I write purely for fun. I love writing drabbles, hcs and theories (I am not so good at writing fics). I've never written for a fanbase before, so please be kind! If you don't like my work it's okay ! I might be a bit OOC sometimes.
Sylus 𓅫
Theories (more like brainrots) ✎ᝰ. (currently re-writting)
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Like not only are you waking up to Sylus with bed head, morning voice, and bleary eyes. But you're waking up to him fully naked, with the lingering memories of all the physical activities you two had just partook in some odd hours prior...
The evidence is not only present on your bodies - through bruises, bites, scratches, and the occasional carefully placed hickey. But your environment carries the memories too.
Clothes still lying on the floor, decorative pillows still tossed hazardously to the bottom of the bed. Sheets still in a disarray except for where they're dragged over your bare bodies.
You find yourself staring at him, your head still resting on his outstretched arm, eyes lingering on the rise and fall of his bare chest. You want to bury your face in the crook of his neck, much like you had a few hours ago. You want to devour him just as you had last night...
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Imagine Sylus being so pussy drunk that he doesn't even process that he's overstimulating the life out of you?
You've already snapped your thighs shut around his head, one hand pushing desperately against his hair as if it will somehow detach him from your poor, throbbing clit.
Your entire body is writhing to get away from him.
But his hands are iron-clad in their grip on your skin. You're not going anywhere, even as you manage to fight through the overwhelming pleasure and twist your upper half. Grabbing at the pillows, the sheets, anything for leverage to pull yourself up the bed.
But, Sylus holds firm, mouth latched on to your slippery cunt. You're nearly begging, trying anything to somehow dislodge your beast of a lover from your cunt.
Imagine somehow being able to get yourself from your back to your hands and knees.
Trying so hard to crawl away on trembling legs but you just can't seem to make them move fast enough.
Not that Sylus is letting you get very far. Large arms encompass your lower half in a bear hug, and his face is smushing itself embarrassingly deep into your sloppy sex.
Succumbing to the fact that you're not escaping him, nor are you escaping his eager mouth. Melting into the pillows, slack jawed and watery eyed as you fully give in to the pleasure he's giving you.
Sylus isn't quite about it either, no, he's a loud eater.
He's moaning and groaning into your cunt, slobbering down your thighs, nuzzling his entire head into the warmth between them.
Turth be told, Sylus has never had such a genuine and at ease smile on his lips as he had the first time you finally, finally fell asleep with him.
It was an uphill battle. For one, you struggled to sleep normally. Always going to bed too late snd waking up just before he was about to sleep himself.
And for two, even when hed try to go to sleep with you, you wouldn't. Not unless he was asleep. You'd cuddle with him, yes, but never sleep. Sylus kept his thoughts to himself, but he thought It was very cat like how you couldn't sleep if he was watching.
But tonight? You were just about tired enough. Your eyelids heavy as you laid in his arms, when normally you'd swear you two were just horizontally hugging.
And then you fell asleep. Breath evened out, body relaxing.
A victory in its own right. Sylus didnt even dare to breathe, in case his chest moving or warm air hitting your head would stir you. Even when his body started to feel numb, he didnt move.
Sylus would keep you here forever, if he could. Hopefully this was the first of many. A part of him, while wanting to just watch you all night, can't help but feel sleep, which is normally elusive at this hour, tug at him. Maybe due to the weight of you on his chest. Or, the snores leaving your mouth that youll deny come morning.
And well... when you finally do wake up, its to sylus' own gentle snores. He's so loud... but you arent too annoyed when you scoot closer and shut your eyes again.
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𝟅ϱ sum. arguing with sylus in missionary! cw : mdni, argument, make up sex, sylus is a caring husband.
frankly, you don’t even know what the argument has been about, or if you can even call it an argument. between the lengthy assignments you have to do on short notice and your husband barely batting an eye when he pisses you off, you are a wreck.
“ y-you never listen to me; all you do is talk.” you’re currently situated under your annoying husband in question, legs parted on both sides of his hips, hands interlocked as he presses soft kisses into your sweaty skin, appearing as if he’s barely listening to your complaints— which you know is far from true. sylus is anything but neglectful when it comes to you, and somewhere deep inside you know that. you just can’t get that part of your brain to rationalize in your anger. “ you’re doing it again… not listening.”
“ i am listening, sweetie.” his hot breath touches your skin as he exhales with a soft chuckle, removing his face from your chest to make eye contact with you as he presses deeply into your wet warmth. despite your attitude, you hold him close, nails slightly digging into the expanse of his back while his dick reaches such deepness inside you that you almost forget why you’re mad. “ i just didn’t want to make my kitten get even more fussy while she rants about me. continue, i’m all ears.”
you dart your eyes away, focusing on anything in the room that can distract you from how badly you want to be vulnerable and crumble in his arms. his fingers on your chin pull your gaze back to him, lips curled into that boyish but shit-eating smirk.
“ oh? cat got your tongue?”
“ this cat will strangle you,” you uttered, maintaining eye contact as he made sloppy thrusts with his hips, knocking on your sweet spot and briefly passing it. the lowness of his voice hinted at a sultry purr, and you couldn’t stop yourself from clenching down on him harshly, wrapping your arms around his neck tightly; you scratched at the untamed skin there. “ hah, j-just like that, sylus.”
“ has my sweetheart of a wife returned back to me? or does she still want to rip my head off with her tiny claws?” sylus’ teasing words trail off into a groan as your walls refuse to loosen their grip on him. he straightens his back, hands firmly but softly pressing your knees into your chest as he re-enters into your whiny cunt with the purpose of scrambling your mind and words. pride washes over him once he sees you keen and grasping for closure on the messy bed as he impossibly discovers places so deep in your walls it feels as if he’s searching through your brain. “ it’s okay, i’ll just help you make up your mind in the process.”
“ f-fuck you, sylus!” through your panting you still bitterly curse him out. your words do no sort of impact on him; all he does is shrug them off, smirk widening even more while watching you try to catch up with your breathing. it all feels so good, watching you refuse to back down knowing that by the end of the night he’ll pry out what made you mad in the first, even if he has to do it while fucking all thoughts out your pretty mind.
“ jokes on you, kitten. i believe you’re already doing so.” you didn’t have a response; he laughs at that. bending your legs onto his shoulders he thrusts into you with free range, eye to eye, skin to skin, and mouth to mouth. when you disconnect there is a string of combined saliva between and a lingering warmth. “ if you tell me what’s wrong, i can make you feel better. you don’t have to do mind games with me, kitten.”
painfully, your heart clenches. “ s-sylus,” is all you can manage to whimper out as tears begin to pool in the eyes he loves so much. you don’t register when they drop until he starts peppering your wet skin with his soft kisses. his once erratic hips slow their pace, leaving a space of understanding where you can melt into him fully. “ ‘m sorry for being an… ass. just been so stressed out.”
“ i told you multiple times you can quit your job and work for me. stress free, and you have me to yourself all day.”
“ d-don’t joke around like that!” you whimper, eyelashes clumped together due to the moisture of your tears as your body underneath him continues to jolt and squirm in the utmost of pleasure and passion. the way how he shushes your cries and wipes your tears away is the softest feeling in the world. you hiccup when he fiddles with your clit with soft touches, coaxing your orgasm closer and closer. “ sylie… wanna cum.”
“ now i’m sylie? you’re a tricky one.” he’s back at the teasing, but it’s half hearted compared to how he usually pisses you off in outstanding ways. the more and more you stared at him, the more you wanted to be one in his skin, a small part of you consider actually taking his offer. his thumb speeds on your erect clit, wringing more wetness from your slit that coats his dick in a glimmering sheen, which also gets on the base of him. “ such a brat.”
“ ‘m sorry, you win.” you pout, trailing your hand to his soft white hair, gently tugging it, pulling a soft groan from him. he presses down on your clit— just a tad, watching your legs tense and threaten to tremble and he coaxes you into an orgasm. “ s-sylus!”
for the rest of the night he softly shushes your whimpers as he pulls orgasm after orgasm out of you, enough to leave you happy for the rest of the month.
Just wanted to share out the Sylus Kitty I graphed for my math class. Thought it was pretty cool and wanted to share it. In total I did like 91 equations and it took me two days to complete it. Let me know what y’all think of it!!
onychinus wasn’t really an official office, but there existed a home-base of operations.
with clean-cut interior, bulletproof glass conference rooms, desks scattered with both paperwork and technology alike under the ambient warm light surprisingly considerate of people who are sensitive to brightness, the building stands central north of the N109 zone.
this, as far as dwellers and factions know, is the home of the infamous ruler of onychinus. the dragon’s den. the keeper’s castle.
and this young, new assistant who is trying to make something of himself in the tower of bodies trying to climb upwards on the social ladder starts work today.
onychinus promises worth in exchange for loyalty. no questions asked.
he can do that.
he hasn’t even been sat an hour yet on his new desk before the phone started to ring.
briefed that all calls should be handled with promptness and professionalism, he takes it barely at the first ring. not expecting the voice that comes through.
“helloo?”
it takes him a moment to recall the script. “service?”
“can talk to papa?”
papa? he’s spent all week memorizing the names of the organizations affiliates. not one is called papa. had he missed something? so soon shall this be the end of his career?
he swallows. ponders—this can either be an enemy with technology to change their voice, or… no, how could a child know this number?
“hello? can talk to papa?”
“who is this?” he demands, harsh.
it is lost on the voice. he dictates his own learned script slowly. “my name… is… keewo.”
keewo… neither was that on the list. had he missed a page? was it the phonetic alphabet? code?
his palms begin to sweat. phone calls should never last more than a minute unless necessary. and the time ticks dangerously closer to forty seconds.
and his supervisor seems to he counting with him, because across the room, polishing a newly shipped in protocore weapon, his eyes meet ones behind a crow’s mask.
“you are not in our system.”
“what tissem?” the voice breathes, mouth too close to whatever receiver he was using. “can talk to papa pease?”
“are you a child?” forty seconds… the masked man rises from his seat.
“no. i boy.”
“how old are you?” forty-three. he’s placing the weapon down.
“i two. oh-most, twee.” the boy says happily. “can talk papa now, pease?”
forty-nine. his eye twitches. “who is papa?”
“my papa!”
fifty. shit. the supervisor is a few steps— “what’s his name?”
“uhh… uh…” fifty-three.
fifty-four.
fifty-five.
“papa name is… uh—“
“you dialed wrong.” fifty seven.
“no! i pwactice.” he harrumphs on the other end. fifty eight. “my papa name sy-woos!”
fifty-nine.
sylus.
his blood runs cold.
at sixty, like clockwork the phone is snatched from his hand. but the masked man who’d given him strict instructions that day has frozen in his own place a few paces away.
behind him stands a ghost never meant to be witnessed by mortal eyes. this shadow clad in darkness that only allow his red irises’ glow to pierce through. he lowers his head—respect, fear— he cannot say. but his heart beats like hooves in of a stampede.
“kyros.” says sylus. mister sylus— he would be instructed to call him were it not deemed unnecessary because he never comes in. “papa is working, angel.”
he barely hears the commotion on the other end. doesn’t even register the way the ominous entity of a man’s voice softens to an unbelievable timbre just above him.
“i know, i miss you too.” he says. footsteps fade along with the voice as he retreats with the wireless into the private office reserved for him alone.
he’s done for, surely. how could he have dismissed the boss’s son? how could he have known? no matter; he should have. and now—
“hey.” the masked supervisor squeezes his shoulder and he jumps like a cat.
the man— he isnt sure which twin this is but there were two of them earlier— snickers. “scared?”
he swallows.
“don’t worry about it.” he points to the dock missing its handheld, towards the light glowing orange. “forgot to mention, if it’s this color, always redirect to the main phone.”
he swallows. the boss doesn’t like to be bothered with trivial things, is what he knows. right?
but his supervisor adds. “he doesn’t like missing calls from very important people.”
he has no time to process before sylus returns and the handheld clicks in place in the dock before him.
crimson eyes examine him and he feels like his skin is peeled apart and soul exposed for a moment before sylus slowly turns away.
you're standing way too close, frowning up at him like his tie personally offended you.
“stop moving,” you mutter, fingers fumbling with the fabric for the third time. it’s slightly crooked, again.
sylus isn’t moving, he hasn’t been... but he watches you anyway, quiet, patient, eyes softer than they should be for something this small.
you huff, tugging at the knot. “why is this so hard?"
it slips loose completely. you freezes.
“…don’t say anything.”
“i didn’t,” he replies, calm as ever.
another attempt. you go up on your tiptoes this time, still not quite reaching right, brows furrowed in pure concentration. it would almost be impressive if it wasn’t so… endearing. he exhales quietly, then without a word he bends down, just enough and suddenly you don't have to reach. your hands pause for a second, eyes flicking up to him. he’s already looking at you.
“…better?” he asks, like it’s nothing.
you swallow, turning back to the tie quickly. “yeah. don’t get used to it.” but your fingers are gentler now. and when you finally fix it properly, smoothing it down against his chest, you don't step away straight away... neither does he.
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“my— my mama works good. good job.” kyros breathes into the tiny microphone Mr. Raf handed to him.
big, thoughtful eyes blink at the camera awaiting the next prompt while his teacher tries to clarify. “no, yes. sure. but what is she doing a good job on?”
kyros opens his mouth, then closes it, unsure. after sorting through a few thoughts, he presses his lips to the mic again and says, “good job on… uh, work.”
𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟
“mama fights.” lucian chews his words, speakers popping at his loud voice. “mama go hurt things.”
“hurt?”
“yes. and do good job.” lucian nods, also staring at the camera. as if to challenge anyone who thinks otherwise.
𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟
“hi, i’m lucian and kyros’s mom, and i am a Hunter for The Hunter’s Association.” you say, a little bashful at the answers they provided. “I—I hunt, not hurt. Well, I also hurt, but—but wanderers! Not people. Or— well— Rafayel, stop recording!”
“what do you think your dad does at work?”
“beez-nez.” kyros struggles to wrap his tongue around the word but relays enough to understand.
“like… stocks?”
“ya, he wear socks.”
“like what kind of business, kyros?”
poor kyros looks like his brain blast will injure him. but in a snap of memory he has heard his father sneer at people on the phone, he exclaims. “ah! none!”
“huh?”
“none-your-beez-nez!” he claps happily for remembering. “i do good job!”
𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟
“phone— and, and trinkies— and! like, drinks.” lucian lists, twisting his shirt around his hands and swinging side to side.
“does he own a bar?”
he lifts the front of his shirt randomly over his face. “bar? what dat?” Rafayel panics to pull it back down.
when lucian’s face emerges, he says, “papa has a gun.”
“what—“
Mr. Raf has never met the guy, but now he worries what these kids have to witness at home. their father, skye, will be coming to pick them up later, and so he braces for the worst.
𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟
“I’m lucian and kyros’s papa.” sylus states, deadpan into the camera in his three piece tailored armani, but radiating with pride at the statement. “and I sell fruits.”
Rafayel falters with the camera and shoots the little ones a look over his shoulder, tired. they blink up at him with identical, thoughtless red orbs that matches their strange father’s and wave.
Thomas lied. Ooh, kindergarten is an easy, fun, break-from-your-routine, might-inspire-you-to-paint kinda gig— not.
He makes that known, later that day. Loud and clear.
“Thomas, what the hell do you think I do for work?”
