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Syzoth swore he wasn’t doing it on purpose.
At least, that’s the story he tried to sell you.
The problem? He was a terrible liar.
The little menace was absolutely doing it on purpose.
But honestly… could you blame him?
You were warm. Not just warm—warm. The kind of warm that made every Zaterran instinct in him purr like a contented overgrown lizard who just found his favorite sun rock.
It had all started the day he bumped his shoulder against yours—playful, harmless.
Or it was supposed to be.
The moment his skin brushed yours, he froze like someone had hit pause on his soul. His eyes widened, pupils going round and soft as he absorbed the heat radiating off you. You didn’t even notice, but Syzoth stood there staring like he’d just discovered fire for the first time.
He almost shifted on the spot.
Almost wrapped himself around you like you were the world’s coziest heat lamp.
Only sheer pride kept him from transforming into a giant reptile and draping himself over you like some oversized, scaly weighted blanket.
After that day, it was over for him.
He tried to be subtle. Gods bless him, he really tried.
A casual brush of your hand…
A hug he held for just a moment too long…
Plopping his head onto your lap “because he was tired,” when really he just wanted your warmth against his cheek…
Nuzzling into your neck whenever he got the chance…
And then the not-subtle-at-all moments:
Like when he shoved his face directly between your breasts, grumbling something about “optimal temperature zones.”
Or when he wrapped around your waist from behind and refused to let go even when you tried walking.
Or when his tail coiled around your ankle “accidentally” for the fifth time that day.
Okay. No. He was not subtle. Not even a little.
But he was trying.
In his own Zaterran, hopelessly affectionate, vaguely feral way.
Because every time he touched you—even the smallest brush—his whole body lit up with comfort. With warmth. With this instinctual, deep-in-his-species coding that said:
This is safe. This is mine. Stay close. Stay warm.
And Syzoth?
He never stood a chance.
It finally reached critical levels of ridiculousness when you were lying on your stomach, minding your own business, and Syzoth—your oversized, heat-seeking lizard disaster—planted his face right between your cheeks.
For the third time that day.
He didn’t even try to hide it this time. His face smushed against you, cheeks flattened, arms tucked under him as he let out the most dramatic, content sigh imaginable. Like he’d just found the single warmest spot in the entire universe and was prepared to die there.
You blinked. Then looked back at him.
Then raised a brow so hard it should’ve counted as exercise.
“Syzoth,” you said, amusement dripping from every syllable.
He peeked up at you, eyes wide, caught red-handed in the world’s least subtle act of cuddling. His cheeks immediately flushed a deep, embarrassed green, and he ducked his head again, mumbling something you barely caught.
“You’re warm…” he admitted weakly, voice muffled.
You couldn’t help it—you burst out laughing. Loudly. The kind that shook your shoulders. Because honestly? Seeing the once-fearsome Zaterran assassin curled up with his head on your butt like it was his personal pillow was just… peak comedy.
When your laughter softened, you looked back at him with nothing but fondness.
He looked so bashful. So soft. So absolutely done for.
Then, in a desperate attempt to salvage some dignity—while also refusing to give up his newly-claimed heat source—he wrapped his arms around your waist, holding on with the commitment of a man choosing his final resting place.
“No,” he murmured firmly, tightening his grip. “I stay here now.”
You snorted. “You’re unbelievable.”
“You’re warm,” he corrected, nuzzling deeper into you with a stubborn huff.
And that was that.
You weren’t going anywhere.
And Syzoth?
He was exactly where he wanted to be.