𝐱𝐞𝐩𝐡'𝐬 writing nook

⊱ 𝕏𝕒𝕧𝕚𝕖𝕣

The soft “Oh!” and a light touch of fingers are enough to snap Xavier’s focus back. He’s been on a shift that stretches far from the usual working hours, what's with the metaflux disturbance near Linkon, a task that has left his body operating on autopilot.

All he craves now is a simple meal.

Lost in a fog of fatigue, he registers, just a second too late, another hand already reaching for the last pack of his favourite beef hotpot ramen.

“You look like you need it more than I do,” a soft voice murmurs next to him. Xavier turns slightly, catching your gentle smile as you gesture for him to take it.

He shakes his head, soft strands of hair falling into his eyes. “I’m sorry, I didn’t see you there. Guess I’m just too tired.”

“All the more reason you should have it,” you insist, as your gaze flickers to the Deepspace Hunter uniform he’s wearing. “It’s the least I can do to thank you for keeping Linkon safe.”

He shakes his head again, handing you the ramen. “I can survive without it for one night. Sorry for almost snatching it out of your hands.”

But you’re not backing down either. “I’m serious, take it.” Dodging his attempt to place the pack in your hands.

And before either of you realise it, a lighthearted back-and-forth of who deserves it more begins.

“You were fighting wanderers!”

“And you were here first!”

Laughter spills out through the aisles of the mostly empty 24-hour minimarket at this time of the night.

Until it’s interrupted by a soft cough.

The both of you turn to see one of the staff appearing between you, holding a whole box filled with… beef hotpot ramen.

“I have more than enough for both of you here.” The staff’s lips twitch, barely containing his laughter.

Exchanging sheepish looks, Xavier accepts the whole box with a soft thank you, before the staff leaves you both again.

When your eyes meet, you burst into laughter. “That’s so embarrassing.”

He chuckles. “I’m Xavier, by the way,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “Do you uh… want to enjoy this together?” He cocks his head toward the small dining area, holding up the two packs of ramen he now has in his hands.

Offering him your name in return, you walk beside him before coming to a halt, remembering something. “Please tell me you also eat this with a boiled egg. It’s the only way to do it right.”

His eyes sparkled, making the Cerulean clearer than ever, as he watches you heading towards one of the aisles.

“Absolutely. It's a crime to eat it without one.”

You grin back, already scanning the shelves for the perfect eggs.

⊱ ℝ𝕒𝕗𝕒𝕪𝕖𝕝

You’ve been standing in front of the painting for a while now, long enough for him to wonder what’s keeping you there.

It’s the way you tilt your head slightly, combined with the soft furrow of your brow, that captures his attention.

Rafayel approaches, curious, until he’s close enough to ask, “What do you think of it?”

He expects you to turn toward him, maybe offer a polite response, but you don’t. Your eyes are fixed on the painting.

For a second, he wonders if you’ve heard him at all.

“I… have no idea,” you chuckle softly. It’s sincere, honest, and free of the usual pretense people have when they don’t ‘get’ art. “I can appreciate a nice piece, but I wouldn’t call myself knowledgeable.”

Your gaze then shifts to the window, watching the trees outside swaying in the gust of wind as the raindrops patter against the wide glass windows.

“I pass by Flux Art every day on my way to work but never came in until now. Seems like a good way to kill some time when it’s pouring outside.”

A beat of silence passes as your eyes trace back to the abstract shapes that don’t seem to offer any easy answers.

“Looking at it now, it almost seems like a battle between chaos and serenity. Just like how silent it is here while there is a storm outside.”

He nods, though you can’t see him doing so as your back remains turned. “There’s no right or wrong answer. Each person interprets art differently and that’s the beauty of it.”

You hum in agreement. “Well, what about you? What do you think of it?”

Then, you finally turn to him.

With a small smile, Rafayel watches closely as a flicker of recognition and realisation flashes when your eyes meet.

Your mouth opens, then closes, head tilting downward as you drop your gaze. “You’re the artist,” you murmur, cheeks flushing slightly.

“Rafayel.” He extends his hand, and he swears he feels a spark of static when your warm palm meets his as you share your name in return. “It’s always interesting to hear how others interpret my work.”

“Oh my God, I feel like I made a fool of myself.” You try to cover your flustered face when you draw your hand back.

“Hey, none of that,” he reassures. “Your honesty is more meaningful than any rehearsed compliment.”

There’s a softness in his gaze and a playful smile that puts you at ease.

“If you’re interested in knowing what I thought while painting that,” he continues, unconsciously leaning in a bit closer while nodding towards the abstract piece. “I’d be happy to share.”

Your eyes light up with genuine interest. “I’d love that. There’s no other place I’d rather be now.”

⊱ ℤ𝕒𝕪𝕟𝕖

“Come in,” he calls out.

As you step through the door of his office, Zayne’s eyebrows twitch in surprise. Normally, the faces of those who aren’t his direct patients blur together in his memory, but he instantly recognises you from the emergency room earlier that morning.

Why does he remember? He has no idea.

“How can I help you, Ms…?”

You introduce yourself quickly, before continuing, words coming out a little rushed, “I was the teacher who brought in one of my students earlier. You were incredible with him, and I just wanted to thank you personally. He also made this for you.”

A warm smile spreads across his lips as he looks at the crayon drawing of himself alongside the small boy and you, complete with a simple ‘thank you’ in a vibrant splash of colours.

“I’m glad I could help. It’s always a little more personal when it’s a child.”

You smile softly, and Zayne feels his heart skip a beat—startling even him. It's been a while since he's felt this kind of warmth, a stirring beneath the surface of what Greyson likes to joke as his cool cucumber front.

“I should also thank you. It’s not every day I meet a teacher so dedicated to their students, someone willing to go out of their way after hours just to hand me this.”

The soft light of late afternoon brings out the kindness in your eyes. There's something in the way you’re looking at him that leaves him momentarily stunned.

However, a sharp alarm from his phone breaks the delicate moment. 

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you say, taking a half-step back, and waving idly towards his desk. “I didn’t mean to take up your time. I’ll let you get back to your work.”

He silences the alarm with a quick swipe of his finger. “It’s just a reminder that my workday is over.”

There’s a brief pause, and his eyes meet yours again. Something about you just draws him in. 

“Taking a half day today,” Zayne explains. Then, with an unexpected boldness that defies his usual personality, he adds, “There’s a café not far from here that serves great coffee and sweets. Maybe you’d like to join me? I think we could both use a little reward after such a long day.”

For a moment, you’re silent, caught off guard by the sudden invitation.

“I mean,” he continues, a little more softly now so as not to spook you further, “if you don’t have any other plans, that is.”

It feels like the weight of the world is taken off his shoulders when he sees you nod, a shy smile and a hint of pink blooming on your cheeks.

“I’m not in a rush.”

⊱ 𝕊𝕪𝕝𝕦𝕤

Of all days, why does he have to run out of wine when Luke and Kieran aren’t around? He is particular about his wine, and the only winery he sources from can’t deliver to N109 Zone.

However, his hopes for a quick transaction vanish when the staff behind the counter checks the pick-up list, gives him a once-over, and the next thing Sylus knows, he’s ushered to a seating area.

Outside. Where the sun is shining too brightly for his liking.

“Mr. Qin?”

The scowl on his face falters as he looks up at the voice calling his name. You appear slightly out of breath, hair disarray as if you’d rushed over just to see him.

“Oh, how my grandparents would have loved to see you! Too bad they’re not here today.”

He watches a couple of staff members appear behind you, pouring him a glass of wine and setting down a charcuterie board filled with a selection of cheeses, cured meats, and mixed nuts.

It’s not too extravagant, but it surprises him, nonetheless.

“What’s all this?” He is utterly confused.

“It’s just something I usually prepare for Luke and Kieran when they pick up deliveries.”

Sylus blinks. Those two never mentioned anything. “You mean they ask for this every time they are here?”

Eyes widening at his assumption, you quickly shake your head, not wanting him to get the wrong idea. “No, no! They never expect this or anything. I just like making them feel welcome since it’s a long trip from the N109 zone.”

“Thank you for this, I appreciate it," he says genuinely. “Don’t think I catch your name, though?”

A sheepish smile graces your lips as you share it with him. “I don’t believe we’ve formally met. My grandparents own the vineyard, and they’ve mentioned you quite a bit—their favourite customer.”

Liking the way he repeats your name when he thanks you once again, his gaze lingers just a moment longer. 

Your cheeks are starting to flush under the intensity of his ruby eyes. “Well, I’ll leave you to it so you can enjoy them. It’s very nice to meet you, Mr. Qin—”

“Just Sylus, please.”

Flustered, you shift awkwardly. “I hope you’ll come to visit us again, Sylus.”

But before you can take a step away, he glances down at the spread before him, then back at you. “It’d be a shame to enjoy this all by myself. If you have the time, some company would be nice.”

He rises and pulls back the empty chair across from him, the invitation clear. “I could really use a change of scenery from the twins’ endless shenanigans.”

Maybe doing the pick-up isn’t a bad decision after all, Sylus thinks as he sees you chuckle, the sunlight catching in your hair.

⊱ ℂ𝕒𝕝𝕖𝕓

After spending too much time in the sky, Caleb always finds himself drawn to the library. The silence grounds him, and chatting with the librarian reminds him of the earlier days—when he was just another student at the nearby Aerospace Academy and working part-time as the library assistant.

He’s already planning to return the next day since he has some leave lined up when a loud sigh catches his attention.

Looking between the shelves, Caleb sees you balancing a stack of heavy volumes in your arms.

“Need a hand with that?”

You turn toward him and nearly drop the books, not expecting anyone else after seeing the last visitors trickled by earlier.

“Woah, easy there.” Without waiting for an answer, he steps closer, lifting half of the books from your arms, his fingers brushing yours ever so slightly.

“Oh, you don’t have to—”

“I insist,” he says with a crooked smile. “Wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself.”

You murmur a small “Thanks,” grateful for the help and a bit flustered by his easy confidence.

In awe of how he is so at ease at placing the books on the correct shelves, you ask, “You’re Caleb, right?”

Which earns you a raised brow and surprise flickering across his features.

“I've heard your name around—fighter pilot and all.”

He chuckles. "Ah, so my reputation precedes me. Should I be worried?"

You shake your head quickly. “It’s a good reputation, don’t worry. The librarian tends to mention you a lot.”

As you shelve the final books together, his hand rests briefly on one of them.

“So”—he glances at your tag and call your name, breaking the comfortable silence—“you’re new here? I haven’t seen you around before.”

You hummed. “Just started last month. It has been great, except for all these books left behind.”

“Those academy students always do that. I might even be guilty of doing it too before,” he says with a sheepish grin.

When the librarian rounds the corner, their attentive eyes flicker between the two of you, and with a knowing smile, they gently usher you both to leave as it’s getting dark outside.

“Well, thanks again for the help,” you say, pulling your zipper up to fight the chilly evening air of Skyhaven. “I owe you one.”

Caleb fully faces you, and with the extra height from the steps, you can meet his gaze directly, sparkling under the sunset sky. “What do you say if I take you up on it now? Would you like to grab a drink or have dinner together? Think of it as a belated welcoming party from myself.”

A small smile tugs at your lips. “I’d like that.”

Let’s just say the warmth that spreads through you both has nothing to do with the jackets.

⊱ 𝕏𝕒𝕧𝕚𝕖𝕣

The adrenaline from the mission still thrummed through Xavier’s veins as he unlocked the front door. He couldn’t wait to cuddle with you, you always had that strong effect on calming him down.

But the sight of you sleeping soundly, one leg bent, with the oversized shirt riding up just enough to reveal that you weren’t wearing any panties, zapped all his blood straight to the south of his body.

Inviting. Begging. To be touched.

“𝐷𝑖𝑑 𝑦𝘰𝑢 𝑚𝑖𝑠𝑠 𝑚𝑒, 𝑏𝑎𝑏𝑦?”

You stirred slightly but did not wake, a soft sigh escaped your lips as if you were aware of his presence even in slumber.

No time was wasted as he quickly took a shower, not bothering to put anything on before slipping into bed and nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck, breathing in your scent.

“𝛸𝑎𝜐…?” you stirred, blinking sleepily when you felt his fingers brushing the bottom curve of your ass.

Your body instinctively pressed closer to his wandering hand as it moved up and down the bend of your spine. It then slid to the back of your thigh, lifting your leg up to drape over his.

“𝘚𝘰𝑟𝑟𝑦 𝐼 𝑤𝘰𝑘𝑒 𝑦𝘰𝑢 𝑢𝑝,” he whispered, though there wasn’t much regret in his tone.

Xavier knew he should have let you drift back to sleep, but you were too soft, too responsive to the slightest touch.

Soon, the soft gasps and sighs you emitted only fueled him to delve into your silken folds with an increasing urgency.

“𝛭-𝑚𝘰𝑟𝑒,” you plead.

God, you’re too much.

Your hands clung to his shoulders, gripping him tightly as if you were afraid he might pull away. Instead, Xavier leaned in, his teeth nipping at your neck, whispering words that made your core throb with excitement.

“𝑊𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑦𝘰𝑢 ℎ𝘰𝑝𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝐼’𝑑 𝑢𝑠𝑒 𝑦𝘰𝑢?” He kneaded the soft flesh of your rear. “𝐿𝑒𝑎𝜈𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑦𝘰𝑢𝑟𝑠𝑒𝑙𝑓 𝑒𝑥𝑝𝘰𝑠𝑒𝑑 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒 𝘵ℎ𝑎𝘵.”

Eyes half-lidded, pretty lips slightly parted, you nodded at him. “𝑌𝘰𝑢 𝑐𝑎𝑛 ℎ𝑎𝜈𝑒 𝑚𝑒 𝑤ℎ𝑒𝑛𝑒𝜈𝑒𝑟 𝑦𝘰𝑢 𝑤𝑎𝑛𝘵,” you breathed.

To emphasise your point, you arched your back, hips canting up toward him, your body a clear invitation for him to indulge in.

“𝛮𝑒𝑥𝘵 𝘵𝑖𝑚𝑒,” he grunted softly, “𝐼’𝑚 𝑤𝑎𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑦𝘰𝑢 𝑢𝑝 𝑤𝑖𝘵ℎ 𝑚𝑒 𝑎𝑙𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑦 𝑖𝑛𝑠𝑖𝑑𝑒 𝑦𝘰𝑢.”

But for now, he wanted to feel you writhe beneath him. For now, he wanted nothing more than to hear the sweet melody of your cries as he lost himself in your heat.

⊱ ℝ𝕒𝕗𝕒𝕪𝕖𝕝

Ever since you walked into the hall escorted by Thomas, you never left Rafayel’s peripheral vision even once. The person talking to him droned on, rambling on about upcoming projects, but the words were a blur.

The dress he bought clung to all the right curves, silky fabric embracing your form with a sensual ease, cascading down your body like a gentle ripple of a stream.

When he saw you slipped to the balcony, he cut in with a curt, “𝛦𝑥𝑐𝑢𝑠𝑒 𝑚𝑒,” before making a beeline across the room to follow you.

“𝑊ℎ𝑎𝘵’𝑠 𝑎 𝑏𝑒𝑎𝑢𝘵𝑖𝑓𝑢𝑙 𝑙𝑎𝑑𝑦 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒 𝑦𝘰𝑢 𝑑𝘰𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑎𝑙𝑙 𝑎𝑙𝘰𝑛𝑒 𝘰𝑢𝘵 ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒?”

Your chuckle at his antics quickly transformed into a gasp as he crowded you, pinning you against the railing. He moulded himself further into you, leaving no space, and you could feel his hardness pressing insistently on your backside.

“𝘚𝘰𝑚𝑒𝘰𝑛𝑒 𝑚𝑖𝑔ℎ𝘵 𝑠𝑒𝑒.” You lightly slapped at his hand that had slipped around your waist, fingers splayed across your stomach, holding you in place.

The shadows were obscuring both of you just enough. To any wandering eyes you’d appear as nothing more than a couple sharing a quiet moment away from the buzz of the party.

“𝛢𝑠 𝑚𝑢𝑐ℎ 𝑎𝑠 𝐼 𝑎𝑑𝘰𝑟𝑒 𝑦𝘰𝑢 𝑖𝑛 𝘵ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑑𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑠”—his breath hot as it caressed your ear, sending shivers down your spine—“𝐼’𝑑 𝑟𝑎𝘵ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑠𝑒𝑒 𝑖𝘵 𝑏𝑢𝑛𝑐ℎ𝑒𝑑 𝑢𝑝 𝑎𝑟𝘰𝑢𝑛𝑑 𝑦𝘰𝑢𝑟 𝑤𝑎𝑖𝑠𝘵 𝑤ℎ𝑖𝑙𝑒 𝐼 𝑓𝑢—”

“𝑅𝑎𝑓𝑎𝑦𝑒𝑙, 𝑏𝑒ℎ𝑎𝜈𝑒!” you whispered sharply, though it wavered, the reprimand weak in your voice.

He chuckled, hips rolling against yours in a slow, deliberate grind that had your legs turning into jelly.

“𝛭𝑒𝑒𝘵 𝑚𝑒 𝑖𝑛 𝘵ℎ𝑒 𝑐𝑙𝘰𝑎𝑘𝑟𝘰𝘰𝑚, 𝑏𝑒𝑎𝑢𝘵𝑖𝑓𝑢𝑙.” He placed an innocent kiss on your cheek, a jarring contrast to his proposal. “𝐹𝑖𝜈𝑒 𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑢𝘵𝑒𝑠.”

Before you could argue, Rafayel quickly slipped off to disappear into the crowd.

It wasn’t long before he heard the familiar rhythm of knocks on the wooden door—a secret code the two of you had devised for moments just like this.

He opened the door just enough to pull you inside, making a quick work of locking it before his lips were on yours in an instant—hungry and demanding, tasting of impatience and greed.

“𝘚ℎℎ,” Rafayel murmured when an unbridled moan escaped as his nimble fingers pushed aside the slit of your evening gown, squeezing the fat of your inner thigh. “𝐷𝘰𝑛’𝘵 𝑤𝑎𝑛𝘵 𝑎𝑛𝑦𝘰𝑛𝑒 𝘵𝘰 𝑐𝑎𝘵𝑐ℎ 𝑢𝑠 𝑛𝘰𝑤, 𝑑𝘰 𝑦𝘰𝑢, 𝑐𝑢𝘵𝑖𝑒?”

A deep, satisfied hum rumbled from his chest as your slickness coated his fingers, smearing your wetness around. The metallic clink of his belt buckle sounded so loud inside the small space.

“𝛣𝑒 𝑎 𝑔𝘰𝘰𝑑 𝑔𝑖𝑟𝑙 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑘𝑒𝑒𝑝 𝑞𝑢𝑖𝑒𝘵 𝑓𝘰𝑟 𝑚𝑒, 𝑦𝑒𝑎ℎ?”

⊱ ℤ𝕒𝕪𝕟𝕖

He should have felt ashamed when he felt the intense stirring in his nether region, staring at you like a man starved.

It was already semi-hard when his eyes popped open earlier, catching the lingering scent of your shampoo still clinging to the pillowcase.

But damn, you were just too alluring right now.

Zayne’s eyes were glued to the sight of you, on your tiptoes, reaching for his mug on the upper shelf.

Your shorts had ridden up, revealing the creamy expanse of your thighs, and the hem of your pyjama shirt lifted just enough to expose the curve of your hips—hips that he held when he pounded into you last night, with your moans echoing in his ears.

“𝛢𝑟𝑒 𝑦𝘰𝑢 𝑗𝑢𝑠𝘵 𝑔𝘰𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝘵𝘰 𝑠𝘵𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝘵ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒, 𝘰𝑟 𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑦𝘰𝑢 𝑔𝘰𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝘵𝘰 𝑎𝑐𝘵𝑢𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑦 ℎ𝑒𝑙𝑝 𝑚𝑒?”

You didn’t even bother turning around to look at him. You knew exactly what he was doing.

He pulled you flushed against his chest, one hand toying with the hem of your pyjama, while the other swept your hair aside and left a lingering, open-mouth kiss to the column of your neck.

He still hadn’t reach out to assist you.

You huffed and turned slightly to face him, eyes narrowing. “𝑊ℎ𝑎𝘵’𝑠 𝑦𝘰𝑢𝑟 𝑒𝑥𝑐𝑢𝑠𝑒 𝘵𝘰𝑑𝑎𝑦 𝑓𝘰𝑟 𝑝𝑢𝘵𝘵𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝘵ℎ𝑒 𝑚𝑢𝑔 𝑢𝑝 𝑠𝘰 ℎ𝑖𝑔ℎ 𝒂𝒈𝒂𝒊𝒏?”

Busted.

A small smirk tugged at his lips. “𝐼𝘵 𝑚𝑎𝑘𝑒𝑠 𝑓𝘰𝑟 𝑎 𝑔𝑟𝑒𝑎𝘵 𝜈𝑖𝑒𝑤 𝑖𝑛 𝘵ℎ𝑒 𝑚𝘰𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔.”

You rolled your eyes at him, though he noticed a smile creeping on your face when you saw his infrequent playful demeanour coming out.

Turning around in his embrace, your fingertips traced the lines of his chest through his shirt, teasing, pushing his restraint.

“𝘚𝘰…” you drew out the word, “𝑑𝘰 𝑦𝘰𝑢 𝑠𝘵𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑤𝑎𝑛𝘵 𝑦𝘰𝑢𝑟 𝑐𝘰𝑓𝑓𝑒𝑒?”

Zayne brought your hand to his mouth, nipping at your fingertips. “𝐼’𝑚 𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑐ℎ𝑒𝑑—”

He felt a thrill when you started to squirm, no doubt feeling his rigid arousal sandwiched between you both.

“—𝑏𝑢𝘵 𝑛𝘰𝘵 𝑓𝘰𝑟 𝑐𝘰𝑓𝑓𝑒𝑒.”

A wanton gasp ripped out from your lips, feeling his large hand sneaking underneath your pyjama, palming your mound, teasing your nipple until it stiffened into a pebble.

“𝘚𝘰𝑚𝑒𝘵ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑠𝑤𝑒𝑒𝘵, 𝑠𝘰𝑚𝑒𝘵ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝐼 𝑐𝑎𝑛 𝑠𝑎𝜈𝘰𝑢𝑟.”

With a low growl, he lifted your chin and crashed his lips against yours. Tongue prodding, demanding entrance, until you welcomed him in for a dance with yours.

“𝑍𝑎𝑦𝑛𝑒,” you breathed, half a plea, half a demand.

Dropping to his knees before you, his hands tugged down at your shorts with an urgency. “𝛨𝘰𝑙𝑑 𝘰𝑛 𝘵𝑖𝑔ℎ𝘵, 𝑑𝑒𝑎𝑟,” he warned, before diving in, mouth lapping on your most sensitive spot without hesitation.

He knew he’d put the mug back on the higher shelf tomorrow, just to have you like this—arching, mewling, and completely his.

⊱ 𝕊𝕪𝕝𝕦𝕤

Pushing his chair away from the desk, Sylus nearly choked when you sank gracefully to your knees beside him, your movements slow and deliberate.

Without a word, you gathered your hair into a ponytail, drawing his gaze to the elegant curve of your neck that he liked to mark.

“𝘚𝑤𝑒𝑒𝘵ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑟𝘵, 𝑤ℎ𝑎𝘵 𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑦𝘰𝑢 𝑑𝘰𝑖𝑛𝑔?” His voice was rough when you bent down, peering under his desk, your skirt riding up just enough to leave his mind reeling.

Your voice, frustrated, came muffled from underneath the desk. “𝛭𝑒𝑝ℎ𝑖𝑠𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘰𝘰𝑘 𝘰𝑛𝑒 𝘰𝑓 𝑚𝑦 𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝐼’𝜈𝑒 𝑏𝑒𝑒𝑛 𝑠𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑐ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑓𝘰𝑟 𝑖𝘵 𝑒𝜈𝑒𝑟𝑦𝑤ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒!”

Sylus swallowed hard, trying to focus on your words, but the second your knees hit the hardwood floor, his length had sprung to attention. It was now straining uncomfortably against the confines of his trousers.

“𝐼𝑠 𝘵ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑠𝘰𝑚𝑒 𝑠𝘰𝑟𝘵 𝘰𝑓 𝑔𝑎𝑚𝑒?”

Who could resist when temptation was laid before them on a silver platter? His hot palm smoothed over the back of your thighs before smacking it, caressing the skin to soothe the sting.

He heard your stifled yelp before you promptly moved back, glancing up at him with wide, innocent eyes, completely oblivious to the effect you were having.

“𝑊ℎ𝑎𝘵 𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑦𝜊𝑢 𝑑𝘰—𝒐𝒉.”

A pretty red blush bloomed on your cheeks as your eyes dropped down to the unmistakable, rock-hard outline of his erection.

“𝑌𝑒𝑎ℎ, 𝒐𝒉,” Sylus drawled, amused by your sudden fluster.

Sometimes you were just too naive, too pure, that it awakened an irresistible urge within him to taint you.

Effortlessly, he pulled you into his lap. One hand splayed across your lower back, pulling you flush against his chest, as he rolled his hips to chase the delicious friction that had both of you teetering on the edge.

With a tilt of your head, you met his gaze, your lips hovering dangerously close to his.

There was no mistaking the dampness beginning to soak through your underwear, dampening the fabric of his pants. Clearly, he wasn’t the only one excited.

“𝑇𝑒𝑙𝑙 𝑦𝘰𝑢 𝑤ℎ𝑎𝘵, ℎ𝘰𝑛𝑒𝑦,” he rasped, black pupils almost entirely consuming the red in his eyes as his thumb pushed past your lips, and you wrapped your mouth around it, sucking. “𝐼’𝑙𝑙 ℎ𝑒𝑙𝑝 𝑦𝘰𝑢 𝑓𝑖𝑛𝑑 𝘵ℎ𝑎𝘵 𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑖𝑓 𝑦𝘰𝑢 ℎ𝑒𝑙𝑝 𝑚𝑒 𝑓𝑖𝑟𝑠𝘵.”

A good girl ready to please, you nodded vigorously, and lowered yourself off his lap, sliding down between his knees.

Sylus’s fingers tangled in your hair, and you could hear the low growl of approval rumble from deep within his chest when you looked up at him, tongue out, his length heavy and throbbing in your hand.

“𝛣𝑒𝑠𝘵 𝑏𝑒𝑙𝑖𝑒𝜈𝑒 𝐼 𝑤𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑟𝑒𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑑 𝑦𝘰𝑢 𝑎𝑓𝘵𝑒𝑟 𝘵ℎ𝑖𝑠, 𝑠𝑤𝑒𝑒𝘵ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑟𝘵.”

“Although, I must ask—have you truly thought this through?” Sylus inquired, his gaze sharp.

There was a reason why you chose to move to Goldwood City once you had the chance; far away from the lawless land to start anew, free from the shadow of your father’s association.

As if the death of your mother caused by his recklessness years ago wasn’t enough, the old man had to pull you back into the very world you had succeeded to leave behind.

Staying away was a luxury you no longer had with your old man’s enemies haunting you.

Head held high, you met his gaze directly. “I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t sure of my choice.”

Oh, little did you know, that your return to the N109 Zone as Onychinus’s leader’s wife, would mean putting your heart on the line as well.

Perhaps it all started that one evening, when a nightmare jolted you awake, haunting you with the vision of your mother’s lifeless eyes and being captured by the people your father had entangled himself with.

Without even realising it, you were already standing at Sylus’s doorway. 

“Why?” he questioned when you asked if you could stay the night in his. “Something wrong with your room?”

Indeed, he offered you your own space even though you were legally husband and wife now. It had been a relief at first, a perfect arrangement, until the nightmares escalated.

“It just feels too quiet tonight,” you lied, unready to fully bare your soul.

Sylus finally looked up from the papers he’d been reading, one eyebrow arched. “Not used to being alone at night back in Goldwood?”

Your face flushed at the implication. Just as you opened your mouth to deny it, something in his expression shifted.

It was so fleeting and subtle that you weren’t even sure if you had imagined it.

He raised a hand, halting your reply. “Actually, never mind about it.”

When he simply returned to his papers, offering no clear sign of whether you were welcome, you frowned.

You were about to take your bruised pride back to your room when you heard him let out a resigned sigh. “Are you coming or no? You’re letting the draft in,” he said, pulling back the duvet on the vacant side, inviting you to settle in.

His acceptance was surprising, but you quickly climbed into bed before he could change his mind, feeling a surge of relief and security with him close by.

If you were too close for comfort, he didn’t mention it.

Sylus was so warm that you shuddered from the sudden temperature change. The base, with its perpetual chill, was a stark contrast to his body heat.

“What are you reading?”

“Mundane proposals,” he muttered, tone laced with boredom as his eyes skimmed the pages in front of him.

With your interest piqued, you scooted even closer, your hair slightly brushing his arm. “Anything I should know about?”

When you told him that you wouldn’t settle for being a trophy wife, he offered you an administrative position in Onychinus, which you happily accepted.

“I feel that these are better off in the trash.”

A small chuckle escaped you, drawing Sylus’s attention. He cast a glance downward, amused by your reaction.

That somewhat prompted him to give a brief outline of the proposal, perhaps to get him through it too. And he was right, it was so dull that you felt your eyes fluttering closed, lulled by the deep timbre of his voice.

“—heard that the twins take good care of you.”

“Hm?” You peeked one of your eyes open, though it was futile as it soon closed again.

Whenever he was away, Luke or Kieran—often both—were always by your side, becoming more than just your guards; they were your mentors, teaching you the complexities of Onychinus’s operations, and they were slowly becoming your…

Friends. A foreign term to you.

Friendship had never been something you could afford, not with the constant paranoia of trusting the wrong person, no thanks to your father.

In your drowsy state, you remembered mumbling, “I feel at ease when I’m with them.”

“At ease, huh? That’s a rare concept around here.” Sylus’s voice cut through the fog of your drowsiness.

Your mind, still wrapped in the haze of sleep, seemed to speak for itself. “You also make me feel more comfortable than I expected.”

Looking back, you laughed mirthlessly at your own stupidness. Where was that defense mechanism you had sworn was ingrained within you?

You knew better than to allow yourself to be vulnerable, to let someone slip past your guard easily in such a short span of time.

Especially someone like Sylus—a man cloaked in power, whose intentions were always enigmatic.

“You’re pretty good at running away.” The voice, carried by the wind, reached your ears. “Pretty good, but not the best.”

“Here to claim your bargaining tool back?”

His footsteps stopped a few paces away from you. Refusing to meet his gaze, you remained looking ahead. The once vibrant colours of sunset faded into darkness, as if the sky itself mirrored the ache seeping deep inside your soul.

Sylus let out a deep sigh. “How much did you know?”

A few days ago, while you were sorting through Onychinus’s papers, you stumbled upon an old, yellowed document hidden deep on a neglected shelf, seemingly placed there to remain undiscovered.

As you read through the faded ink—an exchange made between your father and Sylus a long time ago, marked with their signs and bloodied fingerprints—it felt as though you heard your old man laughing from his grave, determined to terrorise you even in death.

That bastard had sold you to Sylus, bartering your life for a sliver of power within the N109 Zone.

“Did you have fun watching me pathetically beg you to marry me? Knowing all along that you’ve owned me anyway?”

The memory of his calmness that day burned in the back of your mind. Your intuition was right after all, he had anticipated you coming to him.

And if you were honest with yourself, it wasn't even your father you were so angry with—you’d always known what a monster he was.

No, what burned like a hot iron in your chest was the sense of betrayal, the sting of disappointment aimed squarely at Sylus. 

How could you have been so blind, so gullible to believe that this man could be anything more than another player in your father’s ruthless game?

“I asked you that day if it was what you truly wanted,” he calmly said, “I never forced you to marry me.”

You bristled. He was right, of course.

“But you would make sure that one way or another, you would claim me as your possession, wouldn't you? Even from the moment we first met,” you spat.

It was a few years ago when you were first introduced to Sylus. Your mother had begged you to accompany her to a function, and how could you refuse when the guilt of leaving her in the N109 Zone with your father still weighed heavily on you?

For whatever reason you couldn’t understand, she had refused to move in with you.

The function was a blur of faces and conversations that made your head spin, the air thick with the aroma of expensive cigars and the tang of power.

You felt out of place, an outsider in a world that had once been your cage.

“Darling, I want you to meet someone.” Your mother’s tone was a strange mixture of joy and nervousness. She gently took your arm and guided you through the crowd until you stood before a tall figure, his presence commanding.

“This is Sylus, the leader of Onychinus,” she introduced. “He’s agreed to work with your father on some very important matters.”

You blinked in surprise. Somehow, you expected the leader of the most prominent organisation to be someone closer to your father’s age, but he was only a couple of years older than you.

Sylus’s features were sharp and striking, though it was his eyes that held you captive. They were intense, piercing, as if he could see right through you.

“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Ms. Y/N,” Sylus greeted. He took your hand in his, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your knuckles.

Your mother’s keen eyes noticed the crimson that spread across your cheeks, her lips pursing to contain a smile.

“Oh, Sylus, no need for such formalities,” she said lightly, elbowing you to greet him back.

You tried to compose yourself, but his unexpected charm and the way he looked at you left you flustered. “I—uh, nice to meet you too," you managed to stammer.

“Your mother speaks highly of you,” his low voice sent tingling sensation on your insides.

The soft rustle of grass as Sylus settled beside you made your skin prickle. Stupidly, you still craved his closeness.

The nightmares had ceased when you began staying in his bedroom altogether, finding security in the steady rhythm of his breathing beside you. But since fleeing the base, they returned relentlessly, creeping back each time you managed to get a shut eye.

He stretched out his long legs, the fabric of his jacket brushing against you slightly, his gaze fixed on the distant city lights glimmering on the horizon.

“I didn't want you to find out like this,” he finally said, voice low and measured, as if he had carefully chosen each word.

“Then enlighten me, Sylus, what was your grand plan? To control me? To tame me into the docile wife you always wanted me to be?”

He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a sleek black box, pressing it into your hands. “This will explain better than any of my words.”

Slowly, you opened the latch, revealing a collection of emblems—some new, some tarnished—from various N109 Zone fractions. Resting on top of the seals was a folded envelope, its edges frayed.

Sylus nodded towards it, urging you to read the letter inside. As you unfolded the paper, the familiar handwriting of your mother’s came into view, despite the hurried and uneven scrawl.

What I could not say, his deeds will show. Have faith in him.

“Your mother approached me before the agreement with your father was finalised.” Sylus’s expression was unreadable. “She wanted me to protect you. From your father, and from anyone that might harm you.”

As the dots began to connect inside your spinning head, the realisation dawned. “And that’s why you asked for me in return? Why didn’t you tell me this when I first came to you?”

“Keeping you near would make it easier for me to ensure your safety, at least until I could handle all of your father’s enemies.” He shot you a sideways glance. “Do you think we’d be here now if I had laid it all out for you from the start?”

You both knew that if he had, you would have likely flipped him off and done everything in your power to escape his presence.

The cold metal emblems bit into your palm as you examined them, each one representing what had once been a looming threat. A deep understanding shifted your perspective entirely; this was what Sylus had been occupied with during the days he left you in the care of Luke and Kieran.

He had been thoroughly hunting down your father’s enemies, your nightmare, to ensure that you could finally be free from them.

It wasn’t his incompetence that had kept him from finding you days after your escape. No, he had been securing the final pieces of your freedom.

“What did you ask from my mother then? There must have been something you got, that’s how you grant wishes.”

Sylus gave a soft huff, as if he was on the verge of a chuckle, and shook his head. “Contrary to popular belief, I do grant wishes without expecting anything back.”

Your eyes flicked to him in surprise as he continued, “Nothing. I asked for nothing in return. Your mother earned my respect, and that was enough.”

Everyone understood that dealing with Sylus was a risk, a gamble that could even cost you your life.

Studying him intently, you searched for any trace of deception, but all you discovered was a grave sincerity. His eyes were unnervingly tender when he watched the shock painting your face.

“I’ve kept my promise to your mother. You're a free woman now, free to do whatever you want.” Sylus broke eye contact then, his voice dropping to a near whisper as he added, “We can also get a divorce.”

A divorce.

The word set something unsettling that clawed at your insides, sinking deep into your core, and catching you completely off guard.

For a moment, your mind replayed the way his intense red eyes met yours with kindness, to his touch that held a tenderness that couldn't be faked, and the subtle ways he had shown his care for nearly half a year now.

You hugged your knees tighter, the cold ground beneath you contrasting sharply with the warmth of your memories. “Is that what you want? For us to go separate ways?”

“What I want,” he began slowly, “never matters. This has always been about you. Your choice.”

A second passed, then ten, before you quietly whispered, “What if I choose to stay with you then?”

It was as if a wall had been erected again.

“You are not thinking with your head right now, but with your heart. You trusted me because you saw me as your only lifeline.” His voice was rough, edged with frustration.

“But what if underneath the leader of Onychinus, underneath the man that everyone fears, is the one I want to stay with, the one I feel at ease with? Not because of my father’s shadows nor his enemies.”

Sylus breath hitched, a sudden tension rippling through his frame as he struggled to keep his composure. “You don’t know me.”

His voice carried a warning, attempting to push you away, but you stood your ground.

In that moment, you understood why he often held himself back, creating distance whenever he found himself growing too close.

He was afraid of caring for you beyond what he thought his promise to your mother allowed, struggling to maintain the balance between his feelings and his commitment, fearing that crossing that line would mean violating his duty.

“Then show me.” You moved closer, invading his personal space. “Show me what’s behind all this.”

With resolve burning in your eyes, you cupped his face and leaned in. Your lips sought his, praying you hadn't misread him all this time.

That you wanted the warmth and tenderness you’d glimpsed in fleeting moments to be real and not just a reflection of your own desires.

For a breathless moment, he remained still. Then, something in him seemed to break, a crack in his armour. Strong, corded arms slid around you, pulling you closer until you both tumbled back onto the grass, entwined.

His hand brushed the back of your neck, fingers tangling in your hair as his lips pressed into yours with a ravenous need.

It was a kind of kiss that laid bare the truth, shattered every wall, and left you panting for air.

Your breaths intermingled when you pulled back just enough to look into his eyes. There was a vulnerable openness in there, a look concealed beneath the hardened exterior.

“You never read my mother’s letter, did you?” you suddenly asked him.

Confusion flickered in his eyes, his brows knitting together as he shook his head. With trembling fingers, you retrieved the letter from the box and held it up between you.

The dim light from the horizon cast soft shadows on the small message scribbled on the bottom of the paper.

Sylus’s eyes traced the words, his gaze shifting from the letter to your face as the message slowly registered.

Sylus—remember that you, too, deserve love just as much as she does.

It was as though your mother had not only seen the heart within him, but had also foreseen what he had struggled to admit.

With a gentle touch, your thumb brushed against his cheek, lips featherlight as it brushed against his once more. “Take me home, Sy.”

⊱ 𝕏𝕒𝕧𝕚𝕖𝕣

The sight of Xavier fresh from his workout was… intoxicating. He leaned against the doorway, chest rising and falling with each exhale, face a little flushed from the exercise.

His white, mesh tank top clung to his torso, accentuating every contour of his sculpted abs. You couldn't tear your eyes away from the droplets of perspiration gliding down his defined biceps.

Innocently, he tilted his head. “𝑊ℎ𝑦 𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑦𝘰𝑢 𝑙𝘰𝘰𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑎𝘵 𝑚𝑒 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒 𝘵ℎ𝑎𝘵?”

The wait for him to finish his exercise had been almost unbearable, each passing minute pulling tighter the simmering anticipation that now felt nearly overwhelming.

“𝐿𝑖𝑘𝑒 𝑤ℎ𝑎𝘵?”

He took a step closer, the space between you shrinking. “𝐿𝑖𝑘𝑒 𝑦𝘰𝑢’𝑟𝑒 𝑎𝑏𝘰𝑢𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝑑𝑒𝜈𝘰𝑢𝑟 𝑚𝑒.”

“𝘑𝑢𝑠𝘵… 𝑎𝑝𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑐𝑖𝑎𝘵𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝘵ℎ𝑒 ℎ𝑎𝑟𝑑 𝑤𝘰𝑟𝑘,” you replied, voice much breathier than intended. Though, the subtle biting of your lip betrayed any pretense of innocence.

A slow smirk formed on his lips. “𝐼’𝑚 𝑎𝑙𝑙 𝑠𝑤𝑒𝑎𝘵𝑦 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑔𝑟𝘰𝑠𝑠, 𝘵ℎ𝘰𝑢𝑔ℎ,” he said teasingly.

“𝛮𝘰𝘵 𝑔𝑟𝘰𝑠𝑠.” You felt a blush creep up your neck, breath quickening as heat pooled low in your belly. “𝛢𝑐𝘵𝑢𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑦, 𝑖𝘵’𝑠 𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑑 𝘰𝑓 𝑖𝑟𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑖𝑠𝘵𝑖𝑏𝑙𝑒.”

Xavier’s knees bumped into yours as he stood tall before you. How he looked down at you made your heart race with every beat.

“𝐼𝑠 𝘵ℎ𝑎𝘵 𝑠𝘰?” His tone was playful, but there was a dangerous edge to it.

The room suddenly felt too small, too warm, as he leaned in, a flicker of something darker crossed his features.

“𝑊ℎ𝑎𝘵’𝑠 𝘰𝑛 𝑦𝘰𝑢𝑟 𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑑?” His breath was hot against your ear as he effortlessly shifted you on the sofa. 

The faint musk of sweat clouded your senses as you parted your legs, welcoming the solid weight of his body pressing into yours.

Tongue-tied, your thoughts scattered, solely concentrating on the way he began deliberately leaving a map of kisses down the column of your neck. 

“𝐼…” The words died in your throat when he lightly bit on the sensitive spot just below your ear, soothing the sting away with his tongue.

“𝐶𝘰𝑚𝑒 𝘰𝑛, 𝑑𝘰𝑛’𝘵 𝑔𝘰 𝑚𝑢𝘵𝑒 𝘰𝑛 𝑚𝑒,” his soft, seductive purr ruined you.

The way your hip involuntarily bucked, desperate to feel every inch of him, sent a ripple of excitement coursing through you as it met his unmistakable bulge.

You swallowed hard. “𝐼—𝐼 𝑐𝑎𝑛'𝘵 𝑠𝘵𝘰𝑝 𝘵ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑎𝑏𝘰𝑢𝘵 𝑦𝘰𝑢. 𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑤𝑎𝑦 𝑦𝘰𝑢’𝑑 𝑏𝑒 𝑎𝑙𝑙 𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑚, 𝑓𝑒𝑒𝑙𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑦𝘰𝑢𝑟 𝑏𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑠𝑘𝑖𝑛 𝑎𝑠 𝑦𝘰𝑢—”

Before you could finish, Xavier yanked his top off, tossing it aside in a blur.

“𝑇ℎ𝑒𝑛 𝑙𝑒𝘵 𝑚𝑒 𝑏𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝘵ℎ𝑎𝘵 𝑖𝑚𝑎𝑔𝑖𝑛𝑎𝘵𝑖𝘰𝑛 𝘵𝘰 𝑙𝑖𝑓𝑒.”

Once you felt one of his hands caressing the inner of your twitching thigh, inching higher to cup your core—that wouldn’t stay clothed for too long—you knew that he would satisfy every craving you had.

⊱ ℝ𝕒𝕗𝕒𝕪𝕖𝕝

A week of waiting for Rafayel to return from his international exhibition felt like hell—especially with his endless teasing, sending you lewd pictures and provocative texts which only made it worse.

The constant reminders of what you couldn’t have gnawed your patience thin.

Like that photo of his glistening chest, fresh from the shower, while bearing a towel low on his hips, displaying the lines of his Apollo’s belt and the hint of what lay beneath.

Or when he sent you that audio message, voice rough and raspy, graphically describing what he wanted to do to you. His laboured breathing and the rustling of sheets hinted at the naughty thing he was doing, likely touching himself.

“𝛭𝑖𝑠𝑠𝑒𝑑 𝑚𝑒, 𝑔𝘰𝑟𝑔𝑒𝘰𝑢𝑠?” Rafayel called out from the front door.

You ran to him, unable to contain yourself any longer. As soon as he was within reach, your arms went around his neck, pulling him down into a desperate kiss.

“𝑇ℎ𝑎𝘵 𝑚𝑢𝑐ℎ, ℎ𝑢ℎ?” he murmured, breath hot against your lips, palms squeezing your ass with a playful touch.

“𝛭𝘰𝑟𝑒 𝘵ℎ𝑎𝑛 𝑦𝘰𝑢 𝑘𝑛𝘰𝑤,” you whispered, fingers tangling in his dusky purple hair. “𝑌𝘰𝑢 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑦𝘰𝑢𝑟 𝑑𝑎𝑚𝑛 𝑝𝑖𝑐𝘵𝑢𝑟𝑒𝑠.”

A wicked smile painted his lips. “𝘑𝑢𝑠𝘵 𝑛𝑒𝑒𝑑𝑒𝑑 𝘵𝘰 𝑟𝑒𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑑 𝑦𝘰𝑢 𝑤ℎ𝑎𝘵 𝑦𝘰𝑢 𝑤𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑚𝑖𝑠𝑠𝑖𝑛𝑔.”

Without another word, he scooped you up and carried you to the bedroom. If it were up to you, though, you would have been fine even on the parlour’s floor.

In a whirlwind of kisses and tangled limbs, he expertly discarded your clothes, laying you bare beneath him.

His eyes drank every inch of you, desire palpable in the way he pressed you into the sheets.

“𝐼 𝑛𝑒𝑒𝑑 𝑦𝘰𝑢 𝑠𝘰 𝑚𝑢𝑐ℎ,” you breathed, arching against him as you were finally feeling the warmth of his bare skin again.

“𝐼 𝑘𝑛𝘰𝑤.” His teeth found your ear, tugging at the lobe. “𝐼’𝜈𝑒 𝑏𝑒𝑒𝑛 𝑐𝘰𝑢𝑛𝘵𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝘵ℎ𝑒 𝑑𝑎𝑦𝑠 𝑢𝑛𝘵𝑖𝑙 𝐼 𝑐𝘰𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑏𝑒 𝑤𝑖𝘵ℎ 𝑦𝘰𝑢, 𝑖𝑛𝑠𝑖𝑑𝑒 𝑦𝘰𝑢, 𝑎𝑔𝑎𝑖𝑛.”

His hands were everywhere, and he was a menace, deliberately taking his time in memorising every dip and curve of your body, stopping you from taking things fast.

Rafayel tutted when he felt your trembling hands graze his belt. “𝛮𝘰𝘵 𝑠𝘰 𝑓𝑎𝑠𝘵, ℎ𝘰𝑛𝑒𝑦.” As a punishment, he pinned your wrists above your head, securing them with his belt. Tightly.

The whimpers coming out of your mouth only fueled him more. He chuckled at your impatience, leaving more butterfly kisses down your stomach, before beginning his descent to where you throbbed most intensely.

“𝛦𝑦𝑒𝑠 𝘰𝑛 𝑚𝑒,” he demanded, his voice commanding and gentle all at once.

A smouldering fire lit up in his pretty orbs as your eyes locked with his. “𝛮𝑒𝑒𝑑 𝘵𝘰 𝑟𝑒𝑚𝑒𝑚𝑏𝑒𝑟 ℎ𝘰𝑤 𝑦𝘰𝑢 𝑐𝘰𝑚𝑒 𝑎𝑝𝑎𝑟𝘵 𝑤ℎ𝑒𝑛 𝐼 𝑚𝑎𝑘𝑒 𝑦𝘰𝑢 𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑒 𝑎𝑔𝑎𝑖𝑛 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑎𝑔𝑎𝑖𝑛.”

⊱ ℤ𝕒𝕪𝕟𝕖

Your fascination with Zayne’s hands may have to be questioned.

There was something undeniably captivating about them, scars and all—those pale, jagged lines, if anything, only added to their charm. 

For all their roughness, there was a grace in his hands. They had saved countless lives. And they also knew how to bring pleasure, especially when those skilled fingers delved into your—

“𝛨𝘰𝑤 𝑚𝑢𝑐ℎ 𝑙𝘰𝑛𝑔𝑒𝑟 𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑦𝘰𝑢 𝑔𝘰𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝘵𝘰 𝑠𝘵𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑎𝘵 𝑚𝑦 ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑠?”

Lost in thought, you didn’t even realise that Zayne had abandoned reading the journals altogether. His attention was now entirely on you.

“𝐼𝑠 𝑖𝘵 𝑎 𝑐𝑟𝑖𝑚𝑒 𝘵𝘰 𝑎𝑝𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑐𝑖𝑎𝘵𝑒 𝘵ℎ𝑒𝑚?”

A knowing smile pulled at the corner of his lips. With a gentle flick to your forehead, he murmured, “𝑌𝘰𝑢’𝑟𝑒 𝘰𝜈𝑢𝑙𝑎𝘵𝑖𝑛𝑔.”

Of course, he kept track of your cycle. How he noted your dilated pupils and the rosy hue tinting your cheeks only confirmed what he already knew: your libido was reaching its peak.

Driven by the growing desire, you flung a leg over his thigh, straddling the solid muscle beneath you, seeking the contact you craved.

“𝛢𝑛𝑑?” you challenged, “𝑊ℎ𝑎𝘵 𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑦𝘰𝑢 𝑔𝘰𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝘵𝘰 𝑑𝘰 𝑎𝑏𝘰𝑢𝘵 𝑖𝘵?”

As he shifted to support your weight, the movement created delicious friction through your thin pyjamas, causing an unbidden mewl to spill out of your lips.

His mouth left a trail of heat along your exposed décolleté, tongue flicking out ever so slightly to taste your skin.

“𝛭𝑎𝑦𝑏𝑒 𝑦𝘰𝑢 𝑠ℎ𝘰𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝘵𝑒𝑙𝑙 𝑚𝑒 𝑤ℎ𝑎𝘵 𝑦𝘰𝑢’𝜈𝑒 𝑏𝑒𝑒𝑛 𝘵ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑎𝑏𝘰𝑢𝘵.”

Lips brushing over the sensitive hollow between your collarbones, he pressed a deeper kiss right above your heart. 

Excited, you whispered in his ear, “𝑅𝑖𝑔ℎ𝘵 𝑛𝘰𝑤, 𝑎𝑙𝑙 𝐼 𝑐𝑎𝑛 𝘵ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑘 𝑎𝑏𝘰𝑢𝘵 𝑖𝑠 ℎ𝘰𝑤 𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑓𝑒𝑐𝘵 𝑖𝘵 𝑤𝘰𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑏𝑒 𝘵𝘰 ℎ𝑎𝑣𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑑𝑒𝑒𝑝 𝑖𝑛𝑠𝑖𝑑𝑒 𝑚𝑒, 𝑓𝑖𝑙𝑙𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑚𝑒 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑦 𝑑𝑟𝑜𝑝 𝑜𝑓 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑐𝑢𝑚.”

That stopped him in place. You felt a surge of satisfaction as you watched his eyes darken, almost consuming all the greens in his eyes.

“𝑌𝘰𝑢’𝑟𝑒 𝘵ℎ𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑖𝑛𝘵𝘰 𝑑𝑎𝑛𝑔𝑒𝑟𝘰𝑢𝑠 𝘵𝑒𝑟𝑟𝑖𝘵𝘰𝑟𝑦.”

Though you typically played it safe, the two of you still indulged in the feeling of raw intimacy every now and then.

Feeling a bold urge, you decided to take it up a notch. “𝐷𝘰𝑛’𝘵 𝑦𝘰𝑢 𝑤𝑎𝑛𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝑐𝑙𝑎𝑖𝑚 𝑚𝑒 𝑐𝘰𝑚𝑝𝑙𝑒𝘵𝑒𝑙𝑦, 𝑖𝑛 𝑒𝜈𝑒𝑟𝑦 𝑠𝑒𝑛𝑠𝑒 𝑝𝘰𝑠𝑠𝑖𝑏𝑙𝑒, 𝑍𝑎𝑦𝑛𝑒?”

The effect was immediate. A low growl was your only warning before he pushed you back against the soft bedding, his masculine body looming over you. 

Those hands that you loved so much moved to your hips, fingers digging in with a bruising grip as he put you in a position that highlighted your vulnerability and his dominance.

“𝐷𝘰𝑛’𝘵 𝑠𝑎𝑦 𝘵ℎ𝑎𝘵 𝐼 𝑑𝑖𝑑𝑛’𝘵 𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑛 𝑦𝘰𝑢.” His once smooth and controlled voice had turned rough, full of dark promise. “𝑌𝘰𝑢 𝑎𝑠𝑘𝑒𝑑 𝑓𝘰𝑟 𝘵ℎ𝑖𝑠.”

⊱ 𝕊𝕪𝕝𝕦𝕤

Nothing looked better than seeing Sylus a bit roughened up after the end of a long day.

Silver strands had grown unruly, hanging down over his forehead. A new scratch blemished his sharp jawline, though the red mark had already faded to a tender pink as he shucked his suit off.

The midnight black dress shirt he had meticulously buttoned earlier had now popped open, blessing you with a view of his firm pectoral muscles.

“𝑊ℎ𝑎𝘵’𝑠 𝑔𝘰𝘵𝘵𝑒𝑛 𝑖𝑛𝘵𝘰 𝑦𝘰𝑢, 𝑑𝑎𝑟𝑙𝑖𝑛𝑔?” Sylus’s arms snaked around your waist, pulling you flush against his hard body. The towel in your hand slipped from your grasp as he nuzzled into your shoulder like a cat seeking affection.

“𝑊-𝑤ℎ𝑎𝘵?” you stammered.

Goosebumps danced across your skin as he spun you around, trapping you between the cold marble of the shower and the heat radiating from his bare chest.

“𝑌𝘰𝑢’𝜈𝑒 𝑏𝑒𝑒𝑛 𝜈𝑒𝑟𝑦 𝑗𝑢𝑚𝑝𝑦 𝑒𝜈𝑒𝑟 𝑠𝑖𝑛𝑐𝑒 𝐼 𝑐𝑎𝑚𝑒 𝑏𝑎𝑐𝑘 ℎ𝘰𝑚𝑒.”

When his rough palm “accidentally” bumped into the hard nubs of your breasts, a sharp gasp broke free from your lips. His other hand had journeyed between your thighs, finding your essence sticking to the fabric of your shorts.

“𝛢ℎ… 𝑠𝘰𝑚𝑒𝘰𝑛𝑒 𝑖𝑠 𝑓𝑒𝑒𝑙𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑛𝑎𝑢𝑔ℎ𝘵𝑦 𝘵𝘰𝑑𝑎𝑦.”

Bashfully, you attempted to slip away, which was stupid as there was no easy way to escape the solid barrier of his broad frame.

“𝐼𝘵’𝑠 𝑏𝑒𝑒𝑛 𝑎 𝑙𝘰𝑛𝑔 𝑑𝑎𝑦 𝑓𝘰𝑟 𝑦𝘰𝑢, 𝑔𝘰 𝑠ℎ𝘰𝑤𝑒𝑟 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑐𝘰𝑚𝑒 𝘵𝘰 𝑏𝑒𝑑,” you managed to blabber out, cheeks burning at the intensity of his gaze.

Your yelp was loud as the rain shower was suddenly switched on, the cascading water drenching you both in an instant.

“𝘚𝑦𝑙𝑢𝑠!”

His rich laughter echoed through the steamy shower. He dipped his head, tugging your hair slightly before his teeth grazed against your pulse point

“𝐿𝑒𝘵’𝑠 𝑓𝑟𝑒𝑠ℎ𝑒𝑛 𝑢𝑝 𝑏𝑒𝑓𝘰𝑟𝑒 𝜤 𝘵𝑎𝑘𝑒 𝑦𝘰𝑢 𝘵𝘰 𝑏𝑒𝑑.”

You called out his name in a needy moan, the sound trembling with urgency as he undressed you both. The warm water slicked your skin, and his hands glided over your wet, exposed body with an electrifying touch.

“𝛢𝑟𝑒𝑛’𝘵 𝑦𝘰𝑢 𝘵𝑖𝑟𝑒𝑑 𝑓𝑟𝘰𝑚 𝘵𝘰𝑑𝑎𝑦’𝑠 𝑒𝜈𝑒𝑛𝘵?” you gasped.

Despite the concern, you still eagerly welcomed his mouth as it collided with yours. Your lips parted to invite his tongue in, clawing at his shoulders desperately as you struggled to maintain on your tiptoes.

He pulled back slightly, a playful glint in his eyes. “𝛨𝑚𝑚, 𝑚𝑎𝑦𝑏𝑒 𝐼 𝘰𝑢𝑔ℎ𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝑚𝑎𝑘𝑒 𝑦𝘰𝑢 𝑤𝘰𝑟𝑘 𝑓𝘰𝑟 𝑖𝘵 𝘵𝘰𝑛𝑖𝑔ℎ𝘵.” The teasing lilt in his voice stole your breath. “𝑊ℎ𝑎𝘵 𝑏𝑒𝘵𝘵𝑒𝑟 𝑤𝑎𝑦 𝘵𝘰 𝑟𝑒𝑠𝘵 𝘵ℎ𝑎𝑛 ℎ𝑎𝜈𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑚𝑦 𝑔𝑖𝑟𝑙 𝑟𝑖𝑑𝑒 𝑚𝑒?”

However, as he hoisted you up, his hardness aligning perfectly with your aching need, you knew that he would never let you leave the shower unsatisfied before doing so.

How dare he!

It took a while for the others in the N109 Zone to stop belittling you, to finally trust you as Onychinus’s indispensable weapon who could hold her own ground, even entrusted to run the organisation in his absence.

And he knew this.

“I don’t meddle in your affairs, so stay out of mine.”

He exactly knew what, or who, you were talking about.

Somehow, this conversation was no longer about the deal; it was about something else that had been creating a rift between you both.

“You don’t understand—”

“You have no idea what I understand!” you snapped, jabbing a finger at his firm chest.

Out of the corner of your eye, you spotted Luke entering the room to usher Marcel out.

“If you’re looking for a new job, my organisation is always open for a pretty little thing, buttercup.” He threw a mischievous wink your way.

The man was clearly not uncomfortable with the commotion; it was satisfying to see Onychinus crumbling before his own eyes.

Kieran cautiously stepped forward. “Boss, Y/N, let’s take a moment—”

“You think I wouldn't find out about your little escapade with ‘Miss Hunter’?”

That struck a nerve; Sylus’s eyes narrowed. 

“What?” you continued, your tone dripping with sarcasm, “Mephisto accidentally charged your card with millions just to buy every single protocore in the auction?”

Any heartfelt emotion you held for him was swallowed by fury and disappointment that had been building for some time. This was the last straw, a volcano ready to erupt.

“I’ve warned you before, Sylus.”

Ever since he came back from doing who knew what, he had been distracted. Physically, he was there—but he wasn't present.

Conversations that once flowed easily between you were now peppered by half-hearted responses.

As a last resort, you decided to prepare dinner for him and the twins that one night, something you periodically did when the mood struck, in the hopes of getting him to come around.

Luke and Kieran were happily munching on the lasagna and sipping wine from Sylus’s favourite bottle, their lively chatter filling up the dining room.

But the man who was supposed to be the centre of it all took only a single bite before abandoning it for his phone.

“Sylus, could you please put your phone down and enjoy the dinner?”

The twins froze, eyes flickering between the two of you, sensing the impending storm.

Yet Sylus didn’t even acknowledge you, his attention firmly fixed on the screen in his hand. Somehow, it was more important than the company around him.

“Sylus—”

“Can you get off my back for once?” Red eyes snapped to yours, flashing with irritation.

“You are losing me,” you repeated the words you had uttered that night. The tremble in your voice was a blend of rage and a deeper, more vulnerable feeling.

Sylus's eyes flashed, revealing the first hint of emotion that you recognised—a wounded look, perhaps, or something else that you didn’t dare to think about.

Kieran, determined to defuse the tension, squared his shoulders. “We all should take a breather and approach this with clearer heads.”

Eyes still fixed on your boss’s handsome face, the words came out with unwavering finality, “I quit.”

Ripping the brooch from where it rested just above your heart, you hurled it with such force that it bounced off his chest before skidding across the floor.

The sharp, unmistakable crack echoed throughout the silent room.

Sylus's jaw tightened, a muscle ticking in his cheek. “Fine.”

And that was it. There were no apologies, not even a 'thank you' for your dedication to Onychinus all this time.

“Please, don't do this. We need you,” Kieran’s voice had a note of desperation in it.

A bitter laugh slipped from your lips. “Your boss has made it perfectly clear that he doesn’t need me anymore. Apparently, he has more pressing matters than ensuring the organisation's interest.”

Sylus crossed his arms, his voice cutting like a cold knife. “If you're going to leave, then leave. We don't have time for theatrics.”

With that, you turned on your heel and walked away.

Luke, having just returned from escorting Marcel out, caught sight of the unexpectedly angry tears in your eyes and called out your name as you rushed down the hallway.

What you didn’t expect from quitting was the depth of void it created in your life. You missed the twins’ oddball humour and even found yourself longing for Mephisto’s often irritating caws.

It felt strange not to see the black bird outside of your bedroom window or atop the lamppost, as it normally would.

Despite the financial cushion provided by Onychinus’s paycheck, restlessness drove you back to the N109 Zone before long.

“Thought that we’d never see you again, missy.”

The familiar surroundings of Elysium provided a soothing balm to the loneliness gnawing inside you—the rich scent of aged booze mingled with the sound of rolling dice filling your senses.

“You’re not the only one surprised,” you muttered lowly, sitting down on one of the stools.

“Guess you are more used to staying here than Linkon now,” the young woman behind the bar chuckled. “Many might see it as a slum, but the N109 Zone has its charm.”

During Sylus’s absence, you had called the base as a second home. Staying there made it easier for you to manage the daily operation, sparing you the hassle of travelling back and forth to Linkon.

“What would you like to drink? It’s on the house.” Before you could answer, the woman beat you to it. “Rum and lemonade?”

A sudden feeling of yearning washed over you. It was Sylus who had first introduced you to this concoction right here, you had even questioned his taste at the time, but it had since become one of your favourite drinks.

You gulped the emotion down. “Yes, please.”

She sent you a sympathetic smile, obviously understanding what crossed your mind.

The burn of the rum started to warm your body as the second glass went down easily. Each sip brought back memories of standing side by side in battles and conversations shared in quieter moments, a foolish longing that settled deep within your chest. 

As you set it aside, you felt someone slid on the vacant stool beside you, encroaching on your personal space.

“What’s a pretty girl doing here all alone?”

“Leave me alone.” You didn’t even look at his direction.

Funnily enough, though you normally no longer felt the weight of the brooch—a symbol of your affiliation with Sylus and Onychinus—you now felt its absence vividly, like a phantom heaviness above your left breast.

With it, no one ever truly dared to come near you, wary of crossing paths with Sylus.

Without it, however, meant you were no longer under Sylus’s protection.

The man sidled closer, clearly not taking the hint. “Still playing hard to get even without Sylus behind you? You should have seen him dragged out of the raid like a ragdoll by his pair of thugs. It was pathetic.”

Your heart stuttered, finally looking at the man beside you. “What did you say?” 

Sylus, hurt? It was unthinkable. You had seen first-hand how his wound healed quickly.

“Heh, you really don’t know, do you?” His smile widened, revealing yellowed teeth. “The idiot went to finish Marcel off by himself last night. Imagine taking down dozens of Marcel’s men alone, with all their weapons.”

He daringly placed a hand on your thigh, fingers digging in. “So bitch, you’d better get off your damn high horse and listen. Without Sylus, you’re just another pretty face.”

In a quick manoeuvre, you slammed his head on the bar. His painful howl was cut short as you drew your concealed gun, the barrel pressed firmly against the back of his skull. “Touch me one more time and I’ll paint this bar with your brains.”

The barkeeper approached, her expression impassive as she took in the sight of your gun pressing against the man's head. However, when she noticed the colour draining from your face, a look of surprise crossed her features.

“You didn’t know?” she asked, her tone softer than you expected. “I thought that was the reason you came back here.”

Ignoring the curious stares of the other patrons, you stormed out of the bar, the weight of fear heavy on your shoulders.

The city's familiar streets blurred past as you made your way to the base, and you thought you heard familiar caws in the distance.

You didn't spare a second thought as the electronic lock still buzzed with recognision when your palm and iris scans were verified. The reinforced doors opened, granting you access just like usual.

Luke and Kieran met you in the hallway, no doubt alerted to your arrival. Whether by Mephisto or the security alert, you weren’t sure.

Even with their masks on, their surprised body language was unmistakable.

“How did you find out? Boss made sure that none of us tips you off,” Luke asked.

“It’s true?” you demanded, your voice was tight with anxiety. “About Sylus?”

The twins exchanged silent glances. “He’s in his quarters,” Kieran said slowly. “But be warned, he is in a foul mood.”

As you moved swiftly down the familiar corridors, your heart pounded in your chest. The smell of antiseptic hit your senses as you slid the door open, revealing the dimly lit room.

Sylus was seated on the edge of the bed, his back to you as he changed his bandages. “I told you guys to leave me alone. I’m fine,” his voice gruff.

You took a steadying breath. “Sylus.”

His silhouette tensed, and the set of his shoulders turned rigid. Slowly, he turned to look at you.

“What are you doing here?” His voice was rough.

“I—” you started, but the words caught in your throat. The sight of bandages covering his injuries made it difficult to articulate your thoughts. “Why did you go after Marcel?”

“This isn’t a place for someone like you right now.”

That comment was odd, but you dismissed it as you crossed the room, closing the gap between you. Up close, you could see the bruises and wounds peppering his body—dark, angry splotches that marred his skin, evidence of the brutality inflicted by Marcel’s men.

While the healing process was slower than usual, it was still significantly faster than it would be for an ordinary person.

You had been working with him for quite some time yet you had never before seen him in such a state.

“I’m fine,” he repeated, catching your concerned gaze.

“You don’t look fine,” you said firmly. “I’m not going anywhere until you explain what happened.”

Sylus shifted on the bed, wincing slightly as he rested his back on the headboard. After a moment of silence, he finally spoke, “Marcel was the one behind the bombing of the hunter’s grandma’s house.”

As much as you felt sorry for the UNICORN hunter, you couldn’t understand why he would put his life on the line for her.

Was it because of the connection they had with the Aether Core? Or was it something else?

Unconsciously, your steps faltered backwards. The anxiety for his well-being took a backseat as the grip of jealousy clawed at you.

It was stupid to feel this way.

Suddenly, you felt rooted to the spot, your body freezing in place. The unexpected use of his Evol caught you off guard. 

“You came all the way here, so you’d better damn well listen to me before jumping to any conclusions.”

Even in his weakened state, he managed to pull you back to the edge of the bed and keep you seated there. He wasn’t close enough to touch, but not so far that you couldn’t see the fatigue etched into his features.

“I kept her around because she was useful. Marcel had been trying to frame Onychinus for the bombing.” His fists clenched, knuckles white. “But that wasn’t what set me off, that scumbag had been running his mouth about you, spreading lies of your incompetence, claiming that you’re nothing more than an empty shell.”

You looked at his injuries pointedly. “You took on his entire army because he taunted me?”

He sighed deeply, rubbing a hand over his face in frustration. “Don’t you see? I was the one feeding him that narrative. He had the front seat to everything that happened that day. I’m the one who unravelled the respect you worked so hard to earn.”

Was that a hint of guilt you heard in his voice?

“He’d been saying that you’d be better suited working in a whorehouse.”

Well, that explained the man's aggressiveness back at the bar, you thought.

“I’m not your responsibility anymore, you don’t need to protect me.”

Sylus looked away. Despite his rough edges, there was a glint of raw, exposed emotion that he struggled to conceal.

“It’s not just about responsibility,” his voice low, “Some things... they’re not as simple as just walking away.”

This was the Sylus you recognised—the same man who, in fleeting moments, had looked at you with an intensity or a softness that spoke of unfulfilled longing.

Everything had shifted since that one kiss, an impulsive act born from an evening of too much drink and unspoken feelings. A kiss that, in its haze, blurred the lines between what was accepted and what was desired.

Yet, every subtle brush of his hands, every act of ensuring your safety, was a quiet rebellion against the boundaries he had set from the start—this was not a place where work and pleasure were meant to mingle.

“That was the reason you called the deal off that day.” You fit the puzzles together.

He nodded. “I had a feeling that he was up to something.”

“And yet, I still don’t understand why you had to go behind my back with the hunter. This”—you gestured to his injuries and the distance between you—“could’ve been prevented.”

You tried to mask the hurt. “I thought you trusted me.”

Sylus shifted closer, and even though you felt that his Evol no longer held you in place, you allowed him.

“It wasn’t about trust, not in the way you think,” his voice was softer now, “If he found out you were involved, I couldn’t risk him coming after you.”

“I don’t need your protection as much as I need your honesty. And you were being a jerk.”

“I know and I’m sorry. I just wanted to keep you safe.”

He reached out, his fingers gently tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. Leaning in closer, he cradled your jaw with a careful touch.

“Thank you,” you whispered, your voice catching in your throat at the intensity in his eyes that he didn’t try to mask any longer. “For caring. But I’d rather not see you get hurt again.”

“Can’t promise,” he murmured, “I will always stand between you and anyone who dares to harm you.”

You could feel the warmth of his breath before his lips touched yours, moving in a gentle, unhurried rhythm.

He wanted to savour this moment, to truly taste you with a clear head, unclouded by any alcohol.

Though, before long, a more primal voice seemed to overtake him. The intensity of the kiss grew, fueled by the unfiltered emotions coursing between you.

It was a fierce, unrestrained need to claim you.

No longer feeling tender, his tongue urged your lips open with a determined persistence. Sylus groaned into your mouth as you parted easily, the need to taste you becoming more urgent.

As he took a fistful of your hair, pulling your head back, your gaze locked with the searing flame in his eyes.

A sudden weight pressed against your neck, and you looked down, startled, to find a crow whose wings arched protectively around a red diamond pendant. It was similar to the brooch he had given you, but this was more than an accessory.

It was more personal—more intimate.

“Will you do me the honour of becoming my partner again?” His voice was husky with emotion. “Onychinus needs you. I need you.”

Carefully, you pushed him down the bed, legs spreading daringly caging his form. “Maybe if you beg a little more, I’ll consider it.” 

Both his eyebrows arched in surprise, visibly taken aback by your boldness.

“But, weren’t we supposed to keep work and pleasure separate?” you teased.

A hint of a smirk curled at the edges of his lips. “I’m the boss. I make the rules. Besides, this is more than just a pleasure.”

His large palms settled on your hips, fingers splaying across the curve of your body with a possessive yet tender grip, pulling you closer.

“Can I start by begging you to kiss my wounds and make them better then?”

As he whispered his request, his masculine hands sneaked their way inside your clothes, fingers trailing a line of fire against your skin. Just as the moment heated up, a rustling noise came from outside the door.

The two of you paused, eyes narrowing with suspicion. 

Suddenly, the door creaked open just a fraction. Before either of you could react, Luke and Kieran let out a startled yelp.

“Oh no! They’re doing the hanky panky!” Luke whispered loudly, scandalised.

In a flurry of hurried movements, the twins slammed the door closed and bolted down the hallway, leaving you both staring after them in stunned silence.

Sylus sighed, hiding his face in the soft bend of your neck. “We’ll definitely have to set some new rules about privacy too.”

⊱ 𝕏𝕒𝕧𝕚𝕖𝕣

Xavier has always wondered why he willingly abandons a good slumber and ignores the sting and soreness in his body just to see your face after every challenging mission.

“𝐷𝘰 𝑦𝘰𝑢 𝑤𝑎𝑛𝘵 𝑚𝑒 𝘵𝘰 𝑐𝘰𝘰𝑘 𝑦𝘰𝑢 𝑠𝘰𝑚𝑒𝘵ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑒𝑙𝑠𝑒?”

The lines of concern etched on your forehead deepen when he hasn't touched the porridge, all while swiftly checking to ensure you haven’t missed tending to any of his injuries.

He realises then, that you opening the door after the first knock, with a home-cooked meal waiting for him even before the first rays of dawn, is why he always seeks you out first.

This is the person he wants to witness a lifetime of sunrises with, the one he never wants to see weighed down by worry due to his line of work.

Words fail him, so he gathers you in his arms. Revelling in the way your body moulds perfectly against his.

“𝐼 𝑗𝑢𝑠𝘵 𝑛𝑒𝑒𝑑 𝑦𝘰𝑢 𝑐𝑙𝘰𝑠𝑒.”

“𝑌𝑜𝑢 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑦 𝑛𝑒𝑒𝑑 𝑡𝑜 𝑏𝑒 𝑚𝑜𝑟𝑒 𝑐𝑎𝑟𝑒𝑓𝑢𝑙,” you chide softly, eyes flicking up to meet his.

The concern in your gaze tugs at something deep within him.

Xavier now understands what it is to be unconditionally loved—to be so genuinely cared for that someone would worry about his well-being above all else.

“𝐼 𝑝𝑟𝘰𝑚𝑖𝑠𝑒 𝘵𝘰 𝑏𝑒 𝑚𝘰𝑟𝑒 𝑐𝑎𝑟𝑒𝑓𝑢𝑙 𝑖𝑓 𝑖𝘵 𝑚𝑒𝑎𝑛𝑠 𝐼 𝑐𝑎𝑛 ℎ𝘰𝑙𝑑 𝑦𝘰𝑢 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒 𝘵ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑒𝜈𝑒𝑟𝑦𝘵𝑖𝑚𝑒.”

Your eyes soften. “𝑌𝘰𝑢 𝑠𝑖𝑙𝑙𝑦, 𝑦𝘰𝑢 𝑑𝘰𝑛'𝘵 𝑛𝑒𝑒𝑑 𝑎𝑛𝑦 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑠𝘰𝑛 𝘵𝘰 ℎ𝘰𝑙𝑑 𝑚𝑒.”

The sensation of your fingers threading through his hair is pure heaven, and as you hold him tighter, you express that this embrace requires no further validation.

⊱ ℝ𝕒𝕗𝕒𝕪𝕖𝕝

Bathed in hues of molten gold and fiery amber, Rafayel watches you set up the dining table with his aunt and Thomas, a scene he will cherish until his very last breath.

The laughter of his favourite people mingling with the rhythmic crash of waves is music to his ears.

“𝑅𝑎𝑓, 𝑑𝘰𝑛'𝘵 𝑗𝑢𝑠𝘵 𝑠𝘵𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝘵ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒,” you call out. Tucking your hair behind your ear as the salty breeze whips strands across your face.

If only he could immortalise this scene on canvas, Rafayel muses.

But he knows that a painting would never do justice to fully conveying the true essence of this beauty.

“𝛭𝑦 𝑏𝑒𝑙𝘰𝜈𝑒𝑑, 𝑐𝑎𝑛 𝐼 𝑠𝘵𝑒𝑎𝑙 𝑦𝘰𝑢 𝑓𝘰𝑟 𝑎 𝑚𝘰𝑚𝑒𝑛𝘵?” The quiver in his voice doesn’t go amiss by anyone’s notice as he approaches.

Thomas quirks a questioning brow, while his aunt's gaze softens, her smile somehow knowing as she glances between the two of you.

Normally, he would have a response ready as Thomas quips about the champagne warming, but not this time. 

Not when everything else other than you fades into insignificance.

Overwhelmed with emotion, he pulls you in a tight hug as soon as you both are away from prying eyes, burying his face in the crook of your neck.

“𝑇𝑒𝑙𝑙 𝑚𝑒,” his voice barely above a whisper, “ℎ𝘰𝑤 𝑐𝑎𝑛 𝐼 𝑘𝑒𝑒𝑝 𝑦𝘰𝑢 𝑓𝘰𝑟 𝑚𝑦𝑠𝑒𝑙𝑓, 𝑓𝘰𝑟𝑒𝜈𝑒𝑟?”

You gently draw back and hold his cheeks, adoring the crimson spreading onto his face and ears, before murmuring tenderly against his lips, “𝑌𝘰𝑢 𝑎𝑙𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑦 ℎ𝑎𝜈𝑒.”

At that very moment, it feels as though his heart might combust.

As if every whispered longing he's ever had has come true.

⊱ ℤ𝕒𝕪𝕟𝕖

Perplexed is what Zayne always imagined he would feel—wishing to spend the rest of his life with someone is a huge commitment after all.

But now, his heart overflows with nothing but contentment and peace.

With his glasses and book perch on his lap, he attentively listens as you animatedly vent about one of your coworkers, sitting cross-legged beside him on the bed.

“...𝐼'𝑚 𝑠𝘰𝑟𝑟𝑦, 𝐼 𝑠ℎ𝘰𝑢𝑙𝑑𝑛'𝘵 ℎ𝑎𝜈𝑒 𝑟𝑎𝑚𝑏𝑙𝑒𝑑 𝘰𝑛. 𝑌𝘰𝑢 𝑚𝑢𝑠𝘵 𝑏𝑒 𝘵𝑖𝑟𝑒𝑑 𝘵𝘰𝑑𝑎𝑦.”

Zayne frowns, cursing himself as you mistaken his prolonged silence and composed demeanour for indifference.

Setting his stuff aside, he draws you closer, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead as your arms circle around him.

“𝐿𝘰𝜈𝑒, 𝐼 𝑎𝑙𝑤𝑎𝑦𝑠 𝑒𝑛𝑗𝘰𝑦 ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑦𝘰𝑢 𝘵𝑎𝑙𝑘. 𝑃𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑒 𝑛𝑒𝜈𝑒𝑟 𝑠𝘵𝘰𝑝 𝑠ℎ𝑎𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑦𝘰𝑢𝑟 𝘵ℎ𝘰𝑢𝑔ℎ𝘵𝑠 𝑤𝑖𝘵ℎ 𝑚𝑒.” 

A small content sigh leaves his lips as you nestle closer to him, the warmth of your embrace seeping into his very soul.

Long fingers gently stroke your hair as you voice out concern about adding to his mounting stress with your words.

“𝑌𝘰𝑢 𝑐𝘰𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑛𝑒𝜈𝑒𝑟 𝑏𝑒 𝑎 𝑏𝑢𝑟𝑑𝑒𝑛,” he murmurs, lips brushing your temple. “𝑌𝘰𝑢𝑟 𝜈𝘰𝑖𝑐𝑒 𝑖𝑠 𝑤ℎ𝑎𝘵 𝑚𝑎𝑘𝑒𝑠 𝑚𝑒 𝑓𝑒𝑒𝑙 𝑎𝘵 ℎ𝘰𝑚𝑒. 𝑌𝘰𝑢 𝑚𝑎𝑘𝑒 𝑒𝜈𝑒𝑟𝑦𝘵ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑏𝑒𝘵𝘵𝑒𝑟, 𝑑𝘰𝑛'𝘵 𝑒𝜈𝑒𝑟 𝘵ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑘 𝘰𝘵ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑤𝑖𝑠𝑒.”

Sometimes he wonders if he truly deserves the depth of love and understanding you provide, a treasure more valuable than any he has ever known.

He is not an easy man to love, yet you wholeheartedly embrace his complexities.

In that quiet moment, with the soft glow of moonlight filtering through the curtain, he knows with certainty that you occupy a space in his life that no one else can fill.

⊱ 𝕊𝕪𝕝𝕦𝕤

“𝑌𝘰𝑢 𝑎𝑏𝑠𝘰𝑙𝑢𝘵𝑒 𝑏𝑢𝑓𝑓𝘰𝘰𝑛!” your voice trembles with fury as you cock your gun at him. “𝑊ℎ𝘰 𝑖𝑛 𝘵ℎ𝑒𝑖𝑟 𝑟𝑖𝑔ℎ𝘵 𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑑 𝑤𝘰𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑤𝑎𝑙𝑘 𝑖𝑛𝘵𝘰 𝑎 𝘵𝑟𝑎𝑝 𝑤𝑖𝑙𝑙𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑙𝑦? 𝑌𝘰𝑢 𝑐𝘰𝑢𝑙𝑑 ℎ𝑎𝜈𝑒 𝑑𝑖𝑒𝑑!”

Despite having just slain dozens of degenerates and currently staring down the barrel of your gun, Sylus’s head is oddly silent.

The sight of his enemies’ blood staining your clothes, your hair tousling messily from its ponytail, and the blazing intensity in your eyes—every detail captivates him completely.

Fuck him, you’re perfect.

Exasperated by his grin, you continue calling him all the names in the book: reckless idiot, brainless fool, dumbass…

But he’s your idiot.

Sylus watches your eyes widen as he closes the distance between you, your mouth opening to protest, “𝐷𝘰𝑛’𝘵 𝑦𝘰𝑢 𝑑𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑘𝑖—” but before you can finish, he discards your gun aside with alarming speed, lips crashing against yours with a fervour that matches your fury.

It’s not a gentle kiss, it’s an explosion of emotions; a release of all the anger, fear, and love that has been building up.

“𝐼’𝑚 𝑠𝘰𝑟𝑟𝑦 𝑓𝘰𝑟 𝑠𝑐𝑎𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑦𝘰𝑢,” he says breathlessly, resting his forehead against yours.

Strong hands pull you closer, and he smiles, sensing your fury starting to dissipate as you melt into his cocoon. “𝛢𝑠 𝑙𝘰𝑛𝑔 𝑎𝑠 𝐼 ℎ𝑎𝜈𝑒 𝑦𝘰𝑢, 𝑠𝑤𝑒𝑒𝘵ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑟𝘵, 𝑛𝘰 𝘰𝑛𝑒 𝑐𝑎𝑛 𝘵𝑎𝑘𝑒 𝑚𝑒—𝑢𝑠—𝑑𝘰𝑤𝑛 𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑖𝑙𝑦.”

When you respond to him with another creative jibe, calling him a “𝘵ℎ𝑖𝑐𝑘-ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑑 𝘰𝑎𝑓”, his deep laughter booms through the room.

No one else can and will challenge him like you do, and he lives for it.

Caught in the back-and-forth of your wit and spirit, craving the spark you kindle within him with every word.

⊱ ℂ𝕒𝕝𝕖𝕓

“𝐶𝑎𝑙𝑒𝑏!”

The moment your wide smile graces your features upon spotting him down the store aisle, it robs out all the oxygen in his lungs.

Caleb has always known that this relationship is different from his past ones—the thought of seeing you in his future teasing his brain occasionally.

But when you skip to him, with excitement dancing in your eyes, it hits him that he will give everything just to witness that radiance again.

Every day for the rest of his life.

“𝑇ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑦𝘰𝑢 𝑎𝑟𝑒!” You slip your hand into his and intertwine your fingers together. “𝐼 𝑛𝑒𝑒𝑑 𝑦𝘰𝑢𝑟 ℎ𝑒𝑙𝑝 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑐ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝘵ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑖𝘵𝑒𝑚 𝘵ℎ𝑒𝑦’𝜈𝑒 𝑝𝑢𝘵 𝑢𝑝 𝑠𝘰 ℎ𝑖𝑔ℎ.”

He’ll let you lead him to whichever section of the market, and he'll damn well help you get whatever you want, even if it’s questionable whether you need it or not.

Another mini planter for your succulents? Sure, he’ll even buy all of the different designs for you.

When you ask him if he’s alright, noticing his dazed expression, he straight up pulls you into his embrace and kisses the top of your head, murmuring, “𝐼 ℎ𝘰𝑝𝑒 𝑦𝘰𝑢’𝑙𝑙 𝑘𝑒𝑒𝑝 𝑎𝑠𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑚𝑒 𝘵𝘰 𝑔𝑒𝘵 𝘵ℎ𝘰𝑠𝑒 𝑢𝑛𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑐ℎ𝑎𝑏𝑙𝑒 𝑖𝘵𝑒𝑚𝑠.”

If he is misty-eyed amidst the bustling grocery store, it doesn’t concern him in the least.

You smile up at him in confusion, noticing the sentimental mood in his eyes. Standing on tiptoes, you give him a quick peck and melt in the warmth of his arms, feeling the beat of his heart against your cheek.

No other place feels as secure and comforting as being in each other’s arms.

A small smirk played at the corner of Sylus’s lips. “It’s good to see your feistiness returning.”

“If you saved me and paid my hospital bills in hopes to gather more information, you’ll be disappointed. I have none.”

One eyebrow, a shade darker than his hair, arched at the unexpected accusation. “Is it so hard to believe that was purely my good intention?”

“I became a puppet in whatever beef you had with my kidnappers. It would be stupid of me to assume that you’d do a goodwill for someone you claim not to care about,” you said bitterly, the memory of the event happening a couple of weeks ago flooding back vividly.

“The great man Sylus can’t take it when someone touches his whore. We were just about to have fun, weren't we, darling?”

Sylus remained unfazed by your capturer’s mockery. One of the lifeless goons was still dangling from his grip, and he casually chucked it to the ground as though it weighed nothing.

If you hadn’t been watching his eyes closely that day, you would have missed the quick flick of his gaze taking the blossoming bruise on your cheek, the half-ripped blouse, and the cold blade pressed against your neck, biting into the tender skin.

“I don’t care about her,” he drawled. 

And not once did his eyes lock with yours. It was stupid to feel hurt by his indifference. You wouldn’t be there in the first place if it weren't for this heartless prick.

Yet his words stung deeply.

The feeling of the wooden door flushed against your back grounded you to the present, trapping you in as he silently closed the distance.

Struggling to remain undaunted, you continued, “You completely ignored me after manipulating me to gain information on the hunters who had begun meddling in your business—”

“I ignored you so those hunters wouldn’t trace you back to me,” he cut you off.

It took a few seconds to let his words sink in. “What?” You gaped.

“Your kidnappers were among the hunters you mentioned to me. They were not UNICORNS’, they were rogue hunters whose leader I killed. That’s why they were after me.”

He ran a hand through his face. “When I realised how unknowingly deep you were in this mess, I had to divert their attention away from you.”

His towering height prompted you to tilt your head upward. The ghost of his fingertips tracing from your cheek, down to the side of your neck, caused you to flinch in surprise.

“What do you think those lowlifes would do if I show even an ounce of care towards you?”

While the bruises had subsided, the scar from where the blade had grazed you remained.

A muscle ticked in his jaw seeing the jagged line. “You weren’t supposed to be involved at all.”

“A bit too late now isn’t it?”

His eyes darkened, an ember of fury passing through them. “I ensured they suffered tenfold for what they did to you, and only then did I end them.”

The sound of breaking bones and desperate noises from that day rang in your head. It was a blessing in disguise that your eyes screwed instinctively as the captor callously tossed you aside.

You didn’t even want to witness the horrors Sylus had done to them.

Your silence drew his eyes down to the pocket knife still clutched in your hand, now looking so harmless. Wouldn’t it be nice to be born with the Evol gene? Maybe then you could’ve protected yourself better.

“Are you still planning to stab me with that?”

“Depends.” Your chin lifted defiantly.

A glint of amusement danced in his eyes as he chuckled lowly, sending a delicious shiver down your spine.

You hated your body for reacting that way. It was infuriating how effortlessly he could affect you.

“Why are you here then? What more do you want from me?”

“You,” he said without a heartbeat’s pause, “I want you.”

It felt as if the air had been stolen from your lungs, leaving you breathless.

Sylus was a big, red warning sign. Much like his eyes. And yet, when he locked you in that magnetic gaze, your brain short-circuited.

He’s got you spellbound ever since you first met him at The Nest, acting like a gentleman by saving you from the overly handsy drunk patrons, before worming his way into your life with calculated charm.

Every colleague had warned you about him, yet you still chose to dance with danger.

“You think you can just walk in here and take whatever you want?”

A slow smile curved the corner of his lips, leaving you torn between wanting to slap it off his face or kiss it away.

Maybe both.

“I can try, right?” His confidence was maddening, and yet, it drew you in like a moth to a flame.

Your mind screamed to push him away, to run, but your body betrayed you, entranced by the undeniable tension that always seemed to exude whenever the two of you were near each other.

“Why do you always have to get under my skin?” you were too breathless, too vulnerable for your liking.

He dipped his head closer, his voice a low, intimate murmur by your ear, “Figuratively or literally?”

The feel of his rough, masculine fingers at the nape of your neck sent your heart racing. 

Haunting reminders of them tightening around your throat, the pressure mirroring his relentless thrusts, would forever be burned in the back of your mind.

Oh, and how could you forget how those fingers always managed to find your sensitive spots, teasing and exploring with an expertise that was both exhilarating and overwhelming?

His hands knew your body as if it were an instrument crafted just for him, every caress producing a harmony of sensations that only he knew how to play.

As he repeated his question, daring you to answer him, you punched his firm chest. “Don't fucking play games with me, Sylus.”

“Who said I'm playing?” His other hand enclosed over your pocket knife, tossing it somewhere behind him. The clattering sound should’ve cleared your head, yet it didn’t. “I know what I’ve always wanted. You don’t know how hard it is to ignore you and not send every guy who eye-fucks you six feet under whenever I visit the bar.”

Underneath the surface of physical attraction and fleeting desires, there was always a complex connection between the two of you that couldn't be easily dismissed.

Those eyes, a deep, passionate red, always glowed with intensity when they fixed upon you, as if nothing else in this world could divert his attention.

As if he wanted to make you his, to protect and treasure with every fibre of his being.

“You're impossible,” you whispered, though it lacked conviction.

With a slight lift of one eyebrow, he asked you a question. So, what's it going to be?

He was a confident man. Direct. In no rush.

You should've felt ashamed when your hands moved of their own accord and tugged at his lapel roughly, but you couldn't care less when your lips met his with equal passion.

The familiar, distinct notes of leather melding with cedarwood enfolded you. As his big palms rested on your bottom, lifting you to ease the strain on your neck, your legs naturally encircled his taut form.

Feeling his thick arousal pressing firmly against your clothed, damp core was an exquisite torture, ripping a deep moan out of you.

Sylus devoured the sound like a starved man finally savouring a long-awaited meal.

His long legs carried you swiftly to the bedroom in less than ten strides, lowering your body onto the mattress with a surprising gentleness, though his lips revealed a contrasting intensity.

Exploring. Consuming. Desiring.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging him closer as he drew a map of sloppy kisses along the curve of your neck.

Until he stopped short at the spot where you knew the slightly raised scar from the blade was.

“I am sorry, I should’ve kept you close.”

The crack of emotion seeping from his voice startled you, forcing your eyes open to meet his crimson orbs already focusing on you.

A vulnerability he hardly revealed to the world softened the stern lines of his face. Swirls of yearning and fury were a turbulent mix in his pupils.

“I won’t let anyone else hurt you again.”

How could this man be so full of contradictions?

He was rough and tender.

Brutal and compassionate.

“Just because I don’t possess any Evol, doesn’t mean that I’m fragile.” 

The caress of your palm cradling his cheek prompted his eyes to drift shut. His lips grazed your wrist, where the skin, once raw and marred red from being bound, had now healed up nicely.

“But if you get hurt because of me, then I will never be able to forgive myself, amore.”

If hearing the familiar pet name tumbling out of his lips didn’t turn you into mush, the sensation of his big palm sliding beneath your shirt certainly would.

His warm and protective touch on your bare flesh sent tingles racing along your skin.

“Come stay with me.”

You weren’t even able to let out a gasp of surprise as Sylus discarded your clothes at such an admirable speed.

“For the night? In the N109 zone?” your voice was embarrassingly high-pitched as his silver hair tickled your sensitive skin. Each kiss trailed lower down your chest like gentle raindrops.

“Do you really think I would let you go after tonight?” A small bite was the punishment you received for asking such a ridiculous question. “Everyone knows how important you are to me by now, and I'm not taking any chances with your security. Everywhere, anywhere—I don’t care, as long as I can keep you safe.”

One of his strong thighs settled in between your legs. The fabric of his pants felt so amazing against your throbbing centre, heightening your desire with each agonisingly slow friction.

It was not fair how he had you under his mercy while asking such a serious question. Perhaps this was his cunning way of ensuring you would say yes.

And you were a lost cause, head bobbing up and down the slightest as you surrendered to his control.

“I need your words, amore.”

His hair was dishevelled, sharp features were accentuated by the city lights as he leaned closer to your face again. Ever so subtle, he pressed his thigh more unforgivingly into your core, driving you crazy.

Red eyes twinkled with mischief as Sylus enjoyed watching you squirm underneath him, delighting in the unfiltered lust flushing your face with each teasing contact.

Ever the insufferable tease, he slid his hand underneath your pants, fingers millimetres away from where you needed him the most.

“Yes, I’ll stay with you! God, you’re the worst,” you almost screamed in frustration as your hips bucked. Gasping, you felt those wicked fingers finally descend lower. “Now, talk less and do more.”

A deep hum of satisfaction rumbled from his chest as you felt his grin on your lips, complying with your request. 

“I am no God, but I’ll make sure you chant my name.”

He would damn well make sure that you two would be christening every corner of his living space—now yours—starting from the sleek granite kitchen countertops, to the plush rug in the living room, all the way to the balcony beneath the moonlit sky.