christmas photoshoot with the whole family! imagine the littles in their little polo shirts matching with the biggies
HAPPY DECEMBER! i love this so much!! im a sucker for festive photos, i can just imagine them crowding together to be in one.
Sylus can't see you.
Even though you're right in front of him, you are reduced to a blur of movement trying to rope everything in order in your chaotic rodeo of a family.
"Beloved," he calls, voice lost to the rapid click-click-click of your boots on the tile as you chase a shirtless child around the living room, and the squawks of his crow overhead flying after the other baby clad in only his diapers.
His face falls. He doesn't like being ignored.
Especially not now, when he followed after you when you passed the open door of his office in your dark red number and your snapping heels.
"Good, you're ready! This will be quick," you said, barely even stopping before him to say it. He had to hear the rest as an echo down the hall.
The blur of you not being enough, he needed to feast his eyes on your beauty. And yet here you are, making it impossible for him to do just that.
So he waves his hand, fingers twirling to command vipers of shadow to wrap around his toddlers like a ribbon. Gently, they float over to the couch, giggling as if tickled all the way down. Under his breath, he murmurs a playful, “Time out.”
Your sigh of relief carries the weight of universes as you follow after them. Crowning them with their dark red polo shirts and supervising them as they try to pull it over their heads and slip their arms through the rest of the garment.
And in the calm, Sylus tries again to have a look at you. "Beloved."
But, again, his efforts are swallowed by sound.
"Mama, I lost!" cries Kyros, now a wiggling little body without a head.
You help him thread his big coconut through the collar after a good giggle and set him back down so he can resume his running.
"Luke, Kieran!" you bellow, before Sylus can even get a huff of air out to call out to you a third time. If he weren't a perfectly well-mannered gentleman, he'd have stomped his foot on the ground and harrumphed like Lucian when refused his sweeties.
"Coming!" they yell back from upstairs, followed by a ruckus of pounding feet and the thundering of moving furniture. Odd, but not nearly as important as you blatantly walking past him in favor of fixing the camera on its stand in the middle of the living room. In the viewfinder, it frames the dark leather couch before the lit fireplace, and a charismatic Christmas tree to the side.
When you are done and have deemed the antique useless at your hands, giving it all up for Luke to tinker with later, you walk away.
Smoothing the fabric of your clothes over your thighs, once more you fail to acknowledge Sylus by the threshold of the space, and look over yourself in the mirror hanging on the wall. Only for the reflective surface to gloss over with opaque darkness from what you can assume only has a single source.
A step back is all it takes for you to hit your back against his awaiting chest. He is looming over you like a rolling storm when you look up. His hand, a snake that crawls up your waist, dances over your neck, and carefully cups your jaw in place to keep your eyes on him.
"What must I do to get you to pay attention to me?" he purrs, thumb caressing the notch below your ear, back and forth. Finally getting a good look at your features— your glowing eyes, your rouged cheeks, your darkened lips. He can't help but tongue his canines at the sight.
And when you grin, his heart stops beating altogether. "Have you been here the whole time?"
He smirks. Hums at your audacity to tease and leans down close enough to feel your breath hitch on his lips. Because no matter how you try to play it off, he is the venom that paralyses your senses. "You're doing that thing again."
Your brows knit together. The distance. The lingering. The scent of him, strong. You breathe,"What thing?"
"Playing with your food." He takes no time to swoop down and kiss you, stealing breath from your lungs and imbuing you with his own desire. You struggle to reach up to him at the strange angle, but enjoy the sweetness of his lips nonetheless.
You pull back, giggling. Shy suddenly, as you turn towards him and hide your burning face in his matching dark red sweater.
He laughs when you slap his chest, catching your fingers and dragging them over his bottom lip.
Lost in your bubble, you almost miss the voice.
"Papa kissy," Lucian points out, suddenly spawning by your feet. Looking up at you two with round eyes that blink curiously. "Papa, why?"
Sylus smiles at him, encasing you in his embrace, your shoulders supporting the weight of his arms as he leans down to answer. "I think mama looks very pretty today."
Lucian asks, "So kissy?"
"Yes."
"Oh," he nods. "Okay."
Then turns around to waddle away.
Sylus shakes his head fondly at the odd, seemingly non-fruitful encounter and turns back to you, who shares the same funny look on your face, wondering what just happened.
His arms wind around your shoulders anyway as he buries his nose in the scent of your perfume. He takes a deep breath, releasing a deep growl. Tickling the space under your ear and making you flinch away with a startled yelp. “Hey!”
That echoes, and breaks a seal you did not even know was there.
Sylus feels the change in the air before he even hears—
"Papa, no bite!" Lucian shrieks, running back to his feet.
Sylus scoffs in disbelief, mixed with a huff of laughter, as tiny claws meet the fabric of his slacks. "A— Lucian, I'm not!"
"No bite!" now Kyros circles your legs and pushes you away by the knees. "No bite, no bite!"
"I'm not!" he insists, chortling at the battalion of small children fighting him for your honor. His cries of being wrongly accused are lost to deaf ears and louder screams of injustice.
"Here!" pants Luke in that moment, coming into the room, pulling on the collar of his shirt. Having rushed in from the front door rather than from his bedroom, not that anyone really noticed. Readying himself to tell the story about not having lost the polo you gave him specifically for today and having had to run out to buy a new one— which he didn’t, obviously.
But at the chaos before him in the living room, he pauses. "What are we doing?"
Kieran walks in behind him just in time to hear Lucian yell, "Papa bite mama!"
"Eugh." Kieran gags. Luke grimaces, "Gross."
"Have'ta protect mama." Kyros tells them from his seat on your lap. He'd successfully pushed you onto the couch and curled up to you as if he were hoarding treasure. "Help, pease?"
The twins give each other a look, read your amused expression and with a shrug, jump in on the action. Aiding Lucian in his efforts to apprehend the beast. Praying Sylus doesn't put them in air jail for this later.
"Sorry about this, boss man!" says Kieran, catching Lucian by the armpits and tripping Sylus by the heels.
Luke follows up by catching him in a chair and tying his wrists with a red ribbon meant for presents. "We're just following orders. You were being a meanie."
"I didn't bite!" he exclaims, struggling. Or at least, pretending to. The ribbon really wasn't that strong. But Lucian watched him with unabashed excitement at the victory that he couldn't act any other way.
From behind them, you shout. "Yes, he did!"
"Aha!" Lucian exclaims, scrambling out of his brother's hold to climb onto Sylus's lap. "Papa, time out."
At this distance, despite it all, Sylus can't help but swipe a little kiss on an angry, puffed-up cheek. So used to the action, Lucian merely looks past it. Sylus chuckles, "Why?"
"Because—cause, you kissy is okay," Lucian's brows draw together as he tries to suture his big thoughts into a sentence that makes sense. "But bitey is no okay. Is bad and—and ouchie."
"Poor mama," Kyros laments, embracing you and petting your hair as you fake sob into his shoulder. Sylus rolls his eyes at your dramatics, still in disbelief of the betrayal.
"Poor mama," the twins sing together in their tone-deaf glory to really drive the point through. Sylus feels a headache coming along, but his cheeks hurt first from smiling. Unexpectedly having fun with the whole ordeal.
"I'm sorry," he tells Lucian slowly, to let him know he means it.
But his son is not as forgiving as his wife.
"Time out. No pee-ture." Lucian says firmly, crossing his arms over his chest. Looking a lot like you when you scold them. "Just sit and tink."
"Oh, angel, come on." Sylus tries not to snort and make things worse when Lucian scrambles down his legs and almost loses his footing at the bottom. "I want to be in the picture. I'm family."
"Family no bite family!" declares Lucian, walking back over to the couch and leaving Sylus just by the corner to sulk. Sylus keeps a comment about having been bitten many other times by both his little twins behind pursed lips as he lets his son have the win.
And so there you sit, before the camera, on the couch between your four boys in burgundy polos and your bird in a bow-tie. The children sit ramrod straight, looking into the camera with round cheeks and a determination to keep very still.
Sylus takes the moment to take his own photo in his mind. Watching you round together and hold the babies close. Gaze softening as Luke and Kieran make faces to get the littles to break. Your gentle smile at the camera, turning to him, telling him that your mind isn't as far away from where his is currently.
Sylus watches as you whisper something to Lucian. Then, soon Lucian is coming back over to him and climbing back on his legs. "Yes?"
"Papa..." Lucian says through pouty lips. Unable to look up at Sylus, he focuses his efforts on twiddling with a loose thread on Sylus's shirt. "It not family pee-ture if no papa."
"Oh?" Sylus melts, tilting his head to catch Lucian's eye. "Shall I come join you then?"
"Yes." Lucian murmurs. "Please..."
"Alright," in as little effort as it takes, Sylus breaks free from his ribbon bond and cradles his son close to his heart. Kissing the crown of his head, he whispers. "Good job protecting mama."
"Yeah." Lucian whispers back, snuggling himself closer in the embrace. Pride surges through his body at the praise. He doesn't like arguments after all.
"Papa!" Kyros cheers when he joins you all on the couch. All eyes are on him as he slots himself in the space behind you to stand over your family, while carrying Lucian in his arms. The camera clicks.
"Me carry!" says Kyros, climbing over you to reach Sylus too. Now both toddlers are in his arms and the big twins scoot closer to you. The camera clicks with a flash.
It triggers Mephisto's wings to spread and a feather catches the corner of Kieran's eye. He yowls in pain and Luke bursts out laughing. Your mouth is poised to scold him. The camera clicks.
You switch places. You stand beside Sylus, Mephisto on his shoulder. Each twin carries a little twin. You all smile— the camera doesn't click.
Luke groans—it's his camera after all— and stands to fix it.
"Okay, so this isn't as quick and easy as I thought it would be," you admit quietly to Sylus, leaning your head on his shoulder while on standby.
"Yeah? Which part of this process gave you that impression?" Sylus whispers back, a sly grin pulling at the corner of his mouth. "When you chose to ignore me or when you betrayed me?"
You roll your eyes, choosing to ignore his woes. "Maybe next time we hire a professional."
"Or you don't lie to our kids and say I bit you."
"Sylus!"
He laughs, drawing you closer to his warmth by your hips and leaning down. "I think it's fun, sweetie. I'm glad we did this."
"Yeah?" Your worried smile brightens just that little bit when he presses a reassuring kiss to your forehead. In the background, Luke curses, and his siblings gasp at the bad word. Lucian begins to scold him.
"Yes," he affirms. Then in your ear, "Only if you'd have told the truth—"
"Oh, Sylus!" You grit and dig your teeth into his collarbone.
"Ready!" Luke shouts, launching himself into the sofa.
The camera clicks, capturing chaos in one frame.
"Ouch." Sylus deadpans, flat and knowing—out loud. Loud enough for the children to hear and turn to you both in your red-handed state. With your frustrated fangs digging into the knit of their father's neck, eyes wide and startled like a rabid rodent. Only your eyes more to the side—to see them gaping at you.
Kyros is the first to speak. Disbelief in his gasp as he points to you like a cryptid revealed. "Mama bite."
You unlatch. "No—"
"MAMA BITE!" the big twins, once again, join together in a dissonant duet. Summoning Lucian to raise his fat, mitteny fist of justice.
"Angel—"
"Time out!"
—
"This one looks good," says Sylus, handing you the printed photo of you and Luke tied to the chair as punishment for your crimes.
"Ha-ha," you glare, knocking your temple onto his. You twist yourself into a more comfortable position on his lap. His grip around your waist tightens, and his chin hooks onto your shoulder—closeness his closure.
Sifting through more photos the faulty camera had taken, you struggle to find a decent picture where you were all in the frame, looking at the camera and smiling like a good, respectable family. Frustration bubbles just beneath the surface.
Meanwhile, Sylus seems to be having the time of his life.
"I'm keeping this," Sylus says again, sliding the photo of you biting him to the side of his desk.
"Oh, I got one," the picture you find is one of the first ones. With everyone smiling up at Sylus and Lucian when they reconciled. Sylus takes it to inspect it.
You hold a happy Kyros in your lap as you grin up at him. Luke and Kieran have also turned a quarter way around to see, fond looks on their faces that mimic an almost smile. And Lucian looks at him, bright eyes and an open mouth mid-utterance. And himself— grinning proudly at his glowing ball of sunshine.
Softly, he says to himself. "Hm, I like this too."
And now, you see Sylus as well.
Still, reduced to a being felled by what he created. Gazing into a chasm of desires he cannot fathom seeing, let alone possessing in this lifetime.
Here, gazing upon his family. You see him as he is, as who he truly loves to be.
thank you for requesting this! & thank u for readingg! ❆☃︎
imagine li's getting jealous over non!mc reader iii v2
warnings: (not proofread sorry!) mc referred to as 'miss hunter' in both ,reader referred to as "madame" (sylus part). slight yan!raf ? also raf's panic may resemble an anxiety attack. his pt is so short im SORRY i promise ill make it up in the followup (i had more but felt like i had to save it so this pt wouldnt be excessive). sylus slightly possessive! and implied good end..?
having an artists' eye meant not missing a single thing in the name of drawing inspiration from any and everything.
rafayel knows this, to some extent, yet finds himself sitting on his ladder, staring at yet another blank canvas, tapping the end of the paintbrush against his chin as if waiting for the image to paint itself.
he's found himself in yet another art block.
though, something felt different about this one compared to the others.
usually, he'd have someone accompany him in the midst of his artistry, namely a miss hunter, blaming his most recent block on being away from her for far too long, singing her praise and joking that when she was around, his paintings came easy.
though, this particular block is not like the rest: it's persisted for weeks now, and didn't dispel after going on several walks or soaking in the bath (both of which usually help, in some way or another).
no, this was something deeper, he felt it in the dull ache of his chest that he had simply decided to ignore for far too long.
. . .
the quiet of the studio wasn't helping today.
he groans in frustration, twirling the paintbrush between his fingers idly before setting it down on the easel completely.
despite his better judgement (and the fact that he sets special ringtones assigned to certain people on his phone) he checks his messages, only to be left disappointed at no new notifications.
miss hunter was sent out on a mission a couple of days ago in a nearby city, and wouldn't return for several days.
he already knew of this, and yet, a longing sigh escapes his lips as he shuts his phone off, slipping it back into his pocket and staring back at the canvas in front of him.
aside from miss hunter, there was another presence that seemed to be lacking these days.
his chest bloomed into warmth just thinking about them.
about you.
it's been too long since he's seen you, he suddenly thinks, though he isn't sure why that is. you were usually the one to send check-in messages, ask about his paintings, or initiate a hangout.
though, thinking back, he can only recall himself rejecting or inadvertently ignoring your invitations and messages since he's strengthened his relationship with miss hunter.
his brows furrow, frowning at the thought.
well, surely you understood, right? after all, you also began rejecting hangouts when she'd invite you, and it would result in just the two on their own.
yeah, you were also at fault here, he thought.
(he wasn't doing a good job of convincing himself).
at some point, he's slipped his phone back out of his pocket, and finds himself mindlessly clicking open the moments app.
perhaps something would spark his interest on here, if nothing else.
and spark his interest it did.
it's almost as if the universe was listening to his thoughts, since the first post at the top of his feed was from none other than you.
rafayel's eyes widen slightly, heart jumping at your familiar username.
when was the last time he saw a post from you? he often interacts with miss hunter on here, though, he can't recall the last time you'd commented something witty on one of his posts, or vice versa.
pushing the thought aside, his eyes trail down from your username to the image you shared.
his eyes trace over a slice of cake on a plate (definitely your taste, he thinks, why didn't you ask him to join?) to one of your hands forming a little peace sign next to it (when did you get that color on your nails? you usually ask him for suggestions, though when was the last time he offered one?).
he then notices another pastry towards the top of the photo, (he knew you liked trying new sweets, though, that didn't look like something you'd particularly order, he should know-) then towards the grey-sleeved arm, revealing a hand holding cutlery.
his heart feels like it drops to the pit of his stomach.
he could recognize that plain cardigan sleeve anywhere, hell, its like the wearer didn't bother to wear anything else (seriously, what kind of fashion sense even is that?)
out of everyone, why were you out with thomas?
now that he thinks about it, the last time he'd seen you was when both thomas and miss hunter were at his place.
he recalls seeing the both of you chatting, but didn't think much of it.
not until the both of you had left together, a small smile on your lips.
everyone was well aware of thomas' marriage, rafayel more so than anyone, there was no way anything was going on between the two of you, and yet—!
and yet....
why was rafayel's chest so heavy? why did it feel like his heart could fall out at any second, giving him the displeasure of watching as it plopped straight onto the floor any second now?
surely, there was an explanation for this.
he could feel the unpleasant way his heart hammered in his chest, the way his thoughts spiraled to the thought of you hanging out with a man that wasn't him, the explosion of the feelings he'd been ignoring for months now.
his mind flashed with images of your bright smile, your laughter ringing through the air, your teasing remarks all aimed at someone else—
he thinks he's going to be sick.
had he really done such a poor job at showing his care for you that you had to seek refuge in none other than thomas?
for a split second, he has half a mind to have a talk with thomas himself, imagining the way in which he'd tell him to back off from you and hang his job over his head if it meant keeping him away from you.
the thought leaves him quickly.
surely, you wouldn't be too pleased if you were to learn of it.
it doesn't stop his desperation, his mind running a million meters a minute at the prospect of you slipping away from his grasp, and the fact that he didn't even realize it was happening in the first place.
he feels like he can't breathe as he switches open his messenger to text you when he happened to skim over the most recent message: almost three weeks ago, from you.
hi rafayel! there's a new exhibit coming soon that i was curious about, would you like to come with me?
he never answered.
he can't breathe.
he clutches his shirt over his chest, suddenly feeling as if the room were closing in on him.
since when was it so hot in the studio? it's so stuffy he thinks he might be faint.
he clicks off his phone, running a hand through his hair before hopping off of his ladder.
this was something much better said in person, anyway. he'd just go to you, and you could explain everything.
he nods to himself. such a genius i am, he thinks, running another hand through his hair before racing out of the studio.
he wouldn't lose you.
he couldn't.
sylus always notices.
it was part of his job description to notice the smallest of things, sure, but something like reading people and noticing things tended to come naturally to him regardless.
even despite his skill however, he thinks it'd be obvious to anyone, the way that you seem to be pulling away from him these days.
the thought alone ticks him off.
he likes to think he uses his time wisely, planning out what to do each day, who he's meeting, what business he's carrying out, and what to do with any spare time.
though, with a certain miss hunter now having entered the mix, things seemed to have... changed.
these days, its accompanying her for a mission, or her tagging along with him to yet another auction or otherwise.
he didn't think much of it, not at first. after all, it wasn't like it was meant to be a permanent thing, just a little change to the schedule and a little give-and-take, both having clear motives in mind.
what he hadn't anticipated was just how often they would partner with one another, nor did he consider the amount of time they'd inadvertently spend together because of it.
even if he worked hard to finish the job swiftly (something he'd always done regardless, not one to waste his time on things that didn't deserve it), he'd always be disappointed that by the time he returned, you'd be fast asleep, the twins nowhere to be found, and some kind of sweet treat carefully put away in a container resting on a clean countertop.
such an occurrence seemed to be the case once again tonight. sylus stepped through the door of the base, boots clicking heavy on the clean floors, door clicking shut behind it, locks automatically beeping into place.
the first thing he notices is the scent of something fresh, sweet, and warm enveloping him. despite the lack of seeing you anywhere at first glance (something his heart sinks at every time, having grown used to your simple greetings of "welcome back" whenever he'd return from a mission, no matter how long it took) his curiosity eggs him to follow the scent to the kitchen.
he slips his boots off, kicking on the slippers as he steps in, making long strides towards his familiar kitchen. upon approaching, he sees a lamp on.
odd, he thinks, though his heart picks up a bit at the thought that maybe, just maybe, its you in the kitchen.
he feels himself deflate, however, at the sight of the twins sitting on the bar stools, giggling as they scroll through social media, a plate of cake sitting beside either side of them.
at the sound of footsteps, the two swirl around, both putting one hand up each in a short wave.
"welcome back, boss!"
he nods, eyes trailing to the piece of cake held up by a fork in luke's hand.
"what's this?"
"you want some?" luke offers, holding the fork out when kieran smacks him upside the head.
"ow!"
"in what world would the boss eat from your fork???"
"sorry boss!"
he sighs, eyes trailing to kieran.
he straightens up lifting the hand that previously smacked his brother to gesture at the cake.
"its a crow cake!"
"courtesy of us!" luke adds.
"and the madame," kieran notes.
"..mostly the madame," luke mutters before shoveling the piece of cake into his mouth, munching away happily.
sylus scoffs.
"the madame, huh? and where might i find her at this hour?"
"uh..."
"she did say she was headed to bed..." kieran trails off.
"how long ago?"
"not long!" luke says, muffled.
"don't talk with your mouthful, idiot!"
"sorry!"
"it must've been an hour or so, boss. she's been sleepin' early these days."
they both knew why, it wasn't a secret, but kieran decided to avoid saying it directly, and sylus doesn't know if he was grateful or irritated by that fact.
sylus turns towards the hallway.
"make sure to clean up when you're finished."
"yes, boss!" they saluted in unison.
his footsteps echoed down the hall. when he was out of sight, luke spoke up.
"you liar."
"i don't know what you're talking about," kieran pouts, clicking open his phone.
"the madame hasn't retreated for that long. wasn't she making plans with someone?"
"do you really want to see her with someone who isn't bossman?"
a moment of silence passes between them.
"you think they'll make up?" luke's tone was somber, a little serious.
kieran sighs.
"i hope so. though, the boss has a long way to go..."
neither noticed a certain crow perched in the corner, nor did they hear him fly after the onychinus' leader down the hall.
. . .
you weren't sure you really wanted to do this.
somehow, someway, during your nightly baking session with the twins, the conversation of sylus came up, if only briefly.
they were smart boys, though despite knowing this, having them call you out on your "crush" for their beloved boss caught you offguard.
surely you weren't that obvious?
(you totally were, and they let you know of that fact).
without saying too much, not wanting to impede on their perception of him (and because its not like you held any ill will toward him), luke blurted out an absurd idea.
"well, why don't you go on a blind date!"
the suggestion left you stunned into silence for a full minute, and because kieran took this as displeasure, he smacked his brother for suggesting something so ridiculous.
(what you didn't know was that this was for two reasons: one, for your sake, and two, because kieran, as selfish as it was, didn't want you to move onto someone else who didn't deserve your time- he couldn't imagine the two people he admired so much to be caught up with different significant others, nope, never!)
despite moving on from that conversation quickly, you kept that idea in mind, retreating to your room and leaving the twins to enjoy the cake as you mulled it over.
it's not like it was a bad idea, per se. in fact, maybe its exactly what you needed. maybe it was the ultimate solution to move on from your inevitable heartbreak, your unrequited love.
you thought of sylus and miss hunter, and your heart ached.
even if you hadn't even gone through with the idea, you decided to dress yourself up, to plan in advance, you told yourself.
getting dolled up did always seem to brighten your mood, after all.
you stare in the mirror, swiping on a pretty tint you had yet to try.
what kind of person would you meet, anyway?
you smacked your lips, cleaning the edges.
what kind of person did you hope to meet?
you paint it over with a sheer gloss, smiling at the result.
the only person who kept coming to mind was—
"oh, what's this?"
you nearly jumped out of your chair at the words ringing through the quiet air.
"sylus!"
as if you willed him to the present with your mind, there he was, in all of his glory: dressed in that dark leather that made your jaw slack and your cheeks warm, hair barely tousled out of place (despite just returning from a mission), leaning against your doorframe (how the hell did you miss it clicking open?) with that familiar smirk, mephisto perched on his shoulder.
he drinks in your surprise, taking a step inside of your room.
"the twins said you'd retreated to bed an hour ago, yet here you are, ready to go out," he scoffs, folding his arms over his chest.
"where are you headed off too, dolled up like that?" he doesn't mean to sound as stern as he does, chin lifting to make it even more like he's scrutinizing you rather than mildly (extremely) curious.
"what.. are you doing back already?"
he laughs once, but humors you.
"the mission wasn't as difficult as miss hunter anticipated," he took a step closer.
"now, answer."
you blinked dumbly, mouth working quicker than your mind.
"on a date."
the silence is deafening.
sylus thinks time stops.
"you... what."
when you realize what you've said, you almost smack yourself, but at the same time, he wouldn't care, right?"
"i'm.. going out. is there a problem?"
"yes," he answers, all too quickly.
your brows furrow. you feel confused, yet decide to push further.
"what.. might that be?"
"its much too late for a kitten to be wandering the streets, don't you think?"
"you think i can't handle myself?" you ask, folding your arms over your chest— a challenge.
he laughs again, amused.
"of course you can, though, i'd rather you didn't."
"what? sylus, thats—"
"whats he like?" he takes another step forward, almost closing the distance.
"that's—"
"is he safe?" another step.
"is he secure?" another.
"can he hold himself in a fight?"
suddenly he's looming above you.
your heartbeat is going crazy, you can feel his warm breath brushing against your cheek.
he slowly reaches a hand up, pointer finger reaching out and brushing the slightest bit over your cheek.
gentle, much too gentle for the words he's spewing right now.
"you're much too good for him, sweetie," he mutters, almost fondly.
"sylus..." you breathe.
"so, why?"
"i..."
"stay." his command is soft, almost pleading.
you lean into his touch ever so slightly, breathing in his scent, his words invading your brain.
"okay."
as foolish as you feel for giving in, you think maybe, just maybe, you can give into him. just for tonight.
just for tonight....
a/n: how i've missed this...... its been far too long and i needed this part released so i can get back to more parts. i wanted to write soso bad but uni had been kicking my ass + my pt time job & i didnt have energy to write even if the desire was strong...... im on break rn so aside from work ,im hoping to write a lot more esp for other fandoms aswell !
im a little sick atm though i actually had a lot more for raf but am saving that for the next part aka the 'confrontation' part in a sense.... i also wanna write smth more fluffy since its almost christmas so i hope you'll look forward to it :x
Summary: A mission she had to do has forced her to pick a choice, Sylus in all his anger says what shouldn't have been said.
Continuation of this
Word count: 3k
Tags: angst, hurt, crying, the twins injured.
Part 2
The door slammed open, the sound cracking through the heavy quiet of Sylus’s office. Papers rustled on his desk, lights flickered. He didn’t even look up at first—his jaw was clenched, the veins in his hands straining against his skin. The air was thick with fury, and when he finally raised his eyes, it was like a storm had found its voice.
“You really thought I wouldn’t find out?” His tone was low, almost calm, but it shook with restrained rage. “That I’d simply accept that the twins almost died and move on? You went with those hunters knowing what could happen to them—to my kids. To your family.”
She took a step forward, her voice unsteady. “Sylus, please. I didn’t want—”
“Enough.” His voice cut through hers like a blade. “You had a choice. You could have saved them. You could have called for help. But you stayed. You stayed with those vultures because the protocol mattered more. The mission mattered more. Did you think I couldn’t have obtained it for you? Do you truly believe there’s anything I wouldn’t have done if you had just asked?”
“It wasn’t that simple,” she said quietly. “If I had acted—”
He slammed his hand on the desk. The sound echoed. “Don’t say that. Don’t hide behind excuses. You made your choice, and you chose them over us—over me—over them, who would have laid down their lives for you without a second thought. Have you already forgotten how they dragged you out of that ambush while you couldn’t even stand?”
Her breath caught. She tried to reach across the desk, her hand trembling. “I didn’t forget.”
“Then why?” His voice broke through her words. “Why did you let them bleed while you stood there, trying to play savior for the wrong side? You still think yourself righteous, don’t you? The hunter who never bends a rule. You wanted to prove you’re not one of us—that you’re better. That they deserved what happened.”
“That’s not true!” Her voice cracked as tears slipped free. “I wanted to protect everyone—you, them, the city. I thought if I could end it faster—if I could stop them from using the protocol again—”
“Don’t lie to me.” He stepped around the desk, the sound of his boots heavy against the floor. “You hesitated. I saw the footage. They screamed for you, and you stayed. You stayed because saving them meant exposing what you are—what we are. And that terrified you more than losing them.” His words were sharp, but his eyes betrayed the ache beneath them. “Tell me I’m wrong.”
Her words came out fragile, trembling. “I couldn’t risk everything falling apart. If I had revealed myself, they would have taken me away. They would have come for you. I thought I was protecting us. I thought—”
“Everything?” His voice deepened, quieter, yet cruel in its precision. “You mean your spotless reputation? Your moral high ground? Because it certainly wasn’t the people who’ve been breaking themselves to keep you safe.” He came closer until the space between them was unbearable. “You still see us as monsters. You can deny it all you want, but I see it in your eyes every time you hesitate. You look at Luke, at Kieran, at me—and all you see are things to hide. To contain. To pity.”
“Stop,” she whispered, reaching for his hand. But his fingers closed around her wrist before she could touch him. His grip was firm, not cruel, but enough to make her breath hitch.
“You don’t get to tell me to stop,” he said, his voice low, shaking. “You don’t get to act like you’re the one wounded here. You put them in those beds. And now you come here, looking for understanding, thinking if you sound sorry enough, I’ll forgive you.” A bitter laugh escaped him, hollow. “You truly don’t understand what you’ve done.”
“I didn’t mean for this to happen,” she whispered, her eyes shining. “I thought I was doing the right thing. I thought saving the protocol meant saving you. You think I didn’t see them fall? You think it didn’t destroy me? I see it every time I close my eyes.”
His face softened for a heartbeat—then hardened again. “You never mean it, but it happens anyway. And this time, it cost me the only family I had left.”
She took a step forward. “Sylus—”
He struck the desk with his palm, the sound deafening. “Don’t say my name.” His voice was hoarse, strained, cracking beneath the weight of his own words. “I can’t even look at you without wanting to break something. You chose a protocol over them. Over everything we built.”
He turned away, his shoulders trembling as he exhaled a shaking breath. “Leave. Before I say something I can’t take back.”
Silence filled the room. Her wrist still ached where his fingers had held her, the imprint of his touch burning into her skin. The air between them was suffocating, dense with all the things they couldn’t say.
She looked at him one last time, her voice breaking as she whispered, “You already did.”
He froze. The words struck him like a blade, but he didn’t move, didn’t speak. She stepped back, the sound of her retreat soft against the floor. When the door closed, it was barely a sound at all—but it echoed long after she was gone.
The office was silent now, but the silence was unbearable. The kind that screamed in the back of the mind. Sylus sat behind his desk, head bowed, fingers tangled in his hair. The city lights bled through the window, fractured across the floor in broken shapes—like everything else tonight.
He had told her to leave. He had watched her walk out, shoulders trembling, and said nothing to stop her. Now the image of her face—the disbelief, the hurt—looped in his mind like a punishment he deserved.
But what haunted him most wasn’t her face. It was theirs.
He had seen the footage too many times already. The twins—Luke and Kieran—cornered, bleeding, calling her name. Their voices cracked through the comms, desperate. And she… she turned. He could still see it. The second she hesitated, her eyes flicking back toward them, then away, running after the criminals who carried the stolen protocol. The moment she chose duty—or fear—over them.
He clenched his fists, his knuckles white. “Why weren’t you there,” he whispered to himself, voice rough. “Why the hell weren’t you there.”
He slammed a fist against the desk, the sound sharp and hollow. Every breath hurt. His mind replayed every word he’d thrown at her—each one sharper than the last. You see us as monsters. You chose a protocol over them.
The memory of her eyes when he said it burned him. He hadn’t meant to say those things, not like that. But the sight of the twins unconscious, pale, hooked to machines—it tore something out of him. He’d been afraid. Terrified. Not just for them, but for her too. He knew what fear did, how it poisoned every decision. And yet he had turned his fear into anger, flinging it at the one person he loved most.
He pressed his palms to his eyes, trying to shut out the memories, but they wouldn’t fade. Her trembling hand reaching for him. His fingers tightening around her wrist. The sound of her whisper—You already did.
He stood abruptly, pacing across the room, unable to sit still. The walls felt too close. Every step echoed with regret. He wanted to go after her, to tell her he didn’t mean it, that he understood—but the words wouldn’t come. They never did when they mattered.
He stopped by the window, staring at the city below. Somewhere out there, she was walking alone, and he was here, drowning in the ruins of his own anger.
The streets were quiet, washed in pale neon and soft drizzle. She walked without seeing, arms wrapped around herself as though that might hold her together. Her steps echoed faintly, the sound lost in the hum of the city. Each breath came uneven, fragile.
Tears blurred the world around her—streetlights became streaks of gold, the wet pavement glimmering like distant stars. She didn’t bother to wipe them away. What was the point? They kept coming, like they had been waiting for this moment to break free.
She thought of his voice—the way it trembled with rage, the way he looked at her as if she were a stranger. The way she couldn’t explain fast enough, couldn’t make him understand that she had chosen what she thought would save him. That she hadn’t wanted to hurt anyone, least of all him.
But it didn’t matter anymore. She had done it. She had finally ruined the one thing that had ever felt real in her life.
Her thoughts chased each other like ghosts—I should’ve gone to them. I should’ve stayed. I should’ve told him the truth sooner. Each one heavier than the last. The rain picked up, soaking through her clothes, but she barely felt it. It almost felt fitting—to walk beneath a sky that couldn’t stop crying either.
She reached her door eventually, the small apartment that had once felt safe now colder than ever. She closed the door behind her, pressing her back to it, her fingers trembling. The silence pressed in from every direction. And in that silence, she could still hear him.
You don’t get to act like you’re the victim here.
Her knees gave out, and she slid down to the floor, her arms tightening around herself. The world blurred again. All she could see was his face—the fury, the pain, the disappointment. The moment she realized she’d lost him.
For a long time, she stayed like that, listening to the rain tapping against the window, whispering the same truth over and over.
She had no one to blame but herself.
The next morning was coldly quiet.
Empty of the usual sweet voicemails he loved to hear right after waking up. Empty of the caws of the crow that perched by her window every dawn, checking if she was awake yet. Empty of the twins’ messages—those endless, ridiculous videos and memes they sent all night instead of sleeping or working. The silence was unbearable, a kind that gnawed through the walls and settled deep into his chest.
It felt like the morning after her family’s death—the same heavy quiet, the same raw realization of loss. Only this time, the grief wasn’t forced upon her by fate. This time, it was her doing. There was no one to blame, no cruel twist of destiny—only her choices, her hesitation, her fear.
And Sylus remained by that same window as he had the night before. His eyes were fixed on the city below—the city he had fought to keep under control, the one he had reshaped in the shadows so that she could live safely within it. He had done it all for her. Every calculated risk, every deal, every sacrifice—every single one was for her.
How had it all fallen apart overnight? How could something they had built with such care and trust crumble so easily? He wondered if their foundation had been too fragile from the start, if what they shared had only seemed unbreakable because they’d never truly tested it until now.
The thought hollowed him out.
He had always believed love could survive anything—distance, danger, even bloodshed. But this… this betrayal born of fear—it made him question everything.
He pressed a hand against the cold glass, his reflection staring back at him with tired, red-rimmed eyes. “Are we really done?” he whispered, though no one could hear him.
His mind replayed the way her voice cracked, the tears that had trembled in her eyes. The way she’d whispered that he already said something he couldn’t take back. He wanted to believe he could fix it, but he didn’t even know where to start.
Meanwhile, somewhere across the city, she sat on her bed with the phone in her hands, the screen still lit with old messages she couldn’t bring herself to delete. Her chest felt heavy, her body numb. Every sound outside felt distant, muffled—like the world had already decided to move on without her.
Her thoughts drifted to him—to that window she knew he always stood by when deep in thought. Maybe he was there now, watching the sunrise, just as she was watching it through her own window. The same light touching two broken people in different corners of the same city.
She whispered his name into the quiet. No reply came. Just the slow hum of a world indifferent to their pain.
And so the day began—not with love, or laughter, or the warmth of routine—but with silence. The kind that promised nothing would ever be quite the same again.
The door to the office creaked open slowly, letting in a thin line of morning light. Luke leaned against the frame, his weight uneven, his breath still shallow from the damage he hadn’t yet recovered from.
Sylus didn’t turn. He stood at the tall window again, the same way he had all night — unmoving, watching the city through tired eyes. The skyline was pale with dawn, the towers still wrapped in fog. His reflection in the glass looked like a stranger.
Luke’s voice broke the silence, low and uncertain.
“You haven’t slept, have you?”
Sylus didn’t answer.
Luke stepped forward, his limp soft but audible. The faint scrape of his crutch against the floor filled the room. “Kieran’s resting. The medics say he’ll be fine in a few days. We were lucky.”
Still nothing.
Luke sighed, shifting his weight. “I checked her place. She wasn’t there.” He hesitated before adding, “Did she come here?”
Sylus’s hand clenched against the window frame. “She was here.”
Luke blinked. “Yesterday?”
A small nod.
“And?”
“I told her to leave.”
The words hung heavy in the room, like smoke that wouldn’t clear.
Luke frowned. “You what?”
Sylus turned slightly then, just enough for Luke to see the exhaustion carved into his features. “I told her to leave, Luke.” His voice cracked halfway through, too rough to sound like his own.
Luke’s brows furrowed, disbelief turning to quiet hurt. “Why would you do that? After everything—”
“I don’t know,” Sylus cut him off, shaking his head. “I don’t know what happened. I wanted to ask her why she did it, why she didn’t save you, why she ran after that damned protocol when she could have—” His breath hitched. “When she could have chosen you.”
Luke’s jaw tightened, but his tone stayed calm. “She didn’t have a choice.”
“She always had a choice.”
“No,” Luke said softly. “Not this time.”
Sylus looked away again, eyes tracing the faint cracks in the glass. “You didn’t see the footage,” he whispered. “I keep seeing it. You both were calling for her. And she turned away. She ran. I can’t unsee it.”
Luke’s voice wavered. “You think she wanted that? You think it didn’t kill her too?”
“She could’ve called for help,” Sylus said, his voice sharper now, desperate. “She could’ve signaled me, she could’ve—anything.”
Luke exhaled slowly, walking closer. “And if she had, and the protocol got away? You'd still be angry she harmed herself and yet not obtained what she wanted.”
Sylus’s shoulders stiffened. “That’s not—”
“Isn’t it?” Luke interrupted, his tone suddenly colder. “You’re angry because you care. Because you don’t know how to handle what she did, or why she did it.”
He stepped closer, close enough to see the trembling in Sylus’s hand. “But this—” his voice softened again, “—this isn’t you. The bossman I know wouldn’t push her away for choosing to live through something he couldn’t control.”
Sylus turned sharply, eyes dark with something between guilt and pride. “Don’t talk like you understand.”
Luke didn’t flinch. “I do. I was there.” He gestured toward his leg, the bruises barely hidden beneath the fabric. “And even now, I’d tell you to go find her and apologize.”
Sylus’s eyes flickered, conflicted.
Luke lowered his voice. “She was out there fighting for us. We made it harder for her by showing up. It’s not her fault we got hurt.”
Sylus shook his head. “Don’t do that. Don’t excuse her.”
Luke stared at him, bewildered. “Excuse her? Sylus, she’s—she’s her. You used to—” He stopped himself, swallowing. “You used to make it seem like she was the only thing keeping this place human.”
Sylus didn’t answer.
Luke’s tone softened, but it carried weight. “Not everyone can make the same choices you do. You never asked Kieran or me to pick between our lives and Onychinus. You can’t expect her to either.”
A long silence followed, broken only by the quiet hum of the city below.
Sylus’s voice came low, almost to himself. “She made her choice.”
Luke looked at him for a long moment, something breaking behind his eyes. “So did you,” he said finally.
He turned toward the door, his limp heavier than when he’d come in. At the threshold, he paused and added quietly, “If you wait too long to fix this, she won’t believe you when you finally try.”
Then he left, leaving the door half open. The light from the hallway cut a sharp line across the floor, reaching the place where Sylus still stood, unmoving — a man surrounded by everything he built to protect someone he’d just driven away.
She lay on her back, staring at the ceiling. The sunlight slipping through the curtains felt pale and thin, like it had lost its warmth overnight. The clock ticked somewhere behind her, but she couldn’t remember if it was morning or closer to noon. Everything felt slow — like the world had gone on without her.
Her phone buzzed beside her pillow. For a second, she didn’t move. Then she turned her head and blinked at the screen.
Luke.
The message was a photo — a blurry selfie of him grinning, hair a mess, one hand giving a thumbs-up. Beside him, Kieran lay half-asleep, one arm slung over his face like he was trying to block out the light.
The caption read:
"Still alive. Barely. How are you holding up?"
Her throat tightened. For a moment she just stared at their faces — bruised, pale, but alive. Relief hurt more than it healed.
She angled her phone away, wiped her eyes quickly, and flipped the camera. Her reflection stared back: eyes swollen, cheeks blotchy. She smiled anyway — just her lips, nothing more — and raised two fingers in a lazy peace sign. She took the photo from below, cropping out everything above her nose, and sent it.
Then she typed:
"Just being lazy in bed."
The reply came fast.
"Too lazy to come visit your poor, wounded friends?"
A small laugh slipped out before it turned into something quieter, heavier. The guilt came flooding back, raw and bitter. Her thumbs hesitated over the keyboard.
"If you heal faster, I’ll take you both out for a meal," she wrote.
A pause. Three dots blinked on the screen, stopped, then blinked again.
"Deal," came the message. Then another.
"I’m sorry, you know. We made your mission harder. Should’ve stayed out of it."
Her heart clenched. She sat up slowly, back against the headboard, the blanket still tangled around her legs. For a while she just stared at the message, her vision blurring again.
Then she typed,
"Nothing’s more important than you two. I hope you know that."
It took longer for the next message to arrive.
"We do," Luke wrote. "Always have."
She smiled, but it felt like breaking glass. Her fingers hovered over the screen, wanting to say more — to ask if he’d seen Sylus, to ask what he’d said, to ask if she could fix any of this. But the words wouldn’t come.
So she put the phone down beside her, curled onto her side, and let the unread silence stretch on — one heartbeat at a time.
The mission had drained her to the bone. The metallic tang of dust still hung in the air, and her hands trembled slightly as she lowered her weapon. The system failure had pulled her out of bed that morning, out of the quiet ache she'd been trying to drown in sleep. She hadn’t expected to end the day like this — standing in the ruins of a half-collapsed structure, her breath shallow, her heart too tired to keep fighting.
A sudden crash echoed behind her. Instinct turned her around, weapon raised. The hulking body of a monster fell to the ground, its last growl dying in the dust. And behind it —
Sylus.
He stood there in the half-light, gun still smoking, his coat marked with ash and blood. For a moment, they only stared at each other. The air between them was thick with the ghosts of everything unsaid.
“You look tired,” he said at last, his voice low, rough, and quieter than she remembered.
“You sound surprised.” Her voice came softer, but steady enough. The faintest curve of irony touched her lips — not a smile, just habit.
He holstered his weapon, his eyes never leaving her. Then, slowly, he walked toward her. Every step felt heavier than the last. When he reached her, he didn’t speak again. He just reached for her hand, the motion hesitant, as if expecting her to pull away.
She didn’t. Not yet. Her gaze flicked between his eyes and his fingers, the familiar warmth of his glove brushing against her skin. Her heart caught in her throat when he finally took her hand in his — firm, grounding, like he’d been waiting too long to do it.
“I want to talk,” he said. “If you’ll let me.”
She said nothing. Just watched him — watched the exhaustion beneath his eyes, the quiet plea behind his calm tone. There was no anger left between them, not now, only a weariness that neither of them could hide.
He didn’t let go of her hand as he led her out of the ruined sector. The streets were mostly empty, the wind carrying the smell of rain. They walked in silence, neither of them daring to speak first, afraid that any word might reopen what had barely begun to heal.
He stopped before a small, quiet house — one of his, she guessed. The lights inside were dim, untouched. He pushed the door open for her.
“Come in,” he said, voice gentler this time. “We’ll talk here.”
She stepped past him, the warmth of the place a stark contrast to the cold air outside. He closed the door softly behind them, the sound final, like the drawing of a breath before everything else could begin again.
For a long moment, neither of them spoke. They just stood there — two people who had once been everything to each other, now standing on the fragile edge between forgiveness and distance.
Their shrieking echoed down the grand halls of Sylus’ home like a chorus of chaos.
Meanwhile, in the calm of his spacious office, Sylus was flipping through documents with practiced indifference—until the doors burst open with a bang.
There stood MC, looking positively furious as she dragged Luke and Kieran in by their ears like misbehaving toddlers. With a huff, she shoved them inside. As soon as she let go, they clutched their ears dramatically like wounded puppies.
“Boss-man!” Luke fake-wept, sprinting toward Sylus. Kieran was right behind him, mirroring the act. They latched onto his arms as if trying to shield themselves with his body.
Sylus blinked, clearly unbothered but utterly lost.
“And what exactly is going on this lovely day?” he asked sarcastically, letting them dangle off him like living accessories.
MC crossed her arms and glared daggers at the twins, who instantly flinched and retreated further behind Sylus' arms.
“Why don’t you ask these mischievous children?”
“We’re not children!” Kieran declared bravely.
“Funny for someone hiding behind Sy,” MC shot back.
And just like that, the banter exploded—snappy comebacks flying back and forth like tennis balls while Sylus sat calmly between them, a helpless spectator to the chaos.
Eventually, he sighed, cleared his throat, and stood up.
“Are any of you going to explain what this is about, or will I just be stuck refereeing this three-way squabble?” he asked dryly. “I do have better things to do, entertaining as this is.” He took a step toward the door.
“NOOOOOOO!” Luke and Kieran wailed in unison, practically clinging for dear life—Luke hugging Sylus from the front, Kieran from the back.
Had this not been a real issue, MC might’ve doubled over laughing at the sight.
Sylus, clearly over it, rolled his eyes and turned to MC, giving her a look that said, please, for the love of everything, explain.
MC took a breath. “It’s really nothing much,” she said, tone heavy with sarcasm. “These two simply decided that it would be hilarious to do some origami today.”
Sylus squinted. “...Okay? So?”
“Exactly! So?” Luke echoed from his spot against Sylus' chest.
MC’s eyes narrowed. “Oh, don’t test me. I might’ve even helped you with your little paper cranes—had you not used my entire damn report!”
The twins flinched in unison. So did Sylus, ever so slightly.
“Your report?” he asked.
“Mhhm”
“The one you stayed up all night working on?”
“Yes, Sylus. You are correct. The report I stayed up all night working on,” she replied with a tight, painfully polite smile.
Sylus exhaled slowly and began to pry the twins off of him. Now that he grasped the full scope, he couldn’t just let it slide.
What the twins didn’t know was that Sylus had nearly cried trying to get MC to take a break from that damn report the night before. The leader of Onychinus—begging? Practically. But MC clung to her keyboard like it was a lifeline. She wouldn’t let it go.
And now… now the report was a fleet of origami birds.
In no time, Luke and Kieran were lined up before Sylus and MC like scolded children. Sylus rested a calming hand on MC’s back and fixed the boys with a stern look.
“Of all the papers in this house,” he said, “why hers? Look at me.”
They lifted their heads, hesitant.
“Nothing to say?”
Luke glanced at Kieran before muttering, “It’s just…”
“…Her paper was the best one for origami,” Kieran finished quietly.
There was a long pause. Sylus and MC looked at each other, both trying very hard not to laugh.
MC wasn’t truly angry—just tired and mildly unhinged from staying up all night printing those reports only for them to be turned into swans or stars or whatever. But their reasoning?
She could barely keep a straight face.
Then Luke mumbled something under his breath.
“Hm? Didn’t catch that,” Sylus said.
Luke sighed, defeated. “The other paper was too flimsy.”
MC stared at them. Her frustration was practically gone by now.
“How am I supposed to stay mad at you two?” she asked, exhaling with a soft smile. “I’m still a little upset, sure—because I really worked hard on those reports. But thanks to your dad here, I’ve learned to embrace the whole ‘what’s done is done’ mindset.”
She softened. “Just… be careful next time, okay?”
The twins nodded and muttered apologies.
Once the dust settled and Sylus gave them a few parting warnings, the boys retreated to wherever they went to pretend they were sorry.
Later that evening, Sylus walked into his room to find MC lounging calmly—completely opposite of her earlier rage.
“You had backups, didn’t you?” he asked, already knowing the answer.
MC smirked. “Obviously. I basically live with you three. I’d be a fool not to.”
Sylus chuckled. “You’re terrifying.”
MC raised a brow. “Is that a complaint?”
He looked at her for a moment, then smirked. “Not even a little.”
That night, MC returned to Sylus’ office and found a neat folder on his desk. On top of it sat a lone paper crane and a folded note with her name on it.
Inside the folder was a freshly printed version of her report, along with a clumsily handwritten message:
"We’re sorry. Please don’t set us on fire. Love, Luke and Kieran <3"
In the corner of the last page, someone had scribbled:
"P.S. We made you a new swan. It doesn’t bite."
MC rolled her eyes and took the new crane, looking at it fondly. “…Idiots,” she muttered with a smile.
