Just one of the Kittens

It's heartbreaking and deeply unfair to everyone who already found a place for him in their heart

Every signature helps❤️ Let's fight for our wolf🐺

♥ sylus x reader | romantic, fluff

When the air smells of sunset and early autumn, Sylus leans over your shoulder and kisses your cheek. His lips on your skin are warmer than a knitted scarf or the paper cup of coffee you grabbed from the café near your home. You’ve been waiting for him — scanning the street for his car, standing by the curb and watching the city melt into the orange haze of dusk. On weekends the roads are quieter, though the cafés are far too loud.

You can’t help but smile. You hear him smile too, right by your ear, as he wraps his arms tighter around your waist and pulls you against his chest. By now you’ve learned to recognize that quiet, nearly inaudible sigh of relief — the one that escapes him every time he holds you again after a separation.

“Waiting for someone, kitten?”

His voice is playful, rough-edged — still touched by sleep. Which means today, once again, you’re the first person he’s spoken to since waking.

“You” you answer softly, so tenderly it almost sounds like a confession.

He laughs low in his chest, the vibration sinking into your body. Sylus is pleased — you no longer dodge his questions or hide behind jokes. He hears it now: you need him just as much as he needs you.

You turn your head to look at him, brushing your nose against his cheek. He’s wearing black sunglasses, the faint scent of his aftershave lingering — cedarwood and spice with a trace of citrus. He smiles wider, kisses you, leaving a faint taste of mint gum on your lips.

Then you notice the bouquet in his hands — roses the color of his eyes, tied with a black velvet ribbon. His gaze lowers; his finger traces your cheek as if to make sure you’re real, not another dream. Then the kiss — slow, deep, promising a long night ahead. Your free hand slides from his jaw to his strong neck, to the back of his head. You bury your fingers in the silk of his silver hair, your nails scraping his skin impatiently.

Sylus surrenders — a deep, low sound breaks from his chest, his breath hot against your lips. You rise on your toes, trying to prolong the moment, but he pulls away, straightens, and looks down at you with that smug, teasing smile that curves the stubborn line of his mouth.

“Come on, kitten. Before you change your mind.” He drawls lazily, though his hand strokes your back with quiet tenderness.

He opens the car door for you, and before starting the engine, he catches your fingers — squeezing gently, kissing your knuckles. Then he removes his sunglasses and studies your face in the hush of the car, his red eyes soft and searching — as if he hasn’t seen you in a month, not a single day. You start to suspect this might be his ritual for luck.

He turns your palm over in his, brings his nose close to the thin skin of your wrist, breathes in. Barely touching, his teeth graze the vein — a soft bite. You flinch slightly, then smile. Those crimson eyes watch your reaction carefully. You realize it’s his little revenge for the scratches your sharp nails left on his skin.

♥ sylus x reader

On a quiet autumn Sunday morning, you plan to take a walk in the park. Sylus loves to see you at the start of the day, right before he goes to sleep after a long night of work. He picks you up — not in the tailored suit you’re used to, but in a cozy hoodie, loose jeans, and white sneakers. No trace of expensive shoes, fitted shirts, or custom-made trousers. With you, he drops all masks, all titles. In these moments, he’s simply a man in love, bringing you dahlias red as his eyes.

You return from a work trip. Half-jokingly, you ask the ever-busy Boss Onychinus to keep you company this evening and help you shop for groceries, since your fridge is empty after almost a week away. And an hour later, he’s already at your doorstep with a bouquet of golden chrysanthemums in his hands.

You caught a cold after your mountain holiday. He told you, “Don’t go barefoot on the balcony, sweetie.” But resisting was impossible — the snowy Alps at night are pure magic. You lingered there, staring down at the tiny village below, each window glowing with warm light. The cold was just a small price to pay for such a moment. A couple of sick days, nothing serious. A little weakness, a runny nose. Sylus doesn’t scold you, doesn’t reproach you. He simply shows up in the morning with a bouquet of soft peach blossoms. Spring has come.

But he’s genuinely surprised, even if he tries to hide it, when on the most ordinary, unremarkable Thursday you show up at his Base with a bouquet of lotuses. He frowns, as if he’s forgotten something— an anniversary, a special day, a reason? But you stop him before he can ask. There’s no reason. The reason is him.

a beloved morning ritual

sylus x reader

you got used to falling asleep alone, but waking up with him. the very first thing you notice is the scent of his shower gel - a luxurious woody fragrance, laced with tobacco flower and something sharp that stirs every nerve in you with a thrilling sweetness. or maybe it's merely Sylus himself, as he draws his arms around you, tugging you by the waist into his arms. your skin comes alive with goosebumps, and warmth broadcasts through your chest.

you blink your eyes open, cast a sleepy glance at the bedside clock, and grumble under your breath that Sylus once again stole those precious ten minutes of sleep before work. but a heartbeat later, when his lips brush your temple and his warm breath grazes the crown of your head, you realize this awakening has become your new favorite morning ritual - one without which the morning could never truly be good.

his movements are lazy, his voice tired but tender, as he once again suggests you quit your current job and join onychinus. he promises the conditions he’ll provide will never disappoint you, and adds the sweet guarantee of weekly bonuses, straight from the boss himself. with those words, his hot lips find your neck. he keeps whispering, urging you to stay home today, while you playfully smack his shoulder when he wraps you in his arms and shamelessly pins you down.

"ouch!" he groans in mock offense, though you can feel the smile lingering on his lips. he answers with a kiss. "stay with me a little longer," he pleads every morning. in those moments his voice carries such need, such raw intimacy, that your heart tightens and your throat prickles. "of course," you whisper softly, burying your fingers in his silver hair, still damp from the shower, and gently massaging his scalp.