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🐦‍⬛ OUT OF BOUNDS — you get isekai-d into the n109 zone [chapter three]

synopsis — the monotony of your university days is interrupted by a stroke of misfortune, one which lands you in the world of love and deepspace, the game you had been casually playing for the previous months. with no way to return home, sylus offers you the job of being his personal secretary. — a continuation of the one-shot “out of bounds”

pairing — sylus x non-mc! reader

tags — reader is not mc, isekai/transmigration, fluff, angst, mutual pining, slice of life, boss/employee relationship, slow burn

a/n — can i finish this fic by sylus’s birthday? i genuinely don’t know… 😭 but i’m finally on break so i’ll try my best in the next few days! anywho, we’ve finally caught up to where the one shot ended so get ready for the angst 😋

ao3 | masterlist | requests are open! series masterlist | part two | part four [coming soon]

chapter three: countdown— the night softens people in ways that can only be done in the haze of darkness, revealing a vulnerability too fragile for the harsh rays of the sun. you know this could be more, you know this could be everything. but the clock ticks down to what you know is inevitable. wc: 7.9k

A constant chill sweeps through the streets of the N109 Zone, creeping into the compound as you exchange flowy shirts and iced tea for thick sweaters and hot cocoa. It’s on one of these nights just past the first snowfall, towards the end of November, when he finds you in the kitchen minutes after midnight. Sitting alone, lighting a candle atop a puny cupcake. 

“Just what do you think you’re doing?” His voice rumbles through the kitchen, startling you and breaking your focus. The lighter slips from your grasp, falling and smudging the frosting. Well, shit. You didn’t exactly prepare a backup. 

“Uhm,” You stare guiltily at him like a deer caught in the headlights. There was no way you were getting out of this one, were you? Not when he’s standing with his arms crossed, disappointed, like a parent who’s caught their child red-handed. 

He pinches the bridge of his nose in quiet frustration, “Please. Please. Do not tell me that today is what I think it is.”

“Surprise?”

“Surprise? Is that all you have to say for yourself?” His eye twitches. Even on your own birthday, you don’t fail to surprise him at every turn. Here you are, having thrown such lovely and thought-out celebrations for everyone’s birthdays, settling for a cupcake and a lonely celebration on yours. “Why on earth would you decide to keep this information from me?” 

“Well, it’s just a birthday. I didn't feel the need to have a lot of celebration this year." The answer is nowhere enough to appease him, judging by his stern gaze. 

You knew this world had a lot to offer; you had barely explored the criminal underbelly that was the N109 Zone, barely stepped into the shining beacon that was Linkon city. You were sure there was more than enough to fill in the gaps of your bucket list. But nothing could match the reckless but youthful adventure of getting lost with life-long friends. Nothing could live up to the warmth and solace of being surrounded by family, as you blow the candles on another year.

You try to keep it all buried under the surface– but with a sigh, you decide to cut open old wounds and bare a little more of your heart to him, “There was more to be sad about than to be happy, I guess. I had so many plans, so many people that I—“ You cut yourself off. Those heart strings were too fragile to be tugged at. “Well, now it’s all kind of gone to shit, huh?” You laugh bitterly. 

Without missing a beat, Sylus asks, “And what were those plans?” 

You reminisce on your old life, splitting the deformed cupcake with him as you recount plans that will never be. It hurts less than you expected it to, to breathe these lost wishes into existence for someone else to hear. 

He listens intently, chiming in with similar experiences or places that he’s seen in this world– frankly, it reminds you of when your elders used to go on about their wisdom and their golden years. “Your age is showing, grandpa,” You tease him, and he lightly glares at you. You take the opportunity to ruffle his hair, “Your hair’s already silver, too.” 

Eventually, your lunch break comes to an end, and you bid him goodbye as he returns to his office. You sigh as you clean up and throw away the candle you never even got to light. Oh well. There’s always next year. 

Later that day you wake up in the afternoon, ready to start your shift— only to be greeted by streamers and balloons lining your path downstairs. “Happy birthday!” The whole house cheers as you enter the living room, decked out in all sorts of party favors. Even Sylus— the most notoriously unfestive man you’ve ever met— is wearing a cone shaped party hat striped with your favorite colors.

What follows is an impromptu day-off for everyone in the compound. (You feel an oncoming migraine thinking of how you’re going to readjust Sylus’s schedule, but that’s a job for future you.) They bring you to Linkon City, driving past the welcome sign as the sunset casts a pink glow over the horizon. It’s your first time visiting for leisure, your previous excursions into the city being solely for Onychinus business. 

Sitting beside you at the wheel, Sylus participates in the idle chatter, but inwardly he feels ashamed. He's upset that you kept the date to yourself for so long; but more than that, he’s angry at himself for never having bothered to ask. So, in the final hours of your birthday, he does his best to make up for it. 

The four of you drive around the city with Mephisto following from the skies, visiting various spots that were eerily similar to the ones you had described mere hours ago to Sylus. The itinerary matches your original plans to a T, as he drags you to every activity you had desired to partake in, lavishing you with all sorts of presents on the way. 

Your last stop is a shopping center, to which you groan, already knowing the fate that awaits you. Sylus is the type to spend more than he needs to as a statement. He insists that you wait for him in the plaza, no doubt going off to the most luxurious store in the mall looking for a hefty price tag. You sit by the fountain, deserted due to the late hour, dangling your feet as you wait for him to return.

You gasp as a cold pair of hands suddenly covers your eyes. “Keep still, sweetheart,” He whispers in your ear, shocking you out of your bored reverie. You keep your eyes forward as he pulls your hair aside, breath hitching as he clasps a necklace around your neck, the cold metal brushing against your skin. It's a thin chain, with a gem of your favorite color set in an intricate frame. You don’t know much about jewelry or gems, but you can’t comprehend how much this must have cost. The way it sparkles and glints under the light makes it clear that it must have cost a fortune. 

“Sylus, I can't accept this…” You turn around to face him. Just as when he took you shopping before the auction, it’s far too much. You’re not used to being spoiled, not used to treating yourself without deserving it first, and you tell him as much. 

He tips your chin upwards with a feather-light touch, his gaze unreadable as he asks, “And who says my lovely secretary doesn’t deserve the world at her feet?” 

The atmosphere shifts, the effortless ease at which you interact with him dissipating into stutters and heated stares. This tension follows you as you reunite with Luke and Kieran, the two having gone their separate ways to buy you their own present— a new set of knitting needles, and a mug with the words “World’s Best Secretary” that they’ve decorated to hell and back with rhinestones in your favorite colors.

The four of you spend the rest of the evening dining in a fancy restaurant, bypassing the queue with Sylus’s name alone. It’s a strictly no-work evening, as you bicker with the twins and coo at Mephisto (You have since learned he cannot digest food. It’s a shame, and you’ve been pestering Sylus to add it as his next upgrade.) You turn to him, casually silent throughout it all. All throughout the night you’ve been hyper aware of his heat pressed against your side, his thigh brushing against yours, even as he seems unaffected himself. He raises an eyebrow upon catching your gaze, “Are you enjoying yourself?” 

You nod; a true, content smile on your face. It's not exactly the birthday you envisioned for yourself this year; the absence of your friends and loved ones still acts as a wide, gaping hole in your heart. But nonetheless, you now have a newfound family to spend your special day with— and that’s more than you could have ever expected. 

When the cake is brought out— a fancy, two-tiered thing in your favorite color— you make a wish. It’s not about your wistful longing to go home. It’s not about your hopeless desire to wake up from this strange dream. It’s a wish for all your moments to be like this— heart full, and with family by your side. 

After dinner, Luke and Kieran have to leave for a mission they couldn’t get out of. “Happy birthday,” They each greet you again with a hug and a disappointed goodbye, “Sorry we can’t continue the celebration back home.” You wave off their worries— there’s always more fun to be had once they come back. 

“Boys, take the car,” Sylus tosses over the keys, “I'll be taking Treasure out for a spin. She’s been getting a little dusty, lately.”

The twins glance at each other with a knowing look, subtly looking towards you with a hint of mischief, “Oh, gotcha boss.” They lightly snicker as you two walk them to the parking lot. 

“What's so funny?” You narrow your eyes, knowing very well by now that that look means nothing but trouble. 

“Nothing to worry about, Ms. Secretary… Nothing to worry about. We’ll see you tomorrow,” Luke grins before rolling up the driver’s window. 

About half an hour later, you deeply regret not listening to your instincts as you scream your head off, clung to Sylus's back like a koala as he goes faster than you thought was technologically possible. ”What the fuck— Sylus, slow down!” Your shout fades into a shriek, your screams of terror echoing throughout the empty road as he leans the motor til’ your knees are brushing against the pavement, a shit-eating grin on his face behind the visor of his helmet. 

“Her name’s Treasure,” He said, pulling out the beast of a motorcycle from his Linkon safe house, introducing it to you as one of his most prized possessions. You don’t know what you were expecting when he tossed over a helmet and told you to hold tight, but you certainly didn’t expect to have a near-death experience on the day of your birth. He continues to rev up the engine, a hellish speed that shortens a fifteen minute trip out of Linkon to a mere three minutes. 

You cling on for dear life, your whole body wound tightly in fear, and eventually he settles into a safer speed, adrenaline fading and allowing you to enjoy the night breeze. “Let’s take a little detour, hm?” You barely hear him over the rumble of the engine, making a turn just past the Linkon City welcome sign and to the opposite direction of the N109 Zone. He drives through the wilderness and the winding roads, bringing you to a rocky cliff side. 

You gasp at the sight before you, taking off your helmet to admire it in all its glory. You could see the entirety of Linkon from here, a circuit board of lights and neon colors, casting a dim glow over the city skyline. It's rare to find a clear sky in the winter, giving way to the full moon and the sea of stars. 

“Can we take a picture?” You ask hesitantly, fully expecting him to say no. 

He nods, “You should have memories of your birthday.” Your jaw drops. There are only a handful of photos of him on record– he rarely ever lets anyone take a picture of him, out of caution on his identity being leaked. 

As the one with the longer arms, you gesture for him to take the picture, posing for a selfie with the skyline in the background. But as he hands you the phone, genuinely satisfied with the photo after taking a look– you think, is he messing with you? The photo is blurry, the both of you a little bit out of frame, and his finger blocks the corner of the image. 

You laugh in confusion; you genuinely cannot tell whether this is a prank or not. “Let’s take another one, I'll do it this time.”

You don’t know how long you two stay there, with your head laid against his shoulder, a quiet peace settling over you two as you talk about anything and everything. On the ride home, you find yourself flushing despite the winter chill. It’s a comfortable silence, yet your heart is thumping loudly against your chest. Does he hear how he makes you feel? You wonder as your eyes meet in the side mirrors, turning and burrowing your cheek into his warm shoulders. The journey home feels like an adventure coming to a close, street lights blinking against the night sky and quiet rumble of the few cars on the highway at this hour. 

Before he retires to his bedroom, you place a soft kiss against his cheek. “Thank you for today.” You whisper before shutting the door behind you. 

From then on, the air between you two shifts, becoming significantly more… tense. What were once casual interactions turn meaningful with every brush of your fingers, with every meeting of your eyes across the room. He's always lavished you with the sweetest of pet names; dear, darling, sweet girl. You assume it’s just how he is, given what you had seen of him from the game. But why does it make your heart race every time he refers to you with such terms of endearment? Why does it fuel your delusions of having something more?

—————————————————————

But of course, no matter how much the dynamic shifts and bends between the two of you, it doesn’t change the fact that with winter chill comes holiday tunes and festivities. You were absolutely appalled at their lack of holiday spirit in the previous years, “How can you run an organization like this?!” So, on the week before Christmas, you once again strong-arm Sylus into having your festive way at the Onychinus base. 

It begins with you dragging your boss out to the nearest Christmas tree farm. “You’re rich enough to afford a real one,” You decide definitively. He rolls his eyes but drives you there anyway. 

You two spend an hour walking through the farm with mugs of hot cocoa, eventually settling on a tree that you have to lug all the way back to base. You huff as you carry the other end of the cart, your breath coming out in clouds of condensed air ever since you two brought it out of the truck. You wheeze in exhaustion, “Are you even lifting?” You helplessly ask Sylus, who looks too nonchalant considering the literal tree you two were carrying. 

“Oh? My bad,” Is all he says before swooping in with his evol, red tendrils wrapping around the trunk to carry it the rest of the way. You hold in the urge to scream and cuss at him. This man just loves to test your patience. 

Each night on the week before Christmas goes similarly. The moment your work is done for the day, you drag the whole house into some sort of festive activity. Decorating the compound, baking a gingerbread house, making eggnog. Holiday tunes fill the Onychinus base 24/7 and for once, Sylus finds that he doesn’t mind. Not when he sees the way you dance to yourself when you think no one’s looking, the way you know the words by heart and hum them under your breath. But he doesn’t participate much, mostly checking in and making sardonic yet supportive comments before returning to his work.

One evening, he decides to bring his work to the living room while you’re setting up the tree. It was a great source of entertainment to see you struggle on your toes placing the ornaments, hoisting yourself up on whatever nearby surface was available to you. But even he found it a bit too pitiful to watch you struggle to place the star, too vertically challenged to place the finishing touch. Couldn’t you just get a ladder? “Let me help you,” His breath tickles your ear as he grabs your waist, lifting you up with one arm. 

You squeal, gripping to him tightly and kicking at the air beneath you, “Sylus, what the fuck! Put me down!”

“Place the star, darling. While I'm still being nice." In the end, you call it a team effort, despite his only contribution being his role as a human ladder. 

—————————————————————

Your mood has been nothing but jovial the whole week of Christmas, caught up in nothing but festivities in anticipation of the holiday. And so, it disturbs him when the eve of the 25th arrives and you’re downtrodden. A shell of your typical self. He's never seen you like this before— absentminded and listless, it takes you a whole minute to realize he’s calling your name for the grand Christmas dinner you had insisted upon. “I'm fine, just a bit sleepy,” you explain as he voices his worries. He doesn’t believe you, not one bit, judging by the way his eyes continue to follow you through the rest of the night.

You open presents with everyone at midnight, gathered around the fireplace with the whole Onychinus family. This time, you knitted Sylus a scarf; he wraps it around himself immediately, already knowing it’ll be a staple in his closet for the winter months to come. He looks to his right and sees Mephisto with a matching, tiny version around his neck. 

Meanwhile, you were overwhelmed upon unwrapping the large present addressed to you and finding a high-grade coffee machine, one of the fancy ones with a latte art feature. How did he know? You narrow your eyes at him across the room, a satisfied smirk twisting his face. You’ve never said anything about it, only looked at the ads and the site out of boredom and curiosity. (Simple answer: He had Mephisto spy on you when you were scrolling your phone.)

You smile and thank everyone at the right cues, but he can tell your heart’s not in it. Physically, you celebrate and have your childish fun with the twins, dancing to merry tunes and having all-out warfare with the crumpled wrapping paper littering the floor. But mentally, you were far away— your eyes speaking of a grief none of them could begin to comprehend. Once the cookies are nothing but crumbs and the wrapping paper is all cleaned up, he decides to take you to the rooftop to ask what’s wrong. 

“Come on, let’s get some fresh air,” He invites you, donning his coat and boots. 

You throw him a skeptical look, “In this frigid temperature? Are you insane? I'm already shivering here inside,” You fake-shiver dramatically just to prove your point. 

“Well then, isn’t it fortunate you just received a plethora of winter clothes for the holiday?” He gestures to the pile of fancy, designer items you had folded on top of the coffee machine’s box. You’ve long since learned to pick your battles with this man– and it is simply not worth it anymore to argue with how he spends his money.

“Well-played,” You begrudgingly acquiesce, following him up to the rooftop where you sniffle from the cold air biting at your nose. 

You’ve spent countless nights here in the warmer months, the only place where you could pretend the N109 Zone wasn’t the bloody death trap it truly was, shining under the glow of the moonlight and the stars littering the sky. Only from the top– from an untouchable position of power– could this wretched, dangerous city look so beautiful. 

“What's on your mind?“ Sylus asks, breaking the peaceful quiet. “You haven’t been yourself all evening.” It faintly reminds you of those nights in spring, wind brushing against your cheeks as you slowly began to let down the barriers of your heart, the terror of slumber softened by the comfort of company. A lot has changed since then, you think. But at the same time, there’s a lot that hasn’t. 

“I—“ You hesitate, planning on brushing it off like you always do. But then you realize: you trust Sylus, more than anyone else in this world. 

And so, you decide to bare your heart to the only person who holds enough of it to break it. 

It's a bittersweet Christmas for you, the first you’ve ever spent away from home. For the first time since you were whisked away to this surreal world, you speak of your original life. Your family. Your friends. Your dreams. A fragile boundary that you haven’t touched with anyone here, for it hurts too much to speak of what you left behind. (No, not left behind. Taken away from you.) 

You try to string sentences together, try to give justice to the people who brought meaning to your life, to the reckless and stressful and beautiful joy of your old world— but how do you capture all that you’ve lost in mere words? It's too much. You feel your chest cave under the weight of these emotions, far too heavy for one heart to handle. “I miss them so much,” Your voice cracks, small tears streaming down your cheeks— but he offers you a quiet grace and says nothing of it. It’s such a painfully simple sentence to express the torrent that devastates you— and yet, he understands.

The night softens people in ways that can only be done in the haze of darkness, revealing a vulnerability too fragile for the harsh rays of the sun. And thus, it is here beneath snowfall and starry skies, where he sheds his claws and his barriers, telling you of his search for the other half of his soul. He speaks of a similar homesickness, finding kinship with you through loss, as he’s waited what seems like a millennia for the person he calls his home. You already know, of course, that sooner or later he will meet her again. It was inevitable, written into the cards as it was written into code. This world was once your favorite game, and you had shed tears at their loss, at their cursed fate. You stay silent, listening to the tragic tale from the man himself.

His eyes speak of so many more untold truths— of love hidden deep in the crevices of his heart, taking root in his chest for the past millennia and shaping the man he’s become. “I had never known love until I found her.” He speaks of her with such fondness sparkling in his eyes, an adoration reserved for his one and only— his sorceress, his soulmate. It makes you hurt for this man, for the trials he’s endured in the name of true love. But it is also a bitter reminder that you have no place by his side. 

Although you stay by his side and offer him words of comfort, deep inside you also want to claw at him. Force his eyes on you so you can feel even a smidgen of that pure adoration for yourself. But you can only feel bitter guilt taking root inside you. After all, who are you to meddle in their tale? Who are you to rival fate itself? 

It is winter solstice now, a period marked by a perpetual chill and the longest nights of the year. Your relationship with Sylus is one that has prospered in darkness; taking root in the midnight hours, your most tender and vulnerable moments allowed only under the cover of the night sky. But inevitably it will be overshadowed by the return of summer and with it, his soulmate— the woman who brought sunshine to his darkest days.

—————————————————————

On New Year’s Eve, he doesn’t even give you the chance to feel homesick. The moment the sun rises, he takes you on a joyride to Linkon City. It’s rare for you to see Sylus in the daylight; shrouded in sunshine rather than moonlight, surrounded by crowds rather than deserted streets. “I go here every year,” He boasts as he leads you to the temple fair, determined to make your first New Year’s Eve here memorable. 

“Oh?” You’re rather surprised, given that he doesn’t exactly have a penchant for celebrating the holidays. But you smile, walking forward to match his stride, “Well then, I'll trust you to lead the way!”

He takes you around the fair— buying from the various food stalls he says are the best, watching the street performances he’s probably seen countless times before, doing all the festive gimmicks he knows you’ll love, even if it isn’t his cup of tea. He keeps you occupied, making sure you don’t even have a moment to feel sad.

At the front of the temple, you ask him to take a picture of you in front of the pretty backdrop. You pose for a few pictures, guided by his direction until he hands you the phone, “Tell me if you want me to take another.”

What greets you is the blurriest, most unflattering photo of you to exist in both your old and current world. You scroll through the rest of the pictures only to find they all hold the same level of (or rather, lack of) quality. You stare blankly at the screen and sigh, “This is good enough for me.” Everyone has their weaknesses, you suppose. 

Although Sylus mentioned that he’s a regular here, you’re still quite surprised to see his words ring true when all of the vendors greet him warmly, recognizing him from years past. “Let the lady choose one! It’s on the house,” A vendor selling fortune bracelets tells him, overjoyed that he finally brought someone along. You scan the numerous pieces on display, your eyes landing on a small beaded bracelet— the tag marking its fortune for “a safe return home.”

Sylus gracefully does not comment on this as the vendor packs the bracelet, bidding you two a jovial goodbye.

The two of you sightsee for a while before finding yourself sitting across from each other at a caricature portrait booth, directed by the artist to, “Look into each other’s eyes! I’ll make sure to capture the lovely couple you are.” Neither of you step in to correct him. But the artist’s light mood quickly fades as he soon realizes the type of client he’s dealing with. “Miss, please stop moving,” He says for the millionth time, absolutely fed up with your silly behavior.

You cannot stop your smile from trembling, your eyes locked on Sylus’s as the two of you went head-to-head in a staring contest– which you promptly lost five seconds in by bursting into giggles. You’re about to keel over, cheeks puffed up from poorly restrained laughter. Meanwhile, Sylus is comically straight-faced, amusedly raising an eyebrow at your antics, “What's so funny? Is there something on my face?”

Afterwards, he stakes his claim on the portrait, “It’s only right, considering what a hard time you gave the artist,” He reasons, snatching the paper from your hands. 

You slump and walk past him, grumbling, “I'd like to see him try to stay serious with your ridiculous face.”

But behind you, you don’t see how his eyes are locked on the sight of you captured in charcoal and ink, genuine glee transforming your face. You’ve never looked so beautiful, he thinks. Falling into a fit of uncontrollable giggles, shoulders momentarily free of the burden of all you’ve lost. He carefully stows the paper away, making a mental note to tip the artist extra. 

When night falls over the city, he brings you to the tallest building in Linkon for the best view of the fireworks show. Despite the chilly air, his hand is warm in yours, clutching it in a tight grip as he wades through the crowd of people who had the same idea. Fortunately, you find a secluded corner where the two of you sit and sip your milk tea, talking about your new year’s resolutions.

“I don't do resolutions,” He waved a hand, unimpressed. “If I want to change an aspect of my life, I won't wait until the start of a new year to do so.”

“Boo, you’re no fun,” You stick your tongue out at him. He rolls his eyes, but he’s internally pleased with how well he’s distracted you thus far. “My resolutions are always the same. Exercise more, eat healthy, and save money!”

“Dear, there is a private gym back home that you haven’t touched even once,” Your heart flutters at the word home. A word that brings you melancholy on most days, but now fills your heart with domestic bliss.

“Well then, it’s perfect! I'll have no excuse not to start tomorrow.” 

He shakes his head in fond exasperation. Your eyes are glued to the magnificent colors soaring through the sky, legs bouncing in time with the countdown. But unbeknownst to you, his gaze is entirely on you. 

The world he lives in is a cruel and violent one, where people’s eyes sparkle with greed, envy, and lust. A part of him doesn’t understand how something as superficial as fireworks can bring people such joy, how holidays inspire a brief kindness in their hearts, as if it’ll make up for their sins the rest of the year. But maybe he can understand it, just a little bit now, he thinks. Because if it means seeing this look in your eyes again, so childlike and enchanted by the sight before you (the first time he’s seen happiness override the grief shadowing your eyes), then he would light the sky every night, just for you. 

When the clock strikes midnight, you jump to give him a big bear hug. “Happy new year, Sylus!”

He cradles you in his arms, placing a gentle kiss on your forehead, “Happy new year.”

—————————————————————

Even the high-paced criminal world of the N109 Zone slows down on New Year’s Day, people burrowing in their homes to ward off the early January chill sweeping through the city. Work inside the Onychinus compound pauses as the world comes to a frosted standstill, and you spend a lazy morning with Sylus under fuzzy blankets and the warmth of the fireplace. 

You don’t know how you ended up in this position. You’d gone straight to bed after returning from Linkon– a mere hour of slumber until you woke up breathless, heart racing from the shadows conjured by your own mind. You crept downstairs, hoping to find solace in the company of others. Of course, Sylus is still awake. “Can’t sleep?” He turns down the volume of the boxing match on the television, so you can settle in peacefully at his side. You stare listlessly at the violent match on the screen, listening to his peaceful humming, until you fall back asleep.

But come morning, you’ve woken up with your legs tangled in his. Wrapped in each other’s arms, his chest rises and falls against yours, your head tucked under his chin as his breath lands right against your ear. 

It’s the first time you’ve seen Sylus in a deep slumber. You’ve fallen asleep countless times in his company, often waking up in your bedroom, carried back by him at some point while you were unconscious. Your heart flutters at the trust he’s shown you, but it also aches. It confuses you more as to where you stand. You know his heart still belongs to the hunter— there’s no doubt about it, with the grief that filled his eyes at the mention of her name, as he told you of the tragedy that befell them. 

But at the same time, you’ve toed the fragile boundaries of your relationship far too much for you to be called just friends. In moments like these, a part of you foolishly believes that maybe you could occupy his heart, take things further without restraint. But neither of you take a step towards confronting it, just living in this in-between of not just friends, not just coworkers, but not lovers in any sense.

You breathe in his scent and painstakingly pull yourself away, trying your best not to disturb him. You can no longer deny how much you want this, how much you want him. You yearn to wake up everyday pressed against his warmth, arms wrapped around each other with distance being non-existent. But a larger part of you, the one with a sense of self-preservation, also knows this won’t lead to anywhere good. And so, you slip away in the early hours of the morning and decide never to speak of it again. Instead, you ponder over your place in his life— and how long it’ll be yours.

—————————————————————

Almost a year has passed since your arrival, and you’ve grown more accustomed to the harsh edges of your new job. It’s not exactly what you had envisioned for yourself. You had once hoped to start somewhere more in line with your aspiring career, somewhere you could make use of your degree. But as you’ve learned, plans don’t always work out. What you do is unorthodox, but it’s fulfilling and allows you to live in this dangerous world from a safe vantage point, almost like dipping your toes into a ten feet pool. 

That doesn’t mean you’re completely sheltered from all the dangers of the job, however. Given the type of clientele you handle, more often than not, you’re faced with threats of being maimed over the phone when you can’t give somebody what they want. Each time, Sylus promptly takes over and matches their energy twicefold with a more heinous, yet very real threat.

The worst days are post-missions, when you have to witness your newfound family return bloody and bruised in the name of defending Onychinus. Anxiety fills your mind on the days of their missions, and you become conditioned to waiting with a first aid kit and a change of clothes for Luke and Kieran, patching up their wounds as soon as they step through the front door. But Sylus— you’d think he was invincible, with how he returns from even the most high-risk operations without a scratch. 

That is, until one night when he walks through the front door, leaving a bloody trail in his wake. His evol is working overtime to knit his skin back together, but the blood still pools beneath him on the marble tile. 

It's early January, almost a year since your arrival into this world. But you vividly remember the injuries that plagued you those first months, and the struggle to take care of yourself— washing your hair with a broken shoulder, eating your food with a fractured wrist. Most of all, you remember the loneliness of your hospital room. How you secretly sought his company; because despite your fear, his visits were better than the loud silence that filled your days. 

Sylus has been in this business for decades, has probably been injured like this far too many times to count. You think to yourself— how often has he had to go to sleep caked in blood, far too tired to care for himself? How many times has he faced the aching loneliness after a mission gone wrong?

So, you resolve to stick by him despite his insistence that he can handle it. You know his injuries will only linger for another day at most, but still, you survey him with a keen eye, spotting the flinch of his shoulders when he tries to reach for the painkillers on his shelf. You clock the injury even if he hasn’t mentioned the pain– and it leads to you sitting by the edge of the tub, washing his hair for him.

“I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself,” He shrugs you off, his words less biting than he intended under the influence of his medication, “This is nothing new to me.”

“I know very well how capable you are, but it doesn’t mean you have to take care of yourself alone.” You pester him some more, and he begrudgingly hands you his shampoo. You squeeze out a dollop and gently run the foam through his hair, thoroughly covering every spot. You hold back a giggle; he looks like a tamed lion, eyes shut in bliss as you massage the sides of his head.

When he comes out of the bathroom, robed and bandaged, he’s just about ready to knock out. You stay by his side through the night as he recovers, listening to hitched breaths and deluded murmurs about a time long past. The whisper of an ever-so-familiar name. The analog clock ticks every second, and it only solidifies the knowledge that your time by his side is limited. Things have been going far too well; but soon enough, your world will be upended again. 

You grip his hand in yours throughout the night. But it’s not your hand to hold. 

—————————————————————

The prophecy fulfills itself on the tenth day of January, marking a year since you first entered this world. The whole base knows exactly what day it is, and you feel them handling you with more care, treating you like a bomb about to detonate. It bothers you. It’s not as if you’re made out of glass (even if you feel you’re about to shatter at any moment). On your break, you decide to leave for the rooftop for a brief reprieve. 

When you return, the phone rings, and it’s as if god has chosen to send a punchline your way.

You wish you didn’t answer the phone. You wish you didn’t speak to the business associate who held the information Sylus was apparently desperate for. You wish you didn’t have to inform him of the cryptic news. You wish you weren’t there in the office when an underling comes to deploy the intel. Because it only confirmed what you knew all along was coming: a hunter with a protocore in her heart.

Her picture is projected in a hologram, and somehow, you automatically know it’s her. It’s uncanny, how alike the two of you look. From the corner of your eye, you even see Sylus do a double-take as the image fully renders. Maybe if the situation was different, you would’ve wondered at the physics of it all. Maybe you would have been more hungry to understand the science behind how you ended up here, to understand the connection between you and the hunter. But your curiosity has been overshadowed by heartbreak.

You know what’s coming. You know the end of your time here is nearing. The past year has lulled you into a false sense of security, one you desperately tried to believe in— but you can’t. You’re no longer the glass half-full kind of person you once were. Life chewed you up and spat you out to fend for yourself in this new world, and you know your hopes will only get crushed. Because seeing the longing and disbelief in his eyes, as he comes to terms with his lover being within reach; it only cements the fact that you have no chance. Never had a chance. 

(Already, you can feel a love that was never yours slipping from your grasp.)

You feel the change in the air the next few days, and you’re suffocated by it. You find yourself growing lonelier; this compound never seemed so large and empty before. Luke and Kieran become busier than ever, collecting information on the hunter while going about their usual responsibilities. Even Mephisto is out on the field, with the new task of following (or rather, stalking) his new target.

Sylus has sent the headquarters into a frenzy for this woman— but you? He has you go about as usual. No extra responsibilities, like he wants you to remain untouched by the business of his past love. (It’s far too late for that.) Rather, it seems he’s actively seeking you out. On days where he isn’t spent with the task of balancing his search with his regular Onychinus duties, he seems to gravitate towards you, looking for any excuse to be in your company.

But you? You try desperately to avoid him. You sneak around him like a mouse in a cat’s territory, stepping around glass and limiting your interactions to work, treating him with an amicable professionalism. It's like a cold glass of water has been poured over him. Even when you two were no better than strangers, you had never treated him so clinically. You can tell he’s hurt and confused by your behavior, but you shove down the guilt— because this is what you need to do to protect your heart. 

At some point, he eventually manages to catch you, pulling you aside with the ominous words no one wants to hear, “Dear, I think we should talk.” 

Your eyes well up in tears but you try your best to blink it away. It’s one thing to know, another to be confronted by it. The knowledge that what you have can’t continue is already ruining you, and you think you might break if he voices into existence. “What's there to talk about? What you’ve always wanted is almost in your hands.”

Sylus flinches at the total defeat in your voice. He can feel that you’re putting up boundaries with him— ones that he should’ve held in place, with how his heart is already taken by another. But little by little you crept into his life, into his heart, carving your place in it. And now, he doesn’t know what to do with the pain of you closing yourself off from him. 

But like always, you smile and try to soften the blow, “It’s okay, Sylus. I'm happy for you. I mean it,” You lie through your teeth. Despite how much pain this forced happiness inflicts on you, you will never have it in you to purposefully hurt him.

—————————————————————

Over the span of a year, you had become one of Sylus's closest confidants. He treats you with all the gentleness and care in the world, revealing to you softer sides of him— ones that you knew existed in the game, and ones that you discovered for yourself. You feel honored that he trusts you with these facets of himself, but you also feel a tremendous guilt. 

Because what Sylus doesn’t know is that he was your favorite. Facing burnout in your final year of university, you began to cope with a game suggested to you, becoming engrossed with one of its newest characters. He'd drawn you to him with his soft treatment of the main character, juxtaposed with his violent nature and line of work. Your heart had fluttered at every tender moment, each call and text message, each appearance in the main story. You had passingly indulged in the delusions of romance with a fictional man, a small part of your day to cope with the struggles of your reality. 

When you landed in this world, there was a cognitive dissonance as you came to terms with the difference between the 2D character that lived on your phone screen and the living, breathing person in front of you. For a long time, you were too focused on your new situation to even think of the implications of your fictional crush being in close, real proximity. He hadn’t trusted you, either. You could feel his suspicion in each interaction, as he contemplated what to make of you. 

At the time, you thought that by now, surely you would have woken up from this coma-induced hallucination already. Surely you would have woken back up in your reality. But as you grew to accept that the situation you’re in is as real as the blood that runs through your veins, came to terms with the likelihood that you may be stuck there for the foreseeable future— before you knew it, he had crept into your heart. 

You don’t know when it started. All you know is that his presence in your life is more than the surface-level distraction it once was in your reality. No, Sylus— the living person who offered you a place in this world, who indulged you in your lowest moments, who makes your heart race like no other— has you wrapped around his finger. He could ask anything of you, and your heart could do nothing but surrender to his whims. 

But in the back of your head, always lurking, is the distant reminder of the main character. The vivacious hunter whose life is tied to his. The other half of his soul. She looms in the background of every moment, a constant reminder of what you cannot have. There’s no chance you could ever come between something destined by the universe itself, so you yield in the face of their cosmic love. You shove away your feelings and resign yourself to finding a way back home, desperately, before this world forces you to lose a love you never even had. 

—————————————————————

What you don’t know is that he’s desperately blocking off every potential lead back to your world, not wanting to face a reality where you are not in his life. 

He finds himself conflicted, because his soul is tied to her. His sorcerer now reborn as the hunter, his soulmate, the one he has yearned for for what feels like a millenia. But here you are, his lovely secretary, the woman who forces him into mundane festivities and stays by his side for all his highs and all his lows. His love for his soulmate was forged in fire and blood; but this? This new love is bathed under golden light, born out of mutual care and an unexpected connection.

He has tried to keep his thoughts loyal and true to the love he has been seeking for centuries— but he can no longer deny the pull he feels towards you. The two images war in his head; the dragon roaring at how distracted he’s become from searching for his mate, and the man, falling fast and hard for a woman from another world, brought to him by pure fate.

His search for his long-lost love continues, but alongside it are his attempts to tie you down to his world, to keep you in his grasp. Because he cannot, will not, live without you.

He will watch the world burn before he lets it take another love away from him again.

—————————————————————

It all comes to a head when you hear a familiar voice raging through the corridors, wrecking a storm through the compound as she is brought here unwillingly. Sylus and the twins coming back with the hunter— bloody and bruised from her disastrous entry into the N109 Zone. Here it is. Your time is up.

For two people who are often so shamelessly true to themselves, both you and Sylus are the type whose true feelings are never encapsulated by mere words, whose eyes speak more of their soul than sentences ever could. Knowing this, you avoid his eyes. You shield your hurt in forced happiness, as he hides his internal conflict behind a cold veneer. 

The two of you continue in this cycle of push and pull, of moving closer but not close enough. You live in a limbo, desperately searching for ways to get home before the main storyline catches up to you. Haunted by the narrative, you two move in and out of each other’s orbit, just out of reach. Just out of bounds.

—————————————————————

for any reveluvs here, i listened to night drive the whole time i was writing the motorcycle scene<33 (for non-reveluvs u should go check it out its an absolute banger) also, SYLUS’S BDAY MEMORY 🥹 his bday scene in the previous chapter is no longer canon-compliant considering the event story… (like UGH ofc this man never told anyone 😩) but i do find it funny how in this story the reader is the one who hides it from him; taste of his own medicine LOL. i headcanon that she remembered his bday from the game and shocked him to his bones when he saw the exact date plotted on their calendar

feel free to dm/comment on the series masterlist if you'd like to be added or removed from the taglist 💕

taglist — @mangooes @mentaltrouble2201 @animegamerfox @crazy-ink-artist @phisen @jeondyy @t4naiis @wifunozomi @munimunni @blessdunrest @rafayelridesfisheatsfish @paintedperidot @mansonofmadness @pillarofsnow @sylususeyourevolonmepls @angelichiaro @mephisto-with-a-knife @crimsonmarabou @hikaru-sama @flamedancer13 @tati-the-fangirl @ameili @poptrim @caramelizedpopcirn @cupid-gene @vvonunie @lunia-likes-pomegranet @iamawkwardandshy @tinyweebsstuff @astolary @vyntheria @theloveofnagiseishiroslife @velourmobius @beaconsxd @hon3yydew @kira-loves0905 @codedove @that-lost-one @colonelcalebs-pipsqueak @kaiii07 @bohoooitsme @everythingistaken00 @rmjace @red-raf-sy @goddexxluv @seris-the-amious @stellisangelicus-world @alhaith4ms @young-adult-summer @junrui

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Angel of Her Own Making | Part 1

Author's note: I'm literally at a work conference but this idea is stuck in my brain and for the sake of mankind, I need to jot it down. This isn't a fully-written piece, just a rough sketch really and totally NOT proofread, but bear with me.

WARNINGS: Reader is not the default MC, plenty of angst, depiction of violence & character death.

Parts: (1), (2)

The temporal setting is the Beyond CloudFall myth timeline.

You met Sylus when you were both kids. He'd just been taken by the humans, mistaken for a human child, and adopted into a regular family.

You played in the alleyways together, went to grade school together. He joined your class a bit later than usual as he initially refused to go (he was not interested in learning how to be a human). You were constantly scrutinized by the teachers, although you did well in school, because you were stubborn and inquisitive. But compared to Sylus, you still had a better time fitting in. Due to your "persona non grata" status, you two were often paired together, and you started helping Sylus out with his homework. At the beginning, he was nearly illiterate, having never had any need for reading, but with your patient help, he quickly caught up. Something akin to friendship grew between you two - you did most of the talking, and he was happy to listen, and for the first time in your lives, you both felt like maybe you belonged.

Then came the hormonal teenage years. He got ridiculously tall, and you started growing out your hair instead of sporting a home-grown bowl cut. Suddenly, you found yourself blushing whenever you turned around and caught crimson eyes already looking at you. The way he'd maintain the eye contact and give you a smirk almost made you lose your mind, because it felt like he had no idea what he was doing to your emotions. Little did you know, the dragon-boy was struggling with his own confused emotions. He'd read human books and heard the human adults talk about these sorts of things, but he never thought it was possible for him to actually experience anything beyond general fondness. So he said nothing to you about it, adopting a nonchalant appearance that only made him all the more attractive to not just you but also the other girls in your town on the outskirts of Taurus City.

With puberty came other, more alarming changes Sylus had always dreaded. Ever since he cut off his horns, he had half-hoped no one would ever find out about his true origins. Much to his dismay, the skin on his forehead felt taut and irritated, as though something was growing underneath and preparing to break through, and his shoulder blades ached like the bones and muscles were realigning themselves. He could hide these terrifying abnormalities by putting on a hat and bearing through the pain, but he couldn't fool you, his best friend.

You noticed his discomfort before long. Perhaps the only person in the world more stubborn than Sylus himself, you got the truth out of him quickly enough. Sylus was fully expecting you to be disgusted and resent him for being a fiend. Imagine his utter shock when you simply gave him a smile and squeezed his arms, telling him that it was alright, that he had nothing to fear.

You revealed something about yourself that you had told no one else before: you had recollections of a life you once lived, fragmented memories of another existence that ended a long time ago. Sometimes, you'd come across something that evoked this extreme sense of nostalgia that you couldn't quite place, but in your heart of hearts, you knew this was not your first time being alive. You were afraid he'd find you odd and laugh you off, but he didn't. In fact, in that moment, he thought he finally understood what he felt for you. Yet he couldn't bring himself to confess, still fearful that he would be pushing his luck if he did.

On Philos at the time (which felt and looked Medieval), people got married young. As you and Sylus got more comfortable around each other again, there was a tacit promise between you. It wasn't like either of you had the courage to say anything, but there was no mistaking your affection for each other. For you, there was no one else you could see yourself spending the rest of time with. And you were hoping Sylus felt the same, until one day when he just disappeared.

Two more days passed; you searched frantically for him, running from house to house, knocking on doors and asking if anyone had seen him. Your parents thought it was unbecoming of a young maiden such as yourself to so publicly pine after a man, but you didn't care. You even asked his foster parents, who knew you well by that point, but there was something off about the way they dodged your questions. You thought you heard his foster mom say something along the lines of "the boy is better off hidden away" and your anxiety shot through the roof. You were so frustrated that you cried yourself to sleep at night. In fact, you were tossing and turning in bed, unable to get any rest, when somebody pelted your window with pebbles. Only one person would ever do that, and the joy that surged through you was almost dizzying as you threw off your blanket and ran to the window.

And there he was, his face shadowed by the hood of his cloak, his eyes shining like rubies under the moonlight. He waved at you, and you had a thousand questions to ask, but he only shook his head and made you promise to meet him at the datura fields outside of town after sunset the day after. You immediately agreed, completely ready to elope with him if he asked.

Fate, of course, had other plans. Sylus waited for you in the field of flowers, but instead of you, the soldiers of the Justicia came. The Supreme Adjudicator led them in a divine mission to rid Philos of the last fiend. They taunted him, saying it was you who'd ratted him out. And the rest was history.

1677 years. He spent over a millennium in that Abyss, a sword driven through his chest yet not quite killing him off. In the early days of his imprisonment, you were constantly in his thoughts. He did not want to believe you - of all people - had betrayed him, but the darkness and the rage won out in the end, and by the time he realized there was another prisoner in the Abyss, all he could remember about you was how much he hated you.

It was easy, then, for him to fall in love with the human girl who pulled the sword out of his chest and set him free. Even if any part of him still had feelings for you, he figured you were already long dead. In contrast to those distant memories of your shared childhoods, his new-found object of desire was oh-so-vivacious. She satiated his depthless hunger, willingly offering him half of her soul. And as each day passed, he wanted to give more and more of him to her, despite his own nature. He would ask her to use him, to use his strength, to be greedy - it was almost as though he'd been stagnant for so long that he'd rather burn out in a blaze of glory than survive another empty stretch of eternity.

Even if you weren't around, his arch enemies were still coming after him. And they eventually caught up with him and his human beloved. When they took her away from him, he vowed to break her free, retreating deep into the forests to recover his strength for a counter-attack.

But his pursuers were relentless. The Supreme Adjudicator - the latest in a long line of Adjudicators, descended from that very first one who sealed him away - summoned the Order of the Holy Knights to aid him in this hunt. And it was the Holy Knights who chased after Sylus now as he fled farther and farther up the mountains. Separated from one half of his soul, his wounds would not heal, and he hadn't enough strength to take to the skies. As he moved, he left a trail of blood that stood out glaringly against the white snow of winter. He hardly knew how many days had passed before he found himself cornered.

He couldn't die yet. Not when she was still waiting for him to rescue her. Thus, he fought with everything he had left - claws, fangs, tail, wings, in a whirlwind of black and red mist. He failed to notice at first that his assailants weren't trying to retaliate as much as evade him. Were they stupid? Or unsure? Why weren't they going for the kill? These religious zealots weren't ones to toy with their prey.

After a frenzy of movement, he paused - both to catch his breath and to reassess. The Knights surrounded him, silver armor glimmering though their swords remained sheathed. As he stared at them, thrown off by their lack of action, they parted to make way for their commander - a smaller figure, clad in rose-gold metal that gave off an ethereal glow. As this commander stepped forward, the other Knights bowed their heads in deference.

When the person removed their helmet, Sylus couldn't believe his eyes. Perhaps his mind, in its death throes, was playing tricks on him. Yet there was no denying who it was - you. In the flesh. Looking only slightly older than you had then, when you had been friends.

You approached him like you were trying to appease a bear caught in a trap. He wanted to lash out, to rip you apart for the crimes you had committed against him, but even the smallest move from him caused alarm to rise among your troops. Two of the Knights, most likely your closest companions, were especially quick to react. Sylus didn't doubt that they would cut him down in an instant to protect you.

Sensing their agitation, you raised a hand to calm them down. Your eyes remained locked on Sylus, your brows strewn together in what he didn't want to believe was grief. You had thrown him to the wolves, so how dare you look so sad? How dare you look at him with such a tender gaze? Your pity was the last thing he wanted.

He made up his mind to take revenge, pushing himself forward, claws outstretched, aiming for your throat. But before he could lay a hand on you, his legs gave out - he had lost too much blood - and he collapsed. He didn't even realize you'd caught him before he hit the ground, your arms wrapping around his broken body.

It was all darkness again while he was unconscious. When he finally came to, it took him a moment to even comprehend where he was - a small bedroom, with a low ceiling and sparse furnishings. Something moved in his periphery, and he turned to strike, only to find you stirring awake. From the looks of it, you had been staying up to take care of him.

It should have taken another millennium for him to even entertain the thought of forgiving you. But there was no time to waste; he didn't even want to spend a second talking to you when he could be out there trying to save her.

You insisted that he stay for another day, just until his wounds fully stopped bleeding. And when he pushed you aside and sprang from his bed anyways, your companions had to intervene. They did not understand why you were being so patient to Sylus, why you were willing to basically commit treason. But these men - Issac and Zachary - owed you their lives, and they would do anything you asked, even if it meant tolerating the presence of a fiend. Even so, they did not like the way Sylus seemed to spit at your kindness, for did he not know who you were? The Commander of the Holy Knights, the legendary warrior who led Philos's legions to conquer foreign lands near and far? And it was not even your conquests that had earned you respect and love from all; it was the way you treated even your former enemies with empathy, allowing aid to reach foreign cities and ensuring equal treatment for new citizens. More than once, you had abandoned a conquest simply because the human cost was too high, and you'd sooner suffer punishment than let innocents perish in the name of Philos. Your popularity even rivaled that of the ruling monarch. Hence, your immense sway over what the Knights could and could not do.

Met with your sincere concern, Sylus did what he knew how to do best: he struck a deal. He told you that if you'd let him go to his beloved, he'd let you finish him off without putting up a fight. In his anger, he sneered and dismissed your concern as a trick, a pathetic ploy to get him to let his guard down again so you could drive the knife in even deeper. You made no attempt to argue, caring only that he was risking himself. But when he practically asked you to kill him, you flat out refused.

"No, I told you, I have no intention to harm you," you stood firm, blocking his way. You had shed your armor and weapons, wearing only simple civilian's clothing. Even a weakened dragon could end your life if it so wished.

The thing was, Sylus wasn't sure why he hadn't yet got rid of you and left already. He tried to rationalize it - there were still guards outside the room, and you were his best bet at getting out unscathed. "You misunderstand me, human. I want you to kill me," he changed tactics, revealing a half-truth.

You looked surprised. "Why...?"

"Because..." He inched closer, leaning down to really study your features. It was you, no doubt. The same girl he'd grown up with, the same girl who should have died ages ago. The same girl he'd detested for the better part of a thousand years. "I can't make her do it."

"What?"

"The dragon's curse," he explained. "I am destined to kill my beloved. Unless she kills me first. And I can't do that to her... I can't have her carry that guilt."

You blinked, clearly stunned. You took a step back, avoiding his gaze. Something in the way your shoulders deflated told him you were hurt, though he could not imagine why. When you spoke again, there was the faintest quiver in your voice, "And you think I'd be able to carry that guilt in her place?"

The question only made him angrier. "You won't have to carry any guilt," he replied. "Because you won't feel any. Or don't tell me you're doing all of this because you are capable of guilt? As if you could make amends for turning me in?"

Confusion flashed across your expression as you looked up at him. "Is that what you think happened? Is that what they told you?"

Sylus laughed - a humorless, empty sound. "You never came. It doesn't matter what happened. I'm still convinced you're just a specter sent from Hell to torment me."

For a moment, you looked like you wanted to argue, to defend yourself. He could see the words forming on the tip of your tongue, see you open your mouth to begin your rebuttal. When you said nothing instead, part of him was glad - because he was beginning to realize he wouldn't be able to stand it if you had contradicted the narrative he'd repeated to himself all this time.

No, you didn't try to argue. You only withdrew further away, as though he'd physically struck you. It was only when he sought to close the gap that he realized that you'd created a force field between you and him. It was your Evol, the ability to create constructs out of pure energy. You two used to have so much fun combining your Evol and building castles of out of thin air.

"I will bring her back," You declared, already turning away. "I know my word means nothing to you, but it's better that I go than you. The Justiciars are prepared for you; neither of you would make it out of there alive. I, on the other hand, can just walk right in. They won't suspect a thing. I'll have her back here by dawn."

"Why should I trust you?" Sylus chuckled bitterly. The force field couldn't last forever.

"I don't expect you to. If I don't return by dawn, my men will not give you any trouble. They are under oath to obey me. Then you can do anything you'd like."

"And why would I agree to that?"

"Because you have no other choice," your tone was final. As you walked towards the door, you turned to look at the man you loved one last time. "I hope she makes you happy."

Waiting was agony, but Sylus could tell in his soul that his beloved was still alive. He paced around his chamber restlessly, as the night stretched on.

The so-called Sorceress was returned to him before first light, just as you'd promised. One of your Knights, Sir Issac, had stolen her away during the chaos of your battle against the Justiciars and their Arbiterwings. And as Sylus embraced his lover and showered her with his affections, he also felt his hatred for you fall away. Although he would never admit it aloud, he was looking forward to seeing you again, if only to thank you for what you'd done.

But there were to be no second chances. You never returned. Only Sir Zachary arrived at the safe house days later, his face drained of color. He was clutching a letter in his hand. A letter which he begrudgingly delivered to Sylus.

"What's this?" MC asked, wide-eyed. Despite her ordeal, she was relatively unharmed. Her mistreatment at the hands of the Justiciars only served to intensify her thirst for vengeance. Already, she was conspiring with Sylus about which area they should raid next.

"It's from my lady," Sir Zachary said flatly, not putting a lot of effort into hiding his discomfort. His sullen demeanor made Sylus suddenly uneasy. "It's for the fiend's eyes only."

"Oh, alright," said MC. She turned to Sylus and winked. Perhaps, she was planning on teasing him for the information later. "I'll leave you to it then." Now, it was only Sylus in the room. Alone with his thoughts, and your words.

Dear Stäyrus, or should I say Sylus now?

His lips curved into a smile, despite the knot of anxiety twisting in the pit of his stomach. You remembered. Of course, you did. You were alive when he was but a child. You were perhaps the last person to speak that long-lost language - certainly the last to write with it, as you did in your letter.

You opened the message with an apology you didn't expect him to accept, before beginning a tale almost as incredible as his own. Bits and pieces of the life you once shared came back to him as he read: you had been reincarnated once before, that much he knew, but what you were telling him now was beyond anything he could imagine.

Part 2

Claiming Something That's Not Yours

NotMC_F!reader x Zayne

May be OOC. Reader is isekai'd into L&Ds, following her heart, she studies medicine to get closer to Zayne. Explicit. MDNI. 18+ Not proofread >.<

Warnings: First time, virginity loss, unprotected soft sex?

A/N: I got to Affinity lvl 100 right after I posted Part 7 haha (⁄ ⁄>⁄ ▽ ⁄<⁄ ⁄)🩵

- So, this part took me a long time. I wanted to write their first time together, but, yup, I have no idea how to write smut, never wrote one before, but this is my attempt at it here because I wanted this for the plot (and I wanted to try writing a smut (^^;))

- I also finally got to see the poll results, didn't realize I can't see the progress of my own poll... I've got an idea of what I want to write for a sad ending, so that's in progress (hope it lives up to expectations (>.<;))

- I've kept the same taglist, so sorry if you didn't want to be tagged anymore. Please let me know if that's the case.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Part 5 | Part 6 | Alt Part 6

Part 7 | Alt Part 7 | Part 8

---------------------------------

Part 8

You couldn't stop thinking about Zayne and what he'd confessed. Was it really possible to be so sensitive that he was aroused just from a small touch from you? Though perhaps it's because he was imagining all those scenes… But now that you let yourself consider intercourse, making love… with Zayne… New worries started plaguing your mind. You blush and then sigh in frustration. You're at work, so you should be concentrating. You'd never been so distracted before. You just needed to finish up this one last treatment plan and then you could head home on time, but all you could think about was Zayne.

As you resume trying (and failing) to concentrate on your work again, you hear a knock at your office door, “Come in.”

“Hello, Y/N.” A familiar voice greets you.

“Gavin?” You ask in surprise. “What are you doing here?”

He smiles, “I was transferred here a few days ago. As for why I'm here specifically, I've got a patient I want to refer to you. I thought I'd ask you myself since I was passing by to drop off the files anyway.”

“Welcome to Akso,” You spread your hands, gesturing at the space around you and then get up to grab the files from him.

His glance drops to your hand and he chuckles, “One ring wasn't enough, so now you've got two?”

You blush, “It just happened.”

“Did you tell your fiancé what I said? He must be quite possessive of you if he went and got you another ring to make a statement.”

You chuckle. “No way. As I said, it just happened.”

Another knock comes at your door, it was a rather harsh knock, and the both of you turn your heads toward the door.

“Come in,” You say in the direction of the door.

Zayne walks in and he gives Gavin a once over as he passes by him. “Are you busy right now?” He asks you.

“Uh,” You glance at Gavin questioningly.

Gavin's eyes also scan Zayne, lingering on his hand as his eyes widen. “So, I finally get to see this fiancé of yours.”

You smile, “Yes, as I told you, he does exist.”

Gavin chuckles, “I believe you,” He turns to Zayne, holding out a hand, “Gavin Bi, an immunologist. I was just transferred here from Skyhaven a few days ago.”

“Zayne Li, I'm a cardiac surgeon.”

“!” Gavin raises an eyebrow as they shake hands, but a knowing smile soon takes over his face. “...Well, I've dropped off the files, so I'll be heading back to my ward. See you two around.” He waves and heads out the door.

Zayne turns to you, “Do rings not deter other people from flirting with you?”

“What? You think so?” Your brows furrow as you think back on the brief exchange.

“And he thought you made up a fiancé…?”

You shake your head, “Yeah, can you believe that?”

“My presence has clearly not been obvious enough. We should change that.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Okay?”

“Starting with this,” He grabs your phone off your desk, swiftly unlocking it (he was so smooth that you didn't have time to wonder how he knew your passcode). He pauses as he takes a look at something on your screen. Then he proceeds to put pictures of him and you everywhere as well as changing your status so you'd both display a snowman emoji. Your lock and home screens, your profile pictures, and your contact picture for him were soon all photos of the two of you. “Why am I just listed as Zayne Li?” He frowns and turns your phone to you.

“Um,” You’ve just never been good with coming up with nicknames; most of your friends preferred not to be called by nicknames, so you'd never had one and you've never thought you needed one. You also listed everyone on your contacts by their proper name. Even your mom had her name as her contact name. “What did you save me as then?” You cross your arms.

Zayne pulls out his phone and shows you your contact name. It read ‘My Love'. You feel yourself heat up, your face probably turning red.

“What do you want me to call you then?”

“I want you to think of one yourself. I'm fine with anything.”

“Even if it's ‘My Carrot'?”

“I'll begrudgingly accept it since it's you calling me that.” Zayne crosses his arms too, clearly hating the idea but still willing to go along with you.

“Then… let's go with ‘mon amour’.” You say quietly. You'd taken French for fun and you know Zayne had read some of your notes. You felt embarrassed saying ‘my love’ in English, but it's different when it is in a different language.

Zayne leans closer, “Hm? What was that?”

But you could see the slight twitch of his lip.

You snatch your phone back to write it out, and then hold out the screen for him to see.

Zayne smiles, “Better. But not everyone understands French.”

You turn it back and change it to ‘My Irritating Fiancé’.

Zayne steps behind you and glances from over your shoulder, “Endearing, but everyone's going to think you're planning to break up with me.”

You retype it again. ‘My EQ’.

“Hmm. While I'm starting to agree, that doesn't really put our relationship into perspective.”

‘Dr. Mr. Li’.

“Ah, I see Greyson’s never living that down, but people will probably think I'm your doctor with that.”

‘Dr. Li, my love therapist.”

“Now I'm your couples therapist.” That pulls a laugh out of you and Zayne puts his chin on your head, his arms wrapping around your waist. “I'm not exactly qualified and I think I'd want to avoid the conflict of interest that'd be involved if I became your therapist, my love.”

‘Zayne Li <3'.

Zayne sighs, “I guess that'd have to do for now.”

You smile up at him, planting a kiss on his lips. Ears a little red, he smiles back at you, but then you realize his lips were a bit more coloured due to the tint from your new lip balm. “Ah, wait, I forgot I'm using a new tinted lip balm. Let me get you a tissue so you can wipe it off.”

“So that's why your lips have been looking more tempting than usual.” Zayne’s gaze falls to your lips. “It's okay, just leave it. It's got a nice sweet scent.”

You're blushing again, “Okay. So… why are you here?”

“I came to get you after work.”

“I'm not done yet.” You sigh as you think back to your unfinished treatment plan.

“Then I'll just read some documents here while I wait.” He takes a seat in one of the armchairs in your office.

“Alright,” You move to sit behind your desk again, but as expected, having the object of your thoughts in front of you only made it worse. You couldn't stop looking at him and once again thinking about what he'd said.

He finally glances up at you in confusion, “Do you need something? You keep glancing at me.”

You shake your head, “I don't need anything. Your presence is just distracting.” You pout.

He raises an eyebrow, “Really? Should I leave then? I'll wait in the car.” He gets up.

“That might be best,” You nod seriously.

“Are you sure?” He inches towards the door.

“Yes.”

As you keep saying yes, he eventually gives you that kicked puppy look he had shown in his cat butler card when his cat ears were touched. You turn away quickly, refusing to fall for that look.

“Are you really kicking me out?” His voice comes out a little pouty and your eyes widen, your gaze quickly returning to his. He still had that look on his face. It seems he's really not holding back much anymore, letting you see more of him. Or you were just noticing it more. Because you'd started to stop restraining yourself from giving all of yourself to him.

“Come here,” You beckon him over to you.

He walks towards you and bends down when you continue to do the same action with your hand. You cup his face and his eyes widen a little. You whisper, “Are you being clingy right now?”

He nods with a pout. And it tugged at your heart. He really could be way too adorable when he wants to be. This might incite your cute aggression. It is really dangerous. He takes your hands off his face, clutching them to his chest and leans to whisper in your ear, “Let’s go home, I want to RSVP on your invitation.”

You shiver, taking one last glance at your notes. You could work on the treatment plan tomorrow. You weren't seeing this patient until next week. “Alright.” His smirk from this victory irks you a bit.

He's completely recovered from his cold now. He expected to get scolded by you when he'd gone to work while still a little sick, but you only sighed, placed a mask on his face and handed him the box of meds with a thermos of hot chocolate already prepared for him to bring to work.

“Don't overdo it.” You told him. He supposed it was because you knew you wouldn't win the argument since you'd done it yourself. “Not that they'd let you do anything much with that cough…”

It was true, he was assigned to the archives room the whole day. And it was midday when MC visited with you in tow.

She held out a bag to him, “I heard you were sick, so I brought some soup for you. I'm keeping my promise, okay?” She glances at you and you look on in confusion. He takes the bag and she quickly walks off after telling him to get well soon.

“What's this about?” You ask him.

“I found out she likes me.” He catches the worried look that briefly flashes upon your face.

“I see…”

He smiles, “And I told her that I'd only hang out with her with you around.”

Your mouth forms an ‘o’ shape and a bashful look appears on your face. You approach him and pull one side of his mask off, giving him a soft kiss near the corner of his mouth. Then you flash him a sweet smile, your eyes twinkling. He doesn't resist the urge to pull you to his chest and rest a hand on your head for a moment.

You break the silence with a soft voice, “Your heart's beating faster than usual…”

“It must be because I'm sick.” He remarks.

You look up at him and he looks away with red ears.

“Hmm, okay.” You rest your head against his chest again.

“You know it's because of you.” He finally states.

He feels you nod your head. “I know.”

He'd slowly caught up on all his work in the past few days and was able to leave on time today. He'd been quick to stride over to your office, but he hadn't expected you'd have company. At first he wasn't concerned. But then the other doctor made the comment about finally meeting your fiancé, and you'd answered with a remark that implied the doctor thought your fiancé didn't actually exist. So, that was concerning. Very concerning.

You tidy up your files and lock up your office. Zayne kept true to his word, clearly showing people that you were spoken for by refusing to let go of your hand. You'd thought he wasn't one to show PDA, but maybe he was just being considerate of you and everyone else who'd be subjected to watching the two of you. Because he wasn't shy to pull your hand up and plant a kiss on your fingers near where your rings adorn them, causing you to constantly sport a blush on your face the whole way out of the hospital. Most of the doctors and nurses were too busy to really notice the two of you, but you could occasionally feel lingering glances. Though that could just be you feeling self conscious.

“Zayne…” You hiss out his name.

“Hm?” He looks at you with a smile and… you couldn't say anything to him. You enjoyed his displays of affection, no matter how embarrassed you get, you couldn't deny that.

“Never mind.”

You'd been the one to drive today, so as you near his car, you pull out your key ring and unlock it. He'd given you the spare key to his car too and you had briefly wondered if he was putting too much faith in your driving skills, but everyone you knew had been pretty confident in your driving so you didn't say anything. You had been staying at his house the past few days to take care of him while he was sick, so you naturally drove back to his house.

“Are you planning to move in yet?” Zayne’s voice carried a hint of amusement as you stopped the car in his driveway. “You didn't hesitate to drive here when taking us home.”

Your cheeks couldn't catch a break today, “That's just because I've been here the past few days, but… I’ll… move my things on my next day off.”

“Alright, I'll help on my day off too. Just place the boxes you want me to move by the door.” He climbs out of the car and opens your door for you with a smile, his hand covering the hood of the car. You smile back and step out, planting a kiss on his cheek, content to see his ears turn red as you do. As you walk up the path leading to the door, he grabs your hand again, not letting go until you're inside where he proceeds to pull you in for a kiss.

You grip his shirt to steady yourself, running out of air as he refuses to part from your lips. You gasp and give his chest a slight push.

He finally pulls away, leaning his forehead against yours, looking at you with concern, “Is something wrong?”

“We should eat dinner first… and shower…”

He blinks at you, “Eat and shower?”

It's your turn to blink, “I just thought we should eat and shower first… I can't imagine you'd feel like eating after…”

“I'm not feeling like eating food right now either.”

Your eyes widen, “Oh…” You glance at your phone, “Well, it is still early, how about we watch a movie or something and then have dinner?”

He could tell you were stalling, but he agrees anyway, letting you take the time you need. But when you both finally showered and subsequently got ready for bed, he did not find you in his room. Instead, you're in the guest room, sleeping. Or at least pretending to. He could see you tossing and turning in the dark room.

He turns on the bedside lamp and watches as your figure freezes under the blanket. He sits down on the bed beside you and leans down to speak next to your ear, “Are you going to tell me what's really wrong?” He could see the slight shiver that convulses your body as you open your eyes.

You look at him and whisper in admission, “I'm kind of scared.”

Zayne looks at you with caring eyes, “Of?”

“Well, for one… I know it's my first time… But what if we don't have any chemistry?”

His hand finds yours, “Hmm. Well, it's my first time too and I have no experience, but I believe that can be worked on. And if nothing really changes, I don't mind practicing abstinence for the rest of my life.”

“But don't you want children?” Your eyes look at him with a hint of fear.

He squeezes your hand, “Yes, but there's other ways we can have children too. Like in vitro, or I'm open to the idea of adoption. And since we're on the topic, what about you? Is no sexual chemistry a deal breaker for you? And do you want children?”

“No, I don't think I care if we're not compatible sexually.” You look into his eyes again, “But I do think I want children. Especially if it's with you, because I think you'd be a great parent, Zayne.”

He smiles, “You'd be a great parent too. I've seen you read to those kids in the hospital. They always look like they're having fun with you.”

You blink, “You saw that?”

He nods, “I was looking for you. You told me you were volunteering to read to the kids at our old hospital, remember?”

“Oh, right.” You'd forgotten about that.

“Anything else you need to get off your chest?” He brushes soothing circles on your hand.

You smile nervously now, “I'm also scared of myself, I fear I won't be able to control myself as well after this, and,” You avert your gaze and clutch his pajama top in your free hand, “that you'll get tired of me when you see what I'm really like.”

“What you’re really like?”

Your grip tightens, “Yes…” You exhale, “I… I’ve also been holding back a lot. But I'm kind of scared of how strong my emotions feel right now… and after this, I don't know how much I can hold myself back.”

“Why would you need to hold back?”

“I already get jealous whenever anyone gets too friendly with you… and I might be super clingy, not willing to be apart from you whenever we get a chance to be together. Surely, you'd get tired of that… because I think I would…”

“I'd like to see that.”

Your eyes widen a fraction as you look into his. He is smiling tenderly at you. “Huh?”

“I'd like to see what you being jealous and clingy would look like. I don't think I'd ever get tired of learning about new sides of you and I'll never get tired of you. But if it gets too much, I'll tell you, and we'll work on it.”

“That's true…” The two of you let the silence sink over as you let his reassurances calm you down. You didn't feel as scared anymore. In fact, your mind starts to flash back to when you'd stripped him of his dress shirt while he was sick… Heat creeps up on your cheeks and you keep your eyes averted, glancing at anything but Zayne.

After a while, he speaks up again. “Are you going to stop teasing me…?” He glances pointedly at your hand where you had been absentmindedly drawing circles on his chest. You quickly pull your hand away and glance at him to see his ears are red.

“Oops…” You say sheepishly.

“Are your hands going to keep being this mischievous when you don't hold yourself back?” He looks at you with a loving smile.

You smile nervously, “Maybe?”

“I see I might have a lot more trouble keeping myself in check too if you're going to be like this. In that case… shall I teach you how surgeon's tie knots?”

You narrow your eyes, “Do you want to tie me up that badly?”

He slowly slides the blanket away from you, giving you ample time to stop him, “And if I say yes?” His pupils are dilated as he stares at you and your eyes widen again.

You pull him down by the shoulders to speak next to his ear, “I’d indulge you, but you'll be disappointed to know I don't have any sexy underwear.”

You can hear his sharp intake of air at your words, “What kind of images are you trying to put into my head?” His lips also come up to your ear, “If you'd like, we could always go shopping for some together,” You tense up, grip tightening on his shoulders, “You’ve really just left everything to my imagination. I can see how good you were at keeping yourself in line… I have no idea what you'd look like under these clothes. Everything you wear is rather loose on your frame. But you still manage to seduce me…” His hands slide down your body and he tugs up on your shirt.

You let him slide it off, leaving you in a camisole that you wear to sleep. You'd always been told not to wear a bra to sleep, but you didn't feel right sleeping next to him without anything under your top. But after this… you don't think you'll need the camisole anymore.

“So, I’ll finally get to see what you've been hiding.” His eyes shamelessly roam over your upper body, his hands joining it. You could feel the slight urge to cover yourself and you weren't even fully bare yet. You could imagine your nipples are poking through the thin material of the camisole. He lightly flicks a finger over the nub, then draws teasing circles over it like you'd accidentally done to him earlier. You clench your thighs in response to the stimulation. “I've only ever felt these through your clothes when you'd press against me in a hug. Do you know how soft these feel against me?” Zayne cups one of your breasts and gives it a firm squeeze, causing you to take a sharp intake of air. He does the same to the other and you gasp again. He continues to play around with your breasts through your camisole, pulling soft sounds from you. He also leans down to kiss you, dragging his tongue across your mouth. You try not to overthink, letting your body guide you, arching into him when he gives your breasts an occasional squeeze.

You were generally a quiet person and you'd never been really vocal even when you'd masturbated. Yes, you're a virgin, but you couldn't control all your sexual urges, especially when you read a smutty novel or fanfic. So you were a bit surprised at how many sounds came out of you at this moment…

“Mmh… Are you having fun…?” You breathe out as he plants kisses on your neck, another area that is quite sensitive. You feel like he's toying around with you.

“Quite a bit, yes. You’re making a lot of cute noises and your body's really responsive.” He nibbles on your neck and you grip his arms tightly, mouth dropping open, breathing heavy. There are so many sensations on your body, you could hardly focus on anything.

You slide your hands down his chest, his muscles firm under your touch, until you reach the hem of his shirt, wanting him to strip it off. He sits back to pull it off and you watch him in a daze, still feeling the ghosts of his hands lingering on your breasts. Why is it so sexy to see him pulling off his shirt? He smirks a little even as his face turns red under your gaze, and you pinch his nipple in loving annoyance, wishing you had as much confidence. He softly gasps as you do.

He lets you pull him down again and you nibble on his neck too, careful to be gentle. His body shudders against you. You kind of had the urge to leave a mark. “If I mark your neck…” You whisper.

“I don't mind.” He whispers back and you only hesitate for a second before you bite down a little harder and he flinches with a groan. You trace your tongue over it in hopes of soothing the pain and then pull back to look at it. You can't help smiling in satisfaction. “I should probably also mention I left multiple on you.” Your eyes widen and you quickly bring a hand up to feel your neck. You’d been so distracted by his ministrations on your breasts that you hadn't felt him biting down on your neck. Multiple times. You could feel the faint outlines of his bites. “I’d daresay no one would doubt that your fiancé exists after seeing this.” He traces a finger along the marks.

He doesn't give you time to register what he'd said as he pulls you into a kiss again. It was a hungry, devouring kiss. And you couldn't help but melt against him, craving this intimacy. He presses his erection against your core, pulling more gasps from you. His hands continue to wander, trailing up and down your sides, squeezing your breasts, running through your hair, and brushing down your arms. Your hands also roam all over his body, tracing over all his muscles and feeling the scars scattered across his arms.

Zayne tugs down your pants next and you arch up to allow him to take it off, then pull on his pants so he'd do the same. He obliges, stepping out of his pants and then tossing them somewhere along with yours.

As he climbs on top of the bed again, spreading your legs to settle between them, you fight the urge to close them, covering your face with your hands. He smiles as he tries to tug your hands away from your face. “Don't shy away from me.” You shake your head. “My love, I'm more exposed than you.”

You shiver from the way he softly calls you by the pet name. Your voice comes out in a bit of a whine “Zayne… Darling…” His eyes shine hearing you call him using a term of endearment.

“Come on…” He tugs at your camisole now. You lift your arms and allow him to pull it up slowly, tantalizingly. You hear his sharp intake when he finally pulls your camisole completely off. “You're truly beautiful, my love.” His thumb trails over your skin and his eyes scan you up and down appreciatively, he didn't have to say anything and you could tell he likes what he's seeing. You're already heated, but you think you're burning impossibly hotter. Especially as you take in the bulge indenting his underpants.

You peek out at him with one eye, embarrassed, “Please stop…”

His lips ghost over your stomach, trailing up your body, mirth hidden in his eyes as he looks up at you, “Even in your granny underpants, you're tempting.” He pulls on the waistband of your underwear, letting it snap back into place.

You let out a breathy, nervous laugh and shyly give him a compliment too, “...You're beautiful too… my love. No matter what you wear…” But especially with just your underwear on, you add in your mind. His eyes twinkle even more and you quickly look away again.

Zayne presses his hand against your panties, finding your clit while his mouth latches onto one of your breasts. You cry out in surprise at the feeling, bucking your hips against his hand. Once he's satisfied, he pulls your panties off next and you can't help but clamp your legs shut as you spot the dampness coating them. He steps out of his own underpants, giving you a full view of what he looked like underneath and your eyes widen. “We'll take it slowly.” He reassures you as he settles down on the bed again.

You nod and glance at his erect …penis again with a blush. Even thinking the word was embarrassing and you'd studied to be a doctor and read some heavy smut before. But it's different when you actually face one. He takes your hand, slowly bringing it toward his cock and you immediately try to pull your hand away.

He looks at you, his gaze teasing, “You aren't curious how it feels?”

Your hand curls into a fist before you relent to your curiosity. Tentatively grasping him by the base, your hand not able to completely wrap around him, you give him a gentle squeeze. He gasps and his hand is quick to grab yours as liquid leaks out from the tip of his cock.

“On second thought, maybe you shouldn't.”

You are feeling a little smug after witnessing his reaction and so you smirk at him, giving him another slight squeeze, sitting up on your knees, “You're the one who asked.” He groans, his back arching slightly as he tugs on your hand gently. You continue to play around with him this time, enjoying watching his reactions. His face is red and his breaths come out heavy as you continue to test what seems to make him feel good. Your hands trailing over his body and clasping around his erection, feeling the pulsing veins on it. You only pause as you are momentarily distracted by the feeling of your slickness running down between your thighs.

Zayne’s quick to move, pushing you back onto the bed, “You've had your fun.” He slowly spreads your legs for him, allowing him to see all of you too. He groans slightly at the sight, your pussy lips glistening with slickness. You cover your face with your hands again and gasp as he pinches your clit.

“Look at me, dear.” He whispers softly and you slowly look up at him, vulnerable. He reaches out his hand for yours, lips brushing over each finger, lingering on the ones with a ring. His eyes burn with love and desire and your eyes are probably reflecting the same thing. He didn't have to say it, his gaze says it all, ‘I love you', it practically screams and the corners of your lips quirk up. He smiles too, then casually brushes over your folds with his finger, teasing you some more, and you grip his biceps. He finds the opening and slides a finger in, drawing more sounds from you as your body twitches at the invasion, your eyes fluttering closed.

He slowly pumps his finger in and out, swirling it around to stretch you out. He attempts to slide a second finger in you and you wince a little in pain. “Two fingers is a tight squeeze huh…” He carefully continues his actions, and you moan. He also alternates between applying pressure to your clit and your breasts, already drawing you closer to an orgasm. “Do you think you're ready…?” You open your eyes to meet his gaze.

Your chest is heaving, and you gasp as he tweaks your clit some more. “I… I think so.”

He nods, pulling his fingers out and you feel yourself clenching at the loss. He grabs his cock in his fist, giving himself a few pumps, coating himself with your slick that was clinging to his fingers.

“Since you're fine with having children,” His eyes held yours, serious, “should we forgo the condom?” Your eyes widen in surprise.

You nod slowly, “...Okay.” You knew you should practice safe sex, but in this moment you wanted to feel him and you didn't mind the idea of becoming parents with Zayne.

His gaze is tender as he lines himself up, his tip nudging at your opening. You try to relax your muscles as you feel him push inside. He pauses as he is met with resistance.

Zayne exhales a bit shakily as he looks at you. You also take a deep breath and nod. You feel the resistance in you being torn through as he quickly pushes through it and you grip his biceps tightly causing him to wince, but he doesn't comment on it, waiting for you to adjust. Your breaths come out heavy, your eyes watering a little from the pain, and you're so tense you wouldn't be shocked if you got a cramp.

“Relax.” He kisses you deeply, his hands putting slight pressure on your thighs to try to get you to loosen up.

You whimper, the sensation of him sitting inside of you overwhelming your senses. The pain slowly ebbing away as he distracts you from it.

“You can do it.” His hands continue their ministrations all over your body and you can feel yourself slowly relaxing from his touch, enjoying the feeling of his hands kneading your body. Without warning, he slides further into you and you tense up again.

He groans, “You're so tight. I knew it'd be like that, but you’re really hugging me snugly.” You feel yourself tighten around him more and he grunts.

You are burning hot, and you couldn't believe your ears hearing the words that come out of his mouth. It sounded so out of character. “I told you to relax, why is your pussy clenching me even tighter?” You clench around him again and he smirks. “‘Cause I'm saying the word ‘pussy’?” He brings a finger to trail around the opening of your vagina and you gasp at the feeling. The shock causes your body to relax and he pushes another few centimeters in.

“I'd never imagined you'd say that…” You say breathlessly, loosening your hold on his arms. You pinch his nipple and he flinches a little. You then trace circles around it, trying to get yourself to calm down and relax. He moans softly and leans down to kiss you, finally able to slide into you completely. He rests there, fully enveloped in your heat. You moan at the feeling of fullness, the feeling reaching your heart as you look at him with loving eyes. He gently brushes his fingers in your hair.

“I love you.” He whispers, lips curling up in a smile.

You weakly smile back, “I love you too.”

He kisses you again, rubbing circles into your hips. You relax into his touch and softly speak against his lips, “You can move…”

“Okay…” He experimentally slides in and out of you a few times and you moan, the pleasure already overtaking any pain you had felt. Your legs curl around his back and your arms loop over his shoulders, drawing him close. He thrusts slowly as he kisses you, his hands on your waist, as you arch into him, moving your hips in rhythm with him.

Zayne’s strokes are slow and steady, letting you feel each agonizing inch as he stretches you apart, retreats, and pushes into you again. You're a moaning mess, wondering how he's able to keep such an even pace while you just fall apart in his arms.

You run your hands through his soft hair, scratching lightly at his scalp. His next thrust is particularly hard, causing you to tug at his hair a bit harshly. The action incites him more and his pace speeds up. Your breaths come out heavy and all you could do was hold onto him as he pounds into you uninhibitedly, hitting all the right spots.

You feel overwhelmed, the air filled with the sharp claps of your skin against each other, your moans of pleasure, of his name, and his occasional groans and grunts. The pleasure you are feeling is addicting, the culmination of all that longing and love you'd buried bursting forth. Something insatiable was crawling onto the surface and you didn't know if you could control it anymore.

You keen against him as you feel yourself getting close to the peak. “Zayne…”

His steady pace stalls as he groans at the feeling of you clenching around him. “...I can feel you tightening around me.” His thumb massages your clit, “I’m also getting close…”

Your hands claw at his back, and his arm wedges your leg higher, allowing him to penetrate impossibly deeper, hitting a spot deep within that has you blanking out. His thrusts are fast and sloppy as he brings you both closer to release. The feeling continues to build inside of you rapidly.

“Zayne…!” You scream his name as you fall apart with him, your name spilling from his lips as he releases inside you. You could feel him pulsing inside you, his semen hot in your walls. He continues to thrust shallowly inside of you, drawing out the sensations that had you shuddering.

As you recover from your high, you hug Zayne close, nestling into his arms. It's not until after a few moments that you release him. You see the vulnerability in your heart reflected in his eyes. You smile at him and you feel his tense muscles relax in your arms.

“Are you alright?” He asks softly, leaning his forehead against yours.

“Yes…” Your voice comes out breathy.

Zayne gives you a soft kiss, “So, what's your verdict on our chemistry, my love?”

He chuckles when you bury your face in his chest, “I'm not answering that.”

“I'd say it's off the charts.” You slap his chest lightly in embarrassment and he laughs. A rich sound that fills your heart. He wraps his arms around you, pulling you off of the bed.

“What are you doing?!” You grab his shoulders as he lifts you up, your legs still around him and his softened member still inside of you.

“We should probably get you cleaned up.”

“Oh…”

“And I don't want to make a mess so let me stay inside you just a bit longer,” His lips brush your ear, “it'll keep everything from spilling out.”

Feeling yourself clench around him, your combined fluids gushing out, you slap him in embarrassment again, “Okay, I get it!”

He chuckles again, but he's shy as he gets a towel soaked with warm water and gently helps you clean up in the bathroom. His face and ears are red and you both can't look each other in the eyes. As he continues to wipe your thighs clean, you feel your eyes droop. You were tired after all that, so you just let him take care of you, falling asleep against his chest.

You groan quietly when you wake up the next morning. You were definitely sore… Your face once again red as you think of last night, but also… How were you going to survive work like this? Why did you think it was a good idea last night? You probably also had quite a few love bites decorating your neck. You lift a hand and feel your neck. Zayne had not restrained himself there, staking his claim on you and it floored you to think that you enjoyed it. Your emotions are feeling stronger than they'd ever been and it really did leave you feeling a bit scared.

But the bigger problem was you can't just go out without covering all those bites. You don't usually use concealer so you didn't have any, a scarf would have to suffice…

You glance at Zayne sleeping beside you. A rather rare sight you'd say, as he tends to get up before you. You trace a hand down his face and then rest it against your own bite that you'd left on his neck. Oh no, you'd left a mark too. You quickly measure it with your fingers, it could probably just barely be covered with a big bandaid.

“Thinking of leaving another one?” His raspy voice sounds from beside you, the vibrations of his voice reaching your fingers that were still pressed against his neck. You jump a little, startled, and his sleepy eyes look at you in amusement.

“No,” You lay your hand over the mark, “I was just wondering if a bandaid would be enough to cover it.”

“Should I cover it?” He covers your hand with his, smiling at you.

You stare into his eyes, “Zayne… wouldn't it be a bit unprofessional to show up to the hospital with a hickey?”

“Hmm…” He closes his eyes again, pulling you closer by your waist, and you're suddenly aware that you're still naked.

“!” A blush explodes on your cheeks again and your body stills, but then you softly moan as your body reminds you that it's very sore.

“Are you feeling sore?” He opens his eyes.

You nod in embarrassment. “I don't think I want to go to work today…”

“I don't either.” He gently massages you and you squirm a little.

“...Dr. Li not wanting to go to work? I never thought I'd see the day…” Your words come out with a struggle as you try not to moan again. “Zayne…”

“Why are you holding back? You said you wouldn't be able to.” He continues to knead your muscles.

“That's…” The sound slips from your mouth. “...You're surprisingly quite shameless, aren't you?”

“And what of yourself?” His hand trails down your leg. At some point, you'd draped your leg over his hip.

You blink in surprise, it was a sleeping habit of yours when you were younger, sleeping beside your mother. For you, it was comfortable to sleep on your side and loop your leg over your mother's. Your mother never commented on it and sleeping alone, you weren't able to do that so you'd forgotten about it. And sleeping beside Zayne… maybe you'd been careful to keep your limbs to yourself before… But now, it seems your habit has resurfaced with the newfound intimacy.

You flush and quickly attempt to pull your leg off him, but his grip is strong, holding you there. He raises an eyebrow at you. “Are you already asking for round two? I'd be happy to oblige.”

Your eyes widen comedically when you feel something hard against your stomach. “No way…”

Zayne’s glance falls to your lips, “I told you, I can't control my body's physiological reactions.” His other hand slips out from under you and between your thighs which you couldn't even clamp shut since he still had a hold on your leg around his hip. “Doesn't seem like you can either,” He brings his hand up to show you the fluid clinging to his fingers. You reflexively slap his arm and he chuckles, “I don't think you've slapped me this much before.”

You're a deer caught in the headlights that are Zayne right now. “I–” He suddenly interrupts you by burying his face in your chest. Your. Bare. Chest. You gasp, “Zayne!” He doesn't budge and you can't move either, restricted by his arms.

“I enjoy hearing you scream my name too,” You can feel his breath on your breasts.

“Come on… what are you doing?” Your voice comes out higher pitched than you intended.

“And you were making all sorts of sounds that I've never heard from you before as well. It's a bit… intoxicating.”

“You… Did you hit your head?” You card your fingers through his hair in concern, feeling for any bumps on his scalp.

He chuckles, “No... Just… let me stay like this for a minute.”

You continue to brush your hands through his soft hair, face red and heart racing.

Zayne felt like his heart was going to burst. He hadn't expected to feel such a rush from making love with you and waking up to you facing him with a cute frown on your face as you caressed his neck. You were usually always facing away from him while sleeping, but you were facing him today. He feels like he's finally destroyed that wall you keep inserting between the two of you. You were completely, in your entirety, all his now.

Zayne finally peeks up at you, affection still ringing bells in his heart and echoing in yours. “I'd thought you were acting a bit too unaffected, but you're clearly very affected.”

Your hand rests on his head, and he nuzzles his head against it bringing a smile to your lips, “Of course I am. I told you my emotions are so strong that it scares me…”

He catches the fear in your smiling gaze and he wraps his arms around you, “Me too. These feelings in my heart... I hope you'll take responsibility for them. And I promise I'll take care of yours.”

“I will… I promise as well.” The world fades as you look into his eyes, getting lost in the swirls of brown, green, and gold.

---------------------------------

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Part 5 | Part 6 | Alt Part 6

Part 7 | Alt Part 7 | Part 8

A/N: I hope you survived the amateur smut writing lol. I don't mind taking feedback if you have any, please go easy on me though >.< Thanks for reading! 🥰

User tag list: @syluslittlecrows, @seris-the-amious, @celestialzdiviner, @69-gojos-wife-69, @that-dumb-bitch, @flamedancer13, @thatsbunnysmind, @beaconsxd, @futurecorpse92, @lunia-likes-pomegranet, @yunhogrippers, @notisekais, @sinnamon-bunn, @mariquitas-en-verano, @laddelulu30, @albatrossblue, @lucifers-silhouette, @dork-of-the-universe, @mihanisms, @eurydiceknowshesloved, @kaz4tora, @ariakamil

Ignoring the real possibility he intentionally let himself be caught from the little we know so far Luigi Mangione's case is a fascinating combination of astonishing brilliance and confusing stupidity. This young man plans and executes his assassination and escape with such a meticulous care and calmness that it's suspected that he's a professional hitman. He comes up with Riddler-sque moves like writing his manifesto poetically on the bullets and leaving his backpack behind full of Monopoly money. He carefully wears a mask to avoid being identified but removes it because a woman who was checking him into the hostel was flirting with him and wanted to see his smile. He still manages to escape the most surveilled city in the country in the midst of ongoing national manhunt only to get caught in the middle of bumfuck nowhere Pennsylvania while eating at the McDonalds. Because for some reason he had the same clothes and mask as in New York and was carrying the same gun and suppressor. And when the cops detained him he showed them the same fake id he used in New York. And oh yeah he's a frat bro gym rat who has a masters degree in computer science from Penn but reads stupid self-help books about being on the grind and is 'anti-woke' while being bisexual suffering from anxiety and wanting to end oppressive capitalism. Not even god himself could invent a person like this

Error 404: (Self-Aware!AU, Sylus Edition) – Pt. 7

Summary: A LADS self-aware!AU featuring Sylus and a player. That’s it, that’s the plot. Tags: player!reader x sylus, fem!reader x sylus, reader x lads, self-aware!au, strong language, suggestive themes!, there’s some slight smut…  but nothing too graphic (ion rly write smut haha), angst and comfort, this chapter’s brought to you by: a bunch of sad songs on repeat! A/N: 7k+ words what the fuck!!  (this might actually be one of my favorite chapters. :’))

Pt. 1 - Pt. 2 - Pt. 3 - Pt. 4 - Pt. 5 - Pt. 6 - Pt. 7 - Pt. 8 - Pt. 9 - Pt. 10 - Epilogue

“You don’t have a favorite color.”

“I… don’t, no.”

“But you’re quite partial to green.”

“I guess so—?”

“You’ve worn the same green shirt to bed thrice this week,” he notes lightly, pertaining to your Loki: Master of Mischief tee. The corners of his mouth pull into a faint, knowing smile. “It suits you, by the way.”

Your fingers hover over the keyboard as you glance at him, narrowing your eyes in slight embarrassment. “It’s a perfectly comfy shirt,” you reply, a defensive edge to your tone. “Nothing wrong with that.”

“Nothing at all,” he agrees reassuringly. “Just making an observation.”

“What, are you keeping a dossier on me now?”

Sylus gives a noncommittal hum, but offers nothing more in response. He keeps watch on you from his usual spot in the corner between the monitor and the CPU box, chin resting on an open palm. His gaze betrays hints of smugness to it.

You eye him weirdly. With a huff, you turn back to your typing.

–

You’re cooking dinner—with Sylus supervising the entire thing like your very own personal sous chef. Something that has now been the norm for you two, since your–banging!–success with the tofu dish. 

And for tonight’s menu: Butter noodles. Simple, foolproof, straightforward. 

"Simple" is… well, it’s not entirely inaccurate. But the way that the boiling water hisses angrily through the small lid hole wavers the already shaky foundation of your developing culinary confidence. 

(Just a little bit! You’re sure you’ve got nothing to worry about.) 

A faint burning scent clings to the air; you forgot to stir the garlic early on, and now it looks dangerously close to a char. You rescue it just in time, cursing under your breath. Your sous chef, of course, catches everything. Even your nervousness.

“You know,” Sylus chimes in, watching the wooden spatula tremble in your hand. “This is quite the step up from your usual instant noodle packets. You should be proud of yourself, sweetie.”

“Gee, thanks. Really complex work for an extra half-hour of cooking time,” Your words are snide, but he doesn’t miss the way your grip on the spatula tightens ever-so-slightly. Steadies. 

The smell stabilizes. You add half a stick of butter, squashing it to a melt, and he lets the subject drop—for now.

“Do you have siblings?”

“I have an older sister,” you answer distractedly, stirring the sauce and trying to scrape the edges of the sauté pan without having it splatter from the inside.

“How much older?”

“Uh—six years,” you reply, reaching for a pinch of salt. “She's got a family. Two kids. Another on the way.”

“Hm. You two are close?”

You pause, the question landing softly in the haze of rising steam. “I mean. S’ alright, I guess. We catch up over the phone sometimes.”

“Ah. Good.”

“... Yeah.” 

You catch a glance of his expression in your peripheral, looking thoughtful. 

_

It’s a recent development, his curiosity. Sporadic at first, like light rain on a windshield—little questions scattered here and there, easy to brush off. But over the past week, it’s grown into something more unrelenting. It’s almost as if you two were playing a round of twenty questions, only it’s just you in the hot seat being interrogated. 

There’s also that habit of his to take it one step further. Hedging his questions strategically, acting like he already knows the little factoid he wanted to ask and just needs you to confirm it. 

You don’t really get the logic behind it, but hey, who are you to judge? Everybody has their quirks. Even someone of his caliber, apparently.

… God forbid he gets blindsided by something he’s genuinely surprised to know about you, though. 

“You know how to play the violin.”

You pause the video you’re watching on your laptop at its five minute mark to stare at Sylus through your phone screen. He sounds… terse? Like you’d intentionally kept this a secret from him.

“Wha—yes, I know how to play the violin,” you huff, incredulous by the show of attitude. “What’s up with all these weird questions?”

“You’ve given me explicit permission to ask them. Level the playing field,” he reminds you, eyes slightly accusatory. “What else are you keeping from me?”

You groan, collapsing onto your back on the couch. “Ugh, I don’t know,” you say sarcastically. “Do you wanna know my time of birth too?”

“Born at exactly twelve twenty-eight PM,” Sylus recites without missing a beat, his voice bored and unimpressed. “I saw it on your Co-Star app, sweetie.”

You freeze.

“…”

“That’s creepy,” you tell him, tone disapproving, giving him a scolding poke on the nose. 

“Call it thorough research,” he counters smoothly, rolling his eyes at your feeble attack. “After all, a stubborn kitten’s been slacking on her side of the deal.”

_

The questions are, for the most part, harmless in nature. Anchored firmly in the mundane. He doesn’t stray too far from what’s comfortable, or what he deems safe to ask. And yet you can sense it beneath the surface: the burning curiosity. To know more of you, to take what he could—piece by piece, until he’s unraveled the puzzle of you entirely. 

And you don’t get it. His world—filled with endless adventure, lore, and literal fucking superpowers—surely has to be more exciting than anything you’ve got to offer. What’s your life compared to that? 

You said as much to him, mostly as an offhand comment. Although it did feel slightly more earnest when you put it into words, compared to how it sounded in your head. 

“Honestly, Sy-Sy. Life here’s really not that interesting compared to all the stuff going on over there,” you told him matter-of-factly, in the middle of collecting your daily rewards. “You don’t have to keep this up, you know.”

Sylus didn’t speak for a moment. The easy nonchalance he wore so well shifted into something more reserved, almost somber. He didn’t challenge what you said, nor did he affirm anything—you're met with silence, loaded with thoughts left unspoken. 

“Don’t presume things on your own, little dove,” he said after a while, his voice low, a gentle reprimand. 

Before you could even process what he meant by that, he smoothly changed the subject, his tone reverting back to his usual effortless calm as if to ease the weight of your words. “Now then, let’s circle back—what were you saying earlier? You almost drowned in a lake when you were eight? Because of a dare you made with your sister?”

And that was the end of it.

You tell yourself it’s exhausting—the way he keeps digging, prodding, asking questions like you’re worth the level of fascination he’s making you out to be. But there’s also the truth, hidden and tucked beneath your half-hearted protests, slowly unfurling. A part of you—cautiously hopeful, dreadfully fragile—that preens under the weight of his scrutiny. 

So you let him press further; let him sift through twenty plus years of tiny, unremarkable fragments of your life like a beachcomber seeking treasures amongst the tide. And in return, he gives you his full attention, undivided and unyielding, as if your answers are the only ones that matter.

––––

He tells you there’s a new tête-à-tête feature in the game, so you check it out—not without giving him a slightly suspicious look. 

“A microphone feature?” You snort, leveling him with a half-amused glare. “You already hear me talk all the time.”

Sylus blinks at you, his face a guilefully-crafted mask of innocence. “I’m just giving you the option, sweetie. You know, in case you’d like to put our conversations ‘on record.’”

“Treat you like some kind of… quasi-therapist or something? An online confessional?” You give him the stink eye. “Is that what you’re angling for now?”

He shrugs. “If it helps.”

_

You had no intention of using the tête-à-tête “feature” you’ve been so graciously offered, quickly dismissing it as just another one of his tactics to show off his capacity to manipulate the game’s code, or something along those lines. 

It’s not the first time he’s done it. 

But then, midnight comes on a deceptively ordinary Friday, and it’s suffused with an all-too familiar feeling of utter emptiness that drowns you. You’re crumpled on the toilet seat like chewed-up gum, knees pulled to your chest—the day’s wounds still festering. It's not anything new, but it leaves you feeling like shit all the same. 

Yet another overtime shift. Yet another argument with your mom, over fuck all you know that you’re too damn old for, but still, still, finds its way to cut deep. Over and over, and over again. 

Your phone’s blank screen stares back at you, just as mute and useless as the rest of the night. And you—

“Sweetie?” 

You can’t speak. Not yet. But you don’t have to. One look at the exhaustion on your face is enough for Sylus to know exactly what you need.

Your mouth trembles open, then shuts again. He doesn’t say anything else, just waiting for you to make the first move. To start whenever you’re ready. 

After a long moment, you finally exhale a shaky breath. That’s when you catch his gaze; fixed, patient, almost... encouraging. It’s a subtle invitation, urging you to take the plunge, to make use of him to an extent only he can provide–the only one he could offer to you at this time–

So, you talk. Tentatively at first, the words slipping out like droplets from your leaking sink faucet. But once the dam breaks, you can't stop. 

It spills out. Every frustration, every ache, every moment that feels too much to carry for one person, especially for someone like you, and he… he just—

listens. 

-

-

-

You feel drained. Every ounce of energy wrung out of you after unloading the day’s weight to your unexpected confidant.

“That helped, didn’t it?”

If it were anyone else – or if you didn’t know Sylus the way you do now – you’d only catch the smug notes in his voice. The teasing lilt and the airy pretense of someone trying to ease the heaviness out of the room.

But you do hear it. Beneath the surface, woven so subtly into the words… something vulnerable. 

You hear the unspoken question behind it: he’s genuinely asking if it helped. If his presence, however small or inconsequential it might seem, was enough to pull you back ashore.

I helped.

Tell me I did.

“You did, Sy.” Your grin is tired, grateful, and a little lopsided. But it’s real. “Thank you.”

For a moment—just a split of a second—the red in his eyes betrays something achingly raw.

“Anytime, darling,” he says, his voice quieter now, rough around the edges, like it’s carrying more than the words themselves. “I mean it.”

And like a beacon of light slicing through the storm-tossed seas of your mind, you realize that he truly does.

____

You start giving Sylus the reins to select the music, trusting his taste enough to let him DJ for you. He picks the soundtrack for everything—cooking, errands, long rides—filling the silence with something that he knows the both of you would like. 

The playlists grow. From one, to two, to almost an entire collection of carefully curated tracks to suit the mood and vibe of the day. He takes it seriously—so seriously that you can’t resist sneaking in a Megan Thee Stallion track onto his precious “Slow Evenings” playlist.

He finds it hilarious. Hilarious enough to loop Kitty Kat for all sixty-five minutes of your commute back home.

You laugh despite yourself. It’s exactly the type of shit you know he’d pull as petty retribution, already intimately familiar with his brand of humor. And if you close your eyes, you can almost imagine him beside you, sharing an earbud, smirking as he revels in your exasperation.

____

One night, you notice a weariness in his eyes. It’s an odd enough thing to see that it leads to a discussion on what he’s been up to as the shadowy leader of a notorious faction, deep in a lawless part of his universe.

“Just an operation gone wrong, sweetie,” he says with a sigh, rubbing a temple as though trying to physically push the stress away. “It happens.”

You press him on the details of the botched deal—and maybe, just maybe, a small part of you is excited to live vicariously through the tale. But it’s not about you this time, you remind yourself. So you listen as Sylus indulges every question you throw at him, giving you the play-by-play: what the deal was for (special, hard-to-get protocores), where the trade-off occurred (west of Charon), and how it all went sideways (he knew it was a set-up the moment he walked into the venue).

You don’t really know how to comfort him in a situation like this, but you want to try.

In an attempt to lighten the mood, you joke, “Can you imagine clumsy, ol’ me there? I’d be dead before I even make it inside.”

Sylus freezes, his expression going still. Unreadable.

“No, you won’t.” He says in response to the second part of what you just said, his tone brooking no doubt. He says it with such intense conviction that you almost believe this exact hypothetical has already crossed his mind—more than once.

I won’t let you.

Before you can even think of what to say, he adds, quieter this time, but no less convinced: “And yes—I can.”

It’s a direct answer to your question, and it makes the words die in your throat. His voice is softer now too, but there’s no mistaking his tone. It has the same conviction from before, and it hits you that he’s had time to ruminate on this thought—more times than he’d care to admit.

And I do. You have no idea.

____

There’s another shift in the dynamic of your, well, relationship.

“Did you hear what I said, poppet?”

You snap back to meet his inquiring gaze, unwavering as always.

“Sorry, can you repeat that?” You ask, the apology clear in your eyes.

He huffs, shaking his head in amusement—always patient, never annoyed—at your inattentiveness. “What’s on your mind, my sweet?”

Well. That.

Lately, Sylus has gotten into the habit of using possessive pronouns like they’re nothing. There’s also a notable increase on the variation of pet names too, each one more layered than the last.

It’s a little excessive, honestly. Like he’s trying to compensate for something—or maybe he sees it as just another natural step in whatever’s going on between you two. You’re still not sure what exactly goes in his head. He’s always been an enigma to you.

And yet, you never put a stop to it. How could you?

Little dove. Sweet girl. My darling.

When it comes off his lips like sunkist honey—each one brings a jolt straight to your heart. 

You're quite partial to one in particular. 

My love.

____

“Oh, my love,” Sylus tuts, feigning concern. “You’ve snoozed that alarm five times already.”

You groan, hitting the snooze button again—number six now—burying your face in your arms on the desk. 

____

You’re attending a despedida party for a friend who’s flying abroad to study (For a PhD in Biomedical Science! You couldn’t be more proud.) and the venue’s going to be at The Penthouse, somewhere fancy up north. It even has an infinity pool on deck, something the celebrant dropped into the group chat with far too much enthusiasm.

So, earlier today, you’d ventured out to buy something nice for yourself. Nicer than what you have in the closet, which isn’t much of a stretch. Something different than your usual rotation of plaids and band shirts—not that there’s anything wrong with them. They’re just… you. Comfortable. Predictable. Not exactly the dress code for a rooftop soirée.

Now, you’re back home from a successful (!) trip to the mall, bags in hand: a small gift for your friend on one arm and a much larger shopping bag on the other. 

You set the gift gently on the coffee table. Then, you head to the bathroom, the grosgrain ribbon of a paper tote held tight in your fist. 

The pretty fabric caught your eye almost immediately, the moment you saw the garment; its sheen almost like woven liquid in the light. It felt like a risk, even on the rack. But under the unforgiving glare of your bathroom bulb? 

Well, now, it’s looking less of a “bold choice,” and more along the lines of: “damn, what were you thinking?”

It’s not that big of a deal or anything. You like feeling pretty. But at the same time, you haven’t deluded yourself into thinking that you’re anything above average to look at, even on the nicest occasions. 

It’s something you’ve grown used to, a definitive truth ingrained deep in your bones. You know this—like you know gravity tethers you to the ground, even when you’d rather be carried by the wind. You’ve gone through more than a decade to accept it as just another fact of life, to make peace with the reflection staring back at you from the bathroom mirror. 

Even if it means you’ll never be on the receiving end of ‘interested’ glances from strangers on the street. Or that you’ve never known the feeling of someone doing a double take when they see you at your best, all dolled-up. More than once, you’ve sat across from dates whose eyes wandered—toward some other, someone better-looking, in restaurants, at parks, even outside the movies. Everywhere past your direction. 

But that’s okay. You’re used to it, the same way you’ve grown used to everything else.

And still, there’s that impulse—a sudden need for someone else’s opinion. Someone close. Someone that matters. 

There’s a pang of fear you can’t quite shake. You hear the small voice from the deep recesses of your mind, whispering to you that it’s one of your worse ideas. That you’ll fall short of any and all expectations, and that it’ll hurt more this time around. You’ll hear the polite, “you look nice” and you’re gonna have to live with the quiet certainty that you don’t, not really, and that you’ll never quite measure up to what he’s used to seeing. To her—

You swallow hard. He wouldn’t. He wouldn’t do that to you. Not outwardly, at least.

And if he did… Well.

“I bought something,” you say as an opener, the words tumbling out in a rush as soon as you get a glimpse of his form on the screen. You’re rocking back on your heel, a little awkward as you stand there in front of your small vanity table even with your phone laid flat, front camera pointing upwards. “You remember the going-away party I’ll be attending two days from now, right?”

“Of course, the one for your secondary school batchmate.” Sylus replies easily, voice reverberating through the tinny speakers. Even at an angle, you can see the confused tilt of his head. “Is it on the ceiling, sweetie? What am I looking at, exactly?”

“No, smartass. I—” You press your lips together, eyes flitting upward, as if courage might be dangling from the ceiling in question.

Fuck, this is a bad idea. I can’t do this.

“It’s–I bought something for myself. I mean, I bought her a gift too, obviously. But I also bought an outfit. For the party.” 

There. 

He blinks, and you can almost see the gears turning in his head. Realization dawns on his face, a knowing smile beginning to form. His voice dips, a teasing edge to it as he purrs, “Oh? Well then, save me from the suspense, sweetheart.”

“I–I’m getting to it, okay?” It comes out a little snappier than you intend, nerves flaring hot. You sigh, feeling your shoulders drop. “I’m just… Don’t be—ugh, just don’t make a big deal out of this, alright?” 

You keep your eyes off the screen, unable to face him directly.

But when he speaks, his tone carries only a quiet understanding of your struggle.

Of course he understands. He always does.

He speaks; and it’s slow and measured—as if he’s coaxing a terrified, cornered animal out of hiding. 

“Show me.” Trust me.

And so with a heavy exhale through the nose, you flip the front camera towards your direction, revealing the bare expanse of gooseflesh skin—

… And the flimsy one-piece that clings to your body like wet plastic. 

It dips low between the valley of your breasts and stops short just halfway up your thigh. The material is a gauzy organza; see-through and light, in seafoam green. Barely leaving anything to the imagination as it reveals the dusky coral swimsuit from underneath the fabric and the hot flush that spreads across your chest like wildfire. Your fists clench and unclench behind your back – hiding the physical manifestation of your rising anxiety – while you shift your weight from one foot to the other. 

There's a deafening silence. 

The knots in your stomach grow tighter, creeping its way past your lungs. Your fingers tremble as cold sweat breaks out across your skin, chilling you from the inside. You feel horribly exposed. So exposed it’s almost unbearable. 

And you still can’t bring yourself to look at him.

Your thoughts stumble, desperate to cling to anything solid, and a faint memory surfaces—a passage from an org pamphlet you’ve skimmed through back in college, something that has to do with “self-perception.”

The flesh does not define you. 

Your body is but a facet of who you are. You are as inconsequential as the earth beneath your feet, and as important as stardust in the universe.

A low, guttural sound cuts through the stillness, and it makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. 

You—

“Look at me.”

A searing heat laces the cadence of his voice. It sounds restless—like a flame unchecked, rapidly growing into a raging inferno. Stifling in the way it pulls the air from your lungs, like a suckerpunch to the gut.

Your primordial instinct is to flee. But right at that very moment, you're no different from a paralyzed insect caught in an inescapable web with the way you’re stood frozen in place. Every instinct to run is smothered by the mere inflection in his voice. 

—are all. And that is all there is to be. 

“My sweet little dove,” it’s almost a croon, the way the words curl around you like wisps of smoke. Sickly saccharine… downright serpentine. “Won’t you look at me when I talk to you?”

And like a marionette on a string, you obey. 

-

Time seems to stop to a standstill the moment your eyes meet his. 

Sylus’ gaze sinks into you. Loaded. Heavy. A crazed glint, almost—to it. Even to someone like you who's embarrassingly clueless about the nuances of attraction and wholly inexperienced in its depths can see it as plain as day.

Carnal desire. In its purest form. 

Sylus looks at you as though you’re something to be coveted. Devoured. 

A small, fearful noise slips past your lips, and the twin crimson flames burn brighter.

“You’d like to know what I think?”

Yes.

No?

He sees the war in your eyes, and a throaty chuckle escapes him—raw and breathy. “Maybe so?”

You give him the tiniest nod, and the grin on his face sharpens into something wanton, something far more licentious. It slinks in like a fever, stirring something deep within you. Something as old as time.

Sylus opens his mouth. 

You brace yourself for the inevitable.

-

-

-

A ring slices through the room like a hot knife. Just like that, you can breathe again. 

____

Your saving grace comes in the form of a phone call that grounds you back to reality.

It’s a friend, one of the party guests, asking for directions to the venue. You’re listening with one ear on the receiver, answering each question robotically, your voice a controlled calm on the surface, a stark contrast to the thoughts running amok inside your head. 

The words blur into background noise, muffled and distant, like a TV commercial playing on low volume in another room.

The moment you hang up, a suffocating hush swallows the room whole. You’re left alone with nothing but heat kindling low in your gut. The ghost of the heavy exchange from earlier stays with you, thrumming beneath your skin, hot and pulsating. 

You don’t know what to do with yourself. The abrupt suddenness of it all gnaws at you, its weight driving you toward an early retreat. Maybe a long night’s rest will do wonders and help you get your shit together, who knows. 

You slip between the sheets... but not before retrieving your, ah, trusty little companion from its hiding spot in the bedside drawer.

You didn’t want to assume… You don’t want to expect anything from him, but you have needs. 

God, but you do.

Your body feels like flint struck against steel, sparked ablaze by just a handful of words. Words weaved into a vivid imagery from the mouth of your… friend?? 

(Something more?) 

The uncertainty wrecks you, every nerve alight with tension. And yet it’s the same uncertainty that roots you there. Hesitating. 

So. You lie back, pushing the sheets away from your fevered skin, and just—lay there. Staring at the ceiling. The plaster cracks form maps you trace with your eyes, as if searching for answers in their tangled routes. You count your breaths, one after the other, as though the repetition could calm your racing heartbeat. 

It feels ridiculous, almost. You’re a grown adult, acting like a teenager with a demented crush. It’s more than that, though—it’s deeper, messier, and completely illogical. 

But it’s not something you can figure out tonight, not in this state. So you stop trying. 

Instead, you switch on your little toy, open an incognito browser, and let yourself succumb to what your body’s been screaming at you for the past fucking hour. 

You feel… You feel weird about using anything Sylus-related to get yourself off. That’s not to say you haven’t, before, back when he was just another eye candy from a measly mobile game. When it was just another infatuation. 

But now? Now it feels all levels of wrong, like you’re toeing some invisible line. Worse, it feels like you’re exploiting something fragile, testing the limits of a bond already stretched thin.

So, any content related to that man stays off the fap fodder. You’re not that far gone. You think. 

Instead, you scroll through your bookmarks tab, a shaky sigh leaves your lips as you let the hard vibrations of your trusty rabbit glide from inside your thighs, up… up to your warm center, in between the juncture of your legs.

You pause on a Toji smut fic—one amongst, uhh, dozens in your folder. It’s not the same, you know this, but you’re settling for the next best thing in your current circumstance. 

Since what you really want, who you’d rather much have, isn’t—

…

Your phone glitches. 

The Chrome app crashes.

And what do you think you’re doing?

Your heart stutters a beat, and you stop breathing. 

You can’t answer. The words don’t come. But he doesn’t wait for you to try.

Put on your headphones.

You’re done with that. Tonight, tomorrow, any other night. Do you understand me?

The uncharacteristic curtness of the message sends a jolt through you, and a blush overtakes your entire body. You hesitate, just for a second.

Now.

You scramble to obey, fumbling for your earbuds, slipping them on with shaking hands. 

The moment the bluetooth connects, the game boots up on its own—straight to an irate Sylus, looking royally pissed-off. 

“Sy-Sy—” you stammer, your voice barely above a whisper. “I–I don’t—”

"Oh, so back to Sy-Sy now, are we?"

The mocking lilt in his voice cuts sharper than the glare he fixes on your dimly lit face. Your mouth opens, then closes, words failing you entirely. 

You want to explain, to defend yourself. To…

“I see what you read. What you watch,” he begins, voice cutting and mean. “In the dead of night, when you think you’re alone. When you think it’s safe. That no one hears the sweet moans spill so sinfully from your lips.”

His words pierce through the air like an arrow; you feel his overwhelming presence take over, the weight of his gaze pressing down on you, every exhale grazing the sensitive shell of your ear.

“Oh, but I do,” he murmurs, the ambiguity in his tone somehow making it worse. “I hear everything. I know everything about you, kitten.”

A shiver races down your spine, your body betraying you as he speaks.

“What makes you tick,” he continues, his voice a sinister caress. “What leaves you writhing, desperate for more. The way your breathing quickens… the way your body trembles under the weight of your own pleasure.”

You’re struggling now—each breath harder to catch than the last.

“And the way that pretty little mouth of yours falls open in a silent gasp, right after you come undone.”

His words are a noose, tightening with every syllable. Your head spins as the air seems to grow heavier, saturated with the tension between you.

“But it’s never for me, is it?”

“I–I’m sorry… I don’t want to assume—”

“Assume?” His voice darkens, any hint of softness replaced with something colder, harsher. “Again with your presumptions.”

He leans closer, his tone dropping to a command that leaves no room for doubt. “From now on, the only thing you’ll need to believe is when I tell you you’re mine.”

You blink at him dumbly. His grin turns into something wicked—caustic and biting—as he cocks his head. Derisive.  

“Do you understand?”

Your head bobs in a weak, reflexive nod.

“Words, poppet.”

“Y-Yes.”

“Good.” His tone shifts, smooth like languid amber, yet no less imposing. “Now, my love,” he coos, savoring the way your eyes tear up with desperation, “show me how you touch yourself.”

____

“Shi–iit,” he hisses. “This wet already?” 

You attempt to close your legs, shame rising like a tide, but freeze halfway when Sylus lets out a low, warning growl.

“Try that, and we’ll stop,” he warns. “I won’t repeat myself twice, pet.”

The weight of his words pins you in place, and you let out a helpless whimper.

“Don’t be afraid, sweet girl,” he murmurs, his tone gentler. Coaxing. “It’s just me.”

His gaze burns into you, relentless, but something tender bleeds into it. 

The glow of the screen casts shadows along the sharp angles of his jaw, the upward tick of his mouth a dangerous contradiction; part teasing, part command. His sanguine eyes gleam with a mix of hunger and control, a look that leaves no room for hesitation.

You give in.

Your body relaxes under the weight of his stare, the fight draining from your limbs. It’s not submission—it’s surrender, pure and unfiltered, the kind that leaves you vulnerable.

Sylus watches you, a faint smile tugging at his lips. Not soft, not kind, but triumphant—like a predator relishing the moment its prey stops running.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, the praise dripping from his tongue like honey. “That’s better.”

____

Sade’s Smooth Operator starts to play in the background as you catch your breath.

You let out a tired giggle, swiping a hand down your sweat-drenched face, earbuds still in place. “Ugh– don’t piss me off.”

You hear a resounding chuckle. 

Gently, he asks, “Alright, little dove?” There’s a beat of hesitation before he adds, quieter now, “Did I go too far?”

You curl onto your side, phone clutched in your hand like a prayer. Sylus’ gaze peers back at you through the screen, a dangerously soft expression on his face that you don’t want to identify. 

“It's perfect, Sy,” you say, your grin tender and bittersweet, heart full of something you won't name.

____

It’s one in the morning. The dim glow of your laptop screen flickers across your face, spilling into the darkened room, casting shadows along the wall. You lean back against it, the end credits of Everything Everywhere All At Once rolling quietly in the background.

 

Silence settles between you and Sylus like a warm blanket.

“Do you think it’s… like that?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper, unwilling to shatter the stillness of the moment. “All versions of ourselves colliding and coexisting at the same time?”

The question hangs there; he doesn’t rush an answer, and for a moment, you wonder if he’s choosing not to. 

When he finally speaks, it’s with the same quiet restraint, his voice threading softly through the air. 

“I’d like to think that in this vast expanse of the universe, there’s something for you and me.”

There’s a trace of something dreadfully optimistic in his voice, and it makes your chest tighten. You blink a few times, glancing upwards. 

The moment lingers, delicate in its quietness, until you instinctively reach for your phone. A quick swipe reveals a new addition to your shared playlist.

This Is A Life by Son Lux and Mitski.

A small, genuine smile tugs at your lips as you press play. The haunting strains of the song pour into the room, filling the spaces words can’t seem to touch.

“Sneaky,” you murmur, your gaze sliding back to Sylus’ face on the screen. His expression is unreadable, save for the faintest twitch of his mouth, the barest hint of a smile.

“Thought it fit the mood,” he says simply.

And it does. The music sweeps over you, soft and wistful, like the moment itself.

____

The balcony feels like a lifeboat drifting away from the chaos inside. The music, the chatter, the endless parade of tequila shots—it all fades to a dull hum as you step into the cool night air. 

Out here, the world feels wider, the sky a little darker, and you can breathe without choking on the weight of the party.

She’s already there, of course. The friend of a friend. An acquaintance by definition, but someone who feels more of a comrade in these fleeting moments away from the crowd. You’ve seen her like this most times; leaning on the railing, a cigarette perched between her fingers, its faint ember glowing against the night. You don’t need an invitation to approach her.

“You mind if I bum one?”

She shrugs, silently offering the box to you. You take one.

“Fun party, huh?” you comment after two puffs, the lit end of the stick briefly catching the glow of the skyline. Your voice is loaded with the kind of irony only shared by those watching the world from the outside in.

“It always is with them around,” she snorts, rolling her eyes in fond exasperation. Her voice carries the warmth of familiarity, from an observation you’ve both shared before. 

You exhale a soft laugh, the sound barely audible over the low hum of the city below.

The silence that follows isn’t just companionable—it’s necessary. A pause to recalibrate, to let the noise, and the lights, and the weight of too many people melt away. Neither of you feels the need to fill it. Words would only dilute the reprieve.

And then, unexpectedly:

“You look happy.”

The words land like a stone dropping into still water, rippling through the quiet. You glance at her, startled by the way her eyes narrow slightly, the way her tone suggests she’s already drawn her own conclusions.  

“You ‘ave someone?”

You weren’t ready for that. You blink at her, surprised she’s noticed anything about you—surprised, too, that it’s written plainly enough for anyone to notice.

“...Yeah,” you mumble, looking away. The admission feels strange in its simplicity. “Yeah, I do.”

She smiles at that—easy but genuine, as if your happiness has spilled over and warmed her, too. “That’s good.” 

There’s sincerity in her voice, unfiltered and direct, as she adds, “You look happier.”

You don’t reply, but her words settle somewhere deep, in the quiet places you thought were hidden. 

And for once, you don’t mind being seen.

____

The party has left you drunker than you’ve been in ages. 

As soon as the celebrant spots the two of you in the corner looking like a sad pair of eyesores, she quickly remedies it with copious amounts of stone-cold stingers. You try to protest, but in the end, it’s futile against the cacophony of cheers and the face of societal peer pressure. 

So now you stagger inside the condo building, looking every bit like a drowned rat dragged in from the storm. A weary guard from reception following closely behind, his patience visibly fraying as you giggle your way toward the elevator.

“‘m fine!” you insist, words slurring together as you attempt to shoo him off with a lazy wave. To emphasize your point, you pinch your fingers together, holding them inches apart. “Just this much to drink, see?”

He doesn’t respond, his expression coming across resigned and frustrated. You can almost hear the thought running through his mind: I don’t get paid enough for this. 

With a long-suffering sigh, he finally relents, letting you totter into the elevator alone.

UG… P… 4…. 5…… Oh! Here you are. 

Rivulets of water drip down from your rain-soaked hair, trailing icy paths down your neck as you stagger down the narrow hallway. Your vision blurs, making everything double—no, triple—as you fumble your way to the left, stopping in front of the door of 601—wait, no, 603. 

You squint hard at the numbers, your head throbbing with the effort, but the stinging in your eyes and the stubborn clumping of your lashes make it way harder for you to make sense of it all. 

Your waterlogged clutch feels heavier than it should, and your trembling fingers struggle to find the zipper pull that’s somehow become the bane of your existence. You huff, muttering incoherently to yourself, your throat tight and raw as a burning lump starts to rise. An annoyingly persistent buzzing from inside your bag adds to your mounting frustration.

With an angry yank, you finally manage to tear the bag open, water splashing off it in tiny droplets. 

“Aha!” you exclaim, though the triumph is short-lived as your hands shake even harder when you pull out your phone. It’s the source of the buzzing apparently, the bright screen momentarily blinding you. 

You try to unlock it—once, twice, three times—nearly getting locked out before the numbers finally click.

The notifications hit you like the mars lights of a freight train. Texts. Lots of them. You scroll through clumsily, the device slipping slightly from your grip as you snort gracelessly.

Sylus. Of course.

The words on the screen blur and twist, but you don’t need clarity to know the progression of each message—ranging from mild curiosity, to slight worry, to exasperatedly concerned. 

The syllables of his pet name echo faintly in your muddled head, a small, fleeting comfort against the weight pressing down on your chest. Sy-Sy. Sy-Sy. Sy-Syyyyy—

Synchronous with your erratic breathing, you dig through your bag with a heavy hand, each failed attempt sends you spiraling lower.

Another ping jolts you from your drunken haze: 

How are you feeling? Did you just get back?

“I can’t—I can’t find my damn keys!” 

The words slips out as a frustrated cry.

Inner pocket, left side. Answer me, sweetheart.

His words flash across the screen just as your fumbling fingers find the keys exactly where he said they’d be. 

A tear burns a path down your cheek as you let out a half-hearted chuckle, mumbling, “Can I even function without you?” 

How long has it been since you could manage something like this on your own? Has he become an extension of your mind?

The door’s stubborn resistance only adds to your unraveling. After several failed attempts—your fingers too wound up to grip the key properly—you finally twist the lock and push it open, stumbling inside, into the darkness. 

“I’m a mess, Sylus,” you whisper, voice thick with tears as your head spins, wiping your nose with the back of your hand. 

The world feels heavy and muffled, like you’re trapped behind a fogged window. You know you’re a sight to behold—shoeless, drunk, drenched like some stray that wandered too far into the rain.

“I’ve noticed,” he says, his voice warm and steady, cutting through the quiet void of the room. It takes a second for the words to sink in, for your scattered mind to piece together that, somehow, you’ve already opened the game in the middle of all your fumbling. Automatic. Like second nature.

You stare at him, trembling and pitiful, like a kid lost in a crowd. Your bottom lip quivers, and you hate how small you feel under his gaze.

You see concern pooling in the depths of Sylus’ eyes. That and something… desperate.

You sniff, rubbing at your wet cheeks with pruning fingers, clinging to humor like a lifeline. "Don’t you do anything else?” you mumble, your voice fraying at the edges. “Like... live your own life or something? You spend so much time with me...” You force out a weak laugh, bitter and jagged. “It’s a miracle you haven’t gotten sick of me yet.”

Your laugh cracks halfway through, more like a sob than anything. It’s pathetic—you’re pathetic. 

And yet, you can’t stop. Even if it stings your throat.

Sylus’ response comes, and his voice is solid—unwavering. He doesn’t flinch like you do. “I don’t get sick of you, sweetheart. Not in the slightest.”

Something in you cracks, spilling over. “I really like you,” you murmur, voice steeped with emotion. “You’re the brightest light in my life. You’re… you’re everything.”

A flash of lightning cuts through the room, illuminating your tear-stained face.

And for the first time since you’ve known him, Sylus calls out your name.

It’s quiet, reverent, and it feels like a tether pulling you back from the brink.

You crumple down the floor, clutching your phone like it’s the only thing holding you together. In the silence that follows, all you can hear is your ragged breathing and the quiet hum of his presence on the other end of the line.

“I’m here,” he tells you softly. “I’ve got you.”

____

This is a life

(Every possibility)

Free from destiny 

(I choose you, and you choose me) 

Tagging: @xxfaithlynxx @beewilko @browneyedgirl22 @yournextdoorhousewitch @sunsethw4 @stxrrielle @mangooes @hrts4hanniehae @buggs-1 @michiluvddr @ssetsuka @imm0rtalbutterfly @the-golden-jhope @beomluvrr @milkandstarlight @bookfreakk @ally-the-artistic-turtle @sapphic-daze @sarahthemage @cchiiwinkle @madam8 @slownoise @raendarkfaerie @sylusdarling @luminaaaz @greeenbeean @vvhira @issamomma @shroomiethefrogwhisperer @nicora04 @blueberrysquire @love-anteros @fiyori @peachystea @slyfoxtsu @tinyweebsstuff @i2sannie (i spend so much time cross-checking the tags this is tiring lmao)

Fishbones PART 1 🦈

Self-Aware!Sylus x Down-bad!Player

Sylus becoming aware he is a character in a game and now he’s aware of you as well. A modern day Romeo & Juliet story here …. A tragic love story A/N: Don’t fight me [Requested by: Anon]

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Self-Aware!Sylus who realizes he’s in a game when he can sense your energy on the other side of a phantom wall. He can hear you squealing when he calls you honey and you're radiating happiness when you send him random emojis.

Self-Aware!Sylus who finally sees you when he happens to be looking around during a photoshoot and sees your shocked face when he makes eye contact. He smirks and turns back to the in-game version of you. “Why are you out there?” You dropped your phone and stared at it in shock. Did Sylus just ….. talk to you? You muttered a low ‘Hello?’ but got no response. You brushed it off as you just being tired and on the game too long.

Self-Aware!Sylus who manages to create a keyboard in your chat so he can actually text you. You were so confused when you opened it and it allowed you to type without just pressing a prompt. You gave it a spin with a quick ‘Hey Sylus’ something simple. Of course the message was read immediately and he replied with a ‘Hello [your name]’ you stared at the screen in shock not knowing if this was a new update or if you were just going crazy.

Self-Aware!Sylus who chuckles when he sees you pouting because you didn’t get his card so when you close the app and lay down he gifts you the card himself. You opened the app and the first thing Sylus says to you is “I don’t like seeing you sad, check your memories I left a gift for you”. When you open your memories you see that you not only got his most recent card but all of his five star memories. “What's happening here?” “You’re smile is so captivating I just had to see it again”

Self-Aware!Sylus who opens the app randomly throughout the day so he can see you “I haven’t seen you all day what are you doing?” causing you to snatch your phone off the table because he always seems to catch you when you’re at work or around a group of people. “Sylus I'm at work I'll call you when I get off” he crosses his arms and seems to be pouting? “I don’t like how much you have to work I don’t see you as often” “Well not all of us are billionaires some of us work for said billionaires to make a living” “I wish I could take care of you….” “You and me both”

Self-Aware!Sylus who teases you when he wins a game of kitty cards or who uses his evol to get every stuffed animal for you when you get frustrated. “You sure do wear your heart on your sleeves sweetie”

Self-Aware!Sylus who stares directly at you when you’re doing a photoshoot with your in-game MC “Sylus focus on her so I can get the picture” “I want to focus on you though” “She is me” “…..she’s not”

Self-Aware!Sylus who tells you not to fall in love because he’s not real, but he falls head over heels in love with you anyway. From the late night conversations of you explaining your world to him and just talking about everything and nothing at the same time. He can’t help it one night when you’re up late on the phone as always he just has to ask “Do you love me?” you’re shocked by his question, but swiftly answer with a shy “Yea I do”

Sylus: I thought we agreed not to fall in love Y/N: I was already in love you just noticed late Sylus: I believe I fell harder You giggled as something somber settled in your chest. Y/N: We’ll never truly be together you know? Sylus: I know and yet I continue to long for you …. I wish I could kiss you Y/N: I wish you could too…..

Self-Aware!Zayne Self-Aware!Xavier Self-Aware!Rafayel Self-Aware!Caleb

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