Crying.

MY LOVE’S MIND

~ sylus x AFAB/fem reader ~

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synopsis:

Sylus is heartbroken to become aware of his girlfriend’s horrific childhood trauma; he does everything in his power to reassure her into feeling safe when alone with him.

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Sylus was known to be a stern leader. He had to be; coldness was something he had grown accustomed to showing in front of others.

But not when he met you.

You were his light. His sunshine in a world of darkness. His love for you knew no bounds, and he made sure you knew that every day, showering you with love, affection, gifts… he absolutely adored you. So when he became aware that you suffered as a child, he was beyond angry. He was absolutely heartbroken.

And he was determined to show you that the world would no longer be cruel to you, that no one else would ever hurt you. Not when he’s there.

———

Late at night, you were laying quietly in yours and Sylus’ bed. Your mind was toiling, filled with ugly thoughts of the trauma you once endured; it was hard to forget. Your mind was a whirlwind of negativity; eyebrows furrowed together, fist clutching the soft bedsheets with an intensity you weren’t too familiar with. After a few minutes, the oak wooden door clicked open, pushing you out from the depths of your head. A tall, silver-haired figure stepped into the bedroom, before shutting the door behind him. Sylus.

“My love,” He whispered softly to you, unbuckling his belt, taking off his jeans, and climbing into the comfortable bed. “come here. Let me hold you.”

Sylus was always a gentle man; but the tenderness his affection held that night proved something was on his mind. You kept quiet as his strong, muscular arms wrapped around you and pulled you against his chest. He pressed a chaste kiss to your head, his plump lips brushing against your smooth hair.*

“You’re being uncharacteristically sweet.” You murmured, your eyes flickering up to meet his ruby red hues. His eyelids were not fully open; he was gazing at you as if you were fine porcelain.

“Am I not permitted to show my love for my sweet girl?” He questioned lightheartedly — his voice was slightly raspy and all the more soothing. However, his tone then took on a more serious intensity. “I know what you endured as a child, dear. I cannot fathom how someone could hurt a sweet angel like yourself. I’m sorry.”

His sudden words were surprising. Overwhelming, even - he had somehow become aware of a deep secret you held. You kept silent and nuzzled your face into his chest, in an attempt to hide away from the world and remain in the safe haven of your lover’s arms.

“Oh, my darling…”

Never had he used so many pet names in such a short amount of time. It was lovely, but the sudden affection following the acknowledgment of your trauma made your eyes brim with tears. You rubbed your eyelids and huffed… to which Sylus lifted your chin with his finger.*

“Listen to me, love. You did not deserve what you went through. You are my everything. My angel, my princess, my girl. I swear on my life that no one will ever hurt you again. Not when I’m here, my darling. You deserve the world, and I will do my best to give it to you.”

Your eyes widened slightly, especially as Sylus leaned in. His lips brushed against your own, sending a shiver down your spine. You felt so loved, so cared for. He was truly and deeply in love with you.

“I love you.” You replied as Sylus pulled back from the tender kiss, feeling his palm cup your soft cheek.

“I love you more, sweetheart. More than anything.”

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HII sorry this isn’t amazing, it’s my first post and i got lazy !! perhaps see u in the future.

lads LIs when you're hesitant to initiate kisses

sylus understands your hesitancy to make yourself vulnerable, but he also can't stand to see you unfulfilled. the first couple times he catches you staring at his lips, he offers nothing but lazy blinks and slow smirks, challenging you to come to him first. but when you look away in uncertainty one too many times, seemingly content to watch your own desires slip away as long as it saves you from embarrassment, he saunters toward you, maintaining eye contact all the way. placing one hand on your hip and the other on your chin, he bends to capture your lips with his, making you stumble with his intensity. his grip on you only tightens when he breaks the kiss, and before you can ask what he’s doing, he tugs you toward his lips. when you lose your balance and fall into his embrace, you realize his game: he’s making you kiss him first 

zayne empathizes with your shyness and hesitancy, afraid to so much as look at you the wrong way in case he offends you. since you’re both too frozen in overthought to make the first move, you don’t become intimate as quickly as most couples, trading physical closeness for emotional understanding. when he walks you to your door after a visit to the bakery, he leaves you with a warm goodnight hug, and you both assume the other is satisfied. only when you think he’s asleep on the sofa one evening and press a fond kiss to his cheek does he realize you share his private desires. the next day, after stoically psyching himself up for 20 minutes, he finds you in the kitchen and kisses you deeply, a pink tinge on his cheeks when he pulls away

caleb wants you to kiss him first—or at least ask him to kiss you—but what if you won’t? he needs to know that you want him—that you’ll willingly give him the privilege of kissing you—so he gives you a few pushes in the right direction. he teases you with heated glances and not-so-accidental touches until you walk up to him, dumb with desire. when you stare up at him helplessly, he settles a large hand on your waist and hovers over your mouth, giving you the chance to push him away. when you don’t, he leans in slowly, tantalizingly, as if wanting to drive home the fact that you’re letting this happen to you—letting him claim your mouth in a slow, consuming kiss. this way, maybe, just maybe, you’ll find the courage to take what you want from him next time—if you let him taste you, there’s no need to be shy anymore, right?

you know rafayel, so you know he would be upset if you expected him to initiate everything—would it kill you to show a little interest in him? that said, you also know that initiating things isn’t really your thing. so, you find a trick that works like a charm: you goad him into kissing you. you’re comfortable enough with kisses to other places—anywhere but the lips—so you adorn his cheeks and neck with soft, chaste kisses until he’s riled up and flushed, his breath coming out in soft pants from the pleasure of feeling wanted. when you pull away, he chases your touch, and all it takes is an innocent giggle from you before he’s pinning you down and stealing your breath away, his tongue tangling with yours in passion and power.

xavier is confused and a bit discouraged when he realizes you never initiate—he thinks you just don’t want to kiss him. one afternoon, you find him sulking in bed, huddled under his comforter with the lights off. worried he’s sick or hurt, you ask what’s wrong, and he gives you 4 pouty non-answers before finally giving in. you can feel your face heat and gut tangle in guilt when he questions if you ever want to kiss him, and with one hand stroking his hair, you confess that you’re simply too shy to kiss him first. he responds with a blink and a whispered “so you do like me, then?”, and when you nod, he tackles you at the speed of light, pressing kisses all over your face before finally claiming your lips

a/n: anon who asked me if i’d ever write for zayne and i hinted at later this week this is not what i was talking about don’t worry, just an impromptu writing exercise to convince myself i’m not washed. also while this technically counts for xavier and raf i’m the least familiar with their cards so idk if/when i can write anything much longer than this for them (love them tho)

Come on, breathe with me.

Sylus x MC/You

Scenario; Sylus helps you calm down a panic attack, fluff, comfort

Word count: 740 words

Warning: description of panic attack, use of pet names (sweetie, kitten)

You couldn't breathe.

Panic gripped at your chest so tight, it squeezed out the air inside your lungs.

In your mind, you kept telling yourself it was okay over and over again, like a mantra.

You kept trying to remind yourself of your own grounding techniques, the ones that would work every time you were alone.

But you weren't by yourself this time. You craved Sylus' touch, craved his voice like you had never craved it before. All you wanted was to see him, have him tell you it was okay.

You were shaking heavily as your legs carried you towards his office where you found the door slightly open, the gentle melody of a vinyl record drifting out of the room.

Usually, you'd rap your knuckles against the door before you entered but there was just this tightness in your chest, an inexplicable urgency.

When you burst into the room, Sylus' eyes lifted from the stack of documents he was holding to meet yours.

"What's wrong, sweetie?" he questioned, instantly standing up.

The stack of documents he was analysing was instantly discarded onto his desk and in a few quick strides he was standing right in front of you, catching your hand which reached out for him within his gentle fingers.

As you told him what had triggered you to the best of your abilities, tears started flowing down your cheeks heavily, blurring your vision and making it hard for you to focus on the crimson eyes which gazed back at you attentively.

He listened to you closely, low encouraging hums rumbling from his chest, a big hand cradling your chin, the pad of his thumb wiping away the heavy tears as they kept falling from your eye.

"Oh, kitten," he cooed and even through the tears you could see his eyes soften.

Their usual cold crimson was warm, a vermillion ocean, so deep and tender.

You squeezed his hand and he let you, without a flinch, his thumb tracing over your knuckles back and forth at a slow, mindful pace.

"It's okay. You're okay," he reassured you in a low tone.

You sobbed and choked all at the same time, the emotions flooding you far too great.

"I c-can't breathe," you told him miserably, gripping onto him like a lifeline.

"Yes, you can. Come on, kitten, breathe with me."

The steadiness in his deep voice was soothing and you felt it in your racing heart.

"Come on, breathe in," and he did it with you, taking in a deep breath at the same time you attempted to.

When you shook your head, assaulted by another wave of sobs, he kept catching your tears, squeezing your hand in his.

"Shhh, it's okay. You're safe," he told you, gentle and firm. "There's no rush, take your time."

You wanted to close your eyes and focus on the slow stroking of his thumb over your knuckles but you were terrified he'd slip through your fingers if you did.

"I'm not going anywhere," he assured you, as if he could read your thoughts.

Sometimes you were thankful for his ability to predict just what was going through your head, through your heart.

"Come on, breathe with me."

Sylus wasn't demanding but his tone was firm, always steady, like an anchor.

"Deep breath in, can you do that with me?"

And you did, shakily so, along with him.

"That’s it, good. Now out, slowly."

And you let out the air trapped inside your lungs, feeling his warm breath against your wet cheeks as he breathed out along with you.

"Come on, you can do it again. Deep breath in."

And he kept coaxing mindful breaths out of you, his hands never leaving you, eyes locked onto yours the whole time.

When you were finally able to breathe on your own, he reached back for the box tissues on his desk, plucking a few out. Always keeping a point of contact, with his hand still within yours.

"My sweet little kitten," he cooed, turning towards you again.

With a gentle touch, he helped you clean the remains of tears and snot off your face.

"How about we go get you some snacks and huddle up on the couch? We can watch that movie you mentioned?" he offered, thin lips curved by a small, gentle smile.

"What about your work?" you questioned, already being led out of his office.

"It can wait." He shrugged.

To have a man that can match my freak😔

𝐓𝐎 𝐌𝐘 𝐌𝐀𝐍 - ✩✩✩

(part 1) ✩✩✩ - 𝓼𝔂𝓵𝓾𝓼

---------------------------------------------do not steal @aly4khq's work even though they are trash!

date made: 28/9/24

i do not give permission for annoying to repost, plagiarise or copy onto other platforms!

Me too gang

Real

rather have a headache from not eating, than feeling bloated from binging

Are you really gonna eat that?

I mean, sure, go ahead. Just don’t whine about how fat you are later, it’s your fault that you have no self control.

Why are you crying about being fat when you’re the one who is deciding to eat like a pig? Stop making excuses, there’s no one to blame except you.

If you really wanted to get skinny then you would’ve actually put the effort in instead of shoving food that you clearly don’t need down your fat throat, and to make it even worse; you do that willingly.

If you really “didn’t mean to” eat that, you wouldn’t have.

If you develop an eating disorder when you are already thin to begin with, you go to the hospital.

If you develop an eating disorder when you are not thin to begin with, you are a success story.

So when I evaporated, of course everyone congratulated me on getting healthy.

Girls at school who never spoke to me before stopped me in the hallway to ask how I did it.

I say, “I am sick.”

They say, “No, you’re an inspiration.”

How could I not fall in love with my illness?

With becoming the kind of silhouette people are supposed to fall in love with?

Why would I ever want to stop being hungry when anorexia was the most interesting thing about me?

~When The Fat Girl Gets Skinny, Blythe Baird

her strap game is insane i js know

LADS men finding out you SH

Part 2 - Zayne

tags: self-harm, neglect, gore, panic attack, hurt/comfort (kinda), angst, fluff and angst

!!By clicking ahead you are consenting to viewing media with disturbing topics!!

Zayne had his suspicions. Since you were younger, he would catch a glimpse of scabbing and blood on your wrists. He knew that you didn't know that he knew.

He was fifteen when he fully registered the cause behind your cuts. From that moment onward he vowed to help you in any way he could. But he couldn't help himself from being distant. A part of him wanted you to heal on your own, like he believed you could. Another part wanted to kiss your scars and hold you tight to his chest.

The years you were apart were more stressful than getting his doctorate. You lived in the back of his mind, constant worries and concerns about your well-being would flood his head once he had a moment of rest.

Becoming your PCP was a blessing in disguise. At first, he was wary. You'd become a Hunter since he'd been away, risking your life to protect Linkon City. He thought having a violent outlet would give you less reason to hurt yourself. How foolish.

Your monthly check-ups were nothing special. Zayne would run tests on your heart and you'd get on with your day. It was the yearly physical that caused you problems.

You walk in the automatic doors of Akso Hospital, smiling to Yvonne as she checks you in. Your knee bounces rapidly as you wait for your name to be called, prompting the elderly man two seats away form you to watch you with concern.

You shoot from your seat as Yvonne calls your name, taking you to the examination room. The routine checks and measurements blur as your anxiety peaks. Then it's just you in the room. You stare at the gown in your lap.

You had gotten carried away the night before, cutting deeper than you wanted. Your skin had split, giving you a view of the veins beneath your epidermis. You had panicked, using a plaster as a makeshift suture and wrapping it tightly. You knew you needed stitches, but you refused to ask for help. You hid the bandages with bracelets and ignored it.

Zayne is perceptive, he notices. You hope he doesn't this time.

Reluctantly standing, you change into the hospital gown. You shiver at the cold hospital air against your back, the scars lining your thighs becoming more visible against the gooseflesh.

Just as you sit back on the exam table, a knock raps at the door.

"It's Dr. Zayne. May I come in?"

"Yeah."

The door opens and Zayne steps through, placing his clipboard on the counter and turning to you. His eyes meet yours and you feel exposed. Behind the cold exterior you find masked concern, a slight tilt in his brows.

"Today's visit is for your yearly physical, correct?"

You nod, playing with your fingers. Zayne pulls the rolling stool over, taking a seat. He senses your anxiety, so he narrates everything he does.

Scooting away a bit, he speaks, "I need to do a skin check. The Hunter's Association is requiring it as of the new year." Zayne meets your gaze, "Are you comfortable with me conducting it? Or would you rather one of my female colleagues?"

Your heart stops. A skin check!? Why would the Association mandate a skin check? Your hands start to tremble, your breath quick and shallow. Zayne immediately catches the signs of a panic attack, and is kneeling beside you before you can even blink. He keeps his hands on his knees, his voice calm as he calls your name.

"Can you hear me?" He asks, his voice is soft and level. You blink rapidly, your vision blurry with tears. Zayne hovers his hand by yours, looking into your unfocused eyes. "May I touch you?"

You shake your head, gasping a breath. He changes his question.

"What do you need?"

You whimper, hugging your shoulders, "I don't know," you whisper. Your voice is hoarse, your lip trembling as more tears wet your face. You repeat yourself, your chest stutters.

Zayne moves closer, but is careful not to touch you. "Can you look at me? I'm not going to hurt you."

Gasping for breath, you struggle to meet his gaze. He smiles softly at you, praising you for looking at him. "Breathe with me. In through your nose, out through your mouth. I've got you, you're alright."

Inhaling shakily, you copy his exaggerated breathing. He guides you through each breath. He rests his hand near yours, giving you the option of holding him if you need. Feeling your lungs expand with every inhale gives you something top focus on.

"That's it, you're doing great," he praises, "Good, keep breathing with me."

Zayne's soft smile doesn't leave his face. He keeps his eyes on yours, monitoring you as you gradually calm. You grasp his hand, squeezing it. He reciprocates, rubbing his thumb over your knuckles. He glances to the bracelets on your wrist, but keeps quiet.

"There we go, you're alright." Zayne's hand squeezes yours, his soft assurance grounding you. You lean forward, dropping your head onto his shoulder. He tilts his head, gently pressing his cheek to your hair. "I've got you, you're safe."

You stay like that for a while, letting your tears dry. You lean back, taking your hand from his to wipe your face. Zayne stays close, watching you with soft concern. You smile weakly at him, taking a deep breath. He carefully places his hand on your knee, rubbing soft circles with his thumb.

"Are you alright now?" He prompts, brows slightly furrowed.

You shrug, "Not quite, but better."

Zayne nods, rising to his feet. "I want to make sure you're alright before we continue with the examination."

"I'm okay, I just..." You take a deep breath, looking at your lap, "I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize," he chides, squeezing your knee softly, "I'm here to make sure you're healthy, not to judge you. For anything."

Blinking, you look up at him. His gaze is knowing, concerned. Your voice is soft when you whisper, "...You know?"

Closing his eyes, Zayne nods, "I've known for a long time now."

Fresh tears well behind your eyes. Your hands are shaky as you rub the tears away. "Why didn't you say anything?"

"I wanted you to overcome this on your own..." He starts, looking away, "I believed that becoming a Hunter would give you a different outlet."

"Zayne..." you murmur.

He turns away, retrieving supplies and gloves. "Please, let me see. I stood back for long enough, I'm not letting you do this anymore."

You nod, pulling your lip between your teeth. You take off your bracelets with trembling hands, struggling with the clasp of one. A scarred hand enters your vision, carefully unhooking the clasp and unwinding the bracelet from your wrist. Zayne's eyes drop when he sees the blood seeping through the bandages.

He looks up at you, his fingers pinching the tape securing the bandage. You nod, looking away. Unwinding the bloodied bandages is tedious, carefully working it off. Your blood worked like glue, the fabric adhered to the wound.

Zayne wets a towel with warm water and holds it to the last layer of bandage, moistening the dried blood. Circling the wound with the towel, he eases the bandage from the wound, without pulling off the scab. He carefully wipes the blood away, his eyes widening slightly as he sees the extent of the cut.

"You needed stitches." He states. Your skin has already started healing, leaving a wide gap between the edges of your epidermis. Zayne shakes his head, retrieving the rubbing alcohol and dabbing a soaked cotton ball over it.

You hiss, your shoulders tensing. You grip your arm by your elbow, curling your fist to deter the sting. Zayne sighs sadly, a frown carved on his face. He repeats the process a couple times, ensuring that it's clean before he continues.

The ointment is cold, but not unbearable. Zayne makes quick work of bandaging your wrist, securing the end with medical tape. He removes his gloves, setting them with the soiled bandages and takes your hand in his. He raises your joined hands, bringing them up to his face.

"I know you're addicted, but I can't bear it anymore," Zayne presses a featherlight kiss to the inside of your wrist, just above the cut. "Seeing you hurt yourself is worse than hell itself. I'm begging you, please don't do this to yourself." His lips forge a trail, kissing over the dozens of overlapped scars on your arm.

Hazel eyes shine with tears as they meet your gaze. Shame rears its ugly head in your stomach, making you feel nauseous. Your cheeks wet, your free hand covering your mouth to muffle your sobs. You collapse into his chest, your tears wetting his lab coat.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." You whisper, squeezing your eyes shut. Your shoulders tremble with each sob. Zayne wraps his arms around your shoulders, his own tears falling silently into your hair.