#sylus (love and deepspace) | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

princessxmin · 3 days ago

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SLUT ME OUT ! — LADS MEN

[♕]: warnings— fem!reader, makeout session, cum/cock drunk!reader, p in v, bj in xaviers, overstimulation, reader is freaked out, 69ing in rafayels, smut with little plot. [౨ৎ] synopsis: how the lads men react to you being hornier than usual! [♡₊˚ ♕]: her highness's decree: yall really liked the last one so...here you go! Didn't really proofread much lol.

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SYLUS.

you had been living with sylus for about a year and a half now, but never, ever, had you seen him look so sexy in a black button down. Yes you seen him in it before, but you haven't seen him like this in it before.

Coming up behind him slow, you let your palms wander over the hard planes of his chest, fingers shamelessly tracing the lines of muscle beneath the thin fabric. You felt him inhale, a little sharper than usual, as you slid your hands lower, down his torso, feeling the warmth of him through the shirt.

“Hey, Sy,” you breathed, soft and affectionate, pressing a tender kiss to the side of his neck. “Whatcha reading?” He turned a page slowly, “Mm… reports. Just work.” His voice was calm, but the way he shifted in his chair betrayed him.

Your lips brushed over the line of his jaw, the faintest hum vibrating against his skin. “You look good like this,” you whispered, your hands sliding down to his stomach again, feeling him tense under your touch. “Can’t stop looking at you.”

His dark eyes flicked to the side, a sly smirk tugging at his lips. “Yeah?” he teased, his tone lazy, though the faint flush climbing his neck didn’t escape you. “That all you wanted to tell me sweetie?”

Instead of answering, you leaned in, letting your fingers slip between buttons, brushing over bare skin. “No,” you whispered against the shell of his ear, your breath making him shift in his seat. “I want you sy.”

That made him pause, the brown file lowering in his hands. His smirk shifted, deepening into something darker, more intrigued. “Really now?” he murmured, his voice dipping into that teasing lilt that always made your stomach flutter.

You didn’t even try to hide the slow smile curling your lips as you leaned in, humming as you pressed a soft kiss to the curve of his shoulder through the fabric of his shirt.

“You always look good every day…” you whispered, your words trailing off as your fingers wandered lower, brushing dangerously close to the sharp line of his v-line. A rush of heat stirring deep in your core, your tongue flicked out to wet your lips as your gaze lifted back to his.

“…but you look really sexy right today.” you breathed, your voice hushed and honest, eyes drinking in every detail of his face. Before he could reply, you moved around the side of the chair, slow and deliberate, until you were in front of him. A low chuckle escaped the white haired man as his eyes follow you, dark and gleaming. "Maybe I should wear this everyday if it makes you this forward then."

As you set the file aside on the couch, your hand graced his shoulder with a gentle push, swinging a leg over his thigh, you straddled him with practiced ease, your body settling against his lap. Hands already coming up to grip your waist and slid up your shirt, "You could wear anything and I'd still wanna get in your pants." You whispered, quickly closing the gap between you two as your arms wrapped around his neck.

Your lips crashed against Sylus’s, heat sparking the instant they met. One hand slid up instinctively, fingers threading through the pale strands at the nape of his neck before curling into his hair, giving a soft, desperate tug.

Soft moans spilled against his mouth as you shifted in his lap, grinding forward with a needy roll of your hips that pulled a rough curse from him. Veiny hands clamped harder on your waist, thumbs digging in like he needed to hold on or lose himself.

You barely broke the kiss, lips brushing his as you breathed, shaky and hot, “More…” before crashing back into him, kissing deeper, tasting him, pressing yourself flush against him as your hips rocked again—another groan tearing from his chest.

“You’re insatiable, kitten…”

ZAYNE.

Your Zayne was always a respectful, always gentle. A sweetheart. Never wanting you to think that sex was simply a means of pleasure, that it was an act of love between the two of you that went beyond words and terms of endearment.

Though at this very second, you wanted the farthest thing from that.

You had come for the third time that night but the need seated deep in your cunny still burned, not as big- but hot. So when zayne kissed your shoulder and asked if you were okay all you could breathe out against his pillows was, "Harder."

His breath caught, the soft murmur of your request seeming to coil around his spine and snap something loose. “Harder?” he echoed, voice low, almost disbelieving, like he needed to hear it again to be sure.

You nodded quickly, hips still rolling back against him, needy and slick, a tremor running through your thighs. “Yes—need it,” you gasped, “need you to make me take it please zaynie.” You whined out.

For a heartbeat, the only sound in the room was your ragged breathing. Then you felt it—his body tense behind you, a sharp inhale drawn through his teeth. The twitch of his cock in your walls as he breathed.

“My angel …” he rasped, as one of his hands slid up your spine, fingers splaying over your shoulder blade like he was grounding himself. “You say things like that—” his voice broke into a low groan, “—and you don’t even know what it does to me.”

You felt the soft brush of his lips against your ear, his words spilling over you like molten honey. “You want me to make you take it?” His voice was lower now, rougher, almost feral. “Then hold on, because I won't stop until you beg me to.”

Then suddenly Zayne’s hands, which were always so tender, suddenly tightened—fingers digging into your hips with a bruising grip as he shifted behind you. You felt him press in deeper, the head of his cock deliciously kissing your cervix, making your mouth drop open in an 'o'. But what really made your eyes roll back was the way he almost fully pulled out before thrusting all the way back in your walls, practically fucking the air out of your lungs as you screamed.

A sharp cry tumbled from your lips, half-pain, half-pleasure, and he growled low in your ear, “Like that?” Your nails curled into the sheets, head dropping forward as another wave surged through you. “Yes—fuck, yes yes!"

Your body jolted with every movement, legs trembling as the coil inside you wound tight again. Brain melting as you felt his cock drag against every trembling, swollen spot inside you, stroking deep enough to make your vision blur.

“Zaynie—” you whimpered, voice breaking, “you’re so deep—s'good—” The words spilled out unchecked, raw and hungry, nothing like the shy murmurs you usually gave him. “Your so good love, s'good. Love you so much zaynie."

You felt him twitch at that, hips stuttering for just a fraction of a second before he groaned into your neck, the sound guttural and strained. “Yes,” you gasped again, louder now, back arching as another thrust drove you forward, “just like that—fuck me harder, Zayne—ruin me, please—!"

A strangled curse tore from his throat, his rhythm snapping into something even rougher, hips slamming forward with a force that left you crying out against the pillows. Soft gasps and groans further spurring you on. Dirty words continuing to fall from your lips, frantic, breathless, shaking as you chased the edge:

“Want it—wanna feel you so deep it stays in me—shiit, you’re gonna cum with me, aren’t you? Fill me up zaynie, fuck—yes, please, please—”

Your own voice cracked as the tension finally snapped, pleasure tearing through you in a hot, blinding rush. Your legs quivered violently as you cried his name, the world narrowing to nothing but him—his grip, his thrusts, the deep, ragged groan he let out as your body clenched down hard around him, milking him as you finished with a shuddering, bliss-drunk whimper.

“Such a dirty girl,” Zayne rasped against your ear, his voice wrecked, thick with the strain of holding on. His hips stuttered once, twice, before he buried himself to the hilt, a broken moan ripping from his chest as he spilled into you.

XAVIER.

There was something hypnotic about Xavier that night—the way he stood at the counter under the warm glow of the kitchen light, sleeves shoved up to his elbows, forearms flexing with each careful slice of the knife. He wasn’t doing anything extraordinary, just chopping vegetables, but there was a quiet focus in his movements, a softness in the curve of his shoulders, that made your pulse quicken and your thighs press together under the oversized shirt you’d stolen from him.

You crept up behind him barefoot, the cool tile under your feet a stark contrast to the heat pooling in your belly. Your arms slipped around his middle, cheek brushing between his shoulder blades as you breathed him in—soap, faint cologne, him.

He chuckled low, a rumble you felt through his back, clearly used to your little hugs while he cooked. But when your hands drifted lower, fingertips tracing over the waistband of his sweatpants before cupping the growing heat there, his knife paused mid‑slice and his breath caught in his throat.

“Baby,” he murmured, a warning tangled with amusement, “I’m trying to cook.”

You hummed against his back, lips grazing the space between his shoulder blades as your palm cupped him more firmly. Your other hand snuck in to tug at the drawstring of his pants, loosening them.

He paused, then slowly turned around, eyes warm as he cupped your face and leaned down to kiss you—soft, slow, like he wanted to savor the moment and satiate your hunger with just that.

But you broke the kiss, breathless, shaking your head. “Need more..” you whispered, voice thick with need. " 'need a different kiss from you.”

His eyes darkened, heart hammering in his chest as you sank to your knees right there on the tile. You looked up at him, lips parted in that slow, sinful smile you knew drove him wild.

“Let me taste you, Xav,” you said, already tugging his pants and boxers down enough for his cock to spring free, thick and flushed, the head already leaking precome. His hands gripped the counter like he needed the anchor. “God… you’re gonna kill me star.”

You leaned in and licked a slow stripe along his length, your tongue curling around the head before you swallowed him deeper, lips stretching, your fingers curling around the base to guide him. His hips jerked forward with a groan, knuckles white where they clutched the counter.

“Fuck—sweetheart, you don’t—” His voice broke off into a strangled sound when you hollowed your cheeks, sucking him deep until the head bumped the back of your throat.

You moaned softly around him, your free hand gripping his hip, pulling him in just a little deeper, your eyes fluttering closed as you felt his cock twitch against your tongue. “So good, hah star—” Xavier’s hand left the counter to tangle in your hair, not pushing, just holding, his hips rocking forward helplessly as you set a rhythm—deep, eager pulls, the wet sounds echoing in the quiet kitchen.

Your own voice was muffled around him, but you managed to breathe out something filthy against his skin, your lips brushing the sensitive underside as you worked him: “Want you… wanna taste you so bad… fill my throat, Xav, please—give it to me.”

His thighs trembled under your hands. “Baby—fuck, don't say that, you're gonna make me—” You didn’t let up, sucking harder, your nails digging into his hips as you pulled him into your mouth, your throat relaxing as you took more, swallowed more, until his rhythm broke entirely.

“God—” he gasped, hips jerking, before he spilled deep, hot, filling your mouth as he groaned out your name in a raw, shuddering rasp. You stayed there, eyes closing, swallowing every drop, your hands still holding him steady until his breathing evened out and his grip on your hair loosened into something tender.

“Fuck,” Xavier whispered, breathless and wrecked, looking down at you like you’d just undone him completely. His thumb brushed over your cheek as you looked up, licking your lips. "You taste so sweet xavy..cmon lemme have another."

CALEB.

Caleb was always patient, always soft with you. Every time you two ended up tangled in the sheets, he treated you like something fragile—something precious. Even when his chest was heaving, when sweat was dripping down his temples, his voice stayed low and soothing, always checking on you, always asking if you were okay.

But right now, there wasn’t a shred of that patience left in you.

Your thighs were already trembling, sticky and sore from riding him through two hard, messy releases, but the ache between your legs was a fever that wouldn’t die down. You sat straddling him in the dim glow of your bedroom, his back propped up against the headboard, his chest still rising and falling heavy as you ground your hips down in slow, circling rolls.

“Pips…” His voice was hoarse, wrecked, a hand sliding over your thigh like he wasn’t sure if he should stop you. “You already—fuck, you already got me twice.”

You only whimpered in response, nails digging into his shoulders as you rocked your hips forward, dragging his sensitive cock against your slick walls but never lifting, never giving him a chance to slip out. “I know,” you gasped, your voice shaking, desperate, “but I still need it—need you still, you feel so good—”

He groaned low, head tipping back against the headboard, the tendons in his neck flexing as you rolled your hips again, deliberately grinding your clit down against the base of him. The wet drag made his hips twitch up in reflex, a broken sound falling from his lips.

“God, baby—” his voice cracked, hips shifting helplessly under you, his hands gripping your waist tight but not pushing, not stopping. “You’re gonna fuckin’ ruin me…”

Your eyes fluttered half-shut as you kept moving, circling your hips, leaning forward so your chest brushed his, your lips brushing against his jaw as you panted against his skin. “Then let me,” you whispered, feral and shaking, “please—let me take it, Caleb. Let me make you come again. Wanna feel it—want you so bad.”

He shuddered hard, and you felt him twitch inside you, overstimulated but thickening again from your desperate rhythm, from the wet sounds filling the room and the way you whimpered every time you ground yourself down onto him.

Caleb’s hands slid lower, gripping your ass now, but only to hold you there, to anchor himself as his eyes squeezed shut. “You’re fuckin insane pips,” he rasped, voice breaking as your walls clenched around him again. “You’re gonna—shit—”

The next grind had him choking out your name, his hips jerking up hard in an instinct he couldn’t stop, and you moaned deep in your throat, nails raking down his chest as you rode the motion, grinding faster, harsher, lost in it.

“C’mon,” you begged, voice high and broken, “do it again, 'leb, give it to me—I need it, I need it—”

His breath hitched, a shudder running through his whole body as he suddenly buried his face in your neck, hips bucking up once, twice—then a strangled groan ripped out of him, low and raw, as you felt him spill deep again, twitching hard inside you, thick and hot as you squeezed down around him.

You gasped out his name, trembling on top of him, still grinding in tight, slow circles as he whimpered through the overstimulation, hands clutching you like he couldn’t tell you no even if he tried.

“Shit pips, you’re—” his voice broke into a ragged laugh against your throat, “you’re too much…”

But he never stopped you. Even as he shook from the sensitivity, even as you kept rolling your hips with a wild, hungry rhythm, he just held you close, letting you take everything you wanted, letting you ride him through every aftershock and beyond—panting, desperate, both of you dizzy and undone and still needing more.

RAFAYEL.

You had been shy with Rafayel at first. Not just in the way you looked at him, but in what you let him do to you, what you allowed yourself to ask for. There was something about him—his calm voice, his warm hands—that made you feel safe, and yet when he looked at you sometimes, eyes dark and patient, it scared you how much you wanted to give him.

So when he whispered softly one night, “Let’s try something new, hm cutie?” your heart almost jumped out of your chest.

“Rafayel—wait, I—” you stammered, lying back against the sheets as he eased you onto your side, then onto your back. Your breath stuttered as he kissed the inside of your knee, sliding your leg over his shoulder like it was the most natural thing in the world. “I… I don’t know if I can—”

He stilled, gazing up at you with that soft, unwavering expression that always made your pulse race. “You can stop me anytime,” he murmured. “But I want to taste you while you taste me. Only if you want it.”

Your mouth went dry. You’d imagined it before—shameful little flashes in your head when you were alone—but now, with his calm hands guiding you, your body trembled with a heat that frightened and thrilled you all at once.

“Honey…” you whispered, unsure if it was a plea or a warning.

But then his lips brushed your inner thigh again, slow, tender, and something in you broke. You reached for him, tugged at his arm, your face hot as you whispered, “Okay… okay. I… I want it.”

The world tilted as he guided you, careful and slow, until you were both lying opposite ways, his broad shoulders bracketing your thighs while his cock, already heavy and flushed, hovered inches from your lips.

Your breath caught as his tongue found you first, hot and slow, teasing until you whined and shivered beneath him. Your hips twitched, trying to press back against his mouth, but your attention quickly shifted to him—how thick he felt in your hand, how the head already leaked warm across your fingers.

You licked him softly at first, shy little flicks of your tongue that made his hips jerk against you. A soft groan rumbled from his chest, the vibration spilling through your cunt and making you moan around him.

“Mhm… good girl,” Rafayel breathed against you, his voice ragged.

Something in you melted at that, and you wanted more—needed more. You took him deeper, lips stretching, hollowing your cheeks as you sucked, tasting salt and skin, desperate to make him lose that careful composure.

He groaned louder now, hips jerking again, his hands flexing against your hips but not pulling you away. “F‑fuck, cutie, you’re—ngh—” His voice broke into a rough sound as you bobbed your head faster, saliva dripping down your chin, your moans humming around his cock.

His rhythm on you faltered; you felt it—the twitch in his length, the way his thighs tensed under your hands. And you didn’t stop. You wanted it. Wanted him undone.

“More…” you whimpered around him, words garbled, desperate. “Need you—need your cum, please honey—”

That broke him. A strangled groan ripped from his throat, his hips thrusting shallowly into your mouth as he spilled hot and sudden over your tongue, pulse after pulse flooding you. You moaned helplessly, swallowing around him, sucking him through it, milking every last drop until he trembled above you, voice breaking on your name.

And still—still—you didn’t stop.

Your mind went dizzy, drunk on the taste of him, your jaw aching but refusing to let go. He twitched in your mouth, over‑sensitive, and you whined, licking and sucking slow, greedy, as if you could keep him hard forever.

“Angel—oh… oh god—” Rafayel’s voice was wrecked now, hips jerking despite himself as your tongue swirled around the head, your spit slicking him down as you took him again, deeper this time.

You were cock‑drunk, eyes fluttering, moaning low as you rocked your hips against his mouth without thinking, needy and lost in him. His hands trembled where they gripped your thighs, but he didn’t stop tasting you either—licking, sucking, groaning into you as if your desperation was contagious.

You moaned louder, the sound breaking around him, your throat working greedily while your legs shook around his head. He cursed softly, hoarse and shaken, as you swallowed him down again, relentless, chasing another twitch, another pulse, even as he shuddered and spilled every ragged sound into you.

By the time you pulled off him, panting, lips swollen and chin wet, your voice was nothing but a trembling whisper: "Please… need more raf.”

And the way he groaned at that, dragging his tongue against your clit again, let you know he wasn’t going to stop until you both got exactly that.

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sinkuna · 1 day ago

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୨୧ — Sylus' arms are your castle.

Walls built from warmth and utter devotion, ramparts of strength that nothing in this world could breach. When he draws you close, settling back against his leather couch cushions with you curled against his side, you feel the drawbridge lowering, welcoming you into the safest place you've ever known.

"Come here," he says softly, adjusting his position so that you can nestle more comfortably against him. His arm becomes your pillow, his bicep firm beneath your cheek, while his other hand finds yours, fingers interlacing slowly like puzzle pieces finding their perfect match.

The castle walls rise around you- his chest, stead like ancient stone; arms, protective barriers that have never failed you. Within this fortress, the outside world with all its sharp edges and harsh truths is nothing but a distant memory, and you can let yourself relax completely, sinking down into the bliss of being completely and utterly safe… Because here in your castle made of bone and flesh, nothing could breach these walls.

His heartbeat is the most soothing sound in the world, beating steadily, strong, and true- and as long as it's there, you can let the rest of your troubles melt away.

Here, wrapped in Sylus' embrace, you're nobility in the most precious kingdom of two.

Your eyelids grow heavy as his thumb traces gentle circles over your knuckles. He's humming something low and melodic, a tune you recognize as one of your favorite songs, and when you turn to look up at him, a small smile is gracing his lips.

"Comfortable, sweetie?" he asks.

You nod sleepily, nuzzling closer into his side.

He chuckles softly, pressing a kiss to the top of your head, "Sleep," he whispers, "I'll keep watch, like always."

And you believe him completely. Sylus has never been one for empty promises. When he speaks, it's a vow, and he keeps his word as much as the earth keeps turning, the moon keeps rising.

So when he says he'll keep watch, you know that even in sleep, you'll remain safely guarded within the walls of his love.

As your breathing slows, the hand holding yours never loosens its gentle grip, even as his own consciousness slips away.

In this castle of his making, there are no nightmares, no fear. There is only a peaceful slumber, and the quiet promise that the sun will rise on another day.

Here, in this castle… you are his princess- his one and only, and he, your dragon who'd burn the world down than let it harm his most beloved treasure...

And you know you'll wake in the morning feeling more rested than you have in weeks.

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red-letter-imagines · 3 days ago

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🥹

YOUR LIPS, MY LIPS

synopsis: It’s Sylus’s first birthday with you. As a gift, you decide to give him your first (and his too)

Content. mdni afab + f! reader, established relationship, virgin! sylus, virgin! reader, mutual virginity loss (but honestly only reader’s is noticeable) oral (f! receiving) fingering, vaginal penetration, sylus finishes inside, no protection, praise, pet names (sweetie, kitten, good girl) reader wears lingerie, implied that reader and sylus have both touched themselves before, this is honestly really soft idk

a/n: can we pretend that this isn’t late… I forgot to save half my draft, spent the next day crashing out over it, but at least i got it done. Also my first time writing Sylus.

Staring at yourself in the mirror, you’re suddenly feeling nervous. Clammy hands, quick breaths, and shaky hands. Your heart thumps rapidly against the bones of your caged ribs, hard and fast and only increasing with the dwindling time that Sylus spends in the shower, he should be out any minute now.

Tonight’s the night, you tell yourself. Tonight’s the night that you allow yourself to be lost to Sylus. To be his completely and celebrate the first birthday you’ve spent with him.

Your eyes rove over the red-laced clad form of your body, hands adjusting the straps that cling tight to you. A crimson lace set that hugs your curves like a second skin. The stockings clench around the middle of your thighs so the plush flesh spills just over the edge. The set is perfect enough to accentuate your figure, eye-catching and elegant—like Sylus.

And despite your repeated words to calm yourself, you still can’t help but feel nervous. You’ve never done this before, dressed up, given yourself up, especially to the leader of Onychinus. To the most powerful man in the N109 zone. But you aren’t giving yourself up to that man — you’re giving yourself to Sylus, just Sylus. To your lover who has done nothing but make you feel loved and cared for, to the man who has proved his love over and over again in countless ways.

He’s never pushed you whatsoever, never overstepped boundaries, or tried to persuade you to do anything you were uncomfortable with. Even in moments during his vampiric schedule when you two found time to sneak away to share messy kisses full of teeth and tongue, he’s never escalated it to anything, always stopping (to which you find yourself disappointed) and excusing himself with a sweet kiss to your cheeks. Charming, as always. So this time, you should be the one to initiate, to show him that you’re ready.

That thought is enough to encourage you to slip into your shared bed, pulling the silky covers up to your laced chest. You still in that position, shifting slightly in different positions while you listen intently to the sound of the shower. The rush of water extends to your ears and the brief image of your lover under the wet rivulets of water immediately causes your cheeks to heat with familiar warmth and a pool of heat to bubble in you.

A flush rises to your cheeks, burying your face into the inky sheets at the scene your mind has just conjured up. You can vividly imagine water droplets cascading down his toned body, streams of liquid running down his length, and even the way he looks under the lights that most certainly illuminate the sheen of water on his skin. The thought is intoxicating, as are the many other thoughts you’ve had of Sylus.

Amidst your flushed cheeks and wild images blaring through your creative mind, you fail to notice Sylus exit the bathroom. His toned torso is on full display, comfortable in your presence, and a little too comfortable with the way his skin is open, offering you a clear sight of the dipping V-line as his towel hangs dangerously low. His crimson eyes are quick to notice you on his bed, covered with his blanket and face buried into the sheets. It’s clear that you’re not sleeping, and from the tint of rose painting your ears, he easily deduces that you’re blushing. Yet, from what?

His lips quirk into a soft smirk, a low chuckle rumbling from his throat that finally draws your attention to him. “You’re blushing, sweetie.”

Upon hearing his gravelly chuckle, a familiar one that never fails to send waves of shivers down your spine, your head snaps up to him. And if your cheeks weren’t burning red before, seeing him in his half-nude state certainly has caused your cheeks to be coated in the prettiest shade of red — a perfect reflection of his eyes.

“Sylus! Uh…” A quiet laugh (if you could even call it that) escapes your lips, suddenly feeling exactly like a bundle of nerves once again. “I’m not, I was just…” Your words trail off, brain blanking out on what to say. What does one say in this scenario?

“Hm?” He hums amusedly, that smug smile tugging at the edges of his pink lips (and your heart) his eyes crinkling in mirth as he observes you intently. “Were you hiding instead? I’m sure I can find you much faster than when you were looking for that brooch.”

His teasing tone immediately causes you to scowl, narrowing your eyes at him. If Sylus had any say, he would compare you to a kitten with its ears flattened back, claws out, and ready to swat at him.

“I’m not hiding!” You defend yourself indignantly, yet unsure of how to approach the situation. Of course, you could be upright and just tell him that you want him to fuck you and mark you up like he does in all your fantasies. Tell him that you have obscene thoughts about him in your mind, ideas that plague your dreams, all about him. “I just… have another gift for you.”

“Oh?” The soft words that leave your lips cause him to raise a smooth brow, stepping a stride closer to the bed. Closer to where your tantalizing body is hidden beneath his covers. Closer to your pulsing heart and warm body. Closer to the place where you long to have him. “Give it here then.”

He gestures with an open hand, two fingers beckoning you towards him in a silent urge to offer your gift.

“We-well…” You stammer softly, eyes zeroing in on a bead of water that breaks free from the trap of his silvery strands of hair, sliding down the length of his body, disappearing into the waistband of the towel wrapped snug around his waist. Even the simple, most natural action of a glob of water has your throat going dry, fingers itching under the sheets to fling them off of you.

And you do, slowly.

Inch by inch, you tug the blanket down to reveal the expanse of your body, laced in crimson, to the gaze of Sylus who stands a mere few feet away. His room is chilly but with the flush of embarrassment sitting heavy in your cheeks and warmth surging through your body, you’ve never felt hotter.

Once finally bare to his eyes, you will yourself to look at him. He’s suddenly closer than before, eyes dark as he stares down at you. His large hands are clenched tight and from the close distance, you can see the way his chest heaves, a difference in his normal breaths.

A beat passes. One. Two. Three. Before you hesitantly open your mouth, concerned if you’ve miscalculated the moment. “Sy-”

“Is this your gift to me, sweetie?” The man steps closer, hands almost reaching out to ghost over you but he doesn’t. Instead, he keeps his clenched fists down at his sides.

With a small nod, you finally sit up on your knees. Your hands reach out, easily clasping his and pulling him closer. You move closer, bringing his large hand to rest on your cheek, nuzzling into the warm palm of his hand that seamlessly encases your face. Turning your head, a small kiss is pressed to his inner wrist, reverent in its creation.

“Only if… only if you want to.” A soft whisper. A plea for his approval. An acceptance of your gift and trust you’ve placed into his hands. It’s okay if he isn’t ready but you want him to know that you’re ready. You’re ready to be his completely and wholeheartedly, in every way, his.

From your close proximity, you can see the way his Adam’s apple throbs, saliva sliding down his throat, mouth watering at the delicious sight of you. Clad in a shade that mirrors his eyes, batting your pretty eyes up at him like a kitten — it’s all he’s ever wanted.

Sylus is a gentleman. Never overstepping his boundaries, never asking for too much, always allowing you to take the relationship at a pace that suited you. But this? A special gift for his birthday, to lose himself to you completely, to devote himself to you more than he already has declared? It's his declaration to the world, to show everyone that he finally belongs to you and you to him.

So, with a reverent sigh, he allows his thumb to brush along the familiar skin of your cheeks, smooth and soft. The touch is familiar, so gentle and divine. But with the air charged with unspoken tension and his heated gaze, it's more intimate than a simple touch on your cheeks. His vermillion eyes smolder as he roves over your kneeling form. Your heart picks up pace, thumping faster than it's meant to against the curved bones of your ribs that hide your heart — bared open for him.

An amused chuckle falls from his lips, gravelly and grisly. He leans in closer, watching as your lashes flutter shut in anticipation of a kiss. The sight only makes his mouth curl into a satisfied smile, body heating up in a flush when he hears your words. You want to if he wants to? He’s been wanting for a long time, no, he’s needed you for an eternity. He’s desired every part you’ve bared to him longer than he can remember.

“I want you, if you’ll have me.” His sweet words are punctuated with the sweetest kiss to your hot cheeks. A stark contrast to the hardening length hidden by the towel. It’s so easy for you to get him worked up, and you aren’t even aware of it. Not aware of the effect you have on him, not aware of what your proximity does, or how many nights he’s spent bucking his sticky cock into his wet hands while he thinks about how gorgeous you are.

“I want you.” You reaffirm gently, cupping his warm cheeks. He pulls you in by your hips, leaning in ever so slightly so that his warm breath brushes across your lips. “I want this with you, Sylus.”

He groans softly at your keening words, tilting his head, finally pressing his lips to yours in a kiss. He takes his time kissing you, slow and steady, and so very like him. Sylus is a man who enjoys the finer things in life, savoring the mulled taste of wine or lavish silks. And what could possibly be more exquisite than his beautiful lover dressed up on his special day? This closeness of your first time together, an experience you both haven’t had, shaping and exploring the contours and creases of your love.

So, he kisses you slow, savoring the intimacy of your lips locked together.

“Gorgeous. You’re gorgeous in this, sweetie.” The words come as a groan from Sylus who moves on top of you, towel slipping dangerously to expose the prominent lines of his Apollo’s belt. “So perfect, for me, no?”

You fall easily onto your back, feeling exposed with the absence of the blanket, but Sylus quickly comes to replace that weight. Your hands find purchase on his broad shoulders, pulling him closer towards you as soft lips continue to gently press along yours in smooth undulations, soft swipes of tongue and teeth.

“Sylus, I- let me,” Broken murmurs escape your lips through his worshipful kisses, pushing him away so he sits up.

The soft towel finally falls from his hips, pooling onto his black sheets. Of course, the towel isn’t what catches your attention — rather, what it was hiding. Your gaze drops to the main prize, standing big and hard against his torso. You’ve imagined him plenty of times, large and girthy, but not like… this. It’s pretty, like the rest of him, perfectly proportioned to his 6’2 frame, almost elegant in the way the pink head dribbles pearls of pre down the throbbing veins that dance along the underside.

And perhaps it was because you’re breath caught in your throat, cheeks hot and mouth dry, eyes trained onto the way it throbs with ache that he finally speaks up, a low grin heard in his syllables.

“You’re staring, kitten.” The words ring true, you are staring, quite unabashedly. But he too, doesn’t seem to care, rather, he doesn’t act shy or nervous. Even in moments like these, even if it’s your first, Sylus will be Sylus.

“It’s just… so pretty.” Your whisper, hands coming up to run along the smooth crevices of his collarbones, fingers dancing down to the creases of his chest and abs. Your actions earn a low groan and shiver out of your lover, white hair falling to his eyes as his head falls forward, crimson eyes fluttering shut. “Can I touch you, Sylus? Can I make you feel good, my love?”

The honeyed words and praises that fall from your lips almost has him folding, almost. If he were anyone else, perhaps he’d have given in, but his desire for you overpowers his want for pleasure. After all, who would he be if he didn’t take care of you first, especially since this is your shared firsts.

“Not yet, sweetie. Let me take care of you.” He rebukes you gently, veiny hands rising to wrap around your wrist. He pulls you away, raising your chin for a kiss to soothe your adorable pout.

“No, Sylus. Let me take care of you! It’s your birthday.” You pull away, pressing light kisses down the smooth column of his neck, lingering along scars and every perfect imperfection that makes him — him.

The only response from Sylus is a light chuckle before your world is tilted on its axis and you’ve fallen under him once again. Smoldering crimson eyes meet yours, filled with mirth and amusement while he pins you down underneath his broad body. His lithe fingers find yours, lacing your hands together in a sweet embrace and he hushes your protests with a flurry of kisses.

“This is my gift, no? I should unravel you properly, won’t you indulge the birthday boy?” Each of his teasing words are punctuated with a trail of kisses down your body that has your breath hitching. Before you even try to argue that it’s his birthday, and you should be lavishing him in your attention and care, he’s claimed the final word, lightly kissing down the length of your hot torso. “Besides, this is my first time too. Let me learn you, sweetie.”

Instantly, you melt at his words.

You've imagined this countless of times in the quiet of your room, filled with the sound of your sticky fingers pistoning into the messy channel of your squelching cunt. Countless of times you've imagined how he would kiss down your neck like he currently does, sucking his gentle claim into your flesh. You've imagined his lithe fingers deftly unhooking your lacy bra, trailing hot kisses down the valley of your breast. You've always imagined the experience of being utterly loved by him.

The next feeling you receive from him is the wetness of his warm mouth, wrapping gently around a single nipple, suckling softly on the sensitive tit. His vermillion eyes look up to meet your gaze, the great leader of Onychinus, alternating his attention on your heaving breasts. His silky hair is ruffled with your fingers buried in the silver strands. But the sensations are muted with the unfamiliar length that presses insistently against your sopping clothed core, a reminder that he desires you just as much as you do him in this moment.

"Sylus," you plea his name softly. Instantaneously, he looks up, pulling his mouth away from your chest. A part of you wishes he didn't do so. The action leaves a salacious strand of his warm saliva connected to the tip of your nipple, hardening with the onslaught of the cold air in his room.

"Hm?" He replies quietly, continuing to mark your skin. His hands slide down your sides reverently, admiring every crevice of you. Unwrapping you like a dutiful devotee. With every article of lace that slips from your body, he explores the new expanse of flesh, memorizing every mark, every scar, every millimeter shown. "Do you want me to stop, kitten?"

Instantly, you shake your head, a light whimper slipping from your lips.

Pleased, he finally kisses down to the supple flesh of your inner thighs, mouthing at the skin that exposes itself from the crimson lace. Your needy pleas and whines fill his ears, waves of pleased hums course through him, vibrating against your thighs. His experience is few and far between (zero) but he knows you and that’s already enough for him to understand you inside out.

“Patience, kitten.” He chuckles softly at your pleas, eager whines filling him with an unfathomable amount of pleasure. Large hands knead the flesh of your thigh. Your lacy red underwear outlined your sopping core, drenched in your arousal that he’s so close to. His warm breath ghosts over your damp cunt, shivering in excitement and slight embarrassment. No one has ever gotten this close, this intimate with you, only him. It will continue to be only him. And though he crooned to you to be patient, he could feel his own patience disintegrate when faced with you, all spread out and eager for him. “I want to take my time savoring you, unwrapping you.”

It pleased him that could leave as many marks as he wished; no one else got to see you like this. He could dance his lips across your skin, planting seeds that would blossom later, bloom into hues of ruby and violet, reminders for the next time undresses you. No one else would see them except you and him. A secret buried deep inside when the two of you would soon connect. You would be reminded of the sparks shivering through your body where his lips sucked, and he would remember the pleasure that rushed through him as he marked you for himself.

"Can I take these off?" He speaks low and soft, nuzzling his pink lips against the wet lace, clinging pitifully to your pussy.

At your eager nod, he mouths at your cunt. A low groan cuts through him at the taste of you, leaking through the article of lace. Leaking because of him. It pleases him to see that he has this effect on you, having you spread open with legs hooked over his shoulders and flushed so prettily.

Innately, your hands bury into the strands of his hair, tugging and whining for his touch. He grants it to you through the fabric, tongue flattening against the lace, dragging slowly up until he suckles on your throbbing clit. A sharp gasp is elicited from your kiss-bitten lips, mouth falling open in a silent moan.

"All this for me, sweetie? How kind, a sweet cunt for a sweet girl." Sylus chuckles slowly, the sound vibrating through his lips and through your cunt, an action that sends shocks of sharp pleasure shooting through you.

“Mhm… for you, Sy. All for you.” You pant, hips bucking impatiently into his mouth.

A veined hand runs up the garter that decorates your thighs, raising just higher to hook over the waistband of your red-laced panties, tugging down to reveal his present.

"So pretty, kitten. You smell so good, so sweet.” With your legs thrown over his shoulders, cunt glistening in the low light, he admires you quietly, almost divinely in your presence. Your pussy on full display, sensitive bud throbbing and hole clenching around nothing. Drool builds up in his mouth at the delicious sight, unable to tear his eyes away. Embarrassment flushes through you, crawling up your spine to settle on your already-flushed cheeks.

His large hands raise, thumbs parting your slick folds, opening you up to feast on you with his heavy gaze. Your lover leans in, mouth open, coming closer until his nose bumps your clit, tongue dragging through your silky folds, and relishing in the gasp and moans that fall heavenly from your lips. Hands tug at his hair, whines and sweet sounds come from above him, raising higher in pitch when his thumbs swipes at your sensitive clit, rubbing in tight circles. Infinitely better than any of the times you’ve ever touched yourself.

“Sy- fuck!” You throw your head back, thighs threatening to close around his head. He could die happy like this, drunk off of your taste and love. He would give you the world on a diamond platter, each bite filled with nothing but love and security, it’s the least he could possibly give you after you’ve allowed him to take a sacred part of you.

The way you moan and quiver around him is a gift in itself, a gift to him that he takes readily without hesitation. Anything from you is a gift. And anything from you, is more sacred than his life in whole.

For someone who has never been in bed with someone, it feels like Sylus knows your body like the back of his hand. Maybe it’s his close observation skills. His vermillion irises carefully watch each and every twitch your body makes in creation to his touch. From a certain way you shiver when his tongue swipes at your clit, to the moan that tumbles when he dips his wet muscle into your tight heat. He notices it all.

His tongue expertly slides along your folds, scooping copious amount of your sweet slick onto his tongue while savoring your pitchy moans. Your lover laps you up like a man starved, tongue slipping along your damped folds, no difference between your sweet taste nor his drool. He relishes everything you offer him. From the way, your fingers tug almost painfully at his scalp to the unbridled noises that resonate through his room.

“Sy-Sylus, ha… please, I wanna make you feel g-good too.” Through your messy haze of pleasure shooting through your spine, you manage to find words that aren’t the broken syllables of his moaning name.

“You are, sweetie. You're making me feel so good, letting me have you so nicely like this. So kind, so sweet, aren’t you? My sweet girl?” His praises are spoken through milliseconds away from your soft cunt, diving back in like a dragon greedily guarding its most precious gems. After all, what gem is more precious than the one he has in his grasp right now?

You don't find it in you to argue, mind succumbed to the pleasure he so readily offers you. Your plush thighs, decorated with lacy vermillion garters, clench around his head, threatening to shut with the quick rise of your impending orgasm. It climbs rapidly, settling into the pit of your stomach, bubbling into hot sparks.

"Can I put a finger in, kitten?" He murmurs softly. His thumb swipes at your sensitive bud, looking up at your pleading expression. He clearly doesn't need your words, actions and your lovestruck expression etched onto your face is enough, but he wants to hear you. He needs to hear your confirmation, to hear that this moment isn’t one of his many dreams he has of you. Another when he gets to hear the melody of your heavenly mewls and the feel of your thighs against both sides of his head. He needs to hear that you need him just as much as he needs to in this moment.

“Yes, please, please. Sy, I want you, I wanna be yours.” With eager hands, your fingers wrap around his wrist that squeezes at the plush of your thighs, bringing it closer to your achy hole. Not only does he need you in this moment, you need him. It’s an act of reassurance, love, and trust that you’ve so generously given to him.

“You do, hm?” His smile returns, lovestruck and full of adoration. “Don’t worry, sweetie. I’ll make you mine.”

With that, he slides a calloused finger through your folds, slick with his saliva and your own arousal. He takes his time, savoring your flesh and the feel of being the first man down here, with you. Your face contorts into one of mild discomfit as he slides a finger in, easing it into your virgin walls. His eyes never leave your face though, watching every twitch of your muscles and flutter of your lashes as your mouth etched to create the syllables of his name in a whine.

“Do you want to stop, sweetie?” He murmurs against your aching clit, in hopes of alleviating the discomfort of his digit.

And it pleases him. The way you immediately shake your head, quickly protesting that idea. “No! I can take it, Sy. I wanna take it for you.”

So he continues to give you what you want. With your slick arousal coating his hands, he pumps his finger gently along your gummy walls, lewd sounds of your squelching pussy reverberating throughout his room. He continues suckling on your sensitive bud, flattening his tongue against the wetness, slurping you up. It’s obscene, the sounds behind the closed doors. His groans, lewd squelches, and your moans — it sends all the blood in his body rushing south, to his already aching cock.

Your hips sloppily humped against his mouth, a physical beg to have his fingers stroke deeper into you. You already felt so full with a single finger, insistently prodding at your gummy walls until your back arches beautifully for him. Your fingers pull at his silky hair, toes curling, and your head falls back into the black pillows as your stomach grows taut and rivulets of ecstasy shoot through every nerve.

“Fuckfuckfuck, ‘s so good—”

You cum so suddenly it feels blinding. It feels like fireworks ignite behind your shut lids as you ground down onto Sylus’ face to chase the aftershocks of the high. His finger stills but your hips don’t, grinding onto his finger to catch the remaining effects of the hot sparks in your stomach.

"That's it, good girl. So good for me, sweetie, you came so beautifully." His praises are spoken through your quivering cunt, twitching at his smooth praise. "Good girl, it's okay, kitten."

He finally pulls away from your pussy, webs of his saliva stuck to your sweaty body. Sylus sits up on his heels, hand coming to wrap around the hard length of his cock, giving himself reprieve of slow pumps. Your eyes drop down to his shaft, angry and dribbling more pre from the turgid tip with every drag of his large hand. It looks heavier than earlier, even more delicious bucking in his fist.

His soft groans, twitching of his hips has a new wave of heat coursing through your body. You feel an indescribable urge to relieve him of the ache, to have him fill you up, and to love each other thoroughly once more. But before you can pull him on top of you, he speaks.

“We can stop he—”

“No.” Your response is quick, pulling him over you in a swift motion. You don’t want to stop. Rather, you want him inside you. You want to make him yours and you, his.

Your hand trails down his torso, fingers finding his hard cock that bobs eagerly when you gently brush along it. It’s hot and thick, sending waves of anticipating shivers down your spine at the prospect of having this part of him inside you.

But for now, you enjoy the way the leader of Onychinus shivers from your touch. His Adam’s apple bobs with the gulp of his saliva, low groans escaping him as you trail kisses along his neck. Your hands slide smoothly from his turgid crown and down to the base, giving him light squeezes that has his eyes fluttering shut and head lolling into the sweaty crook of your neck.

“Fuck, kitten. You feel so good…” His words escape as a breathy sigh, dwindling into low groans. He allows you this, just as he allows you into many things; his heart, mind, body, and soul. Whatever you wish for, he allows it.

“Yeah? I wanna make you feel good, Sy. Just wanna make you feel good.” Your response is whispered out, leaning up to lock your lips with his in a gentle kiss.

His hands, resting on your hips, drop down to your thighs to hook it over the curve of his waist. He sighs into the kiss, breaking gently with a long string of saliva connecting the two of you.

“Can I put it in then, kitten?” His hands capture your wrist, lacing your fingers gently together in an intimate embrace. The silvery strands of his hair fall onto your forehead as he leans down, pressing his temple to yours.

Your response is a nod, arms tightening around his neck when he lines himself to your quivering hole, already feeling himself shiver at the contact of your hot folds sliding along the length of his dick. You can feel the blood throbbing through the veins that run along the underside of his cock, warm and bobbing against you.

Gently, he finally pushes the tip in.

A sharp gasp is elicited from both of you. Your eyes instantly flutter shut, features contorting into a grimace at the large intrusion, pressing into the deepest parts of you. Sensing your pain, Sylus peppers kisses along your neck, fingers tightening on yours in a soothing hold, his free hand weaves between your flushed bodies to rub tight circles to your clit, alleviating your pain.

“Good girl, it’s okay. You’re doing so well, just breathe, just breathe.” His praises fall reverently, kissing away the pearls of tears that pool at the edges of your eyes, gentle and loving.

His praises continue as he finally bottoms out, filling your walls completely full of him. He pants against your lips, watching your expression form from one of discomfort to one of pleasure and love. He moves his lips down your body, sucking on your neglected tits to coax soft moans from you.

“Sylus… you can move, please.” Your soft plea has him folding immediately. Gentle, hoarse voice and a body that takes him in perfectly. You truly were made for him.

The first roll of his hips is meticulously steady in its movement, like he’s holding himself back, caging himself in. He barely pulls out, cool air meeting the slicked skin of his cock before he slides back in with a punctual sway. The simple movement makes you dizzy and numbed, oxygen flying from you, escaping in a soft blissed sigh, and mewls falling from your kiss-bitten lips. It feels euphoric to be split open by him and feel inches of his cock drag along your spongy walls, filled up by him. It’s like you’re ambling in a haze of heat, wandering through the fog of hot shocks of pleasure with his body securely locking you flush to him, and nothing but him in this moment, a satisfying overwhelming indulgence of his scent and touch.

“Oh,” you keen instantly when the tip of his dick delicately, repeatedly nudges that soft, spongy part of your walls. It has you raking your nails down his back, relishing in the presence of him, senses filled with nothing but him. “I love you, Sylus. I love you, s-so much.”

His swift thrust has your words getting caught in your throat, air knocked from your lungs from his punctual movements.

“Yeah? I love you too, I love you, I love you. Fuck— I love you. You were made for me, weren’t you? Made for me to love and cherish, made for me to have you like this?” The words are whispered out, barely heard over the obscene sound of flesh on flesh, wet and intimate.

You can only respond in babbles, murmuring mewls in a symphony of his name. Arms wrapped tightly around his neck and whimpering out your devotion. Heat simmers between your flushed bodies, the only space separating you two is the repetitive cadence of his rolling hips.

The two of you render speechless, allowing the harmony of bodies and reverberation of your shared noises to speak for itself. He pants softly into your ears, groaning sweet nothings at the feeling of your perfect walls hugging tight around his cock. It’s almost painful for him to pull out, instantly missing your sweet heat and that has him diving back in again and again and again, until he feels the aching knot bubbling in his stomach. A familiar and unwelcome feeling that has his cock twitching and pulsing. He doesn’t want to come yet, not without you. Not until you do first.

And as if sensing his dilemma, cock twitching inside your sensitive walls, your hands come up to cup his cheeks. Your lips raise, meeting his in a kiss full of tongue and teeth, messy in all its glory. He isn’t the only one close. Your nerves feel shot, ignited on every expanse of your glistening skin. You want him to cum, you want to come with him.

“Sylus,” you pant against his lips, “Can you— nngh come? I wanna feel you, Sy. Please come, I wanna fe-feel you.”

“Yeah?” He breathlessly chuckles through blissful, broken sighs of your name. “I’ll give it to you. Sh-shit, I’ll give it to you, kitten. I love you, fuck, I love you.”

Your words coax the knot in his stomach to unravel. And with a moan of your name on his lips, he buries himself deep inside you, spilling his warm seed into your fluttering walls. Your fingers card through his hair, gentle pressure guiding him to hide into the crook of your neck, which he eagerly does.

With his head buried in the crook of your neck, fingers rubbing light circles on your clit, and his hip rutting sloppily into your spent pussy, you quickly follow his lead. Your back arches into him, cumming with the sweetest cry of his name on your swollen lips.

Sylus doesn't stop.

Your lover continues to messily thrust up into you, hands gripping the soft flesh of your ass to keep you impossibly closer to his thumping heart. Even with your nails digging into his shoulders, even with your legs trembling around his waist, or the rapid pulsing walls that greedily milk his hot cum into your welcoming womb. Filled, and fucked back into you, over and over and over. He doesn’t stop.

Not until you’re sniffling his name and clinging onto him like it’s your life’s mission. Only then does he slow his pace, peppering kisses up your sweaty sternum until laying one to rest on your sweet lips.

Sylus stops to admire you, an act he performs every day with the utmost importance. His beautiful lover, dressed up for him, flushed the prettiest shade of red because of him, leaking his cum because of their passionate coupling.

“Sylus,” you whisper, the first to break the silence but not the touch.

“Hm?” His answer is soft, taking pleasure in your smell and flesh. The two of you are sweaty but it doesn’t bother him, never if it’s you.

“Happy birthday.” The words are spoken softly, mumbled against his flesh.

His response comes in the form of a soft ‘thank you, my love.’ Words that have your heart warming and cheeks flushing more than they already are. You press your palm to his cheek, cupping his face to pull him into a kiss that devotes your being to him.

He nuzzles into the crevices of your neck, panting softly in the intimate ambiance of his room, soothed by the beating of your heart — a remembrance that you’re here, with him.

It’s no secret that Sylus loves you. No secret that you’re his and he is yours. But in moments like these, just you and him, it feels so much more real, more intimate than anything he could have ever fathomed. Tonight is his day of birth, the first that he’s ever spent with anyone (not just anyone — you) It’s almost terrifying how quickly you’ve assimilated into his life, slotting yourself in because you belong with him — made for him in every way.

And he wouldn’t have it any other way, ruin him if you wish. It’s okay if it’s you.

This year, next year, and many lifetimes to come — he wants it all with you.

HAPPY (late) BIRTHDAY TO SYLUS

#crescent.creates #c.sylus #sylus smut #sylus x reader #sylus x mc #sylus x you #lnds sylus #lads sylus #lads smut #lnds smut #sylus love and deepspace #love and deepspace sylus #divider by cafekitsune

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applekeu · 3 days ago

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BE MY BABY — 恋与深空

〔 𝒾 〕 The LADS men as fathers, personified in the cute moments that make them the perfect parent and partner.

𝐥𝐚𝐝𝐬 𝓍 𝐦𝐜!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫, smau ⋮ gen audiences ⋮ comedy, fluff, pet names (pearl, babe, sweetheart), original baby names (may not be your cup of tea but!)

── .✦ 𝗧𝗔𝗚𝗟𝗜𝗦𝗧 (𝗔𝗣𝗣𝗟𝗬 𝗛𝗘𝗥𝗘):

@prkhaven @frenchkisstheabyss @xomakara @tinycatharsis @pinkjellyz @jaylaxies @bambiihee @asiatic-apple @starlites-oath @berrryparfait @heartyluv @aeyumicore @swanlikely @humanjarvis @raendarkfaerie @wooasecret @yeompei @mariahuchiha90 @smittenlynn @mcdepressed290 @griefig

#lads #love and deepspace #l&ds #lads smau #love and deepspace smau #l&ds smau #loveanddeepspace #rafayel #sylus #caleb #zayne #xavier #xavier love and deepspace #zayne love and deepspace #caleb love and deepspace #rafayel love and deepspace #sylus love and deepspace #— applekeu #applekeu — lads

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applecaviar · 3 days ago

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🐦‍⬛MINE🐦‍⬛

Your back slams against the wall, Sylus' hard body pinning you there as you tremble. The metallic scent of blood lingers heavily in the air, a reminder of the violent scene that unfolded just moments ago in the meeting room down the hall.

His breath is hot on your neck as he leans in close, lips nearly brushing your skin.

"Tell me kitten, which part did you like the most? His hand slides down your side, fingertips grazing the curve of your hip through the blood stained fabric of your clothes. Your body reacts instinctively to his touch, a shiver running down your spine. You're nervous, palms sweating and breath coming faster now. You can't help but lean into him slightly, drawn to his words.

"Watching the life drain from his eyes? Seeing the pool of red spread across the floor?" His other hand moves over your ribs until it rests just below your breast. You can feel the weight of it, the strength coiled in his arm.

"Or was it when I lost control?" His hand drifts higher, over the curve of your breast, feeling your nipple stiffen beneath the fabric of your shirt. "Watching me snap his neck like a twig, knowing it was because of you? Or maybe..." his hand on your hip slides lower, gripping your ass and squeezing. "You liked seeing the monster I am, and knowing I'd destroy anyone who dared to touch what's mine? "

"Sy..."

"You smell like adrenaline and fear... and something else..."He inhales deeply "Arousal, perhaps?"

His tongue flicks out, tracing the curve of your earlobe. Your breathing grows heavier, chest heaving against his. The adrenaline from the fight mixing with a dangerous, forbidden excitement.

His lips ghost over your racing pulse before he pulls back slightly, eyes still locked with yours. "So tell me, sweet thing... what was it? What part of watching me lose myself in bloodlust made your panties damp and your nipples hard?"

Your breath hitches, a soft moan escaping your lips as his smile widens, revealing a flash of white teeth in the dim light. The sound echoes in the tense space between you, an admission of your body's reaction to his proximity.

"Are you scared, kitten?" he asks, his deep voice dripping with mocking amusement.

"No"

He leans in again, breath hot against your ear as he whispers a single word, "Wet?"

You try to look away, embarrassed by the admission that hangs heavily in the air between you, but Sylus won't allow it. He grabs your chin firmly, fingers digging into the soft flesh as he forces you to meet his eyes.

"I'm going to ask again, sweetie," His thumb brushes over your bottom lip, a teasing caress that makes your tongue dart out to wet your mouth. "Are. You. Wet?" Each word is punctuated with a puff of hot air that makes you shiver.

Your heart pounds wildly in your chest as you inhale, trying to gather the courage to admit the truth. His eyes bore into yours, seeing straight through the walls you try to put up against him.

"Yes." It's a whisper that feels loud in the charged silence between you. His eyes flash with triumph and his grip on your chin tightens just slightly, pulling you impossibly closer.

"Good girl, honesty is always rewarded in my world, kitten. Never forget that."

"Now let's take care of that need, shall we?" His hand slides down your belly, fingers dipping beneath the waistband of your pants. A louder, needier moan escapes your lips, a clear invitation that he takes as the green light he craves, wasting no time in yanking both your pants and soaked panties down your thighs.

Before you can catch your breath, he grabs two handfuls of your ass, squeezing the firm globes as he lifts you effortlessly off the ground. Your legs instinctively wrap around his head as he pins you harder against the wall, his evol keeping you suspended and secure.

He doesn't waste any more time before diving in, his mouth latching onto your bare sex. A gasp turns into a drawn out moan as his tongue parts your folds. Your back arches sharply, fingers scrabbling against the wall behind you for something, anything to hold onto.

His tongue swirls and flicks, lapping up your arousal like a man starved. Looking down, you find him already gazing up at you, his crimson eyes burning with lust. Without breaking eye contact, he drags his tongue flat across your engorged clit. The lewd, deliberate motion makes the sensitive bud move with the slow stroke. It's too intimate, too obscenely intimate to watch, and you feel your cheeks flush a deep, burning red.

He seems to relish your flustered reaction, his tongue circling your clit with maddening slowness. He's determined to make you witness every sinful motion, every lap and flick. Your fingers tighten in his hair as your hips buck involuntarily, seeking more of that devastating pleasure.

Your nails dig into his scalp as you press your head back against the wall, the cool surface a temporary respite from the inferno Sylus is stoking between your thighs.

"Sy-lus!" Your voice wavers, the two syllables drawn out into a needy, breathless moan of his name.

Sylus pauses, his lips parting from your pussy "Mmm, you taste divine, sweet and so wet, all for me." He flicks his tongue against your puffy clit, making you jolt and cry out. "You're going to take me so good, kitten. So fucking good."

"Don't stop, please don't stop, Sy..."

"Beg for it. Beg for my help." His eyes flash with dark intent, daring you to give voice to your deepest desires.

And beg you do. "Pleaseeeee," you keen, the word dissolving into a high, breathy wail. Your hips undulate shamelessly against his face, smearing your dripping arousal across his lips and chin.

"You are my good, obedient girl," he praises, "You'll be rewarded as such, sweetie. Just keep your eyes on me, I want to watch you watch me eat this sweet cunt."

You obey, keeping your gaze locked with his as he leans in and once again drags the flat of his tongue slowly up your slit. The obscenely lewd motion makes your clit throb and pulse, the engorged bud glistening with your juices. He laps at you like a man savoring a fine wine, relishing every drop of your essence.

His lips close around your clit, suckling the sensitive nub as he looks up at you. The sight of his mouth on your most intimate place sends a jolt of electric pleasure up your spine. His eyes burn into yours as he releases your clit from his lips, only to flick the tip rapidly, making it bounce. It's all too much, and yet not nearly enough.

He plunges two fingers into you, pumping them in and out as he suckles your clit again. The slick, wet sounds of him finger fucking your cunt fill the room, mingling with your moans and cries.

Your thighs quake and tremble, muscles tightening as your climax builds at the base of your spine. Your eyes remain locked with his, the intensity of his gaze only heightening every sensation. You feel the heat coiling tighter and tighter in your core and he can see it in your eyes too, he can feel the way your walls start to flutter around his plunging fingers. He knows you're on the brink.

With a last, slow drag of his tongue over your slit, tracing the path where his fingers disappear into your heat to the swollen bud of your clit, he sends you hurtling over the edge. Your mouth falls open in a silent scream, nails digging into his scalp as your cunt clenches and spasms around his fingers.

He presses his fingers as deep as they can go, curling them just right and your release gushes out of you, drenching his face. He moans against your pussy, the vibrations intensifying your climax as he drinks down every drop of your pleasure.

His fingers continue to pump lazily, helping you ride out the waves of your high. "You're going to do this so many more times tonight, kitten" He laps up your release, savoring the taste of your climax on his lips. "Until the memory of that bastard's touch fades from your skin"

312 notes · View notes

red-letter-imagines · 3 days ago

Text

🥹

𔘓 Let's Break Up, Sylus! 𔘓

⚠ MINORS DNI (18+ ONLY) ⚠

♡︎ Reason for the breakup? You got tired of chasing Sylus’ shadow.

♡︎ pairing: Sylus x fem!reader

♡︎ cw: brief mention of blood and wounds

♡︎ tags: angst, fluff, smut, dry humping, oral (female receiving), multiple orgasms

♡︎ word count: 6.5k

♡︎ a/n: idk, i don't like how i wrote the breakup fics, but i'd feel bad if i never posted them. so, if you don't like how i wrote this, especially the breakup part, then pls don't say anything.

♡︎ Thank you to my dearest friend and my beta reader ♡︎@its-de♡︎ for helping.

divider by @anitalenia

The faint hum of the car does nothing to soothe your nerves. If anything, it only serves as a reminder of today’s plans, the source of your anxiety. You sit in the driver’s seat, the plane tickets trembling slightly in your hands. You glance toward the house—the lights shining through the bedroom window suggests he woke up. You exhale slowly, staring at the tickets again.

This isn’t how you imagined your vacation. This was supposed to be your time to recharge, to take a step back from the chaos of work, but instead, you’re about to board a plane to a place you hadn’t even known existed. All because you couldn’t stay behind.

The irony isn’t lost on you. Hunters aren’t passive. The words you planned to say to him when he sees you holding up the tickets, rehearsed in your head with all the conviction you could muster. But now, sitting here in the quiet, you can’t help but wonder if bravery is just a mask for recklessness.

Would it really have been so terrible to let him go alone this time?

Your gaze drifts to the empty passenger seat.

Did he expect you to follow him?

You glance at your reflection in the rear-view mirror, the faint circles under your eyes a proof to the sleepless nights that have become all too familiar. Staying behind would’ve meant another string of those nights—lying awake, staring at the ceiling, wondering if he was alive, injured, or worse.

But this... this is no better.

The front door of the house creaks open, and you sit up straighter. Sylus steps out, his tall frame moving with its usual confidence, his silver hair catching the early light. He looks like he always does—calm, in control, untouchable. And you’re supposed to be the same.

⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡ ⋆

The room is dimly lit, the single overhead bulb flickering faintly like it might give out at any moment. The walls are bare, the furniture is sparse and the air is heavy. The faint metallic tang of blood lingers, mixing with the sharp bite of antiseptic.

Sylus sits on one of the chairs, his long legs sprawled out in front of him, his shirt discarded and tossed over the backrest. Blood-stained rags lie on the table beside him. His torso is marred with fresh cuts and bruises, deep gashes standing out against the taut muscle of his abdomen. You kneel in front of him, wrapping clean bandages around his ribs. Your forearm is already bandaged—a sloppy, hurried job. He’d insisted you patch yourself up first, his tone leaving no room for argument.

The quiet between you is oppressive. The only sound is the rustle of bandages and the faint hum of the overhead light.

Sylus watches you carefully. Usually, by now, you’d be berating him for getting hurt, but he knows that you always mask your worry with irritation. Or you’d be recounting the mission in vivid detail, your energy buzzing with lingering adrenaline. But tonight, you’re silent, your gaze focused on the task at hand, not meeting his.

“You’re quiet tonight.” he says.

You don’t look at him, your fingers securing the bandage. “I’m tired,” you reply curtly, your voice flat.

It’s a half-truth, and you both know it. He stays still, letting you finish your work, though his gaze never wavers.

Your mind won’t stop racing. The mission plays over and over in your head, the close calls, the mistakes, the weight of Sylus’ injuries.

“There.” you say quietly, standing up and turning away to gather the discarded rags and put them into a plastic bag, your back to him as you fight to steady your breathing.

Behind you, Sylus shifts slightly in the chair, his eyes following you.

“You handled everything well.” he says, his tone soft, almost coaxing. “Better than well. You were incredible out there.”

You freeze mid-motion, your fingers still gripping the bag. You swallow hard, trying to stifle the frustration bubbling in your chest, but it’s too late. When you turn to face him, your expression betrays you.

Sylus raises an eyebrow, his head tilting slightly as he studies you. “What’s that look for?” he asks with the faintest hint of amusement in his voice.

You take a step closer, arms crossing over your chest. “Sylus, we barely made it out. I don’t think anything about this is ‘incredible’.”

His lips quirk in a wry smile. “A few scratches. I’ve had worse.”

That does it. “Wha - Do you even hear yourself? ‘A few scratches’?!”

His smirk falters, replaced by a flicker of confusion, but he doesn’t interrupt.

“You didn’t even want me to know about this mission!” you continue, your voice rising. “I had to dig through your phone, beg my colleague for help, buy plane tickets, and then throw myself into danger just to keep up with you!”

Sylus’ jaw tightens, but his gaze stays fixed on you.

“And now you’re sitting here, acting like this is normal, like this is fine. Like it’s okay that we’re both bandaged up in the middle of nowhere!”

You don’t realize your hands are trembling until you feel the sting of your nails digging into your palms. Sylus stands, almost carefully stepping closer to you.

“I didn’t want you to get hurt.” he says, his voice low but firm.

“Too late for that,” you snap, your breath coming faster now. “Do you have any idea how exhausting this is? How much I—”

You cut yourself off, your throat too dry to continue. Your chest heaves, your heart pounding as you glare at him.

Sylus stays silent for a moment, his eyes searching yours. Then he speaks. “You didn’t have to come with me. You could’ve stayed behind.”

A bitter laugh escapes you. “Stayed behind? And what? Spent another week staring at the ceiling, wondering if you’re dead or alive?” You take in a shaky breath. “I didn’t come because I wanted to, Sylus. I came because the alternative was worse. It’s always worse.”

His expression falters for a split second, a flicker of something—surprise? Hurt?—crossing his face before it hardens again. “I knew you could handle it. I’ve always seen you as capable—more than capable.”

“And that’s part of the problem!” you fire back, your voice trembling now. “You always expect me to be right there, don’t you? Always catching up, always bending my life to fit yours. Do you know how exhausting that is?”

For the first time, Sylus doesn’t have a ready response. The argument stumbles into silence. The adrenaline of your frustration fades, leaving behind an aching exhaustion.

“I can’t keep doing this, Sylus,” you say quietly. “I can’t keep choosing you over everything else. Over my own sanity. Over my own life. I need to be on my own.”

His expression doesn’t change, but your eyes know his too well to be deceived – you know your words hurt him. He doesn’t argue, though. Instead, he steps toward you. You don’t pull away as he stops in front of you, his fingers brushing gently over your cheek. His touch is so tender that it takes everything in you not to lean into it.

“You’ll always have a place with me.” he murmurs.

His words pierce straight through you, and your chest tightens as you see the quiet acceptance in his gaze that makes it so much harder to walk away. Your throat constricts, but you manage a small nod. Stepping back, you feel the loss of his touch immediately, a hollow ache spreading through you as you turn to leave.

⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡ ⋆

Returning to work feels refreshing. That’s what you tell yourself. You smile through the questions about your bandaged forearm - “Just a stupid accident.” you brush them off with a rehearsed laugh and no one presses.

You take every mission they throw your way. You linger in the office long after everyone has left their desks, filing reports and analyzing cases until your eyes burn. When you’re not at work, you’re training. You work your body until your muscles shake, until your lungs burn. Exhaustion becomes your companion, the only thing that lets you collapse into bed.

And when you give your muscles a breather, you throw yourself into social plans. Nights at the bar with friends blur together into a haze of laughter and drinks. You keep the conversation light, deflecting whenever someone asks about your love life.

But you can’t always stop your mind from wandering.

On your walks through the city, where you tell yourself you’re just stretching your legs, just enjoying the scenery, the truth peeks through. You’re looking for him. A glint of silver hair in the crowd, the flutter of dark feathers overhead—anything that might mean Sylus is nearby. But he never is.

The frustration comes in waves, sharp and bitter. Sometimes it’s anger at him—for the secrecy, for the danger he seemed so at ease with. Other times, it’s anger at yourself. For following him. For leaving him. For caring so damn much. And yet, no matter how busy you keep yourself, the memories slip through the cracks. The way he’d call you ‘kitten’ in that smooth tone. The glint in his eyes when he teased you. The softness in them in the quiet moments. How he made you feel like you were the only person who truly mattered to him.

As the days pass, the routine becomes second nature. You throw yourself into missions, into nights out, into silence. The wound on your arm heals, but others linger. And no matter how much you try to move forward, his shadow remains.

⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡ ⋆

You lie in your bed, staring at the ceiling faintly illuminated by the light of the tablet beside you. It’s paused on some show you weren’t really watching. The air feels heavy tonight. You pull the blanket tighter around your shoulders, as if it could shield you from the thoughts creeping in, from the memories you’ve spent all day trying to push away.

Your focus is pulled towards your phone lying face down on the nightstand. You tell yourself to ignore it, to roll over and let sleep take you. But before you can stop yourself, you’re reaching for it.

The screen lights up, the harsh glow making you squint. Your tired eyes take a moment to adjust, before your finger taps the messaging app. You shouldn’t. You know you shouldn’t look for his name. But tonight, you can’t help it.

Tapping the thread, the messages he sent a week or two ago fill the screen.

“The flower finally bloomed.” [Attached: A photo of a vibrant red flower, its petals unfurling.]

You skim through the words you’d typed in response.

“It’s beautiful.”

Further down, there’s another message—a photo of the same flower, wilted and curling in on itself. “Guess I should’ve expected this.”

You never replied to that one.

You scroll up, searching for happier times. Your thumb slows as you reach an older picture—one of the two of you. Sylus has your cheeks squished in his big hand, your face pouting in mock annoyance. Your eyes linger on his face. You gaze at his soft, genuine smile – an expression only you had the privilege to see.

And then there’s the voice note.

Your finger hovers over the play button, your chest tightening as you debate whether to listen. You remember the moment clearly—Sylus had sent it during one of his missions. You press play - his voice is quieter than usual, but the smile in his tone is obvious:

“I’ll be back soon, kitten. Don’t get too comfortable without me.”

Your vision blurs as tears gather in your eyes, spilling over before you can stop them. Pulling the blankets tighter around yourself, you press your face into the pillow, letting the tears fall freely.

You lie there in the dim light, the sound of your own breathing filling the room as sleep creeps up on you. The tears dry slowly on your lashes, but the ache in your chest doesn’t fade.

Eventually, exhaustion wins.

⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡ ⋆

Your breath fogs in the chilly air as you step outside a corner store, clutching a pack of noodles like a prize. You glance at the time on your phone and sigh. It’s late. Too late, actually, to be out in the cold hunting down instant noodles. But the craving wouldn’t leave you alone, not after the day you’ve had.

It had started early. You’d dragged yourself out of bed and decided to keep busy— run errands, go to the gym, deep clean the apartment. A pampering routine followed. Scrubbing the grime of the day away in a shower, leaving your skin soft and your mind momentarily calm. Wrapped in your fluffiest robe, smelling like heaven, you’d almost felt good.

Then the craving had started sometime after dinner. A silly little craving for a specific flavor of noodles you thought you had in your kitchen. You opened the cabinet and couldn’t find it, but you were determined, so you threw on a sweater and a pair of leggings and stepped out. The impulse led you further away from you building since your corner store didn’t have them.

Now, here you are.

You pass by the small park near your apartment, and your thoughts are more on getting home than on your surroundings.

But something catches your eye.

A figure with silver strands illuminated under the soft glow of a streetlamp. Your feet falter, your pulse quickening as your gaze zeroes in on him. Sylus.

He’s there, at the park, crouching with his arm extended toward a stray cat that eyes him warily. The sight is so achingly familiar —his careful, as-patient-as-possible approach, the way he stays still, letting the animal come to him. You don’t realize you’re staring, too focused on watching the scene unfold. The cat inches closer, sniffing cautiously at his outstretched hand. He murmurs something low, his voice too soft to hear from this distance. The sight is so disarming, so tender, that your chest tightens.

Slowly, you take a step forward, then another, careful not to startle the skittish animal. You approach from the side, your heart racing faster with each step. He must’ve sensed you before he sees you because his head tilts slightly, his attention shifting from the cat to you. His eyes meet yours, widening slightly in surprise. For a moment, neither of you speaks. The cat darts away, but you barely register it.

Sylus straightens to his full height.

“It’s been a while.” he says softly.

For a moment, you’re lost in his eyes – the tenderness his mesmerizing eyes hold when they’re on you. You slightly shake your head as you catch yourself staring, your brain scrambling for a teasing remark, “I didn’t think you’d actually get the cat to—”

Your voice falters when you notice the cat again. It’s sitting a few feet away in the shadows, watching you and Sylus with wide eyes.

“Sorry,” you murmur. “I think I scared it off.”

Sylus chuckles. “Don’t worry. I just wanted to feed it anyway.”

True to his words, he reaches into the pocket of his jacket and pulls out a small can of tuna. He crouches again, flipping open the lid with ease. His eyes flick to your hands.

“Still on the hunt for those, I see.” he teases, nodding toward the noodles you’d been craving.

You chuckle, about to reply, when the faintest frown crosses his features. Your eyes dart to his hands, and you notice the thin red line on his finger, a bead of blood welling at the tip.

“You cut yourself.” you say with tone sharper than you intended.

“It’s fine.” he replies casually.

Sylus places the can on the ground before stepping back to let the timid cat approach. As expected, the cat approaches, its tiny nose twitching as it investigates the food. You’re about to smile at the sight, but your focus snaps back to him when you catch the bead of blood rolling down his finger. Before you even think about it, you step closer and reach for his hand.

“Let me see.” you say softly, taking his hand in yours.

His fingers are cool, the faint roughness of his skin familiar under your touch. You tilt his hand, inspecting the small cut. Sylus doesn’t say a word, but you feel the weight of his gaze on you, the way his red eyes soften as he watches you carefully inspect the cut.

You clear your throat, letting go of his hand. “It’s not bad.” you murmur. “But it should be cleaned. And you’ll need a band-aid.” You glance around, as if a store might magically stay open just for you, but the quiet streets and locked doors tell you otherwise. Before you can stop yourself, the words slip out:

“You should come to my apartment.”

The moment the invitation leaves your lips, you freeze, realizing what you’ve just said. A habit developed of all the times you’ve patched him up before. And it still hasn’t died, no matter how much distance you’ve tried to put between you.

For a second, neither of you says anything. The cat crunches happily on its meal, oblivious to the sudden tension in the air.

Sylus tilts his head, studying you, then shrugs lightly. “If you’re offering.”

You nod, more to yourself than to him, convincing yourself it’s no big deal. He’ll come up, you’ll clean the cut, and he’ll leave. That’s it.

⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡ ⋆

Even though you were in your apartment minutes ago, now it feels completely different with Sylus standing in your entryway. You catch how he glances around, his eyes taking in every detail. Then he notices a particular pair of slippers near the door, and you quietly nudge them toward him with your foot.

“These are yours.” you murmur.

Without a word, he slips off his shoes and slides into the slippers.

You motion for him to sit on the sofa while you retrieve the first aid kit from the bathroom. When you return, Sylus is already seated, relaxed as always, his eyes following your every move. Sitting beside him, you set the kit on the coffee table and take his hand in yours again. You focus intently on cleaning the small cut on his finger, trying to ignore the awkward silence. The alcohol wipe stings, and his hand twitches slightly, but he doesn’t pull away. You press the band-aid over the wound carefully, your fingers lingering a moment longer than necessary.

"There," you murmur softly. "All done."

But neither of you moves. His hand lingers in yours, and when you glance up, his gaze is already on you. Sylus shifts slightly, leaning forward just enough to brush his knee against yours. He lifts his free hand, his knuckles grazing your cheek.

His voice, low and soft, breaks the silence. "Can I hug you?"

Your chest tightens, the lump forming in your throat almost unbearable, but you nod, and it’s all the invitation he needs. Sylus shifts closer, his arms wrapping around you carefully, as though you might slip away if he moves too fast. The warmth of him envelops you as you rest your hands on his back, your cheek pressing against the soft fabric of his shirt, taking in his scent. You press your lips tightly, willing yourself to remain calm, but a single tear escapes, trailing down your cheek before soaking into his shirt. Sylus holds you tighter, his hand moving slowly, soothing you. Neither of you speaks, the silence filled only with the faint sound of your breathing and the distant hum of the city outside.

When you finally pull back, his hands linger on your waist. His touch is light, uncertain whether you’ll allow him to keep holding you. His eyes trace the faint streak of wetness on your cheek, and with unbearable tenderness, his thumb brushes it away.

Your gaze flickers downward, just for a moment. A fleeting glance at his lips. But it’s long enough for him to notice.

With a quiet inhale, his thumb drifts, trailing from your cheek to your jaw, then lower—grazing your bottom lip. He hesitates there, his fingers barely pressing against your skin.

His eyes search yours before he asks, “Can I kiss you?”

Your breath hitches, your heart hammering in your chest. A quiet sound escapes you—a barely audible hum of approval, “Mhm.”

He exhales, relief flickering in his eyes. The corners of his lips twitch, just slightly, before he slowly, carefully, leans in.

His lips brush softly against yours, your breaths mingling. His hands slide up your back, pulling you closer. You feel the faint tremble in his fingers as they press into the fabric of your sweater. Without thinking, your hands reach for him—trailing over his shoulders, up the curve of his neck, until your fingers slip into the softness of his hair. A low, faint hum escapes his throat, vibrating against your lips.

When he pulls back, just enough to break the kiss, his forehead rests against yours. His breath fans across your face, warm and uneven.

“You have no idea how much I’ve missed you.” he’s whispers, “I thought I could give you space, let you find peace without me, but—” His jaw tightens briefly, the muscles flexing as he searches for the words. “But every day felt wrong. I left a part of myself with you, and I don’t know how to be without it.”

His hands slide down to your waist, “I don’t know if I should ask you this, but - ” his gaze locks onto yours. “Can I stay a little longer?”

The lump in your throat doesn’t let up. You know why you left – how keeping up with his lifestyle has taken a toll on your mind and body. But you also know that the man, whose eyes are filled with adoration and reverence as he waits for your answer, is the sanctuary for your heart.

You nod, “I would like that.” You take in a shaky breath, your hands settling on his neck.

Sylus stills for a second, like he needs to make sure he heard you right. His grip on your waist tightens, and his breath hitches when you’re the one who closes the distance. He angles your face gently in his hands, his palms warm against your skin. His thumbs brush featherlight strokes along your cheekbones as he deepens the kiss. As though memorizing the shape of your lips, the taste of your mouth, the way you melt against him. Then his hands find your waist again, pulling you closer until the hard plane of his chest presses against yours. You feel the faint shudder in his breathing, the tension in his body, like he’s holding himself back despite the way his lips devour yours. You sink into the kiss, your nails lightly grazing the back of his neck, feeling the way his breath hitches at your touch. But the hunger builds—his kisses growing deeper, needier.

His hand slides down, finding your thigh, his palm searing through the thin fabric of your leggings, the touch making your breath stutter as liquid heat pools low in your belly.

Sylus exhales sharply. “Tell me if this is too much.” he murmurs against your lips. His thumb strokes your thigh in small, soothing circles, a contrast to the possessive grip of his other hand still anchored to your waist.

You shake your head, pulling him back in. “It’s not,” you whisper, though deep down, there’s a flicker of hesitation.

Of course, he notices. He always does. He leans back slightly, just enough to meet your eyes. “We don’t have to do anything tonight. Just this.”

Your fingers tremble slightly as they thread into his hair, tugging him back down. You kiss him again—with more urgency, as though trying to chase away your own uncertainty. And then you move without thinking, shifting onto your knees as you swing one leg over his lap, straddling him. Sylus groans softly as you settle onto him, his hands sliding to your hips, holding you there, and you can feel his cock pressing against your clothed core.

His breath is a ragged exhale against your skin, his lips trail down the line of your jaw, his teeth grazing just enough to leave a lingering tingle. His lips settle on the side of your neck, nipping and sucking the sensitive skin. You shudder, fingers tangling into the soft hair at the nape of his neck as warmth floods through you.

And then your hips move, feeling the hard press of him against the damp heat between your legs, the delicious friction making Sylus groan in response. His hands slide up, slipping beneath your sweater, palms skimming the heated skin of your back. Then his hips shift beneath you, pressing up to meet you in a deep grind. The motion sends a shock of pleasure straight to your core, your hands holding onto his shoulders as heat coils tighter inside you. His hands go back to your hips, guiding your movements, keeping you anchored to him as you find a rhythm together.

His lips unlatch from your neck, shifting his attention to you, watching every flicker of pleasure on your face. “That’s it,” he murmurs. “Just like that.”

The way he’s looking at you, the way his body moves with yours—it’s too much, too good, and the coiling pressure in your core tightens too fast. Your nails dig into the fabric of his shirt, your thighs trembling against his hips. You try to slow down, to savor it, but the pleasure builds too quickly.

The orgasm hits out of nowhere. A soft, breathless cry tumbles from your lips and your body tightens, your hips stuttering against him as the pleasure rolls through you.

Sylus stills beneath you, his grip steadying you, his breathing uneven as he watches you come undone. His expression is both hunger and devotion. The corner of his lips tugs into a small smile.

The heat creeps up your cheeks as the mortification sets in. Your heart still racing, you bury your face against his shoulder. “I— I didn’t mean to—”

His hands are already sliding up, cradling your back. His voice is low, soothing. “Don’t,” he whispers, his lips brushing over your temple. “I’ve missed seeing you like this.”

His hands drift lower again, gripping your waist, pulling you closer. His mouth moves down, lips grazing your ear.

"Can you give me one more?"

Your cheeks flush at the question, the residual buzz of your climax still tingling through your limbs. You answer by shifting your hips, experimentally rolling them forward. The motion pulls a deep, guttural groan from his throat, and the sound alone makes your core tingle.

"That's my girl." Sylus rasps.

He starts a rhythm for you, his grip firm enough to steer you but loose enough for you to take control if you wish. The friction is delicious, his cock pressing against your soaked underwear through the fabric of his pants, creating just enough pressure to. The layers of clothing feel like a tease, amplifying every grind, every roll of your hips.

"You're so sensitive." he murmurs, his gaze never leaving your face.

His words make you shiver, spurring you on to move faster, your hips gaining a mind of their own. You can feel his breath on your neck as he leans forward, his lips brushing your ear.

"I want to hear you again." he whispers, teeth grazing the delicate shell of your ear.

Your body reacts instinctively, your pace faltering as you gasp, the coil of pleasure winding tighter with each roll of his hips. Sylus doesn’t let you lose the rhythm, his hands guiding your hips again.

"Let go for me." he urges, his voice a low rumble.

His words, combined with the perfect grind of his body against yours, tip you over the edge. A broken moan escapes your lips as the pleasure crashes through you once more. Your thighs tremble, your body arching as you cling to him, his name spilling from your lips. He groans as his grip tightens on your hips as he presses you down against him, drawing out every last pulse of your orgasm. His gaze locks onto yours, as he watches you come apart in his arms.

You slump forward, panting against him, your forehead brushing his shoulder as your arms wrap around his neck. His hands roam your back now, soothing as you catch your breath. You can feel the tension radiating from his body, the rigid line of his cock still pressing against you.

"Better?" he murmurs.

Your body feels like jelly, but you crave more. With a shaky exhale, you nod, nuzzling your face against his neck, the gesture earning a soft chuckle from him. You give yourself a moment to catch your breath before you sit up and move. Sylus doesn’t take his eyes off you as you stand from his lap, following your hands as they grip the hem of your sweater, lifting it over your head to reveal your bare skin. The soft glow from the living room lamp caresses every curve of your body, and his lips part slightly as he drinks in the sight of you. You hesitate briefly, heart pounding, before your fingers hook into the waistband of your leggings, sliding them down with your panties in one smooth motion, and now you stand completely bare before him.

Sylus leans forward, his breath warm as it fans over your skin. His gaze trails up your body, lingering for a moment, before settling on your face.

“You’re breathtaking.” he murmurs, his voice a low rasp.

You don’t have time to respond before his hands settle on your thighs. His lips brush against the curve of your hip, tender and sweet. He shifts forward, kissing the crease of your thigh, then above your pelvis, the attention making your knees weak. His hands slide up the backs of your thighs, gently urging you closer.

He turns around to push stray pillows off the sofa, before turning back to you, “Come here,” he says. “I want to taste you.”

Your breath hitches at the words, but you follow his lead. Sylus lies back on the sofa, his hands guiding your hips to straddle him, your knees settling on either side of his head. For a moment, you hover above him, your nerves fluttering. But you find reassurance when Sylus looks up at you with a gaze so utterly devoted as he places a kiss on your inner thigh.

“Don’t hold back,” he murmurs, his grip tightening slightly as he guides you down.

A soft gasp leaves your lips at the first stroke of his tongue against you wet folds. You grip the backrest with one hand, while the other one finds purchase in his hair and he pulls you closer, burying himself between your thighs. His tongue moves with expert precision, swirling and dipping, but then his nose presses against your clit, catching it just right, and a shiver bolts through you. The unexpected pressure makes your hips twitch, grinding against him instinctively. His tongue continues to lap at your entrance, tasting your juices, and the wet sounds of his mouth against you filling the room. You let yourself move, rolling your hips, the rhythm dragging your clit against the firm bridge of his nose while his tongue explores deeper, delving into you with an unrelenting hunger. Even lost in the haze of pleasure, you keep some of your weight off him, careful not to press down too hard.

“Sylus…” you whimper, the sound breathless, desperate.

He groans against you, the vibration coursing through your body and making you moan louder. His hands grip your thighs, keeping you steady but letting you control the movement, as though he relishes the way you’re using him to find your pleasure. Each grind sends sparks of ecstasy shooting through you, the friction of his nose against your clit and the way his tongue delves deeper, fucking you in shallow, filthy thrusts. He shifts slightly beneath you, the angle of his face changing just enough to hit a perfect spot, and your legs tremble as you chase another release, rolling your hips harder.

“Fuck - ” you gasp, your hands clutching the sofa like a lifeline.

Sylus hums again, his tongue and nose working in tandem to drive you higher, his hands kneading your thighs, encouraging you to let go completely. And you do.

You come with a shattered cry, hips jerking erratically as he drinks every pulse, every flutter, his grip tightening to keep you from pulling away from the overwhelming high. Your body slumps forward slightly, panting, thighs quivering as you try to gather yourself. But Sylus doesn’t give you time to recover. One moment, you’re perched above him, gasping in the aftershocks of your release, and the next, you’re on your back, the shift leaving you momentarily stunned.

You barely get the words out before his lips crash with yours. The moment your tongue brushes his, the taste of yourself coats your mouth. A shiver rolls through you, your thighs instinctively tightening around his waist. Sylus lets you kiss him like this, lets you taste what he’s done to you, but when your teeth graze his lower lip, teasing, claiming—his control finally breaks. Without breaking eye contact, he sits up just enough to swiftly take off his shirt before his lips are back on yours.

You hear the sound of his zipper, his hips shifting as he frees himself. His cock brushes against your drenched folds, the thick length sliding through your slickness, coating himself in your arousal. A shudder runs through both of you at the contact, the anticipation stretching unbearably between you.

Sylus exhales shakily, his forehead pressing against yours. “Can I finish inside?”

Without hesitation, you nod, your voice trembling as you whisper, “Yes... please.”

Sylus aligns himself, the thick head of his cock pressing against your entrance, and he takes his time, pushing in slowly, watching your expression. The stretch is deliciously intense, every inch of him filling you, making your walls clench around him. A strangled groan escapes his throat as he bottoms out, his cock twitching inside you. His forearms cage you in, the heat of his body surrounding you as he rests his forehead against yours.

He starts to move, his thrusts slow and deep, dragging along every nerve inside you. But even with his languid pace, just the feel of your pussy already has him trembling. You feel him pulse, his hips stuttering as he groans your name, his body shuddering above you. Sylus buries himself as deep as he can, his cock throbbing as his release spills inside you. The warmth spreads, and you can feel every pulse of his cock as he collapses slightly against you, his breathing heavy, his lips brushing your neck.

But he doesn’t stop. Even as his hips jerk with the aftershocks of his first orgasm, he keeps moving, his cock still hard, still sensitive, as he rocks into you with slow thrusts.

“I can’t get enough of you.” he murmurs against your ear.

The sensation of his thick length moving inside you, now slick with his warm release, sends waves of delirious pleasure through you. Your hands cling to his shoulders, your nails pressing into his skin as his pace begins to pick up again. Your legs wrap tightly around his waist, pulling him deeper, and his name tumbles from your lips in breathless gasps. Sylus leans down, capturing your lips in a messy, desperate kiss, his tongue sweeping into your mouth as his hips snap against yours. The pressure builds rapidly inside you, your body arching into his as his cock hits every perfect spot, the wet sounds of your connection filling the room.

“I missed you.” you finally confess, your voice trembling as the words spill out between moans.

Sylus freezes for a heartbeat, his eyes searching yours, his thrusts faltering as your words hit him. “Say it again.” he demands softly, his lips brushing against yours as his hips begin to move faster.

“I missed you.” you repeat breathlessly.

His rhythm grows erratic, his breaths ragged as his second orgasm builds rapidly. His hips slam into yours, his cock throbbing inside you as he grips your hips tightly.

“Fuck - I’m gonna—” His words cut off with a strangled groan as he thrusts into you one last time, his release flooding you again. The sensation of him filling you, paired with the grind of his pelvis against your clit, pushes you over the edge, your walls clenching around him as your fourth orgasm tears through you.

Your breaths mingle as both of you come down from your highs. Sylus doesn’t move right away, his cock still buried inside you as you both lie tangled together on the sofa, your limbs wrapped around him tightly. His weight presses into you, grounding, comforting, his body a welcome warmth against yours.

His lips brush against your temple first, then your cheek, and finally your lips. There’s no urgency now, just a gentle savoring. His hand cups your face, his thumb brushing along your cheekbone as he pulls back slightly.

"I never want to lose you again," he murmurs, the sincerity in his tone making your chest ache. "I was a fool for not seeing how much you were struggling. I took your strength for granted and thought you didn’t need me to change."

You swallow hard, unshed tears stinging your eyes. Your arms tighten around him instinctively, your fingers threading through the damp strands of his hair. He meets your gaze, his eyes softer than you’ve ever seen them.

"I’m more than willing to compromise," he continues. "Whatever it takes. I don’t care if it means slowing down, changing plans, or letting you set the pace. Just... please. I need you."

A lump forms in your throat as his words sink in. The dam of emotions you’ve been holding back all night begins to crack, a single tear slipping down your cheek before you can stop it. Sylus notices immediately. His thumb brushes the tear away, his touch featherlight.

You take a shaky breath, trying to steady yourself, though there is a small tremble in your voice when you whisper. “I need you too."

Relief washes over his face, his lips curving into a small, genuine smile as he leans down to kiss you again, his hands cradling your face like you’re the most precious thing in his world. The kiss lingers, his lips moving against yours with tenderness that leaves no room for doubt. When he finally pulls back, he rests his forehead against yours, his breath warm against your skin as he whispers, "Thank you."

You smile softly, your heart swelling as you gaze up at him. For the first time in what feels like forever, the weight on your chest begins to lift, replaced by the tender hope cradling your heart.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

@totallytaurus4 @ladyparamount @solifloris @withering-dream @yumii-34 @sapphic-daze @feuilledelis @cheesemachine44 @codedove @curiositykilledthecatx3 @sarangdipity @grabby-smitten

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

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huntermoris · 2 days ago

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🔔 The chapel bells ringing🔔

Happy last few hours/minutes of the witnessed banner, I got 3 of the lads in total(crow boi, snow boi and the alien)🥹🥹🥹

good luck to the rest of y’all still pulling!!!

🫡🫡🫡

Bonus: the b/w sketch and Sylus meme time(relatable)

#love and deepspace mc #love and deepspace mc art #love and deepspace #love and deepspace oc #hunter!argen #love and deepspace game #lads mc #sylus #lads #love and deepspace sylus #lads fan comic #lads sylus #sylus x oc #sylus qin #sylus love and deepspace #hunter moris #witnessed #lads banner

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abxssalwrites · 2 days ago

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pairing: sylus x mc | sylus and his twin girls

cw: fluff, fluff, and all of it. dad!sylus, girl dad!sylus, putting ponytails in his hair and playing dolls instead of making dinner

inspired loosely by @abyssyby and this fic ( right here! ) Love it so much! Go read the second part too!

"papa!" the small toddler pads to her father's side, who was busy occupying himself in the kitchen to make a meal. with a head of short white hair, selene grips sylus' pant leg and tugs on it to grab his attention, though he had long looked down at her.

"yes, sweetheart?" selene, the older of his two twin girls giggled softly.

"wha papa doin'?" she asks innocently, giving him a wide, curious gaze with her carmine eyes. though her gaze was full of childish innocence and playfulness, sylus could see so much of himself in her.

it was only then when he realized that his other little girl, sylara has stepped up to her sister's side.

sylara, the younger, longer haired toddler stares at him with that same innocent look. sylus suddenly feels likes he's about to be in danger. and his twins are the root of it.

"papa!" selene tugs on his pants. he has yet to answer her. "wha doin'?!"

"I'm cooking," he says, a bit exasperated. "I'm cooking dinner before your mother returns home."

selene and sylara glance at each other, crimson gazes looking at each other blankly before back up at their father.

"why?" sylara asks, tilting her head. "no need mae food."

sylus is taken back a little. he doesn't need to make food? do they know your wrath when you're hungry after work?

"I do," he insists, trying to turn his attention back to the onions he was cutting. "your mother won't be very happy with me if I don't cook dinner."

selene and sylara are quiet, though the short haired twin is still holding his pants, reminding him that they have not wandered away. he doesn't want to ignore his children, but he must cook. the little ones are... somewhat easier to deal with when grumpy...somewhat.

"papa!"

the little girls call for him again at once. he sighs and looks down at them, their cute squishable faces. "wanna pway!!"

"papa mean if no wanna pway."

and now they're guilt tripping him.

"papa no wove us if no pway."

he stares down at his girls in disbelief. they're purposely trying to get him in trouble with you. they are your kids, after all.

with a resigned sigh, he sets his knife down. "alright. I'll play with you two. but only for a little bit." He points his finger between the two. Making sure they're listening. "then papa has to go back to cooking for mama, alright?"

the twins look at each other and blink, before nodding.

"okay!"

and a "little bit of playing" sylus would get himself into.

You wander into the base about 30 minutes later, dropping your bags at the door with exhaustion. "Sylus?" You call for him, walking through the halls in search of him. You naturally peeked into the kitchen, finding it empty. No dinner served, no dinner was even cooked. Weird.

Mephisto caws and soars over to perch on your shoulder to say hello.

"Mephie... where's Sylus?" You ask the mechanical crow, who preens before flapping metal wings off in the direction of its father. You follow, noticing that he's leading you to the room your daughters share.

The door is cracked open, the soft giggle of your girls resounding through your ears. Pushing the door open, you see Sylus sitting in the middle of the floor with them.

Selene is standing on a grumpy crow plush to reach the top of his head, where several messy little ponytails are in his hair. Different colored rubber bands and what seemed to be your soft faux headband you used to pull your hair back.

Sylara is sitting in front of him, playing dolls with him.

"Use pwaytime voi, papa." Sylara says, pouting. Sylus glances up, seeing you standing in the doorway. He sighs softly and rubs the bridge of his nose, forcing his voice into a higher pitch.

"Gurl, I told youuuu... these shoes wouldn't fitttuh." He says in an exaggerated girl voice as he fiddled with the shoes of the doll, which didn't fit. Sylara giggles at his voice, Selene as well from behind him.

You smile at him and lean in the doorway, Mephisto going over to perch on Sylus' shoulder and pick at the small ponytails his eldest daughter wove into his silver hair. How humiliating.

"Mephieee! No! Bwad birdie!" Selene whines as she tries to wave Mephisto off from Sylus' head- she believed the crow was trying to take the rubber bands from her father's hair. She worked her little fingers hard to weave those into that hair. Pesky bird.

Mephisto caws and flaps his wings at her, though not hard nor close enough to cause impact of any kind to her.

Sylus glances up towards you, silently asking for help. His red eyes looking at you with a faint look of remorse and a gentle look that said "sorry."

You can't help but laugh. The boss of Onychinus pleading you for help from his own children and mechanical crow.

"I won't be mad at you." You say, walking over and kneeling down to him. Sylara giggles and looks up at you. "Mama! Wan pway?" She nearly bounces with anticipation of you saying yes.

Sylus slumps a bit. "Don't give into her," His gaze says, but before you know it, Sylara has pushed a doll into your hands with excitement.

"But she's so cute." You return your gaze to Sylus, who just stared at you, gobsmacked. He thought you would've been upset, at least MORE upset, some kind of upset. Not accepting this. He thought he would've been whacked over the head for not cooking you dinner before you got home. But he's just... sitting there playing dolls with his youngest while his oldest continues to fight and fend off from the mechanical crow on his shoulder.

#₊˚✩abxssal's archives₊˚✩#love and deepspace #love and deepspace sylus #sylus #sylus love and deepspace #l&ds sylus #lads sylus #lnds sylus #sylus lnd #sylus qin #sylus x mc #sylus fluff #girldad!sylus #girl dad sylus #love and deepspace fluff #dad sylus #fluff #forcing him to play dolls and to do his hair yes yes #theyre going to be the death of him trust

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comatosebunny09 · 2 days ago

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quiet time [ deleted scene ] | sylus

cw: royalty au, king sylus, knight/bodyguard reader, femme reader, romantic tension, cheesy, cliche, a pinch of self-loathing, sylus might be ooc, 2.5k wc notes: cleaning up my drafts. takes place in the same au as serve & protect after sylus’ meal with the queen but before the revelation. thanks for reading! tracklist: je te veux - erik satie

Of the many ways for a young woman to find herself in peril…

Well, you know the lot of them thanks to a certain white-haired monarch.

You figure he’s the most beautiful thing ever to grace this kingdom. Watch him with childlike wonderment as he sits hunched over his desk, silver brows pinched over the wire frames of his glasses, lips thinned with concentration.

His Majesty’s been like this for at least an hour, working through the stacks of paperwork littering his study. He occasionally releases a thoughtful hum, tapping his fountain pen against the lacquered surface as he flips through a binder housing official documents.

Rafayel must’ve really gotten to him today.

The royal advisor cornered you in the king’s study following your brush with danger.

He huffed something about ball preparations and coral reef preservation, hands on hips as he demanded that Sylus “sit still and do some actual work.”

You couldn’t help the snicker that tore itself from your body, watching the two bicker from the door like an old married couple.

Not much has changed about their dynamic since your childhood.

Rafayel threw his hands up with resignation, and Sylus turned up his chin over crossed arms.

“I’ll handle it,” His Majesty clipped, clearly done with their conversation, inspecting an adjacent wall.

Rafayel sighed and marched to you, pinning you with an iridescent glare. He thrust a finger in your face, his irritation emanating off him in waves.

“Make sure he doesn’t leave this office until all of those documents are signed. And no making googly eyes at each other, you hear me? You know he has the attention span of a goldfish.”

You replied with a curt nod, stepping aside to allow the exasperated advisor to leave.

The heavy door slammed behind with finality, leaving you and your charge in prickly silence.

A part of you wished that Rafayel stayed to maintain the peace. Because the moment he left, the air shifted, weighted like storm clouds rolling over the horizon. And you felt like a sheep that had wandered into the maw of a wolf’s den.

“A picture would last longer,” says Sylus, drawing you back to the present.

He scrutinizes the documents laid out before him, not once looking up. He knows your silences—their different meanings—too well. Parses through them like the yellowed pages of the books on his shelves.

Straightening, you clear your throat, tamping down the heat in your cheeks. You’ve been caught staring again—a regular occurrence between you and your king.

Can it be helped, though?

The man is gorgeous in every sense of the word, glowing like the cinders he was forged from. And you would be a fool to deny that, though you’ve barely succeeded in reining yourself in thus far.

You swallow. Try to tear your eyes from the pulsing veins in Sylus’ forearms—he discarded his jacket and rolled his sleeves to his elbows a little while ago. Unwound his tie and undid the first two buttons of his shirt; his waistcoat wrapped snugly around his torso.

Gods bless his tailor for their precise and patient hands. And curse them for being so meticulous.

The sun swathes Sylus’ silhouette in its ethereal glow, its rays pouring through the ceiling-high windows of his study whilst it seeks refuge behind the horizon.

He’s something like an angel in this light. Someone untouchable. And if he knew you were comparing him, of all people, to something ethereal, he would have you turned into a saddle.

You lapse into the disorder of your thoughts as your charge works quietly, face impassive, yet your hands wrench tight at your back.

You don't deserve his affection, what with the grime caked beneath your nails and the scars littering your body. His Majesty should court someone as beautiful as he is. Someone who will bring honor to his kingdom, who will help him rebuild and unite a world torn asunder by darkness.

Not you—a commoner. His sword. Someone “noble” by happenstance and not by the blood coursing through your veins.

As if sensing your inner turmoil, Sylus sighs, fetching another set of documents. He pierces through your ruminations again with that smoky voice fringed with amusement.

“How long do you intend to stand there gawking at me?”

He levels you with those brilliant eyes, pilfering the air from your lungs. His lips curve into a challenging smirk, chin resting on his palm like you’re the most intriguing thing.

You stiffen, cursing your wandering eyes, throat constricting. “I’m not. I mean, I-I wasn’t, Majesty—”

“How do you expect me to focus with you so far away?” he interjects with a raised brow.

“Huh?”

“Sit,” Sylus beckons, motioning to the crimson, velvet chaise beside him like it’s the most natural thing in the world to invite the help into the most intimate bits of his world.

You swallow. No good will come from this. It never does. You were already so dangerously close to losing your composure earlier.

“I shouldn’t—”

“Sit.”

And there it is—that tone which leaves no room for argument. A command layered beneath a friendly coaxing. You have no choice but to obey.

You pad to your king’s side after he showed no signs of letting up. Sighing defeatedly, you fall onto the cushions, folding your hands together in your lap, spine stiff as steel.

This is also routine between the pair of you.

He’s always had something against you standing guard at his door—like that isn’t your sole purpose. So you’re often held captive while he works, still as the paperweight on his desk.

It most certainly has nothing to do with him being irrevocably taken by you.

You slightly puff out your cheeks, eyes skittering every which way but on your wayward king. You feel his gaze drilling into the side of your head. See him shamelessly staring at you through your periphery, and it takes all of you not to shrink into yourself.

Fine. If a staring contest is what His Majesty wants…

You throw caution to the wind, fixing him with your own stare. His lashes flutter behind his lenses, eyes wrinkled at the corners. And then he smiles, a disarming, boyish thing boasting those perfect teeth, those rounded canines.

Wordlessly, he squeezes your rigid hands settled on your thighs, his hand big enough to engulf them. So pleasantly warm and roughened from years of wielding a blade.

You tense, your breath lodged in your throat, heart jackhammering in your ears.

Hot.

Terribly hot.

He always is. The action alone is enough to make you lightheaded, whilst his thumb makes slow expeditions over your knuckles.

“Now I can focus,” he says. Couples it with a deep chuckle as you sputter, the sound of it vibrating your spine. He then retracts his hand to take up his pen with renewed vigor. Like you are his battery pack, recharging him with a simple brush of skin.

You silently simmer, a ghostly pout descending onto your lips. You’re bereft of the loss of contact, but what for? This is nothing new—the fleeting touches and stolen glances. So, what’s got you so out of sorts today?

Though your nerves flare from the proximity, you’re thankful for it. From this angle, you get to see all of him. Greedily take in the sight before you—this work of art. Temptation forged by the gods.

His Adam's apple bobs whilst he swallows. The faint scent of citrus overhauls your senses. Biceps ripple beneath his snug, silken dress shirt, tendons in his neck jumping enticingly.

You battle a sudden inclination to kiss his throat, saliva puddling in your mouth. You wonder what pretty sounds you can emit from him. If you can turn him to mush the same way he does to you each day. But as if tuned to your less than savory thoughts, your shoulder pulses, quietly reminding you of your place—you’re his prey.

Silly woman, you chastise, shaking your head. What in the world are you thinking about? Where did these primal thoughts suddenly come from?

You sit like this in silent contemplation for a beat, transfixed on every twitch of his muscles. The scribbling of his pen is the only sound exchanged between you. You pick at your nails, feeling obligated to fill the stillness.

It’s strange—you’ve known each other for decades, yet it’s become nearly impossible to speak comfortably with him these days. What, with him growing more bold with affections, and you slowly whittled down by them.

“Are you—”

“Do you—”

Scarlet eyes flit to yours over the interruption.

Sylus huffs a soft laugh, leaning back in his seat. Your lips quirk the slightest, butterflies skittering about in your stomach. You’re beaming inside, because who else gets this level of attention like you?

“My apologies,” he says, turning to give you his full undivided attention. “What were you about to say?”

“Ah, nothing. Um, what were you going to say, Majesty?”

Suddenly, the onyx buttons of your uniform are so fascinating, warmth flooding your skin as you pull at them.

“Do you have plans for the long weekend?”

You perk up. Find it hard to meet his gaze, but you admit, “Not really.”

“Really.” He taps his chin thoughtfully.

“Yes, Majesty.”

“You are free from your duties tomorrow, yes?” There’s a hint of a pout in his voice. How dare you do anything but be at his beck and call.

You nod in confirmation. Honestly, you need it, what with you working tiring hours as a glorified babysitter. You care deeply for your king. However, keeping up with him and his wayward spirit is taxing on its own. Couple this with your unchecked feelings for him, and you have quite an exhaustive cocktail.

Your only warning is the rustling of paper.

Suddenly, the couch dips beside you. He’s moved faster than you can process, a blur of white and black. No doubt a product of his inhuman characteristics.

He swaddles you in his overwhelming heat and commanding presence. A gasp rends itself from your throat. Your knees bump, thighs graze. He is uncomfortably close, and it’s become much too hot again. You feel restricted by your uniform. Has it always had this many layers?

Your king looks to you with impish delight. Drapes an arm across the backrest, closing in until your skin prickles from the static charge. “Will you be accompanying me, then?”

You reel back, spine colliding with the chair’s arm. “Accompanying you? Where?”

Impatience meddles with his voice. He leans away, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I assumed your boss would’ve informed you of tomorrow’s excursion.”

The mere mention of your commander causes your brow to twitch. “He hasn’t told me a thing, Majesty.”

With an exhausted sigh, Sylus forges onward. “Well,” he begins, leaning forward with his elbows pressed into his powerful thighs. “There is a bazaar in town. On the outskirts of the citadel.”

He scans your features to gauge your reaction. Searches for any opposition. You urge him forward with inquisitive brows.

“I planned to go to...browse.” Sylus wets his lips, looking elsewhere, an incredulous laugh in his throat.

Had he been anyone but your king, you might’ve mistaken his sudden shift in demeanor for bashfulness. Since when has he been uneasy about buying cheap trinkets?

“Your commander was more than enthusiastic about joining me. I figured he would’ve invited you as well.”

A pang strikes your chest, searing like white lightning.

And you thought you were all friends.

Though you’re never too keen on the idea of His Majesty leaving the citadel alone, you also know that he prefers to travel discreetly. A ring of bodyguards and staff looming around would only draw attention. Besides, it isn’t too often that he gets to leave the castle without some official business tacked onto it.

And Caleb is more than capable of fending off any attempts on your king’s life, the cocky bastard.

“I wouldn’t want to impede, Majesty,” you say haughtily. Since the offer had slipped Caleb’s mind, you felt it best to take it out on your king.

“I want you to come,” he insists, patting your hands, a disarming lilt to his voice. “That is, if you would like to join us.”

You sigh, lips twitching into a small smile. Try as you might, you’ve never been able to resist him like this. “I would love to, Your Majesty.”

The tight line of his shoulders loosens, and he’s yet to let go of your hands. The air shifts when his eyes find yours again, and the world grows fuzzy and muddled around you.

“Might I make one final request since you’re feeling generous?”

You nod, tuned to his every movement. “Don’t push it. But, sure.”

Without warning, your hair waterfalls onto your shoulders, spilling from the crude bun you had fashioned it into after Sylus had so graciously stolen your mother’s hairpin.

You stammer, an astonished look taking up residence on your features.

He’s done it again.

Sylus’ expression melds into one of endearment. He beholds you with boyish fascination, engraining every spasm of your lips selfishly into his memory.

“I prefer you like this,” he whispers, breath wafting across your molten cheeks, followed by the cautious scrawl of the backs of his fingers. “You should wear your hair down more often. It’s pretty.”

You cannot help the warmth that wades over you at his request. Your heart swells with something indescribable. He always knows how to disorient you with his satiny, manipulative words.

You resist a whimper whilst Sylus slides his knuckles across your face towards your temple, twining one of your coils around his finger, and gently pulling. He wears that look again—the one he dons before trying to kiss you. Love drunk and mesmerized

Something in your slowly frays. Maybe you will let him get away with it this time. Your tongue darts from betwixt your quivering lips to dampen them. Eyes half-slit. You glance at his mouth, watching with bated breath as it pans in.

To hell with it, you resign as his fingers creep like spindly spider legs around the nape of your neck. He threads them in your tresses, drawing you closer into him.

To hell with being his bodyguard. To hell with his monarchy and your feeling like the lowest on the totem pole.

You’re hyperaware of his mouth so close, your breaths fusing, mind reeling.

If not for the door thrown open noisily behind you, you might’ve finally let your king have his way—might’ve finally succumb to your own desires.

#sylus x reader #sylus x you #sylus fluff #sylus #lnds sylus #sylus love and deepspace #sylus lads #love and deepspace #lads sylus #king!sylus #serve & protect series

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certifiedsimpinggalore · 8 minutes ago

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ABSOLUTELY SCRUMPTIOUS

Hello! I love your writing! I was wondering.. would it be possible to request a sequel to Bitter for all the guys? The angst really got me good, but an end Where they see the Reader move on, whether it be with another LI or another person. Those sorts of fics soothe the angst for me even if they don’t end up together again.

Sour

Pt.1

PAIRING: Love and Deepspace men x non-mc!reader

SYNOPSIS: A year has slipped through your fingers like sand, carrying away the sharp edges of bitterness— or so you thought. Yet, the past has a cruel way of resurfacing, and when you stand before your former lover once more, the question lingers: has time truly softened the wound, or does resentment still simmer beneath your skin?

A/N: A lot of you guys asked for a sequel, and I must say - I'm so greatful for all of your support. It feels unreal, knowing that so many people enjoy my writing and get engaged in it. I tried to include every suggestion you gave me in some way. It ended up quite long, because I wanted to make sure they suffer. I really hope it's up to your liking, enjoy!

Xavier

A year had passed—one carved from sorrow, stitched with bitterness. Betrayal, mistrust, insecurities—every fracture in your heart laid bare, every ugly truth dragged into the light.

And yet, in some quiet, inexplicable way, you were grateful.

Grateful for the clarity, for the stripping away of illusions, for the lesson that love—no matter how fervent—could not thrive on longing alone. You had spent so much time searching for a deeper meaning, convincing yourself there had to be one. But sometimes, the truth was simple. Painfully, mercilessly simple.

He hadn’t chosen you.

There had been texts, calls, attempts at conversation. Words typed and deleted, ringing phones you never answered. You knew his tactics too well—the pleading eyes, the soft-spoken apologies, the way he’d paint his regret with honeyed words. But you had learned. This time, you refused to fall.

And so, the city became a vast and empty place, void of Xavier’s shadow. No accidental encounters, no glimpses of golden hair in a crowded street. It was as if the universe had granted you mercy, shielding you from the ghost of what could have been.

And with time, bitter turned to sour. Sour softened into something gentler, something warm. Until one day, you woke up and found yourself unburdened.

You were thriving.

A promotion at work. New friends. Doors opening where once there had only been walls. It was almost absurd, how small your world had been, how much of yourself you had given away for the sake of love that was never truly yours.

Because in the end, one heartbreak wasn’t the end of the world.

And when you finally let yourself step forward, the idea of meeting someone new no longer felt like a betrayal of your past self. It was slow at first—hesitant, uncertain—but why should someone else pay the price for wounds they never inflicted?

You were seeing someone. The phrase alone felt foreign on your tongue, strange in your mind. But it was real. It was different. No silent doubts, no waiting for the inevitable unraveling. Just laughter. Just affection. Just love, in the simplest, most effortless form.

You were distracted by happiness.

And maybe that was why fate decided to test you.

The bell above the café door chimed, a familiar sound that had never meant anything—until now. Until the moment you met a gaze you once knew better than your own.

Blue. Icy, calculating, flickering with disbelief.

Xavier.

He looked different. Sharper somehow, but worn. Dark circles framed those piercing eyes, his golden hair a little unkempt, a crease forming between his brows. There was no laughter in his expression, no easy charm. Just silence—thick, heavy, laced with something you couldn’t name.

Like he was seeing a ghost.

Like, after all this time, he still wasn’t sure if you were real.

He stood from his table, slow and careful, as if you might vanish if he moved too quickly. You straightened your posture, steeling yourself.

"Y/N..."

Your name left his lips like a prayer. Soft. Tentative. As if he didn’t deserve to say it.

And maybe he didn’t.

Still, you had promised yourself you’d be better than bitterness. That you wouldn’t let the past sink its claws into you.

So you smiled. Small, polite, but distant. "Xavier. Long time no see."

Something flickered in his expression, fleeting but unmistakable. Hurt.

"Yeah," he echoed, glancing down for a moment, hands curling into fists before he exhaled, gathering himself. "Long time no see."

A pause. A heavy, unspoken weight settling between you.

And then—"Would you sit with me?" His voice was quieter now, more hesitant. "Just for a little while? I won’t... I won’t nag you, I swear." A ghost of a smile barely touched his lips.

For a moment, you considered.

Curiosity stirred—how had he been? How had life treated him? And yet, you knew better. You had spent too long craving answers that would never change the past. The Xavier who stood before you was not yours to worry about. Not anymore.

So you inhaled slowly, steadying your heart, and said simply, "I don’t think there’s anything left to talk about."

Blunt. Honest. Kind, but final.

And for once, you didn’t feel guilty for choosing yourself.

The bell rang again, the door swinging open, and warmth enveloped you as familiar arms wrapped around your waist, a kiss pressed to your cheek.

"Love," a voice murmured, teasing and light. "You always make me chase after you." They laughed, and you did too, the sound effortless.

Your partner turned, glancing at Xavier with mild curiosity. "Am I interrupting something?"

"Nothing at all," you assured, slipping your fingers into theirs, warmth meeting warmth. "Let’s go."

And as you walked away, hand in hand with the person who had mended what Xavier broke, you didn’t look back.

But he did.

Xavier stood frozen, watching as you disappeared into the city, just as he had let you slip through his fingers once before.

And this time, there was no note left behind. No final words.

Only silence.

And the weight of a mistake he could never undo.

...

But it seemed fate was not yet finished with him. Seeing you again was a wound torn open, an ache that refused to fade. Xavier realized, with the kind of clarity that arrives too late, that he couldn’t let you go.

Not without trying.

And it didn’t matter that you belonged to someone else now—desperation made a man reckless. He would settle for anything. A glance, a word, a sigh in his direction. Proof that he had not become a ghost in your memory.

So he searched. Called. Texted. Every message fell into silence, his words lost to the void. He wandered through the places you once loved, only to find them hollow, emptied of your presence. It was as if you had evaporated, leaving no trace behind.

But then—when he finally found you, sitting on a weathered park bench beneath the fading gold of an autumn sky—his breath hitched. You looked different. Not just in the way time shapes a person, but in the way peace does. It softened you, made you untouchable.

He hesitated. He didn’t want to startle you, didn’t want to seem like a desperate man chasing shadows. But wasn’t that exactly what he was? Obsessed, haunted, unraveling beneath the weight of his own mistakes.

And then you looked at him.

His heart stuttered. Your eyes—once a universe he had called home—held no welcome for him now. There was recognition, yes. But it was distant, indifferent. A ghost of a smile graced your lips, polite but hollow, and something inside him withered.

"I need to talk to you," he rasped, his voice raw from all the words he had never said.

You tilted your head, considering him in that quiet, unreadable way. Then, with a small sigh, you gestured to the empty space beside you. An invitation—not of warmth, but of duty. Perhaps you felt he deserved the clarity he had never given you.

He sat, feeling like a man standing at the edge of a cliff.

"I have no right to ask for forgiveness," he confessed, staring down at his hands as if the answers were etched into his skin. "I know that. But I feel... lost. Lost without you guiding me."

There was silence, heavy as the twilight creeping in around you. And then—

"What’s done is done." Your voice was steady, like the final toll of a bell. "You’re right—some things can’t be forgiven. And actions have consequences. I’ve moved on, Xavier. And you should, too. That’s the only clarity I can give you."

Your words struck like a blade, precise and inescapable. He had braced himself for anger, for screams, for the fury he knew he deserved. But instead, you looked at him with nothing but pity.

And that—God, that was worse.

"Y/N, please," he choked out, his resolve crumbling. "Just give me a chance. I’ll do anything. Anything."

He fell to his knees before you, the weight of his regret pressing him into the earth. Once, he had stood tall beside you. Now, he knelt at your feet, pleading for the remnants of something he had destroyed with his own hands.

You blinked, surprise flickering across your face before you exhaled softly. "I’m happily taken…" The words were gentle, but firm. And then, the final blow—"Engaged, actually."

You lifted your hand, and in the dimming light, the diamond on your finger gleamed like the last star in a dying sky.

Xavier’s breath left him in a ragged gasp. No. No, this couldn’t be real.

"Please—" He reached for you, his hands trembling, his world tilting beneath him. "I can’t do this without you."

You smiled then, and for the first time that evening, it was real. Soft, kind, but completely out of reach.

"I’m afraid that’s none of my business anymore."

You rose to your feet, turning away from him, your figure bathed in the golden light of a world that no longer had room for him. He watched, helpless, as you walked away—each step sealing his fate, each breath pulling you further from his grasp.

And when you disappeared beyond the trees, he realized the cruelest truth of all.

Some mistakes don’t come with second chances.

Zayne

A year.

A year since you had stood in the ruins of what you once called love, waiting for something—anything—to make sense. Since the walls of your world had collapsed beneath the weight of neglect, since the name Dr. Zayne had burned like acid on your tongue.

And yet, look at you now.

Thriving.

You had carved out a life that was entirely your own, no longer bending yourself into smaller, more convenient shapes to fit into someone else’s world. Your career—once just a dream, a hesitant whisper in the back of your mind—had become your reality, a space where your talents were not only recognized but celebrated. Your relationships flourished, no longer strained by the quiet loneliness of waiting for a man who always seemed just out of reach.

The girl who once sat by the phone, heart aching for a call that never came, was gone.

And yet, the ghosts of Zayne still lingered.

The recipe he once taught you? You still loved it, the taste laced with a bittersweet nostalgia. The song he always played while driving? Occasionally, you let it slip through your speakers, if only to remind yourself how far you had come. The pain of his absence had dulled into something quieter—no longer a gaping wound, but a faded scar.

You had learned to appreciate what his neglect had taught you.

Because he had shown you exactly what love wasn’t.

And now, you knew better.

...

It was supposed to be an ordinary evening.

Your partner—warm, steady, everything you had once begged for—had suffered a minor accident. Nothing dire, but enough to warrant a hospital visit, just to be sure. And so you stood there, waiting near the reception desk, arms crossed over your chest, glancing at the fluorescent glow of the overhead lights. The air smelled of antiseptic and sterile linens, the faint beeping of monitors a rhythmic pulse in the background.

And then—

You felt it before you saw it.

A gaze. Heavy. Familiar.

You turned.

And there he was.

Dr. Zayne.

For a moment, the world seemed to shrink, narrowing down to the space between you and him. He looked... different. Or maybe it was you who had changed. His sharp, professional composure remained, but there was something wearier about him now. The pristine white coat did little to hide the exhaustion beneath his eyes, the slight furrow of his brows, the way he adjusted his glasses in that meticulous way of his.

And yet, despite it all—he was still devastatingly familiar.

"Y/N?"

Your name fell from his lips like a habit he had forgotten he missed.

There was something almost startled in his expression, as if he hadn’t expected to see you here, hadn’t expected you at all.

"Did something happen? Are you hurt?" He was already stepping forward, concern etched into every line of his face.

There was a time when that look would have unraveled you. When your heart would have stuttered at the mere thought of being the center of his attention.

Now, it felt… strange.

Performative.

Not because you thought he was faking it—Zayne never faked anything—but because it no longer mattered.

You blinked, taken aback for a brief moment before schooling your features into something unreadable.

"I'm alright."

A pause.

Why did he sound as if he had just seen you yesterday? As if a year of silence had not stretched between you like an ocean?

Why was he looking at you like that?

And why—why did it still taste bitter?

His gaze flickered over you, searching for something, before he spoke again, his voice softer this time. "Then why are you here?"

You raised an eyebrow.

"Actually, it’s none of my business," he amended quickly, clearing his throat, adjusting his glasses again—nervous. Zayne never used to be nervous around you.

"But since you’re here," he continued, voice carefully composed, "perhaps we could talk? If you wouldn’t mind, of course."

There was something almost hesitant in his tone. Like he was reaching for something he wasn’t sure he had the right to ask for.

And before you could decide how to respond—

A warmth wrapped around you.

"Sorry I kept you waiting, baby."

A familiar voice. Soft lips pressed against your temple. A presence that felt like home.

Your partner.

Zayne went still.

You didn’t even need to look at him to know. You could feel it—the way the air between you turned sour, thick with something unspoken, something unacknowledged.

You turned to face your lover, melting into the easy affection they offered, their touch grounding you in a way Zayne’s never had.

"Is that your friend?" your partner asked curiously, glancing at Zayne with polite indifference.

You tilted your head, considering the question.

Friend?

No, that wasn’t quite right.

You let out a soft giggle, shrugging as you intertwined your fingers with theirs. "I guess?"

And then—without another glance, without another word—you turned, walking away.

Zayne remained where he stood, unmoving, silent.

He didn’t call after you. Didn’t reach out.

Because he knew.

He knew that if he had any place in your life, it would have been beside you, not behind you—watching as you disappeared into a world that no longer included him.

And now, the only thing he had left—

Was the taste of regret, bitter and lingering on his tongue.

...

Bitterness clung to Zayne like the aftertaste of a drink too strong, too sharp. And so, he sought sweetness in the only way he knew how—in thoughts of you.

Your touch, the gentle weight of your hand on his wrist. Your voice, quiet yet commanding, soft yet certain. Your presence, steady as the tide, once an anchor, now a ghost.

He had spent too long convincing himself he could let you go. That logic could silence longing, that reason could tame regret. But then he saw you again.

And the moment he did, he knew.

You belonged by his side.

So, it began. A pattern. A ritual. Lingering in the places you once adored, slipping into the coffee shop you used to frequent, hoping—praying—that fate would grant him another moment.

And fate, cruel and kind in equal measure, did.

You were alone, sipping your drink, fingers lazily scrolling through your phone. Every now and then, the corners of your lips twitched into a smile—small, fleeting, devastating. Zayne felt something in his chest splinter.

He wanted to be the reason for that smile again.

With a breath he wasn’t aware he had been holding, he stepped forward, lowering himself into the seat across from you.

"Y/N."

Your name left his lips like a confession, quiet, careful.

You lifted your gaze, expression unreadable, an eyebrow arching slightly at his sudden presence. But no shock. No warmth.

That alone made doubt creep in. But it was too late to turn back now.

"...That’s unexpected," you said, returning your attention to your phone. "I thought you didn’t like this café."

His lips curved, but there was no humor in it. "I don’t," he admitted, adjusting his glasses with practiced ease. "But I find myself drawn to places that remind me of you. Old habits die hard, it seems."

A pause. Then—

"Nice."

Nothing more. Not a smile, not a flicker of interest. Just a word, impersonal and distant, slipping from your lips with all the weight of an afterthought.

It caught him off guard. He hadn’t expected warmth, but this? This felt like standing outside in the cold, staring at a window where a fire once burned.

Still, he pressed forward.

"So," he began, voice smooth yet hesitant. "Have you been well?"

"Cut the small talk."

Your voice was calm, but your patience was thin, and when your eyes met his again, he saw it—exhaustion. The kind that settles after a storm, after too many words left unspoken for too long.

"What do you want, Zayne?"

He exhaled slowly, as if composing himself. "I see time has made you even more direct," he mused, before his gaze darkened, sharpened. "Very well. I won’t insult you with pleasantries. I came because I needed to speak with you—about us."

A flicker of something crossed your face, too fast for him to name. And then—

"There is no ‘us,’ Zayne."

Your words were soft, but they struck harder than a shout.

"We didn’t work out," you continued, your voice steady, final. "It happens. Move on."

His fingers curled against the table, the faintest twitch of his jaw betraying the emotion he so carefully masked.

"You make it sound so simple," he murmured, tilting his head slightly. "As if what we were—what we could have been—was nothing more than an inconsequential mistake."

"Not a mistake," you corrected. "A lesson."

He laughed then, low and humorless. "I see. And what exactly did I teach you?"

"That love is not enough."

It was cruel in its honesty. Devastating in its simplicity.

He looked away for a moment, staring at the swirl of steam rising from your drink, as if it held the answers he sought. Then, quieter this time, he said, "And yet, I find myself incapable of learning that lesson."

You didn’t respond. You only stood, preparing to leave.

That was when he reached for you.

Fingers wrapping around your wrist—gentle, hesitant, desperate. And in that moment, neither of you spoke.

Because you both felt it.

The ghost of what once was. The warmth of a memory neither had fully let go of.

His grip loosened, but he did not let go.

"Tell me," he said, voice softer now, raw in a way he had never allowed himself to be. "Is this truly the end?"

Your gaze met his, unwavering.

And then you nodded.

A single motion. Firm. Certain. Unshakable.

He let you go.

And though every part of him rebelled against it, though his heart ached with the knowledge that he would wake tomorrow with the same longing, the same regret, he told himself it was enough.

Because if you were happy—if someone else had succeeded where he had failed—then who was he to ask for more?

At least, that’s what he tried to believe.

Rafayel

A year had passed.

The seasons had shifted, weaving through time like a quiet symphony, their passage marked by sun-warmed afternoons and frost-kissed mornings. Life had carried on, carrying you with it.

And somehow, somewhere between then and now, you had left him behind.

Not in a single, heart-wrenching moment, not in some grand, dramatic farewell. No, you had left him slowly—like the tide pulling back from the shore, retreating inch by inch, until one day you realized there was nothing left to reach for.

And you were okay with that.

More than okay.

You had built something new from the pieces of yourself he had never cherished. A life that felt like yours, untouched by the weight of waiting, unburdened by the ache of almost-love.

And you had found someone. Someone who didn’t make you wonder if you were asking for too much. Someone who reached for you first, without hesitation.

You never thought about him anymore.

Not really.

But fate had a cruel sense of humor.

Because today, just as laughter spilled from your lips like honey, warm and golden, just as your partner squeezed your hand in theirs, grounding, steady—

You saw him.

Rafayel.

Standing at the entrance of the café, half-cast in shadow, his sharp gaze locked onto you like a man seeing a mirage in the desert.

Your breath did not hitch.

Your pulse did not quicken.

If there was an ache left inside you, it was nothing more than an old scar—a faint reminder of pain you had long since learned to live without.

But he—

He looked frozen.

Like he had walked into a moment he wasn’t supposed to witness.

Like the sight of you—laughing, radiant, untouched by him—was something he had never considered possible.

You met his gaze, tilting your head slightly.

Oh.

He hadn’t changed much. Still dressed in purple tones, still holding himself with that same quiet confidence, still looking at you like he was searching for something.

But he had changed.

His face was unreadable, but his eyes—once filled with amusement, teasing, always dancing just out of reach—were darker now. Heavier.

You knew that weight.

Regret.

Good.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The air between you was thick with things left unsaid, ghosts of words that once sat on the tip of your tongue, always swallowed before they could escape.

And then, finally, he spoke.

“Y/N.”

Your name on his lips used to feel like the start of something. A promise. A quiet, unspoken longing.

Now, it was just a name.

You blinked at him, offering a small, polite smile—the kind you gave to distant acquaintances, to strangers who mistook familiarity for significance.

“Oh,” you said, as if realizing he was there for the first time. “Rafayel.”

The casualness in your voice was deliberate.

His expression didn’t change, but something in his posture did—just the slightest shift, just enough for you to know he felt it.

“It’s been a while,” he said.

It had.

A lifetime had passed in that year.

“Yes, it has.”

You didn’t ask him how he was. Didn’t give him the opening he was waiting for.

The silence stretched between you, long enough to feel like a choice.

The café smelled of coffee and cinnamon, of sugar melting into warm pastries, but the only thing you could taste was clarity—light, crisp, sweet.

Then—

“Who’s this?”

Your partner’s voice, gentle yet firm, cut through the stillness.

You turned to them, your gaze softening the moment it met theirs.

And that—that was what made Rafayel’s breath hitch.

The way you looked at them.

The way you had never looked at him.

“They’re an old friend,” you said simply.

Not a lover.

Not someone who had once left you waiting in the dark, sifting through the scraps of his affection, trying to find something whole.

Just someone you used to know.

And you knew he heard the finality in your voice.

For a second, just a fleeting second, something flickered in his expression.

Loss.

Too little, too late.

You turned back to your partner, your fingers still laced with theirs.

The conversation resumed. Effortless. Unbroken.

And Rafayel—who had once believed you would always be there, lingering like an unfinished story—stood there, realizing he had become nothing more than a footnote in yours.

You didn’t look back.

And the only taste he was left with—

Was bitter.

...

Regret clung to Rafayel like salt on skin—persistent, inescapable, a reminder of tides that had long since receded.

And he remembered—oh, how he remembered.

The scent of your skin, like the last breath of summer before the waves stole the warmth away. The way your hair moved with the wind, as if it carried secrets only the ocean knew. The way your voice curled around his name, a siren’s call that had once lured him home.

How you understood him without words, how you indulged his recklessness, how—for once—someone had seen him for more than his name, his face, his fortune.

He still knew your favorite color, the way your smile tilted just slightly to the left, how every imperfection only made you more devastatingly perfect in his eyes.

And he couldn’t forget.

He tried, but he was a drowning man, reaching for driftwood, for anything that could bring him back to shore. So, he watched from a distance, fingers hovering over your name on his screen, refreshing, searching. Checking where you were, who you were with, what you were doing.

Love makes fools of men. But obsession—obsession turns them into ghosts.

And when he had mapped the rhythm of your days, he found himself drifting into them. Hovering at the edges of your world, waiting for the perfect moment to pull you back into his gravity.

When it finally happened, he caught you off guard.

You were walking, earphones in, humming a tune under your breath, lost in a world where he no longer belonged.

His hand found your shoulder.

Startled, you swung your bag on instinct, and it hit him square in the arm. He winced, clutching it dramatically.

“Ow, cutie! First, you break my heart, and now you try to break my arm?” His grin was lopsided, but his eyes betrayed him—searching, desperate.

You barely spared him a glance before rolling your eyes, turning away.

“No—wait.” His fingers caught your wrist, hesitant but firm.

You turned back, leveling him with a stare. "What? Want to get hit again?"

A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, but it faltered under the weight of your indifference. He exhaled sharply, rubbing his temple.

"I would much rather prefer just to talk to you." His voice softened, no longer laced with teasing, but something closer to pleading.

Then, quieter—more deliberate—

“Y/N, take me back.”

You blinked. For a moment, silence stretched between you, the space between each breath vast as the horizon.

Then, you took a step back. And he felt the distance like an undertow, dragging him deeper.

“Absolutely not.”

There was no anger in your voice, no bitterness. Just finality, as gentle as a wave washing over forgotten footprints in the sand.

His throat bobbed. “…No?”

"You heard me."

His fingers twitched at his sides. “Cutie, please reconsider—”

“Oh god, don’t call me that.” You pinched the bridge of your nose, sighing.

He hesitated, but then his gaze turned serious, the teasing stripped away. “I know I made mistakes—”

“You broke us, Rafayel.”

His breath caught. The truth of it cut through him like cold water, merciless and clear.

“Y/N.” His voice was lower now, quiet in a way that made the world around you feel too loud. “I know I ruined things, but you can’t tell me we weren’t great. You can’t tell me what we had wasn’t—”

“It was.” You interrupted, your expression unreadable. “Until it wasn’t.”

Something inside him cracked.

"I've moved on," you said simply, shifting your bag over your shoulder. And then, with a ghost of a smirk—mocking, cruel in its lightness—

"You should too, fishie."

It should have made him laugh. It should have made him tease you back, call you something equally ridiculous.

Instead, it felt like the tide pulling him under.

He said nothing, only watching you, searching your face for something—anything—that might mean he still had a chance.

And then you turned.

He caught your wrist again, more desperately this time. “Tell me,” he murmured, voice unsteady. “Do you want me to beg? Is that it? Do you want to see me on my knees?”

You looked at him then, really looked at him.

"I just want to see you out of my sight."

The words landed like crashing waves against stone.

His grip loosened, and you slipped away like water through his fingers.

"Have a great life, Rafayel."

And you walked away.

He should have followed. Should have thrown pride to the wind, should have fallen at your feet and begged like a desperate sailor praying to the sea.

But something in your voice—calm, unwavering—told him the storm had passed. And all that was left was the wreckage.

So he stood still.

And for the first time, he let you drift beyond his reach.

For now.

Sylus

A year had passed since you walked away from Sylus, but time had done nothing to erase the ache in your chest, nor the memory of how effortlessly you had disappeared from his life. You had left as silently as a forgotten dream, taking your heart with you, and leaving him behind to rot in the wreckage of his own actions. The decision had seemed like a balm in the moment, a clean cut. But as the days turned into months, the absence had become a ghost. It hovered in the corners of your mind, a constant reminder of the man you thought you knew, the man who had ruined you. And yet, despite it all, you had learned to live again.

You had rebuilt yourself, piece by broken piece. You embraced the ordinary—the quiet routine of your life, the peace that had once seemed so elusive when he was around. Your life was no longer tangled in the complexity of him. You began to explore things you never had the courage to before, tasting freedom in ways that filled you with pride. The world, without Sylus, was kinder—gentler. You smiled more, laughed more, and found comfort in the simplest of things: a cup of coffee on a rainy day, the soft rustle of leaves underfoot in autumn, the glow of a sunset you hadn’t shared with anyone. You had learned to live for yourself.

And yet, somewhere in the back of your mind, a part of you still wondered what he was doing.

The knock at your door shattered the quiet peace you had so carefully built.

You hadn’t expected visitors—especially not him.

Standing there, on the other side of the threshold, was the man who had once been your whole world, the man who had broken it. Sylus.

His appearance was jarring. His usual immaculate self was ruffled, as though the weight of the world had been wearing on him in ways he never allowed anyone to see. His sharp features were drawn, eyes darker than you remembered. There was something unfamiliar in the way he held himself—no longer the man who walked into a room like he owned it, but someone who had been worn down by the passage of time, by regret. And yet, his eyes, the same eyes that had once mesmerized you, still held that magnetic pull. Only this time, they were haunted.

“Sylus,” you breathed, the name slipping out of you before you could stop it.

There was a moment of tense silence, where neither of you moved. And then, his lips parted—just slightly—and a flicker of something like amusement touched his face.

“Missed me, kitten?” His voice was smooth, but there was an unfamiliar hesitation there, something raw in the way he spoke to you.

You couldn’t tell if he was still playing games, or if this was something else entirely. You studied him for a long moment, trying to read him, trying to figure out why, after everything, he still seemed so... familiar.

But you no longer cared.

The words came out before you even thought them. “What are you doing here?” Your voice was soft, there was no venom, no fury. Only confusion. And a quiet indifference that was worse than anything you could’ve said.

His gaze faltered for a second, but he quickly regained his composure, though his smirk was tighter than usual. “I thought you’d be more excited to see me.”

His words were like a knife to the gut, but you felt nothing—not anymore. It was like you had been hollowed out over time, and there was nothing left inside you to give.

You tilted your head slightly, eyes cool. “Ah, where are my manners?” You couldn’t help the sarcasm that slipped out, though it wasn’t playful—more a shield against the weight of his presence. “Oh, how I missed my favorite liar! The one who broke my heart and threw me away like a piece of trash.” You rolled your eyes, a bitter laugh escaping your lips.

The words should have stung, but somehow, you found relief in saying them out loud. For so long, you had kept the hurt buried beneath layers of careful silence, and now, here it was—raw, unapologetic.

Sylus’s face flickered, a faint shadow of hurt passing through his gaze before he regained his composure. “The kitten has grown some claws, I see.” His voice was flat, but there was a trace of something in it, something he was trying to mask.

He took a step closer, as if expecting you to let him in, but you quickly moved to block the door.

“Don’t,” you said simply.

He raised an eyebrow, surprised at your sudden resolve, but you didn’t care.

“You’re not welcome here,” you said, your tone final.

Sylus’s eyes softened for a split second, and in that brief moment, you saw the desperation that clawed at him. The weight of his regret that he never allowed to surface. “You’re hurting me, sweetie,” he said, though it was far from playful. It sounded like a plea.

Your heart didn’t twitch. It didn’t soften. It just felt... heavy.

“Good,” you muttered, looking him up and down, and for the first time, you saw him clearly—not the man you had once adored, but a man who had lost everything and had nothing left to offer.

Just then, a voice came from inside your home.

“Darling, what’s taking you so long?”

You didn’t need to look back to feel your partner’s arms slide around your waist from behind, their presence warm and secure, a reminder of the love you had found after him.

“Hmm, who’s this?” Your partner asked lazily, looking past you to the man who once consumed your every thought.

Sylus’s gaze hardened, his eyes narrowing as he sized up the newcomer, but you weren’t going to offer him any answers. Not anymore.

“He got the wrong address,” you replied evenly, your voice indifferent as you turned back to face Sylus, daring him to challenge your words.

And just like that, the man who once held your heart in his hands realized the weight of his own failure. The realization hit him like a tidal wave.

Sylus opened his mouth to speak, but no words came. His chest rose and fell with unsteady breaths, as if he were choking on his own grief.

You met his gaze, and for the first time, you felt no anger—only a quiet, final resolve. “I think it's time for you to leave, sir.”

The silence stretched between you, thick and suffocating. His heart, once so certain and confident, now shattered under the weight of your indifference.

“Have a good night.” you whispered, the finality of the words slipping from your lips. And with that, you closed the door on him—on the man you once thought you could never escape.

Sylus stood there, staring at the wood that now separated you from him, as though hoping it would open again. But it wouldn’t.

He swallowed, hard. The man who had always prided himself on his control was now nothing more than a broken shell of his former self.

And it was all his doing.

For the first time in his life, Sylus had lost. And he had no one to blame but himself.

...

Sylus was not the kind of man who accepted defeat.

Not when you were so close, so painfully out of reach, like a forbidden fruit dangling just beyond his grasp.

He couldn't—no, he wouldn't—let you go so easily.

His mind clung to thoughts of you, obsessions blooming in every corner of his brain: your laughter, like the chiming of delicate bells, your playful words that always teased, always challenged him, your defiance that had once felt like the spark that kept him alive. You had been his equal, his match—two stars circling in an orbit of shared chaos and fire.

But now? Now you were slipping from him, dissolving into someone else’s arms, and that realization felt like a knife being twisted into his chest. He couldn't bear it. He could never bear it.

Bitterness seeped into his soul, a slow, insidious poison that clouded his thoughts. The feeling of helplessness was foreign to him, suffocating him in ways he had never known before. He had always been the one in control—always the one who commanded the world. And now you were gone, out of his reach, and it tore at him like a storm.

The thought of another touching you, breathing in your scent, seeing the soft glow of tenderness in your eyes—Sylus couldn't abide it. No. Not when he had once owned that gaze, that touch, that part of you that was his.

He needed one more chance.

Maybe it was for the peace of his mind, maybe it was his selfish longing, his desire to reclaim what he believed was his. Or maybe it was because he couldn't let go of the idea that you were a treasure meant for his eyes alone—his to hold, his to keep, like a rare, delicate jewel locked away.

And so, like the predator he was, Sylus followed you, carefully, subtly. With Mephisto keeping watch over you, it was easy to know where you'd be, when you'd be there.

Each time, he approached, his presence lingering just at the edges of your world—watching, waiting. But you rejected him. Rejected him with biting sarcasm, with icy silence that seemed to pierce his skin like a thousand knives.

It drove him mad.

The chase was maddening. The only thing that consumed him was the desire to have you in his arms once more, to feel the heat of your skin, the sweetness of your breath, the intimacy that he had once thought was infinite.

And then one evening, when he could no longer take the ache, he made his move.

You were walking home from work, the weight of the day pressing down on your shoulders. The quiet satisfaction of surviving the day was tempered by the exhaustion that clung to you. But as you turned the corner, a hand suddenly grasped your wrist, yanking you into a shadowed alley. Your heart pounded in your chest, a burst of adrenaline flooding your veins. You opened your mouth to scream, but before the sound could escape, a hand pressed over your lips.

"Relax. It's just me."

His voice—his damn voice—sounded like a lure, familiar and dangerous. Your body froze, not out of fear, but out of recognition. You knew it was Sylus, and despite everything, despite the years of hurt and betrayal, a twisted part of you felt… safe.

When he felt you relax, he let go. You spun around to face him, heart still hammering, but now tempered with anger.

"You’re crazy," you spat, your voice sharp and unforgiving. "What do you think you’re doing?"

His gaze, that unnerving mix of calm and intensity, bore into you. His expression was disturbingly relaxed, too casual for someone who had just dragged you into an alley against your will.

"Getting your attention," he said, his tone smooth, almost mocking. "Seems like it worked."

The words hit you like a slap. Your fists clenched, your anger bubbling over.

"You can’t just pull people into a dark alley, Sylus! You’re actually insane!" You jabbed your finger at his chest, each word punctuating the fury that burned through you.

Sylus didn’t flinch, though you could see the storm brewing behind his eyes.

"...I apologize," he said softly, his voice taking on a tenderness that was so unlike him. He reached out to touch your cheek, but his hand stopped halfway, as if he was still unsure whether he had the right.

The vulnerability in that simple motion—something so un-Sylus, so raw—stirred something inside you. Something you didn’t want to acknowledge.

You sighed heavily, the weight of everything pressing down on you. "What do you want?" Your voice was laced with frustration, your patience wearing thin.

"I thought that would be obvious by now," he said, a faint smirk curling at his lips, the teasing edge still present despite the darkness in his eyes. "Guess you’re not as sharp as I thought, kitten."

The bastard. Even now, he played with you like a cat with its prey.

"I swear, I’m going to file for a restraining order against you," you muttered, your voice tinged with disbelief.

"You can try," Sylus responded smoothly, his words dripping with a dangerous calm. "But you know well enough that such things won’t stop me."

You clenched your fists, your resolve hardening. The walls you had so carefully built around your heart in the past year came crashing down in a flood of anger and pain. You had moved on, healed—didn’t he see that?

"I want you to come back to me," he said, his voice now serious, his gaze earnest, though still haunted by the traces of his past mistakes.

But you wouldn’t crack. Not now.

"Never in this lifetime," you said, the finality of your words a heavy hammer to his chest.

Sylus’s lips twisted into a small, bitter smile. "Then, in another?" His words were light, but they carried a weight that you both felt. It was his way of hiding the hurt, the pain that had followed him like a shadow.

You didn’t answer right away. Instead, you let the silence hang between you, thick and suffocating.

"I’ll pray that I never have to meet you again," you said softly, the words filled with a quiet kind of sorrow. "Not in this life, and not in the ones after."

And with that, you turned, walking away from him, leaving him shattered in the cold, empty alley.

Sylus watched you go, his chest tight with regret. His heart—something he had long kept locked away, something he had never truly allowed himself to feel—was breaking in ways he had never imagined. The storm inside him raged, but he couldn’t stop it.

You were gone, and this time, he knew—he knew—there would be no coming back.

Caleb

It’s been a year since you last saw Caleb.

Well, not really. Sometimes you caught glimpses of him in the crowd—just a silhouette, a shape that might be his. Your heart would catch in your throat, and for a fleeting moment, you’d swear it was him. But the figure would turn, and it would be a stranger. Your imagination had been cruel to you, conjuring up ghosts from your memories and stitching together faces from your longing. Perhaps it was just your mind showing you what you wished to see, like a cruel twist of fate reminding you of what had slipped through your fingers.

A year filled with growth. You learned to be soft with yourself, to breathe through the pain instead of suffocating in it. You allowed yourself to be bitter—let the sadness claw through your chest and the anger burn through your veins. You let yourself crumble, and when the dust settled, you gathered the fragments and made something beautiful from them. A mosaic of healing. You thanked the universe for the lesson, no matter how brutal it had been. Whether it was God, fate, or simply the chaos of life, you accepted it. You learned that you were the only constant in your own story—the one thing that would always remain when everyone else faded to whispers.

In those months, you blossomed. You breathed in the world with new lungs, filling your soul with every small moment that once went unnoticed. The way sunlight painted golden patterns on cracked sidewalks, the way the ocean waves whispered secrets to the shore, the taste of ripe fruit on a sweltering day. You poured your energy into your work, rebuilt neglected friendships, and found comfort in the warmth of those who remained. You taught yourself that it wasn’t your fault—none of it had been—and that loving him too much was never a mistake. Only, you needed to love yourself first.

And when you finally felt steady enough to open your heart again, love found you. They were calm where Caleb had been chaos, steady where Caleb had been a storm. A lighthouse guiding you back to yourself, reminding you that love wasn’t meant to break you. Their hands held you like you were fragile, but their love made you feel strong. You didn’t compare them—Caleb was a different life, a different story. But maybe that’s what you needed. You were happy, genuinely happy, for the first time in what felt like ages.

The train station buzzes around you like a hive of restless energy, travelers weaving past each other with hurried steps and heavy bags. Your lover has gone to grab snacks for the journey, leaving you alone on the worn wooden bench. The air smells of old books and fresh coffee, tinged with the metallic scent of steel tracks. You lean back, glancing at the faded timetable, feeling content in the hum of life moving around you.

And then, like a phantom stepping through the fog of memory, you see him. Caleb. The world seems to stop spinning, frozen in that singular moment. He’s standing on the opposite platform, hands shoved into his coat pockets, head bowed as if weighed down by the past. A bitter wind pulls at his hair, and for a second, he lifts his gaze. Your breath catches as his eyes meet yours, recognition dawning like sunlight cutting through rain. He hesitates, lips parting, and you see the flicker of regret, raw and unguarded.

The hurt surges up unexpectedly, but it’s quieter than it used to be, muted by time and acceptance. You don’t flinch when he takes a hesitant step forward, his mouth opening as if to call out to you. A thousand words hang between you—apologies, confessions, explanations—but none seem to find their way into the open. You see the yearning in his eyes, the way he’s looking at you as if trying to remember every detail he once took for granted.

Your lover appears at your side, offering a small smile as they hand you a paper bag filled with snacks. Their presence grounds you, pulls you back to reality from the haze of memory. Caleb sees them too, and the pain that flashes across his face is like a knife carving regret into his bones. You watch as he realizes what he’s lost—how you’ve moved on, how you’ve found happiness that doesn’t depend on him.

He lingers there, stranded on the other side of the tracks, unable to cross over to where you stand. You almost pity him—the way his shoulders sag, the way his jaw clenches to swallow whatever plea was forming. But the ache that once ruled you has softened, transformed into something quieter. You’re not angry anymore. You’re not shattered. You’ve built something new from the ruins he left behind.

Caleb lowers his gaze, as if surrendering to the weight of his own choices. And as the train pulls into the station, you take your lover’s hand, intertwining your fingers like roots that hold you steady. You feel Caleb’s stare on your back as you step onto the train, but you don’t look back. There’s nothing left to see—just the remnants of a past that no longer defines you.

As the train moves away, you feel a sense of peace wash over you. It’s not triumph, not victory—it’s closure, as quiet and gentle as a sunset slipping beneath the horizon. You made it out the other side. And that, more than anything, is the proof that you are whole again.

...

But the peace you felt wasn’t the same for Caleb. Seeing you again after what felt like a lifetime was like being thrown into the depths of the ocean—lungs burning, heart pounding, utterly helpless. He hadn’t known he was drowning until he saw you sitting there, your feet dangling off the edge of the bench, lips parted in a soft “o” of surprise. You looked at him with that same curiosity, that gentle tilt of your head, and it struck him just how far away you felt—like a dream that had slipped through his fingers.

It wasn’t his place to feel this way. Not anymore. But he couldn’t help the ache that gnawed at his ribs, nor the desperate urge to reach out and pull you into his arms, to whisper apologies into your skin until his words sunk into your bones. Yet even from a distance, he could see how your shoulders were relaxed, your gaze steady and unburdened, and it only made the chasm between you widen.

When another person’s hands found your own, threading fingers together with the ease of familiarity, his heart cracked open—raw and aching. It wasn’t his business. He shouldn’t care. But he did. Too much. More than he thought he still could.

He wanted to run after you, to say something—anything. But what would he even say? That he missed you so much it hurt? That he had spent a year convincing himself he’d made the right choice, only to realize how profoundly wrong he’d been? It all felt pointless now, tangled in regret and longing.

Endless scenarios crashed through his mind like waves against rock, and somewhere in that turmoil, he decided he needed to speak to you—one last time. He needed your attention on him, just once more.

He waited for you outside your workplace, nerves coiling tighter with every second that passed. He wondered if you’d be angry—if you’d tell him to leave and never come back. But when you appeared, you only offered a small, polite smile, one that didn’t quite reach your eyes. You looked at him with the calm detachment of someone who had long since made peace with the past.

“Hey...” he murmured, forcing a boyish grin that looked so out of place on his troubled face. He rubbed the back of his neck, as if trying to wring out the nerves clinging to him.

You smiled again—gentle, unbothered, and heartbreakingly kind. “Hi.” Your voice was soft, like a memory he couldn’t quite grasp, and it was that tenderness—free from bitterness—that made his chest ache. He had prepared himself for anger, for hurt laced in your words. Instead, you were kind. You always had been, like a flower that bent but never broke, even under the harshest of storms.

“I was wondering if we could talk,” he said finally, hesitating as if the words themselves might shatter.

You didn’t move, just nodded your head. “Talk, then.” Your tone was steady, as if he was just another passerby in your life, not the storm that once tore it apart.

He swallowed the lump in his throat and spoke, words stumbling over one another. “I guess... I didn’t realize how much I missed you—until I saw you at the station. I just—” He took a shaky breath. “I wanted to know if you’d ever consider forgiving me. For how foolish I was. For being so... selfish.” His eyes, those familiar, pleading puppy eyes, bore into yours, searching for a sliver of the past warmth.

You glanced at him, and he saw the flicker of something unreadable in your gaze before you answered. “Forgiveness is too much to ask for,” you replied softly, but your voice held a quiet strength that hadn’t been there before. “But I’ve learned to accept what happened. You should too, Caleb.”

His hands clenched at his sides, fighting the urge to reach out. “I don’t think I’ll ever be able to accept it.”

You gave a sad, wistful smile, the kind that hurt more than any cruel words could have. “That’s on you,” you whispered, eyes glistening with a tenderness that had nothing to do with him anymore. “I’m happy now. I’ve built something beautiful out of the pieces you left behind. And I won’t let you take that from me.”

He lowered his head, unable to meet your gaze. “I never meant to hurt you,” he whispered.

Your smile faded, replaced by a quiet, unyielding resolve. “Intentions don’t erase consequences. Live a life without further regrets, Caleb.”

You didn’t wait for a response. You turned and walked away, each step decisive and unwavering, leaving him rooted to the spot—drowning in the knowledge that you were truly, undeniably gone.

And Caleb just stood there, feeling the hollow ache where your love used to be, realizing far too late that he had destroyed the only good thing he’d ever known.

@rubyrubyruuu / @browneyedgirl22 / @valentine-n-ragnarok / @whimsiecat / @esylwen / @crimsonmarabou / @we-rice-boi / @mitchelbr1 / @animegamerfox / @chgumji / @jeondyy / @rafayelridesfisheatsfish

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monster-effer · 17 hours ago

Text

Catch Me If You Can - Sylus x reader

Summary: Confessing a long-held fantasy to Sylus resulted in you running for your life in a forest. Can you outrun the leader of Onychinus? Doubtful, but you were having the time of your life trying anyway. Content: MDNI, explicit smut, fem!reader implied, role play, primal play (chasing, being hunted), reader is held down and restrained, rough, teasing, manhandling, inappropriate use of evol, Sylus is a little mean in this, rip to the reader’s hole 🙏🏾 (3k wc) A/N: Um…idek what came over me. I had to take breaks while I wrote this tbh🫣

Current time:

Barreling ahead, you tried your best not to stumble over the fallen tree branches, rocks and debris decorating the forest floor. It felt like you had been running away from him all night.

Although you would consider yourself in shape, even fighting wanderers did not push your body to its limit as much as tonight has. Your breathing was labored to the point that you were worried you would give away your position.

Determination was the main thing keeping you focused. But if you were being brutally honest — your legs and feet were starting to ache, and your body was enveloped in a thin layer of sweat.

You’re not sure how much longer you can go on like this. That coupled with the fact that you have not caught sight or heard him yet had your nerves working overtime. Just when taking a break started to look like a real possibility — the sound of a twig snapping close by prompted you to keep moving.

You knew he was intentionally messing with you. Because, you have experienced how soundlessly he could move around when he wanted to. But, having no other choice, you shook out your wobbly legs and were off again.

Flashback:

You’ve been pacing for the past few minutes, and your stomach was in knots.

Currently, you were waiting for Sylus to show up to your apartment because you had something important to discuss with him. This topic was nothing new. You’ve tried — and failed — casually bringing up your interest in a certain kink. A kink that involved being chased, hunted, held down and dominated. Just thinking about Sylus doing any of those things to you was thrilling. But you clam up every time you try to start a discussion.

It was beyond frustrating.

To further complicate matters, you aren’t the best at explaining things. The longer your garbled explanations went on, the more you unraveled. And soon after came the overwhelmed tears. Your boyfriend, Sylus — bless his heart — has been endlessly patient with you. It’s like he instinctually knew you were trying to express something that’s deeply personal but you’re weren’t ready to yet.

He's never pushed you. But you can tell he is genuinely interested in and curious about what you want to say. No matter what he is up to at the time, he drops everything to give you his full attention. Sylus consistently makes you feel seen, heard and loved. Which is why you wanted to share this with him, despite the embarrassment it is taking to reach your destination. And after experiencing the crushing feeling that accompanied yet another failed attempt a few days ago — you made a decision.

To improve your odds, you’ve been practicing how this conversation may go. Both by yourself and with the help of your friends Tara and Simone. You’re not entirely sure either of them will look at you the same after your practice sessions, but they were good sports about it. And as a thank you, you gifted a spooky cat themed tarot card deck to Tara and a unique weapon (to modify as she pleased) to Simone.

After agonizing over having this conversation for real this time, you decided to take the leap of faith. You were sure that Sylus wouldn’t turn you down, because he is always encouraging (begging) you to be greedy about the things you want. Whether it be obtaining material items, spending time with him, or trying new things in the bedroom. All you have to do is ask.

But asking is the step that’s giving you the most trouble. It is the only thing standing in between you and fulfilling your long-held fantasy. You’ve never felt safe enough to bring up with anyone really (besides friends of course). But you’re sick of holding this in, you need to let it out. For better or worse.

Standing still for the first time in the past hour, you audibly sighed and covered your eyes as reality hit. You’re going to discuss something incredibly vulnerable today.

You can, and have, trusted Sylus with your life but even the slim chance of being judged for your interests was putting you on edge. Before you can spiral further, a knock on the glass door of your balcony drew your attention.

Hurrying over to let him in, you try to force a smile despite your inner turmoil.

“You were going to wear away the wood flooring if I let you pace any longer.”

Ah. He was always too observant for your own good.

“Very funny,” you grumbled while rolling your eyes.

Taking one of his hands in yours, you tugged him towards your living room couch without another word. When he sits down you don’t join him. Instead, you stand in front of him, looking down as you fiddled with the hemline of your shirt.

Your nerves were shot.

And somehow the practice sessions you held with your friends have all but slipped your mind. This left you feeling like a deer caught in headlights as your mouth opened then shut without making a sound.

“I haven’t seen you this nervous before. Come here and tell me what’s on your mind. Between the two of us, I’m sure we can resolve it.”

Sylus held out a hand to you, his thick eyebrows furrowed in concern. Once you placed your hand in his, he pulled you down to sit sideways in his lap. You could feel his carmine eyes trace your face, trying to glean what was wrong without pestering you to speak before you were ready.

You closed your eyes and inhaled deeply to steel yourself. The pounding of your heart was so strong you wondered if he could hear it.

“Sylus…I wanted to ask you something.”

“Go on. You can ask me anything,” he replied in a dulcet tone that put you at ease.

Finally feeling emboldened, you asked the burning question that was on your mind.

“What do you know about primal play?”

Current time:

Tonight was anything but normal. Mainly because you were trying your hardest to evade an apex predator.

Someone who seemed to have:

No weaknesses Immeasurable amounts of strength Unbelievable movement speed Impeccable strategic skills

You’re not sure how much longer you can keep narrowly escaping capture. It’s obvious he’s toying with you, because if he really wanted to, he could catch you in an instant.

You’re begrudgingly grateful that he’s playing along though, because despite your exhausted state you don’t want this to end anytime soon. You’ve been horny since receiving your invitation yesterday.

Sy 🐦‍⬛♥️: 1.28175°N, 103.85137°E Sy 🐦‍⬛♥️: tomorrow, 10 pm

Although the entire premise of tonight was based around your fantasies — you had no idea how real it would feel to be in this situation. Your pulse was racing, your mouth was dry, and you could not stop darting your eyes around. You were practically expecting him to emerge from the shadows at any moment.

You can’t help but feel that your capture is imminent. Yet, in spite of this, you continue to push your body forward. Tonight, you’ve had the opportunity to use a few skills obtained from working at the Hunter’s Association to your advantage.

After a few minutes of aimlessly wandering around, you reached a clearing. Said clearing held a tree stump that looked like the perfect seat to rest your weary body on. You knew that letting down your guard right now was not the wisest choice. But at the same time, you did not want to collapse from fatigue before the real fun began. So, you sluggishly made your way to the stump, plopped down, and finally gave your overworked feet a brief respite.

You were mid yawn when a hand covered your mouth, smashing your lips against his palm. When you tensed up, a firm arm wrapped around your waist caging you in completely.

Your eyes popped open as you instinctively struggled against the ensnarement. Wriggling your body, twisting your head side to side, and even trying to bite the hand that was covering your mouth did not faze your captor. In the end, you only succeeded in tiring yourself out.

And during all of this, he was silent behind you. No huffs of amusement, no words uttered. Just sheer strength preventing your body from moving away from his. When you ran out of energy to fight back it was eerily silent in the forest. This not only unnerved you, but it made your heart pump harder against your chest.

All you could hear was your own heavy breathing and the sound of leaves rustling in the wind. It was nearly pitch black around you, barring the twinkling stars overhead serving as your saving grace.

Satisfied with seeing the fight leave your body, he finally spoke.

“Did you really think you could hide from me?”

Your face flushed at his mocking tone.

With your mouth still covered, you could not answer him. Instead, a muffled whimper was your only reply.

“No matter where you are, who you are with, or what you are doing. I will always be able to find you.”

Still keeping ahold of you, he leaned down then ran his nose along the column of your neck starting from where it met your shoulder all the way up to your ear. You shuddered hearing him inhale your scent like it was a delicacy, purposefully exhaling on the shell of your sensitive ear.

“Do you know why that is?”

Struggling to stay present and not succumb to the arousing sensations it took you a while to realize he was waiting for a response. You shook your head.

“Because you are mine.”

He said it so confidently, like it is a universal truth. Like you belonging to him was a fact that could not be disproven nor rendered obsolete. Which did nothing to dampen how turned on you were. Since he caught you unawares, your panties have been pasted to you. Sticky with evidence of your need.

After his declaration he removed his hand from your mouth and wasted no time pushing you off the stump.

You squealed as your hands and knees met the ground.

“W- what are you doing?” you asked breathily.

Sylus chuckled lowly without answering you. Since you met, there have been plenty of laughs shared between the two of you. But tonight, it sounded like his voice dropped an octave. And it sent a chill down your spine.

“Guess,” he purred.

You gulped as he started to strip you of your clothing. First your shoes and socks, then he rolled your athletic tights down your legs. You were left in nothing but your damp underwear, t-shirt and sports bra, practically laid bare but completely at his mercy. It made you feel vulnerable in a way that was exhilarating yet uncomfortable.

As Sylus turned away to place your clothes in a neat stack, you were on your feet once again. Running into the woods with bare feet. The crunch of fallen leaves under your soles echoed loudly in your ears.

Goosebumps broke out on your skin when his incredulous chuckle reached you. Quicker than your eyes could track, Sylus appeared in front of you, blocking your path. His right eye glowed as his gaze was intent on you, giving him insight into your deepest desires. Further stripping away any layer of protection — mental or otherwise — you had left.

You tried to juke him, but he wasn’t easily fooled, instead, you crashed right into his chest. A whoosh of air was forced out of your lungs on impact.

Tired of your games, he quickly clamped his arms around you. Your nipples pebbled in anticipation as your arms were trapped against your side and your chest was crushed against him.

“Bravo,” he murmured condescendingly.

“I thought you tired yourself out, but I suppose I was wrong.”

“And to think — I was being nice earlier. But if you want to play dirty…I will as well.”

The black and red tendrils of his evol surrounded your wrists, pulling them behind your back to act as makeshift handcuffs. Once your hands were secured, he made his way behind you. Then, he pressed down on your shoulders, making you drop to your knees. Next, he pushed on your back, encouraging you to bend over. Your cheek pressed into the ground, making you arch your underwear covered bottom towards him.

In what seemed to require as much effort as tearing a piece of paper in half — he ripped the gusset of your underwear in two to expose your sopping wet mound to the chilly nighttime air.

You trembled and held your breath as your hole winked in response to the sudden change in temperature. You were helpless, unable to do nothing but await his next move.

Sylus let out a guttural sound at the sight you made.

You were glistening between your folds under the moon light. The position you were in could not be more submissive. Watching you shake like a leaf on the forest floor made you look like an animal cowering in fear.

When you first proposed this idea Sylus was surprised to say the least. His sweet kitten requesting to be stalked, hunted and treated like an animal was never something he thought of. Admittedly your discussion gave him pause, but he agreed because he would try anything for you.

But tonight, he’s been caught off guard with how easily he stepped into this “predator” role. He hasn’t stopped bulging against the zipper of his pants since this show began.

And you…weren’t making things any easier. You performed beautifully tonight. And now that he’s restrained you, you looked like a ripe and juicy fruit, ready to be devoured.

So, he did.

When he dug his hands into the plush of your thighs, he felt you twitch in response. He used this hold to push your legs apart. Then, he leaned in to enjoy his well-earned meal.

He lapped hungrily at the seam of your mound making sure to lather plenty of saliva over your opening. He savored the sounds you made when he dipped his tongue teasingly into your hole, making your ass jiggle as you jolted forward.

You were never left unsatisfied with Sylus’ performance in the bedroom. But tonight, the way he moved, touched and tasted you was distinctly different. It’s like like he’s been possessed. The slurping and sucking sounds coming from behind you were making you blush. He was being so loud, unabashed in his pursuit of making your mind go blank.

You tried to pull away from him, but instead of a temporary reprieve, you cried out when he forcefully pulled you back onto his tongue. He pinched your clit as punishment before pulling away to gruffly say, “don’t run.”

Then he gathered some of your slick to rub your bundle of nerves, continuing to lick up your juices. The dual stimulation was sending sharp jolts of euphoria through you and before long you shattered against his face.

You felt Sylus growl against your pussy as you spasm. When you finally still and begin to relax into the dirt, his silky voice breaks through the peaceful atmosphere.

“We aren’t done.”

“I need a break, that was so much,” you protested, lacking conviction.

“Oh you don’t need a break kitten, you are perfectly ready to take me,” he said before notching himself against you then bottoming out in one push.

You keened from the struggle of adjusting to his sudden entry. It was no secret that Sylus encouraged you to take charge in and outside of the bedroom. But in contrast, seeing him indulge in his dominant side tonight made you feel hot all over. Your clit throbbed each time he bested you tonight and arrogantly exerted his control.

Sylus held onto your hips then withdrew until just his tip remained. With little pause he thrust back in — setting an unforgiving pace. Your gummy walls desperately clung to him, almost refusing to let go. His length was covered in your juices, nearly gluing his hips to your backside each time they met.

He was beyond elated to finally feel you, after watching your every move and trailing you throughout the forest. Your unrestrained moans were throwing him into a frenzy. With the last of his restraint gone, he couldn’t resist pounding you into the ground. He needed to draw more of those addicting sounds from you.

It turned him on beyond measure to see and feel how much you were enjoying this crushingly erotic experience. He could feel himself getting close, but he needed more of you.

He could never have enough.

Dissipating his evol, he pulled your torso towards him until your back met his chest. He settled his forearm around your neck to keep you in place.

Sylus did not squeeze your neck hard, but the firm presence of his veiny appendage made your breath catch in your throat. Not giving you much time to adjust to the new position, he carried on rutting into you until you saw stars.

As you approached your release, you melted against him while he continued burying himself into your aching hole. With little warning he filthily groaned into your ear before you felt him splash your insides with his essence.

Soon, you are tumbling over the edge as well — cursing as your walls convulse uncontrollably around his cock. When he pulled out, you winced as you felt the mess that was left behind.

Your body was wrung dry. And you can already feel where bruises will form tomorrow. But, in spite of it all, this was everything you could have hoped for. Your mind feels too cloudy to fully articulate how fulfilling this experience was.

“That was amazing,” you mumbled.

His gaze was fond as he helped you get dressed before picking you up.

Sylus chuckled as he rasped, “I’m glad you had fun sweetie. Let’s get you home so I can clean you up, hmm?”

As far as aftercare goes, Sylus did not skimp. After arriving to his place, he brought you a glass of water, placed you in a warm bath, fed you, then put you to both to bed.

The end ♥︎

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