Sylus' Rose

25; they/she; Sylus girlie Main blog: @theartofimaginaryfriends

[thecrowskitten]

SYLUS FIC MASTERLIST

Smut

Claim

Figure You Out

Insatiable

Loser Gets Punished

Eternally Yours

Fluff

A Moment of Stillness

Eternally Yours

Respite

Seeking Comfort

Stickers

Pregnancy Craving

Retirement

Echoes of the Underworld (Sylus/OC Oneshots)

Fic Masterlist

[heartofonychinus]

“let’s take a photo,” you’d said casually, like it wasn’t a big deal. like your heart wasn’t already racing at the idea of standing that close to him on purpose.

sylus, of course, had simply nodded. “if that’s what you want.”

now he’s standing beside you, too straight, too still, like he’s been positioned there for inspection. you glance over and immediately sigh.

“you look like you’re about to interrogate the camera."

“im standing,” he replies calmly.

“that’s not the issue.”

you step closer before you can overthink it, fingers catching the front of his coat as you gently tug him down. He follows without resistance, but now he’s too close... close enough that your breath catches.

you ignore your rapid heartbeat, lifting your phone. “just, look at the camera. and maybe… try smiling?”

“i am.”

“you’re not.”

“this is my neutral expression.”

“that’s worse.”

before the awkwardness can swallow you whole, you act on instinct, leaning in and pressing a quick kiss to his cheek just as the camera clicks. you pull back, already reaching to check the photo, then pause. sylus hasn’t moved.

his eyes are on you now, not the phone, not the camera, just you. something in his expression has shifted, composure slipping just enough to make your chest tighten.

“…what was that?” he asks quietly.

“a kiss?” you say, suddenly very aware of how close you still are.

“i’m aware.” his gaze flickers briefly to your lips, then back to your eyes. “…why?”

“it’s normal,” you mumble. “couples do that in photos.”

he goes quiet for a second, like he’s processing that. then his hand comes up, slow and deliberate, fingers brushing your jaw as he tilts your face toward him.

“stay still.”

your heart stutters. he leans in, close enough that you think, this is it... click. you blink.

“…did you just...”

he tilts the phone toward you. the photo shows you completely flustered, him closer than before, hand still on your face, except he’s not looking at the camera. he’s looking at you.

“…you didn’t even face the camera,” you mumble.

“…why would I,” he says softly, “when you’re right here?”

your face burns instantly.

“…take another one,” he adds.

you glance up. “…you want another?”

“yes.”

this time, when you lift the phone, he doesn’t need guidance. his arm comes around you naturally, pulling you closer like it belongs there.

and when the camera clicks, he’s still not looking at it. only you....

[thecrowskitten]

Retirement

Pairing: Sylus/Reader

Summary:

Sylus and y/n tell Luke and Kieran that Sylus is retiring.

Masterlist

Word count: 2,520

A/N: I haven't been able to stop thinking about this, and I love Sylus in a Way of the Househusband plot!

“What!?” Luke and Kieran chorus their shock, the two of them staring at us like the ground has just shifted beneath their feet. Even with the crow masks obscuring their expressions, the reaction is impossible to miss: Luke’s whole body leans forward in raw disbelief, while Kieran goes unnaturally still, as if he’s trying to process something that doesn’t quite fit into reality. The air in the room thickens, heavy with confusion and the faint, sharp edge of panic. It’s almost funny, in a distant sort of way. This is the reaction Sylus expected, the one he braced for, but living in it feels far more intense than anticipating it ever could have. I can feel his irritation beside me, not explosive, but simmering low and steady.

“I’m retiring,” Sylus repeats, slower this time, each word deliberate and weighted, as if he were talking to children. His patience is thinning, I can tell by the way his jaw tightens and the faint crease forming between his brows, but there’s something else there too: resolve, firm and immovable. 

“Kitten and I are getting married,” he continues, his tone flattening into something final, something that allows no room for argument. “While she continues to be a hunter, I’ve decided to become a househusband.” 

He doesn’t rush the last part, lets it settle into the silence like a stone dropped into still water. “I’m leaving Onychinus to you both.” 

The words land with a kind of quiet finality that feels heavier than any shout.

Silence follows, crowded with everything left unsaid, with the weight of years spent under Sylus’ command and the sudden, jarring shift of what comes next. Even the usual background noise of the headquarters seems distant, muted, as though the world itself is pausing to witness this moment. Mephisto, perched on the back of Sylus’ chair, lets out a soft trill, tilting his head as if he’s the only one in the room who isn’t struggling to reconcile past and future. I can feel my own heartbeat in the quiet, steady but strong, grounded by the warmth of Sylus’ hand in mine. This is real. This is happening.

“Don’t make me regret it,” Sylus adds, pressing his fingers to the bridge of his nose, exhaling slowly. The gesture is small, controlled, but it betrays just how close he is to snapping if they push too far. He isn’t asking for approval, and he certainly isn’t asking for permission; this is a declaration, not a discussion. Still, there’s a thread of warning woven through his words, a reminder of who he is and what he’s capable of, even as he chooses to step away from it. Retirement doesn’t mean he’s any less dangerous; it just means he’s redirecting that intensity elsewhere.

“But why, boss?” Luke finally bursts out, his voice cracking with a mix of disbelief and something almost like betrayal. His hands lift in a dramatic, helpless gesture, as though he’s trying to physically grasp the logic behind this and coming up empty. “You can’t just say something like that and expect us to accept it!” 

He continues, pacing a step forward before stopping himself. 

“Retiring? You? That’s not— this isn’t—” Luke falters, clearly unable to find words big enough to match what he’s feeling.

“We thought you’d do this forever,” Kieran adds, quieter but no less shaken, his voice carrying a steadier, more grounded disbelief. Where Luke is all sharp edges and outward reaction, Kieran’s response sinks deeper, settling into something thoughtful and heavy. “Onychinus… It’s you. It always has been.” 

There’s no accusation in his tone, just a simple statement of fact, one that makes the shift feel all the more profound.

“This was merely a means to an end,” Sylus states, shrugging lightly, though the gesture doesn’t quite soften the weight of his words. His gaze flicks briefly to me, and in that moment, the tension in him eases just enough to be noticeable.

“I came to Philos to reunite with y/n,” he continues, his voice lowering slightly, losing that sharp edge and gaining something quieter, more personal. “Now that I have, I’d rather live a peaceful life with her.” 

There’s no hesitation, no doubt… just a simple truth spoken with absolute certainty.

“Something we’ve never had,” I add, my voice softer but steady, threading through the charged atmosphere with a different kind of weight. My fingers tighten around his, grounding both of us in the present even as memories of the past flicker at the edges of my mind. It still feels surreal sometimes, the way everything came rushing back: the lives we lived, the promises we made, the ways we lost each other over and over again. 

“It took time, but I remembered,” I continue, glancing at him, warmth blooming in my chest at the quiet understanding in his eyes. “All of it. My Dragon, my Dearest Husband… every lifetime we fought just to stand like this again.” 

Saying it out loud doesn’t make it less overwhelming, but it makes it feel more real.

“We want a family,” I go on, letting the words settle slowly instead of rushing through them, because this part matters more than anything else. “A life that isn’t constantly at risk of being torn apart by the next mission, the next enemy, the next fight we can’t avoid.” 

My voice doesn’t waver, even though the truth of it presses heavily against my chest. “While I continue to work, Sylus has chosen to remain at home.” 

I can practically feel Luke short-circuiting at that, but I don’t look away from Sylus, don’t break the quiet, steady connection between us.

“Yes,” Sylus confirms when Luke inevitably stares at him like he’s grown a second head, his tone calm and unbothered in a way that somehow makes it even more unbelievable. “I’ll be handling domestic responsibilities.” 

He says it like he would any other strategic decision, as though managing a household and running a criminal organization are simply different kinds of operations.

Luke lets out a strangled noise, somewhere between a laugh and a cry. “Domestic… boss, you’re telling me you’re going to cook? Clean? Do groceries?” 

Each word sounds more absurd to him than the last, like he’s stacking impossibilities on top of each other and waiting for the whole thing to collapse.

“Do you think food materializes on its own?” Sylus replies, deadpan, raising a brow ever so slightly. There’s the faintest hint of dry amusement beneath his composure now, like he’s starting to find their reactions more ridiculous than frustrating.

I can’t help it. I laugh, the sound breaking through the tension like sunlight through heavy clouds. 

“He’s serious,” I say, shaking my head slightly, still smiling. “You should’ve seen him last week. He spent twenty minutes researching the best way to remove oil stains from fabric.” 

The memory alone is enough to warm me, to make this whole shift feel not just real, but right. Kieran exhales slowly, some of the initial shock finally giving way to understanding, even if it’s not complete. He straightens, shoulders settling as he steps into the weight being handed to him. 

“If this is what you want… then we’ll take over,” he says, his voice firm now, grounded in something steady and reliable. It’s not enthusiasm, not yet, but it’s acceptance, and that matters more.

Luke groans, dragging a hand down his mask in exaggerated despair, but he doesn’t argue this time. The fight drains out of him in a dramatic sigh, replaced by reluctant resignation. 

“This is insane,” he mutters, though there’s less resistance in it now, more disbelief than defiance.

“No,” Kieran says quietly, glancing at Sylus, then at me. “It’s just… a new chapter.” 

The words settle into the space between us, not as a challenge, but as something to be acknowledged.

Sylus hums softly in agreement, then leans back in his chair, pulling me a little closer without even seeming to think about it. The movement is instinctive, natural, like this, us, is the only constant he intends to keep. 

“Good,” he says simply. “Then we’re done here.” 

Just like that, he closes the chapter on the life he’s known for so long, treating it as if it’s nothing more than a door he’s chosen to walk away from.

Luke sputters as though his brain has simply refused to keep up with the pace of this conversation, his usual quick wit replaced by pure, unfiltered disbelief. 

“That’s it!?” he blurts, his voice pitching upward as he gestures wildly between the two of us, like there has to be more. Some hidden clause, some final explanation that will make this make sense. Sylus doesn’t even blink at him, doesn’t shift, doesn’t soften; he just sits there with that same composed, immovable presence that used to command entire rooms without effort. 

“Yes,” he replies, flat and final, and somehow that single word lands harder than anything else he’s said so far.

“You just drop life-changing news and then dismiss us!?” Luke presses, incredulous now, teetering between outrage and desperation, as if he argues hard enough, he can rewind the last ten minutes. 

Sylus doesn’t entertain it, doesn’t rise to the emotion or match the energy; he simply repeats, “Yes,” with the same calm certainty, as if there is no version of reality where this conversation goes any differently. The contrast is almost absurd; Luke all chaos and flailing disbelief, Sylus a wall that refuses to move, and for a moment, it feels like watching a storm crash uselessly against stone.

Kieran steps in before Luke can spiral further, placing a steadying hand on his shoulder, grounding him with quiet, practiced ease. 

“Come on,” he says, his voice lower, calmer, carrying a weight that Luke’s doesn’t yet have. “We have work to do.” 

There’s no argument in it, no resistance left. Just acceptance, settling in where shock used to be. Luke resists for half a second longer, his posture stiff with everything he hasn’t finished saying, but eventually he lets himself be turned toward the door, his protests fading into muttered disbelief. 

“Househusband…” he grumbles under his breath, like the word itself is offensive. “I still can’t believe it…”

The door clicks shut behind them with a soft, final sound that echoes more than it should, sealing the shift that just took place. For a moment, the office feels different. Quieter, but not empty, like something loud and constant has finally been turned off. The tension that had been coiled tightly in the air loosens, unwinding slowly now that there’s no one left to push against it. Even the light filtering in through the windows seems softer somehow, settling over us instead of cutting through the room. It’s the first real moment of stillness since the conversation began, and it feels earned.

Sylus exhales, long and slow, his head tipping back slightly against the chair as if he’s releasing something he’s been holding in for far longer than just this meeting. 

“Finally,” he mutters, the word carrying a quiet exhaustion that he didn’t let show before. It isn’t frustration, not really, not anymore, but the kind of relief that only comes after something inevitable has finally been said out loud. The weight of leadership, of expectation, of being the one everyone looks to… It’s slipping off his shoulders piece by piece, even if the habit of carrying it hasn’t quite faded yet.

I tilt my head up to look at him, unable to hide the small smile tugging at my lips. 

“You handled that well,” I say, though there’s a light teasing note in my voice, because I saw the way his patience thinned, the way he had to rein himself in. He huffs softly in response, not quite a laugh but close enough to feel like one. 

“They’re dramatic,” he replies, like that explains everything, like their reaction was the unreasonable part of this whole situation.

“You trained them,” I point out, raising a brow slightly, and that earns me a brief pause that says more than any immediate answer could. He glances at me, something flickering across his expression: amusement, maybe, or reluctant acknowledgment, and then exhales again, quieter this time. 

“…That explains a lot,” he concedes, and there’s just enough dry humour in his tone to make it feel like the tension has truly broken.

I laugh softly, the sound lighter now, and let myself lean into him, resting my head against his shoulder as the last remnants of adrenaline fade from my system. Up close, I can feel the steadiness in him, the grounded certainty that hasn’t wavered once through all of this. It settles something in me, too, something that still occasionally fears how fragile peace can be. 

“Are you really okay with this?” I ask after a moment, my voice quieter now, more honest. “All of it?”

 It’s not doubt in him, it’s just the need to hear it again, to anchor myself in the reality we’re choosing.

His answer comes immediately, without hesitation, without even a second of consideration. “Yes.” 

There’s no room for uncertainty in it, no hidden regret tucked beneath the surface; it’s as solid as everything else about him, as unwavering as the decisions he’s always made. His hand tightens around mine, not possessive, not restraining. It’s grounding, a quiet reassurance that this isn’t something he’ll second-guess later.

“Good,” I murmur, closing my eyes briefly as I let that certainty sink in, letting myself believe in it fully. Then, because I can’t resist, I add, “Because I fully intend to come home every day to a clean house and a cooked meal.” 

The shift in tone is deliberate, lightening the moment, pulling us out of the heaviness before it settles too deeply. Sylus huffs again, this time unmistakably amused, the sound low and warm.

“Your expectations are high,” he says, though there’s no real complaint in it, only a faint challenge, like he’s already considering how to meet them. I tilt my head slightly, looking up at him with a small, knowing smile. 

“You proposed,” I remind him. “This is part of the deal.” 

There’s history in those words, layers of promises and choices and lifetimes that led us here, all condensed into something deceptively simple.

He turns his head toward me then, his gaze sharpening just slightly, his voice dropping enough to send a quiet warmth through my chest. 

“Then I suppose,” he says, slow and deliberate, “I’ll make it worth it.” 

There’s something in the way he says it. Not a vow spoken loudly, but something quieter, more intimate, and somehow more binding because of it.

And in the quiet that follows, with the echoes of the past still lingering and the future stretching out uncertain but ours, it doesn’t feel like an ending at all. It feels like stepping into something we’ve been denied over and over again, something fragile but fiercely protected. An empire has just been left behind without a second glance, and yet this… this small, ordinary promise of shared days and quiet nights… feels far more powerful than anything we’ve ever walked away from.

[bumbleleeart]

A Sylus comic based on a scene from Lucifer 😈🥰

[thecrowskitten]

Pregnancy Craving

Pairing: Sylus/Reader

Summary:

Luke and Kieran break the rules to help MC satisfy a craving.

Masterlist

Word count: 1,068

Requested by: @bloomaton

A/N: Hello friends! Been a hot minute. I don't normally take requests (busy with uni, final term forever and all that), but this was TOO GOOD not to, and I finally got around to it. Based on this tiktok.

“Kitten,” Sylus addresses his wife in the same tone he uses when she’s testing his patience, and he’s at his breaking point.

“What did the boys do now?” she asks patiently, looking up from the book she’s reading. Luke and Kieran were practically raised by Sylus; the boys see him as their dad and Y/N as their mom by extension.

Sylus remains standing rather than joining her, a deliberate choice. The room is dim, lit only by the low amber glow of recessed lights and the distant shimmer of the city beyond reinforced glass. One hand rests against the counter, fingers splayed as if grounding himself, because the truth sits heavy in his chest, sharp enough that if he lets it out too quickly, it will cut them both. Since her pregnancy, his control has been tested in new and unfamiliar ways. Every risk feels magnified, every misstep catastrophic.

“They left the compound,” he says at last. “After lockdown.”

Her hand pauses mid-page from having turned back to her story. She doesn’t look up immediately, but her shoulders tense, instinctively protective as her free hand drifts to the gentle curve of her abdomen, a change so constant now that Sylus measures rooms, exits, and risks against it without conscious thought. “Left… how?” she asks carefully.

“Without clearance. Without an escort. Without informing me.” His voice remains steady, but his jaw tightens, a subtle tell she knows well. “They went into Linkon City.”

That finally draws her gaze to him, concern sharpening into something closer to alarm. “Sylus, it’s nearly midnight.”

“I’m aware.”

“And patrol rotations—”

“Are thinner than I like,” he finishes for her. “Which is why I shut the city-facing exits in the first place.”

She closes the book slowly and sets it aside, the unease settling deeper now. “Then why would they—?”

He reaches for the bag on the counter before she can finish the question, sliding it into view with deliberate care. The logo is unmistakable, the kind burned into memory by longing alone. The scent escapes immediately, rich and warm and achingly familiar, and her breath stutters before she can stop it.

“Oh,” she whispers.

“Yes,” Sylus replies, his tone a careful blend of restraint and resignation.

Her expression fractures, amusement flickering helplessly across her face before dread overtakes it. “That place is closed. You checked.”

“I checked twice,” he says. “I told you it was unavailable tonight.”

“I know,” she murmurs, fingers hovering over the bag like it might vanish if she acknowledges it. “I just—God, I’ve been craving it all day. I didn’t think—”

“You didn’t think anything of it,” Sylus interrupts gently, because this part matters. “You mentioned it in passing. You were tired. You were uncomfortable. You were hungry.”

And pregnant, he doesn’t say, because the word alone is enough to make his chest tighten.

Her hand rests on her stomach fully now, palm warm and protective, guilt bleeding into her voice. “They heard me.”

“They heard need,” he corrects. “And they translated it into action.”

The silence stretches, dense and suffocating. She opens the bag despite herself, the smell hitting harder now, immediate and visceral. Her mouth waters traitorously, craving roaring to life with a force that makes her swallow hard.

“They broke in,” she says softly.

“Yes.”

“They could’ve been hurt.”

“They could have died,” Sylus says, his voice finally betraying the strain he’s been suppressing. “And they would have done it gladly, because they believe you are worth that risk.”

Her eyes sting. Tears threaten to spill from the sudden influx of gratitude for their care and fear for their safety. “Sylus…”

“They didn’t just do it for you,” he continues, the words coming slower now, heavier. “They did it for who you’re carrying. For the little girl they’re now calling their sister. They see how carefully you move now. How often I watch the door.”

Her breath trembles as the realization settles fully. This wasn’t recklessness born of boredom. This was devotion sharpened into something dangerous.

“I never wanted them to feel responsible for her or for us,” she whispers.

“They already do,” Sylus replies quietly. “I raised them that way.”

She presses her lips together, blinking hard, emotions tangling painfully in her chest: love, fear, guilt, and the absurd, overwhelming urge to cry because the food smells perfect and her body wants it so badly it almost hurts.

“Where are they?” she asks.

“Three blocks away,” Sylus says. “In the car. Sitting very still. Hoping time will forgive them.”

She lets out a shaky breath that turns into a small, helpless laugh. “You didn’t bring them back.”

“No,” he says. “Because if I do this, it will be punishment. And what they need is understanding sharpened by consequence.”

She looks at Sylus with both humour and disbelief. “You want me to talk to them.”

“They will hear you,” Sylus says. “Especially now.”

His comm unit hums against the counter, vibrating once as if on cue. He slides it toward her without breaking eye contact.

She takes it, steadying herself, one hand on the device and the other instinctively resting over her belly, where the craving, and the reason for all of this, still churns insistently.

“Call Y/N,” Sylus says into the open channel, his voice low and final.

There is a long pause before Luke’s voice comes through, stripped of bravado and far too careful. “Hey, Boss Lady… are you okay?”

She closes her eyes, emotion cresting hard enough that she has to breathe through it before answering. When she speaks, her voice is calm, but threaded with something unmistakably dangerous. Not anger, but disappointment steeped in love.

“Get home,” she says. “Now. And when you walk through that door, you’re going to explain to me why you thought risking your lives was an acceptable response to a craving.”

A beat of silence follows, thick with dread.

“…Yes, ma’am,” Kieran answers quietly.

Sylus watches her as she hands the comm back, his expression unreadable but his gaze soft, reverent even. The world bends around her now, around the life she carries, the gravity she exerts without ever meaning to, and everyone in it, including him, orbits closer than they ever have before.

And somewhere in the city, two boys are driving very carefully home, food cooling in a bag between them, finally beginning to understand just how much weight love can carry.

[pzxce]

he wants to know how would u like your eggs (based on this tweet!)

[thecrowskitten]

PLZ MAKE IT INTO SOMETHING IM 💀 😂😂

https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZP8Us571u/

I will absolutely see what I can do 😂😂😂

[thecrowskitten]

Stickers

Pairing: Sylus/Reader

Summary:

Sylus' kids put stickers all over his face and demand he leave them on all day.

Masterlist

Word count: 864

A/N: It's been so long that I do NOT remember the inspo (could've been another Tumblr or Instagram post, could've been my nephews), but I've had this idea for a while and finally wrote it.

Rumours spread around the N109 Zone like wildfire, so when the fearless Onychinus leader showed up to a business meeting with stickers all over his face, there was talk of the unshakable commander going soft. What they didn’t realize was that Sylus Qin simply had more to protect.

It wasn’t until he stepped into the sleek briefing room, its polished metal walls reflecting the faint blue tint of holo-screens, that he realized the full extent of the damage. A pastel constellation of unicorn stickers trailed from his cheekbone to the angle of his jaw, one stubbornly clinging to the bridge of his nose like it intended to colonize him.

“I see the little ones have been… enthusiastic this morning,” a rival faction leader muttered, struggling to maintain composure.

Sylus didn’t look embarrassed. He rarely did. Instead, he peeled off his gloves with slow precision, not indicating that anything in the universe could rattle him. Only the faint twitch at the corner of his mouth betrayed the truth. “They were practicing their ambush techniques.”

Delivered in that signature flat tone, it left half the room unsure whether to laugh or stand at attention.

You had warned him earlier that morning that if he tried to leave before breakfast was over, the kids would consider it a “mission objective.” Their words, not yours. And Sylus, who had survived ambushes from various enemies and bio-engineered horrors, had underestimated the sheer tactical brilliance of two small humans armed with a sticker book.

Valentina and Thea had insisted, with the unwavering authority only toddlers possessed, that the stickers stay on his face for the entire day. This wasn’t unfamiliar territory for him. There had been one regrettable incident where he removed the stickers before returning home, which had resulted in such a catastrophic tantrum that even he, the infamous Onychinus commander, had learned his lesson. And Thea hadn’t even been born yet.

Sylus’s patience remained famously thin with most of the world, but for his kids, he would wait out a siege. He would sit for hours while they smeared your makeup across his face or painted every fingernail with the peel-off polish they’d begged him to buy. Stickers were hardly a challenge. If anything, they were a small price to pay for the sound of their infectious giggles.

For the way your smile softened every sharp edge in him.

Back in the meeting room, he tapped a report open, the interface blooming to life above his palm. A holographic projection of the N109 expansion routes flickered into view, and everyone instinctively straightened. Sticker-covered or not, he was still Sylus Qin. Leader. Strategist. The man who walked through chaos as though it bowed to him.

But when he spoke, his voice held a gentleness so subtle most would miss it– a tone that didn’t exist in the early days of Onychinus.

“I’ll handle the negotiation personally,” he said. “I want the transport lanes secure. My family uses those routes.”

Glances shifted around the table, some amused, some quietly moved. The legendary Sylus Qin, who once risked everything without hesitation, now calculated differently. Grappled differently. Lived differently.

And when the meeting adjourned, he didn’t head for the command deck. He headed home. His family lived on the top floor of the base, after all, and he wanted nothing more than to check on his wife and the newest life growing inside her.

Even the penthouse had changed dramatically since the day you first collided with his world, when he saved you from being kidnapped for the protocore in your heart. The space was still dark as night, the way he’d preferred it back then, but now colour lived everywhere. Touches of you softened each corner. And once the kids came along, the pristine order he once maintained dissolved beneath a rainbow tide of toys, plushies, and Bluey merchandise.

There wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do for the three, soon to be four, of you.

He stopped in the doorway, letting the moment wash over him. You were seated on the couch, reading aloud in a soft voice. The toddlers were already fast asleep, their small bodies curled against fluffy blankets, but you kept going, one hand resting on your pregnancy as you read to the child still nestled beneath your heart.

His shoulders loosened. The hard lines of duty melted away.

You didn’t look up until his arms slipped around your waist and his palms rested on your belly. The baby kicked right against his hand, prompting a quiet, breathy chuckle. “He’s an active one today.”

“Must be an avid reader like his mama,” you teased, turning your face toward him for a kiss.

A rare, low laugh rumbled from his chest, the kind he saved solely for you. He leaned in for another kiss, gentler but no less hungry, before settling beside you. You leaned into him, finishing the story for your son while Sylus watched his daughters on the opposite couch, each clutching their Grumpy Crow and Smiley Dino plushies like tiny guardians of their dreams.

Maybe the N109 Zone thought he’d gone soft.

But the truth was simpler: Sylus Qin had finally found something, someone, worth softening for.

[notmedicli]

sylus loves when you play husband & wife — mdni

there’s something about being called your husband that sends sylus completely, utterly feral. he already knows you’re perfect for each other—knows you’re a match made in hell heaven, knows you’re the only woman alive who could ever be his. but hearing it out loud? hearing complete strangers look at the two of you and sigh, “you’re a match made in heaven,” “you’re perfect for each other”?

it does something to him—something dangerous.

because validation like that makes him want to prove it—show you just how perfect the two of you really are. show you that your bodies were made to fit, to lock together, to claim and be claimed. that you were meant to be husband and wife, bound to each other for all eternity.

“my dearest wife,” he grunts, thick cock dragging against your warm, velvet walls as he pistons into you. “look at us, look at how we fit together.”

he has one hand wrapped around your throat, forcing your gaze toward the mirror as he fucks into you from behind. and god, the reflection staring back at you is obscene—your flushed face, his broad chest pressed to your back, the way your bodies move together like they were carved to fit. his other hand slides down, spreading over your stomach, pressing firmly so you can feel just how deep his cock is inside you. the pressure rips broken, garbled moans from your throat.

his calloused fingers trail lower, finding your overstimulated clit and rubbing it with slow, devastating precision. it takes every shred of strength not to scream—because you both know you can’t be caught in this room he dragged you into, not with the party still buzzing right outside the door.

“s-sy…lus!” you gasp as his cock continues to pummel in and out of you ruthlessly. “we’ll be cau—ah, fuck!”

“don’t you worry about that, my wife.” he murmurs, lips pressed to your ear as he stares at you through the reflection of the mirror. “tell me, beloved. did playing as my wife make you this wet? or was it something else?”

your eyes roll back, breaking contact with him, but he won’t allow it. his hand gently squeezes at your throat while his other palm digs into your abdomen. “look at me, sweetheart.” he says softly but there’s an edge of darkness that demands you to comply.

you use the last bit of your power to crack your eyes open and meet his—those dark, glowing crimson eyes staring you down like he’s devouring every inch of you.

“good girl,” he coos, voice soft enough to melt you, but the praise makes you clench around him so hard he groans. “now tell me—do you like being my wife?”

sylus tilts his hips and then drives into you so sharply you have to clamp onto his forearms just to keep from keeling over.

“oh—!” your mouth drops open in a broken moan as he pounds against your cervix again and again, each thrust knocking the breath from your lungs. “yes! i lo-love being your wife—‘m your wife, ‘m your wife!”

he groans throatily at the declaration, his entire body shudders, cock twitching inside of you. “i-if you’re my wife—hah, shit—then what am i to you, hmm?”

“m-my husband—you’re, fuck, you’re my husband!” you cry out, the words tumbling from your throat as your orgasm coils tight and vicious inside you. sylus’s fingers speed up, circling your clit with ruthless precision, and it’s all it takes for you to be thrown over the edge. your vision blurs, your body locks up around him as you fall headfirst into your climax.

and sylus… sylus isn’t far behind. the second he hears you call him “husband,” his whole body jolts like you’ve shocked him. his cock swells, pulses, and then he buries himself as deep as he physically can, spilling hot, heavy ropes of cum inside you. his moans are low and raw and broken as they vibrate against your skin, each ribbon of cum—each moan that comes out of his throat warms you all the way to your core.

he holds you close to him as the both of you ride out your orgasms. when your breathing finally slows, he leans in, presses his lips to your burning ear, and whispers something meant only for you.

“i’m going to make you my wife.”

kit says… i wrote this while in heat after watching sylus’s myth event story which is why it’s loosely based off that teehee. thank u j ( @thewrldx ) for reading this over <3

© all works belong to MEDICLI 2025. do not copy or repost.

[mwphisto]

Vampire!Sylus who loves to pierce your lips with his fangs when you kiss. Watching the crimson blood well up and dribble down your chin before he sucks your lower lip into his mouth and drinks.

Vampire!Sylus who can't get enough of drinking you nearly dry, watching you slowly lose consciousness before stopping all together. Mumbling sweet nothings in your ear as you cling to him weakly.

Vampire!Sylus who loves when you manhandle him, throwing him roughly against the bed he only keeps around for sex. Climbing on top of him before sinking your teeth into his neck.

Vampire!Sylus who covers you in bite marks from head to toe. Not quite piercing you skin most of the time, but leaving perfect indents of his teeth on your wrist, your forearm, your shoulder, neck...

Vampire!Sylus who loves when you yank his long hair as he fucks you into the mattress, your legs over his shoulders and both of your hands clenched around fistfuls of his slivery locks.

Vampire!Sylus whose wings flare to full mass when he cums.

[ka1t0-s]

"Yknow, I like that you never raise your voice." You murmur. Offhand.

You and Sylus weren't talking about anything before this. Just... sitting quietly in eachothers presence.

"...what do you mean exactly, sweetie?"

"Hm? Oh, nothing..." you trail off, shrugging. "I just... I dunno. I've never seen you get mad and yell at me, I suppose. I like it. I feel... safe, is all. Ah, wait, that sounds stupid saying it outloud--"

"Its fine, sweetie." Sylus murmurs. "I'm glad you feel safe with me. Considering we're in a relationship and all."

"But... Doesn't everyone get mad? I mean at some point you'll yell at me, right?"

"...what does yelling add to the argument, exactly?"

"Huh?"

"I mean, if it's to make you more upset, I could just make Mephisto take my side of the argument to tick you off," Sylus teases. "But I see no reason to restort to yelling with you, when we can talk it out just fine."

"..." you stare at him for a second. "I... but what if I don't listen to your point?"

"Then it's a dumb point. Sweetie, we can both be reasonable, you know that? Was there... someone you dealt with who wasn't?"

"...maybe." you shrug. "But... it's in the past now."

He nods. "...yes, it is. And if anyone. Anyone decides to yell at you again, they'll be apart of the past, too."

[theartofimaginaryfriends]

Seeking Help

Dear reader,

I’m a 25-year-old creative writing student set to graduate in Spring 2026, and I’m asking for help that’s deeply personal. I live with AuDHD, depression, anxiety, and chronic pain from plantar fasciitis and spinal degeneration. Some days, even walking or sitting comfortably is a challenge. Yet, my love for storytelling keeps me going. It’s the heartbeat that reminds me of who I am.

To get a full diagnosis and treatment plan for my spinal condition, I need financial support. With that care, I could move freely again, focus on my writing, and finally finish school without being held back by pain.

Your support doesn’t just help me heal, it gives me the chance to keep creating worlds that others can escape into. Once I’m well, I want to share with you stories, books, and visual novels that are full of heart, the kind that remind us why empathy matters.

Thank you, truly, for being here and for seeing me.

Pay Samara Stanleigh using PayPal.Me

Go to paypal.me/samararani and type in the amount. Since it’s PayPal, it's easy and secure. Don’t have a PayPal account? No worries.

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[theartofimaginaryfriends]

Seeking Help

Dear reader,

I’m a 25-year-old creative writing student set to graduate in Spring 2026, and I’m asking for help that’s deeply personal. I live with AuDHD, depression, anxiety, and chronic pain from plantar fasciitis and spinal degeneration. Some days, even walking or sitting comfortably is a challenge. Yet, my love for storytelling keeps me going. It’s the heartbeat that reminds me of who I am.

To get a full diagnosis and treatment plan for my spinal condition, I need financial support. With that care, I could move freely again, focus on my writing, and finally finish school without being held back by pain.

Your support doesn’t just help me heal, it gives me the chance to keep creating worlds that others can escape into. Once I’m well, I want to share with you stories, books, and visual novels that are full of heart, the kind that remind us why empathy matters.

Thank you, truly, for being here and for seeing me.

Buy Solar Lotus Collective a Coffee

Become a supporter of Solar Lotus Collective today!

[thecrowskitten]

Seeking Comfort

Pairing: Sylus/Reader

Summary:

After a long day, Sylus seeks comfort in MC

Masterlist

Word count: 425

A/N: Inspo came from an Instagram post that has been tragically taken down. If someone can find the post and creator, please let me know so I can add a credit for them!

***

The door creaked open with its usual tired groan, followed by the muted rhythm of boots meeting the floor, measured and deliberate, yet dragging beneath the weight of exhaustion. Sylus didn’t announce himself; he never needed to. The air always seemed to shift around him, carrying his presence ahead of him like a shadow before light, the room subtly realigning to make space for him before he even crossed the threshold.

On the couch, she was curled into herself, legs tucked beneath a blanket, half-drowsy in the quiet hum of evening. She barely had time to lift her head in greeting before he reached her, collapsing more than sitting beside her, the kind of weary surrender that asked for nothing and everything at once. His head found her lap as though it had always belonged there, heavy and grounding, his cheek pressing into the softness of her thigh. His eyes fluttered closed almost immediately, and the sharp edges of his face, so often carved with vigilance, softened into something achingly young.

Her hand rose instinctively, fingers threading through his hair. It was softer than she remembered, always softer than it looked, and she combed through the strands with slow, steady movements, untangling the quiet tension he carried like armour. A long breath escaped him, deep and measured, as though it were the first real one he’d taken all day. Then, beneath her fingertips, a sound slipped free of him: low, deep, rumbling, almost a purr.

The sound startled her at first, a small blink of surprise, before it tugged a quiet smile to her lips. Her strokes slowed just enough to tease, and she tilted her head, amusement threading through her voice. “Careful, Kitten…”

His brows twitched. Not quite a frown, not quite a plea. He didn’t open his eyes, but the sound in his chest stilled, replaced by a whisper that carried more weight than its softness. “...Don’t. Keep going.”

There was no command in it, no sharpness. Just the bare truth of need, stripped of every defence. It wasn’t that he couldn’t handle her teasing; it was that he couldn’t handle the world. Not right now. He just needed this.

Her hand resumed its rhythm immediately, gentler now, fingers tracing familiar lines through his hair, nails grazing lightly against his scalp. His breathing steadied, slow and even, and the low hum returned. Soft, unguarded, vibrating faintly against her leg. She said nothing more, and neither did he. The silence that followed wasn’t empty; it was full of the small, wordless comfort of belonging.

[aldryrththerainbowheart]

[yvilonion]

fahdurhood

[yvilonion]

zayne did u ever consider the father of yo child is a lizard

[hbmmaster]

the problem with buying food is after you eat it you have to go buy more food