Fish with rainbow mustache (FWRM)

In the soft glow of a boutique window on a bustling street of the city at night, a gorgeous wedding dress glimmers in the light. The fabric is white, the tiny gemstones stitched neatly along the sleeves and neckline like stars sparkling across the vast, snowy expanse. The skirt is flowing and free, like silk scarves fluttering in the breeze. Sylus sees the dress and he stops, turning to face the window, eyes drifting across the needlework as he pictures it on you. White veil like a crown of clouds on your head, smooth fabric gliding over your skin like milk, crystal clear diamonds adorning you like flowers. Your eyes like summer as you reach your out toward him. Interlocked fingers, golden rings glinting next to each other. Your hand held in his. Never letting go for the rest of your lives. Your precious smile always in his line of sight.

What would you think? he wonders. Would it be to your taste? Would you be willing to share those vows with him, to have him stay by your side? Would you trust him to to trust you, to take care of you, to support and love and choose you again and again and again, everyday for the rest of your lives?

What would it be like, he wonders, to wake up as your husband in the morning, and kiss you, his wife, goodnight before falling asleep?

Do you think of him like he thinks of you?

Sylus stands there and stares for a long while—until the passersby dwindle, until the snow piles on his coat and in his hair like frigid slopes, until the light disappears, drowning the store in darkness as the shop's owner steps out to lock the door and head home.

"If you want to shop here with your fiancée, you'll have to come back tomorrow," the store owner says, tucking his keys into his pocket.

Sylus looks at the owner, then turns away, feeling a little bit like a child with his hand caught inside the cookie jar. He walks away without a word, past twinkling fairy lights strung between the empty trees.

Maybe you'd hate the dress. Maybe you'd want to wear a suit instead. Maybe you wouldn't want a ceremony at all. Maybe none of it is in the cards for you—

Whatever you want, whatever you need—Sylus hopes he can at least be a part of your desires, a piece of your heart.

His phone buzzes in his pocket. He pulls it out and sees your contact photo on his screen. He swipes to pick up on the first ring, lifting his phone to his ear in one breathless motion, his eyes twinkling like the fairy lights beside him.

"Hey."

Your voice is a quiet murmur in the night, sweet and a little shaky. "I'm not disturbing you, am I?"

"Disturbing me?" The tremble in Sylus' voice is more than just amusement—it's like sparklers burning in the dark, almost giddy despite his efforts to hide it. "I'm usually awake at this hour."

"Right," you laugh, and the sound is like sunshine Sylus wants to bottle up in a jar, grasping in his hands to hold it close to his chest. "Right…"

He can hear the heaviness in your words, the weight of unknown burdens weighing down your cadence. "Can't sleep?"

"Mm…" you hum, low and noncommittal. "Tell me about your day."

"Does the sound of my voice soothe you?" Sylus murmurs, his voice rich and decadent like hot cup of chocolate on a snowy day.

"Yeah," you reply. He can hear you shuffling around a bit in your bed, the mattress creaking slightly as it dips underneath your body. "Are you going to make fun of me for it?"

"No, I…"

The streets are empty now. A car passes by. The whole world is silent, save for the two of you. Sylus listens to the soft, steady pace of your breath, your presence over the phone patiently awaiting his answer.

"While I was out today, I saw something that made me think of you."

There's momentary pause, a held breath at his answer. His breath is held with yours, as if he can't move or breathe without you, without making sure you can do so first.

Sylus can hear the smile in your voice when you speak.

"You know what's funny?" you say. "I saw something and thought of you too."

His heart is like a caged bird, battering its wings against his ribs, desperate to break free. "What was it?"

"Hm…Tell me yours first."

His heart leaps up to his throat. "It's a secret."

"Then mine's a secret too," you reply coyly.

Ah, Sylus wants to see you. He wants to see your smug smile. He wants to lay down with you and hold you tightly to his chest. He wants to wipe away your tears on bad days and spin you around in a hug on good days. He wants to share a space with you, wants to see your possessions mixed with his. He wants his treasures to become your treasures, and for you to be his treasure until the end of time. He wants your hopes, your dreams, your time, your affection, your trust, your love. He wants, he wants, he wants, he wants.

"Then I might just hang up," Sylus says, lying through his teeth.

"Oh no, we can't have that," you reply, seeing right through his little lie. "I guess I have to tell you now."

"Please," Sylus says, a hint of earnestness tinging his words with hope.

"It was a red tie," you say. "It was pricey and I thought about buying it for you, but, well, you can buy it yourself if you really want it, right? And it's not like it's a holiday or anything, and I wasn't sure if it'd be suited to your taste, and you probably already have a lot of ties, right…?"

You answer has devolved into rambling, but Sylus hangs off every single word, anticipation building in his chest like fireworks about to burst. "What about it made you think of me?"

"The color." The clarity of your voice changes, as if you've shifted your phone a bit closer. It seems like your head tilted down, resting on something. "It was a beautiful red. It reminded me of your eyes. Something about them…" Your words trail off into a soft yawn. "They just…make me feel…safe…"

"I'm glad," Sylus whispers. Reverence pales in comparison to his adoration for you. "Goodnight, kitten."

Your breath evens out, slow and steady as you sleep. Sylus cradles his phone closely to his ear, listening to the gentle sound all the home.

✧ it's fucking 4 AM why do i do this to myself dsfjhlkghldj ok anyways i hope u enjoyed reading i'll proofread tomorrow sorry im so fucking tired but i wanted to post aaaaaa also this fic was inspired by the pic i put on this post it's an edit

✧ masterlist

They keep their heads low because they know what happens when they cross him. They follow his orders because disobedience has consequences. They do their jobs because Sylus  is powerful enough to make sure they do.

And perhaps most importantly—

Every single one of them is waiting.

Waiting for a mistake.

An opportunity.

A weakness.

Because fear makes people obedient, but it doesn't make them loyal.

And you hate that.

Not because you think Sylus is some innocent man who doesn't deserve his reputation.You know exactly who he is.

You've seen the ruthless side of him.You've seen what he's capable of.

But you've also seen the man nobody else gets to see.

The man who remembers tiny things about the people he cares about.

The man who protects what he considers his.

The man who can be unexpectedly patient, unexpectedly generous, unexpectedly gentle.

And you know that if his people ever got the chance to see even a fraction of that man, they might stop fearing him long enough to actually respect him.

So you decide to give them that chance.

Quietly.

You start with the people closest to him.

His bodyguards.His drivers.His Assistants and Informants.The people who have spent years standing at his side without ever really knowing what exists behind the reputation.

You learn about them.

Their families.Their financial situations.Their backgrounds.The things they struggle with but never mention at work.

And whenever you find something you can help with, you simply do.

Someone is drowning in debt?

You don't simply hand them a pile of money.You help them find a way out of it.

Someone is responsible for younger siblings after losing their parents?

Suddenly their little sister has the school supplies she needed.Their younger brother gets help with his education.You visit them when their older sibling is too busy working.And when they ask where any of it came from—

"𝑌𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑏𝑖𝑔 𝑏𝑟𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑔𝑜𝑡 𝑖𝑡 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑦𝑜𝑢."

Someone's elderly parent needs medical treatment they can't afford?

You make sure the treatment happens.

Someone is struggling with an addiction?

You don't shame them but find them professional help.

Someone is trapped in an unhealthy relationship?

You make sure they know they have somewhere safe to go.

Someone is struggling mentally?

You don't dismiss it.You find them someone qualified to help.

And you never do any of this in a way that makes them dependent on you.

That's important.

You're not trying to buy their loyalty.You're trying to give them enough stability to stand on their own.

Because the point was never to make them grateful to you.The point was to make them realize something about him.

So whenever someone asks,"Why are you going through all this trouble for us?"

You simply smile."𝑂ℎ. 𝐼𝑡 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑆𝑦𝑙𝑢𝑠' 𝑖𝑑𝑒𝑎."

Every time.

You give him all the credit.

You make it sound as though he woke up one morning and decided to personally solve everyone's problems.as though this terrifying man they've spent years avoiding suddenly developed a philanthropic streak.

And you never correct them.

Because eventually, they start believing it.Not because you told them Sylus cares.Because you've given them experiences that make the possibility difficult to dismiss.

The changes are small at first.

A guard who used to obey an order solely because he was afraid of disappointing Sylus , starts putting genuine thought into his work.

A driver starts looking after the others instead of treating them as competition.

A manager starts helping the people underneath him instead of ruling them through the same fear Sylus used to inspire in him.

People start taking care of one another and most importantly of him , which he doesn't need.

They start protecting each other's families.

They start staying late because they want the job done properly, not because they're terrified of what will happen if they fail.

And slowly, something that fear could never create begins to grow.

Respect.

Not the kind demanded by a boss.The kind earned by someone they believe is worth following.

They still know Sylus is dangerous.They still know exactly what he's capable of.You never tried to erase that.You simply gave them something else to put beside it.And eventually, the difference becomes impossible to miss.

They still stand when he enters.

They still listen when he speaks.

They still follow his orders.

But now there's something in their eyes that wasn't there before.

They trust him.

They defend him when he's not there.

They take initiative instead of waiting to be commanded.

They do things properly even when nobody is watching.

And one day, Sylus notices.

He notices that his people no longer look at him like a predator they have to appease.

They look at him like their leader.

And perhaps that's the first time he realizes what you've actually been doing.

You weren't making his people softer.You weren't buying their loyalty.

You were giving them reasons to respect him.

And you did it without asking them to.Without telling them that he's secretly a good man.Without forcing them to change their minds.

You simply let them meet the man you've always known.And perhaps the strangest part is that Sylus doesn't seem angry about it.He just looks at you for a long moment.

Because for the first time in his life, people aren't following him because they're afraid of what he'll do to them.They're following him because they believe he's worth following.

And he knows exactly who gave them that choice.

Sylus told himself he wouldn't cry. While you endure unimaginable pain, he acts as your rock. The immovable object keeping you grounded.

For his part, he doesn't cry when the first child is born, or the second. He watches the doctors warily as they weigh, measure and make sure the babies are healthy, but he spends that time kissing sweat from your forehead and assuring you it's over now, reminding you to breathe.

The nurse hands you over the first child, a little girl wrapped in pink swaddling. He accepts the second, a baby boy wrapped in blue.

That is when he cries.

As soon as everyone else is outside, he feels the shudder in his chest. The burn behind his eyes as he looks down at the plump, sweet little face of his son. He sniffles. Clears his throat to try fighting it back. But the first tears fall regardless.

"Oh, Sy…" He meets your eye. The understanding within them, the knowledge of how difficult it is for him to experience such strong emotion like this that moves him to tears. The last time you saw him cry was at your wedding; a brief moment, gone as soon as he brushed the water from his eyes. "C'mere."

Baby in one arm each, both of you work together to shift you over on the bed. It's larger than the average hospital bed, but it doesn't mean there's plenty of room for you both. Still, you scoot over to one side, and he climbs up beside you.

After all the energy you expended holding his hand so tight you think you heard bones crack, having your babies in your arms and your husband at your side, the exhaustion washes over you suddenly. Your arms weaken, but Sylus is there to wrap his arm around you and support his daughter.

"Easy, sweetheart," he murmurs, pressing his lips to your temple.

You nod, stubbornly fighting off sleep to linger in this moment. Trusting him to keep supporting the arm cradling your baby, you reach over to pull back some of the blanket around your son's face. They look identical; the same nose, the same chubby little cheeks, the same pouty lips, same little tufts of white hair on their head. You huff a tired laugh. "They're gonna look exactly like you."

He hums, smiling softly against your skin. "Damn," he whispers back. "I was hoping for a little-you."

Another wave crashes over you. Your vision blurs, eyes flutter as you drift away for less than a second. He pulls you tighter against his side. "Go to sleep, sweetie. I've got them."

You whine an incoherent complaint, but you don't fight when he gently takes your daughter into his care. You let your body be weighed down, let your eyes shut again, let the desire for rest overtake you. "Need'ta… name 'em…" you mutter out.

He hums. "I know. We'll name them when you wake up."

You snort weakly. "Luke 'n' Kieran are gonna be… disappointed…"

Your words trail off into a soft snore. He nudges you carefully so your head falls against his neck, tucking you in safely. His son rests in the crook of one elbow, his daughter along his forearm where it wraps around you. He rubs his cheek against your head, still damp with sweat. Time seems to come to a still, condensed down to stretch seconds into hours, as he appreciates the sleeping faces of his children and the steady breaths of his lover.

And in the stillness, he lets himself cry.

-

"Shh! No, put your hood-!"

Sylus smirks to himself, lingering for a moment longer than necessary outside of the door. He pretends he wasn't listening in, stepping into the doorway with a nonchalant air. You hear him and turn with a hop. "Surprise!"

Kieran holds Ofelia while Luke tries to keep her from pulling her hood off. You hold Arlo, who chews on his fist with intense focus. All five of you are dressed up in dragon onesies of various colors - yours is your favorite color as he expects, Luke and Kieran wear ones with inverted color schemes from each other, Ofelia wears yellow, and Arlo wears green. Floppy wings hang off the back, bouncing with every little movement like a fledgling who hasn't yet learned to fly.

He smiles wide, looking at his little family. "What's the occasion?" he asks, stepping forward to plant a kiss on your forehead and gently pry the hand from his son's mouth. Arlo seems to notice him then with wide eyes. He stoops down to nibble at plush cheeks, his little baby squealing with delight.

You laugh along with him. "You don't know? It's Father's Day!"

"I had no idea," he admits, rising back to his full height. When he turns to look, Ofelia and Luke seem to be having some sort of battle. She keeps pulling her hood off while Luke keeps pulling it on, both of them stubbornly trying to win over the other. She babbles angry complaints, smacking at his hands and squirming in Kieran's arms. He huffs. "You're losing."

"Aughh!" Luke groans, pulling the hood with finality over her eyes and stepping away with a pout, arms crossed and glaring at the toddler. "She's got your attitude, Boss."

He raises a brow. "Excuse me?"

Standing up straight, he quickly corrects himself. "I mean, she's really cute, Boss!"

"Mhm." Still wiggling, struggling now to pull the hood over her head with her uncoordinated hands, Sylus takes her from Kieran, holding her up on his chest and pulling her hood off. She grabs his cheeks with an excited sound. "Better?"

She tilts forward to bump her mouth against his face. He chuckles as he gives her a kiss in return.

He looks back over his family. His chest feels warm and light. A grand appreciation for all the hardships and pain it took to get him here, surrounded by his kids (yes, Luke and Kieran, too) and his love, all dressed up just for his sake.

He reaches out and ruffles the hood over Kieran's head. And knocks the hood fondly off of Luke's. Then he kisses you properly. "Thank you, sweetie."

You grin mischievously against him. "We got you one, too."

He huffs. "Of course you did."

"And you gotta put it on."

A relenting hum. "Of course I do."

-

"Sylus?" you call through the house. You didn't really expect him to wait up for you, but he always did, claiming he couldn't sleep easily without you around. But now it seems like the entire building is empty and quiet. He must be home, so where is he?

You kick off your shoes, drop your keys into a dish, and begin wandering around.

He's not in the living room, but he's left signs of playtime with the babies in his wake from sometime earlier. Not in the kitchen, but he left a plate in the microwave for you, with a note about replacing your ice cream stash after he finished it off last time. Not in your bedroom either, which is odd considering the late hour, night owl that he may be.

You wander down the hall, glance into the nursery, take two steps past the door, and pause. You step back, peering inside again. Sticking out of a crib are two feet. Adult ones, at that.

Biting your cheek to stifle a giggle, you step quietly inside. Sure enough, settled uncomfortably in the bottom of a crib is Sylus. He cradles two babies to his chest, eyes closed and lips parted slightly around slow breaths. You can't resist taking a picture or two. This is definitely your new lock screen.

Photos taken, you step closer and reach down to brush his bangs from his eyes. He hums groggily, breathing in deep and turning his head to squint his eyes up at you. He turns into your touch once he recognizes it's just you. "When'd you get back?" he murmurs in a low rasp.

"Just a bit ago," you tell him. "Was your Alaskan King not big enough for you?"

He grins lopsidedly. "They couldn't sleep."

"Ah. So this was your solution?"

"Hm."

With a big yawn and a long sigh, he slowly realizes how stuck he is. With his legs being as long as they are, he doesn't have any way of actually sitting up so he can get out. Not to mention, with both arms occupied and his broad shoulders, he's very limited in mobility.

You watch awareness cross his face; lifting his head up, he looks around at the netting and shifts experimentally to gauge maneuverability. Only to drop back down and look up at you with a helplessness you've grown familiar with after dealing with two very demanding babies. "Help me?"

-

"We've gotta wait for mommy now," Sylus croons as he pulls into the parking lot. Your plane just landed. And even though he would rather you use his private jet, you'd insisted on going along with the rest of your teammates on a regular commercial airline. That doesn't mean he didn't buy you First Class tickets, of course. (And upgrades for all your colleagues when you got onto him.) You can never avoid him spoiling you.

Arlo leans forward in his baby seat, reaching toward his papa before grabbing his feet. "A-mama," he babbles excitedly.

Sylus smiles. "That's right, baby."

His son reaches again, straining against his seatbelt to try climbing on the middle console. "Ahhh-maaaamaaaaa."

"You wanna come up here?" He watches through the rearview mirror as his Evol unbuckles the eager baby boy and lifts him up safely to the front. He catches him in his arms, reaching down momentarily to move his seat back so his son has room on his lap. He tries standing on Sylus's thighs, turning to look out the big window.

Sylus cranes his neck to peer into the backseat at his daughter. She's furiously trying to figure out how to unbuckle herself. She's seen himself and you do it several times before, but she unfortunately lacks the fine motor skills or reasoning to manage it by herself. He chuckles as his Evol undoes it for her and she makes what can only be considered a cheer for her success.

"You can come up here, too," he reassures her as his Evol picks her up and deposits her on his other leg. She attempts to climb up the steering wheel, bumping the horn.

"Wahh!" they both startle, falling back into his chest. Defensively, Ofelia lifts a little sneaker and kicks at the wheel, hitting the horn again.

He's laughing as he grabs her legs, tucking her into the crook of his elbow to tame her outburst. "It's alright, babies. Nothing's going to hurt you so long as I'm here."

Their attentions all turn outside of the windshield again, twins' fear forgotten as they both begin scrambling to reach the figure half-jogging toward the car. "A-mama!" Arlo cries, while Ofelia shouts, "A-wa-ma!"

Of course, with two eager babies climbing  over the steering wheel, it's no surprise when three honks sound out in quick succession. Two babies make startled cries, but are too excited to see you again to even think of backing away.

You laugh with Sylus through the windshield, rushing to reach your family before even more people turn confused to see what the hell this parked car is honking so furiously at.

-

Sylus glances to the side just in time to watch Ofelia slap a soaked sponge against the car door. Soap suds splatter her shirt, drip to the floor, and even catch him on the nose. Her little brow is scrunched up in focus as she scoots it up and down, up and down, determined to help.

"You got it, sweetheart?"

"Ya-huh!" she chirps. She gets up on her tiptoes, tongue poking out, to reach as high up along the car as she can.

From his position crouched by the car, he pivots on his shoes to find his son. He thinks perhaps he'll be along the back, or even on the opposite side. But the clink of plastic behind him tells another story.

Lo and behold, when he turns, he finds an array of Arlo's car toys all ready and waiting for baths. The sponge is big and unruly in his hands, smacking the toys around the cement floor as he tries to clean them with the same vigor as his sister. He lands on his knees trying to reach for the next one, positioning it in front of him and giving it the same treatment.

"Do your toys need to be washed, too, baby?" he calls to the boy.

Arlo nods. "Yeah! Dey dirty! Yuck-yuck!"

Sylus chuckles softly. He stands to clean the top of the car and the windows where his babies can't reach, his own shirt getting soaked and sweaty from the work. At some point, Arlo decides he's finished cleaning his toys and tugs on Sy's pants until Sylus picks him up so he can re-clean the windows. And Ofelia decides she needs to do more to help, climbing up the bumper to sit atop suds as she scrubs away at the windshield and hood of the car, while his Evol ensures she doesn't slip and fall.

When all is said and done, he could have finished cleaning it much faster by himself, and been more thorough. But when he looks at the shine and sheen, driving back to base from the carwash with two toddlers fast asleep in the back, he hopes he'll have their help cleaning his cars for several more years to come. 

---

Tag List:

There were a few seconds of silence. “I thought someone died, kitten.” 

Your ears perked, and you jolted upward, glaring at Sylus. “I was told that I am especially moody during my periods, and that I am annoying to deal with.” You looked away from him. “If you don’t want to deal with my wrath, go away.” 

An amused smile formed across his lips. “How scary. My kitten is going to bite.” His fingers brushed against your cheek. 

You slapped his hand away lightly. “I am warning you, Sylus. You have no idea how moody I can get.” 

“Oh? I have a few ideas.” He stood up and faced you. Then, he placed his one arm beneath your legs and slid his other arm on your back, lifting you off the couch. 

You wanted to smack his chest and throw a tantrum. But you held yourself back. 

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” You huffed, feeling him gently lay you on the bed. “Getting your way, annoying me.” 

“How cruel, kitten.” Sylus frowned dramatically. “Of all the things I enjoy doing for you, you remember nothing but my habit of getting on your nerves?” He chuckled. “Well, watching you get all worked up is a bonus.” 

You went quiet for a moment. 

After a few seconds, you saw Sylus’ eyes wander to your cabinet. You tugged his shirt softly, making him look back at you. “You’re really not going to leave, are you?”

Sylus’ lips curved into a small smile. “I’m not so cruel as to leave my kitten to suffer on her own.”

“What if I try to punch you out of my apartment?” 

“Hm? It’s rather amusing to see a cat try to scare me away.” He tugged the blanket, covering your limbs up to your stomach. 

“I might yell at you,” you said. 

You felt his fingers trace along your hair. “I look forward to hearing all your vocabulary.”

You softly gasped, and your eyes widened. “It would take hours!”

“Excellent. I have plenty of time.” 

You sat up and picked up the pillow beneath your head, and threw it at Sylus. He caught the pillow with one hand, smirking at you. 

“I hate you. Give it back,” you hissed, gritting your teeth. 

“Come get it, kitten.” He playfully raised the pillow farther as he saw you lean your body closer, attempting to grab it away from his hand. 

You crossed your arms. “Fine then. I can sleep without a pillow.”

You leaned back, but before your head could hit the mattress, Sylus swiftly slipped the pillow under it. Before you could speak, Sylus placed a soft kiss on your forehead, immediately shutting you up.

“Stop worrying yourself with such thoughts, kitten. I am quite skilled in making cats behave.”

“I am not a cat.”

“Oh? Right.” He settled beside you, propping himself up against the headboard with one arm while stretching his legs comfortably across the mattress. “You’re much more troublesome.” 

Defeated, you just blinked and stared at him, as if still worried he would be annoyed with your constant mood swings.

His eyes found yours, and his lips formed a small smile. “If you think that your little tantrums will chase me off,” he paused. “I’m afraid you’ll have to try harder, kitten.” 

Background music

Your laughter echoes through his bedroom as you try to break free from his grip, his breath tickling your skin. His arms are wrapped tightly around you, pressing himself against your naked body. You smell incredible, so intoxicatingly good that waking up next to you must be heaven on earth.

You squirm and kick, already in tears from laughing so hard. He can't get enough of that sound, of the way you smile, the way you close your eyes and lean your head back. Your presence is like a flowerbed in full bloom, vibrant and breathtaking. Blooming in its full splendor.

Whenever he can, he admires you. When you sleep, he counts the moles on your body, tracing them with his fingertips. He caresses the scars you've earned as a fierce Hunter, kissing every natural fold of your skin. His touch follows the curve of your back, the delicate shape of your ass, down to your legs. The same legs that always wrap around him in the intensity of passion.

He loves you, more than he could ever show to you. It wouldn't be enough, ever.

"Sylus—"  you gasp between laughs, struggling against him as your muscles start to cramp.

"You have so much energy, kitten" you keep laughing, you are so ticklish this morning. His nose brushes against your neck before he nips at your skin, placing lazy kisses along your shoulder.

You squirm even more, still breathless from laughter. "I will pee myself... Stop!"

He hums against your skin, only tightening his hold. He isn't really awake, he wants to keep sleeping, enjoying the peaceful morning with you. Sylus has worked hard to clear his schedule, to be with you like this. To adapt to your routine, make breakfast, and simply enjoy a normal day at your side.

"Then pee..."  he teases. 

"Gross! Let go." You protest, thoroughly disgusted by his suggestion.

"Not even in dreams, sweetie" he chuckles while still kissing your shoulder.

"Sy..." you whine. That tone, the way you try to get your way putting that face, that tone in your voice. The one that makes his heart melt no matter how much he tries to resist. He growls, reluctant to release you completely. His grip tightening for a moment before he finally exhales and relaxes.

"Go. You have 2 minutes to come back". 

You waste no time jumping out of bed, only to earn a slap on your ass.

"Hey!" You spin around, shooting him a glare. Sylus only smirks.

"I like how it wiggles"

You disappear in the bathroom. Sylus shifts onto his back, crossing both arms behind his head, staring at the ceiling with a rare sense of peace. Yeah… he could get used to this. No, he wants to get used to this. The wealth he possesses and everything he has done has been nothing more than a way to ensure your safety. The years he spent searching for you taught him that he had to be prepared for anything. Losing you again was not in his plans. And if the day ever comes when you no longer love him, it won’t change a thing. He would still protect you, even from the shadows.

He’s so lost in thought that he doesn’t notice you sneaking back into bed. Carefully, you inch closer, suppressing a grin as you reach out to poke his cheek. But before you can even make contact, his hand shoots out, catching your wrist in a firm grip.

"Feeling playful this morning, my love?"

"Just a bit" you smirk. Sylus laughed.

"What do you want to play?" You tilt your head, pausing deliberately as your eyes drift over his bare chest, trailing down to his toned abs. The sheets rest low on his hips, and the way you’re looking at him doesn’t go unnoticed. He knows that look.

With effortless ease, he shifts, pulling you toward him until you land on top of his body.

His fingers brush a stray strand of hair from your face, his touch lingering. The color of your lips is already beautiful, but he loves it even more when they darken after passionate kisses. His lips part slightly, his gaze locked onto yours, mesmerized by the infinite depth of your shining eyes.

You lean in, pressing tender kisses across his face before finally finding his lips. Your entire body relaxes, melting into him. Savoring the slow movement of your mouth. Heat growing in your body. Between you two. The kiss deepens bit by bit, his tongue tracing your lips, later moving beyond, slipping inside, tasting you. You sigh into him, already lost in the spreading feelings of longing.

His hand has already trapped you. One sitting on your back, the other on your ass, keeping you close. He is getting harder by the second. His need for you is growing. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your fingertips grounding you in the moment. There is no rush, no urgency. You have the complete morning and day to melt in each other.

When he finally pulls away, just enough to rest his forehead against yours, his breath is warm against your lips. His eyes flutter shut for a moment as he exhales deeply. This is a dream, he thinks. A damn good dream. And he has no intention of waking up.

One hand moves to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing tenderly over your skin. He doesn’t need to speak; everything he feels is in the way he looks at you, in the way he holds you like you’re something precious. You cover his hand with yours, pressing your cheek into his palm. A faint smile tugs at his lips before he kisses you again.

Sylus takes his time, enjoying how your body reacts to him, the quiet gasps, the way your fingers tangle in his hair. His name escapes your lips in a breathless whisper. He watches you with a quiet intensity, taking in the way you melt under his touch. The space between you disappears, lost in the unhurried way he moves. Once more, your worlds merge, your bodies speaking a language only the two of you understand.

That's how you start the morning: with him, with you, with nothing beyond these four walls mattering. Just the warmth of his skin, the rhythm of your hearts, and the love that neither of you needs to put into words.

----

the sudden sound of a flicked light switch and the unexpected overhead glow now illuminating the kitchen puts an immediate halt to your unfinished thought.

with everything in you, you’re hoping that it’s one of your parents, or even one of your nosy siblings who’s about to catch you with your hand in what you wished was a full cookie jar.

anybody but him would be alright. truly, anybody.

but when you peek up and over the refrigerator door, there stands the man you’ve done your absolute best to try and avoid being alone with during the entire duration of your trip thus far.

caleb blinks at you before tilting his head slightly to the right with that stupid amused grin on his sleepy handsome face. despite how hard you've tried to stay away from him, you still couldn’t help but to feel terrible for the prominent dark circles sitting under his pretty eyes and the bouncy disheveled hair on his head to reflect just how much effort he’s tried putting into falling asleep.

“i guess old habits really do die hard,” he comments, unnecessarily running a hand down the smooth and chiseled expanse of his stomach. “i’m guessin’ you haven’t found anything of interest?”

rather than conversing with him about the obvious, you stand and tug on the bottom of your oversized shirt before shutting the door and ignoring his question. fortunately for you, your appetite has been completely vaporized.

“i can… make you somethin’? if you want.”

sweet, but no.

the immediate shake of your head makes him frown. you never turned down free food, especially when it’s a homemade dish of his.

“you look like you can barely stand.”

“i’m used to being tired,” he shrugs nonchalantly. “you of all people know that. this is nothing.”

your eyes narrow and instead of being hyper-focused on your lack of pants and the intentions you had to push past him with nothing but the silent treatment to offer, it’s like you can feel your heart soften and resolve break in real time as if there was never anything holding you back in the first place.

“caleb.” he zeros in on the way you cross your arms before giving you his gaze again. “when’s the last time you got some real sleep? and don’t lie to me.”

he chuckles softly with a shake of his head. “if i say when, you’ll just try leaving again. but you’re a smart girl, i’m sure you can guess.”

the memories of all those intimate nights and impromptu hookups infiltrate every crevice of your mind in a way you’ve worked unfairly hard to suppress. it makes your heart race when you remember the way he clung to you so desperately, and your breath hitch when you reminisce on how he practically melted into your all until you both became the epitome of everything.

fucking your best friend wasn’t something you planned. you’d even argue that no one sane does such a thing. but just like all of the unexpected things in life, it just happened.

when you finally called it off—out of embarrassment or guilt, you weren’t exactly capable of coming to such a conclusion—you couldn’t bring yourself to look him in the eyes for too long or hold conversations in settings where other people weren’t present.

yes, he confessed that having sex with you practically “cured” his chronic insomnia. his words, not yours.

yes, you thoroughly enjoyed it way more than you should’ve and admittedly regret putting a stop to the “arrangement”.

and yes, you felt awful for leaving him high and dry so suddenly, but no longer could you risk years of irreplaceable friendship for a few moments of earth-shattering bliss and granting caleb a couple hours of much needed sleep.

there was never a label put onto what you two had and it’s true that not everything needed one if it worked, but you did. indulging in a pleasure like that is harmless in hindsight but irreparably damaging to anyone uncertain.

so, when your parents insisted that you invite caleb since it’s been so long since they saw him last, naturally you wanted to object so that you could avoid thoughts and situations like this. outrunning him forever was never going to happen, you just wished you didn’t have to stop trying now.

“that’s almost… what, two weeks?”

“two weeks and three days,” he corrects. “like always, i sleep maaaybe two to three hours, four if i’m lucky and almost an hour if i’m not. but sleepin’ through the night? never.”

whether he was trying to break your heart on purpose or not, you couldn’t figure it out.

“i didn’t mean to make it worse for you.” you’re mumbling now, picking at nonexistent loose threads on the hem of your top and focusing on the tiled floor. “it sounds like any progress you made before we… did what we did, is going backwards.”

“always too sweet for your own good, pips.” it’s too late when you register that he’s making his way towards you, long legs swiftly eating up the small amount of distance left between.

your hand is quick to meet his chest when he’s near enough, stopping him from getting any closer than he should be. “you know how you can get, caleb. you can’t, especially not here.”

“i’d have more of a chance if we were anywhere else?”

“… that’s not what i said,” you pout.

“why do you keep runnin’ from me, huh?”

your jaw clenches from the bluntness of his question. “i told you why. and you told me you understood.”

“no, i said i respected your feelings, but i never wanted to stop. and now i can barely get ahold of you lately unless we’re forced to communicate somehow. that’s not what we do, pips. that’s not who we are.”

“who’d want to stop something that was responsible for giving them over six hours of sleep?” you dismiss. “anybody in your situation would want to hold onto that with both hands if they can.”

intending to push him away completely, his hand is wrapped around your wrist and stopping you as if he could read your thoughts and actions well before you’re able to execute.

“you have a habit of reducin’ things down to these annoying falsities in your head. i’ve always hated that. ‘specially when it comes to something that relates to us.”

“you don’t have to try and act like i wasn’t just a benefit for you in that sense, caleb.”

he smiles. “you really don’t know how wrong you are, do you?”

taking the same wrist that he grasps, he brings it up to his nose for a generous inhale. he’s missed this, the smell of your lotion, perfume, and natural essence taking up all of his senses and clouding his judgment.

rubbing the tip of his nose back and forth along the smooth skin, his puppy-like eyes almost seem to plead with yours that scream with the urge to surrender.

“i miss you s’much,” he admits lowly. “miss how you feel, how you taste. miss bein’ able to wake up in your arms and all that corny stuff you hate to hear.”

“stop,” you mutter without true conviction. and while you say one thing, you don’t resist for a moment when he pulls you in like a spell destined to make you gravitate toward his confessions.

his face is in the crook of your neck like muscle memory, lips leaving gentle kisses down the side with greedy sniffs in between to ease the pressure building in his chest.

it’s like you become a shell of yourself when he has you frozen so submissively. that’s the only way you can excuse why you allow him to connect your mouths together and slide his eager tongue against yours.

he’s relentless in his mission to consume you, body pressed against yours as close as he can get and uncaring about his bulge nudging against your stomach. he wants you to feel how much he aches if that’ll get you to rethink.

caleb doesn’t allow you a moment to breathe without him being apart of each breath you take, swallowing your sounds and committing the taste of your lips to memory once more as if he’s gone too long without them to remember.

“please,” he begs, both breathless and desperate as he nips at your bottom lip. “just wanna sleep, pips. can’t do that without you.”

your lack of a proper response is enough of an answer for him. he could always read you where you couldn’t articulate.

you nearly yelp from the swiftness in which he turns you around, forcing your palms to rest on the cold countertop. sharp gasps easily escape when caleb presses into you once more, shamelessly grinding his cock against you through his pajama pants and your thin excuse for a pair of panties.

“w-wait. caleb, hold on…” it’s hard to listen to yourself when you’re this addicted to the feeling of his strong hands on your hips and the wet smooches he places beneath your ear in response.

he pulls you toward him with more eagerness, your ass now completely flushed against the erection that you’ve embarrassingly missed.

impatiently is your shirt bunched up and panties are pulled down until they’re nothing but a pool at your ankles.

“here?” you whisper-yell, looking over your shoulder and at his placid expression that’s completely opposite to your shocked one.

“you know what to do if you wanna stop.” he leans over to kiss your lips reassuringly. “but we both know that’s now what either of us want.”

how could you try arguing against his claim when you instinctively spread yourself open for him even wider as you feel the tip of his cock tease the slit of your pussy? you knew better than that.

it takes incredible resolve on your end to not make a sound when he slowly begins to sink inside of you without wasting anymore time, the head of his cock alone being enough to bring tears to your glassy eyes as it’s sucked into your throbbing heat.

“i’ve missed you, too,” he coos almost teasingly, his own breath uneven in his efforts to keep himself from making it known that he was about to fuck you in the same place your mother was going to cook breakfast in a few hours.

your mouth can’t close despite the sounds you work hard to keep from coming out, shaky exhales being the only thing you can muster the further his dick reaches into your lower stomach.

as if you needed time to adjust to his size again, caleb doesn’t move immediately. pounding into you until your vision blurred and your toes curled was ideal, but beggars couldn’t be choosers.

if the odds were in his favor, he’d have another chance in due time.

“can i move?” he asks sweetly, thumbs tracing your skin with reverence.

“please.” your voice nearly cracks being so overwhelmed by the pleasure of him filling you up after what hasn't truthfully been long at all but feels like an eternity.

the first few strokes are slow, agonizingly so. the lewd squelches coming from his cock moving in and out of your slick cunt is nearly enough to make your knees buckle completely.

“f-faster, caleb,” you mewl, trying to meet him thrust for thrust, only to be stopped with him taking complete control. impatient wasn’t a word substantial enough. “fuck, this… isn’t fair…”

he doesn’t stop the leisure momentum of his hips, pulling out enough to see his cock covered in your arousal and falling all the way back into you fast enough to be covered in more of it.

“any faster and we’ll be t-too—nngh—loud.” the way you grip him over and over is destined to set him up for an early release even if he was determined to make this last as long as possible.

“my mouth,” you cry, brows furrowing with sexual frustration after being denied what you were longing for. “c-cover it, i can’t…”

at first, he wanted to test it, wanted to see if you were serious even though he knows very well how loud you truly can get. but the way an unrestrained moan slips past your lips soon after your warning, he’s quick to place the palm of his hand where it needed to be.

for both of your sakes, it was in his best interest to speed this up regardless of what he initially wanted to do. it wasn’t farfetched to assume that someone heard you.

caleb’s pace slowly increases, the subtle sounds of slapping skin mixing with your muffled whimpers and his hushed grunts.

you’re practically drooling in his hand, mind fuzzy and body growing increasingly more numb from the feel of his cock thickening and gliding easily along your walls.

“inside?” he asks, pleased by how fast you nod to grant him permission to be filled by him in another kind of way.

only after a few more thrusts is your entire being ready to give out completely from the blinding orgasm that overrides your ability to form any sort of thought. it’s nearly blinding and utterly dizzying, how your pussy clings to him and the spotty pleasure that shoots up and down your spine.

he’s never far behind you, falling over you with all his weight in the way you’ve always liked and indulging in your scent as his cum floods and overflows.

with his hand removed, the only thing that can be heard is the hum of the ac and the heavy breathing neither of you can seem to get ahold of.

“promise me you’ll stay.”

there’s a vulnerability in his sudden request, much more than you’ve ever heard from the goofball you’ve known for most of your life.

“i will this time,” you promise, craning your neck to face him. you would talk more about everything later, but this was a vow you could confidently make now. “i swear.”

he rests his forehead against yours, already feeling the effects of whatever magic you hold over him when exhaustion promptly settles in his bones. but the euphoria is short lived when the sound of an opening door upstairs is quick to interrupt it.

“was that…?” his eyes widen with amusement, but you’re not even close to being humored.

“if you don’t want me to die of a fucking heart attack, maybe get out of me?!”

it’s not without hushed giggles that he obeys, promising to clean you up properly when the coast is clear on the way to the guest room he occupies.

he’ll probably be fast asleep before that can happen, but that’s okay with you if it meant you were his reason why.

a/n: excuse me for the hot ass you just read LMFAOOOO OMGG!!! okay, this note might be a little lengthy so if you read.... YAYY!! but you wouldn't guess what inspired this... A BL MANHWA LOOLLL!!! it's called unsleep and in it, the mc helps the ml with his insomnia! and they do that by having sex :D obviously there's more to the story, but i was just summarizing the "base" of it, i guess. i figured the concept of that in itself seemed like it would go well with caleb and even if i didn't do great... cut me some slack, PLEASE!!! that manhwa aaand ariana's album 'petal' (which i listened to while writing....) is what got me to get this done! again, i know it's not great, ESPECIALLY the smut. but.... i dunno. I TRIED?? a win is a win

Eventually, he looked up.

“What?”

You shook your head, still smiling.

His eyes narrowed slightly, unconvinced, but he returned to his noodles. A few seconds later, you noticed the streak of broth near his chin.

“You’ve got something there.”

He wiped at it without looking, somehow managing to miss the spot completely. You sighed, reached across the small table, and took the napkin from beside his cup. His jaw went still under your fingers for half a second. Before he could react, you wiped the broth away and pulled your hand back.

He paused with his chopsticks halfway to his mouth, looking at you with an expression that was difficult to read, like his brain had briefly stopped processing the situation and hadn’t caught up yet.

You went back to your noodles with the same smile as you kept your eyes on him.

After a moment, he touched his chin, then glanced at you again.

“What is it this time?”

You shrugged. “Nothing.”

“That’s not convincing.”

“You looked better before you started worrying about it.”

He stared for a second, clearly trying to decide whether that was supposed to mean something.

Then you added, “Besides, there was something handsome on your face.”

Xavier looked down at his noodles, the tips of his ears betrayed him first, going red before he could get a single word out. He grabbed his cup noodles and shoved a mouthful in like it would stop his face from doing whatever it was doing, chewing fast, refusing to look at your still smiling face.

For the rest of dinner, he became strangely interested in making sure he didn’t spill anything on himself.

𝐙𝐀𝐘𝐍𝐄

The cheesecake sat between you, already missing a few bites despite Zayne’s earlier claim that he was too busy to eat. He’d somehow managed to keep working through half of it anyway, the fork resting beside the plate whenever he returned to the patient report on his laptop.

You sat in the chair beside him, chin propped on your hand, just staring.

At first, he didn’t seem to notice. His attention stayed on the screen, fingers moving steadily across the keyboard. You picked up the fork, cut off another small piece of cheesecake, and held it toward him.

Without looking away from the laptop, he leaned over and took the bite.

“Thanks.”

You smiled.

A few lines later, his typing slowed.

His eyes shifted toward you briefly before returning to the report. You were still watching him.

He tried to ignore it. That lasted perhaps another minute before he glanced over again, this time catching you mid-smile.

“You’ve been doing that for a while.”

“Doing what?”

He gave you a look, then turned back to the screen. “Looking at me.”

You shrugged, completely unbothered.

His fingers resumed moving, though the rhythm had changed. He made it through another paragraph before reaching for the cheesecake without thinking. You moved the plate slightly closer before he could.

He took another bite, swallowed, and finally looked at you properly.

“Is there something you want?”

“No.”

That answer seemed to bother him more than it should have. He studied you for a moment, as if there had to be some explanation for why you’d been sitting there watching him work with that same smile.

Finding none, he turned back to the laptop.

You picked up the fork again.

His eyes immediately flicked toward it.

You held out another piece.

This time, he looked at you first.

There was the faintest pause before he leaned over and took it, then returned to his report with the resigned expression of someone who had apparently accepted that finishing his work tonight was no longer going to be as straightforward as he’d planned.

You kept smiling.

He kept pretending not to notice.

𝐑𝐀𝐅𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐋

The tide was inching closer by the time Rafayel finished the last turret, sleeves pushed to his elbows and sand sticking to his hands. The sunset had turned the water orange, and every few seconds the light caught against his hair as he leaned over the sand castle, completely absorbed in getting one tiny detail right.

You’d stopped helping a while ago.

Sitting cross-legged a few feet away, you watched him work with a smile you hadn’t bothered hiding.

He noticed eventually. Of course he did.

He glanced over his shoulder, an eyebrow raised slightly when he caught you staring. “What?”

“Nothing.”

That answer clearly wasn’t enough. His gaze moved between you and the half-finished castle, then back again, as if trying to figure out what exactly had been so interesting for the past ten minutes.

You smiled a little wider. “You’re looking good.”

He blinked.

It was subtle, but his hands stopped moving.

“You’ve got the sunset behind you,” you added, like you were explaining an entirely reasonable observation. “It’s doing most of the work.”

He gave a quiet scoff and turned back to the castle. “Obviously.”

Except he suddenly seemed very interested in fixing a section of wall that was already perfectly fine.

You watched him press the sand down once, then again.

“Rafayel.”

“What?”

“You’re blushing.”

“I’m not.”

His ears were already giving him away.

You laughed, and he finally looked back at you, expression caught somewhere between offended and embarrassed. He seemed ready with a comeback, but whatever he had planned disappeared halfway through. Instead, he pointed at the castle.

“You’re distracting the architect.”

“The architect was already staring at his own sandcastle.”

He gave you a suspicious look, then reached for another handful of sand, apparently deciding that continuing the castle was safer than continuing the conversation. You let him.

The smile stayed on your face as he worked, though every so often his eyes wandered back to you before quickly returning to the castle.

By the time the tide reached the first turret, he still hadn’t noticed how long he’d been sitting there doing absolutely nothing to stop you from smiling at him.

𝐒𝐘𝐋𝐔𝐒

The quiet was broken only by the occasional click of metal as Sylus worked at the table, the disassembled parts arranged neatly in front of him. His movements were practiced and unhurried, attention fixed on what he was doing.

You sat across from him with your chin resting on your knees, watching.

Not because you needed anything. You’d just been looking at him for several minutes now, smiling for no particular reason.

He noticed eventually.

“What’s with the smile?”

You shrugged. “You look good doing that.”

His hands paused.

He looked up at you, and the corner of his mouth lifted almost immediately. There was no surprise in his expression, only the unmistakable satisfaction of someone who’d just received a compliment he intended to enjoy.

“Do I?”

“Mm.”

That seemed to be enough for him. He finished what he was doing and leaned back in his chair, looking far too pleased with himself.

“Careful, kitten. Compliments like that tend to go to my head.”

“I think it’s already there.”

He lets out a quiet chuckle. He glanced at you again, amusement settling comfortably across his face.

“You seem awfully interested.”

“I was interested before.”

“Of course you were.”

You smiled again.

He watched you for a moment, then shook his head as though he'd finally figured out what was so entertaining about the whole situation.

“You’re easy to amuse.”

“You're the one making it easy.”

Another quiet chuckle escaped him. Then, apparently deciding he'd had enough of being the one under observation, he picked up the firearm he'd just finished with and held it out toward you, grip first.

“Here.”

You took it, more curious about his sudden change in attention than anything else. Sylus watched as you examined it briefly, arms folding across his chest.

“Hm.” His gaze moved from the firearm in your hand to your face. “You look good with it.”

He said it so casually that it almost sounded like an afterthought, though the satisfied look on his face suggested otherwise, clearly more interested in the person across from him than whatever he’d been working on in the first place.

𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐁

Tiny plastic parts covered most of the table, wings and fuselage pieces sorted into little piles around him. Caleb had the instruction sheet beside him, tweezers in one hand, and the kind of concentration that made his brow furrow over something that probably didn’t deserve that much seriousness.

You sat across from him, just staring at him. Not for any particular reason. You just liked watching him get absorbed in things, and somewhere along the way, you’d started smiling without realizing it.

“Someone’s staring.”

You rested your chin in your hand. “Got a problem with that?”

He glanced up, an easy grin already forming. “No problem. I like it.”

“Why?”

He shrugged, returning his attention to the tiny wing between his fingers. “Means I’m doing something right.”

You watched him for another second before smiling a little wider. “Or you just look funny when you concentrate.”

His hands stopped. The grin on his face faltered for half a second before he cleared his throat and looked back down at the model.

“I don’t look funny.”

“Sure.”

He muttered something under his breath and tried fitting the wing into place again. Somehow, the same piece he’d been handling perfectly a moment ago refused to cooperate. He adjusted it once, then again, suddenly paying far too much attention to getting it right.

You kept smiling.

After a moment, he glanced up again.

“You’ve been doing that for ages, you know.”

“Doing what?”

“Smiling at me.”

You shrugged, as though there were nothing worth explaining.

He looked at you for a beat, then shook his head with a quiet laugh, apparently deciding not to question it further. The familiar grin returned as he finally got the wing into place.

“Fine. Keep doing it.” He leaned back slightly, looking entirely too pleased with himself. “I don’t mind being appreciated.”

“You really like attention, don’t you?”

“Only from you.” His answer came without hesitation.

That one caught you off guard.

He noticed immediately.

A small, satisfied smile appeared as he turned back to the model, humming under his breath while you tried to recover your own expression.

Apparently, the pilot had finally managed to land a hit.

Okay, so… hi again...? /inserts nervous laughter/ Just wanted to post something since I’m getting rusty AGAIN AARRRGHHH... forgive me, folks... I’m a bit sleepy and have things to do tomorrow, so here you go for now! xixi

“You’re rating this.” His voice has gone completely flat, the way it does when his brain is clearly trying to catch up. He still hasn’t let go, arms locked around you like his body never got the message that something has gone terribly wrong.

“I mean, someone has to keep you sharp.” 

“I wasn’t aware this was a performance.” He pulls back just enough to look down at you, expression unreadable except for the faint furrow between his brows. Oh, this is a challenge, because him and six out of ten? Unacceptable.

“Grip’s fine. You just let go too fast, usually.” You shrug, biting back a smile.

“I haven’t let go yet.”

“That’s—okay, that’s true, but historically—” 

“Historically.” He repeats the word like it has personally offended him. Then, without another word, he pulls you back in—tighter this time, holding you for longer, chin settling against your shoulder like he’s daring you to complain. “Now?”

“...Seven.” 

“Seven.” His jaw ticks, and he still doesn’t let go. If anything, his arms tighten slightly, like he’s recalculating the entire situation. Apparently, you’ve turned a hug into a problem he intends to solve. “What’s wrong with this one then?”

“Nothing’s wrong, it’s just not a ten.” 

“Then tell me what a ten requires.” He’s completely serious, still holding you, still refusing to break position, apparently prepared to stay like this until he gets an answer he’s satisfied with. “I don’t want a seven.”

“You can’t just refuse a score—” You try to wriggle back, and he doesn’t budge an inch.

“Watch me.” He adjusts his hold again, slower this time, slightly tighter, one hand settling flat against your back like he’s actually been thinking about where to exactly position them. “Again.”

“You’re doing this in the hallway.”

“I’m aware of the location.” He is very clearly not planning to leave it. “Score it.”

“...Eight.” 

“Not ten?”

“You keep asking before I even finish reacting!” You huff, arms still looped around him despite your protest.

“Then react faster.” He’s completely serious about winning a hug contest against a number you made up thirty seconds ago, which somehow makes the whole thing even funnier. He pulls you back against him again, in the very specific way that says he’s not leaving until this is settled. “I have all afternoon.”

He then gives you a determined smile. “Come on, give me a ten.”

𝐙𝐀𝐘𝐍𝐄

He’s got you close in the quiet of the room, one hand resting lightly against your back. There’s nothing complicated about the hug—it’s just comfortable, cozy, the kind you can settle into without thinking. You rest your head against his shoulder.

“Seven out of ten.”

His hand goes still. “...Sorry?”

“I’m giving this hug a seven.” 

He actually leans back to look at you. “You’re grading me.”

“Why not?” 

“I wasn’t aware this required grading.” He says it slowly, like he’s still deciding whether you’re serious or not. When your expression makes it clear that you are, his face shifts, like he’s looking over a chart that doesn’t quite make sense. “So, seven out of ten. Explain.”

“Technically solid, just a little stiff.” You tap a finger against his chest, as if marking notes on an invisible clipboard.

“Stiff.” He repeats the word like he’s not particularly pleased with the diagnosis. He doesn’t pull away, if anything, he holds you a little longer, clearly thinking it over like this is a problem he can actually solve. Then, he asks again, quieter; “Tell me what to fix.”

“That’s not really the p—” 

“Tell me.” His hands stay steady against your back as he waits for an answer. “I don’t like being average at giving you comfort.”

“It’s not a medical procedure, Doctor Zayne.” 

“Everything can be improved with the right method.” He draws you back in, and this time the hug feels different. His hand settles more fully against your back, and he dips his head until his cheek rests against your head. “Better?”

“...Nine.” 

“Not ten?”

“You’re overthinking it now. I can feel you overthinking it.” You poke lightly at his side.

That earns the faintest huff from him, almost a laugh. It’s quiet enough that you feel it more than hear it. “I’ll want the notes later. In writing, if possible.”

You blink up at him, half sure he’s serious. “You want a hug rubric?” 

“I want to not be a seven.” His arms settle around you again, like he’s already decided this is something he’ll figure out. “Help me get there.”

𝐑𝐀𝐅𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐋

He’s got you tucked against the studio window, watching the half-full moon above the ocean. The whole thing feels soft and familiar, almost domestic, until you break the silence.

“Eight out of ten.”

He freezes. His hands stop halfway through whatever they were doing against your back. “Did you just rate me?”

“Mhm,” you bite back a grin, watching his expression crumble in real time, before correcting, “your hug, specifically.”

“You just rate my loving hug…” He pulls back so quickly you nearly get startled, staring at you like you’ve just delivered a devastating review of his entire body of work, “...an eight?”

“It was good! Just not perfect.” You hold your hands up in mock defense.

“Nothing I do is an eight.” He looks at you like you’ve personally betrayed him and insulted his hugging skills. “I’m a ten minimum in every category, always, that’s not ego talking, that’s just fact—”

“So prove it.” You cross your arms, egging him on.

That’s all it takes. He pulls you right back in, arms tightening immediately, and before you can even react, he presses an audible smooch to your cheek with a smug little flourish. “There. Bonus points.”

“That’s not part of a hug, that’s cheating!” You squirm, though you don’t actually pull away. How could you?

“It’s innovation.” Another kiss lands at your temple, delivered with the confidence of someone adding one last stroke to a painting. “Artists don’t follow the rules.”

“Rafayel—” 

“Shh, I’m working.” He sways you both slightly, far too pleased with himself, then drops a third kiss somewhere near your jaw purely because he feels like it. “Rescore me.”

“You haven’t stopped touching me long enough for me to think.” 

“Good. That’s the strategy.” He tightens his hold, cheek pressed against yours, making absolutely no effort to give you the space needed for an ‘objective evaluation’. “Now, was that an eight?”

“Mhm… ten.”

“Was that an eight, I hear?” He pretends not to hear you.

“Eleven! It was an eleven! Are you happy now?” 

“Ecstatic.” He finally loosens his grip, only to steal one more kiss at the corner of your mouth, grinning the entire time. “Should’ve started there. Would’ve saved us both the trouble.”

𝐒𝐘𝐋𝐔𝐒

He pulls you into his side without a word, arm slipping around your waist like he’s already decided that’s where it belongs. It’s easy and effortless, the kind of certainty that seems to follow everything he does, including a simple hug. You let your head rest against him.

“This is nice... Seven out of ten.”

There’s a beat of silence. “Come again?”

“You heard me. Seven.” You keep your tone breezy, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a reaction.

“So you’re reviewing me.” He tilts his head down to look at you properly, and the smirk in his expression quickly gives way to something almost delighted, like he wasn’t expecting this, but he’s already decided he’s going to have fun with it. “Didn’t peg you for the type to grade a hug.”

“Someone’s gotta keep you humble.” You pat his chest twice, like closing a case file.

“Bold assumption that you can.” He doesn’t loosen his hold. If anything, his arm settles a little more firmly around you, casual and completely sure of itself. “Seven, though. What knocked off the points?”

“Your hands are cold.”

“Noted.” His hands do not move. “Anything else, or was that the whole review?”

“You’re not even trying to fix it.” 

“Didn’t say I was trying to fix it.” A low chuckle brushes your ear, completely unbothered. There’s something smug about the way he says it that makes you want to argue just to see where he’ll take this. “I’m doing something better. My turn.”

“Your turn for what?” You narrow your eyes, already suspicious.

“To review you.” He tilts his head, looking you over like he’s already made up his mind. “Grip’s a bit loose. You keep almost pulling away, like you’re hesitating.”

“I’m not hesitating,” and you tighten your arms around him as if to prove it.

“You are.” He hums casually. “Six. For now.”

“You’re supposed to be the one under review here.” You huff, though you don’t loosen your hold either.

“We can do both.” He pulls you a little closer, chin settling on top of your head, perfectly comfortable there. “Besides, someone’s got to keep the scoring honest. You gave me a seven with a complaint in the same breath. Numbers don’t add up.”

“They add up just fine.” 

“Prove it.” His voice drops, just enough to make it sound like a challenge. His arms don’t move, so you tighten your grip just to make your point, and for half a second he actually goes still, slightly caught off-guard before that familiar smugness returns. “There it is. Eight, maybe. Getting warmer.”

“You’re not letting go either, you know. You’re still a seven.” 

“Never said I would.” He pats your lower back a few times. “Keep going. I’ve got time to wait for a ten.”

𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐁

He wraps you up the second you’re close enough, one hand cradling the back of your head while the other rests warm against your back. It’s the same hold you always seem to melt into, familiar enough that neither of you has to think about it anymore. You hum contentedly and mumble against his collar;

“Ten out of ten.”

“Obviously.” He shrugs it off, like you’re confirming something he already knew.

“Wait, you’re not even surprised I gave your hug a rating?” 

“Should I be?” He pulls back just enough to grin down at you, looking far too pleased with himself. “Experience over years, you know, like how long before you get squirmy and pretend it’s because you’re ’busy.’”

“I don’t get squirmy.” 

“You are squirming right now.”

“That’s different.” 

“Sure it is.” He pulls you back against him. It’s obvious he’s done this enough times to know exactly what works, and he’s clearly not tired of it. “Ten out of ten and no notes. Kind of a boring review, though.”

You pull back just enough to give him a look. “Excuse me?” 

“You’ve given me the same score for months.” His tone stays lighthearted with just enough complaint to make it obvious he’s fishing for something more interesting. “I want a challenge. Give me something to improve.”

“You’re asking me to critique a perfect score.” 

“I’m asking you not to let me get complacent.” His eyes narrow with interest, the expression he gets right before he does something that is probably going to be both reckless and charming. “Come on. Surprise me. What’s the next level?”

“I don’t know, variety, maybe? You do the exact same hug every single time.” You shrug, only half expecting him to take the bait.

“Say less.” He doesn’t even give you time to brace. He lifts you clean off your feet for a moment, spins you, then catches you again, pulling you in tighter and laughing at the surprised yelp that escapes you. “New variant. Rate it.”

“That’s just showing off!” You cling to his shoulders, breathless from the surprise of it.

“That’s a ten with flair.” He presses a kiss to your forehead, looking entirely too pleased with himself. “Don’t tell me you didn’t like it?”

“...I liked the original just fine.” 

“Liar.” He settles back into that same familiar hold anyway, the one he knows works, arms loose and warm around you. “Give it a minute, and you’ll be asking for the variant again by tomorrow.”

You already know he’s probably right. You just aren’t going to give him the satisfaction of saying so.

Hope you enjoyed this one as much as I enjoyed writing it! ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝