Here I was IRL after celebrating my fucking birthday only to have my mother steal all my money from my wallet. At this moment in time I cannot help but feel a great sense of betrayal. My heart hurts knowing how she treats me. I don't know what else to do since I have no funds to for my books and other school expenses
I am sorry for ranting like this. I just feel hurt that she would do this to her own daughter..... I am sorry to ask any one of you guys. to my dear patrons I am sorry if your bartender who has not been shelling out drinks asks for tips ( Any amount is appreciated)
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Little Dino
[Sylus + Daughter ★ 2555 words ★ Masterlist ★ Series Index ★ AO3]
Sylus has a little dinosaur problem.
A/N: OK another crow dad and his baby birdie ficlet because they bring me joy 🥹 istg I am working on those wips I promised on my tumblr. But…birb dad and birb baby… 🥺
“Mr. Sylus, we have new intel about that night on the 4th.”
“Mmhmm,” Sylus absently answered the person on speakerphone as he leaned back against the desk in his study. His eyes keenly followed the quick movements of the little green dinosaur who walked in uninvited to his study carrying an armful of plushies and setting them on his couch in a neat order: Smiley Dino and Sunny Dino. He watched as she scurried out the room for a few minutes, her long tail swaying back and forth.
He suppressed a chuckle. It seemed his daughter was really enjoying the dinosaur onesie her mother had gotten for her recently. She had insisted on wearing only this outfit for the last week. Sylus turned his attention back to his phone call.
“Now, you were saying there was a mole at the auction?”
“Yes, sir, we believe it to be…”
Sylus discreetly eyed his study door when he saw it pushed further open and his little dinosaur-daughter walked in with another armful of plushies. She scampered over to the couch and set them neatly next to the ones already sitting. The little girl then tried to climb up the couch before she paused half-way, seemingly remembering something. She slid back down to the floor with a soft “oof” and turned around, running pass Sylus.
Before she passed him completely, Sylus subtly stepped on her tail, making the toddler paused, confused. She turned around, her mouth opening wide in shock at the sight of her tail caught under her father’s foot. The little girl grabbed her tail and started tugging helplessly, but her efforts were in vain as it remained trapped under this sudden obstacle. She looked up at her father, and Sylus pretended he was looking elsewhere, appearing as if he was entirely preoccupied with his call.
“Yes, yes, we can do a meetup later this week,” Sylus answered as he kept an eye on his daughter from his peripheral vision. He casually crossed his arms over his chest and hummed softly. “Now there is this protocore incident I have been meaning to have you look into…”
The little girl pouted from the lack of attention and continued trying to tug her tail free. She looked up helplessly, shocked that her father still didn’t notice her. She gave another quick feeble tug.
Sylus remained feigning obliviousness. He almost lost his composure when he caught sight of his daughter’s angry pout and the little glare directed at him. She really did look like her mother in this moment, Sylus couldn’t help but thought with delight.
“Mr. Sylus, we can arrange a meeting on—”
“Daddy! My tail!”
There was an awkward pause in the room after the sudden outburst.
“Um…Mr. Sylus…”
“Oh, dear,” Sylus said with mock-worry, “I seem to have a little dinosaur problem in my study right now…”
“Uhhh…I’ll call you back later, sir.”
The line immediately went dead. Sylus chuckled and redirected his entire attention to the angry little girl at his feet. He tsked softly.
“Now what do we have here?”
“Tail! My tail, Daddy!” The little girl continued fruitlessly tugging her tail to emphasize her point, but Sylus seemed to press his foot down even harder.
“I see that,” he said, feigning astonishment, “That is quite a problem, isn’t it, baby?”
The little toddler continued to glare at her father.
“My, my, that is such a ferocious look,” Sylus teased, smirking. Just like her mother…
An idea seemed to pop into the little girl’s head. She mustered up her scariest voice and then with her little hands held up to claw, she let out a loud, “Rawr!”
“Oh, dear, I am very frightened,” Sylus said, barely able to hide his amusement, “Whatever will I do…if only I have Miss Hunter here to protect me…but alas, she is currently prioritizing Linkon City over her husband…”
The girl sulked when she realized her scare tactic didn’t work. She stepped closer and started to push her whole weight against Sylus’ leg, grunting and whining as she tried to free her captured tail. Sylus started laughing when his daughter began to beat his leg with her little fists.
“Alright, alright, enough of the love taps. I’ll move my foot, baby,” he said, lifting his leg, but before the little girl could run off, Sylus used his Evol to lift her into the air. He manipulated his Evol to carry her closer to him until the toddler was floating face-to-face with her father. He smiled at her adorable angry glare.
“Do I get a kiss before Miss Dino runs off?”
“No!” she crossed her arms stubbornly.
Sylus laughed, shaking his head in amusement. “Is this little birdie angry at me now?”
“Daddy, I’m not a birdie today!” she said defiantly, “I’m a dinosaur! Rawr!”
He laughed again. “Pardon me,” he said, “Then Miss Dino, may I request a kiss before you run off?”
She continued to pout. Sylus took this opportunity to suddenly take her into his arms, tickling her and kissing her cheek without mercy until she was laughing and gasping for breath.
“Daddy! Daddy! Not fair!”
“Mmhmm,” Sylus agreed, planting another long kiss on his daughter’s cheek, “Daddy never plays fair.”
He shifted her in his arms and motioned to his cheek with his finger. “Now kiss.”
He smiled as his daughter reluctantly kissed him.
“Try again, Little Miss,” he said, tickling her again and chuckling alongside her helpless giggles.
This time his daughter smiled and kissed his cheek more sincerely.
“Good girl,” he said, pecking her cheek again before setting her back down to the floor. He gave her bottom a quick playful swat, sighing in feigned exasperation. “Now, what is this little dino doing to my study?”
“We’re keeping Daddy company!”
“‘We’?”
“Uh huh.” His daughter smiled cheekily and pointed at the couch with the array of colorful plushies sitting on it. “Me, Smiley Dino, Sunny Dino, Azure Dino, and Grape Dino!”
“What happened to Grumpy Crow and his friends?”
“Time-out!”
Sylus pretended to look startled by the firm exclamation. “And what crime did they commit to warrant such punishment?”
The little girl huffed angrily. “They were mean to Smiley Dino!”
Without missing a beat, Sylus gasped. “And how were they mean?”
“They said Smiley Dino couldn’t join their group,” the girl answered her father.
“Well, that is truly awful,” Sylus said sincerely, kneeling down to his daughter’s height. He patted her head. “And you put them in time-out, baby?”
She nodded her head furiously. “Smiley Dino was very sad, Daddy…”
“I’m sure he was,” Sylus answered back solemnly, “But you know, baby, perhaps your plushies need to learn to play along together?”
The girl looked down, her hands clasped behind her back as she shuffled her feet reluctantly. “But they don’t want to be friends, Daddy…”
Sylus smiled and gave his daughter’s cheek a playful pinch. She giggled and swatted at his hand until he let go. “Come on, my little dino, let’s go and have a chat with your plushies.”
He picked her up and as he carried her out of his study, Sylus also used his Evol to pick up the dino plushies. Swirls of energy wrapped around each waiting plushie, lifting them into the air to follow after the father-daughter duo. Sylus smiled when he heard his daughter giggling delightfully, catching sight of her waving happily over his shoulder at the line of dino plushies floating behind them.
When they arrived at the little toddler’s bedroom, Sylus was unprepared for the sight of a jail made of pillows incarcerating four crow plushies in the middle of the large bedroom. As he walked closer, he huffed in amusement at seeing the four crow plushies tossed haphazardly inside the jail.
“Well, this jail looks comfier than the one I was in…”
“Huh?” The little girl turned to face her father with a look of utter bewilderment.
Sylus shook his head, chuckling more to himself. “Never mind, baby.”
“Daddy, down, down!” the little girl cried out, wriggling in his arms.
Sylus chuckled again and lowered her down to the floor. “Alright, alright. Impatient little dino today, aren’t you?”
Sylus also motioned with his finger to bring the dino plushies over and they surrounded the pillow jail. He smiled as his daughter looked up, her eyes wide with delight at seeing her plushies floating in the air before they gently descended. She immediately picked up Smiley Dino and hugged him tightly in her little arms.
“Now, is there a reason the crows and dinosaurs don’t get along?” Sylus asked as he knelt down to his daughter’s level. He watched as she furrowed her brows in contemplation.
“Because…because…they said Smiley Dino has a weird face…”
“Well, that is mean,” Sylus quipped. “Do you think he has a weird face?”
She shook her head furiously. “Smiley Dino is very cute!”
Sylus chuckled at her excited exclamation. “Very cute,” he agreed and gave his daughter’s cheek a gentle stroke, “But not as cute as my little dino right here.”
She puffed up her cheeks at him, seemingly annoyed. She hugged her plushie tighter. “Daddy, you’re making Smiley Dino sad, too!”
“I am just speaking the truth,” he answered affably, “Do you think I am like Grumpy Crow?”
Without a single of second of hesitation, she nodded her head.
“Well, maybe I am,” Sylus continued with a smile. He picked up the Grumpy Crow plushie, turning it around to scrutinize. “Perhaps Grumpy Crow and his friends didn’t mean to make Smiley Dino sad.”
The toddler looked at her father confused, and Sylus elaborated further: “Maybe the crows aren’t very good with their words…”
He held the crow plushie close to the dino plushie in his daughter’s arms. “Maybe he meant to say Smiley Dino has a very unique face. He’s special.”
“Daddy, is that…good?” the little girl asked tentatively.
Sylus nodded. “It can be good.” Sylus paused and raised the crow plushie close to his ear, appearing to be listening intently. His expression switched between different emotions, seemingly contemplative one second and then intrigued the next. “Ah, I see. Yes, yes, this is a big misunderstanding…”
“Daddy? What is it?” The girl walked over and tugged at her father’s sleeve. She pouted when he started laughing for seemingly no reason.
“Oh, Grumpy Crow was just telling me they didn’t mean to make Smiley Dino sad,” Sylus explained, continuing, “They also want to be friends with the dinos.”
“They do?” The girl’s eyes widened in astonishment.
“They do, baby,” he answered. He held the crow plushie out to his daughter. “Look, Grumpy Crow wants to apologize and be friends with Smiley Dino.”
The girl slowly smiled and held her dino plushie out. The two plushies ‘hugged’ before the little girl took them both into her arms to snuggle. She looked at her father with bright eyes and a toothy grin. “Daddy, they’re friends now!”
“Splendid,” he answered, “Now you have twice the number of friends to play with, right?”
She nodded happily, and gave each plushie a friendly kiss on the head.
Sylus suddenly noticed something peculiar. In the corner of his daughter’s room, there was a little canopy reading nook. Child-sized bookcases lined the wall filled with different children’s books and underneath the canopy was a soft white fur rug with different sized throw pillows surrounding the area. He noticed a few plushies were also strewn about on the rug.
“Wait, what’s this?” Sylus stood up and walked over to the reading area, picking up one of the peculiar plushies laying on the rug.
“Happy Snowman!” his daughter declared, dropping her two plushies and running over excitedly. “Mommy gave him to me.”
“Did…did she win it for you?”
“I dunno, Daddy,” his daughter answered him with a little innocent shrug. She then excitedly picked up two different plushies and held them up to her father proudly. “Look, Daddy, this is Artsy Birb and Bunbun!”
“They are…cute,” Sylus answered, tone stiff, though thankfully the little three-year-old didn’t seem to notice. Sylus knelt down to his daughter’s height again and smiled forcibly. In as even a tone as he could muster, he spoke, “Baby, why don’t you let Daddy hold onto these plushies for a while?”
His daughter tilted her head, confused, making the hood of her dinosaur onesie drooped to cover her face. Sylus fixed her hood and gave her a reassuring smile as he continued in the same tone as earlier, “Daddy is just borrowing them for a bit. I’ll give them back later…after I speak with Mommy…”
The little girl gave her father a toothy grin and nodded, not particularly caring either way. Sylus answered with another smile and with a wave of his hand, he made the three plushies disappear. He suddenly blinked in confusion when his daughter turned around and ran over to her bookshelf and picked up a seemingly random book, though it seemed to be quite a bit thicker than the other ones on the shelves.
“Daddy, story please!”
Sylus chuckled and nodded. “Yes, Miss Dino,” he answered courteously. He settled down in the reading nook, laying casually on his side with one elbow propped up and his head resting in his hand. Sylus smiled as his daughter scurried over and also settled down, handing him the book.
Sylus blinked in confusion before reading aloud the title of the book he was handed: “Analysis of Firearms Maintenance and Its Practical Applications…” He peered down at his daughter’s smiling face. He huffed in baffled amusement, asking, “Baby, did you take this from my bookshelf?”
She nodded her head eagerly and Sylus laughed. He leaned down and kissed her cheek. “Mischievous little dino, aren’t you?” He rubbed his nose against her cheek, causing her to giggle harder. “I didn’t realize I was raising a little klepto-dino.”
“Oh! Daddy, Daddy, my plushies…”
Sylus smiled. He motioned with his hand, and swirls of energy wrapped around the crow and dino plushies, lifting them into the air. The plushies all floated over, circling around the reading nook area briefly before one by one, they were gently lowered to surround both father and daughter. Sylus motioned for the Grumpy Crow and Smiley Dino plushies closer and his daughter happily grabbed both to snuggle.
“Happy now?”
The girl nodded, beaming brightly as her hood fell to cover her face again. She giggled and lifted the hood off before she cuddled closer to her father. She pointed excitedly at the book Sylus was holding. “Daddy, the book, the book!”
“Bossy little dino…” He leaned down and kissed the top of her head. “Alright, page one…”
As he calmly read the book, his deep, soothing voice seemed to lull the little girl to sleep. After a few minutes, she turned away from the book, yawning, and clung to Sylus’ shirt, her small fingers absently rubbing the fabric for comfort. Sylus pulled her closer and he rested his head on a pillow as he continued to read aloud several more pages. Soon, though, the book was laid facedown, forgotten, as Sylus also found himself drifting off to sleep.
Soft, even breathing filled the room, and dreams of playful little dinosaurs and crows filled a little girl’s head as she slept peacefully, safe in her father’s protective embrace and surrounded by her cherished plushies.
Hi! I have 2 chronic illnesses (specifically me/cfs and fibromyalgia) and I've always wondered how the boys would help to take care of a chronically ill mc? I know Xavier would probably nap with her, but I was hoping you could write some drabbles or something please? I really, really appreciate you reading this, even if you don't take it up. Thank you! :) <3
— TAKE CARE
[TAGS] fluff, xavier x mc, zayne x mc, rafayel x mc, sylus x mc (no caleb bc tbh i'm not quite sure how i want to write him yet), 2nd person but canon hunter mc is referenced
[A/N] hii anon! did this sort of headcanon style, hope it's to your liking! don't have any personal experience with chronic illness so kept things pretty vague to avoid mischaracterization (but hopefully still suiting the prompt.)
xavier
doesn’t overburden you with too much talk or make a big deal out of your flare ups, instead spending most of the time just silently, patiently by your side . Napping, watching mindless TV, reading a book side by side with you in bed.
xavier def gives parallel play vibes-- even if you two aren’t doing the same activity he’ll be next to you, comforting you with the simple warmth of his presence. “need anything?” “want a massage?” “tired?” is as much as he’ll probe. he understands what you need without you even having to say it, often anticipating your needs before you even realize them yourself.
personally he does not gaf about work drama but since he knows you get antsy not knowing what's happening at hunter HQ whenever you have to call out from work, he always prepares a rundown of any work tea for you. he finds himself being even more nosy and attuned to the other hunters at work, just so he can see your eyes light up whenever he gets to tell you about which of the new recruits are flirting with who.
zayne
sometimes it’s a little hard for him not to go fully into doctor mode whenever you're having symptoms, but he tries to rein it in so as to not frustrate/overwhelm you.
he would have very strong reactions to any signs of physical distress from you. seeing you in the middle of a flare up makes him have to confront that you're not one of his patients, you're... you, which is harder, makes things infinitely more complicated. he can't just be calm and orderly as he usually is and prides himself on being when it's you who's in pain.
he's trained himself to panic less and stay logical when it comes to your symptoms, but he has to concentrate to do so, walking himself mentally through his own medical training on your condition to talk him down from overreacting. you wouldn't have thought a doctor of all people would be the type to be on edge about something like this, knowing he's familiar with similar conditions, but for zayne, he definitely has to care for you while also battling his own emotional rollercoaster.
rafayel
cheers you up with little doodles and gifts, trying to keep your spirits high whenever symptoms get particularly bad.
i have this image of him just making little sculptures out of shells from the beach and putting them on your nightstand to decorate the space especially during those times where you're stuck in bed for days. even if he can't be around 24/7, he makes sure reminders of him are around when you go to sleep and when you wake up
video calls you a lot whenever he's out and about by himself, at the studio, taking a walk, even at events, because he doesn't want you to miss out on any of the fun even when you can't physically join.
sylus
definitely the doesn't ask questions and anticipates your needs easily type. sometimes he even overdoes it because he gets carried away but it's sweet either way, like when he prepares a bubble bath for you with a bath bomb and a bunch of essential oils to soothe your muscles and then you have to remind him you took a shower like three hours ago already
sends mephisto to watch over you during flare ups when you're napping or if he's out, and will send checking in texts frequently even though you know he has a full live feed of you from mephisto.
makes luke and kieran also do whatever you need whenever he's not around and you're having strong symptoms. notes under the door saying "boss wants you to check your phone" "boss wants to know if you need anything" "boss says he's working late and that he ordered you dinner, so you should eat without him" are a frequent amusing feature of sylus' care
heyyy, could i request lads men forgetting readers birthday or anniversary? hurt comfort pls 🥹
You understand that Zayne's job is incredibly important and you would never hold it against him for forgetting these dates but you also know that you're still going to feel hurt no matter how much you rationalise it. You woke up that morning, knowing that today should have been a special day, that he remembered to book it off months in advance and the two of you would be together.
When you see him getting ready for work you feel your heart drop, watching silently as he puts together his lunch and grabs his things. He doesn't notice you're up, thinking that you're still asleep and you take that opportunity to run back into bed and feign sleep again. You'd feel awful if you let Zayne go to work worrying about missing something this important so you decide it'd be kinder to just let him go to work in peace.
It's not until he looks at his schedule after a complicated surgery right from the moment he got into work that he realises what day it is today. He feels awful about it, immediately trying to figure out what surgeries he could offload onto the others so he can try and get home to you as soon as possible. Thankfully, all the other staff are emphatic about his situation, assisting him in getting home as soon as he can.
Thankfully, he's usually prepared in advance when it comes to gifts so he doesn't have to buy you anything last minute. He does make it a point to go and grab you a bouquet as well as some little treats/snacks of all your favourite things. When he comes home he finds you curled up in bed, trying to cheer yourself up. He hates how he made you feel and silently slides in behind you, holding you tightly as he whispers that he's sorry for forgetting about you. He promises that he'll make it up to you another night when the two of you are free, promising an evening at a restaurant you love while he currently placates you with the food and flowers he brought.
Xavier was so exhausted that he accidentally slept through the plans that the two of you made. You didn't even know it happened until you reappeared from the bedroom, watching him sleep peacefully on the bed. You can't bring yourself to wake him, sighing as you move to tuck him in.
He wakes up in the middle of the night, sitting up with a jolt as he realises that he missed your date. He rushes to bed only to find you dead asleep, dried tear tracks on your face. The sight breaks his heart, and he immediately starts making plans to try and fix his mistake.
When you come home one evening you're a little panicked because you can't see anything. You reach around blindly, trying to find a light switch to turn on some light in the pitch black darkness. confused when you realise you can't move the switch. You're about to call for Xavier when he makes his presence known beside you, putting a hand on your shoulder and guiding you to the living room. You're expecting to run into your coffee table but you're confused when you don't, kneeling on the ground as he counts down after covering your eyes.
You hear the click of a button and he uncovers your eyes, showing you the room illuminated by seemingly hundreds of little stars. You look around in surprise by the assortment of fairy lights and stars, a little surprised as you realise you're also sat in front of a meal comprised of your favourite takeout.
He gives you a heartfelt apology, promising that he didn't do it on purpose and he's felt awful about it the entire time. He promises that he'll clean all of this up after the two of you are finished. He doesn't want you to take on any of the stress about this at all, pampering you in extra gifts as an additional apology.
Rafayel is amazing whenever it comes to remembering important dates. His life revolves around you so that's why you find it so odd that the day comes and goes with absolutely no fanfare. It's so out of character that you literally gaslight yourself into thinking that you had the dates mixed up, mentioning it to him offhandedly how it's so weird that you thought yesterday was your anniversary but maybe it actually wasn't. Your birthday is an entirely different scenario though - you just tell him that it's okay if he's too busy to do anything and hopefully you can do something next year.
Rafayel is devastated, internally falling to his knees and sobbing while externally all you see is him humming thoughtfully. Internally he's trying to figure out what the hell happened for him to have dropped the ball. He's so panicking, pulling out his phone to book reservations at the fanciest restaurant he can think of and paying an exorbitant amount of money to do so. He also has so many gifts for you that at this point, he could just pull from a pile he has hidden in his home, telling you that you can have this for now because the main event is coming at your dinner reservation.
It doesn't take you long for you to realise that he actually kinda did fuck up and totally forgot about it when you hear him talking to Thomas about how he can't take on any projects at all because he's busy trying to make sure you don't hate him for forgetting a major event. You end up asking him about it right then and there, basically confronting him about why he forgot. He promises you it wasn't intentional and that he just had so much fun preparing for the even that he fully forgot to actually carry through with his plans.
He ends up making it up to you in bed. You mope and pout and bury yourself underneath the luxurious sheets and refuses to let him in. He basically just lays on top of you, burying his face into your neck and begging for forgiveness. You refuse to give it to him that easily, deciding to make him mope and pout more. He holds you tightly, continuing to whisper sweet nothings as he tells you he'll make it up to you by giving you his credit card. You jokingly tell him that's more than enough before getting serious and telling him how upset you are. He swears it won't happen again and to his credit, it never does.
Sylus couldn't get out of a previous commitment, mentally noting that it was a special day and aiming to follow through with absolutely no problem. Unfortunately, his meeting dragged and by the time it finished he had even more things to do which left you standing in his bedroom, dressed extravagantly for a missed reservation.
You cry to yourself quietly in the room as you get yourself undressed for the evening. It doesn't really hit you until you're laying in bed in your pajamas, staring up at the ceiling as you tell yourself that he didn't mean to do it on purpose.
He comes in as you're crying, listening to your soft sniffles. When you go quiet in hopes of attempting to convince him you weren't just sobbing your eyes out he feels even worse, quickly putting two and two together. He realises what he just missed, looking back at his phone and seeing the reservation cancellation.
He immediately scoops you up in his arms. You try to resist him at first but falter when your body settles into his familiar warmth. He coos at you, whispering apologies into your ear. You want to tell him too little too late but you also know that he never would want to see you crying like this, especially not because of him.
He holds you all night, telling you that you can ask him for anything and he'll make it happen for you. He already does but the guilt of this weighs on him so heavily that he knows that no matter what stands in his way, he won't let it stop him from giving you everything that you want. He also makes sure that it doesn't happen again, wanting you to feel like you could always trust him. If he lost your trust on top of that he'd never forgive himself, telling you that you're everything to him.
Hi! Can I ask for a Sylus fluff, where he gives the reader his bank card for her to go shopping, and he expects a bill to be at least $10,000, but all he sees is about $100. So he asks her if she bought everything she wanted, and she says something like "yeah, there were such good discounts, I didn't spend too much, did I?"
And man is just ಠ益ಠ GIRL GO SPEND MY MONEY I WANT TO SPOIL YOU
My beloved @lalaluch I cannot explain to you just how much fun this was to even imagine but let alone even WRITE 🩷 like I was losing my mind trying to bust out my Google docs to even make this. But my sickness was literally getting to me that all I could do was imagine--but anywhoo now that it's finally done I hope you all enjoy it ✨️
p.s: I hope this sickness finally leaves me because it be making me internally cry on the inside ...I pray for prayers lol 💅🏻
BUDGET QUEEN
It had taken weeks of gentle coaxing, half-joking remarks, and the occasional exasperated sigh before you’d reluctantly agreed. You had this stubborn streak, an insistence on independence that both irritated and fascinated him. But today, you’d finally caved.
“You’ll take it,” Sylus had said that morning, slipping the sleek card into your hand, his fingers brushing against your palm. “No arguments. No excuses.”
You had sighed, rolling your eyes. “Fine. But I’m not going crazy with it?!”
He had only smirked, knowing full well you would—and knowing full well that he wanted you to.
And now, hours later, he awaited the results.
Sylus leaned back in his leather chair, his crimson eyes flicking lazily over the documents cluttering his desk. A rare break in his usual chaos had him sipping on his usual drink, savoring the brief quiet. That was until his phone buzzed. He set his glass down and checked the notification, a message from his bank popping up.
He expected it—he wanted it. You had finally caved to his insistence after a literal month of convincing and taken his black card to go shopping. He’d envisioned the inevitable message all morning, something like:
One-hundred million spent at Celine and The Row’s combined?
Or perhaps?
Fifty million at Loro Piana?
You’d mentioned their beauty and elegance more than once.
Nevertheless, the man wanted indulgence, excess—you deserved it, after all.
Instead, the message read:
$157.45 at… Assorted Stores.
Sylus stared at the screen, unblinking. Surely, this was a mistake. He refreshed his balance multiple times. Same amount. He checked for pending transactions. None.
“…What?” he muttered, his irritation simmering beneath the surface. He slammed his phone down, crossing his arms as he waited for you to return.
Minutes later, the front door opened, and you walked in, humming happily, two bags dangling from your arms. You looked utterly content, your warm smile sending a pang through Sylus’s chest. He didn’t want to ruin the moment, but he had questions.
“You’re back,” he said, leaning against the doorframe to his study, watching you set the bags down in the living room. His towering presence cast a shadow over you, his white hair catching the light, giving him an almost otherworldly aura.
“Yup!” you chirped, rifling through the bags. “You wouldn’t believe the deals I found today! It’s like the universe knew I had your card!”
Sylus squinted. “Deals?”
“Yeah! Everything was on sale! I even had coupons for some things. Oh, and this boutique downtown was having a clearance event! It was amazing!” You beamed at him, oblivious to his growing disbelief.
“Clearance? ..…How much did you spend?” he asked, his voice neutral. Too neutral.
“Um…” You frowned, pulling your phone out to check. “About a few hundred, I think? Oh, wait—like one-fifty! I didn’t spend too much, did I?” You tilted your head, as if genuinely concerned.
Sylus stared at you, his expression shifting to one of incredulous disbelief. His red eyes seemed to glow, and his lips pressed into a thin line. It was the look of a man deeply offended. Not by you—but by the principle.
“…That’s it?” he asked, his voice sharp but measured, as if he were trying to comprehend an alien concept. “One-fifty?”
You blinked up at him, a little confused by his tone. “Well, yes… I mean, I didn’t want to waste your money—”
“Waste my—” He cut himself off, running a hand through his snowy hair. He took a deep breath, trying to keep his composure. “Sweetheart,” he said slowly, “do you have any idea why I gave you my card?”
“To… buy some stuff?” you offered, suddenly feeling like you were missing something obvious.
“To spoil you,” he emphasized, stepping closer. “To treat you like the queen you are. To shower you in luxury. And you—” He gestured to the modest shopping bags on the floor, his voice taking on a dramatic edge. “—come back with clearance items?”
Your cheeks flushed. “But… I didn’t need anything expensive! I found good deals, and I thought—”
“No.” Sylus leaned down slightly, bringing himself to eye level with you, his crimson eyes boring into yours. “Listen to me, love. I don’t care about the price tag. I want you to have the best. The fact that you’re this thoughtful is adorable—don’t get me wrong—but next time…” He paused, his voice dropping into a softer, more commanding tone. “…I want to see receipts that would make the average person cry.”
You couldn’t help but laugh. “You’re being ridiculous.”
“I’m not.” He straightened, towering over you again, his arms crossing. “Do you know how much money I make? How much I’ve set aside specifically to spoil you?”
“I can guess?…”
“Clearly not if you’re spending less than a casual dinner out on everything.” His voice was calm, but laced with unmistakable disapproval.
Then, with a breath, he softened—only slightly. “I just want to see you dressed in diamonds,” he corrected, stepping closer, his towering frame casting a shadow over you. “To watch you slip into golden heels that make you shine like the goddess you are. To drape you in silk and velvet, to see you standing before me in a dress that costs more than a car and still doesn’t compare to your worth.”
Your lips parted slightly, caught off guard by the sudden weight in his words.
“I gave you my card,” he continued, voice lower now, intimate, “because I want you to indulge. To spoil yourself the way I ache to spoil you. Because you deserve to walk into a store and not think—just watch and admire”
Your throat went dry.
He lifted his hand, fingers brushing over your wrist before tracing upward, his touch featherlight against your skin. “I want to see you try on jewelry without looking at the price tag,” he murmured. “I want to sit back and watch as a saleswoman fumbles to put a necklace around your throat because her hands are shaking too much from the sheer amount of wealth wrapped around you.”
His gaze dipped lower, lingering on your frame as he exhaled through his nose. “And instead… you bring me deals?”
Your heart pounded, a mix of amusement and something else entirely stirring in your chest. “I didn’t think I needed to spend that much—”
“You don’t need to,” he interrupted, thumb ghosting over your jawline. His voice was softer now, but no less commanding. “But I want you to.”
Your face heated.
“Next time, I’m going with you.”
“What, to make sure I spend enough?” you teased.
“Yes,” he said, dead serious. “And to carry your bags. And to remind you that you can have whatever you want.” His red eyes softened slightly, and he tilted your chin up with two fingers. “All I want is to see you happy. No discounts required.”
You smiled at his sincerity, warmth blooming in your chest. “Okay, fine. Next time, I’ll go a little crazier. Maybe five million?” you joked.
Sylus groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Woman, you’re going to be the death of me.”
You laughed, reaching up to wrap your arms around his neck. “You’re so dramatic, you know that?”
“And you’re too frugal for your own good,” he shot back, pulling you into his arms. His voice softened, turning almost playful. “But I guess I’ll just have to teach you how to spend properly.”
“Looking forward to it,” you said, grinning against his chest.
Sylus sighed, resting his chin atop your head. As much as he wanted to spoil you senseless, he couldn’t help but love your thoughtful, practical side. It was part of what made you you—and he wouldn’t trade that for anything.
Still, next time… he was definitely making sure you left the store with at least an entire closet filled with designer bags.
A/N: Not my usual style of writing, but I’m a blind/ADHD girlie myself and was inspired by lovely posts like this one sharing HCs about the LIs interacting with disabled/neurodivergent!MC. I tried to account for a variety of experiences myself and other blind friends have had, but blindness is a spectrum, so please take my preferences and interpretations with a grain of salt :)
cw: fluff, soft LADS boys, brief mentions of ableism
🐦⬛ Sylus 🐦⬛
also a light-sensitive king, so he inherently gets needing spaces to be dark and glare-free
Buys you all the assistive technology you could ask for. High tech magnifier, Brailler, braille-note, monocular, e-reader
Modifies them all to an excessive degree to have, like, infrared mode in addition to contrast filters to reduce eye-strain
always scouring online for new cane tips, gps and self-driving cars to increase your mobility and independence
if you have a guide dog, that’s his new bestie. Also picks up on the training super fast
teaches you how to fight with accessible techniques, helping you drill the sensation of the correct movements into your muscle memory
you find yourself able to relax around him because he’s so considerate without making you feel like a burden
loves reading to you, whether it be poems, stories, random posts online. He knows you love his voice
anyone trying to deny you an opportunity or entry into a store/restaurant will catch those hands, or the full might of Onychinus
✨ Xavier ✨
buys you the softest blankets/pajamas/scarves because he knows the textures you prefer
really good about using tactile labels around the house and buying products you could easily recognize by touch
uses his Evol to adjust lighting or to teleport you out of overwhelming situations
Low-key jealous of your service animal but his gratitude for their hard work wins out
went through training blindfolded to better understand your needs
consciously and habitually covers your blind spots in battle without being prideful about it or discounting your skill
always stands on the side nearest the road when you’re walking together and points out stairs, curbs and steep inclines
gently reminds you not to apologize for advocating for your needs
🍎 Caleb 🍎
grew up with you so he understands this whole song and dance. He deeply gets the nuances of what you need without asking
can sense it if you’re tired of explaining yourself to a new person and will swoop in to do it for you
enthusiastic about taking you anywhere you need to go, brags about being your chauffeur
overprotective as hell but he does his best not to infantilize you. He just really cares
smoothly points out or guides you around obstacles and rough terrain
offers to read any restaurant menu that has bad contrast or is far away, highlighting items he knows you like
you video call him anytime you misplace something and he has a knack for knowing where you left it
jokes that he is your guide dog
extra-passionate about disability rights and unfair wages
very considerate of your needs when planning dates or outings, but will run new activities by you and never assume you can’t do something
🐠 Rafayel 🐠
tries hard to make his exhibits and pieces inclusive— loves experimenting with tactile elements in his art and arranges for braille and large-print signs at every event
personally narrates the audio explanations in the gallery/ museum tours for your benefit
makes you custom cane charms, labels, helps decorate the cases for your technology to make using it more fun
checks or sometimes does your makeup himself if you’re not in the mood to painstakingly perfect it
woke up in a cold sweat one night and spent the next three days designing and refining a Braille alphabet for Lemurian
will body-block any bikes or people coming at you from an unseen location
goes full Karen in your defense if someone is rude about your needs or refusing accommodations
“watch where you’re going.” “Um, she’s blind??? Feel bad now?”
his blind jokes are pure art—he was wary of offending you at first, but now he’ll participate in banter with you and make you laugh your ass off without being mean-spirited or degrading (unless you’re into that)
❄️ Zayne ❄️
the king of sided-guide, will navigate you calmly and seamlessly through any crowd or tough situation
when someone pulls a stunt like “oh, you’re blind? How many fingers am I holding up?” Zayne will give them the blankest stare and then launch into a dry medical explanation of your condition to make them feel awkward
has extensive knowledge of your medical records/schedule and will remind you of or accompany you to appointments
you catch him reading ophthalmology books in his spare time and have to beg him not to get yet another specialization
the first to notice when your eyes are strained or you’ve got a headache. Ready with a cold compress or painkillers
gently chastises you if you’re overworking or wearing yourself thin. Very aware of activities that consume more energy for you or stress you out
doesn’t usually make blind jokes, but every once in awhile he’ll make the sassiest deadpan comment that makes you cry-laugh
couldn’t sleep last night thinking about how caleb would react to hearing about your N109 excursions.
the shock and horror that his accident led you to put yourself at such risk just to find answers. into the territory of such a dark and evil man. how much time had you spent there? what did you have to do for information? to stay alive?
then he learns about your actual dynamic with sylus. whether that’s by him putting together that the luxurious gifts left at your doorstep only signed with “-S” aren’t from a fruit vendor
or maybe it clicks when sylus drops by your place unannounced, feigning ignorance about your guest’s presence but clearly there to make sure caleb knows just how familiar he is with your apartment and casual touches.
like holy shit what is your relationship with him if you’re willing to overlook everything he’s done?? to go against your association’s orders to report anything you hear about him and arrest him on sight? not only are you not trying to turn him in, you’re welcoming him into your home. sending him articles and memes that remind you of him. wearing clothes he picks for you. staying up late to talk to him at night. are you really willing to put your career on the line to have him in your life? the career that made you decide not to follow caleb to skyhaven for college?
was he manipulating you? using some kind of brainwashing? if Ever had toring chips, who’s to say Onychinus hasn’t figured it out, too? or at least stolen the tech?
maybe this was some kind of mission? to get in close with the big bad leader for information? to assassinate him? the thought of you being thrown out to the wolves for the hunter’s association made his stomach lurch.
were you a gold digger? maybe you liked the expensive gifts and lavish dinners. you didn’t grow up with a father figure; maybe you were looking for respite in the arms of some rich daddy type and you seized the opportunity. it hurt to think about you needing the comfort of another man, to even possibly use your body for a comfortable life. caleb should be the one to provide for you without you lifting a finger.
he’ll bounce around different conspiracies, choosing whichever one keeps him from spiraling any further. but it’s hard to ignore the blush and smile that a simple text from sylus brings out of you. and the way sylus looks at you: with reverence, patience, gentleness, and… love. he looks at you like he loves you. and nothing makes caleb feel sicker than that.
for some reason, you don’t care about the kind of man sylus is. and as much as that scares caleb, it also gives him hope. that one day maybe he could tell you everything he did, finally share some of the burden of his actions, and you could know him as completely as he knew you. that a day will come where he could show you his bloodied hands and you’d love him anyway. but he had to get that cocky asshole out of your life first. you only had room for one monster in your heart, and caleb would make sure it’s him.
—
i have so many more thoughts about this but i just needed to let some of it out. i apologize for my stream of consciousness style, i was furiously typing in the waiting room of my dentist office 😬
If you're still taking requests, can I ask for angst-comfort this time where the guys forgot mc's birthday? I'm excited to see your take on this especially for Caleb!
Thank you and I'll be on the lookout for more of your work 💕💕💕
THANK YOU <3 <3 <3
I had SO. MUCH. FUN. writing this it was crazy!
Hopefully its OK!
Caleb
Caleb had been so busy. More than usual. It was one thing to have patrols through the Deep Space Tunnel, endless reports, meetings with higher-ups who never seemed satisfied, but on top of that, he had taken it upon himself to organize an important dinner party.
Or so he thought.
The truth—the awful truth—hit him like a physical blow when he unrolled the custom banner that had just arrived.
"Happy Birthday, [Your Name]!"
The world seemed to tilt. His grip on the fabric tightened, knuckles turning white as his violet eyes darted across the bold, celebratory letters. His mind, exhausted and running on autopilot for weeks, scrambled through his memory, piecing together the moments he had lost. The meticulous planning. The decorations. The food. He had arranged everything… for a party that had already passed.
Your birthday.
It had come and gone, and he—he—had completely missed it.
For a full five seconds, Caleb didn’t move. He didn’t breathe. The weight of realization pressed against his chest, drowning out every thought except one:
I forgot your birthday.
The sickening guilt settled deep in his stomach, twisting, tightening. You had waited for him that day. He could picture it—your hopeful glances, the way you had likely told yourself, he’s just busy, he’ll remember soon. But he hadn’t. You must have gone to bed that night thinking he didn’t care, thinking that maybe, just maybe, you weren’t as important to him as you truly were.
The very idea of it made him feel like the worst kind of man.
He didn’t waste another second. He abandoned everything—work, reports, the dinner he had been planning for the higher-ups—none of it mattered now. The only thing that mattered was you.
By the time he reached your home, it was already evening. His uniform was slightly disheveled, his hair tousled from running his hands through it in frustration, but the guilt was what weighed on him the most.
You answered the door, and for a moment, there was only silence.
Caleb searched your face, looking for signs of anger, sadness—hurt. And when he found them, faint but undeniably there, the guilt doubled.
He exhaled sharply, running a hand down his face. "I messed up." His voice was low, raw, as if saying it out loud made the weight of it even heavier.
You crossed your arms, raising a brow. "You think?"
Your words weren’t angry, but the tired disappointment in them was somehow worse. You had already processed it, already come to terms with the fact that he had forgotten, and that made his chest ache.
Caleb was never one to stumble over words, but right now, he struggled. "I didn’t mean to forget. I was planning something. I was—" He inhaled sharply, shaking his head. "That’s not an excuse. It’s just…" He let out a dry, humorless laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. "I was so damn exhausted, I forgot what I was even planning for."
You blinked. "Wait, what?"
He let out a slow breath. "I was planning your party. That’s what I’ve been doing for weeks." He ran a hand through his hair, frustration evident. "But I worked myself into the ground so much that when your birthday came, I just—" His jaw clenched. "I thought I was planning a dinner for the higher-ups. It didn’t even register."
You stared at him, processing. He watched you carefully, waiting, hoping for anything that would tell him how to fix this.
Finally, you sighed. "You’re an idiot."
Something in his chest loosened at that—because you weren’t shutting him out, weren’t furious.
"Yeah," he admitted without hesitation. "The worst one."
Caleb wasn’t the type to grovel, but when it came to you, he would do whatever it took.
He spent the entire night making it up to you. He didn’t just say sorry—he showed you.
First, he insisted on taking you out to eat, somewhere special, somewhere you liked. He wouldn’t let you brush him off, wouldn’t let you say, It’s fine, it’s over now. No, it wasn’t fine, and he wouldn’t let it be until he saw that light in your eyes again.
Then, after dinner, he walked with you through the quiet streets, hand in yours, holding on like he had something to prove. He was quieter than usual, more thoughtful, stealing glances at you every few seconds like he was afraid you’d disappear.
Finally, when you arrived home, he pulled you into his arms, pressing you close, his chin resting against your head.
"I swear to you," he murmured against your hair, voice rough with sincerity, "I will never forget again. Not in this life, not in the next, not ever."
And you believed him.
Because Caleb may have made mistakes, but when it came to you, he would always make it right.
Rafayel
Rafayel had been locked in his studio for days, unreachable. Your calls went unanswered, your texts ignored. Even when you showed up at his door, knocking, waiting, hoping, there was nothing. Just silence, just the knowledge that somewhere beyond those walls, he was lost in his art again.
And still, despite it all, you held out hope.
Hope that, even in the middle of his artistic madness, he would remember.
But the day had passed.
By the time three days had gone by, your hope had shrunk into something small and fragile. Maybe it was foolish of you to think this year would be different. Maybe you should have expected this. Rafayel loved intensely—when he loved, he loved with everything he had—but sometimes he got lost in his own world, and that love, no matter how deep, could feel far away.
Then, out of nowhere, your phone rang.
"Come over!" Rafayel's voice practically crackled with excitement, as if he hadn’t been a ghost for the last few days. "I finally finished it! You have to see it first!"
"Raf—"
"Ah, don’t say anything yet! Just come. Hurry!"
And then he hung up.
No apology for vanishing. No recognition of the days he had missed.
And certainly, no acknowledgment of your day.
You trudged through the cold toward his home, trying to ignore the sting in your chest. Maybe he had remembered and wanted to surprise you. Maybe this was his way of making up for it.
But deep down, a part of you knew better.
Inside his studio, Rafayel was frozen.
The moment he checked his calendar to see when his next exhibition was, the date jumped out at him like a slap to the face. The realization slammed into him so hard that he nearly knocked over a jar of brushes.
Your birthday.
It had come and gone.
The guilt hit him like a tidal wave, drowning out every other thought.
How could he forget?
He tore through his studio, hands shaking. A gift—he needed something, anything—! His eyes darted across the room, landing on a pile of canvases shoved into a forgotten corner.
His secret.
Bunches and bunches of paintings of you.
Sketches of you laughing, paintings of you gazing out at the sea, studies of your hands, your lips, the way your hair caught the light. He had never shown them to anyone, not even you. They were too raw, too personal, too embarrassing.
But now…
Before he could second-guess himself, he grabbed them all. He turned out all the lights, lit every candle he could find, and placed the paintings around the room. The atmosphere had to be perfect. When he was done, he shut the door, smoothing his hair, taking a deep breath.
He had a plan.
Just pretend everything was normal. Show you his newest painting, make you smile, then lead you to the hidden room to surprise you. Yes. That would work.
And maybe—just maybe—it would make up for everything.
When you arrived, Rafayel greeted you with his usual playful grin, grabbing your wrist and dragging you inside before you could even get a word in.
"Look," he said, presenting the canvas like it was the greatest treasure in the world. "What do you think?"
It was beautiful—of course it was. Rafayel’s art always was. The strokes, the colors, the emotion captured in every detail. It was a masterpiece.
But it wasn’t enough.
Not today.
He was watching you closely, waiting for your reaction.
You swallowed hard, forcing a smile. "It’s… incredible, Raf."
The way your voice wavered, the way you didn’t meet his eyes—it was subtle, but he noticed.
And suddenly, the guilt became unbearable.
Without a word, he grabbed your hand and pulled you toward the hidden room.
"Wait—Raf, where are we—?"
The door creaked open, and the glow of candlelight washed over you. Your breath caught in your throat.
Paintings.
Of you.
Dozens of them, covering every wall. Each one full of emotion, of devotion, of him. Some were unfinished, others so detailed they looked like they could breathe. It was overwhelming.
You turned to him, eyes wide.
"You…?"
He looked away, rubbing the back of his neck, his usual bravado gone. His cheeks were tinged pink, the tips of his ears burning red.
"I—" He exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face. "I forgot your birthday."
Your stomach twisted. So he had forgotten.
"I was painting," he went on, words rushed. "I lost track of time, and I—damn it—" He ran a hand through his hair, frustrated with himself. "I didn’t mean to. I swear, I didn’t mean to."
You turned back to the paintings, something warm pressing at your chest.
"You made all of these?" you asked quietly.
His hands clenched at his sides. "Yeah."
"For how long?"
A beat of silence. Then—
"Years."
The confession hung between you.
He had been painting you for years.
Slowly, you turned to face him. The usual mischief in his eyes was gone, replaced with something raw, something vulnerable.
"I’m sorry," he murmured. "I don’t know how I forgot something so important. You mean too much to me for that. I—I just…" He sighed, rubbing his temple. "I got lost in making something for you, and I ended up missing the thing that mattered most—you."
The anger, the disappointment, the hurt—they all melted away. Because here he was, standing before you, baring himself in a way he rarely ever did.
You stepped forward, hesitating for only a moment before wrapping your arms around him.
His breath hitched.
"You’re an idiot," you whispered.
A shaky laugh. "Yeah. I know."
"But…" You looked up at him, a soft smile playing at your lips. "This is the best apology I’ve ever seen."
Relief flooded his features. "So you forgive me?"
You pretended to think about it. "Hmm. I don’t know. Maybe if you make me a cake."
He scoffed. "I’m a painter, not a baker."
"Then take me out for cake."
He smirked, his confidence slipping back into place. "Anything for my muse."
And as he pulled you in, pressing a kiss to your forehead, you knew—
Even when he forgot the days on a calendar, Rafayel would never really forget you.
Sylus
Sylus prided himself on many things. His sharp mind, his strategic brilliance, his ability to anticipate every move before it happened. He was the kind of man who didn’t forget things—especially not something as important as your birthday.
Which was why, when he saw the disappointed look on your face as you pelted him with soft plushies, something deep in his chest twisted—an unfamiliar, unsettling sensation that almost felt like panic.
Almost.
But Sylus didn’t panic.
Instead, he stood there, one plushie bouncing harmlessly off his shoulder, another smacking his chest before falling to the floor. His crimson eyes flickered between you and the growing pile of soft toys you had weaponized against him.
“You forgot,” you accused, arms crossed, hurt flashing in your gaze.
He opened his mouth to deny it. To tell you he’d never forget something so important. But the realization hit him like a slow, creeping dread. He had forgotten.
The meticulously planned dinners. The gifts he had meant to have delivered. The subtle reminders he had given his men—Kieran, Luke, even Mephisto—to ensure he never let today slip his mind.
And yet, here you were.
Disappointed.
Angry.
Hurt.
It was a sight that unsettled him more than any rival, more than any enemy who had ever dared to challenge him. He could handle a hundred assassination attempts, negotiate the bloodiest of deals, and walk into a war zone without breaking a sweat.
But the idea that he had been the one to hurt you? That he had been the reason your smile had faded today?
Unacceptable.
He took a step forward, but you threw another plushie at his face before he could speak. This time, he caught it mid-air, fingers tightening around the soft fabric as he exhaled through his nose.
“I’ll fix it,” he said, voice calm, steady.
You huffed, turning your head away. “Too late.”
His jaw clenched. Too late? No. Nothing was ever too late when it came to you.
Sylus wasn’t the type to apologize with empty words. He wasn’t the kind of man who’d simply say “sorry” and expect you to accept it. He had to show you.
And he would.
Without another word, he turned on his heel and left.
You had expected him to brush it off. To smirk, tease you, tell you that you were cute when you were mad. Maybe even promise to make it up to you later in a way that would leave you breathless.
But Sylus had left.
Just walked out without an explanation.
That made you angrier.
You flopped onto the couch, hugging one of the plushies to your chest, your pout deepening. He had forgotten, and now he was leaving?
Your thoughts swirled in frustration until a knock sounded at your door—not the sharp, precise kind that his men would give, but a slow, deliberate rhythm you recognized instantly.
Sylus.
You hesitated for only a moment before getting up and opening the door.
And what you saw left you speechless.
He stood there, slightly out of breath, his silver hair a bit messier than usual, his blazer discarded, the sleeves of his dress shirt rolled up. In his hands? A massive bouquet—roses, lilies, your favorite flowers all woven together in a way that looked too beautiful to have been bought last-minute.
And then there were the gifts.
Not one. Not two. But an entire armful—beautifully wrapped boxes, all stacked precariously as he balanced them with ease.
Your lips parted in shock.
Sylus? The man who was always cool, calculated, in control? Looking just a little bit frazzled as he stood in your doorway with gifts clearly gathered in a rushed effort to make up for his mistake?
You should have stayed mad.
But instead, your heart clenched.
“I had everything planned,” he said, his voice quieter than usual, controlled but tinged with something you almost wanted to call regret. “Dinners. Gifts. Things meant to arrive today.”
He stepped forward, pressing the bouquet into your arms as his crimson eyes locked onto yours.
“I forgot,” he admitted, as if the words physically pained him to say. “And I don’t forget things.”
You swallowed, staring at him. This was Sylus. The man who could tear down entire organizations with a single whisper. Who could predict a person’s every move before they even knew they would make it.
And yet, he had forgotten.
Because, for once, he had been too wrapped up in things that weren’t you.
You should have made him suffer more.
But then he did something unexpected.
He lowered himself to one knee, not in a proposal, but in something equally as disarming.
A genuine apology.
“I don’t ask for forgiveness,” he said, eyes unwavering. “I don’t need it. But you deserve better than today, and I’ll make sure you get it.”
His hand reached for yours, fingers brushing over your wrist in a touch so uncharacteristically soft that your breath hitched.
You weren’t used to seeing him like this.
Vulnerable.
But maybe that was the point.
Sylus didn’t grovel. He didn’t beg. He didn’t need to.
And yet, here he was, choosing to show you a side of himself no one else would ever see.
“I…” Your throat felt tight as you looked at him, then at the bouquet, then at the ridiculous number of gifts he had somehow managed to gather in an hour.
His lips curled into a small smirk, sensing the shift in your demeanor. “Still mad?”
You should be.
But instead, you sighed dramatically, stepping back to let him inside.
“I’ll think about forgiving you,” you muttered, clutching the flowers to your chest.
His smirk widened as he straightened, stepping closer, hands finding your waist as he leaned in, his breath warm against your ear.
“I can be very persuasive,” he murmured.
You shivered, pressing your lips together to keep from smiling. He knew you too well.
And he had forgotten.
But he had also gone through all this effort to make it right.
Maybe you would forgive him.
Eventually.
But first? You were going to make him work for it.
Xavier
Xavier wakes up the next morning with the unsettling feeling that he’s forgotten something important. It lingers in his chest, creeping up his spine as he runs through the previous day in his mind. Work had gone as usual, no missions went sideways, nothing seemed off—so why does he feel like he’s made a terrible mistake?
And then, it hits him.
Your birthday.
Xavier sits up so fast that he actually gets lightheaded. He forgot. He forgot.
The realization settles into his bones like a cold weight, making his usual grogginess disappear instantly. He’s already moving before he can even fully process it, running a hand through his silver hair in frustration. How could he have let this happen? He knows he’s forgetful sometimes—distracted, too caught up in missions or losing track of time—but your birthday? Of all the things to forget, he had forgotten the one day that should have been about you.
His mind races with every possible reaction you might have had. Were you upset? Had you been waiting all day for him to say something? Did you pretend it was fine, even though it wasn’t? That thought hurts. It hurts worse than any injury he’s ever sustained in battle. He imagines you spending the day holding out hope, maybe even giving him chances to remember, only for him to say nothing.
He feels sick.
Xavier doesn’t hesitate. He throws on his jacket, grabs his keys, and heads straight to find you. If you’re at home, he knocks—firmer than usual, as if he’s trying to physically knock away his mistake. If you’re out, he searches, guided by instinct and urgency.
The moment he sees you, his sharp blue eyes search your face for signs of how you’re feeling. Are you angry? Disappointed? Trying to act like it doesn’t matter? He hates that he has to guess. He should have been there. He should have remembered.
"…I forgot, didn’t I?" His voice is softer than usual, lacking its usual teasing edge. There’s no excuse, no attempt to dodge the truth. Just quiet guilt.
Xavier isn’t the type to panic openly, but his regret is undeniable. He rubs the back of his neck—a rare show of uncertainty from him—and steps closer, as if trying to physically close the distance that his mistake has created.
"I don’t have an excuse. I just—" He exhales, frustration at himself bleeding into his voice. "I don’t know how I forgot. I should have been there, should have made the day special for you. But I didn’t. And that’s on me."
His hands twitch at his sides, like he wants to reach for you but isn’t sure if he deserves to. He hates the idea of you feeling unimportant because of him. The thought alone makes something tighten in his chest.
"Tell me how to make it up to you," he says, looking at you with the kind of intensity that makes it impossible to doubt his sincerity. "Because I will. However you want. Just say the word."
But that’s not enough. Not for him. He’s not just going to fix this with a single apology. He wants to show you.
Xavier doesn’t waste time. Once he knows where he stands with you—whether you need space, reassurance, or a little payback in the form of making him work for your forgiveness—he immediately starts making things right.
He doesn’t just buy you a last-minute gift to try and make up for it. No, that’s not personal enough. Instead, he recreates your birthday, a day late but no less meaningful.
Maybe he takes you somewhere quiet but special, a place that reminds him of you. Maybe he sets up a stargazing spot on a rooftop, bringing blankets and snacks, telling you it’s because he wanted to give you something that feels like forever.
Maybe he cooks for you—badly, because Xavier and the kitchen are a dangerous combination, but the effort is so heartfelt that you can’t be mad. He’d get flour on his face, burn something slightly, and still look at you like you were the most beautiful thing in the world.
Or maybe he brings you a gift—not something extravagant, but something thoughtful. A tiny, carefully chosen charm. A book that reminded him of you. A star-shaped pendant, because you always joked that he had a habit of falling asleep under the stars. He wouldn’t say much about it, just press it into your hands and murmur, "Didn’t want you to think I don’t pay attention."
He watches you carefully the whole time, making sure you feel loved, valued. He doesn’t over-explain or beg for forgiveness—he just shows you.
And when the night winds down, and he pulls you into his arms, pressing a lingering kiss to the top of your head, he whispers:
"I won’t forget again."
And you know, in the quiet certainty of his voice, that he means it.
Zayne
Zayne was exhausted.
The hospital had been relentless, a blur of critical patients, rapid decisions, and near misses. There had been moments he thought he might not even make it home tonight—almost being quarantined had only been the cherry on top of the chaos. His body ached in a way he had learned to ignore, but as he finally stepped out into the cold night air, his thoughts were blank, his mind running on autopilot.
That was, until he saw you.
Sitting on the doorstep of his home, your figure illuminated under the soft yellow glow of the streetlight. A glittering dress hugged your form, shimmering faintly even in the dim light, and a sash lay diagonally across your body, its edges slightly crinkled from the way your arms had been folded over yourself. Your head rested in your hands, your posture slumped—not just from the cold, but from something else entirely.
Something in his chest clenched.
He stopped in his tracks, the weight of his coat sliding off his arm. It landed on the pavement with a quiet thud, the sound breaking the silence of the night. You startled at the noise, lifting your head to see him standing there, his expression unreadable.
Then, as if some unseen force wrenched his gaze downward, his eyes flicked to his watch.
2:04 AM.
The date had changed.
It hit him all at once. The cogs in his mind, sluggish from exhaustion, clicked into place, and his stomach twisted with the weight of the realization.
Your birthday.
His breath left him in a slow, silent exhale.
You didn’t say anything at first. You just stared at him, and for the first time in a long time, Zayne felt a crushing, unfamiliar sense of guilt settle over him. He had let the day slip through his fingers, consumed by the chaos of work, and now—now, here you were, alone, in a dress you had probably worn in hopes of celebrating. And he had missed it.
Completely.
He took a slow step toward you, lowering himself to sit beside you on the step. The cold from the pavement seeped through his slacks, but he ignored it.
“You should’ve called me.” His voice was quiet, steady, but there was a tightness beneath it.
You let out a breathy, humorless laugh. “I did.”
His jaw tensed. He had no memory of that. The hospital had been chaos—his phone likely left in his office, forgotten in the madness. That didn’t make it better.
For a long moment, there was only silence. The city around you was quiet at this hour, the world asleep while the two of you sat in the aftermath of his mistake.
Then, finally, he spoke again.
“I’m sorry.”
It wasn’t an excuse. It wasn’t a rushed, meaningless apology. It was slow, deliberate—weighted with sincerity.
You turned to look at him, and for the first time that night, he allowed himself to truly see you. The way your makeup had smudged slightly, the way your lips pressed together as if fighting back something you didn’t want to say.
You weren’t just disappointed.
You were hurt.
His fingers curled into his slacks, his mind searching for the right thing to do, the right thing to say.
Then, as if making a decision, he reached for you. His hands—steady, careful hands that had saved lives and stitched wounds—found yours, his fingertips brushing against the chill of your skin before enclosing them completely.
“Let me fix this.”
You blinked. “It’s already tomorrow, Zayne.”
“Then we’ll start over.” His voice was firm, resolute. “Right now.”
Before you could argue, he was already standing, tugging you gently up with him. The world may have declared your birthday over, but he refused to accept that.
Without hesitation, he shrugged off his suit jacket and draped it over your shoulders, his fingers lingering at the lapels for just a second before he pulled away. Then, taking your hand in his, he gave the faintest tug, silently urging you to follow him.
You furrowed your brows. “Where are we going?”
His lips quirked—just slightly. “To get cake.”
You stared at him. “Zayne, it’s two in the morning.”
“And you still haven’t had a proper birthday.”
His voice was so matter-of-fact, so Zayne, that you almost wanted to laugh. Almost.
But there was something about the way he was holding your hand, something about the way his thumb brushed over your knuckles absentmindedly, as if grounding himself in your presence. Something about the way he had taken one look at you and immediately decided that no, the day wasn’t over, not until he made it right.
So you followed him.
The city at 2 AM was eerily quiet, but Zayne led you with the same certainty he carried in the operating room, his hand never leaving yours as he walked with purpose. Eventually, you ended up at a small convenience store—the only place still open at this hour.
Zayne scanned the shelves with a critical eye, and you watched, bemused, as this brilliant, award-winning surgeon carefully inspected pre-packaged slices of cake as if they were surgical instruments.
Finally, he picked one. A simple chocolate slice. He held it up to you in silent question.
You sighed, shaking your head, but there was the ghost of a smile tugging at your lips. “That’ll do.”
Minutes later, you found yourselves outside again, sitting on a bench beneath the glow of a streetlamp, the city stretching empty and quiet around you.
Zayne pulled out a pair of disposable chopsticks from his pocket, breaking them apart with practiced ease before handing them to you.
You gave him a look. “Of course you have chopsticks on you.”
He merely raised a brow. “You forgot utensils last time.”
You let out a small, breathy laugh at that—softer this time, real. And when he caught the sound of it, the tension in his shoulders eased just slightly.
The two of you sat in silence, sharing the slice of cake, the quiet hum of the city your only companion.
At one point, he glanced down at you, his expression unreadable. Then, with the utmost care, he reached out, brushing a thumb across your cheek, wiping away the last remnants of smudged mascara.
“Happy birthday,” he murmured.
It was late. Too late. The moment had passed. But somehow, as you sat there, eating cake in the early hours of the morning with Zayne by your side, it didn’t seem to matter.
And when he finally leaned down, pressing the softest kiss to your temple, his lips lingering there for just a second longer than necessary.
