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sugurouge · 3 days ago

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── the phrase ‘domestic cat’ is an oxymoron. hybrid! sylus x female reader

. ˳༚༅༚ suggestive content, mdni: hybrid, dubcon, claiming, marking (biting, hickeys, scenting) possessiveness, jealousy

♱ word count: 1.6k

♱ synopsis: your cat doesn't like sharing

the title is from george will

The key clicks in the lock far too softly for what awaits beyond.

Sylus, your cat, with its pristine albino fur, is a feline fit for royalty, with ghost-pale lashes and eyes the colour of dried blood. The red gem dangling off Sylus's collar glints in the dim light of your hallway as he stares at you. He looks, as always, entirely too knowing.

Instantaneously, you are greeted by a brush of fur against your calves—soft, thick, expectant. He weaves through your legs gracefully, yet each pass is charged with something sharper, something that screams resentment. You can feel it in the tightness of his body, in the purposeful flick of his tail against your leg, and the low chuff of disapproval from deep in his throat.

It isn't affection. No, this is an interrogation.

"Sylus," you sigh his name before bending to remove your shoes. "Don't be dramatic."

He meows then, almost in protest. Accusatory. Even as a cat, his voice has a specific gravity, a low-pitched echo that makes your spine straighten more than you would like to admit.

"And don't start." You step over him as you try your best to ignore the weight of his gaze. "It was one evening."

Sylus follows, his tail twitching in irritation while he seems to glare at you like some disgruntled ex.

You have only been gone for a few hours; it was one evening spent with your friend… and her cats. Harmless, innocent—or so you thought.

But the moment you cross the threshold of your apartment, Sylus moves like a living question mark, silent and simmering. His nose brushes your hand, your wrist, your thigh, his scent glands marking you anew with obsessive diligence. Every pass reeks of jealousy, every brush against your skin a wordless demand: why them, not me?

"You absolute menace," you accuse with a pointed finger directed at your cat.

He chirps at that, a tiny, delighted noise that seems utterly smug.

"You're impossible, you know that?"

Sometimes, it truly feels as though Sylus understands you and communicates with you on levels that you shouldn't even try to explain to any sane mind.

The only sanctuary from your annoying cat is the bathroom, specifically the bathtub. Sylus hates water, the steam fogging up the room, and the lavender scents you sometimes use for deep relaxation a ward against your overbearing cat.

But not tonight, no, of course not tonight.

Just as you let your clothes fall to the floor, shedding them without much thought, you realise his presence. Perched on the edge of the tub like a gargoyle, Sylus stares at you. His large paws are perfectly balanced, while the red pendant still swings ever so slightly after his jump.

"Seriously?" you mutter before sliding into the water with a sigh. "What is your problem tonight? Stop staring at me, go, go play or whatever!" You practically snap at him by now with how perceived you feel.

He blinks slowly, judgementally, like you are the one being unreasonable. Like he can see straight through you.

"Are you going to stare at me the whole time? You hate water." The reminder makes you hesitate momentarily as you lift your hand dripping with bath water and contemplate throwing a few droplets in Sylus's direction.

No, no, you can't do that to him. But what you can do is turn the music up and let the soft tunes lull you into a faux state of relaxation. You fiercely attempt to ignore the heat of Sylus's gaze, the intelligence swimming in those uncanny eyes.

Eventually, he leaps down and pads out of the bathroom with another flick of his tail.

Finally, you exhale deeply and busy yourself with your routine. Sitting up, you begin scrubbing away at your arms and your shoulders. The heat is relaxing, the scented oils divine, but your shoulders won't unclench. Not fully.

Then, something drops into your bathtub, and not just the bar of soap that slips from your hand.

No, it is a presence. Something, someone slides into the water behind you. Familiar and foreign all at once. Before your startled gasp can tear free, strong arms wrap around your waist, pinning you back to a chest that is wet... human.

His voice vibrates against your neck like a low curse: "You let them touch you."

You freeze, your blood roaring in your ears. Sylus's mouth is at your nape in an instant, the breath he exhales dragging slow goosebumps across your skin. Every inch of you is suddenly aware of him; of the fact that Sylus (your cat) is no longer simply a little monster of soft paws and sharp eyes. He is a man now.

A man with cat ears twitching atop his head, fangs catching the edge of his lower lip and a white tail lazily curling around your thigh beneath the water.

And he is holding you.

His tongue flicks out against your nape. "You reek of them," he whispers, and you can practically feel his lips shape the word against your pulse point. He isn't angry, not exactly. He is... hurt. And far more than that, hungry. A hunger that has been restrained too long, hidden behind the mask of a domestic companion.

"Did they get to sit in your lap, too?"

You try to twist, face him, shove him away, or scream—you aren't sure which. But his arms only tighten, wrapping around you like the possessive choker around Sylus's neck.

The weight of him behind you is overwhelming. Wet hair brushes your shoulders, his nose is now buried against your skin, and he nuzzles along the slope of your neck.

"What's wrong, sweetie? Cat got your tongue?" he mumbles almost smugly, with desire hidden behind those words. "You're usually so talkative…" Sylus encourages you to speak as his nose nudges against your jaw, and fluffy strands of a shapely shag fall into the frame.

"I've let you pretend I was just your pet," he murmurs while those glaring crimson eyes come into view to pin down your wide-eyed stare. "Your sweet thing that curls up and purrs and waits. But I've waited enough."

His fingers drag slowly over your stomach, splayed wide across his territory. He isn't rough. But there is no gentleness in it, either. It is a certainty. A power shift that has been building for months, unnoticed or ignored, until now.

"You're mine," he breathes. "And I'm tired of pretending otherwise."

Your skin burns beneath his touch, and your heart thunders behind your ribs like it is trying to escape. But a part of you, the deepest, darkest part that has watched those strange eyes track you for so long, that part thrills at the finality in his voice.

He isn't going to let you go. And some secret place inside you doesn't want him to.

His hand, now splayed against your side, traces the warmth of uncharted territory without a hint of hesitance. Every brush of his fingertips leaves behind a slow-burning trail, claiming more than just skin.

"S-Sylus–" You mentally curse yourself for the stutter, for the way your heart seems to flutter because of your … pet. "You're naked, you—" You start to resist with a body taut from panic and a desire you don't want to admit.

"I'm always naked under all that fur," Sylus simply purrs into your shoulder. "You never seem to mind."

He presses his face deeper into your nape, breathing you in with obscene slowness. Every inch of him, long-limbed, bare-skinned, deliciously warm, moulds to your back while his scent wraps around you possessively.

"I should punish you," he whispers. "But I think this will do."

He mouths at your shoulder, slow and lazy as if savouring the act of marking you. Your skin blooms with heat where his teeth graze, and a pulsing sting remains.

You shiver from the way his lips ghost over the shell of your ear, his breath almost too warm, too close, as if he is still half-feral, restraining the full force of himself only because he delights in drawing it out.

"Do you even realise what you've done to me?" Sylus murmurs, voice low and rasped with emotion, nose pressing into your damp hairline. "All this time… watching you pet other creatures, speak sweet to them, let them on your lap…"

He trails off, the sentence disintegrating into a low growl of frustration and longing. One palm presses flat against your sternum, its fingertips brushing the swell of your breasts while the other, bolder, hand moves to your lower stomach, slowly reaching between your thighs.

Sylus pulls you back further into him, into his space, his scent, his heat, until you are caged without being held too tightly.

You can feel it, then. The way he inhales you, simply breathes you in like it is an addiction, and he hasn't had a hit in far too long. His tongue, warm and rough, darts briefly over your skin, tasting, claiming, marking. It sends a jolt through you, enough to make you squirm, and he chuckles low, pleased and utterly smug.

"Get out," you try to say, but it is a whisper. It is a lie.

Sylus chuckles at that—a purring, vibrating sound in his throat as he only pulls you into his chest tighter.

"Not a chance. I'll rub you raw with my scent if I have to," though he is only half-teasing. "Until there's not a trace of anyone else left. Just me. Only me."

"Sylus..." your breath catches however as you feel the sharp hint of fangs hovering over your neck, not yet piercing, just grazing, as if to remind you exactly of what he is. "Please, what is happening!?" Is basically nothing more but a whine that echoes off the bathroom tiles as you once again try to wriggle yourself free.

His cat ears twitch in response to every tiny gasp you make, every breath he draws out of you.

And when his mouth trails down your shoulder, dragging over bone and muscle with almost worshipful intent, he murmurs, "I could map you with my teeth if you'd let me. Say you'll let me," he urges with a nudge of his nose against your nape. "Hm?"

"Just, please… be gentle," you whisper before you can stop yourself.

The way he purrs at that, so loud, so deep, it feels like it is coming from inside your own ribcage. A vibration that doesn't stop at just sound but echoes through every nerve, every wet inch of skin touching his.

"You've just said my favourite thing," he groans, mouth returning to your neck like he means to write his name there. "Now, let me prove it."

You really should have known better. You don't just adopt a cat. A cat adopts you.

dividers by @/cafekitsune

#✧ softly spoken #about.sylus #cw hybrids #sylus x reader #sylus x you #lnds x reader #love and deepspace x reader #sylus x y/n #l&ds sylus #love and deepspace #sylus love and deepspace #love and deepspace sylus #lnds sylus #lads sylus #lds x reader #lads x reader #l&ds x reader #cw marking #cw jealousy

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blueberrisdove-sideblog · 5 months ago

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ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ་༘ SQUIRTING FOR THE FIRST TIME ?!

． paring: Caleb, Zayne, Xavier, Sylus, Rafayel x bratty fem!reader

．summary: how they react when you squirt for the first time!

．warnings: nsfw/smut, creampie, tit fucking, cum-play, rough s*x, cow girl, mirror s*x, spanking, hair pulling, Caleb is a switch (sub to dom), pussy slapping, fingering, nipple sucking and biting.

．note : not proof read also the art is by : rororo_mg on X. Also dunno if this is ooc for them! Also zayne’s part is very long. ^_^

＠ 𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐁 ；

Caleb always had that cocky little smirk when he looked at you, all charm and mischief, like he knew exactly what you were up to before you even opened your mouth. And right now, that smirk was stretched wide as he laid beneath you, his hands gripping your thighs while you rocked against his cock, taking him deeper with every bounce.

“God, babe,” he groaned, breath hot against your skin as he pushed himself up just enough to mouth at your tits, teasing one nipple between his lips. “You’re so fuckin’ tight.”

You rolled your hips a little harder just to hear him moan, just to feel the way his cock twitched inside you. “Yeah?” You panted, fingers threading through his sweat-damp hair, tugging just enough to make him look up at you. “I thought pilots were supposed to have more stamina than this.”

His eyes darkened at that, something shifting in the way he gripped you—less playful, more possessive. “Oh, you wanna play like that, pipsqueak?” His voice was rough, teasing, but there was an edge to it now, one that made your stomach clench with anticipation.

Before you could get another smart remark out, he bucked his hips up, thrusting into you hard enough to knock the air from your lungs. A gasp caught in your throat as your clit rubbed right up against his abs, the pressure sparking something electric inside you.

“Shit—” you whined, fingers digging into his shoulders.

Caleb smirked, hands sliding up your waist before one gripped your jaw, forcing you to meet his gaze. “Not so mouthy now, huh?”

You should’ve been annoyed—maybe even fought back a little—but the way he was fucking up into you, the way his cock stretched you just right, made it impossible to do anything but whimper. His abs were slick with sweat, flexing beneath you every time he moved, and that friction against your clit was too much.

“Baby—” your voice cracked, body tensing. “Fuck, I—”

Caleb groaned at the way your walls fluttered around him, at the way you trembled in his hold. “Gonna come for me?” He muttered, dragging his thumb over your clit, slow and deliberate. “Go on, pipsqueak, make a mess.”

The coil in your stomach snapped all at once, white-hot pleasure ripping through you as you came harder than you ever had before. Your entire body shook, legs squeezing tight around his waist as the pressure inside you exploded—soaking his cock, his abs, everything beneath you.

“Holy fuck.” His voice was thick with awe and something even deeper, fingers digging into your hips as he fucked you through it, prolonging every second of your high. “Did you just—”

You couldn’t even answer, gasping for air as aftershocks shuddered through you. Caleb swore under his breath, hands roaming up your back before he flipped you onto your back in one smooth motion. His cock was still buried deep inside you, still hard, still throbbing.

“Didn’t know you had that in you,” he murmured, pressing his forehead against yours as he rolled his hips, slow and teasing, making you whimper. “Guess I’ll have to make you do it again, huh?”

Caleb let out a breathless laugh, brushing his fingers over the slick mess coating his abs. His smirk was cocky as ever, but there was something else in his eyes—something darker, more ravenous.

“Damn, pipsqueak,” he murmured, voice husky as he rocked his hips forward again, making you gasp. “Didn’t know you had it in you.”

Your whole body was still trembling, oversensitive, but the way his cock dragged against your walls, still so deep, had heat pooling in your stomach all over again.

“Shut up,” you muttered, trying to sound confident, but your voice was wrecked, breathy.

He just grinned, leaning in so close his lips brushed against your ear. “Oh? Thought you liked mouthing off.” His hips rolled forward, slow and deliberate, and you whined at the way your clit dragged against his abs again. “What happened, babe? Already fucked dumb?”

You clenched around him, hands gripping his biceps, trying to push him away just to get a second to breathe. But Caleb wasn’t having it.

“Nuh-uh,” he murmured, grabbing your wrists and pinning them above your head. His strength was effortless, like he wasn’t even trying. “I haven’t even started with you yet.”

Your stomach flipped at the way he said it, that teasing lilt still in his voice, but there was something serious underneath—something that made your pulse stutter.

“Y’know,” he mused, dragging his lips down the column of your throat, pressing just hard enough to make you squirm, “I think I like you better like this. All messy and fucked out.”

You glared at him, trying to get some control back. “I can still—”

He didn’t let you finish. One sharp thrust sent you keening, your back arching as his cock hit that spot deep inside you, sending sparks dancing up your spine.

“What was that, babe?” Caleb’s voice was thick with amusement, but his breathing was rough now, too, his control starting to slip. “Didn’t catch that.”

You couldn’t even answer, too lost in the way he was moving—deep and precise, grinding against your clit just enough to keep you on edge.

“Yeah,” he muttered, nipping at your jaw, “that’s what I thought.”

And then he really started fucking you.

The slow, teasing pace was gone. He set a ruthless rhythm, hips snapping against yours, the sound of skin meeting skin mixing with your ragged moans. His grip on your wrists tightened, keeping you pinned beneath him as he chased his own pleasure, his abs flexing against your clit with every thrust.

“You feel so fucking good,” he groaned, pressing his forehead against yours. “Can’t believe you were holding out on me, pipsqueak.”

Your legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him in deeper, and Caleb cursed, his cock twitching inside you.

“Shit—‘m close,” he gritted out, voice strained. “Gonna let me fill you up, baby? Hm?”

The way he said it sent you spiraling, your orgasm slamming into you so hard your vision blurred. Your whole body clenched around him, nails digging into his shoulders as you cried out, barely aware of anything but the white-hot pleasure consuming you.

Caleb swore, hips stuttering, before he buried himself deep with a rough groan, spilling inside you, heat flooding your core. His grip on your wrists loosened, and he slumped forward, breathless, his forehead pressing against yours.

For a second, neither of you moved, just panting, your bodies still tangled together. Then, Caleb let out a breathless chuckle.

“Well, damn,” he muttered, pressing a lazy kiss to your lips. “First time for everything, huh?”

＠ 𝐙𝐀𝐘𝐍𝐄 ；

The soft hum of the med bay was comforting, a backdrop to the electrifying tension building between you and Zayne. He leaned against the counter, a playful grin spreading across his face as he watched you with those piercing eyes, the warmth of his gaze making your heart race.

“You know, I’m technically on duty,” he said, amusement lacing his voice as he crossed his arms.

You smirked, leaning back against the examination table. “Aren’t you supposed to be taking care of your patients, Doctor?”

Zayne stepped closer, the playful edge in his demeanor sharpening. “Oh, trust me, I have my hands full with you.”

With a swift movement, he caught your waist, lifting you effortlessly onto the table. The contact sent a thrill of excitement coursing through you. “Now, what seems to be the problem?” he asked, his voice low and teasing.

“Just a little ache,” you replied, biting your lip as you glanced down at his firm body. “Right here.” You pressed your thighs together, the heat pooling in your core making it hard to concentrate.

“Let me see if I can help with that.” Zayne's hands slid up your sides, thumbs brushing over your tits before he leaned in, pressing a heated kiss to your lips. The way his mouth moved against yours ignited something deep within you, and you responded eagerly, your hands tangling in his hair.

Zayne pulled back just enough to look at you, his expression a mix of mischief and desire. “You’re gonna need to be more specific.”

With a determined glint in your eye, you gripped his shirt, pulling him closer. “I want you to make me feel good, Doctor.”

He chuckled, the sound low and dangerous. “Well, I do love a challenge.”

In an instant, he had you pinned against the table, his hands exploring your body with expert precision. His mouth found its way to your tits, hot and wet as he sucked and teased, his hands trailing down your sides. Every flick of his tongue sent shivers down your spine, making your breath hitch.

“Zayne,” you gasped, arching into him as pleasure coursed through you.

He pulled back, eyes dark with lust. “I’m going to enjoy this.”

Zayne knelt before you, hands gripping your thighs as he spread your legs apart, his breath hot against your core. “Let’s see just how responsive you are.”

His fingers slid between your folds, teasing your clit with gentle strokes that sent waves of pleasure crashing over you. You gasped, arching your back as he worked you closer to the edge.

“Look at you,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire. “So responsive, so eager.”

You whimpered, fingers tightening in his hair as he curled his fingers inside you, hitting that perfect spot with every thrust. “Zayne, please,” you begged, unable to control the desperate need building inside you.

“Please what?” He smirked, clearly enjoying the power he had over you. “Tell me exactly what you want.”

“More,” you gasped, your hips rolling against his hand. “I want to come—please!”

With a wicked grin, he obliged, quickening the pace of his fingers, his thumb rubbing firm circles on your clit. The pressure built rapidly, the heat spreading through you until it consumed every thought.

“Come for me,” he commanded, voice low and sultry. “I want to see you fall apart.”

That was all it took. Your orgasm hit you like a freight train, waves of pleasure crashing over you as you squirted all over him, soaking his fingers and the floor beneath you. You cried out, your body trembling as Zayne worked you through it, his gaze filled with a mix of awe and hunger.

“Damn,” he breathed, wiping his fingers on his shirt, clearly enjoying the mess you’d made. “You really know how to make a doctor’s day.”

You shot him a playful glare, breathless but eager for more. “Don’t think you’re done with me yet.”

Zayne chuckled, leaning in closer, his lips brushing against your ear. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

In one swift motion, he pulled you upright, his hands gripping your hair as he pressed you back against the table, his gaze intense and commanding. “Now, let’s see just how far we can push your limits.”

Zayne's grip on your hair tightened as he leaned closer, his breath hot against your skin. “You made quite the mess, babe. I hope you’re ready for round two.”

You felt a rush of excitement at his words, your body still buzzing from the intense release. “I can take it,” you replied, trying to sound confident even as your heart raced in anticipation.

“Good,” he said, a predatory gleam in his eyes. “Because I’m just getting started.”

Zayne positioned himself between your legs, his hands roaming down your thighs as he leaned in to plant teasing kisses along your stomach. You squirmed beneath him, your skin alive with sensitivity, every touch sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core.

“Let’s make sure those lovely tits get the attention they deserve,” he murmured, his mouth finally closing around one of your nipples, sucking and teasing it with his tongue.

You gasped, arching your back as waves of pleasure radiated from your chest. “Zayne, that feels so good,” you breathed, fingers digging into the table as you pushed against him, craving more.

He glanced up at you, eyes dark with desire. “I love hearing you say that,” he said, switching to your other nipple, giving it the same attention while his fingers trailed down your stomach to your slick folds.

With deft fingers, he teased your clit again, circling and pressing just right as he continued to suckle your breast. The combination of sensations had your head spinning, your body responding eagerly to his every touch.

“Z—Zayne, pleaseeee,” you whimpered, feeling the familiar tension building once more.

“Please what?” he taunted, his breath hot against your skin. “You’ll have to be more specific.”

“Just… don’t stop,” you managed to gasp, urgency creeping into your voice.

“Good answer,” he said, a satisfied smirk on his face as he increased the pressure, fingers moving faster as he thrust two of them deep inside you. The sudden stretch made you moan loudly, your hips grinding against his hand instinctively.

“Look at you, baby,” he teased, his voice low and sultry. “So fucking desperate for my cock.”

“Zayne, I need you,” you breathed, the ache between your legs becoming unbearable. “Please.”

“Alright, but first…” He pulled back slightly, positioning himself between your thighs again. “I want you to try something new.”

Before you could process what he meant, he guided your hands to your breasts, encouraging you to squeeze and play with them while he pumped his cock in front of you. The sight of him, so hard and ready, made your mouth water.

“Tit fuck me,” he commanded, his voice low and demanding. “Show me how much you want it.”

You nodded eagerly, wrapping your hands around your tits and pressing them together, creating a perfect valley for his cock. The warmth of your body against him made Zayne groan, and you felt a thrill at the power you held over him, even as he watched you with a hungry gaze.

“Just like that, babe. Perfect,” he encouraged, guiding his cock between your tits, the sensation driving you wild.

You could hardly believe how good it felt, his cock sliding between your flesh as you pushed your chest together tighter, looking up at him through your lashes. “You like this, huh?”

“Fuck yes,” he grunted, his hands gripping your wrists as he pushed himself deeper between your tits. “You’re so good at this, baby.”

The heat in your core grew as you continued, each thrust of his cock making you wetter, slickness pooling between your legs. Zayne was losing himself in the pleasure, eyes rolling back as he thrust deeper, each movement sending waves of satisfaction through both of you.

“Damn, I’m gonna come,” he warned, his voice strained, as he watched you with pure lust.

“Do it,” you urged, the thrill of it all pushing you closer to your own edge. “I want to feel you.”

With a deep groan, Zayne thrust forward one last time, his cock hitting the perfect spot as he spilled himself between your breasts, warm ropes of cum painting your skin.

“Oh my God,” you gasped, watching the sight of him losing control over you, his chest heaving as he caught his breath.

“Now, that’s a mess,” he chuckled, looking down at the sticky fluid covering your chest. “You’re lucky I like it messy.”

You smiled, feeling a rush of confidence at the way he watched you. “I think I might have to return the favor, Doctor.”

Zayne raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “Oh really? And how do you plan on doing that?”

With a mischievous grin, you slid off the table, dropping to your knees in front of him, looking up at him with a playful glint in your eye. “Let me show you.”

He let out a low laugh, clearly impressed by your boldness. “I’m all yours, baby.”

Zayne leaned down, his fingers sliding into your hair, yanking your head back just enough to make you gasp. His smirk was wicked, voice dripping with satisfaction. “You’re still feeling bold, huh? Let’s see how long that lasts.”

Before you could fire back, he flipped you over, pressing your chest flat against the examination table. His large hands gripped your ass, spreading you open as he dragged the tip of his cock through your slick folds, teasing your clit until you squirmed beneath him.

“Look at you, so fucking wet,” he murmured, his free hand coming down hard on your ass. The sharp sting made you jolt, a needy whimper escaping you. “You act like a brat, but your body tells me exactly what you want.”

“Shut up and fuck me,” you bit out, pushing back against him.

Zayne chuckled darkly. “Still mouthing off?” He didn’t wait for an answer—he thrust into you in one smooth motion, stretching you open as his cock filled you completely.

Your fingers clawed at the table as a strangled moan left your lips. “Fuck—Zayne!”

“That’s right, baby. Let me hear you,” he groaned, setting a brutal pace. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the med bay, mixed with the filthy wet sounds of him fucking you deep.

His grip tightened on your hips, pulling you back onto his cock harder. The angle had him slamming against your g-spot with every thrust, sending pleasure surging through your body.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he growled, one hand slipping between your legs, fingers finding your clit. He rubbed firm, tight circles, making your legs shake. “I can feel you squeezing me—getting close, aren’t you?”

You were falling apart too fast, the heat coiling in your stomach, the relentless pace of his cock driving you straight to the edge. “Z-Zayne, I—”

“I know, baby,” he murmured, his voice dropping into something dark and commanding. “Come for me. I want to feel you gush all over my cock.”

His fingers pressed harder against your clit, and just like that, the pleasure hit you like a tidal wave. Your body locked up, back arching as you came hard, a sharp cry ripping from your throat as you squirted all over him.

“Fuck yes,” Zayne groaned, watching you soak him. “That’s my good girl.”

Your body trembled, but he didn’t stop. He pulled out just long enough to spread your slickness all over his cock, smearing your wetness against your folds before thrusting back into you with a deep, guttural moan.

The overstimulation had you whimpering, but the pleasure was addicting, your walls fluttering around him as he chased his own release.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” he rasped, his thrusts turning erratic. “Gonna fill you up—”

With one last deep thrust, he buried himself to the hilt, groaning as he spilled inside you, hot cum flooding your pussy. He rocked his hips a few more times, letting you feel every drop before slowly pulling out.

A filthy wet sound followed, his cum oozing from your used hole. Zayne hummed in approval, dragging his fingers through the mess before pushing some of it back inside you, his smirk downright sinful.

“Can’t let it go to waste,” he murmured, watching as you twitched beneath him, body still sensitive. “You look so damn pretty like this, baby.”

You shuddered, still trying to catch your breath, but managed to shoot him a glare. “You’re a menace.”

Zayne only chuckled, sliding his arms around your waist to pull you into his lap, pressing a slow, teasing kiss to your lips. “And yet, you keep coming back.”

You sighed, leaning into him, exhaustion and satisfaction settling over you. “…Shut up.”

His grin widened. “Whatever you say, babe.”

＠ 𝐗𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐄𝐑 ；

Xavier had you sprawled out beneath him, his toned body hovering over yours as his fingers ghosted over your skin, teasing, taunting, driving you insane. His sharp blue eyes gleamed with amusement as he trailed his hand between your thighs, brushing over your already swollen clit.

“Mm, look at you,” he mused, voice smooth, dripping with arrogance. “So desperate for me, and yet you were acting like a little brat just a few minutes ago.”

You huffed, shifting beneath him, trying to grind against his hand. “Maybe if you weren’t so slow, I wouldn’t have to be.”

Xavier chuckled, but the amusement in his eyes darkened, something more dangerous lurking beneath. “Oh? Is that right?”

Before you could process it, his palm cracked against your thigh, then your ass, the sharp sting sending a jolt of pleasure through you.

“Ah—Xavier!” you yelped, the sound melting into a moan as he smoothed his hand over the heated skin.

“Now, that’s better,” he murmured, fingers dipping back between your folds, slipping through the wetness there. “God, you’re soaked, babe. You really do like being put in your place, don’t you?”

You bit your lip, refusing to answer, but a sharp slap to your ass had you gasping.

“I asked you a question,” he said, his voice all silk and steel.

“…Maybe,” you muttered, face burning.

He tsked, but you could hear the smirk in his voice. “You’re such a pain in the ass.” Another sharp slap made you whimper. “But you’re my pain in the ass.”

You shivered at that, but before you could say anything else, Xavier finally gave in, pushing two fingers into your pussy, stretching you open. The pleasure was immediate, your back arching as he curled them just right, finding that spot that made you tremble.

“Xavier—”

“I know, baby,” he purred, working his fingers faster, pressing his thumb to your clit. “You’re taking me so well.”

Your breath hitched as the pleasure built fast, the coil in your stomach tightening with every stroke. “I-I need more—”

He smirked. “More?” He withdrew his fingers, ignoring your whine of protest as he leaned back, positioning himself between your legs. “Guess I’ll just have to fuck you properly then.”

You barely had a second to react before he was pushing inside, stretching you open with his cock. The stretch was intense, your walls fluttering around him as he bottomed out, a low groan slipping from his lips.

“Fuck, you feel perfect,” he murmured, rolling his hips, making you whimper. “So damn tight, baby.”

His hands gripped your hips, setting a ruthless pace, each thrust hitting deep, rubbing against that spot that had you seeing stars. The pleasure was dizzying, your tits bouncing with every movement, heat building in your stomach at an alarming pace.

Xavier watched you, a smug smirk curling his lips. “You’re close, aren’t you?”

You could barely think, barely breathe, the pressure in your core reaching its peak. “X-Xavier, I—”

“I want to see you lose control,” he rasped, his thumb rubbing messy circles against your clit, pushing you over the edge. “Come for me, babe.”

And just like that, the tension snapped, pleasure crashing over you like a tidal wave. Your whole body shuddered as you came, the force of it so intense that you felt yourself squirt all over his abs.

A strangled moan left your lips, your mind hazy as you collapsed beneath him, body twitching from the aftershocks.

Xavier stilled for a moment, glancing down at the mess you’d made, before a slow, wicked grin spread across his face. “Oh, baby,” he murmured, running a hand over his slick-covered abs before bringing it to his lips, licking it off with a satisfied hum. “That was fucking hot.”

Your face burned, embarrassment creeping in, but before you could protest, he thrust into you again, making you gasp.

“Oh no,” he chuckled darkly. “We’re not done yet. I need to see you do that again.”

And with the way he was looking at you—hungry, insatiable—you knew you were in for a long night.

＠ 𝐒𝐘𝐋𝐔𝐒 ；

Sylus sat with his back against the headboard, his toned arms resting lazily on the pillows, watching you with those piercing red eyes. His expression was unreadable—calm, controlled—but the way his fingers kneaded into your thighs told you everything. He was holding back. Letting you set the pace. But for how long?

You were straddling his lap, his cock buried deep inside you, stretching you open in a way that had your whole body trembling. Your hands were planted on his chest, nails pressing into his skin as you struggled to move, overwhelmed by the sheer fullness of him.

“Look at you,” Sylus murmured, voice smooth, laced with amusement. “Acting all shy now.” His fingers tightened on your hips. “Didn’t seem so shy when you were teasing me earlier, baby.”

Your face burned, but you still mustered up a glare. “I wasn’t teasing,” you muttered, shifting slightly, gasping when the movement made his cock press even deeper.

His lips quirked, but his patience was wearing thin. “No? Then what do you call sitting in my lap, grinding against me, acting like you weren’t desperate to be fucked?”

Your breath hitched, and you looked away, refusing to answer.

Sylus hummed, his hands sliding up to your waist, his grip steady but firm. “That’s what I thought.” He guided you up, just enough for the tip of his cock to nearly slip out before dragging you back down onto him. A sharp gasp tore from your lips, your nails raking over his chest as pleasure shot up your spine.

The stretch was too much, the sensation unbearable in the best way. You wanted to move, to fuck yourself on his cock properly, but your body was weak, trembling from how deep he reached inside you.

A whimper escaped your lips, and Sylus groaned at the sound, his composure slipping. “Fuck, baby,” he murmured, his fingers digging into your soft flesh. “You feel so fucking good.”

Your thighs burned, struggling to keep up with the pace you wanted, and he noticed. The second you faltered, Sylus’s control snapped.

“Can’t do it yourself, huh?” he mused, though his voice was rougher now, his patience long gone. “That’s fine. I’ve got you.”

Before you could react, he gripped your ass, holding you still as he rolled his hips up into you, slow but deep, dragging a broken moan from your lips. Then he did it again. And again.

The pace was brutal, his cock hitting spots that had you gripping onto him for dear life, pleasure mounting too fast to control. Your clit throbbed, the friction driving you higher, pushing you toward a peak that felt different—more intense, more overwhelming than anything you’d ever felt.

“S-Sylus—”

“I know, baby,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your throat. “You’re gonna come for me, aren’t you?”

You could only nod, your breath coming in short, desperate gasps.

“Then let go,” he rasped, one hand sliding between you to rub your clit, his thrusts never slowing. “Come for me.”

The coil in your stomach snapped, pleasure crashing over you with a force that left you gasping, your whole body shuddering as the orgasm ripped through you. A sharp cry tore from your lips as you felt it—felt yourself squirt, the rush of liquid soaking Sylus’s cock, dripping down onto his thighs.

A deep groan rumbled from his chest, his red eyes dark with something primal as he watched you tremble in his lap, completely wrecked.

“Fuck, baby,” he muttered, voice thick with hunger. “Didn’t know you could do that.”

You barely had the energy to respond, your body still pulsing from the aftershocks, but Sylus wasn’t finished. His hands flexed on your waist before he thrust up into you again, burying himself deep as his own release hit, warmth flooding your insides as he came.

Your body slumped against his, breathless, skin slick with sweat. Sylus ran a hand through your hair, pressing a lingering kiss to your temple, his other hand lazily trailing over your thigh, brushing against the mess between your legs.

“Looks like I fucked you stupid,” he murmured, smug.

Your weak glare didn’t faze Sylus in the slightest. If anything, it made him smirk, that lazy, knowing expression that only made your stomach tighten all over again. His fingers traced over your thigh, slipping dangerously close to the mess between your legs, deliberately teasing.

“You made a mess, baby,” he murmured, voice thick with amusement. “Didn’t expect you to squirt like that.” His thumb brushed your swollen clit, making your body jolt against him.

Your breath hitched, still sensitive from your orgasm, but Sylus didn’t care. He spread his fingers, rubbing your pink and creamy slick over your inner thighs, then over his cock, still buried inside you, his release mixing with the wetness between your legs.

“Feel that?” His voice dropped lower, more deliberate. “You’re still drippin’ all over me.”

A whimper escaped your lips as he pressed down on your clit, rubbing slow, tight circles. Your body twitched from the overstimulation, your thighs trembling on either side of him.

“S-Sylus—”

“Hmm?” His free hand slid up your body, fingers curling around your tits, kneading the soft flesh. “Something wrong?”

You shuddered, hips jerking involuntarily against his touch. “Too much—”

He only chuckled, rolling a nipple between his fingers while keeping steady pressure on your clit. “Too much, huh?” He tilted his head, eyes burning into yours. “That’s funny, baby, ’cause your pussy is still clenching around me like you want more.”

Your breath came in short, uneven gasps, torn between sensitivity and the sharp need still buzzing under your skin. He was pushing you past your limit, and he knew it.

Sylus shifted, pressing you down against his chest, trapping you against his heat. His lips brushed over your jaw, his breath warm against your skin. “Be good for me,” he murmured, a sharp contrast to the way his fingers slid between your folds, spreading your slick. “Let me have one more.”

You whimpered, body tensing, but when he thrust up into you—slow, deep, filling you all over again—the last of your resistance crumbled.

＠ 𝐑𝐀𝐅𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐋 ；

Rafayel’s eyes locked onto yours, that intense pink and blue gaze igniting a fire inside you. He stepped closer, his smirk teasing as he caught the challenge in your expression. “Feeling mean today, huh?”

“Maybe I am,” you shot back, a playful glint in your eye. “What are you going to do about it?”

Without warning, he lifted you effortlessly, settling you on the edge of the bed. You felt your heart race as he knelt before you, his hands gripping your thighs, spreading your legs apart.

“You know I love it when you act like this,” he said, a low growl in his voice as his fingers slid between your wet folds, teasing your pussy. “But let’s see how long you can keep up that attitude.”

His fingers worked expertly, stroking your clit and plunging deep into your slick heat. “You’re already soaked, baby. Can’t resist me, can you?”

You gasped, trying to maintain your defiance but quickly losing your resolve. “Shut up, Raf.”

“Make me,” he challenged, his smirk growing wider as he thrust his fingers deeper, curling them to hit that spot inside you. Your breath hitched, and your back arched as pleasure coursed through you.

“Raf, please,” you whimpered, squirming against his touch, desperate for more.

He didn’t waste any time; with one swift motion, he positioned himself at your entrance, his cock throbbing and ready. “Tell me how bad you want it.”

“I want it,” you begged, feeling the need building inside you. “Please!”

“Good girl,” he said, and in one powerful thrust, he filled you completely. You gasped at the stretch, his cock hitting all the right spots. “Look at you, so fuckin’ needy.”

He set a brutal rhythm, thrusting deep and hard, his body slamming into yours as he kept his eyes locked on yours, watching every reaction. The pressure built inside you, the familiar tension coiling tighter with each thrust.

“Raf, I’m so close!” you cried, feeling your body ready to explode.

“Just a little more, baby. Let it happen,” he urged, his pace relentless, driving you closer to the edge.

With one final thrust, everything snapped. You felt the overwhelming wave of pleasure crash over you as you squirted for the first time, soaking his cock and the sheets beneath you. Your body trembled, and cries escaped your lips as pleasure washed over you in waves.

Rafayel grunted, his thrusts becoming more frantic as he watched you come undone. “That’s it! Just like that!” he growled, losing himself in the sensation.

“Raf!” you screamed, unable to contain the intense pleasure coursing through you.

“Fuck, I’m right there!” he grunted, thrusting deep as he chased his own release, filling you with his warmth as you both rode the wave together.

Breathless, he collapsed against you, the heat of your bodies mingling as you came down from the high. “You really know how to make things wild,” he panted, a satisfied grin plastered across his face.

Rafayel's grin returned as he caught his breath, that playful glint never leaving his eyes. “Damn, babe, you really squirted everywhere,” he said, looking down at the mess you both made. “Guess I really know how to get you going.”

You laughed breathlessly, the tension from earlier still buzzing in your body. “Yeah, well, maybe you should get used to it.”

“Oh, I plan to,” he shot back, a mischievous gleam in his eyes as he playfully nudged you with his knee. “Ready for round two?”

With a quick movement, he turned you around, positioning you on all fours. “Time to show you how fun mirror sex can be,” he teased, guiding himself back inside you from behind.

“Just look at those tits bouncing,” he remarked, his voice light and teasing. “I could watch this all day.”

You felt the familiar mix of pleasure and irritation bubbling up, but the way he kept his tone silly made it hard to stay mad. “You’re ridiculous,” you replied, pushing back against him, wanting more of that delicious friction.

“Ridiculously good at this, right?” he quipped, thrusting harder, the sound of skin slapping filling the air. “Feel that, babe? You like it when I hit you like this?”

“God, yes!” you cried, loving the way his cock filled you up, the way he perfectly mirrored your movements, matching your pace with every thrust.

“Then let’s make a mess again,” he grinned, his tone dripping with playful confidence. With each thrust, he picked up speed, pushing you closer to that familiar edge.

“Raf, I’m close!” you gasped, your clit rubbing against the bed as he drove deeper.

“Let it go, babe,” he urged, his hands gripping your hips tightly, guiding your movements as you both built toward that climax again. “I want to see you squirt again.”

With his words igniting something primal within you, you surrendered to the pleasure, feeling the tension build until it burst. You squirted again, moaning as pleasure washed over you, the sensation more intense this time as he continued to thrust, sending you spiraling into ecstasy.

“Fuck yes! That’s my girl!” he shouted, his own release following closely as he filled you up, both of you lost in the bliss of the moment.

As you both caught your breath, Rafayel leaned down, his playful demeanor returning, pulling you back against his chest. “You ready for round three? I think we can make an even bigger mess this time.”

You smiled, the warmth of his body against yours making you feel alive. “Bring it on, babe. I’m ready for whatever you’ve got.”

© 2024-2025 blueberrisdove-sideblog all rights reserved. pretty please, do not steal my dividers, translate and plagiarize any of my works, or either repost my works in any other platform without asking, thank you!

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luvrsssara · 3 days ago

Text

Burn Me, Beloved

When dragon Sylus basks in the sun, he forgets you’re only human. Hour after hour, your skin burns beneath his warmth—until you flee in silence, seeking relief in a distant lake. But when Sylus realizes you’re gone, panic consumes him. Smoke. Ash. No scent to follow. All he can think is: have I lost you? A poetic, heart-wrenching tale of pain, fragility, and love that scorches just as deeply as it soothes.

Sylus had warned you once—dragons need the sun.

Not just enjoy it, not bask in it like a cat at a windowsill, but need it. In his words, the sun was the last great tether to his strength, the warmth of old blood still lingering in his veins, a comfort that no cave, no fire, no whispered promise could replace.

So, on that morning, when the clouds parted and the valley filled with light like a goblet filled to the brim with gold, he asked—no, pleaded—with his eyes. “Come with me.”

You had nodded, a soft smile ghosting your lips. How could you say no to him when his voice dipped into velvet just for you? When his scales gleamed with sunrise, and he looked at you like he hadn’t seen warmth until now?

You followed him out of the cool, shaded cave, barefoot and trusting, trailing behind his massive, slow-moving form as he laid himself down like a cathedral of muscle and glinting bone. The open clearing was wide and bright, and the stone beneath your feet was already warm.

You sat near him—at first. Legs tucked beneath you, eyes half-lidded with morning peace. His tail curved near you protectively, a curved crescent of possession. The sun painted everything in gold.

For the first hour, it was bliss.

You felt like a myth, lying beside him—your ancient dragon, the sun-kissed beast, humming softly in his throat like a lullaby carved from centuries of silence. He curled lazily, wings stretched just enough to catch the rays, chest rising and falling in long, even breaths. He looked content, happier than you’d seen him in days.

You were happy just to be near him.

But by the second hour, the sun began to turn cruel.

The soft heat became a sticky cling. Your skin, exposed at the shoulders and thighs, flushed too red. You shifted, trying to find relief, and the stone beneath you scalded like iron. Your mouth dried, tongue heavy behind clenched teeth. Still—you didn’t want to disturb him. He looked so at peace.

You told yourself: just a little longer.

You tried to distract yourself—admiring the way the light played in the grooves of his horns, how his claws flexed ever so slightly in dreams, how even in stillness, he emanated a kind of heavy warmth you could feel in your bones.

But the third hour was agony.

Your skin had blistered under your sleeves. The air shimmered and warped, and your breaths came shallow and tight. Your stomach twisted, and your heart pounded erratically—not from fear, but from the desperate strain of holding it together.

And he didn’t notice.

He was glowing in the sun, luminous and powerful, lost in some ancient ecstasy. He didn’t smell the sharp sting of your sweat or hear the soft, involuntary whimpers in your throat.

You realized—he didn’t know.

Dragons don’t burn like humans do.

You didn’t want to disturb him. You didn’t want to ruin this. You didn’t want to seem weak. So you whispered a lie to yourself: just a short walk, just to cool off, just to breathe again.

You rose shakily, slipping through the underbrush at the edge of the clearing. Sylus didn’t stir. You could barely see past the shimmering white of heatstroke around your vision, but you remembered a place—farther down the ridge, nestled in the forest’s shade. A lake. Cool, silver, hidden.

You walked.

Every step felt like dragging your skin over thorns. Your legs trembled. You tripped, twice. Blood mingled with sweat along your scraped knees, but you didn’t stop.

He won’t even notice, you thought bitterly. He’s with his sun.

And so you found the lake.

Or it found you.

The trees parted mercifully and the light dimmed into soft, dappled shadow. You stumbled into the water fully clothed, body screaming for mercy. The lake took you into its arms. You sank.

The cold was cruel at first, but then—nothing. You sighed. Your body gave up the fight. You closed your eyes.

⸻

Back in the clearing…

Sylus stirred.

Not from the heat, nor from hunger, nor from the hum of the earth—but from absence. The silence that followed when your laughter didn’t fill the edges of the breeze. The way your scent—always sweet, human, warm—was simply… gone.

He lifted his head.

You weren’t there.

Panic bloomed like fire across his ribs.

He rose sharply, wings twitching, claws digging into the scorched stone. “Where—?” he began, voice cracked with sudden urgency. He searched the clearing, growled low in his chest, inhaled deeply—and stopped.

Smoke.

He smelled smoke.

The sun had masked everything. He couldn’t trace your scent—he could barely find his own. His pupils narrowed, heart slamming. The wind was too dry. Too hot. He turned in circles, tail lashing, eyes scanning—no footprints, no signs, no you.

“MC?” His voice cracked the air like a whip. No reply.

The trees mocked him in silence.

He took to the skies in a heartbeat, a shriek rattling from his throat—a sound ancient and afraid. He dove through forest and rock, roared at rivers, clawed at ridges, eyes burning with terror. He didn’t care about the sun anymore. He didn’t care about the heat or the world or himself.

Where were you?

Where was his mate?

He didn’t remember landing.

One second he was tearing across the sky, wings cutting through clouds like knives, and the next—he smelled you. Distant, faint, drenched in water and pain. Not the kind of pain that bites. The kind that bleeds slow. The kind you don’t come back from.

His claws tore through the earth as he crashed near the lake’s edge. The trees snapped like twigs around him, a shower of pine and leaves raining down as his tail swiped aside boulders without care. He didn’t roar.

No, he was quiet now.

Something in his chest had begun to close.

His eyes found your body in the water like a hawk spots a dying bird. You were floating. Half submerged. Skin far too pale. Your lips were parted slightly. No breath. No movement.

No life.

Time stopped.

The world muted.

The sun that once warmed his blood now felt like a cruel god laughing from above.

Sylus dropped to his knees beside the lake, his hands shaking.

“MC?” he rasped, voice caught somewhere between a prayer and a scream. He waded into the water, heedless of the cold. You didn’t respond.

He cradled your body to his chest. You were heavy in his arms, limp, like something carved from wax. His claws retracted so he wouldn’t cut you. His wings hung low in mourning.

“NO—No, no…no—” he whispered, rocking you back and forth. “I didn’t know, I didn’t know…”

And gods, he didn’t.

He’d left you in the sun. A human. Fragile, delicate, soft. And he hadn’t noticed. Hadn’t looked. Hadn’t even heard your breaths growing short. He’d been so wrapped in the comfort of the warmth that he forgot—

You weren’t built for fire.

Tears—hot and furious—dripped down his cheeks. He pressed his lips to your forehead, voice cracking as he muttered, “Come back. Come back, sweetie, please…”

Still, you didn’t stir.

So he wept.

This time, not as a dragon. Not as a creature of ancient fire and celestial storms. But as Sylus—a man who’d found something precious in a world that had given him nothing. A man who had you. And lost you.

Because he hadn’t noticed.

⸻

But you…

You weren’t gone.

You were drifting.

Somewhere between pain and sleep. You felt the cold, the pressure of arms around you. A chest heaving against your back. A voice—broken and shaking—repeating your name. It echoed inside you like a whisper from a far-off dream.

“Come back to me.”

You wanted to. Gods, you wanted to. But everything hurt. Your skin was cracked. Your lungs ached. Your eyes burned.

But the moment you felt his hand tremble against your jaw, his voice hiccup on a sob—you fought.

You fought.

And slowly, painfully, with a gasp that tore through your ribs, you breathed.

Your eyes opened.

Not fully. Barely. But enough to see his tear-streaked face above you. His wide, wild eyes. His lips trembling.

“MC?” he said, like he couldn’t believe it. “Gods—you’re alive—”

You groaned softly, voice hoarse. “I—I needed the water…”

His breath hitched. He held you closer, as if trying to fuse you into his skin.

“You idiot,” he whispered, voice choked with relief and self-hate. “You beautiful, brave idiot…”

You winced. “My skin…”

He looked down and saw the blisters. The angry red patches. The sunburn that ran in angry trails down your arms and shoulders.

That was when the guilt hit harder than any flame ever could.

“I did this,” he said, disgusted. “I left you there. I thought—I thought you were fine. I didn’t know, I—” he stopped, swallowing hard. “I should’ve known.”

Your fingers reached up, brushing weakly against his cheek. “You didn’t mean to…”

“That doesn’t change it.” His arms tightened. “You almost died.”

You nodded faintly, then whispered, “But you found me.”

⸻

He carried you back.

Not to the sun. Not to the stones. But to the cave—his home. Your home. Where shadows cradled the walls and water trickled down the edges of the rock like lullabies. He laid you on a nest of soft furs and silks he’d once claimed as trophies but now held no pride in. Only you mattered.

He fetched cloth and water and soothed your burns, whispering apologies into every inch of your skin. His claws were careful. His touch, reverent. Like he feared he’d break you further.

You watched him with half-lidded eyes, tears slipping down your temple—not from pain, but from love.

He was so gentle.

So ashamed.

“I should’ve asked,” he murmured. “Should’ve known you’d never say no. Not to me. You always follow me.”

You gave a fragile smile. “I’d follow you anywhere.”

His jaw clenched. “Don’t say that.”

“Why?”

“Because it hurts to know it’s true. Even when I don’t deserve it.”

You reached for his hand. “You made a mistake. But you came for me. You always come for me.”

He dropped his head to your stomach, curling around you like a dragon guarding his hoard. “You are the only warmth I need.”

⸻

And there he stayed.

Even as the sun set, and his power waned.

He didn’t go out again that day.

He didn’t need to.

Because you were safe.

And now he burned—with guilt, with love, with something ancient and aching.

Not from the sun.

But from you.

He didn’t leave your side. Not even for a breath.

The cave grew dim as twilight poured in from the jagged opening high above, but Sylus made no move to rise from where he lay—curled beside you, wings tucked in tightly, a protective curve of his body between you and the cold world beyond.

You were wrapped in furs, skin still flushed and tender, but healing. Slowly. Painfully. But healing nonetheless. And every time you winced, Sylus would press soft kisses to your temple and murmur, “I’ve got you, sweetie. I’ve got you.”

The next morning, he refused to let you lift a single finger.

He fed you with his own hands—ripe fruits he sliced with claws that could tear through stone, yet moved with the gentleness of silk. He’d crush herbs in a stone mortar and mix them into warm broth with an oddly domestic concentration, tail flicking anxiously behind him whenever you so much as coughed.

You teased him once, whispering through a grin, “You’re quite the nursemaid, you know…”

He flushed—his face a soft shade of gold, like his scales—and huffed, “Mock me and I’ll burn the whole forest down so the sun never touches you again.”

“Dramatic,” you muttered sleepily.

“Devoted,” he corrected, nudging your nose with his. “You scared me, mc. I thought I lost you. I don’t ever want to feel that again.”

You leaned against him then, resting your head against his chest, where his heart beat slow and thunderous—like a lullaby carved from the bones of the earth. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He held you tighter. “You better not.”

⸻

Later that evening, he brushed your hair.

Yes. Claws and all.

He sat behind you, legs wrapped around yours, tail curled lazily nearby while he dragged a comb—one he carved himself from bone and polished smooth—through your tangled strands. He was terribly slow at it, tongue poking out just slightly in concentration.

You nearly fell asleep.

But then he whispered—barely audible—“I almost lost my mate…”

You opened your eyes. “But you didn’t.”

“I’m never letting you out of my sight again,” he said, a fragile edge in his voice.

You smiled. “Good. Then you’ll have to carry me to the bathroom, to the lake, and everywhere else.”

He paused. Then said, completely serious: “Done.”

You laughed, and something inside him melted.

⸻

That night, he slept with your head tucked under his chin, his arm draped over your stomach, wings fanned over both your bodies like the sheltering sky. The firelight flickered across the cave walls, but neither of you needed its warmth.

You had each other.

And beneath the mountain, in the stillness of the cave, Sylus finally rested—not as a dragon scorched by guilt, but as a mate who had nearly lost his whole world… and now knew better than to ever take the light of it for granted.

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mwphisto · 3 days ago

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Sylus always held back when sparring with you.

Not because he didn’t think you were strong, no, far from it. He held back because he knew how much a hit at full speed and strength from him could hurt.

It’s taken down grown men his size, knocking them out cold. He’s single handedly destroyed wanderers with these fists, he genuinely fears he’d break your skull.

This time though, he got too into it. The sparring was good, you were on your a-game, and your determination was rubbing off on him. While he held back, you never did. You knew he could take whatever you threw at him.

Sylus would give it to you, most of your hits did hurt. Made him groan, knocked the wind out of him, if he couldn’t heal the way he can, you’d have him covered in black and blues. He fucking loved it, got off on it even.

Well, he was really into it this time, so into it that he miscalculated his movements and his fist landed with a sickening thud on your left cheek.

You yelped, heat and pain blossoming just below your eye, the same eyes that were now swimming with blurry stars and you fought to remain conscious.

Warm hands were cupping your face milliseconds later, a concerned call of your name was heard over the ringing. Sylus’ face swam into view just as the absurdity hit you, a bubbling laugh choking its way out of your mouth.

“Jesus fuck, Sy. You nearly killed me.” But there wasn’t a hint of amusement on his face. No, his expression was schooled into something nearly unreadable. Maybe concern mixed with something else you couldn’t quite put your finger on. “How many fingers—“

But you snorted, attempting to wave him off as the stars finally blinked out of existence. “You didn’t give me a concussion, but the answer is three, and I know where I am and who you are and what we were doing ten seconds ago so I assure you—“ but Sylus only frowned.

“Mephisto, get me an ice pack.”

He’s lifting you up moment later, carrying you over to the bench by the sparring ring like you’re made of fine china. “I’m fine, Sylus.” But he tutted, sitting down and placing you on his lap. “You’re going to have a gnarly bruise.”

“You bruise me all the time.”

“That is very very different.” Mephisto is dropping an ice pack in your lap seconds later, it seems your attempts at lightening the mood would be falling flat. So, you kept your mouth shut, snuggled into his hold, and let him place the ice pack on your slightly swollen cheek bone.

Sylus was silent for two reasons. The first being that he hit you, like really hit you. Albeit unintentionally, but he still left a mark nonetheless. The second? You took the full brunt of his blow and took it like a god damn champ.

#🍒 soul’s rambles 🍒#just a silly thought lol #love and deepspace #lads #l&d #love and deepspace headcanons #l&d headcanons #sylus #sylus x reader #sylus fluff #sylus hurt/comfort #sylus imagine #sylus headcanons #sylus x mc #l&ds sylus #lnds sylus #sylus love and deepspace #love and deepspace sylus

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pinkfruitbowl · 1 day ago

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I think the great thing about having a boyfriend like Zayne, who's a doctor, is that you're taught not to feel ashamed of any health problems.

In fact, your official relationship begins in a quite unorthodox way.

Zayne x reader, one shot| Tags: fluff, comfort, mentions of periods and bleeding, non canon compliant

One late afternoon, Zayne invites you over to hang out at his place, watch a movie, and catch dinner. But just like some of the best moments in your life, it gets ruined by your uterus bleeding freely.

And not just a couple of dry red spots on your panties, no; a full on stain, as big as a hand, that got your panties, your (nice) pants and even Zayne's couch cushion.

When you realize what has happened, you feel distraught: normally you'd make up some excuse and go home to take care of it yourself, but what are you supposed to do when there's actual hard evidence of your crime?

And it's disgusting! So what if Zayne's a surgeon and he's used to touching people's organs? That's with gloves. Plus, he only does that at work, this is his house, his sanctuary: and you've violated it by staining his nice ass couch red.

Zayne's still watching the movie with great intent while you're mentally drafting your goodbye note, but he catches onto your distress soon enough.

"Are you alright?"

"I - I'm -" your voice is broken by hiccups and you hate how broken it comes out.

You hate even more how Zayne gets so clearly worried at your poor attempt at replying that he paused the movie.

"I'm so sorry Zayne, I really am, I promise I'll pay you back, I'll try to get it clean, I'm -"

"Stop."

You shut your mouth, arms falling flat at your sides.

"please start from the beginning."

His voice is hard, but you feel the warmth seep through the words.

"I believe I just got my period." You inhale. "I stained your couch real bad."

Zayne's eyes dart down as if to assess the damage, and you immediately jump up from the cushion; what you miscalculate is the way you feel the blood droop down, like a den that floods.

He catches onto it though, and follows you in getting up.

"come with me."

Somewhere inside your mind you're already preparing yourself to be kicked out of his apartment, bare feet and stained ass.

Instead, two arms gently wrap around you and guide you to the bathroom.

"take a warm shower. I'll leave you some clothes on the counter top for you to wear along with a few pads. When you come out, we'll have a healthy dinner and if you need them, some painkillers."

Too dazed to say or do anything else, you follow his instructions before going back to his living room after about twenty minutes.

"Zayne?"

"ah, you're back."

"I am. I really wanted to thank you for letting me use the shower. And for the clothes, I promise I'll give them back extra clean. And the couch! I'm so sorry about it, I'll get it professionally cleaned, I swear! And also thank you for not getting mad at me. And the pads."

Zayne stops cooking and stared at you.

"you don't have to thank me for helping you, it was the bare minimum. Also, there's no reason for me to get mad, you're the one actually suffering. And don't worry too much about the stains, I know a thing or two about removing blood from fabrics."

He goes back to the stoves, a delicious aroma spreading through the room.

"it should be ready in about ten minutes, fifteen at most so-" his eyes, sharp as always, go back to your hovering figure. "Why is your hair wet?"

If possible, you shrink even more beneath his borrowed cardigan, gently petting your (humid) head. "I-yes."

"so you washed it."

"not really, I had a small accident in the shower."

Zayne doesn't look like he'll accept your silence as an explanation, so you keep babbling.

"I couldn't figure out how to get the water running so I touched a few things and before I knew it, it was pouring all over me. And my hair got wet."

You think you see a shadow of a smile on his face, but you don't have the time to make sure because Zayne turns off the stove, moving carefully the pan to the counter, and disappears to the bathroom.

When he comes out, he's holding a hairdryer: "sit on that chair, I'll help you dry your hair."

You'd refuse, really, but at this point you've embarrassed yourself enough, what's the point in being humble?

So you do as you're told, doctor's orders.

While the noise of the dryer fills the room and Zayne's hand gently rakes through your hair every now and then, you contemplate everything; your existence, the meaning of life. Your chances with the handsome man currently standing behind you.

Is there even a possibility that Zayne will invite you over at his place ever again? And if not, can a relationship where one of the parties is not allowed at the other's place even exist?

Will a fucking blood stain be the actual reason your story ends?

At this point, nothing seems too far from true.

Zayne is either unaware or ignoring your silent meltdown, and when the white noise suddenly stops, you realize he's done.

Wordlessly, he puts the dryer back in its place and guides you to the table that's already set, going as far as to pull your chair out, like a true gentleman.

Man, you've really blown it, huh.

If it wasn't enough already, Zayne's a great cook. Probably. You haven't actually tasted anything, but it smells amazing and it looks delicious; you're just too busy pushing it around with your fork.

"is something not to your liking?" His voice cuts through your murky thoughts like lightning in the dark sky.

"Everything's great!" You automatically respond, voice a bit too high and squeaky, perhaps. As if to reiterate, you shove a mouthful of food in your face, immediately choking on some rice grains.

You blindly reach for a napkin as you splutter and heave, whilst Zayne hands you a glass of water with a slightly worried expression.

When you finally calm down, you're drained, both physically and emotionally. Bare of any dignity (and make up, and cute clothes).

"are you okay?" Zayne's question seems to refer to more than the last thirty seconds.

"I'm... A bit tired, I think."

"I'm sure you are. Perhaps you should rest a bit here before I drive you home."

You snort but there's no trace of amusement. "I think not."

Zayne looks taken aback at your dry tone as he blinks. "Did you... Not enjoy the evening?"

You fidget with the sleeves of his cardigan, yet another reminder of his kindness.

"I think the better question is, 'did you'?"

"I did. It was very nice."

To his credit, he doesn't look like he's lying. Or joking.

"are you sure? Because I think I stained your couch by bleeding on it, had to use your clothes, had you dry my hair, cook dinner, and drive me home."

Listing it all almost brings you to tears.

Man you've really messed up what could have been the perfect romance with the perfect man.

Zayne lowers his gaze and walks up to your chair, where he kneels.

"I know all that happened. I, too, was there. But none of it was unpleasant to me: we were together for all these hours, and even if things didn't exactly go as planned, I had a good time."

Zayne can tell you're skeptical, so he continues as he gently holds your fingers. "It was all very domestic to me; it felt like we were living together and sharing a space. Plus, when I tell you these things don't embarrass me, I'm not lying to look better, I'm being honest. I see so many people bleed, everyday, and some of them too much. What happened to you wasn't a bad bleeding per se: you had your period. You weren't stabbed or shot; I didn't have to cut you open. You just bled a bit.

And so what if my couch is stained. I can always cover it, I can turn the cushion.

Also I don't believe I've ever said that lending you my clothes bothers me, in fact I find you exceptionally cute like this.

And drying your hair, cooking you dinner, driving you somewhere; they're just normal boyfriend duties I believe. I like taking care of you. I hope it doesn't offend you or anything."

By now, your eyes are watery, and you've started sniffling a bit, though you try to cover it up.

"... So you're saying you don't mind doing boyfriend duties?"

"If anything, I'm offering to be a full-time employed boyfriend. How does that sound?"

You giggle, comforted by Zayne's warm gaze.

"it sounds great, but I don't think you've said anything about hiring for a girlfriend position."

"it's 100% on the table for you. If you accept."

And that, folks, is how it all begins: your story with Zayne was written... In blood.

#love & deepspace #love and deepspace x reader #love and deepspace #love and deepspace zayne #l&ds zayne #lads zayne #zayne love and deepspace #zayne x reader #lads x reader #l&ds x reader #l&ds #calla writes #kiwi.concept #love and deepspace fluff #love and deepspace fic #love and deepspace comfort

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meowdei · 4 months ago

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“Muah,” you beam, pressing a soft peck into Sylus’s cheek. “Muah!”

Another. And another. And another scattered little kiss along the skin of his face as he sits with you situated comfortably on his lap, hands tracing up and down your hips. It’s late—somewhere close to the sun’s routine time to rise, and somewhere close to Sylus’s routine time to fall asleep. He’s a lot easier to bend to your whims like this, when he’s tired and limp under you and lets you have your way.

He hums, curling his lips into an sleepy smile as he murmurs, “you missed a spot.”

“You don’t get to get picky when you get free affection,” you say instantly.

His smile drops. Something of a grouchy scowl (that’s more like a pout, if you’re being honest) drapes along his lips and forces them into that downward curl. Your lips do the exact opposite, curling up at the sight of his dissatisfaction.

“Well, sweetie,” he drawls, “who knew you could be so stingy?”

“I’m not being stingy,” you grin, purposely missing his lips as you press your next kiss, landing it right over his Cupid’s bow and watching as his eyes flash impatiently. “I’m teaching you a valuable lesson.”

“Which is?”

“We don’t always get what we want.”

“Funny,” Sylus quirks a brow, that awful, terrible, nightmarish and dangerous smug look returning to his features as his eyes narrow, “because I always get what I want. It’s as simple as taking it.

The room is spinning and shifting and tilting on its axis as you feel everything move in a blur—one second you’re on top of him, sat on his lap, and the next second he’s hovering over you, melting your body into the mattress like it could swallow you whole under his weight.

“Sylus!” You screech, earning a low chuckle from him, “get off of me you brute!”

“Not until you give me what I want.”

“No!”

“Then I’m not moving.”

And true to his word, he settles himself on top of you, promptly pressing all his body weight over yours as his drapes his figure on top of you. He’s heavy—in a pleasant sort of way. He feels like comfort and home and warmth pressing into you and crushing your bones with nothing more than body mass and willpower. You like it. And as if on cue, your hand instinctively finds the back of his head to smooth through his hair.

Sometimes your body just does that. Admits he’s what you want and what you need against its will. Admits it likes him there and welcomes him like your souls are two halves of a whole—one involuntary muscle responding to him at a time.

“You’re heavy,” you whine.

“This could all be solved rather simply if you’d just give me a proper kiss, sweetheart. But you insist on hissing like a stray kitten in an alleyway.”

“And it’s just too easy to ruffle your feathers,” you giggle, rubbing a hand along the nape of his neck and feeling him shiver under your touch, “who knew a kiss could have you so worked up?”

“I’m not worked up,” he grumbles quietly. You smile wider. He pinches your hips in warning without even looking at you.

“Spoiled,” you murmur, “that’s what you are.”

“Spoiled is what you are with how you swipe my card,” he retorts, earning a glare from you. His eyes are half lidded—heavy, and tired, and slowly closing shut against his will as he stifles a yawn, giving you a poor attempt at a smirk.

“No kisses for you forever.”

“I think that’ll cause you more distress than me in the long run.”

“Don’t you ever get tired of talking?” You huff exhaustedly.

“I’ll stop talking long enough for a quick nap if you give me a proper kiss,” he negotiates. Like the proper, opportunistic business man that he is. So good at playing his cards right and getting the deal he wants so badly, just enough that he always walks away with the better end of the stick.

Sly, you’d call it.

Persuasive, he’d correct.

And you’re convinced. Persuaded and swayed into his trap because all he has to do is give you those sweet, tired little blinks of his eyes and that hopeful little look as he stares at your lips before you cave and fold like a piece of paper into his awaiting palms.

“You’ll finally sleep and leave me alone if I give you a kiss?” You pretend to bargain.

He nods earnestly, “oh yes, sweetie. I’ll be out like a light faster than you can call Mephisto over to be witness of our deal.”

“Okay,” you roll your eyes. “One kiss.”

“So stingy,” he chuckles.

“I’m not—”

He kisses you. Props his head up, still blanketing you with all his weight as he kisses you softly. Like he means it. Lips carving out lips like he’s mean to mold your flesh to fit the shape of his. You gasp, and he lets out a soft sigh into your mouth, closing his eyes and pressing into you as much as he can.

When your hands twist into his hair, he lets out a soft groan, slumping more weight into you (if that’s even possible) before his breathing gets shallower.

When he finally pulls away, his head tucks itself back into your neck as he mumbles, “told you I’d get what I want.”

It comes out like a soft slur. Your eyes widen instantly.

“Sylus, no—I have to get up for the day so don’t even think about—”

He’s asleep. Heavy, limp, and comfortably on top of you. You try a sad, futile attempt to shove him off, but he’s stuck. Glued to you like his life depends on it. (Sometimes it does, you think. Sometimes it feels like he lives only for you. Only knows how to breathe when he’s sure you’re there to listen to his soft breaths.)

“You asshole,” you mutter, “you spoiled, obnoxious asshole.”

He always gets what he wants—the feeling of your delicate body under his, and the nails that trace his scalp softly in defeat are good enough proof of that.

Early bday drabble. Long fic to come. Stay tuned. This is a sylus only blog. I don’t even like mydei even a little bit. What else? I think I’ve covered all my bases

#meowdei.writing #sylus x reader #sylus x mc #sylus x you #sylus x y/n #sylus fluff #lads x reader #lads fluff #love and deepspace x reader #love and deepspace fluff #l&ds x reader #l&ds fluff #lads sylus #l&ds sylus #love and deepspace sylus

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syluspeach · 1 day ago

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Sylus and his stepbrother, Xavier, share you... +18(mdni)

“Look at you. So fucking pretty taking our cocks, kitten.”

Stuffed full of their dicks, the larger of the two pale-haired males gazed up at you as he reclined against the pillows you had just washed. The once clean scent of fabric softener had been replaced and stained with bodily fluids.

Hired by Xavier and Sylus’ father as a maid, you had been caught by the pair leaning over Xavi’s bed, the curve of your ass peaking out from under the hem of your skirt as you struggled to hook the sheet over one of the corners.

From squeaking as a hand unexpectedly trailed up the back of your bare thigh, to whining as they pulled orgasm after orgasm from your tired body, you could only pray you’d be able to walk once this was all over.

“Damn old man made a mistake bringing you into this house.” Xavier spoke against your neck, his cock twitching along your gummy walls.

God forbid anyone would catch the three of you. You’d surely lose your job.

Unbeknownst to you, Sylus and Xavier would be damned if they took you from them. Their father had brought an oblivious sheep into the lion’s den, and the two beasts had gladly sunk their teeth deep into your skin, unwilling to let you go until they had their fill.

“This-This is…so w-wrong. You…you two are-ngh ugh, please-you’re my employers.”

A particularly harsh thrust from Sylus left you a blubbering mess, your hands finding purchase on each of them. One tangled itself into the sweaty strands at Xavier’s nape while the other squeezed the muscle that made up Sylus’ thigh.

“How could this be wrong when it feels so right? Ah, fuck. S’wet…so tight, ngh.” Xavier whispered between battered breaths. “You take us so…so well.”

“Like you were made for us.” Sylus added with a purr.

You couldn’t help that a fluttering feeling bloomed in your chest as they praised and staked their claim. It was hard not to when you had two beautiful men pinning after you, your body pleasing them to the point that they lost their breath and a dazed look coated their eyes.

Sylus watched with rapt attention as his little brother lost himself in you.

With Xavier’s face hidden against your neck, Sylus knew Xavi was hiding his flushed cheeks from him as he was the shyer of the two. The younger male had his chest pressed firmly against your back, his hands smoothing over the expanse of your abdomen before settling on your tits.

As Xavier gripped the swollen flesh of your breasts, Sylus watched your perky nipples and fat poke out from between nimble digits. It was begging to be bruised and nibble on.

You looked good between them. As their figures were sharp and lean littered with muscle, yours was soft and smooth when compared.

“I think-I’m gonna cum…please-ngh-don’t s-stop…pleasepleaseplease…”

The brothers could only watch as you fell apart in their embrace. Sylus noticed the blissed out expression that overcame you while Xavier felt the way your body trembled against his. Your cute face scrunched up as your mouth fell open. Even your grip on them tightened, unconsciously searching for support and comfort.

“Did so well, starlight.”

“So damn sweet for us, kitten.”

They followed soon after, your flaccid body used until their cum spurt into you. They had you overflowing, white dribbling out from your cunt and down your trembling thighs.

Shame was quick to fill every crevice of your mind and body. You wished to be swallowed whole by some supernatural entity just so that you wouldn’t have to accept that what had just occurred between the three of you, though despicable, you enjoyed every second of it. What would their father think if he learned you allowed yourself to be swayed by them? The blame would always fall on you.

Your bottom lip trembled as a sniffle was heard through the now silent room. They were quick to react, Sylus sitting up and Xavier gently grabbing your jaw to make you face them.

“Please, don’t cry…”

The older male spoke, his head slotting itself under your jaw so that he may press kisses along your neck while his brother wiped your tears away. Xavier continued where Sylus left off.

“You’re not the one at blame here.”

They would never admit it, but if they were to keep you, they’d need to constantly reassure you and keep you in the dark.

This was wrong. They knew that.

Yet having been born with a silver spoon in their mouths, they were selfish and gluttonous. They would never be satisfied with your belonging to the other, so they had to cast their greed to the side and make peace with the fact that they would have to share you. Your time, heart, affection, and body would be split between the two of them.

It was better this way.

Tell me I’m not the only one who thinks Sylus and Xavier could be brothers

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yois2aki · 3 months ago

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caleb cums fast during your first time together.

heck, he might even do it in his boxers while just sloppily making out. given how long he waited for this particular moment and how tense he is, he simply cannot help how nice you feel.

even though he's received visual demonstrations more times than he can recall, everything he does screams how inexperienced he is. he heard ladies enjoyed some foreplay in the blatant porn films he watched while picturing your body beneath him, but this is just unfair.

he freezes all of a sudden. stops nibbling on your neck and becomes still. and you, perplexed, attempt to look him in the eye, only to discover that his head is pointing down to where your crotches are touching. for a moment, you can't believe it when you see the fiery red colour spreading through his ears, even though you can't see his face in that posture.

"f-fuck-... i'm sorry... i'm so sorry... let me just- wait..." he hurriedly apologizes while stepping away from your body as though seeking something else to do besides staring into your eyes, further humbling himself. all while you lay there unable to think of any coherent sentences.

he must be the puppiest boy you've ever laid eyes on.

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navydoves · 5 months ago

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Dragon!Sylus and his strange affectionate habits

❥ you’re his mate, but you’re also human. his habits weird you out!

⭐︎

❥ he licks you! you could be sitting on the couch, minding your own business with a book in hand and sylus would come up right next to you and just start licking your cheek. you’d retract suddenly and look him up and down with a strange look on your face.

“what? i already explained this to you kitten.”

licking is his way of showing affection toward you. it’s supposed to tell you “i’m here to protect you” in a way. he also just loves tasting your skin and becoming more familiar with you since it brings him so much comfort. he’ll even lick your hair if he’s really getting into it!

❥ he feeds you really well. hungry? no you’re not, not with him at least. he’ll feed you until you’re completely and utterly satiated from his meals. when he sees you happy and drowsy from a full stomach it brings him very deep satisfaction.

sometimes he’ll put bags of snacks or containers of food where you frequent in hopes you’ll eat them. if you don’t, he’ll take offense or think he did something wrong and now you’re protesting!

❥ he makes you wear his treasures. part of being a dragon means hoarding pretty and shiny things. dragons are very protective and territorial about their things, but sylus makes an exception for you. he insists that you wear the jewels he’s collected and will drown you in his riches.

he especially loves it when you go out into public with his treasures on because it shows off his wealth via his beautiful mate. he’ll designate certain jewels or items just for you and if you’re even a little bit dissatisfied with them, he’ll throw them out right away.

❥ he builds nests for you. sylus will innocently steal your most precious items or the items that seem to bring you the most comfort and then bring them to an empty corner. it’s here that he piles up your cosmetics, clothes, bedsheets, pillows, stuffies—anything you could think of—and then he waits.

sylus would never force you to do anything, he wants you to come to the nest on your own volition without his input. he won’t even mention it, he’ll just wait until you find the nest and watch from afar what you do. if you finally do decide to nestle in, he’ll jump for joy knowing that you like it. he’ll also never come into your nest unless you ask him to, and if you do, let’s just say he’ll take care of you really well.

❥ he purrs, and really loudly too. you’ll hear him purring when you’re cuddling, when you’re eating, when you’re bathing, during sex, when you’re doing anything, really. dragons only purr when extremely content but sylus makes a habit out of it when he’s around you. the man is just very happy.

the sound of his purrs come from a deep place within his chest, making them loud and deep. even though they may startle you sometimes, the frequency and vibrancy brings you a sense of comfort and peace, and sylus knows this. whenever you’re upset or anxious, he’ll start purring loudly in hopes of calming you down.

❥ he walks around naked. of course, sylus only does this with you, but it never fails to catch you off guard. it’s not so much a sexual thing, per se, but more of a comfort thing. he’s so comfortable with your presence that he doesn’t feel the need to keep his tight, itchy clothes on when he’s alone with you. he’ll let everything hang and jiggle if he so calls for it.

although, there are times where he’ll purposefully walk around naked to seduce you like a peacock would. he thinks flaunting off his assets will make you want to pounce on him and make love to him all night—which is unfortunately true.

❥ he watches you while you sleep. at first it was cute, but when you awoke one night to his vibrant red eyes staring you down in the dark, it started to feel a little creepy. he explains it away by saying he needs to make sure you’re okay, which doesn’t really make much sense to you since you were in his secure territory.

because sylus doesn’t need much sleep, whenever you take your beauty rest, he feels the urge to look after you and your vulnerable form. he also just enjoys watching you do something so silly and human-like sleeping. this was one of your habits that he didn’t understand. he does finally back off a little bit after your complaining, though.

❥ he has a wild tail. sylus has full control over all of his body parts at any give time, so his tail is always indicative of how he’s feeling. he has a rather calm tail when you two are around others, but when alone with you? you have to dodge it sometimes from how erratic it is. he explains that it’s the equivalent of how your leg bounces. something you don’t even think about when it happens, but can have control over once you realize it.

it’s just another way of him saying to you that he’s comfortable enough around you to let loose with his body and do more natural, unconscious mannerisms.

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vivievienne · 2 days ago

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WE REACHED 200 NOTES??? OH MY GAWD. MY JAW DROPPED. THIS IS MY MOST POPULAR FIC EVER 😭 IM SO HAPPY YOU GUYS ENJOYED IT!! I LOVE UU

A HYMN FOR THE HOLLOW GOD . . . . 祁煜 ☆ he begged for her love and bled for her silence.

DΞVФΓIФИ ─── God loves you, but not enough to save you.

ωα𝗋𐓣𝗂𐓣𝗀𝗌: religious trauma , priest!rafayel , implied murderer , deity!mc , mc uses she/her , hemolacria , blood , 932

a/n: I SAW THIS RAFAYEL AU AND OH MY GOD I COULDNT HELP MYSELF. God, forgive me please, but I just had to. I made it in like two days??? but hell yeah it was worth it. anyway UUHH IM GONNA DIEEE

part 1 / part 2

"Let us pray," he said, raising his hands upward. "Most Magnificent, You, before whose beauty the stars fade and the seas are torn in two so that You can pass through them - we ask You to deign to hear our humble requests and supplications. Make Your people grow in love together with all the saints who have pleased You throughout the ages."

Saying this, he looked towards the altar, where the image of the Most Holy One was.

The Divinity.

Their Divinity.

His Divinity.

The Divinity he venerated above all others.

They began to sing. The sounds of the songs began to fill the Temple, where in a flash the voices of the choir spread, where the altos and sopranos began to worship their Saviour in perfect harmony accompanied by the organ, whose pipes were able to produce such tones that the floor could shake under the influence of the sublimity of this event.

She was so beautiful.

Rafayel always looked at Her with admiration. She walked this earth just as he did now. Improbable. Someone as extraordinary as She was once like him.

That is why every time he read the Holy Book, he could not believe that She never wanted applause, that She did not want to be recognized, that She was able to endure all tortures just to save them.

Magnificent.

"May the Most Sacred Heart of Our Saviour always bless us."

He always, but always, uttered every word with a serious and dignified tone that made those gathered in the Temple look with interest at the young priest, who was looking at the Deity with delight, as he walked away from the altar.

Then, there was his favourite moment during the day.

It was when he returned to his small room to rest after a hard day. He sat down at the desk where the Holy Book was. He didn't remember how many times he had read It. Certainly a lot. However, he couldn't help the fact that this story affected him the same way every time. He couldn't help the fact that His Deity lived among them and it seemed so unreal, so surreal to him, and at the same time he was so happy that it had really happened. He was glad that She was among them, that She watched over them, that She loved them.

However, man is a proud being, no matter how wonderful His Creator is.

And Rafayel wanted Her to notice him, for Her to look at him and tell him that She saw how devoted he was to Her.

Because Rafayel loved His Divinity.

He loved Y/N.

He was faithful to Her, obedient. If She told him to jump into the fire — he would do it.

Let Her just look at him.

But Rafayel knew.

He was nothing.

One of the many sheep of Her flock.

Her miserable prodigal son.

A weed in Her field.

Everything Rafayel did not want to be, and yet he knew he would never be more.

But his faith, that unconditional love that he gave Her...

He didn't want too much, did he?

He did everything for Her. He honoured Her more than those... 'followers'.

Rafayel hated that name.

They 'follow'... But they don't believe.

No one believes in Her Majesty like he does.

You can profess anything: a view, love, a mystery, but not religion - you have to believe in it, blindly follow its rules and trust it, recognize it as truth and the highest value. You have to live religion, not just breathe it.

That's why Rafael believed that these 'followers' would never get what they wanted.

They leave the Temple and sin. They are so proud. They think that She will forgive them everything.

And it hurts Rafayel.

It hurt him that She loved him as much as others, even though he trusted Her completely and believed in Her with all his heart.

It was so unfair.

"I beg you... Most Beloved... Be merciful to me", he said through tears. "Me, a sinful thief, unworthy of Your gaze. Have mercy on me... Have mercy on Your worthless servant", he remembered that he always put his hands to the cheeks of the cold stone covered with a white veil, in which the bust of His Deity was carved.

It was so unfair.

He always judged those who in any way opposed the Most Holy Commandments.

After all, salvation did not await them anyway, right?

They violated the Holy Law, for which they must be punished.

Even if they pay the highest price for it.

It was so unfair.

"I have sinned," he confessed before the stone image of His Savior. "I have sinned against You, Most Holy. Forgive me. I beg You. Or take my eyes so that I may not suffer, looking upon those who are unworthy of Your Grace."

He was covered in the blood of that wicked man who had defied His Divinity. Scarlet tears flowed from his eyes, leaving red streaks on his pale cheeks. He held a rosary in his hand, and his stained hands touched her cheeks, leaving crimson streaks.

"Forgive me, Most Holy."

His voice began to tremble as the words left his lips.

"I beg You, forgive me."

And his lips joined the cold stone, leaving a ruby mark on them.

"I will do anything to be closer to You," he whispered. "Just ask, tell me whatever You desire. I will be Your boundlessly devoted servant. Just please, give me a sign."

"I will prove it to You. I swear it. I will prove it."

#𖦹⠀vivievienne　⋆｡˚☁︎#❁⠀vivireblog　⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝#𖧷⠀viviwrites　✧༚#rafayel x y/n #l&ds rafayel #rafayel x mc #rafayel x you #love and deep space rafayel #rafayel x reader #lads rafayel #rafayel love and deepspace #rafayel #l&ds x reader #lads mc #lads x reader #l&ds #loveanddeepspace #love and deepspace

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itzpookiepooh · 3 hours ago

Note

hi pookieee, i already requested this before to another author, but i would really love to see ur version too!

can i pleaaasee request how LADS men react to you offering to do 50/50 :>>

Heheheeeee yes I can

50/50????

Please don’t get him started because he genuinely doesn’t want you to lift a finger. He looked at you with a soft smile as he was cooking. You offered to do the dishes after but he simply declined because he said he made the mess he’ll clean it up. So when you brought it up he was a bit…confused.

“50/50? Why?” He questioned genuinely concerned about why you asked.

“You do everything. You cook, clean and still make time for yourself. I want to at least do something.” He just blinks at you.

“No thanks.” His tone final as he goes back to cooking. Your jaw dropped as you stared at the back of his head.

“Caleb! I’m being serious!” You shout causing him to shrug.

“So am I.” He almost ends it there before putting the wooden spoon down and facing you. He places his hands on your cheeks and sighs.

“I do this because I don’t mind, okay? It’s something I enjoy and you deserve it. Are you really gonna deprive me of something that brings me happiness?” He questioned. You closed your eyes thinking about it. He plucked your head causing you to wince.

“No you’re not.” He answered for you making you roll your eyes.

“At least let me pretend to think about it.” You mumbled crossing your arms.

You wanted to go 50/50…with Sylus? Really? He’s rich why would you want to even test him like that? He’s all for you being independent but this is how you want to do it? Do you know how bills work in the N109 zone? In this economy?

“Now why would I do that when I have all the money in the world for both of us?” He never looked up from his book as he answered you.

“Because I want to help.” You bluntly told him. He chuckled before humming.

“Well we have someone who cooks, cleans, runs errands…I don’t know sweetie you may have to sit this one out.” He pretended to think. You huff annoyed there was nothing to do.

He chuckled before flipping a page in his book, “How about you pick up groceries?”

You immediately agreed rushing out of the room. Sylus counted in his head until you came back to which you returned with a sour expression. You stop in front of him with your arms crossed.

“Very funny. The twins told me they like to do that.” You hiss as Sylus laughed. He grabs your arms gently pulling you towards him.

“I don’t need help paying for anything. Knowing you’re comfortable is enough for me.” He explained but you wouldn’t have it.

“But—“ He stopped you, “You take care of me right? You always have me in the back of your mind.” You nod slowly.

“Then that’s enough for me.” He kissed your forehead before going back to reading. You tried!

“Xavier I want to go 50/50.” You blurt out as he moved a box of items. He turns to walk past you.

“No.” He kissed your head before putting the box inside the closet. You stare at him in disbelief.

“What? Why?” You whine making him laugh. He sighed before turning to you.

“Because you’re not hard to take care of and I enjoy it.” He leaves it at that. You just stared at the back of his head as he moved around the room.

“I got this.” He eased your worries with that look in his eyes. He wasn’t one to argue but he also wouldn’t back down so you took his words into consideration.

“I’m sorry?” Zayne asked you, removing his glasses. You repeated yourself making his eyes wander to the door.

“I don’t understand? Am I not providing enough to the point you want to do it yourself?” He asked because he was genuinely curious. You immediately shook your head.

“No! You’re doing great, I just want to help.” You explained, waving your hands in a panic. He visibly relaxed in his seat.

“Then I don’t understand why we have to split certain things. You also help me enough as is.” He explained straightening his back.

“I know but it makes me feel bad.” You whine walking closer to him.

“I chose to do this because I can afford to. Stop worrying or your blood pressure will rise.” His doctor mode turned on immediately. You snort falling into his arms.

“Are you sure?” You asked holding his face in your hands. He smiled softly before nodding.

“I know you’ll be there if I need anything.” He whispered before you both share a kiss.

Rafayel was offended you even asked. Who do you think you are? Seriously! Was he not man enough for you or something? What? You’re too good to be taken care of?

Rafayel ignored you! He continued to paint as if you hadn’t uttered a single word. He hummed to himself as his brush glided across the canvas. He must be hearing things.

“Helloooo? Did you hear me? I wanna do 50/50.” You repeated however, this time he looks around in pure confusion. He faces forward and shrugs.

“Must be the wind.” He told himself before continuing to paint. You huff loudly before walking away.

He glanced over his shoulder before scoffing, “50/50.”

I almost forgot about this trend omg it’s a cute one for sure.

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nikotashi · 1 day ago

Text

Countdown: Nineteen

✦ title: 5:47 - countdown: nineteen

✦ fandom: love and deepspace

✦ pairing: mc!reader x sylus

✦ genre: psychological horror / sci-fi / mystery

✦ warnings: blood/injury, memory loss, please proceed with caution

✦ word count: ~4.1k

prologue

masterlist

“You wake up late, but time was never yours to begin with. A voice you should know haunts the silence you can’t remember. Each loop strips you bare, minute by minute, memory by memory and still, something keeps calling you back.”

You wake up.

Not because of your alarm, but because you heard something that does not belong. Something that shouldn’t be here. You peel open your eyes and slowly blink a few times. The monotone white of your ceiling stares back at you. Just like every day. Just like it should be.

You let out a heavy sight and sit up, your back letting out a few cracks in the process. The sheets fall off of you like flowing water and pool at your waist. A sudden sharp pain courses through you and you let out a low hiss. Your voice still thick with sleep. You reach up to your temple, and your fingers come into contact with something wet as another wave of pain goes through your head.

You flinch.

You look at your hand and it’s red. Your eyes widen and a slight feeling of panic overcomes you. What happened?

You throw your blanket completely off of you and hastily stand up, your gaze caught onto the glowing digits of your alarm clock.

6:07 AM.

It’s already twenty minutes past your usual wake-up time. Another wave of panic runs through you. You’re late.

—

You stumble towards your bathroom and turn on the light, its brightness blinding you for a moment. Your shaky hands gripping onto the countertop, while your eyes are fixed onto your reflection. There on your temple, on the left side of your head was a cut. Almost the entire side of your head is streaked with dried blood. Some still half-wet. Crimson flakes dried in your hairline. The shirt you wore for the night is also covered in it, dried up. What the fuck?

Your breath quickens, your grip tightens until your knuckles ache. You scan the room, wide-eyed and desperate.

Did you hurt yourself in your sleep?

…Was it the mission yesterday?

You dig through the fog in your mind, clawing for anything solid. But it’s like someone took an eraser to the last 24 hours. Everything is smeared. Out of reach.

You don’t remember going to sleep. You don’t remember anything.

You open the medicine cabinet and clumsily press gauze to the wound. The sting making you hiss again. At least pain still makes sense.

You hear your phone buzzing in your bedroom. You ignore it, for now.

You tape the gauze down with shaking fingers. It’s not the cleanest job, but it’ll do for now. The wound is still bleeding a little. Not enough to be dangerous, but enough to stain the bandage slowly, an ugly rust-red colour already creeping through. You look up at yourself again. Your eyes look… haunted. Hollow in a way that wasn’t there yesterday.

Was it?

You wet a cloth and begin gently wiping your face, careful to avoid the injury. Dried blood peels away from your temple in tacky, stubborn patches. The cold water stings, but it helps clear your mind a little. You breathe through the panic, focusing on the feeling of clean water against your skin. It’s not much, but it makes you feel human again.

You rinse the cloth, wring it out, and hang it on the sink edge. Your fingers tremble slightly, but you ignore it. One thing at a time.

You turn toward the shower, reaching for your towel—

And then you freeze.

There, at the edge of the drain, just beneath the grate, faint red streaks.

Old.

Faded.

Not from today.

Someone washed blood down your drain. Recently. Sloppily.

You take a step closer, slowly now, and crouch. You stare at the lines, the subtle , diluted trails where the water didn’t wash everything away. It clings to the inside of the tub in faint pinkish arcs, like someone stood here a while before it all went down the drain.

You swallow hard.

There’s a towel hanging over the shower bar. Still damp. Still warm. You don’t remember using it. The realization sits heavy in your chest.

Did you do this?

Was it you?

You wrap your arms around yourself, suddenly cold despite the warmth of the room. The buzzing in your ears returns, faint but persistent.

Something happened here.

And you have no idea what.

—

You step out of the bathroom, towel clutched tight in one hand, your skin prickling from the cold dread that crept in when you saw the blood. The hallway feels… off. Like something’s missing, or shifted half a degree to the left. The air carries a weight to it, like a breath held too long.

You walk slowly, listening for anything—anyone—but all you hear is the distant hum of the fridge and the whisper of your own footsteps. Your phone is still buzzing on the nightstand. It’s been going on and off since you ignored it in the bathroom.

You pick it up.

Three missed calls. All from the same person. The contact name glows on your screen: Sylus. You don’t remember calling him. You don’t remember seeing him recently. But your chest tightens like you do.

You press play on the voice message he left behind. At first, silence. Then the faint hiss of static, like the message had to claw its way through a bad signal… or worse. His voice is quiet when it finally comes through.

“Kitten…” Something tightens in your chest. “You didn’t come home.”

Outside, light slants strangely through the curtains. The shadows on the wall stretch long, then shift. Like the sun has leapt forward, skipping beats in real time.

Morning gold.

Afternoon heat.

Twilight blue.

You don’t move.

“I looked. I waited. You always wander off.”

The sun outside dips below the skyline. Shadows crawl along the ceiling. The whole room cools with the sudden touch of dusk. Your temple throbs, like his voice pulled the pain forward again.

“You got hurt again, didn’t you? I don’t like when you bleed.”

It sounds… genuine. Affection twisted through smoke. The static thickens, then drops out completely.

“Don’t let them find you before I do.”

Your phone glitches. The screen flickers, catching like the breath in your throat. Time seems to fold in on itself.

“Next time… remember me sooner.”

The message ends.

And outside—

—the shadows rewind.

The sky brightens again. Morning sun bleeds back into the curtains. Birds chirp. A car drives by like nothing happened. Your heart skips a beat.

You’re back.

Back in the same room. The same day. Your temple still stings, but the blood on your shirt is gone. And in silence, your mind clings to the only thing that did change.

His voice.

The message ends. Silence presses in like water over your head. Muffled. Vast. Only your heartbeat cuts through it, too fast, too loud. Your breath catches.

The air in the room is still. Too still. Like nothing dares move until you do. He sounded calm. Softer than you remember. And yet, there was something else threaded between his words. Something not meant to be heard at all.

A warning.

You stare at the phone until the screen fades to black, casting your reflection back at you. Pale. Shaken. Eyes wide and rimmed in sleep you no longer feel.

Outside, the sky is soft with morning light again. But your skin prickles.

The day has reset.

Again.

Slowly, like it weighs a thousand pounds, you turn your head to the nightstand. The alarm clock is glowing dim red numbers through the haze of early light.

6:06 AM.

Nineteen minutes later than it should’ve been. Your chest tightens. Last time, it was 6:07.

You don’t know why you remember that.

But you do.

And somehow, it feels important. Like a fuse has been lit, and each reset is a step closer to the end of the wick. You blink at the time, and for a second, you could’ve sworn the clock showed 6:66.

But that’s impossible.

Isn’t it?

—

You sit there for a while. Not moving. Not breathing too deep. Your thoughts flutter like birds in a storm, trying to find something solid to land on.

The message.

His voice.

The blood.

The clock.

You wipe a trembling hand down your face and breathe out through your nose, slow and steady. Just like they taught you. Focus on something real. Something here. You press your palm to your chest. Feel your heartbeat. Still here. Still yours.

You slide your legs off the bed, feet touching the cold floor. It grounds you, even if just a little.

“I need to think,” you whisper to no one. Your voice is quiet. Raw. Like you haven’t used it in days. You pick up the phone again, thumb hovering over the screen. The message. You want to hear it again. Just to be sure.

You unlock it. Scroll. Tap. Swipe.

Nothing. No voice message. No log of a missed call. No record at all. You stare at the screen, heart sinking slowly in your chest. That’s not right. You heard it. You know you did. You furrow your brow, tapping through your messages again, slower this time. Still nothing. You close the app, reopen it. Still nothing. A dull pressure blooms in your temples. Something aching and distant—like a headache trying to claw its way in.

What were you doing just now?

You blink. Glance at the phone in your hand. Your brows pinch together.

Why are you holding it?

You glance around the room, dazed, your eyes skimming over the walls, the ceiling, the window. A half-empty glass of water on the nightstand. A book you don’t remember starting.

You sit perfectly still for several long seconds, your breath catching in your throat.

Something’s wrong.

But you can’t remember what it was.

—

A faint noise cuts through the silence.

A caw. Sharp and brittle like cracking glass.

You flinch.

It echoes down the hallway from the direction of your bedroom window, low and raw in your ears. Like it’s not just a sound but something with weight. Like it means something. Your head snaps toward it before your body does, a chill crawling up your spine.

That sound again. The same one that woke you the first time.

You rise slowly, the floor groaning faintly under your steps. Every part of you feels heavier than it should be. Slower. As if the air itself is thick and reluctant to let you pass through it. You reach the window and draw the curtain back.

And there he is.

Perched on the narrow ledge just outside your glass pane, talons curling tightly around the metal frame. A large crow, feathers slick and ink-dark against the backdrop of early morning light. He looks too big to belong here—too still to be natural.

Mephisto’s head tilts.

One glossy eye stares directly into yours, a dark red, like rubies maybe, or blood. You swear you see something in it. Not animal instinct. Not hunger.

Recognition.

You take half a step back, heart thudding strangely in your chest. He doesn’t move.

But then his wings unfurl, wide and silent, and in a single graceful motion, he lifts off. He doesn’t flap wildly or struggle to gain height. He glides upward, sweeping past your window and vanishing into the grey wash of dawn like smoke dissolving into fog.

Gone. Just like that.

Your fingers remain curled around the curtain, knuckles pale.

You don’t know how long you stand there. Seconds. Minutes. Maybe longer. All you know is that when you finally pull your eyes away from the window, the stillness of the room feels heavier.

Like it’s watching you now.

You stay by the window a moment longer. Watching the clouds shift. Listening for another caw that never comes. Eventually, your body remembers what you were doing—or at least what you think you were doing.

Shower. Teeth. Uniform.

You move like a puppet tugged by half-forgotten strings. The hot water scalds your skin, grounding you — and that’s what you want, isn’t it? To feel something solid. Real. You scrub hard. Shampoo. Soap. You watch it swirl down the drain and try not to think about the faint red streaks that had been there earlier. Gone now. Of course they are. You brush your teeth in front of the fogged-up mirror, uniform laid neatly across the sink like you’d planned it the night before. Standard Hunter issue; white fabric, reinforced joints, a hint of silver threading at the collar. A little scuffed around the elbows, but functional. Professional. Worn.

You pull it on, piece by piece.

It feels heavier today.

You glance toward the kitchen on your way out. The emptiness sits there, expectant. You don’t stop. You’re not hungry, or maybe you just don’t want to be alone with the silence long enough to make something. You’ll grab something on the way.

The hallway outside your apartment greets you with that same humming silence. A flickering overhead light buzzes faintly behind you as you lock the door.

Then—

“Good morning, young miss,” comes a voice, lilting with mild cheer and gravel-aged warmth. You turn. Mr. Delarose stands in front of his door again. Perfect posture, pressed slacks, cardigan done up to the neck like always. He offers you a small nod, hands clasped behind his back. His smile is familiar. Too familiar. You blink. Déjà vu prickles the back of your neck.

“Didn’t I just—?”

But the thought slips away, too slippery to hold onto. You smile politely instead.

“Morning.”

Delarose chuckles.

“Same time, same place, hm? Funny how the days seem to repeat themselves when you get old.”

You pause at that. He doesn’t seem to notice. He tilts his head toward you, eyes pale and distant like he’s watching something behind your shoulder. “You look tired,” he adds, voice lowering like he’s confiding a secret. “Better be careful out there. Things have been strange lately.”

Your hand tightens around the strap of your bag. You give a vague, polite laugh. “That’s the job.”

You brush past him and head for the stairwell. You don’t look back, but you feel his gaze stay on you long after you’ve turned the corner.

You stop at the usual corner café on your way, fingers curling around the paper cup as warmth bleeds into your palms. The barista had known your order before you even spoke, and you hadn’t remembered giving it the last time.

Still, you thank them, tap your card, and ask for a second cup. Sweet, spiced — Tara’s favorite.

The drive to HQ is uneventful in the way that makes your skin crawl. Familiar faces. Familiar turns. A bus passes with the same ad it had yesterday, or the day before. Or the day before that.

You try not to think about it.

By the time you reach the towering glass building that houses the Hunter‘s Association, your pulse has settled. Almost. You badge in without thinking, navigate the clean, cold elevators up to the Unicorns’ floor. It smells like ozone and too-strong disinfectant. The doors open with a soft ding. Your boots echo against the polished floor as you step out, one drink in each hand, bag slung over your shoulder. The halls are already buzzing, agents reviewing reports, prepping gear, voices low and clipped with focus. You move toward the common area, letting muscle memory guide your steps.

Then—

“Wait. What are you doing here?”

You pause, halfway through the threshold. Tara is standing by the corner desk, brows drawn tight as she eyes you. Her coat is only half-on, her badge clipped crookedly to her belt like she rushed here. She blinks at you like you’re the ghost. “You’re not supposed to be here today,” she says slowly, like maybe you’d just forgotten. “It’s your day off. You traded shifts last week, remember?”

Your breath catches for half a second, not enough to be obvious, but enough to thrum in your ribs. You look down at the cup in your hand. Her drink. Still warm. You smile, tight at the edges.

“Guess I forgot.”

She studies your face like she’s trying to solve something.

“Did you sleep?”

“Not really.”

She hums, unconvinced.

“You okay?”

You nod once. Too quick.

“I just… didn’t want to stay home.”

That, at least, feels true.

You take a sip of your drink to ground yourself, the burn of cinnamon and heat against your tongue makes you blink, sharp and anchoring. Your other hand, almost on autopilot, pulls the second cup from the carrier. You offer it to Tara.

“Here. I got your usual.”

Her brows lift, surprised. “On your day off? You’re a saint.”

You try to laugh, but it comes out quieter than intended. “Habit, I guess.”

She takes the drink, fingers brushing yours. “Well, thanks. You didn’t have to.”

No. But you did. Because something in you needs this tether, the weight of warm cardboard, the simplicity of a shared ritual, the echo of something normal. Tara sips from the lid and hums. Then her expression shifts, thoughtful, like she’s remembering something.

“Oh, right,” she says, nudging your shoulder. “You said you were going to meet up with Skye today. Weren’t you both trying to catch up all week?”

Skye.

The name sinks into your chest like a pebble dropped in deep water. Something ripples beneath the surface, something distant. Unclear. Your fingers tighten around the paper cup.

“I… yeah.” You blink again. Try to summon a memory. Try to remember when you made those plans. Why. But there’s nothing. Just static. The hollow buzz behind your eyes. “We were.” You force a smile. It feels like someone else’s. “We were talking about it.”

Tara doesn’t notice your hesitation, or pretends not to. She rolls her eyes fondly, stepping past you toward the terminal at the center of the room. “You were going on and on about it. Said you wanted to get away from HQ for once. Said he’s been dodging your messages. You were gonna surprise him.”

Right. That sounds like something you’d do. But you don’t remember saying it. You glance out the wide-paneled windows. The light outside is thin, pale, almost silver. Like it’s trying to decide between dawn and dusk. You clear your throat. “I should… go, then. Before he disappears again.”

Tara grins. “Go. Shoo. Enjoy your mystery day off.”

You nod, mechanical. Each step away from her feels like it was decided by someone else, like you’re just following along in your own footsteps. The elevator hums low behind you as you press the button. A chill dances down your spine. You don’t know where you’re going. You don’t even know if he’ll be there. But somehow, your feet do.

—

You take the long way.

It’s not intentional, at first your boots carry you along the sidewalks of Astra’s inner districts like they’ve done it a hundred times before, weaving past office buildings with reflective glass, past the hum of neon advertisements flickering in the haze of mid-morning light. The city feels stretched thin today, like a ghost trying to wear its own skin. The noise is there, the movement too, but it all sounds muffled, like you’re underwater. Or dreaming.

The warm drink in your hand is long gone, tossed into a bin on the corner by the transit terminal. You don’t remember drinking the rest of it. You don’t remember much after Tara said his name.

Skye.

It sits in the back of your mind like something important, like a promise you forgot to keep. Like a word you almost remember from a language you no longer speak. You pass under one of the old rail arches, the bricks cracked with age and ivy curling up from between them. It opens onto the city park, the one that lies just between the HQ and the northern sectors where the older housing still stands. You’ve walked here before. You think.

Your steps slow.

The park is quiet. Too quiet.

You hear the soft rustle of wind through the leaves, but not the hum of morning commuters or children’s laughter or the chatter of old citizens who usually take the benches around the central fountain. No dogs. No footsteps. Just… stillness. You glance up. The sky is pale, bleached like bone. No sun. Just light, directionless and cold. You wrap your arms around yourself and keep walking. The path winds between skeletal trees, their leaves already starting to turn orange despite it being too early in the season. One leaf detaches from a branch as you pass, fluttering down in slow motion.

You watch it fall.

And then you hear it again—the caw. It cuts through the silence like a blade.

You stop.

Mephisto stands perched on the black wrought-iron fence just ahead, right where the path splits in two directions. His feathers gleam with oil-slick iridescence, catching the cold light as he tilts his head and stares directly at you.

You freeze. Your breath catches, and then the pain starts. First, it’s a dull pressure behind your eyes. Then it grows. A pulsing throb at the base of your skull, rhythmic and deep, like something ancient is trying to push its way through your thoughts. You clutch your head, stagger sideways, nearly tripping over the uneven edge of the path.

Mephisto caws again, louder this time. Sharper.

You squeeze your eyes shut. The pressure intensifies, folding in on itself. Like your skull is a tuning fork and someone struck it too hard. Your knees buckle. You gasp, fall to your hands. Something flickers behind your eyelids.

Shadows.

A face — no, faces half-remembered. Blood. White walls. Red lights. A scream you never heard with your ears. Sylus? Skye? A voice in the dark. You remember—

No, you don’t. You almost remember.

The pain peaks with a flash of heat behind your eyes, and then everything falls silent.

Dead silent.

The kind of silence that presses against your eardrums like the absence of the world. You open your eyes. You’re in your bed. Again.

The ceiling greets you, water-stained and cracked in the top corner. A tiny spider is crawling across it. You sit up too fast, a gasp catching in your throat as vertigo claws through you. You grip the sheets and force your gaze to the nightstand.

The alarm clock reads: 6:06 AM.

Nineteen minutes after you usually wake up. Your skin goes cold. You scramble out of bed, heart hammering, and stagger to the window. You fling it open. The city outside is just waking, commuters drifting into the streets, hovercars blinking sluggishly in traffic lanes. Nothing out of place.

Except there, perched just on the edge of the fire escape, is Mephisto. He cocks his head at you. Stares. And then, without a sound, he spreads his wings and flies away. Your body moves on its own after that. Shower. Teeth. Uniform.

You don’t eat. The idea makes your stomach turn. You grab your badge and holster. You tell yourself you’ll grab something on the way, but you don’t. You can’t remember the taste of food anyway. You open the door. Mr. Delarose is in the hallway again, the same way he always is. His hands are full of mail that no one ever collects.

“Strange weather today,” he says with a slow blink, eyes too shiny. “Don’t you think it’s odd… how the wind always smells like rain, but it never comes?”

You nod, because you don’t know what else to do. You walk away.

You buy two warm drinks again. One for Tara. The woman behind the counter looks at you like she knows something. But she says nothing. The ride to HQ is silent. You check your phone. There’s no messages.

There never is.

You arrive. You head to the Unicorns floor. You hand Tara her drink.

She smiles and thanks you. “You sure you’re okay?” she asks. “You’re spacing. I thought today was your day off?”

You nod. “Just wanted to drop something off.”

But even you don’t believe your own voice.

Something is wrong.

And you’re running out of time.

Eighteen minutes left.

✨author’s notes

hello lovelies, this chapter marks the start of sylus’ path, something a little different, a little off-kilter. this route will be slower, stranger, and more tender than you might expect from him… but isn’t that the fun part? i’m honestly so excited (and a little nervous) to see how it all unravels.

thank you for being here with me in the loops. 🕰🖤

- nikotashi <3

#love and deepspace #lads fanfic #love and deepspace x mc #love and deepspace x reader #love and deepspace x you #lads sylus #love and deepspace sylus #l&ds sylus #lads x you #l&ds x reader #l&ds x you #sylus x mc #sylus x you #sylus x reader #lnds sylus #sylus fanfic

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earlgreylatte · 3 hours ago

Text

Messages From the Stars ⋆｡°✩

(Green Lantern Caleb x Reader) Pilot turned intergalactic ring-wielding hero? Real original.

Dividers from @enchanthings

In a world of gods and monsters, Caleb considered himself perfectly average, growing up alongside you, his pipsqueak, who still treats him like a lackey, with your demands of him to fetch you snacks when he comes back home.

You would argue his talent and rapid growth as a fighter pilot makes him extraordinary, at the very least.

As bittersweet as it was to watch you forge your own path without him at your side, he was content with life. Of course, things never seem to go his way, when during a routine flight test, he’s struck down and held hostage by a terrorist group.

Feeling the weight of the necklace given by you in the secret pocket he sewed into his pants (definitely not regulation), he realizes more than ever that he wants to live, to come home to you, even if you would be fine without him, even if it makes him selfish. So, he decides, even it’s nigh impossible, he will escape and return to you, no matter the cost.

And as if attracted to his sudden desperation, a green ring appears (“Caleb Xia, you have the ability to overcome great fear. Welcome to the Green Lantern Corps.”) and what happens next is a blur of green light and shouts.

He doesn’t stay any longer than that, shooting up into the sky, more than ready to go home, letting his base know he’s alive a not a priority at the moment.

He bursts into your home, nearly blinding you with the green glow of his ring, his frantic expression melting into a sheepish one, noticing the broken glass scattered across the floor from his entrance

“Uh, hey, pipsqueak, guess who’s not dead…?”

“What are you wearing—no! Where have you been? You’ve been reported MIA for a week! And—and how are you doing that!?”

Amidst your panic, a green broom and dustpan began to sweep up the glass.

“Huh. I’m not really sure, actually…by the way, are those instant noodles I see on the table? How many times have I told you—“

“CALEB.”

Ends up using the ring to do some good after you encourage him to do so, stopping natural disasters and beating the shit out of thugs to keep the city safe for you.

Annoyingly enough, the ring seems to attract trouble, with villains crashing your dates, forcing him to sigh before suiting up to eliminate whatever’s in your way with more spite than necessary.

Definitely teases you for being so bossy when you demand him to make certain constructs, but his ring is always at your disposal. Create paper airplanes to bother you and makes constructs to hold you in place or spin you around.

Becomes more concerned about your security because of your connection with him. Tries keep his secret identity, well, secret. Checks in a lot and full on demands you stay in when a crisis arises.

When other Lanterns appear to take him to Oa for training and get him set up in his own sector, he nearly quits until you stop him. Doesn’t really want to be apart from you, but your desire for him to do good wins out.

Definitely sends projections of himself to visit you once he learns how to and jumps on the opportunity to go on leave.

Takes you anywhere and everywhere with his ring, even the moon for a picnic in a green bubble construct.

Has definitely siphoned his ring power over to you so you can try on the green suit and fly around.

If any villain or opposing Lantern comes after you, he will lose it. Probably has gotten into heat for use of unauthorized lethal force

You’ve become a host for the Star Sapphire at one point, forcing Caleb to try to detain you to pry the parasitic rock off of your skull, while trying to ignore the rising heat building in his body from the provocative words and outfit you’ve been put into.

If the emotional spectrum is established, your association with him probably leads to you becoming a Blue Lantern or proper, autonomous Star Sapphire, much to his pleasure. Literally just follows you around on your adventures, his mission and duties be damned.

Could definitely see Caleb in Orange or Violet, temporarily channeling enough avarice or love to become an Orange Lantern or Star Sapphire if willpower alone isn’t enough to keep you safe.

Jokes about him being the more ‘emotionally available’ or ‘committed’ Hal Jordan have been made multiple times.

Caleb definitely sees Kyle and John as a cautionary tale when it comes to his resolution to keeping you safe. The latter definitely hope he can do so, unlike them, they don’t think he’d be able to survive your death.

Lowkey, most of the Lanterns are jealous he’s able to maintain a healthy and devoted relationship with someone while balancing his work and Lantern duties.

They’ve definitely made constructs of you to tease him. Caleb doesn’t know how to feel about being the one on the receiving end of lighthearted jabs and ribbing for once. You find it hilarious.

His Green Lantern suit definitely consists of a mask and incorporates some kind of jacket. Known as the ‘buff’ Green Lantern or the one with a really nice back. Has been called ‘Slutty Waist Lantern’ on twitter, probably.

This is so niche lolol!

I got Xavier’s myth is like 50 pulls ahahaha

Seen a lot of talk about Caleb being Spider-man or Bucky coded, but Hal is right there…his powers would also make him a pretty good Radiant Black!

Masterlist

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace x reader #l&ds #l&ds x reader #l&ds caleb #xia yizhou #lads caleb #lads caleb x reader #dc x reader #green lantern x reader #dc x lads #lads x reader #caleb xia #caleb xia x reader #love and deespace au #don’t ask me to write for lads again #I’m serious #I’ll curse you with bad luck

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luvrsssara · 2 days ago

Text

Territory Games: When Dragons Clash

Sylus x Reader | Fluffy | humorous | fantasy romance with playful jealousy ~6,210 words

This is kind of a spinoff from: His Flame,His Mate

When Ember, Jett, and River break sacred dragon law by taking you—Sylus’s mate—into their nests, everything unravels. Sylus’s jealousy burns hotter than fire as he fights tradition, fury, and fear to reclaim you. A story of dragon instincts, forbidden closeness, and one very possessive mate.

[READER’S POV]

You had thought you might have finally cooled Sylus down. After all, he’d been hunting more, bringing gifts like rare gemstones and glittering gold, and even spent hours crafting the most extravagant nest for you — one that smelled only of you and him, with none of that other dragon’s scent lingering anywhere.

But dragons were stubborn beasts, and Sylus was no exception.

So, naturally, when the unnamed dragon had the audacity to step into your cave, you couldn’t help but see a chance to push Sylus’s buttons just a little more.

You stood at the entrance of your cavernous home, arms crossed, a mischievous smile playing on your lips as you watched Sylus circle near the cave’s mouth, his crimson eyes flickering with impatience. He looked every bit the territorial beast — tail twitching, nostrils flaring, claws scraping the stone floor.

“Are you going to introduce me?” you called out with a teasing tone.

Sylus growled low in his throat but held back. His pride wouldn’t let him confront the intruder openly, not just yet.

You beckoned with a finger, and the other dragon — tall, sleek, and striking in his own right — stepped fully inside, his gaze flickering to Sylus. The tension was electric.

Sylus narrowed his eyes and let out a rumbling warning, but you laughed softly.

“Oh, Sylus,” you said, voice dripping with mock innocence, “I thought you liked having company?”

The other dragon smiled, oblivious or perhaps entertained by the territorial dance unfolding. You sat on a smooth stone bench carved into the cave wall, patting the space beside you.

Sylus’s wings twitched as he watched, barely able to contain his frustration. You caught the flare of his nostrils, the twitch of his tail.

Over the next hours, you poured wine, told stories, and laughed with the newcomer, all while Sylus stayed on the periphery — hunting, gathering more precious stones, and occasionally shooting you a glare sharp enough to carve rock.

At one point, Sylus strode forward, laying a gleaming necklace of molten gold and rare Philos gems beside you, growling, “No one will give you this but me.”

You smiled sweetly. “Oh, I know, Sylus. But the necklace is for your eyes only. The company is for mine.”

The other dragon gave a low chuckle, and you could almost hear Sylus’s tail flick in irritation.

Later, as the other dragon excused himself, you noticed Sylus stalking the cave, arranging stones meticulously around your nest, murmuring ancient dragon mating rituals under his breath — each one meant to bind you closer, to remind you that you belonged to him.

You called out softly, “Sylus, I see what you’re doing.”

He shot you a look, fierce and vulnerable all at once. “Do you want me to stop?”

You shook your head, feeling a rush of warmth beneath his possessiveness. “No. Keep trying. I’m not going anywhere.”

⸻

[SYLUS’S POV]

Watching her with another dragon was like swallowing molten lava and ice simultaneously. My chest tightened with a possessiveness so fierce it made my claws ache.

Every jewel I hunted, every nest I built, was a silent promise — a reminder that I was hers and hers alone.

When she invited that other dragon into our cave, I felt rage flare like wildfire.

But beneath it all was a desperate need to hold her close, to never lose her scent or warmth to another.

Every tradition, every ritual, was my way of saying: “I am your mate. No one else.”

[READER’S POV]

You should’ve known Sylus wasn’t going to take the cave-invasion lightly.

But you didn’t expect him to start marking territory like some prehistoric dog.

You woke up the next morning, stretched… and froze.

Every wall of the cave was decorated in a very specific way: claw marks — his claw marks — in oddly dramatic patterns. Around the nest, around the dining ledge, even on the walls near your clothes pile.

Then there were the teeth marks. Sylus had bitten the lip of your stone table. For what purpose? Decoration? Protest?

There was a slightly singed inscription on the cave ceiling that read:

“SYLUS’S MATE — NO TOUCH.”

You stared at it, half horrified, half impressed. The man climbed the ceiling to burn that message in fire script.

You walked into the main chamber, where Sylus sat with a wide, smug grin, wings folded back neatly like he hadn’t just gone full primal caveman at 3 AM.

“Oh good, you’re up,” he said, tail flicking. “Did you like the enhancements? Very subtle. Very tasteful.”

“You clawed my favorite boulder,” you said flatly.

“Correction — I clawed our favorite boulder,” he said, stepping close, puffing out his chest. “It’s part of a mating rite. You wouldn’t understand. Dragon stuff.”

You tried to keep a straight face. “Uh-huh. Is the fire-engraved ‘NO TOUCH’ also a dragon tradition?”

“Yes,” he said instantly. “Very sacred. Generational. Passed down.”

You squinted. “You just made that up.”

He leaned down, red eyes glinting. “Maybe. But I meant every word.”

You tried to walk away, but Sylus followed you like a possessive shadow, tail occasionally tripping your foot — totally not on purpose. Of course not.

⸻

[SYLUS’S POV]

She thinks I don’t notice her smirking when I trip over my own tail or “accidentally” drop a pile of sapphires on my foot trying to make her a necklace.

But I do. She’s amused.

I’ve hunted a sunscale serpent. I’ve carved her face into the side of a cliff. I’ve even bathed, voluntarily, with scented herbs from the southern ravine because she likes the way they smell.

But still, that smug, nameless dragon haunts my memory like a shadow.

She laughed at his jokes.

She let him sit in our nest area. That spot is sacred. It still smells like him.

So, naturally, I did what any sane, rational dragon would do: I dug a new nest. Right beside the old one. Bigger. Shinier. Lined with rare velvet moss.

I called it: “THE REAL NEST”.

She saw it and choked on her tea.

⸻

[READER’S POV]

You really did choke on your tea.

Sylus unveiled the new nest with the grandiose flair of someone revealing a priceless artifact.

“I call this one ‘The Real Nest.’ For real mates only,” he said, wings flaring in case you somehow missed the 30 glowing crystals he embedded in the moss lining.

“And what happens to the old nest?” you asked, gesturing to the one you still actually sleep in.

He scowled. “That’s the fake nest. Tainted. Might burn it.”

You laughed so hard he narrowed his eyes. “I’m glad you find the sanctity of dragon customs hilarious.”

“Oh, I do,” you wheezed.

Sylus stared at you for a long moment, then growled, low and dangerous.

“Invite that dragon again,” he said, stalking toward you, voice a gravelly rumble. “Go on. See what happens.”

“Maybe I will,” you teased, stepping backwards toward the fake nest, eyes gleaming.

His lips curled into a grin. “Then I’ll just have to show you again who this cave belongs to.”

⸻

[READER’S POV-AFTER A FEW DAYS]

Later that day, you found a third nest.

This one spelled out your name in flowers. You don’t even know where Sylus found flowers in the mountains.

But he was sprawled beside it, wings out, looking smug and exhausted like he’d just won the war.

You laid beside him, snorting as you looked at the third nest.

“Are you done yet?” you whispered.

He cracked one eye open. “Not even close.”

But you weren’t done either..

TO BE CONTINUED…

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