely on toys if we’re feeling sexually frustrated. It would be absurd considering our history. I don’t think it would be the time to act prude or let pride get in the way when our only choice is each other.”
He waits for you to argue, to still act as if you do not want him, that you do not feel the carnal passion burning in your veins whenever your eyes meet. Even seeing you in your bar that first time you met again two months ago, Sylus could feel the familiar desire reverberating between both of you. One provocative invitation from you would have made him forget the purpose of his visit and take you right there.
“Fine. What else do you expect of me?”
He smiles at the acceptance of your defeat with this argument.
“You would have to attend events with me as my wife, and we would have to pretend to be the loving couple that everyone would assume us to be.”
“Okay, I can do that. Anything more?”
“I expect you to be loyal, ____.”
“Didn’t I already agree that I wouldn’t sleep with other men?”
“Yes, but what I mean is, being loyal to me, that I would not put my guard up whenever I’m around you. I’m not asking that you protect me—that is my job, after all—but I do ask that I feel safe with you. That I can sleep knowing that my wife will never betray me, that she will not kill me as I’m dreaming, or lead me to my own demise.”
You stare at him. Your expression softens for a fraction, as if it’s sinking in to you how hard his life is that he always has to have his walls up, to be vigilant because he never knows when the enemy will strike and how they plan to achieve it. And Sylus would tell you that your assumptions are true, that this is the reason why he can’t choose just any girl to be his wife, that it has to be you that he marries because you already let him see a piece of your heart and soul—and for that, he can be at ease.
Or at least, would not blame his lack of discretion for it, but rather his own heart for trusting you so blindly.
“Okay,” you say again, exhaling. “I will.”
“Then that is all.”
You raise an eyebrow skeptically. “Really? That’s all you’re asking me?”
“Why do you sound disappointed?” He snorts.
“I was just expecting more than that,” you say, still with this confused expression on your face. “I mean, I know being pregnant and all isn’t easy—and heaven knows I wasn’t really planning to get a kid soon—but you’re paying for all of my debt. My balance isn’t exactly small. I’m also asking you to protect me, and since I’m going to play the dutiful and loving wife, I’d need to appear as a doted-on spouse, judging from the clothes and accessories I wear alone. I’m assuming you’ll pay for all of that too.”
“Of course, I’ll pay for all of it. As soon as we get married, you’ll be taken under my care. You’ll have anything that you need and want,” he says. “But, kitten, don’t mistake what I’m asking you as something merely easy. Remember, a marriage is a lifetime bond to me. You’re essentially giving your life and freedom to me. Though I’m not going to treat you as a prisoner, but as I’ve mentioned, I will not allow you to be with other men. Your life will revolve around me and our child—or even children, if that is what you would want in the future.”
You don’t seem scared off by what he said. You just look solemn, contemplative, and a hint of confusion still.
“You can sleep on it,” he adds after a while. “We can discuss it again tomorrow morning.”
“You know I’ll end up agreeing, anyway.” You snort, the chair you’re sitting on scraping on the floor when you push away from the table, preparing to stand. “You already talked to Mephisto about paying Viper, right? Our deal is practically sealed.”
He smirks. “Not entirely. You can still decline what I’m offering—but you’ll have to pay me instead of Viper. I won’t be as bad as him, I can promise you that. I just can’t say the same when it comes to the interest that will accumulate if you don’t pay me on time. Money is money, after all.”
“Which means that if I end up not agreeing, you’ll blackmail me,” you deadpan.
Sylus chuckles, not hiding his amusement at the annoyance bubbling out of you once more. “Not blackmail. Just look at it like… motivation. Or an easy way out. You won’t have to pay, and be rich by my side at that.”
You scoff and roll your eyes. “Whatever.” You stand up then. “If that’s all, I’ll get going to my room. Thanks for the meal. And… for coming for me.” The last part is mumbled, your gaze set elsewhere.
“Yeah, that’s all. Goodnight, sweetie.”
“Night.”
His eyes follow you as you go to the hall where your room is. The door thuds, indicating that you’re already inside, and Sylus lets out a breath, leaning back on his chair, hoping that by the day ends tomorrow, he will finally become an engaged man.
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when sylus realizes his crime empire needs an heir to survive, he turns to the last person he should—you, his ex situationship he swore he’d never see again, yet the only woman he trusts to play the role of his wife… and mother to his heir.
for you, the offer is as dangerous as it is stupid. however, with your beloved bar on the brink of collapse, you deem you have no choice but to sign the contract that binds you to the man who once shattered your heart if you want to save the sole thing you consider important.
pairing: sylus qin x reader
word count: 3.4k
rating: 18+
content: angst, fluff, nsfw | non-canon compliant (means too that sylus does not have his evol and is just a regular human) | mafia au, exes to lovers, enemies to lovers if you squint, marriage of convenience, forced proximity, fake dating | ft. mafia boss!sylus, bar owner!reader, human!mephisto + consigliere!mephisto
warning/s: mature themes, swearing, mentions of violence, threats, intimidation, and blood
[ chapter index. ]
EPISODE 02. the one with the threat !
“Good night, boss!” Andrew calls as you lift the last chair of the bunch and lay it upside down on the table.
You glance at him, calling out a goodnight as well and offering a good-natured smile before he disappears from view. He’s always the last one to leave among your crew, always the meticulous and passionate cook who makes sure his kitchen is clean before he even thinks of departing, and already has the list of ingredients ready to be prepared for the morning prep tomorrow at noon.
It’s people like him who deserve a high-paying job, you think sardonically, guilt always gnawing inside you whenever you think of your employees, who you have let down ever since that fire left you no choice but to focus on the renovations of the bar. Even though you don’t take out money from their salary, merely seeing them every day with genuine dedication and as if nothing is amiss is enough to make you feel bad.
A long and drawn-out sigh blows out of your lips.
Sometimes you’re not even sure if it’s still right to save the bar. Five weeks ago, you moved out of your studio apartment and decided to live in The Grim’s cramped office, settling there because it had a functioning bathroom and was overall not such a bad place to sleep. Even though your back hurts from the sofa and it gets a bit hot sometimes without an air conditioner, you tell yourself that it’s better than being completely homeless.
Plus, as soon as you pay off your debt, you can save up for a decent apartment again.
Of course, assuming that you’ll ever pay off your debt in this lifetime.
Speaking of paying debts, your mind flies back to Sylus, the man who offered to do it for you. It’s been four days since he came here and told you he wanted both of you to marry so you can give him an heir and he’ll continue being the big bad boss of his organization, and in exchange, he’ll grant you protection and money.
Maybe you should have taken the opportunity when he presented it, but alas, your pride got in the way. You don’t want to owe him anything, and you’re surely not willing to give him a kid like he’s some evil witch you promised your firstborn to.
Yet again… he can pay off my debt and probably buy me a mansion and an ostentatious car that will most likely come with its own driver… your subconscious whispers to you.
You shake your head. “No,” you say out loud, throwing the rag to the drying rack and proceeding to roughly wash your hands by the sink, “no, no, no. You are not going to be a fucking slave to money.”
Well, at least not more than you already are. Owing a scary amount of money to loan sharks would technically already make you one.
As you continue doing the final touches of cleaning, imagining that a hot shower and a king-sized bed await you after this, so you wouldn’t dread resting in your office so much, you hear a resounding knock coming from the back door of the bar. You ignore it at first, thinking that you’re imagining it or maybe it can be from another source of noise outside in the streets, but then two more hard knocks—this time sounding like someone’s trying to kick the door open.
Your body freezes as you instantly conclude that it must be one of the loan sharks who’s making the noise. They’re not supposed to be here, for you already sent a text to the person of contact (James) the other day that you won’t be able to pay for this month’s due as you’re lacking a few bills, but assured him that you will send a message ASAP once you gather enough cash to pay for this month—and the last four months’ too.
James didn’t reply, just left you on read as usual, and you had to stop yourself from overthinking to death to function normally for the days that followed.
Nonetheless, for some stupid reason, you go towards the back door, grabbing a kitchen knife for protection, although you know it’ll be useless if a gun gets pointed at you.
Viper, the man behind the private establishment that loaned you the money, is widely known to be hot tempered whenever the people he lent cash to fail to commit to the agreement payment date—though what you’re aware really gets him furious is when said people appear to be ghosting him, ignoring the men he sends to collect their debt, and so that’s perhaps what makes you go check the back door even if the noise tells you to run the fuck away.
Reaching your back door, you take a deep breath, gather the nerve to do one of the dumbest things you’ll do, and open the door.
No one. There’s no one outside.
There is, however, a normal-looking box on the ground, laid in perfect view.
You tentatively kick it, and upon hearing nothing rustling inside, you use the knife you’re holding to open the lid, praying that whatever is inside wouldn’t be as bad as you think it is.
The lid opens. It isn’t as bad as you think.
It’s worse.
The knife clanks on the hard pavement, and you almost fall to your ass because of the sight of the dead rat inside the box, mutilated, its organs in full view, its stench exposed to the air and causing you to retch, covering your nose with the collar of your shirt to block out the horrible smell.
But that’s not what makes you feel sick.
It’s the note that’s pinned on top of the rat’s gut with a dagger.
“Next time, it’s you,” it says in a messy scrawl.
You don’t realize it then, but this is merely the opening act.
****
Sylus is woken up with the sound of his phone ringing, indicating that someone’s currently calling.
He twists and gets the device easily onto his bedside table. Your caller ID stares back at him, a sight that he can’t help but snort to despite the heaviness he feels from being jostled awake by the noise.
It might have taken over almost two months before you finally contacted him first, but he’s not one to complain, for he knows that it was a hard wager—the whole rather impromptu proposal to you and the expectation that you’d agree to help despite how he’s 99% sure you want to skin him alive. He knows that approaching the woman he set aside the second she told him that she was starting to feel real romantic feelings for him is just damn monstrous, but it’s not often he finds that he doesn’t have that many options to not at least try.
For the past weeks after he went to your bar, he has been waiting patiently, sending a few texts here and there as a reminder that the offer still stands. He never receives a reply, though, only the knowledge that his message was read because of what the message app tells him.
In his defense, he reckons that all the anger shouldn’t be directed at him. If you want to truly berate someone for Sylus to ever think that it’s a good idea to ask for your hand, the twins are the people to blame for that. They were the ones who scurried inside his office last month while he was on a one-on-one meeting with Mephisto, discussing the rumors that surrounded the council and Damien, and how if Sylus was really desperate to keep his empire within his control, he’d have to get himself married and sire an heir soon.
“Luke, Keiran,” Sylus acknowledged as the twins grinned at him, as if they didn’t just interrupt a confidential meeting between the boss of Onychinus and his consigliere. Perhaps Sylus has been too kind and forgiving indeed that no fear nor hesitation can be fathomed on their expressions, only mischief and hope. “What did I say about barging in like this whenever I’m in a meeting?”
“But it’s only you and Mephisto,” Luke reasoned.
“Yeah,” Keiran agreed. Then, added: “And we heard you needed to find someone to give you a kid, so we decided to tell you our pick.”
“Your pick?” Sylus drawled, definitely amused now. “Alright, pray tell, who is this unlucky woman you’re thinking of?”
“Easy.” Luke turned to his brother and grinned as they said at the same time: “Miss Bartender, of course.”
Sylus froze while Mephisto stifled a laugh; he snapped his head towards him.
Mephisto bit the inside of his cheek. “The twins’ pick isn’t a bad choice, boss. It’s a wonder how I haven’t thought of it myself.”
“Because you know better than to drag her back into our world,” he said, and glanced at the two brothers. “I assume this is your ploy to get her to return. Don’t think I didn’t notice how you liked her company when she used to visit. Liked enough that you even snitched on me when I ended it, might I add.”
“She’s not onion-skinned.” Luke shrugged. “She plays along to our jokes. Not to mention she made us that really good mojito once.”
Sylus raised an eyebrow. “You two aren’t allowed to drink yet.”
“It was our prize for winning the bet.” Keiran amended.
“Plus, we were already 18 when she made it to us,” Luke said. “Very legal, if you ask me.”
Looking back, Sylus is still unsure on whether to thank the twins for giving him this outrageous idea or to be exasperated that he was able to be swayed by the notion far too quickly. He thinks he should have been firmer about insisting that it’d be unfair for you to be asked of this—to be the mother of his children for fuck’s sake, as if kids really are only delivered by storks.
Yet if not you, who would Sylus want to be his wife? His choices of women are very scarce, in addition to the fact that no one is perhaps as alluring and strong as you for him to even prefer someone else. If he has to choose a wife, it should be someone he knows can stomach the reality of his occupation, one who can be maternal to some degree, and one who cannot be bribed nor seduced into throwing him to the wolves.
Sylus is aware that you despise him for what he did, but he’s also well-informed about the fact that you are loyal to a fault.
He just has to make sure that your loyalties lie with him.
“Sweetie.” He answers your call, a smile already playing on his lips for his prediction tells him that he will be sleeping as an engaged man tonight. “You called?”
There’s ragged breathing from the other line, and instantly he knows that something is not quite right.
“____?” he calls out your name, furrowing his brows as he sits up. “Why do you sound like—”
“If I marry you,” you cut him off with a hoarse voice, your breath still very audible against his ear, “you’ll pay off my debts, right? All of it?”
“Yes,” he says instantly as he hops off the bed, his instincts telling him to get dressed and go wherever you are. “I’ll pay for everything. Anything you need to pay for.”
“And protection? You’ll give me that too?”
“What’s with the questions, sweetheart?” He fumbles with his shirt, his actions now fast and clumsy. “Where are you? I’m coming.”
“Just tell me—if I marry you, will you protect me? I don’t understand your work, but I trust you have the power to keep me safe.”
He wants to snort at the ridiculousness of your last statement. He wants to tell you that he can do more than protect you. He can kill for you; he can hurt anyone who even thinks about hurting you. Hell, he can make the most powerful man beg for mercy if a heated look towards your direction rubbed him the wrong way.
Upon the thought, his mind flies to the loan sharks who you owe money to. According to what Mephisto told him, the private establishment you borrowed funds from is run by Viper, some hotshot underground figure that Sylus is familiar with yet doesn’t deem important enough to acquaint with nor make an enemy of. However, Sylus isn’t stupid to assume that Viper’s men wouldn’t resort to violent means in the case that you fail to do your end of the bargain, and he has specifically ordered Mephisto to assign some men to guard your bar to keep a close watch.
He hopes that his men don’t disappoint him. He’d hate to dispose of them for not following a simple task of making sure you’re always left unharmed.
“Where are you?” he asks again, ignoring what you said. “Are you at the bar?”
Your breathing doesn’t slow nor quiets. It still sounds as if you just ran a marathon. “Yeah. I’m at the bar.”
“Okay. I’m coming.”
“No, Sylus—” you hasten to reply— “you don’t need to come here. You just need to answer my questions. I just need to be sure that if I agree to your stupid proposal, you’ll protect me.”
“I’m already in my garage. I’ll be there in 15.”
“Sylus.”
“And when I arrive, I want your bags packed. Bring anything you can and you can come back for the rest. You’re coming home with me tonight.”
“What?” You shout, more distressed. “No, no, I am not—”
“Stop with the arguments, kitten, for fuck’s sake.” He slides inside the driver’s seat of his car, starting the engine and connecting his phone to the speakers. “You called because you got yourself into trouble and so you’re agreeing to marry me, right? Yes, I can pay for whatever you need, and yes, I can protect you. Now, go do what I say and don’t hang up until I’m there.”
“God, you are such an annoying cocky little shit!” You suddenly burst out, the anxiety that was dripping from your tone vanishing in a snap. “I can’t believe I’m living in a world wherein out of all the people, it’s your help that I have to ask for. Tell me, does being your wife automatically mean that I would heed to every word you say?”
A smirk plays on Sylus’ lips. He really does find it amusing whenever you show that temper of yours. “Not necessarily. Only when you’re not particularly behaving.”
“Behaving.” You scoff. “Do I need to wag my tail? Be rewarded with treats for every good deed?”
“Oh, you’ll get more than treats. You know I’m very generous whenever you’re good to me.”
That somehow shuts you up.
He grins.
“Still there?” he asks.
You mutter something that he doesn’t quite catch, but he’s certain it’s a curse word directed at him. “Yes.”
“Good girl,” he says. “Hold on a bit, okay? Tell me what happened while you’re waiting.”
“I… uh, it’s… it’s those loansharks.” You go back to that timid and wary voice, no longer distracted to push back what happened at the back of your mind. “They… they’ve been bothering me for weeks. Mostly harmless, kind of—like they haven’t laid a hand on me or whatever. Just threats or intimidation. I could take it for the most part, and I kept on talking to the guy I’m mostly in contact with—James—and assuring him that I’m not running away, that I am saving up… but a while ago…”
“Yeah?”
“I don’t know how they got in. I’ve been doubling the locks of the bar. Both at the front and back entrances. They—they must have done something to—”
Sylus’s hands tighten around the steering wheel. “Did they hurt you, ____?”
There’s a significant pause, a hesitation. “It’s not as bad as you may think.”
“So, they did?”
“They didn’t hit me particularly or—”
“What did they do then?”
“Stop cutting me off.” You hiss. “I’ll tell you when you arrive. Otherwise, you might commit road rage.”
He exhales harshly. “Fine.”
****
Not more than 10 minutes later, you open the door to Sylus, a butcher’s knife in your hand. He sees it, stares at it, and shakes his head before strutting forward, shutting the door tightly behind him.
His presence calms your nerves. Even though you did tell him earlier that you loathe the fact that out of all the people, you’re asking him for help, you can’t deny the relief that washes over you now that he is here. He may have been a heartless bastard when he forced you out of his life before, and he may be a selfish bastard right now as he tries taking you back for his own interest, but Sylus is reliable when he wants to be.
And it seems that from the intensity of his eyes as he notices the redness of your neck, alongside the bruise forming on left side of your forehead, he’s more than willing to play as the protector at your beck and call.
“They did this?” He gently swipes the pad of his thumb against the bruise.
You avert your gaze, nodding.
He grits his teeth. You prepare yourself for another row of questions on what happened, but he only takes his phone out, calling someone.
“Mephisto,” he says, his fingers moving from your forehead to your chin, tilting it up so he can get a good look on your neck. He appears more pissed off when he does. “Get more intel on Viper. I want to know the men he assigns to collect ____’s debt. One of them is supposed to be named James.”
“Okay, boss.” You hear Mephisto’s muffled reply from the other line.
“And bring them to the forge when you do. Alive.”
“Copy that. Anything else?”
“Find me the exact number of ____’s balance. Down to the last cent. When you do, get the money from the black safe and deliver a message to Viper: if anyone so much as looks at her again, they’ll be paying me back in blood.”
You swallow audibly.
Oh, be still my heart. Perhaps it’s true that everybody loves a man who can be violent for the sake of your dignity and safety.
Sylus hangs up then, after exchanging a few more words with Mephisto, and proceeds on marching further inside. When he spots the two small duffel bags you rushed to fill with your clothes, he strides towards them and lifts them easily.
“What are you planning to do?” you ask, practically tripping on your feet as you try to match his pace. Damn his long legs. And swoon-worthy words. And somewhat primal protectiveness.
He spares you a glance. “Like I said, I’m taking you with me.”
“No, I meant—to James and the others.”
“You don’t need to know that, kitten.”
“I think I do.”
The freezing air greets you once you step outside, and Sylus instructs you with a cool nod of his head to carry on locking up. You grimace but do as he says, wrapping the metal chain you use when you’re securing the bar from the outside around the handles and pushing the lock to a close.
Afterwards, he leads you to a very expensive-looking car, opening the door to both the passenger’s side and the back.
“Get in.” He gestures to the passenger’s seat and places your belongings on the backseat.
You once again follow as he says, the grimace on your face still there as you’re reminded that, despite how you mocked about being treated like a trained dog, you’re acting like one this very moment.
Settling inside himself, you expect him to start the car and carry on driving. Instead, he turns to you, his countenance exasperated, and leans forward, reaching for the seatbelt and securing it around you.
“Next time, if you’re going to end up accepting my proposal anyway—” he presses the latch plate to the buckle— “do it earlier. Preferably when you’re still in mint condition and without a scratch on that pretty face of yours.”
You will yourself not to blush at his stupid comment.
“Who said I’m already accepting your proposal?” You murmur childishly, your arms crossing in defiance.
Sylus chuckles and straightens his posture, starting the engine.
gentle reminder: this author loves feedback! let her know your thoughts if you enjoyed reading this fic and you’ll add 100+ points in her writing motivation meter ♡
୭ৎ ࣪ ׅ ⊹ author’s note: thank you for the support so far on this mini series! as i have mentioned, chapters will only include the ‘main scenes’ so it may seem fast-paced a bit hehe
when sylus realizes his crime empire needs an heir to survive, he turns to the last person he should—you, his ex situationship he swore he’d never see again, yet the only woman he trusts to play the role of his wife… and mother to his heir.
for you, the offer is as dangerous as it is stupid. however, with your beloved bar on the brink of collapse, you deem you have no choice but to sign the contract that binds you to the man who once shattered your heart if you want to save the sole thing you consider important.
pairing: sylus qin x reader
word count: 3.4k
rating: 18+
content: angst, fluff, nsfw | non-canon compliant (means too that sylus does not have his evol and is just a regular human) | mafia au, exes to lovers, enemies to lovers if you squint, marriage of convenience, forced proximity, fake dating | ft. mafia boss!sylus, bar owner!reader, human!mephisto + consigliere!mephisto
warning/s: mature themes, swearing, mentions of violence, threats, intimidation, and blood
[ series masterlist. ]
EPISODE 02. the one with the threat !
“Good night, boss!” Andrew calls as you lift the last chair of the bunch and lay it upside down on the table.
You glance at him, calling out a goodnight as well and offering a good-natured smile before he disappears from view.
He’s always the last one to leave among your crew, always the meticulous and passionate cook who makes sure his kitchen is clean before he even thinks of departing, and already has the list of ingredients ready to be prepared for the morning prep tomorrow at noon.
It’s people like him who deserve a high-paying job, you think sardonically, guilt always gnawing inside you whenever you think of your employees, who you have let down ever since that fire left you no choice but to focus on the renovations of the bar. Even though you don’t take out money from their salary, merely seeing them every day with genuine dedication and as if nothing is amiss is enough to make you feel bad.
A long and drawn-out sigh blows out of your lips.
Sometimes you’re not even sure if it’s still right to save the bar. Five weeks ago, you moved out of your studio apartment and decided to live in The Grim’s cramped office, settling there because it had a functioning bathroom and was overall not such a bad place to sleep in. Even though your back hurts from the sofa and it gets a bit hot sometimes without an air conditioner, you tell yourself that it’s better than being completely homeless.
Plus, as soon as you pay off your debt, you can save up for a decent apartment again.
Of course, assuming that you’ll ever pay off your debt in this lifetime.
Speaking of paying debts, your mind flies back to Sylus, the man who offered to do it for you. It’s been four days since he came here and told you he wanted both of you to marry so you can give him an heir and he’ll continue being the big bad boss of his organization, and in exchange, he’ll grant you protection and money.
Maybe you should have taken the opportunity when he presented it, but alas, your pride got in the way. You don’t want to owe him anything, and you’re surely not willing to give him a kid like he’s some evil witch you promised your firstborn to.
Yet again… he can pay off my debt and probably buy me a mansion and an ostentatious car and my own driver… your subconscious whispers to you.
You shake your head. “No,” you say out loud, throwing the rag to the drying rack and proceeding to roughly wash your hands by the sink, “no, no, no. You are not going to be a fucking slave to money.”
Well, at least not more than you already are. Owing a scary amount of money to loan sharks would technically already make you one.
As you continue doing the final touches of cleaning, imagining that a hot shower and a king-sized bed await you after this, so you wouldn’t dread resting in your office so much, you hear a resounding knock coming from the back door of the bar. You ignore it at first, thinking that you’re imagining it or maybe it can be from another source of noise outside in the streets, but then two more hard knocks—this time sounding like someone’s trying to kick the door open.
Your body freezes as you instantly conclude that it must be one of the loan sharks who’s making the noise. They’re not supposed to be here, for you already sent a text to the person of contact (James) the other day that you won’t be able to pay for this month’s due as you’re lacking a few bills, but assured him that you will send a message ASAP once you gather enough cash to pay for this month—and the last four months’ too.
James didn’t reply, just left you on read as usual, and you had to stop yourself from overthinking to death to function normally for the days that followed.
Nonetheless, for some stupid reason, you go towards the back door, grabbing a kitchen knife for protection, although you know it’ll be useless if a gun gets pointed at you.
Viper, the man behind the private establishment that loaned you the money, is widely known to be hot tempered whenever the people he lent cash to fail to commit to the agreement payment date—though what you’re aware really gets him furious is when said people appear to be ghosting him, ignoring the men he sends to collect their debt, and so that’s perhaps what makes you go check the back door even if the noise tells you to run the fuck away.
Reaching your back door, you take a deep breath, gather the nerve to do one of the dumbest things you’ll do, and open the door.
No one. There’s no one outside.
There is, however, a normal-looking box on the ground, laid in perfect view.
You tentatively kick it, and upon hearing nothing rustling inside, you use the knife you’re holding to open the lid, praying that whatever is inside wouldn’t be as bad as you think it is.
The lid opens.
It isn’t as bad as you think.
It’s worse.
The knife clanks on the hard pavement, and you almost fall to your ass because of the sight of the dead rat inside the box, mutilated, its organs in full view, its stench exposed to the air and causing you to retch, covering your nose with the collar of your shirt to block out the horrible smell.
But that’s not what makes you feel sick.
It’s the note that’s pinned on top of the rat’s gut with a dagger.
“Next time, it’s you.”
****
Sylus is woken up with the sound of his phone ringing, indicating that someone’s currently calling.
He twists and gets the device easily onto his bedside table. Your caller ID stares back at him, a sight that he can’t help but snort to despite the heaviness he feels from being jostled awake by the noise.
It might have taken over almost two months before you finally contacted him first, but he’s not one to complain. He knows that it was a hard wager—the whole rather impromptu proposal to you and the expectation that you’d agree to help despite how he’s 99% sure you want to skin him alive.
He’s very much aware that approaching the woman he set aside the second she told him that she was starting to feel real romantic feelings for him is just damn monstrous, but it’s not often he finds that he doesn’t have that many options to not at least try.
For the past weeks after he went to your bar, he has been waiting patiently, sending a few texts here and there as a reminder that the offer still stands. He never receives a reply, though, only the knowledge that his message was read because of what the message app tells him.
In his defense, he reckons that all the anger shouldn’t be directed at him.
If you want to truly berate someone for Sylus to ever think that it’s a good idea to ask for your hand, the twins are the people to blame for that. They were the ones who scurried inside his office last month while he was on a one-on-one meeting with Mephisto, discussing the rumors that surrounded the council and Damien, and how if Sylus was really desperate to keep his empire within his control, he’d have to get himself married and sire an heir soon.
“Luke, Keiran,” Sylus acknowledged as the twins grinned at him, as if they didn’t just interrupt a confidential meeting between the boss of Onychinus and his consigliere. Perhaps Sylus has been too kind and forgiving indeed that no fear nor hesitation can be fathomed on their expressions, only mischief and hope. “What did I say about barging in like this whenever I’m in a meeting?”
“But it’s only you and Mephisto,” Luke reasoned.
“Yeah,” Keiran agreed. Then, added: “And we heard you needed to find someone to give you a kid, so we decided to tell you our pick.”
“Your pick?” Sylus drawled, definitely amused now. “Alright, pray tell, who is this unlucky woman you’re thinking of?”
“Easy.” Luke turned to his brother and grinned as they said at the same time: “Miss Bartender, of course.”
Sylus froze while Mephisto stifled a laugh; he snapped his head towards him.
Mephisto bit the inside of his cheek. “The twins’ pick isn’t a bad choice, boss. It’s a wonder how I haven’t thought of it myself.”
“Because you know better than to drag her back into our world,” he said, and glanced at the two brothers. “I assume this is your ploy to get her to return. Don’t think I didn’t notice how you liked her company when she used to visit. Liked enough that you even snitched on me when I ended it, might I add.”
“She’s not onion-skinned.” Luke shrugged. “She plays along to our jokes. Not to mention she made us that really good mojito once.”
Sylus raised an eyebrow. “You two aren’t allowed to drink yet.”
“It was our prize for winning the bet.” Keiran amended.
“Plus, we were already 21 when she made it to us,” Luke said. “Very legal, if you ask me.”
Looking back, Sylus is still unsure on whether to thank the twins for giving him this outrageous idea or to be exasperated that he was able to be swayed by the notion far too quickly. He thinks he should have been firmer about insisting that it’d be unfair for you to be asked of this—to be the mother of his children for fuck’s sake, as if kids really are only delivered by storks.
Yet if not you, who would Sylus want to be his wife? His choices of women are very scarce, in addition to the fact that no one is perhaps as alluring and strong as you for him to even prefer someone else.
If he has to choose a wife, it should be someone he knows can stomach the reality of his occupation, one who can be maternal to some degree, and one who cannot be bribed nor seduced into throwing him to the wolves.
Sylus is aware that you despise him for what he did, but he’s also aware about the fact that you are loyal to a fault.
He just has to make sure that your loyalties lie with him.
“Sweetie.” He answers your call, a smile already playing on his lips for his prediction tells him that he will be sleeping as an engaged man tonight. “You called?”
There’s ragged breathing from the other line, and instantly he knows that something is not quite right.
“____?” he calls out your name, furrowing his brows as he sits up. “Why do you sound like—”
“If I marry you,” you cut him off with a hoarse voice, your breath still very audible against his ear, “you’ll pay off my debts, right? All of it?”
“Yes,” he says instantly as he hops off the bed, his instincts telling him to get dressed and go wherever you are. “I’ll pay for everything. Anything you need to pay for.”
“And protection? You’ll give me that too?”
“What’s with the questions, sweetheart?” He fumbles with his shirt, his actions now fast and clumsy. “Where are you? I’m coming.”
“Just tell me—if I marry you, will you protect me? I don’t understand your work, but I trust you have the power to keep me safe.”
He wants to snort at the ridiculousness of your last statement. He wants to tell you that he can do more than protect you. He can kill for you; he can hurt anyone who even thinks about hurting you. Hell, he can make the most powerful man beg for mercy if a heated look towards your direction rubbed him the wrong way.
Upon the thought, his mind flies to the loan sharks who you owe money to. According to what Mephisto told him, the private establishment you borrowed funds from is run by Viper, some hotshot underground figure that Sylus is familiar with yet doesn’t deem important enough to acquaint with nor make an enemy of. However, Sylus isn’t stupid to assume that Viper’s men wouldn’t resort to violent means in the case that you fail to do your end of the bargain, and he has specifically ordered Mephisto to assign some men to guard your bar to keep a close watch.
He hopes that his men don’t disappoint him. He’d hate to dispose of them for not following a simple task of making sure you’re always left unharmed.
“Where are you?” he asks again, ignoring what you said. “Are you at the bar?”
Your breathing doesn’t slow nor quiets. It still sounds as if you just ran a marathon. “Yeah. I’m at the bar.”
“Okay. I’m coming.”
“No, Sylus—” you hasten to reply— “you don’t need to come here. You just need to answer my questions. I just need to be sure that if I agree to your stupid proposal, you’ll protect me.”
“I’m already in my garage. I’ll be there in 15.”
“Sylus.”
“And when I arrive, I want your bags packed. Bring anything you can and you can come back for the rest. You’re coming home with me tonight.”
“What?” You shout, more distressed. “No, no, I am not—”
“Stop with the arguments, kitten, for fuck’s sake.” He slides inside the driver’s seat of his car, starting the engine and connecting his phone to the speakers. “You called because you got yourself into trouble and so you’re agreeing to marry me, right? Yes, I can pay for whatever you need, and yes, I can protect you. Now, go do what I say and don’t hang up until I’m there.”
“God, you are such an annoying cocky little shit!” You suddenly burst out, the anxiety that was dripping from your tone vanishing in a snap. “I can’t believe I’m living in a world wherein out of all the people, it’s your help that I have to ask for. Tell me, does being your wife automatically mean that I would heed to every word you say?”
A smirk plays on Sylus’ lips. He really does find it amusing whenever you show that temper of yours. “Not necessarily. Only when you’re not particularly behaving.”
“Behaving.” You scoff. “Do I need to wag my tail? Be rewarded with treats for every good deed?”
“Oh, you’ll get more than treats. You know I’m very generous whenever you’re good to me.”
That somehow shuts you up.
He grins.
“Still there?” he asks.
You mutter something that he doesn’t quite catch, but he’s certain it’s a curse word directed at him. “Yes.”
“Good girl,” he says. “Hold on a bit, okay? Tell me what happened while you’re waiting.”
“I… uh, it’s… it’s those loansharks.” You go back to that timid and wary voice, no longer distracted to push back what happened at the back of your mind. “They… they’ve been bothering me for weeks. Mostly harmless, kind of—like they haven’t laid a hand on me or whatever. Just threats or intimidation. I could take it for the most part, and I kept on talking to the guy I’m mostly in contact with—James—and assuring him that I’m not running away, that I am saving up… but a while ago…”
“Yeah?”
“I don’t know how they got in. I’ve been doubling the locks of the bar. Both at the front and back entrances. They—they must have done something to—”
Sylus’s hands tighten around the steering wheel. “Did they hurt you, ____?”
There’s a significant pause, a hesitation. “It’s not as bad as you may think.”
“So, they did?”
“They didn’t hit me particularly or—”
“What did they do then?”
“Stop cutting me off.” You hiss. “I’ll tell you when you arrive. Otherwise, you might commit road rage.”
He exhales harshly. “Fine.”
****
Not more than 10 minutes later, you open the door to Sylus, a butcher’s knife in your hand. He sees it, stares at it, and shakes his head before strutting forward, shutting the door tightly behind him.
His presence calms your nerves. Even though you did tell him earlier that you loathe the fact that out of all the people, you’re asking him for help, you can’t deny the relief that washes over you now that he is here. He may have been a heartless bastard when he forced you out of his life before, and he may be a selfish bastard right now as he tries taking you back for his own interest, but Sylus is reliable when he wants to be.
And it seems that from the intensity of his eyes as he notices the redness of your neck, alongside the bruise forming on left side of your forehead, he’s more than willing to play as the protector at your beck and call.
“They did this?” He gently swipes the pad of his thumb against the bruise.
You avert your gaze, nodding.
He grits his teeth. You prepare yourself for another row of questions on what happened, but he only takes his phone out, calling someone.
“Mephisto,” he says, his fingers moving from your forehead to your chin, tilting it up so he can get a good look on your neck. He appears more pissed off when he does. “Get more intel on Viper. I want to know the men he assigns to collect ____’s debt. One of them is supposed to be named James.”
“Okay, boss.” You hear Mephisto’s muffled reply from the other line.
“And bring them to the forge when you do. Alive.”
“Copy that. Anything else?”
“Find me the exact number of ____’s balance. Down to the last cent. When you do, get the money from the black safe and deliver a message to Viper: if anyone so much as looks at her again, they’ll be paying me back in blood.”
You swallow audibly.
Oh, be still my heart. Perhaps it’s true that everybody loves a man who can be violent for the sake of your dignity and safety.
Sylus hangs up then, after exchanging a few more words with Mephisto, and proceeds on marching further inside. When he spots the two small duffel bags you rushed to fill with your clothes, he strides towards them and lifts them easily.
“What are you planning to do?” you ask, practically tripping on your feet as you try to match his pace.
Damn his long legs. And swoon-worthy words. And somewhat primal protectiveness.
He spares you a glance. “Like I said, I’m taking you with me.”
“No, I meant—to James and the others.”
“You don’t need to know that, kitten.”
“I think I do.”
The freezing air greets you once you step outside, and Sylus instructs you with a cool nod of his head to carry on locking up. You grimace but do as he says, wrapping the metal chain you use when you’re securing the bar from the outside around the handles and pushing the lock to a close.
Afterwards, he leads you to a very expensive-looking car, opening the door to both the passenger’s side and the back.
“Get in.” He gestures to the passenger’s seat and places your belongings on the backseat.
You once again follow as he says, the grimace on your face still there as you’re reminded that, despite how you mocked about being treated like a trained dog, you’re acting like one this very moment.
Settling inside himself, you expect him to start the car and carry on driving. Instead, he turns to you, his countenance exasperated, and leans forward, reaching for the seatbelt and securing it around you.
“Next time, if you’re going to end up accepting my proposal anyway—” he presses the latch plate to the buckle— “do it earlier. Preferably when you’re still in mint condition and without a scratch on that pretty face of yours.”
You will yourself not to blush at his stupid comment.
“Who said I’m already accepting your proposal?” You murmur childishly, your arms crossing in defiance.
Sylus chuckles and straightens his posture, starting the engine.
gentle reminder: this author loves feedback! let her know your thoughts if you enjoyed reading this fic and you’ll add 100+ points in her writing motivation meter ♡
୭ৎ ࣪ ׅ ⊹ author’s note: thank you for the support so far on this mini series! as i have mentioned, chapters will only include the ‘main scenes’ so it may seem fast-paced a bit hehe
when sylus realizes his crime empire needs an heir to survive, he turns to the last person he should—you, his ex situationship he swore he’d never see again, yet the only woman he trusts to play the role of his wife… and mother to his heir.
for you, the offer is as dangerous as it is stupid. however, with your beloved bar on the brink of collapse, you deem you have no choice but to sign the contract that binds you to the man who once shattered your heart if you want to save the sole thing you consider important.
pairing: sylus qin x reader
word count: 2.7k
rating: 18+
content: angst, fluff, nsfw | non-canon compliant (means too that sylus does not have his evol and is just a regular human) | mafia au, exes to lovers, enemies to lovers if you squint, marriage of convenience, forced proximity, fake dating | ft. mafia boss!sylus, bar owner!reader, human!mephisto + consigliere!mephisto
warning/s: mature themes, swearing, mentions of violence and blood
[ series masterlist. ]
EPISODE 01. the one with the proposal !
The last person that you’re expecting to see when you open your door this late at night is Sylus Qin.
Though perhaps you should have figured that if you’re ever bound to meet him again, it would be somewhere as dramatic as the back door of your bar with what seems like a whole lot of blood on his button down and a rather serene expression on his handsome face that you don’t want to admit you missed.
“It’s not mine,” he says immediately upon the stare you’re giving his top. “Don’t worry. You don’t actually think I’d be that easy to injure, right?”
You huff, shaking off the worry you felt, and step forward like you were originally planning before seeing him, the large garbage bag in your hand making you wobble as you march. “Sylus. What do you want?”
“Cold. I don’t think that’s how you should treat an old friend, sweetie.”
“Well, this old friend managed to stay away from me for over a year after screwing me over, so I think he’d understand if I’m not exactly personable for our reunion.”
Sylus says nothing as you haul the garbage bag to the bin.
Deep inside, your heart is hammering at the sight of him alone after being accustomed to the fact that you will never cross paths with him again.
You can’t exactly describe what you’re feeling right at the moment—it’s a mixture of confusion, yearning, anger, and dread. There used to be nights wherein you’d imagined this scene alone, wishing he came for you after realizing his grave mistake of letting you go, but instead of relief to wash over you now that he’s in front of you like in your daydreams for the past months, you can’t bring yourself to feel anything at all.
Indeed, it is true that time heals all wounds.
In your case, it no longer made you the pathetic fool who’s content with scraps of what she thought are clear signs of love and affection.
“Hey.” You feel his hand on your elbow as you walk past him, attempting to go back inside the bar, and you make the mistake of looking at those ruby eyes of his, looking at you in that manner that always made you believe that every sweet word that came out of his mouth was real.
“What?”
“Let’s talk,” he says. “10 minutes. Can you grant me that?”
You take a deep breath, weighing your options if agreeing would be the right move, though even before you can properly think about it, your head is already nodding and you’re gesturing Sylus to follow you inside.
He strides easily behind you, sureness in every step. No doubt he once had the entire floor plan of the place memorized by how much he used to stay here when he apparently wasn’t being a big bad boss of an organized crime syndicate. You never talked much about that part of his life however, deeming it as unimportant and trivial to discuss as the both of you only agreed to have a casual relationship.
But then of course, said casual relationship crashed and burned prematurely because you had to fuck it up by falling in love with him, confessing what you were feeling for him after a few days of pretending, and Sylus proceeded on bluntly saying that love wasn’t included of your arrangement and it’d be better to part ways while 'whatever it was that you’re feeling' was still new.
So, yeah, you don’t think there were enough opportunities to question him about his shady occupation.
“Want something to drink?” you ask once the two of you arrive in the main area of the bar.
You go behind the counter and wash your hands while Sylus’ eyes sweep around the interior, the place already empty as you were about to lock up when he arrived.
He looks back at you and sits on one of the stools. “Whiskey would be nice. Make it neat.”
You grab a bottle of whiskey, pouring him a glass before sliding it to him. You watch as he takes a sip, not knowing what to do other than wait for him to get on with what he wanted to talk about. From his insistence alone, you can only assume it’s something important and urgent, or else he wouldn’t have broken no contact after being such a pro at it.
“Are you sure none of that is yours?” You stare at his blood-stained shirt. “How did you get that much blood on your clothes anyway?”
Sylus glances down, a small smirk playing on his lips. “A man tried to stab me. I beat him to it—though props to him, he did put up a rather tiring fight before I succeeded in turning the whole ordeal around.”
“I see many people still want you dead.”
“Yes, well, the line never goes short.”
“I’m certain. I would have been in the queue if I weren’t busy.”
He chuckles. “Again with the cruelty, kitten. My heart isn’t exactly immune to being hurt with these antics, you know.”
“Huh, funny. Last time I remembered, your heart is nonexistent.” You return the smirk he’s flashing to you while you lean forward on the counter, aware how his gaze flickers down to your chest for a split second. “Or at least made of stone.”
“____,” he abruptly addresses you with your first name, and goosebumps rise on your arms, “you really should not to view what I did with such distaste. I only did it back then to protect you. I’m sure you’re smart enough to know that it’s hard when feelings get involved for a man with a profession like mine. I did you a favor when I suggested we stay away from each other.”
“Why are you here then?”
“I decided that sometimes being self-righteous and selfless isn’t always the route to go.”
“Which roughly translates to you need something from me, right?”
“Yes.” He doesn’t beat around the bush, at least. “And I assure you that you’ll be benefitting from me likewise when you take upon my request.”
“With the request being…?” You urge, curiosity brimming out of you with the way he’s delaying on just saying what he came here for.
Sylus doesn’t reply as fast as you prefer him to—instead this foreign look of uncertainty showing in his eyes, and you grow uneasy at the thought of what he might ask of you since it’s not like Sylus to look reluctant like this.
“Marriage,” he finally says. “I want you to marry me, ____.” He pauses, as if in deep thought, and adds abruptly. “No—I need you to marry me, actually.”
You blink.
Is he seriously demanding that I marry him? Not even pretending to ask first?
“What?” you ask, still blinking rapidly, leaning away from the counter as his words sink in. “Are you crazy? How can you—” you begin to sputter, out of words at his outrageous question— “go here and just say you want to marry me when I remember clearly that you didn’t want to do anything with me a year ago?”
“As I’ve said, I figured being self-righteous leads to nowhere and—”
“How the fuck does marriage fit in that equation? You’re making no sense!”
“Look, kitten,” he tries to calm you down, noticing your agitated state and how you’re pacing back and forth from where you’re standing, a nervous habit of yours, “I know that everything is sudden and perhaps insane, but hear me out first, and then you’ll understand.”
“You broke things off with me, Sylus. You were even supposed to ghost me, if only I hadn’t pestered Luke and Keiran about your whereabouts and demanded that you be a man to end the whole thing in front of my face. And now you want to marry me? After all this time? After giving me that big speech of being in your world would only be dangerous for me and practically suicidal?”
This must be a dream, you tell yourself, or a nightmare. I’m not sure which. Things like this do not happen in real life.
He sighs, wincing. “Don’t get me wrong, I still think it’d be dangerous. You don’t know how many nights I’ve spent pondering on whether it’d be right to approach you about this.”
“Yet you’re still here.”
“Yes,” he clenches his jaw, “because there’s no one else I can think of that I’d rather share a bed with, not to mention the would-be mother of my child.”
That makes you pause, disarmed at the honest answer.
Definitely a dream.
My subconscious really went all out with this one.
“I need an heir,” he adds when you remain quiet. “Even though letting a child be born into madness and constant life-threatening situations might be the cruelest thing I’ll have to do, it’s also the necessary measure to make sure that all my hard work doesn’t get passed on to the wrong hands. You know my brother, Damien, don’t you?”
You nod, still dumbfounded.
“We had a… rift a few months back. No longer see each other eye to eye, per se. He wants to venture into the kind of business that I do not want our organization to be associated with, regardless of whether it’ll bring in a significant amount of money. Contrary to what you might believe, I do still uphold my morals, and I try to adhere to them as much as I can.”
“Where does producing an heir go into all that?” you ask. You hate the way your voice sounds rougher because of your panicked state.
“To put it plainly, Damien has been talking to our family’s council, convincing them that I’m not suitable to be the boss because I have no heir, while he already has two—and you must understand, kitten, traditions are very important in our world. Family comes first, as everybody believes, and with someone like me who has no one to pass down the empire to, they’ll see me as rather temporary and not worth keeping. They’d want someone like Damien, who they know already has a lineage he can succeed the business to,” he says. “Of course, it’s also helpful that out of the two of us, my brother is particularly easier to sway and deceive, hence why he’d be their champion. Nothing like a leader that can be their little puppet whenever they please.”
At his explanation, you slowly try to digest it all.
For starters, you don’t think he’s lying. There doesn’t seem to be any reason for him to lie about this and make up a whole story just to marry you. You do think it’s plausible that Sylus is proposing for his own interest, that he must really be in need to resort to asking you when he made it apparent in the past that being with him was no good.
“Why me?” you question finally. “Let’s be real. You can have any wife you want. I don’t know why it has to be me.”
He lifts up his index and middle fingers into what looks like a peace sign. “Two reasons.”
He proceeds to tap his index finger.
“One, it’d be more credible to be engaged and eventually wed to you because we have history together. You’ve been seen by most of my men already, and they definitely know what you were to me by the nights we’ve spent either in my place or yours. You were also—well, still, to be frank—in my protection list, so there would be no speculation that you’re just a woman I picked up somewhere to pose as fiancé and wife,” he says.
“And two,” he then moves on and taps his middle finger, “I trust you. I have confidence that you will never betray me, which I don’t feel for a lot of people, truthfully. Since having a wife would mean that I would be with her and have children with her, it’s important to me that she’d be someone I trust and am at least attracted to. You obviously check those boxes just fine.”
“Just fine,” you echo. “So what I’m hearing is that you chose me as if I’m like some broodmare—”
“That’s very slanderous, sweetie,” he cuts you off before you continue. “Not to mention very unfair. Was I really that bad to you for you to assume that I would think like that?”
You want to tell him no, that he wasn’t particularly horrible to you when you were together.
However, when you parted… well, that’s a different story. You felt so disposable, hard to love, and other adjectives you’ve been working on yourself not to remember for the sake of your already sensitive self-esteem. If anything is unfair, it’s expecting that you’d be cordial considering how you two said your goodbyes a year ago.
“What you’re asking of me is insane, Sylus,” you tell him. “We’re talking about marriage here.”
“I know, but for two individuals like us, don’t you think it’s a partnership that should be worth agreeing to? I’m certain you need me as much as I need you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Your stomach drops. You have a feeling on what he’s talking about, but you wait for him to answer and confirm it himself.
“The bar. The Grim.” He gestures around the place, uttering its name. “Mephisto says that you borrowed a huge amount of money to renovate it 9 months ago, when that fire happened next door, and no bank accepted your loan. No judgment in regards to that—it’d be understandable for you to find someone who can lend you sufficient monetary funds for the repairs, right?” His gaze suddenly shows false pity, a look that tempts you to gouge his eyes out. “But from what I heard, you haven’t been paying your monthly dues to those loan sharks. Your debt’s interest is up the roof, last time I checked.”
You ignore the heat rising up your cheeks in embarrassment. Any pleasant feeling that’s been creeping in since the beginning of your talk gets roughly pushed down back to where they should be—forgotten and erased. As you’re reminded of how he can be an annoying cocky bastard at will, you refuse to make it known that you’re in desperate need of cash, even if it’s the truth.
“I don’t need your help.” You spat.
Sylus quirks an eyebrow, obviously unconvinced. “Are you sure about that? I can easily pay your debt for you, fund more renovations if that’s what you desire. The influence and connections you’ll gain by being my wife would do wonders for The Grim as well. I would never interfere with your business. I would only wish for it to prosper.”
“I don’t care. Your arrogance right now does not entice me one bit to get married to you.” You grab his used glass and begin washing it with clumsy movements, fuming as you add with a scoff. “And be fucking for real, Sylus. Do you really think I’d endure childbirth for an asshole like yourself? Get out of my bar. Now. Go find someone else to be a pawn in your family’s stupid game.”
As expected, Sylus appears undeterred by your harsh claims and even manages to give you an amused smirk, one that you take as proof that this is all indeed some kind of game to him.
“Think about it first, ____,” he says, hopping off the stool. “You know what’s best for you. In case you change your mind, let me know.” He leaves what seems like a business card on the counter, and you almost snatch it with the intention of ripping it to pieces in front of him.
You don’t, though, for some reason. Perhaps deep down, you know too that only Sylus can save you from the debt you’re buried under.
“Go to hell,” you say instead, turning around and not looking at him as he saunters out of the bar.
His chuckle, along with his footsteps, is the last thing you hear before the back door slams shut and your upper body collapses on the counter, your forehead mushed against your forearms in exasperation of the conversation you just had with the most infuriating yet possibly sexiest man alive.
“This is what you get for fucking a customer,” you murmur to yourself, before adding miserably, “and then proceeded to do it over a thousand times more. Nicely done, ____. Good fucking job.”
gentle reminder: this author loves feedback! let her know your thoughts if you enjoyed reading this fic and you’ll add 100+ points in her writing motivation meter ♡
୭ৎ ࣪ ׅ ⊹ author’s note: i only have like 40% of the whole plot of this mini series planned so good luck to me too i guess SHAJHJA this idea has been living in my mind for daaaays and i wanted to give it a try to see where my imagination will take me 🥹 anyways,, chapters will be short and only include like the ‘main scenes’ to keep the story flowing hehe
when sylus realizes his crime empire needs an heir to survive, he turns to the last person he should—you, his ex situationship he swore he’d never see again, yet the only woman he trusts to play the role of his wife… and mother to his heir.
for you, the offer is as dangerous as it is stupid. however, with your beloved bar on the brink of collapse, you deem you have no choice but to sign the contract that binds you to the man who once shattered your heart if you want to save the sole thing you consider important.
pairing: sylus qin x reader
rating: 18+
content: angst, fluff, nsfw | non-canon compliant (means too that sylus does not have his evol and is just a regular human) | mafia au, exes to lovers, enemies to lovers if you squint, marriage of convenience, forced proximity, fake dating | ft. mafia boss!sylus, bar owner!reader, human!mephisto + consigliere!mephisto
gen. warning/s: mature themes, implicit & explicit sexual content, swearing, mentions of violence and blood
THE PARTS:
⊹ EPISODE 01. the one with the proposal !
⊹ EPISODE 02. the one with the threat !
⊹ EPISODE 03. the one with the negotiation !
⊹ EPISODE 04. the one with the engagement party !
coming soon...
TAGLIST STATUS: open! send an ask or reply to this post ♡
little reminder: updates will be sporadic af because i unfortunately only write whenever my brain is in the mood 💔 nonetheless, i will always try to update as soon as possible!
You stop naming your long list of complaints—your chest hurting, your head aching, how you’ve been feeling nauseous, how your period isn’t here yet—and look at your boyfriend, CALEB XIA, who despite saying the most horrible thing you can imagine at your rather considerable young age (no way are you ready to be a mother yet) also has a shit-eating grin on his face.
You know he’s joking. It’s in his expression alone. Not to mention that whenever the both of you have sex, you always insist on using protection and Caleb isn’t one to go against your wishes. And even if there are admittedly times wherein the heat and spur of the moment feels too much and you both decide to forgo using a condom, he makes sure to pull out every time.
Still, now that he joked about it and planted the notion in your head, you’re panicking, slapping him hard on the arm.
“Ow!” He complains, surprise flashing on his eyes yet amusement remains dancing in them. “I was messing with you. You’re not pregnant."
“Am I?” You exclaim.
“No, of course not. We always use protection and I always pull out. You know that.”
“Yeah, but those aren’t entirely foolproof.”
“Pip-squeak,” he says more seriously now, seeing you spiral in real time as you begin biting your thumb, “don’t. I was being a little shit. Don’t overthink it. I’m sure you’re just a few days late because of stress from work.”
“No, no—what if I’m really pregnant, Caleb?” you ask him. “You have a point. All of what I’ve been experiencing, they’re classic signs of pregnancy.”
“Pip-squeak,” he repeats, “you’re not pregnant.”
You glare at him, slapping him one more time on the arm that makes him yelp. “How are you so sure, huh? Is this your body? You don’t know what I’m feeling inside!”
“I know that you only considered the idea when I mentioned it…”
“Because it didn’t occur to me until then!”
“Okay, how about this,” Caleb starts, his tone patient and sweet, “I’m going to buy three pregnancy tests at the nearby convenience store. You’ll take them and I’ll wait with you for the results, okay?”
You pause, as if contemplating, and nod. “Okay. We can do that.”
“Great.”
“But Caleb,” you speak again just as he’s standing up and heading to your shared room to grab his wallet, “what if the tests come out positive?”
He stares at you, a smile present on his lips before he presses his mouth against yours like he wants to transfer that very smile to your own lips. “Then I guess we’ll be a trio sooner than we reckoned, honey.” He caresses your hair. “It’ll be fine. No matter what happens, you’ll always have me by your side.”
An hour and a half later, you and Caleb are staring down at the three pregnancy tests on the counter of your bathroom, the three of them showing what Caleb has already been sure of despite his teasing.
All negative.
“See? What did I tell you?” He grabs the sticks once you’re done staring at them and throws them to the small garbage bin.
You huff, warmth spreading on your cheeks and neck. “Fine. Maybe I was overreacting, but it was your fault for giving me the idea!”
“I know.” He snickers.
That earns him another slap on the arm.
However, it’s nothing compared to what you utter next that truly makes an impact on his composure.
“I’m putting us on a sex ban,” you declare as you swiftly walk out of the room and beeline back to the sofa.
“What?” Caleb sputters, following after you.
“No sex for a while.” You tell him again. “Not until I get my period. Not until I’m 100% sure I’m really not pregnant.”
“But—but the tests already showed that you aren’t!”
You sniffle. “Ever heard of false negatives, Caleb?”
“But you took three tests! Those three tests cannot all be possibly false negatives.”
“I don’t care.” You cross your arms and lean back on your position on the cushions. “No sex until my system forgives you for giving me a pregnancy scare.”
He collapses dramatically on your feet, laying his pretty face on your lap and stroking your waist like that would easily appease you. “Pips, I’m sorry—I didn’t mean it that way. It was a stupid joke. You can punish me in other ways! Just don’t put a sex ban on us.”
You click your tongue, matching his dramatics as you shake your head in false disappointment. “Typical, typical. I express my worries about being pregnant and yet a man only thinks about getting laid.”
“Piiiiips.” He groans, burying his head more against your lap. “Don’t be cruel. Don’t do this to me.”
Laughter escapes you, not being able to resist running your fingers along the dark strands of his hair at least.
Cruel or whatever—you know you’re all talk, anyway.
If Caleb keeps up with this performance of groveling and begging, you’re positive that it won’t be long until you’re once again writhing beneath him and whimpering for more.
Maybe once, he was, but given that you’ve been lovers for quite a significant amount of time now—he’s already accustomed to this particular tactic of yours whenever you want to make up yet is not willing to do the first move.
It’s wearing that damn top that makes your boobs look obscenely good, aware that accompanied with the right bra, it’ll make them sit so nicely on your chest.
Yes, Sylus is no fool. He’s not so naive to not know that you’re currently parading around your shared living room wearing that blouse without any emotionally manipulative intentions.
What he isn’t, however, is immune.
Because even though he knows what you want him to do by wearing that piece of garment (which has no business amplifying your natural sultriness), he’s not that stubborn nor stupid to not take the bait.
“Sweetie,” he begins, the endearment coming out as a rather bored drawl, “what do I have to do to earn your forgiveness?”
You look up from the book that you’re ‘reading’ and raise an eyebrow, feigning innocence about the power you currently held over him. “Forgiveness, hm? I thought you’re not one to apologize when you know you didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Oh, but I think I did do something wrong. Something terribly wrong that leads me no choice but to grovel until my feisty kitten accepts my apology.”
“You don’t sound apologetic to me right now, Sy.”
“What do I sound like?”
“Smug.” You narrow your eyes at him. “That won’t make me forgive you any quicker, you know.”
“But it seems to me that I’m already halfway there.”
His gaze lands on your chest and you don’t bother with acting chaste by crossing your arms to block his view. In fact, you even lean forward, closing the novel you were pretending to be engrossed with and pushing your bosom a bit further up that causes Sylus’ lips to curve into a smirk.
“Sylus,” you call him, “stop staring at my tits.”
He doesn’t avert his gaze. “Stop being mad then.”
“I’ll stop being mad when I want to.”
“And how would that come to be?”
“If I hear an apology.”
Sylus stands up and walks toward where you’re seated, towering you. “I’m sorry, sweetie. You’re right and I’m wrong. I’ll never go against what you want and forever be your loving servant.”
“A sincere apology, please.” You keep the stern facade even if you’re already trying not to laugh at his sarcasm.
He pretends to be annoyed, rolling his eyes and then kneeling before you, situating himself between your legs and crowding your space. You feel the palm of his hands land on your waist, warm and squeezing, his thumbs grazing the underside of your boobs ever so seductively that your lower stomach slightly curls in anticipation.
“I am so very sorry, my love,” he starts again, his tone saccharine and full of yearning. “We shouldn’t have fought. I shouldn’t have dragged it out this long. Next time, in case there will be, you have my full permission to call me any profanity you like, to storm out and not have Mephisto trail you, to banish yourself if that is really what you wish—”
You cut him off with a giggle, arms encircling around his neck as his own set of arms fully wrap around your waist. “Alright, enough,” you kiss him, Sylus quickly reciprocates, “you’re just overdoing it at this point.” You mutter.
He grins. “Not at all. Everything I said came from my heart.”
With his impressive strength, he stands up all of the sudden again and brings you with him, his hold transferring to your back and bottom so he can support you there. You squeal in surprise, wounding your grip tighter, just as Sylus also buries his face in your cleavage, inhaling deeply and sneaking in a few wet kisses on the edge of your bra that raises the hair all over your skin.
“Now, for my real apology to begin…” He smirks, taking in your lower lip and sucking languidly, heading to your shared bedroom.
You moan, nuzzling closer as the heat between the both of you simmers and you press your chest closer to his, smiling a bit to yourself at how your plan to get him to apologize first is proven to be foolproof every damn time.
i need someone to make an edit of caleb with sabrina’s new song “when did you get hot?” tHAT SHOWS HIS CLIPS BEFORE HE WAS AN OFFICIAL LOVE INTEREST AND THEN AFTER 😫😫😫
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