#lnds reader

[atomics-creations]

sylus x reader, domestic fluff, sweets, not proofread. wc. 465

a/n: was eating tons of sweets earlier because i was kind of sad, and that inspired this ficlet lol (and the new sylus solo too ofc!)

dividers by @pixopix

If Sylus is used to anything, it’s the sight of the unworthy falling to their knees.

While the job as the leader of Onychinus is riddled with spontaneity, it has become rather repetitive. The wails of those who seek his death as death seeks them instead, the attempts at pity to find more time to use for other potential betrays… Sylus would quite like to be used to anything else besides that. 

So, when he arrives home with exhaustion written all over his face, he finds the twins eating snacks he’s sure he nor the chef purchased. “What’s with all the candy, Luke and Kieran?”

Luke is the first to explain. His face, still boyish despite his responsibilities, is a smug grin with candy all over his lips. “Boss-woman gave it to us!”

“We helped her with some of her groceries and she gave us free candy!” Kieran follows. His smile is less smug and more… grateful? Sylus doesn’t quite know how to describe such a warm expression, for all he’s seen these past few days are desperate tears and cold emotions that inevitably come with a fate as dark as what Sylus has given them.

“Ah,” he says with a nod. “And where is my Boss-woman?”

“Right here!” 

The twins continue eating their candy when Sylus turns around. You’re in your pajamas with an ice cream cone in hand, gleefully putting your hands up in the air like happiness has consumed you whole. Sylus doesn’t get a chance to breathe before you trap him in a tight hug and place kisses all over his face. He’s not used to this, the love that overflows from you or the sight of the twins simply enjoying their food like their lives are anywhere near normal.

“I see you’ve made a home in Onychinus’s base,” he comments when candy, chocolates, and snacks alike appear in his periphery. “I’m honored, my love.”

“They helped me with grocery shopping,” you tell him. “They didn’t misbehave one bit!”

Sylus raises a brow. 

“That’s because I gave them a grocery list and focused more on sticking to it.” You sigh, and Sylus can tell what emotion is on your face: contentedness. “Goodness, I’d tell them I needed bread and they’d hand cupcakes as though they’re worthy substitutes.”

He can’t help but let out a grin of his own at that. “Sounds like a headache.”

“A lovely one.”

You hand him your ice cream cone to share, and he takes a small lick of the dessert. Shy, as though he’s trying to be accustomed to a life with sweets and not anguish. But even the leader of Onychinus can fall into the temptation that sweets bring, and so he allows himself to consume more of it.

He could get used to this.

any form of interaction is appreciated. take care :)

taglist: @aiycnlyme @potania @someonestopsoren @typicalme23

[gloxym]

trying something | lads non-mc | angst?

Three times.

Three instances where Caleb Xia felt afraid of the person you were.

In truth, he couldn't quite measure the fear the way a normal person could. He'd seen it all. He's faced off Wanderers that could shred you to pieces without much effort. He's survived several assassination attempts, only one taking his arm in the process. He'd drifted into the inky black darkness of space and came back out the same.

But watching someone like you fight with an Evol that volatile and destructive like it didn't cost you a single thing was exhilarating. The way you moved was wild and unpredictable. Too wild. Too unpredictable.

You fought like you had nothing to lose.

And wasn't that terrifying, when he knew that you had so much to lose. You had a family. You had friends. You had dreams and aspirations with a full life ahead of you. And yet, you were choosing to fight like you never had them to begin with.

What made you so twisted that you so willingly chose to throw your life away?

The second instance was understanding that you were not at all what you seemed. He thought he knew you. Cool. Relaxed. Kind. You got along with almost everyone you met. Your emotional maturity was almost envious. Nothing quite got under your skin as you brushed off insults and complaints with a roll of your eyes and a shrug of your shoulders. "Some people are always going to hate you no matter what you do. So, you might as well just learn to live with it and enjoy your own life." You said once over a dinner date.

Caleb thought he knew you. He truly thought he knew the levels of your anger. He knew when you got annoyed. He knew when you were frustrated. He knew when you just wanted to vent and rant about someone at work. He knew what triggered you. He knew what actually pissed you off.

But to see the true scope of your anger wasn't a violent outburst of power. It wasn't an explosion that led to a fist fight. It wasn't bloody knuckles or busted lips or broken bones. It was so much colder, with malicious intent as you attacked not with your hands but with your words. You didn't speak to intimidate. You weren't trying to win an argument.

You wanted the person that dared to fully piss you off to break.

Vulnerabilities. Secrets. Insecurities. It didn't matter. You hit below the belt. You stabbed them in the back. You threw their mistakes back in their face. Caleb realized you paid far more attention to people than you let on. You knew what would hurt them the most and sat with the knowledge like it was ammunition you weren't ready to use yet.

How terrifying that the person that people looked towards as a friend and confided in was the one person they never should have trusted? That you were willing to set the bridge on fire while they were still crossing just to watch them fall.

Caleb couldn't pretend he wouldn't have done the same thing. He couldn't sit there and judge you when he was just as messed up as you were. The true terror that lied within him was knowing you could easily turn on him and you knew, very down in the depths of your heart, what could absolutely destroy him.

The final instance was when she came back into his life. When the life he lived with you, sharing a part of his home and even a tiny speck of his heart with you, would end.

Caleb knew the day would come that he'd put an end to the relationship he built with you. He just didn't expect it to happen so fast. He never told you, but you never needed him to.

He prepared himself emotionally, mentally and physically. He wanted to give you one final day filled to the brim with excitement and happiness before he delivered the news, because he was so sure that you were going to hate him.

Nothing he did prepared him for your reaction.

He sat you down and told you he was ending things. He revealed the truth to you about the woman he truly loved and how much it meant to him to be with her. He told you that he never loved you.

But you didn't react the way he imagined you did. You didn't scream or yell at him. You didn't tear him apart with your words. You didn't do anything. You just checked your phone, laughing to yourself about something before pocketing it and smiling that you should pack your stuff then.

He thought that you were simply in denial. He thought that you hadn't fully processed his words. He genuinely believed that you were just doing this to fuck with him at this point. He thought... He thought he knew anything about you.

But as you smiled at him, joked with him and teased him that the least he could do was help you gather your stuff from his place, he realized the true terror of someone who could play the part of someone so perfectly human. There was nothing in your eyes.

Your smile reached your eyes. Your voice carried the same casual tone. You responded the way you usually did. You moved like you always did as you packed your stuff. But Caleb couldn't shake off the creeping dread of being in the presence of something so eerily inhuman.

Just how often did you pretend? How long did you keep up the act? How could you so appear so seamless as you went about his home, mulling over what constitutes as yours if you both bought it together. You murmured to yourself as you weighed the pros and cons of taking something with you that you really liked but wouldn't use that often now that you didn't have use for it.

"Aren't you angry?" He whispered behind you as you packed the few articles of clothing you brought in a box, more concerned with the arrangement than the elephant in the room.

"No, not really. Don't you remember what I told you when we started dating?" You looked over your shoulder, smiling at him like you always did. Like he was the only one that deserved to see a smile so full of tenderness and love. That he was the one person that knew the real you. "None of my relationships last. You're just another one that was never meant to be."

How much of it was real? No, he knew it was real. He knew the way you took his face in your hands to pepper kisses all over it that it meant something. He knew that when you looked at him, you saw someone that you wanted to spend the rest of your life with. He knew that you meant every whispered confession of love into his skin. He knew that you meant every compliment.

Damn it, he knew that you loved him when you held him through his worst moments. Every single time his hands were stained with blood, you took them in yours without fear or disgust and told him that they brought you so much comfort. Every shared laugh meant something. Every look meant something. Every kiss meant something.

The terror wasn't that he felt he was tricked. He wasn't.

It was the fact that the moment he betrayed you, you severed your ties. You didn't even flinch as you took all those moments you shared with him and lit them up without a second thought. In your mind, in your heart, they no longer meant a single damn thing.

He wasn't a friend. He wasn't a stranger. He was something you were tolerating and playing nice with until you were done with him.

And that hurt far deeper than he could ever imagine.

[marscantread7]

I just KNOW that Caleb whines when he slips it in. All desperate pleas and cries, whining abt how tight u r. "Baby, please, please, please stop squeezing. Ffffuuucckk please-" and he immediately cums bc it's so overwhelming and so good, but he fucks u through the overstimulation, cumming over and over again until he's crying from the overpowering need consuming every inch of his skin. I love whiny, pathetic men...

[fortunekookie07]

Alright, I am redeeming myself with this one! All the sappy mushy stuff coming your way!

Confessions in the Rain

Zayne had to admit to himself that he was tired. He couldn't even remember how you had gotten to this point in the first place. It was like the universe had set you to forever misinterpret him. Yet there you stood, face red in anger and eyes watery from un-shed tears.

"Why don't you just admit you hate me already, Zayne? I don't understand how you could even say that to me. I'm doing the best I can." Ahh, there it was. A single tear had escaped your control and was rolling down your cheek.

He opened his mouth to say something, but you cut him off. "Don't bother, I know when I'm not wanted. You've made that painfully clear. I'll look for another doctor!" You're almost shouting by the end of your words as you spin around and run from his office.

You run right past the nurse's station, ignoring them all staring at you. They'd never seen you anything but cheerful in the years you'd been coming. One of them even stood up hand reached out, but you're already gone.

The receptionist tries to stop you as well, but you don't hear her warning that it is pouring outside. You don't care. You have stopped paying attention to your surroundings. Eyes too blurry to see clearly anymore. Whether from rain or crying, you don't know.

As you're about to step into the parking lot, you miss the edge of the sidewalk and go sprawling to the ground. Scraping your palms in the process. You land with a grunt. Your palms are bleeding now, but still, you don't care. You sit up on your knees, crying harder.

You're still sitting there crying when splashing footsteps come in your direction, and your name is called. "Come on, get up off the ground. It's pouring out here. You could catch a cold or pneumonia." Zayne has come after you, of course he did. He had a reputation to maintain after all. "No!" You yell back at him, swatting his hands when he tries to help you stand.

"If I'm sooo much trouble, then don't bother anymore. I'm not your responsibility. Just go away!" You swat his hands again. "You silly girl," Zayne says. softly grasping your arms and forcing you to stand. He holds you to him. Not minding your squirming and attempts to push him away. His voice rumbles in your ear as he speaks again. "Why do you always misunderstand me? You've been like that since we were kids." You freeze at his words, tears still sliding down your cheeks and washed away by the rain.

"Wh-what?" Your voice is shaky from crying. "I have never cared that you cause me trouble, trouble me more. Turn my entire life upside down. I don't care, as long as it's you. Let me take care of you, I've always wanted to." He pauses for a breath. Zayne has never said so many heartfelt words to you before.

"I just wish that you would not take what I say the wrong way. I decided to become a cardiac surgeon for you. I wanted to find a cure for your heart condition. You are the drive behind my every action. Don't you know that yet?" You look up into his hazel eyes, burning with the intensity of his emotions.

"I'm always worried about you, you're job is so dangerous, but you disregard my worry and dive headlong into danger every day. I know I can't stop you or hold you back. Just don't push me away again." He's pleading now. Zayne has never, ever done that for anyone. You try to squash the feeling in your heart again. You have always suppressed your feelings, certain he would never return them.

"Why, why would you go so far for me? Is it because we're childhood friends?" Zayne closes his eyes and drops his head a long sigh coming from him.

"You're so silly. Why are you so silly. Fine, I'll spell it out for you then." He takes a breath, "because I love you." He looks into your eyes with finality. There is no way you could possibly misunderstand that.

Tears well up to your eyes again. "Y-you do??" Zayne gently grabs both sides of your face. He rubs circles on your cheeks with his thumbs as he stares into your eyes. "I've always loved you ever since we were children." He says quietly. You grab his tie and stand on your toes, pulling him down to your level before you can kiss him.

Zayne is surprised, his eyes going wide before he returns the kiss. After a minute, you pull back and smile. "I love you too."

You're both completely drenched by the rain, and the receptionist was standing in the entrance with a scolding look and towels. When you finally start back towards the hospital, she's fussing about how wet you both are and the water you're tracking across the floor.

She wastes no time throwing towels over both you and Zayne and ushering you into bathrooms to have a warm shower and put on dry clothes. Despite all this, you can't get the silly grin off your face. Your heart is elated, and you feel like you're soaring high above the storm clouds. You hope that you never come back down from this feeling.

[atomics-creations]

sylus x reader, fluff, teasing, lots of love, not proofread. wc. 294

a/n: heavily inspired by @abyssyby's works! thank you for inspiring me <33

dividers by @pxrce-lain

When you look at Sylus with glossy eyes, he immediately knows that you’re up to no good.

“I just washed my face,” he says when your index finger is inches away from his cheek, “and I pride myself on having good skin.”

“Oh come on, I gave you that skincare regimen!”

Sylus smirks. “But I paid for it, so I win.”

Those glossy eyes turn away from him and land on the ground, and your arms that were once so eager to reach for him now cross on your chest. He feels his soul break at the sight, but he finds no right course of action to make up for his mistake.

So, he chooses to do what he does best.

“Beloved,” he coos, encircling his arms around your waist from behind and burying his face in the crook of your neck. Now he is one with you, and he can feel your frustration tenfold. He can also hear your pleasant laugh you try to hide with the blankets and see the side of your mouth slowly curving into a smile.

“Are you still mad at me?” he whispers huskily on the skin of your neck. There is distance in the movement and hesitation in his lips, waiting and waiting and waiting for an answer. For your forgiveness.

But to his surprise, all you have as an answer is a gentle poke of his cheek.

You got what you wanted, all because Sylus let his guard down.

“You sly kitten,” he says, impressed. “You know just how to get me, don’t you?”

You nod with a smile that can undo him for the rest of his lives. He allows you to sit on his lap where you can poke his face all you want.

any form of interaction is appreciated. take care! :)

taglist: @aiycnlyme @potania @someonestopsoren @typicalme23

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A Violet, Violet Lily

LaDS. Husband Rafayel x Wife Reader

Parenthood can be quite exhausting, leading you to direct your frustrations towards a person so dear to you. Fortunately, Rafayel understands you more than anyone else and knows just how to make you feel better.

1,245 words. domestic fluff, you have two children, unconditional love, hurt/comfort, f!reader, cross-posted on ao3

a/n: Now THIS one made me cry as I was writing it. To be reassured by such a doting lover is such a dream I wish I could have in real life. Oh Rafayel, why aren't you real? (P.S The title is a reference to Robert Burns's poem "A Red, Red Rose.")

dividers by @angeliicide | ao3 link here

Popcorn walls appear like stars when exhaustion is palpable.

The dishes are scrubbed with vigor as you take out your frustration on the poor plates. The cups, which say positive messages on them, lay upside down on the drying rack, courtesy of how you’re feeling inside. The soap keeps getting on your shirt. The water is obsessed with your face. Your exhaustion is the devil on your shoulder refusing to let go.

You have to blink to stop the tears from falling.

It’s just dishes, except it’s not. It’s the cultivation of late nights of having to soothe little cries, early mornings that arrive with no sleep to prepare you for them, and afternoons littered with endless chores. It’s so hard to see why you wake up at all.

But you feel arms wrap around your waist and a voice that has kept you afloat these past few days. Rafayel doesn’t say a word when he places his head on your hair, only humming a tune so familiar your nerves instantly calm down. You have to close your eyes to avoid having your irritation take over and ruin a tranquility so rare in this life of yours.

“Rafayel.” His name is said with so many emotions at once, for you cannot ever hide anything from him. “I’m busy.”

“You’re always busy,” he says, and you open your eyes when you realize there’s a hint of a whine in his voice. It’s amusing as it is irritating even though you know it isn’t his fault at all. It’s just life hitting you with its stick and asking you to bear the responsibilities it gives you, but it’s much easier to blame a person than a concept.

“If you weren’t always painting, then maybe I would actually have a chance to rest.”

It’s a jab that’s so sharp it stabs your heart as soon as it escapes your lips. You hear your husband’s breath as it catches, the sharpness of the blade stabbing him as well, and for a moment you’re too prideful to say sorry. Popcorn walls appear like stars, and insults appear like remedy to the exhaustion.

But to your surprise, Rafayel doesn’t let go of your waist. He doesn’t make a fire that burns you in order to retaliate. Instead, you feel his lips graze the skin of your neck and hear the soft breaths he takes, as if afraid he would burn you. 

“Is that what you want?” he asks huskily. “I’ll stop painting, then. I-I’ll help you out with the chores!”

You already do, you want to tell him. Your husband, ever since you both became parents, has dedicated more of his time towards maintaining this house with you. Seldom do you ever see him with a paintbrush in his hand anymore, and seldom do you ever see him complain about that. I’ve found my love in parenting, he once told you as he held you through tears of frustration, And I’m so grateful you gave me that gift.

“I’ll wash these dishes for you. I’ll cook and clean and run around with our baby-”

You already do, repeats in your head. 

“And I’ll make sure you don’t even have to lift a finger, my love!”

Rafayel says that with so much conviction, like a god backed by a devotee of unwavering faith or a father with so much love that even his heart can’t contain it. You turn your head slightly when his lips fall to your shoulder, relaxing like he wouldn’t want to be anywhere else besides your stained, soaked shirt.

You have to blink to keep the tears at bay, but they fall anyway. Not even emotions want to hide from such a lovely man. “Rafayel…”

He opens his eyes to see your tears, and immediately he falls into action. You find yourself spinning like a lover in a dance before you collapse, where he catches you and the tears that fall. Now his shirt is soaked from your tears and wrinkled with how hard you’re gripping it, but like usual, you don’t hear a word of complaint. Only a hum of that familiar song escapes his lips alongside sweet nothings laced in reverence.

“I know you’re tired,” he says, and oh, how much you long for him to understand the severity of the fact. “I’m here. I’ll be your shoulder to cry on.”

“B-but…” you sniffle. It’s gross and imperfect, yet your husband doesn’t mind. “But I’m mean. I-I said you should stop painting, and that you should step up and I… I don’t mean that.”

His hand now caresses your hair, painting you in his hold. “I know you don’t,” he whispers, and it sounds like music coming out of him. “I understand. It’s okay.”

“But I’m… I’m mean and ungrateful and-”

“Why are you talking about my wife like that?” he asks. You look up from where you were nuzzling to see the anger that matches the tone of his question. His bluish-pink eyes, reminiscent of the sunset, cloud with darkness even when his caresses on your cheeks are anything but. “You’re not any of those things, my love, and even if you were, I would understand.”

You shake your head. “You shouldn’t have to.”

“I want to,” he says. The conviction is as stormy as his eyes, prominent and all for you. “I would give the world to you. You should know that by now.”

Do I deserve the world?

“You deserve the world,” he says before you can even ask. Rafayel has a flair for not only reading your emotions, but also reading the thoughts you refuse to say aloud. You hold onto him with all of the apology you can muster. Maybe later, after a true good night’s rest, you can say the word “sorry” with ease. The anger will be at bay someday — maybe not tonight, but a day resulting from the monotony of the present — and the love that you once so freely gave will easily pour out of your heart and onto Rafayel’s.

“I love you,” you hear him whisper in your hair. “I appreciate all the work you always do, and I’m sorry I haven’t made it easier.”

“You have!” The protest is loud yet muffled by his chest and your tears. “Don’t say that!”

He merely smiles and continues humming while rocking you gently. The kitchen no longer feels like a prison; it is now a witness to the tranquility created by mutual understanding. 

And soon, it welcomes a new guest in its heavens. “Mama, Papa, are you dancing?”

You have been long asleep in Rafayel’s arms, and he’s in the middle of lifting you up bridal-style when your son runs over to you both. Shirt stained from painting with his sister, hair disheveled in different directions like a genius in the works. His eyes are just like yours, Rafayel thinks, and it takes him a few moments to answer.

“You could call this dancing, but Mama’s asleep, so I guess it’s more like swaying.”

“Swaying?” he asks, curiosity in his eyes.

“Mhm. Like the wind.”

“Ah.” 

By now, your sleeping form is in Rafayel’s arms, and he smiles at the sight. You’re resting after years of not doing so, and it makes his heart flutter.

“I’ll take Mama to bed, okay? I’ll join you soon.”

And the child, who sees the stars in his parents’ love, runs off to the studio and waits there with his sister.

a/n: Oh, to have someone who understands the words and intentions you can't say aloud 🥹

Thank you for reading! Any form of interaction is appreciated. Take care! :)

Taglist: @aiycnlyme @potania @someonestopsoren @typicalme23

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caleb x reader, yandere themes, reverse isekai, not proofread, wc. 529

a/n: wanted to try something new. if you'd like me to write a full-length fic with this concept, let me know :)

dividers by @pixopix

The Caleb on your wallpaper is gone.

When you opened your phone on this fine evening after taking a nap, you expected to see the familiar smile of your favorite Love and Deepspace man. That dark brown hair, smoothed to the side so you could see the forehead everyone’s been raving about. That smirk in one of the poses in Glint, the one that gets you going. And of course, the colonel outfit.

But all you can see — even after blinking a few times — is a black sparkly background as your lock screen.

Strange. Perhaps you had changed it before you slept? You’ve always been forgetful, aren’t you?

You sit up to stretch and wake up from the illicit nap, the night sky meeting you halfway through your grunts. The nap has made your hair a mess, but you don’t care much about it as you walk to your kitchen to grab a midnight snack.

But you see a fully cooked meal on your table, vastly different from the instant noodles you’ve been making on nights like these.

“What?” you exclaim aloud, confusion turning into horror.

You know for sure you didn’t make that, and you know for sure that nobody is in this house besides you. What angel could have broken into your apartment to cook you food?

Deciding not to touch the food (although the scent of warm, new soup is enticing), you turn to look at your phone again. Your lock screen remains as the sparkly black background, even as you restart your phone. Twice.

“What the fuck?”

You turn around — not to do anything specific, but just to shake off the emotion stirring in your waking head — only to notice a note laying on your kitchen counter alongside a hat. A hat so familiar it makes you step back.

It’s Colonel Caleb’s hat.

When you refuse to move an inch closer towards the note, it flies to you instead. It’s gentle when it lands in your shaking hands, but the words are anything but. I’m home. I’m finally home to you.

The words are comforting, but the realization is not. Your home has been compromised.

“Surprise,” a voice murmurs. Nobody should be here talking to you.

But when you look up, the smirk that has made itself familiar to your daily routine now sends shivers down your spine. His hair is parted like in your wallpaper, and his colonel uniform is clean. Unnaturally clean, like its fabric came from another world.

“Caleb?”

Is it horror that runs through your veins, or pleasant surprise?

“I wanted to see you,” he says. Those eyes of his are dark, purple long gone and replaced with obsession. “I wanted to be here with you so nobody else could have you.”

His gloved hands are on your chest, feeling the rapid heartbeat lingering underneath. Disbelief stirs in there, alongside a realization so terrifying it manifests itself into your parted lips and voiceless words. But he only sees the fact that he is with you. His beloved, his object of utmost infatuation.

He would do everything for you, but as his caresses feel more binding than freeing, would you let him?

a/n: "Obsession's Embrace," which is the full-length fic, is out!

any form of interaction is appreciated. take care :)

taglist: @aiycnlyme @potania @someonestopsoren

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Enamored

LaDS. Husband Sylus x Wife Reader

Summary: Sylus finds that the remedy for a bad day is your company.

Word Count: 769

Tags: fluff, tooth-rotting fluff, domestic bliss, love, sylus is at a loss for words just by seeing you, and i think that is so cute, f!reader, cross-posted on AO3

a/n: just a little valentine's day fic! happy valentine's day you guys <333

dividers by @uzmacchiato

Back to: Evasive Weaponry or Delectable Sweetness | AO3 link here | Continue on: Patience or Shivanika (My Beloved Wife) or Spirits Awaiting

The day was unmerciful to the fiend. There were too many men with nefarious intentions whose greed exceeded his consideration. Too much blood soaked his hands as a result.

When he entered his home in Onychinus, all he wanted was a hot bath. Perhaps even a meal or the notes of his favorite melody. Anything to remind the fiend that he was human underneath the skin he's had to put on.

His hand doesn't get to touch the light switch before immediately being cleansed of sin.

"Sylus!" you exclaim, running to him in your pajamas and disheveled hair and sleepy grin. "I missed you!"

He wraps his arms around your waist, a smile forming on his face for the first time today.

"I missed you too, beloved." It feels forbidden to cherish such an angel, to hold onto you with the blood on his hands, but he does so anyway.

"So, do you want some food? I cooked-”

He interrupts you with a kiss on your forehead. "I'm so happy I married you."

You laugh at that, gifting him with his favorite melody. He trails behind as you take him to his sanctuary — your kitchen.

He cannot take his eyes off of you.

The heart in his body is a blessing and a curse. It beats and beats and beats, a constant amidst life's uncertainties, and it does so for you.

Which means that he lives for you only.

That's the blessing. The curse is that you could do anything and it would beat and beat and beat at an inhumane pace.

"My love!"

You're on your tiptoes, reaching for a plate that only a bird can reach. Unfortunately for you, Mephisto is asleep, and the only bird available is a crow lost in the sight of your shirt riding up your body.

Sylus says nothing as he chews on the meal you prepared for him. He doesn’t quite trust his tongue at the moment.

"My love!" you call him again. "Can you help me, please?"

Finally, because he is more obedient than he is hungry, he stands up to effortlessly grab the plate for you.

“Thanks,” you say before walking away, leaving your husband to practically short-circuit. That’s all you have to say after captivating him? After making him smile for the first time during one of the worst days of his life?

“Beloved?” The affectionate term sounds like a song coming from you, even when it’s laced with your concern. “Aren’t you going to eat?”

He shakes his head of lovesick thoughts before joining you at the dining table. Even the sight of you eating contentedly makes him happy.

Be still, my beating heart.

“Sylus!” you snap your fingers in front of his face. “What is with you today?”

“Nothing!” he defends, putting his hands up like an innocent child, although the blood on his hands and the hunger running through him is anything but innocent.

“Really?” you cross your arms in suspicion.

“Really,” he retaliates by crossing his own arms.

“Hmph.” You continue eating your dinner, unaware of the restraint your husband is harboring. Please, he wants to plead in front of you. He doesn’t even know what he’d be pleading for — he just knows he wants whatever you give him.

“Beloved,” he calls for you, and he hates how the affectionate term already sounds like a plea.

You give him your attention. Oh, your eyes, so happy when hearing from him. “Yes?”

“I-” For a moment, words escape the fiend, the crow, the man enamored by you. But he catches himself quickly and says the first words that come to his mind. “I love you.”

How disgraceful, he thinks, for the three magical words that all fiends dream of hearing are inadequate when explaining his innermost thoughts.

Love is one of those thoughts, but his heart is screaming a louder tune.

Regardless, you smile.

Even in his immanent failure to express his true thoughts, you give him a smile. “I love you too, Sy. Now, what’s going on with you?”

Sylus lets himself be honest now that he understands that his angel will extend her wings to him no matter what. “You make me… ravenous.”

“Ravenous?” you eye your outfit — an old crop top and his red pajama pants. “This set doesn’t even match!”

Oh, your husband does not care one bit. Not when you are so sweet, so beautiful.

“Sometimes I think you’re crazy,” you admit with a shy smile.

Your husband bears all of the confidence now. “Crazy in love, yes.”

And you reward his cheekiness — and unknowingly, his patience — with a kiss.

a/n: Oh, Sylus 🥰 That's it, that's the thought lmaooo

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