creepychan08

[creepychan08]

“i only know that i feel tired, antiqued; i feel as though i’ve been awake for a long long time”

HOMESICK

synopsis: when the exhaustion of loving finally takes you.

tags: xavier x non!mc, ANGST!!! hurt/ comfort(?)

word count: 4.4k

likes + comments + reblogs appreciated

authors note: xavier’s version of this. let me know if you want versions of the other Lis. also please give me some ideas!!! divider by: @fairytopea

ACT I: VIGIL

Laughter has never been so suffocating.

You watch, not from a distance, but next to MC.

You think it's worse to be this close and to hear everything you're hearing now. In all the years of trials and tribulations of knowing Xavier, have you ever heard him laugh so brightly, smile so widely, or love so loudly?

The quiet, ever aloof prince of Philos—the man you followed, crossing stars, passing meteors, abandoning the place you once called home—beams brighter than his evil.

You think about all the things that built up to this moment.

To you, he was the stars: bright and all-encompassing. His silence—always silent—ever consuming, as you trailed in the shadow he left behind. Throughout the years of companionship and camaraderie, you followed blindly, as you always do, even when you knew what following him meant: an ill-fated destiny you could never rewrite.

You knew MC once before—the same woman who took the world by storm, a hurricane in his life that devoured him whole, leaving nothing for you behind.

Just like the MC you once knew, this MC is just as captivating.

The universe is playing a sick joke. He is your longest companion, the very last of your kind—the last light of your planet, your world, your culture. You left it all behind because, to you, loving him meant more than the comfort of your people and the safety of your planet. Loving him was worth leaving everything behind.

Ironically enough, he thought the same thing.

And despite it all—the friendship, the companionship, the camaraderie—you’re not even a placeholder for the love he holds dear. Nothing but white noise that followed him around, that clung to him at every turn.

A persistent, pathetic, piteous echo.

You are so close, and yet, so far.

Pulled in by the gravity of his very being. You think—thought—that all this time, just being beside him would be enough to soothe the dull ache of your heart, the perpetual pain that roamed your bones, and the exhaustion that swallowed you whole.

Like a dreamer, you think of the ways he could love you in the same capacity he loves her. That if you show up enough times, reach out and fill the silence he leaves behind; that the days of dedicated devotion, the sacrifices made along the way, would surmise to something worthy of being loved.

Worthy of being seen.

You’re left stranded in his orbit, gravity pulling harder the more you think you’ve got a handle on your thoughts. The pain, the agony, the suffering. Thinking that sticking by his side was all you ever needed, that you can’t be greedy—because having him was enough, and having him be yours was pure insanity.

You hear the laughter erupt once again, likely from a silly joke MC made. You pull yourself out from whatever hole you've dug, pull your lips into a smile the best you can, laughing along. It's hearty and very becoming of your character, you think, since MC wraps a secure arm around yours and squeezes with affection.

You allow her, of course—straining your cheeks until they burn, letting out a long-drawn sigh that fills the room.

Despite what others may think, as you converse along luridly, as if the volume of your voice could hide the heavy heart you bear, you've never been so quiet.

…

ACT II: DREAM

You once thought that the convenience of being neighbours was a good thing.

Next door to Xavier—close to him, but never next to him.

Walking to the Hunters Association together, coming home together, eating together. Just being together.

But you could tell Xavier wasn’t ever there—not really.

Despite being with him for so long, his mind was usually elsewhere. Sometimes in dreamland, but mostly—actually, always—drifting to her.

At some point, in between the solo bickering and one-woman conversations, you, too, found yourself wandering.

Like your mind sanctioned itself in your own self-made isolation.

Quieter. Smaller. Dimmer.

You stop talking as vividly—maintaining just enough energy to keep up appearances. Your voice, so used to fading into the background, remained where it was so oftentimes pushed towards—away from everything. Everyone.

You stop tagging along in the mornings, early days, and late nights, save for the obligatory lunch with your co-workers.

You stop leaving your apartment, taking refuge in a bed you’ve grooved your body into, like a coffin awaiting your arrival. An apartment you’ve grown used to, replicating the only home you knew.

And you’re just so tired. Tired of it all. Exhaustion clings to you like chasing breath. Sleep evades you like the plague.

It was your choice to cling to hope—to leave your home and to follow, naively, in hopes that one day, he would look at you the same way you look at him. To experience his love: the soft edges, the warmth, the gentleness. To think quiet, everlasting devotion would get you anywhere—devotion that controlled you, consumed you. Devotion that you thought would be enough, as silly as it sounds, to at least hold a candle next to the sun.

Devotion that instead puts you in the hands of despair.

You’re stupid to still hope, to yearn for a love that was never yours to have. To attempt to go against fate—against an entire lifetime of love.

So really, it was your burden to bear—and bear it alone.

And the funniest thing of it all? Xavier never once visited you. Checked on you. Sought you out. Even the tenant right below you, Charlie, visited, offering warm welcomes of fresh bread and a simple smile.

As you lie on your couch, enveloping yourself in the embrace of your own naivety, forced by Jenna to take a day off, you listen to the familiar silence.

Which is soon broken by the snubbed sound of light that snuffs the room.

It’s the first time in weeks—29 days, 21 hours, 2 minutes—Xavier has stepped foot in your apartment.

You don’t make a move to look at him or say anything like you normally do.

You both reside in the deafening silence. One by choice, one succumbed.

For the first time, Xavier breaks the silence: “You weren’t at work today.”

You could laugh, scream, cry, or all of the above, but you don’t.

Quietness reaps your soul.

Xavier continues. “MC was worried about you.”

A lifetime's worth of companionship, and he wasn’t even here to seek you out.

You truly are stupid.

Xavier isn’t used to the silence—not this kind. Despite being so quiet all the time, this silence was completely foreign. It was heavy and uninviting, almost suffocating.

There’s a moment of unrelenting anticipation as he waits to see you respond.

When you don’t, he steps forward. One step, then two—then he’s at the foot of the couch, peering down at you like a deity summoned—unconsciously shining with that light of his.

Steel blue eyes bore into you, trying to read you.

But you’re too fractured to be read. At least not clearly.

“Are you okay?”

‘Am I okay?’ You want to laugh at the thought, to make fun of the words asked.

Were you ever okay?

You miss it all—your family, your friends, your people, your home.

To think, once there was a time you chose to abandon it all in the name of love—where you thought complacency was where you belonged: beside a man you knew never loved you, maybe never even liked you.

Now you can only sneer at the fact, as you reminisce about a place far and forgotten, only finding a place deep within your memory.

Xavier prompts a different question. “Have you been sleeping?”

And for the first time in a while, you finally speak.

“I’ve been dreaming a lot.”

First, about you. About us. About what could have been. About what never was.

“What about?” His voice holds something softer than you ever thought possible from him. Something reserved only for her, never for you.

It almost makes you break. To confess everything. To finally open up your heart and pour all your pain out. To free yourself from self-made shackles and unwanted thoughts. To hear the very softness you crave—to be held, caressed, embraced.

But you don’t. Because even with that unreadable look in his eye—the same eyes you’ve longed for all this time—you know what they hold.

Obligation

“Home,” you say simply.

For the first time in a while, Xavier looks at you—really looks at you. He’s known you all this time, the image of you ingrained in his brain like second nature. He knows you—you’re his oldest friend, most trusted companion. He's seen all sides of you, but the person he’s looking at looks nothing like the you he remembers.

He looks at you and can’t even recognise you. Cruelly, for a moment, he even wonders if it’s really you.

“I don’t see any changes.” Xavier takes a quick glance around; everything remains stagnant, as it always has.

You don’t correct him—not this time. You hum a noise between affirmation and acknowledgement and drift off to a place once forgotten.

Silence consumes the soul once again, with Xavier wondering when he had become so complacent with it all: with your constant presence, voice to fill the spaces he’s left behind, unrelenting energy, and unwavering spirit.

“You’re right. Nothing has changed.”

…

ACT III: DRIFT

Xavier hasn’t visited since.

Not that you didn’t expect it.

You still see him at work, at lunch with MC, and on the rarest occasion, you bump into him in the hallway of your apartment complex—like strangers.

You do your best to find a new rhythm in this life, as your absence becomes more common and your presence goes with the echo of your voice. You’re seen less and less.

Maybe you were never seen at all—not truly.

You find that it’s easier to deal with heartache in the same way Xavier deals with everything: in silence.

Silence, although not foreign, not even new to you, seeks you out and sticks to you like a foreboding message.

You’ve spent years so bright, a will so strong it held on tight enough to kill you. Your loudness brought you here, away from Philos, so as the bits of your spirit whittle away along with your soul, silence is left to fill in the gaps of an empty shell.

You learn to live without Xavier in your life—as though he isn’t the last thing you have of your home, of the love you once felt, the comfort, the security. You learn to live without Xavier and learn to nurse a pain that has become something of a lover.

You had to learn to live because the world kept spinning—even when you’re lost in a place, unfamiliarly familiar, and can do nothing but live on.

But are you even living at this point? Even a dead girl walking has rights to a life—to living.

You’re leaving for another mission. In spite of Jenna’s protests, you’d rather fight to exhaustion—to blend the pain in your chest with the ache of muscles.

Your face reflects your volition. Eyes pulled down by the weight of your burden, face pale like a dying star. Despite trying, your smile doesn't quite reach your eyes, your laughter isn’t as bright, and your voice isn’t as loud.

You wait for Jenna’s reluctant orders. She’ll be damned if she lets you out on another solo mission—because despite your incredible hunting rates, you too are human.

A voice so familiar pulls your attention, and you look up to see Xavier standing before you—ice blonde hair and steel blue eyes in tow.

How long has he been standing there?

“Jenna assigned me as your partner for the mission.” Your face shows no expression—and not for lack of trying.

You laugh inwardly at the thought.

You're too much like him, in a sense. Loving hard enough to abandon your home, to follow blindly with fate—in spite of your own shortcomings. To silently love, quietly devote, and slowly disappear.

You purse your lips and let out a sigh too heavy for someone like you.

Xavier is almost taken by surprise.

“Let's go.” Xavier can hear it in your tone, and see it in your voice. How truly tired you really are—incomparable to his ever-waking sleepiness.

Your exhaustion runs you dry.

Again, silence befalls the two of you—an unwelcome rhythm that has found a place in the cracks of your relationship.

For the first time, Xavier trails behind you. Watching you. Observing you. And if he didn’t see your face or know your frame, he’d think the person walking in front of him was nothing but a stranger.

This time, Xavier walks in your shadow.

…

ACT IV: SILENCE

You think you’re fading.

The remnants of who you once were have been whittled down to the bone. You’re broken—maybe you always have been. Maybe this was who you were always supposed to be.

You’re so tired, not just emotionally but physically too.

The never-ending stream of wanders is starting to take a toll, even on professionals such as you and Xavier.

Your sword is dull, chipped at the edges, and your wounds scatter across your frame, staining your skin in a dirty shade of red.

Even the almighty knight is struggling to keep up with the demand.

So, as you find refuge in a murky cave, to recuperate the best you can, you find that the full-body ache starts to return.

You lean against a well-placed boulder, breath shallow and your grip loose, as your eyes haze over the fire in front of you.

You feel the warmth reach out for you—gently, creeping through the shell of yourself.

It’s quiet, save for the crackle of the flame.

You feel peaceful for once—the hunt muddling your thoughts so much that you can’t even think straight. Or maybe it’s the exhaustion of not sleeping.

Despite it all, you feel a strange sense of tranquillity. One with the throb in your chest that makes it hard to breathe, but is easier to deal with now that everything aches.

It’s peaceful, you think, as you fade into whatever hole you’ve dug all those years ago. Your mind is muddled, and your soul flickers with the last bits of who you were.

Suddenly, you’re pulled back out—again by the very men who left you there, like a nostalgic toy forgotten all these years.

Your eyes pull away from the fire.

You soak in his gaze. It holds none of the same love you see him give out so freely to MC. It’s hard and stern—years of knighthood sewn into his features. He looks at you like he doesn’t know you at all.

Calloused hand gripping your shoulder—it’s firm enough to shift your attention, your body facing him.

You look at him and try to find the line between succour and obligation. Try to find one thing that says you mattered—even just for a second.

You were foolish to believe that you could remain just his friend, companion, comrade. You were stupid, dumb, idiotic.

You were completely blind to it all—to think that his love could have relieved something burning in you. Something insatiable. Something permanent.

“You’re drifting.” Xavier’s voice cuts through your messy thoughts and heavy heart.

You’ve been drifting.

You don’t make an attempt to joke like you used to—not even a weak smile. You sit back and stare at him like you don’t even know him.

“You’ve been doing that more often.” You take a moment to digest what he says—something he’s noticed entirely on his own, not by MC’s worrywart love.

Once upon a time, you would’ve thought it was normal for him to notice these types of things—the dullness of a close second. But now, you’re surprised. Shocked, even. Like he’s seeing you for the first time.

“Where are you going?” he prompts, and his voice holds something so intrinsic to the soul. Something you can’t find here. Something like home.

You’re fading, like the light of his evol—dimmer, as you’re pulled into the gravity of your own mind.

You’d like to tell him—if not as a lover, then a friend:

I’m lost. I’m gone. I’m tired. I’m sad. I’m furious. I’m not myself. Not with what’s left of who I am.

I am not home.

You don’t. Despite something inside you telling you you must. That it’s not worth dying on this hill.

You think: How much deeper of a hole can you dig before you vanish? Before you're gone? Forgotten? Never having existed in the first place.

Until you’re not a person, but a memory.

You don’t tell him anything, because that’s not the kind of relationship you have—not anymore.

In the midst of the silence, your voice finally breaks through.

Quiet. Cracked. Almost gone.

“I’m thinking of going home.” There’s finality in your tone. Weak as your voice may be, Xavier hasn’t heard such certainty from you in months.

His eyes knit in confusion, contort in concern.

Maybe you’re just tired. But there’s something to your expression—an unspeakable hollowness that wasn’t there before. Your eyes haze over with something distant.

A body without a soul.

Like he always does, he remains silent. Never reaching out. He’s seen you get through worse, come back stronger. He’s seen everything. He knows you.

Or maybe... he knew you.

All the years of companionship will amount to something. It has to. He’s known you for so long. You stuck by his side even through death. You truly were the one stable thing in his life. Never needing to chase—always there, beside him. With him.

It was always you and him—even as he fights his way through the forgotten memories of MC, you remain.

Though, something claws at him, as his hand gently travels down your arm. To reach. To ask what you meant. To wonder if you meant the apartment beside his, where it reflected the culture of Philos, somehow capturing the stars in every object you bought.

He wants to ask if home is with him.

But he doesn’t.

Silence is there to greet him again—him only, he thinks, because you seem so used to it now.

Unfamiliar territory.

His eyes travel to his hand on yours, afraid to let go for some reason. As if letting go meant never seeing you again.

Your head is slumped motionless against his shoulder. His eyes peer onto your back—and then he sees it.

The blood stains the rock behind you. Your back is adorned with gashes that soak your uniform.

“Y/N,” he calls out, like it’s the only thing he knows. Because it’s the only thing he can do.

He hears no response. Not even a whisper of a shallow breath.

It’s not quiet. Not even small.

It’s silent.

Then he feels it. The way your eyes droop down to the fire. The limpness of your hand on his. The paleness. The coldness.

The death.

His spare hand reaches out.

He shakes you. “Don’t close your eyes.”

But you don’t abide—swaying with the motion of his force.

You could do anything. Do everything. Move mountains. Slay beasts. You were strong. Firm. Confident. He knew you could get through anything.

“Come on, just open your eyes. Can’t you do that?”

“One breath. That’s all I need.”

“Hold me tight, Y/N.”

Xavier cradles your gaunt body as he pulls your head taut to his shoulder. He rocks you like a sleeping child, holding you tight—tighter than he ever has before.

He’s shaking—and not from the cold.

He doesn’t know what comes over him, but suddenly, the silence breaks.

And he hears everything. Sees everything. Feels everything.

And he cries.

Because that’s all he can do.

…

ACT V: LINGER

Xavier likes to think that he notices your absence.

The way people step over the shells of your name, the routes taken to avoid the common spaces you once occupied in the living. The untouched work desk, memorialised by those who remembered her. The vacancy next door — the home she built away from home — now barren, her things sold, thrown away, or forgotten.

MC, who was so loud with her affection, mourned just as passionately. Her heart sewn onto her sleeve as she cried the loss of a friend. Flowers tended on the desk of a fallen soldier, and distance built from the apartment upstairs.

But really, he doesn’t.

The way you’ve faded so naturally out of his life — never moving, never reaching. The walk to and from home is the same. His apartment is the same. His life remains the same. Like you were never there. Like the image of your smile wasn’t something that pushed him through distant times.

Like you never meant anything to him.

Like the years of friendship, companionship, camaraderie — all amounted to a tombstone with your name etched into it.

And he hates himself for it.

For being so complacent. For never seeing you. Never hearing you. Never reaching out. For always thinking you’d remain the same: the loyal, competent pillar in his life. For thinking that his silence meant nothing to you.

Because it did. It meant everything.

He hates how he’s living life like he always did — like you weren’t ever part of him. Regret, guilt, grief — they all settle in his bones, for a person he can’t even remember.

Along with the memory of you, time passed, as it always does. And as time passed, he slowly forgot.

Your goals and aspirations. Your loves, your hates.

Your dreams.

He can barely remember your face. The last time you laughed. Your smile.

He can barely remember you at all.

Only pulled in by the gravity of his grief, where he finds you at the centre of it all.

To think he was so far from you. The irony now is that he can’t ever leave.

Stuck on a cursed image of a woman who meant so much to him.

Who held the moon up so he could shine with the stars.

He sits on his bed, light voided from the room. The pictures from your apartment piled by his bedside, facing the stars, watching — as you always did.

For the first time, he’s not tired at all.

Is this how you felt? How restless you were?

When he showed up that time, too worried about MC and her anxieties. Too quick to solve her issues that he hadn’t noticed how your eye bags sank deep enough to stain your spirit. How you lay, lost, drifting to a place he couldn’t reach.

Dreaming of home.

And just like his home, his culture, his people — you too join the faint memory of Philos.

His phone buzzes, bright. The screen illuminates the room.

Xavier thinks it’s MC again — she doesn’t know the depth of what you and Xavier shared, but she understood the weight of long-term partnership.

At first, he answered every time — to relieve her worries, to silently say he was fine.

But now, everything feels like a farce.

A lie he tells himself as much as he tells the world.

If the absence, the silence, isn’t acknowledged — maybe it’ll keep things still. To stop time from moving.

Because if time doesn’t move, then the memory of you won’t fade.

And you’ve faded enough.

He picks up the phone and waits.

Then he hears it — the soft laughter he longed for. It’s gentle and hearty, so full of life.

Xavier peels the phone from his ear to peer at the screen.

Then he sees it. The light. The brightness of a smile lost to memory, now alone. It’s displayed in front of him — teeth bared, lips stretched wide with a feeling he hasn’t seen in years.

It’s you.

Laughing so freely. Smiling so widely.

You’re alive.

Xavier scrambles upright, leaning forward to see the screen more clearly.

It’s you — in clothes he’s never seen you wear, in a room he’s never seen before, with a face he barely remembers.

But he knows it’s you. 

How could he ever forget? Not truly.

So desperately, he calls out. Announcing himself, finally reaching out.

Your eyes perk in surprise as you lean in.

“Holy shit, did he just say my name? That’s crazy!” you giggle, and Xavier is too overcome with emotion to even question the absurdity of your words.

“No wonder people were glazing this game on Twitter!” you laugh before the call cuts.

Xavier’s too stunned to react. He taps rapidly through his phone to check the caller history.

Unknown.

He scrambles to call again.

Anticipation sweating off of him.

He holds his phone tightly and then— You pick up.

Your face: confused.

“Damn, I didn’t even level his affinity up yet and he’s calling already,” you mutter, peering at the screen.

Xavier looks dishevelled, almost destroyed. His hair is a messy heap, and dark circles shadow his eyes. The usual soft glow of his skin— dulled, lifeless.

He’s worn thin. A dead man walking.

“Hey,” Xavier says softly, almost inaudibly.

He watches your face shift — confusion to elation.

“Oh my god, you can even talk! Let me try again.”

And then you speak — not offhand commentary, but to him.

“Hi,” you greet, brightly enough to light up the room.

Xavier is at a loss, and doesn’t reply. But unlike before, you speak again.

“This is so cool. So like, does this count as my daily interaction?” you ask aloud, maybe to yourself, maybe to him— he can’t tell.

“Right, probably not in his programming to answer questions like that,” you mumble, before turning your full attention back to him.

“I’ll see you soon, alright? I hope this mechanic isn’t a glitch.” You grin softly.

And nothing in Xavier’s entire career could’ve prepared him for this.

But he’s not letting this opportunity go. Not when he has another chance to hear you, to see you — and even if he can’t touch you, he’ll never let go.

He’s not letting you slip.

Not now. Not ever. Not again.

“All right... I’ll see you soon,” Xavier replies simply.

Watching your face glow is enough for him.

The way your lips stretch, teeth bare — a face full of life.

Here, he decides: he’ll wait as long as you need.

As long as you want.

He’ll wait until the phone screen glows once again. He’ll wait to see you again.

Close enough to hear you. To see you. But never touch you.

…

ACT VI: ECHO

“Hi Xavier”

The unfair proximity of a dream

[creepychan08]

It is just an innocent fantasy book...right?

Caleb discovers the kind of book you read when you’re alone.

warnings: NSFW 18+. Caleb x fem! reader. jealousy. smut. possessiveness. sizekink. fantasy. spicy. tension. monsters. fingering. oral. rough. creampie. dirtytalk. domination.

This is my first time writing smut. Enjoy :)

-

Caleb unpacked the final items from his suite case and placed them on the bed. He was tired, and hungry. He spent the last hour settling into his room before pondering what he wanted to eat. He would go out to eat. It was also a great excuse for you to accompany him. Great idea, he thought to himself before leaving his room.

“Hey, pipsqueak, wanna go,” Caleb leaned in your doorway, frowning at your absence. Your bedroom light was on, warm vanilla scented candle lit, and your pillow lay at the end of the bed. “Pip?” he called out. No response.

“Where the heck did you go?” Caleb questioned to himself. That is when he noticed it. A book laying at beside the pillow at the end of your bed. “What could you be reading?” He ponders as he approaches the bed. The book was split open and faced down with the title gazing back at him. The front cover was monstrous furry creature (like a werewolf) embracing a beautiful young red-headed women, with the title, “My Downfall, the Monster inside me.”

A curious grin grew across his face as he picked up the book to inspect it. He turned it over to read the page you were on. “No idea you were into fantasy” he chuckled under his breath. That is when all the blood rushed through his body when he realized what scene you were on.

“Lucius’s razor-sharp fingertips dug into your hips, holding you firmly in place as his hot, wet tongue flicked over your nipples. The air was filled with the slick, obscene sounds of his relentless thrusts, each one sending shockwaves through your trembling body.”

As Caleb’s eyes scanned the text, a surge of heat pooled low in his abdomen. He had no idea you were into this kind of thing. In fact, he barely knew what you liked at all. The two of you had kissed twice—only twice—and never spoke of it again. You pretended it never happened, and he had respected your silence. He even gave you space for a few weeks while he returned to the fleet. He always assumed you were shy about these things. But this... this was beyond anything he could have imagined.

A sudden emotion crept up his spine, curling around his chest—jealousy. The book spoke of a monster with a massive cock while it plummeted a young woman. Was this what you fantasized about? The thought gnawed at him. How could you entertain the idea of someone—something—other than him? How was he supposed to compete with a fantasy?

Caleb snapped the book shut. At that exact moment, you walked into your room, soda in hand—only to freeze in place. His face flushed with a deep red, eyes wide with shock, the book trembling slightly in his grip. Before he could say anything, you stormed towards him – ripping the book from his hand.

“What the fuck Caleb! Do not snoop through my stuff.” You huff in annoyance, shoving the book under your pillow with a sharp motion. Your cheeks seared with hot embarrassment.

“Don’t snoop through your stuff? You left it out in the open.” He gestures towards the bed with his arm.

You roll your eyes, but deep down, embarrassment burns through you. Your heart pounds relentlessly—how much did he read? You had only stepped away for a soda before getting to the good part, but of course, Caleb had to snoop. Just this one time, really?

As you fume internally, you suddenly notice his eyes locked onto you. Unmoving. There is something in his gaze—something unreadable. It is as if he wants to say something but cannot force the words out. “What do you want?” You question.

Caleb’s gaze drags over you, slow and deliberate. His eyes darken with something unreadable, a flicker of curiosity dancing in them. He steps closer, towering over you, his presence suddenly heavier—more intense.

“I was going to ask if you wanted to grab some food…” His voice is lower than usual, edged with something husky, something almost teasing. “But it looks like you’re preoccupied.”

It’s different from his usual kindred tone—there’s something else laced in it. Something… sensual.

Your brows furrow, but before you can utter a word—you notice it. The height difference. It had never been a problem before. Why would it be? If anything, it was the reason behind your old nickname, 'Pipsqueak.' You’d always been significantly smaller than him, short enough to be teased most of your life. But Caleb had never let anyone ridicule you—he defended you, made you feel beautiful, made it clear that, in his eyes, you were perfect.

But now… now, as he loomed over you with that unreadable, almost menacing gaze, something felt different. The sheer size of him, the way he looked at you—it sent a shiver down your spine. Suddenly, you felt small in an entirely new way.

Vulnerable.

As if he could dominate you at any second. He looked like a monster compared to you.

A slow heat curled in your belly, pooling low between your legs.

Caleb gazed down at your tiny frame, a familiar sense of protectiveness stirring in his chest. You had always been so cute to him—adorable, even. But lately, it was more than that. Your curves teased him relentlessly, drawing his eyes no matter how hard he tried to resist. The way your hips hugged those sweat shorts. The way your tight white T-shirt clung to your breasts.

Maybe… just maybe, he could be the monster you craved.

Why lose yourself in fantasy when you had him—your fantasy?

A slow smirk tugged at his lips as he stepped forward, his presence overwhelming. You instinctively backed up, only to find yourself sinking onto the bed. Caleb followed, towering over you, his gaze burning with something new.

“Pipsqueak,” he murmured, voice smooth and husky, dripping with amusement, “do you read those books because of me?” He leaned in, close enough for his breath to ghost over your skin. “If you wanted to cross that line, you could have just asked.”

His words melted through you, leaving you utterly undone.

He cups your chin, drawing you into a deep, urgent kiss. His lips move over yours with a hunger that speaks of years of pent-up longing, his touch both possessive and desperate. His thigh slips between your legs as he presses his body flush against yours, the heat of him sinking into you. Every kiss, every touch, feels like he’s devouring you whole.

Your hands slip beneath his shirt, fingertips exploring the firm ridges of his abs, the sculpted lines of his chest, the solid curve of his shoulders. His body responds, pressing closer, the friction sending a delicious shiver through you. His mouth leaves yours, trailing down your jaw to your neck, his lips and tongue igniting fire along your skin. A breathy gasp escapes you, your body arching into him as heat pools low in your belly.

You have dreamt of this -of him- of the way he would feel against you again. But this… this is beyond anything you ever imagined.

“Mmghmm,” he groans against your skin, his voice thick with desire. “Fuck, baby -ah- I’ve wanted you for so long.”

Baby. You have never heard him call you that. His words alone send a sharp pulse of need straight to your core, your body aching for him. As he buries his face in your neck, you tilt your head, lips finding his ear. Slowly, you trace the shell with your tongue, savoring the way he shudders beneath your touch. Your fingers slide into his hair, gripping, tugging just enough to make him gasp.

And then, you feel it- the tension, the fire, the sheer desperation radiating between you. Neither of you can hold back much longer.

You both move in a frenzy, hands desperate, yanking at each other’s shirts until the fabric tears. Clothes hit the floor in seconds, leaving nothing between you. Caleb’s gaze drops to your bare chest, and something in him snaps. His jaw clenches, his breath shuddering as his fingers trail over your soft skin, almost reverent—almost broken.

His hand glides down your stomach, fingers teasing the edge of your shorts before slipping beneath the fabric. The moment he touches you, his breath hitches—his fingers pressing into the heat of your slick, aching core.

“Fuck,” he groans, his voice rough with desire.

A sharp gasp escapes you as his fingertips brush over your swollen clit, sending a pulse of pleasure through your body. Your hips shift instinctively, chasing his touch.

“Mnnghnn—Caleb,” you moan, your voice trembling as he circles the sensitive bundle of nerves, drawing out another needy whimper.

His eyes meet yours, and there’s darkness in them. His fingers circle your clit.

“Fuck, you’re so wet… but are you wet for me, or that monster you wanted to fuck?”

Your eyebrows crease, “Caleb, it’s just a fantasy book.”

Caleb’s fingers abruptly stop, leaving your core aching for more. “I want to be the only one who makes this pussy wet.”

He presses his fingers, dragging them around your opening. “Tell me baby,” he growls, “is this all for me?”

He begins to peel your shorts and underwear off. Your hands grip your thighs, “Y-yes.”

“Say it,” he dips his head towards your clit and traces his lips barely touching your clit, “say you’re mine.”

Your breath catches, the words escaping your twitching lips, “Oh god yes – I’m yours.”

His lips crash into your lips, feverously kissing your nerves while slipping one finger into your cunt. Overwhelmed and arching, you pant loudly in consuming pleasure. “Fuck Caleb - I want you so bad.”

“So fucking wet,” he groans, his tongue circling your clit in slow, teasing strokes. “I could play with this pussy all night.”

Just as the words leave his lips, he presses another finger inside you, the stretch sudden and deliciously overwhelming. His pace quickens, fingers curling right as his tongue works in sync, sending waves of pleasure crashing over you.

“Mmmghhmmm—C-Caleb, yes,” you cry out, your breath hitching as your body tightens around him, lost in the relentless pleasure he’s giving you.

Just as you are teetering on the edge, he suddenly stops, pulling his fingers from you, leaving you aching and desperate. A wicked smirk tugs at his lips as he stands, eyes dark with lust.

Without breaking eye contact, he hooks his fingers into the waistband of his pants and peels them off, letting them fall to the floor.

Your breath catches. He is huge—thick, veined, and heavy, his cock standing hard and proud, the swollen tip already glistening with need. The sheer size of him makes your thighs clench instinctively, heat pooling between them.

"You're not the only one who's desperate tonight, baby," he murmurs, stroking himself slowly, teasing you with the sight. "Now, be a good girl and show me just how much you want this."

Your breath catches as he strokes himself, his thick, pulsing cock teasing your slick folds. The anticipation is unbearable. Caleb climbs over you, gripping your thighs as he lines himself up. The swollen head presses against your entrance, spreading you open inch by inch.

"Fuck," he groans, dragging the tip along your heat. "You’re so damn wet for me."

Then, with one slow, deliberate thrust, he fills you, stretching you around his sheer size. A gasp escapes you as pleasure and pressure intertwine, your body molding to fit him.

"That’s it, baby," he rasps, his breath hot against your skin. "Take all of me."

And then he moves—deep, slow, claiming you completely.

With a sudden jerk, he grabs your legs and lifts them onto his shoulders, folding you beneath him. The new angle has you gasping as he sinks even deeper, stretching you in ways that have your toes curling.

Then, without warning, he snaps his hips forward, picking up speed, fucking you hard and fast. His grip tightens on your thighs, holding you in place as he pounds into you, each thrust deep and unforgiving. The sound of skin slapping fills the air, mingling with your breathless moans and his ragged groans.

"Fuck" he growls, his voice thick with need. "You feel so damn good, taking me like this."

His pace is unrelenting, pushing you closer to the edge with every ruthless thrust.

He pauses for a moment, adjusting his angle, his thick length pressing even deeper. Then, with a sharp thrust, he slams into you again—this time hitting that perfect spot. A broken moan rips from your lips as pleasure explodes through you.

“There it is,” he groans, a wicked smirk playing on his lips. “Gunna cum for me baby?”

His pace turns ruthless, each thrust slamming against your g-spot, sending waves of ecstasy crashing through you. Your body tenses, the pressure coiling tight, ready to explode. Then—his cock slams into that perfect spot again, and you shatter.

A scream rips from your throat as pleasure crashes over you, raw and blinding. Your walls clench around him, gripping him in rhythmic pulses, dragging him deeper as your body trembles uncontrollably. Your nails rake down his back, your breath stuttering as wave after wave of ecstasy leaves you shaking, ruined, and completely his.

Caleb groans, feeling your walls tighten around him, milking his cock with every desperate pulse. His grip on your thighs tightens, his rhythm faltering for a moment as he watches you unravel beneath him.

“Fuck- just like that,” he growls, his voice rough and strained. “You’re so damn tight, baby. Squeezing me so fucking good.”

The sight of you—trembling, wrecked, completely lost in pleasure—pushes him closer to the edge. His thrusts turn frantic, desperate, chasing his own release as he watches you come undone beneath him.

Caleb’s thrusts turn wild, his cock throbbing as your tight, pulsing walls milk him mercilessly. A deep, broken groan rips from his chest as he slams in one last time, burying himself to the hilt.

“Fuck- take it, baby, gunna cum-” he growls, his grip bruising on your hips as he spills inside you, thick and hot. His whole body shudders, hips jerking as he fills you to the brim, his cum leaking out around his cock with every desperate pulse.

His head drops to your shoulder, his breath ragged, voice wrecked. “You’re so fucking perfect- made for me,” he mutters, his fingers still gripping your thighs, like he cannot bear to let go just yet.

Caleb rolls off you, but before the warmth between you fades, he pulls you into his arms, holding you close. His heartbeat is still erratic against your skin, his breath warm against your hair. Then, with a lazy grin, he lifts his pinky, hooking it around yours.

“Pinky promise it won’t be weird after this?” he teases, his voice husky but light. Your pinky meets his, locking in an eternal agreement. Your lifelong crush is now officially yours. He always was—deep down, you knew it—but hearing the words, feeling his touch, makes your heart ache in the best way. Every whispered promise, every possessive touch, every desperate kiss solidifies it. He’s yours. Finally. Completely.

And you never want to let go.

A teasing smile spreads across your lips. “I can’t believe you got jealous over one of my smut books.”

Caleb raises an eyebrow, a dark expression settling over his face. “One of your smut books?” His voice drops, rough and dangerous. “Just how many do you have?” Before you can answer, he rolls over top of you, pinning you beneath him. His weight is firm, commanding, making your breath hitch.

You squirm beneath him, heat rising to your cheeks. “I—I read them all the time,” you confess, voice barely above a whisper.

His lips curl into a wicked smirk. “All the time, huh?” He presses his hips against yours, his voice nothing but a taunt.

“Pipsqueak… tsk. Guess I’ll have to make you feel every single one of those books.”

[creepychan08]

MC is an independent, strong woman—we love her for that—but what if… what if she told the LIs she wanted to quit her job and go full-on wife, kids, stay-at-home life? I feel like it’d be fluffy and hilarious like Sylus and Caleb would be over the moon spoiling her into the richest most pampered wife in the country, and Xavier would immediately start making babies lol

Stay-At-Home Sweetheart

♡ ft. love and deepspace men x fem!reader ♡ cw: fluff, future talk, domestic life, possessiveness, soft power fantasies, rich boyfriend behavior ♡ a/n: thank you for the suggestion—this was such a fun little fluffy write! I hope you enjoy your taste of spoiled wife life

CALEB — “So you’re telling me… I get to spoil you forever?”

You say it offhandedly.

You’re sitting in his lap, one leg draped lazily over his thigh, sipping tea in your sleep shirt while he’s scrolling through post-mission reports.

You don’t even think he’s really listening when you mumble,

“What if I just quit and stayed home full time? Cooked, cleaned, wore pretty dresses. Full wife mode.”

But Caleb freezes.

Like you slapped him with an engagement ring.

His hands drop to your hips. His head tilts. He stares at you like you just offered him divinity.

“Wait. Say that again.”

You blink. “I said maybe I want to be a stay-at-home—”

“Wife.” “You said wife. Don’t skip the good part.”

You try to laugh it off. “I mean, it’s a dumb idea—”

“No, it’s the hottest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

And he’s already spiraling.

Out loud.

“You’d look so good barefoot in the kitchen. No. Wait. In my t-shirt. Holding a toddler and a spatula. Crying over a baking fail while I kiss it better—Jesus Christ.”

You: “You okay?”

“Absolutely not.”

Five minutes later, he’s dragging out a notepad and scribbling:

“Baby name list, but chaotic: Nova, Toast, Jellybean???”

“Do we buy a second house or just knock out the wall next door?”

“I need to up my life insurance because you’re not lifting anything heavier than a glass of wine ever again.”

You tease him—ask if he’s going to make you do laundry, too.

His response?

“You? Laundry? No. You’ll be too busy getting railed over the dryer while I fold towels with one hand.”

You: “CALEB.”

He grabs your face in both hands, deadly serious.

“I love your independence. Your brilliance. Your strength.”

A pause.

“But if you ever, ever, give me permission to spoil you full-time, to keep you warm and soft and loved and mine all day long?”

“I will become the most insufferable, overprotective, apron-wearing husband in recorded history.”

And the worst part?

He’s dead serious.

There’s already a Pinterest board. And a credit card. And probably a draft resignation email saved to your tablet—you didn’t write it.

But Caleb?

He’s just… ready.

Because to him, you are home. And if you want to stay there forever?

He’ll make it a kingdom.

XAVIER —“If that’s what you want… I’ll take care of the rest.”

It’s quiet.

Late evening, somewhere between mission fatigue and domestic stillness. You’re both curled up on the couch—your legs stretched across his lap, his hand absently resting on your shin.

He’s reading through intel logs. You’re chewing on the corner of a cookie. The room smells like his tea and your lotion and something safe.

And then you say it. Casual. Sleepy. Barely even meaning to.

“I’ve been thinking about quitting fieldwork. Just staying home. Full wife era. Maybe some kids. You’d visit on lunch breaks, and I’d make bad pancakes in your hoodie.”

You don’t even look at him right away. You expect a raised brow. A quiet “You’d get bored in a week.”

But instead?

Silence.

Followed by the soft slide of a datapad being set down.

Then his hand curls around your ankle. Just slightly. Anchoring.

“You’d really want that?”

You glance over.

His face is still neutral—stoic, quiet, unreadable—but his eyes?

Locked on you. Sharp. Focused. Lit with something that looks too much like longing to be casual.

You nod, shy. “Maybe. I don’t know. It just sounds… nice.”

He’s quiet for a second longer.

Then?

“Then we should start planning.”

You blink. “Planning what?”

“Everything.”

And then—without a hint of irony:

“I’ll map out when I can reduce field time. We’ll need a safer neighborhood. Somewhere with open sky. Room for a crib.”

You stare.

“Wait, are you being serious—?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” he says simply. “You said kids. You want to stay home. That’s not something I’d let you do alone.”

His fingers trace a line down your calf.

Soft. Possessive.

“You want a family with me.”

You flush. “I said maybe—”

“Maybe is enough.”

He leans in. Presses a kiss to your knee.

“We’d be good at it. You’d be good at it.”

Then, softer—more vulnerable than he usually lets himself sound:

“I think I’ve wanted that longer than I realized.”

You’re too stunned to reply.

So he does what he always does: fills the silence with something that sounds like logic but bleeds affection around the edges.

“We’ll need to track your cycle,” he murmurs. “If we’re going to do this properly.”

You: “XAVIER—”

He shrugs. Calm. Unfazed.

“I’ve already marked probable dates.”

You don’t know whether to laugh or climb into his lap and tell him to start now.

(You do both.)

RAFAYEL — “My muse… in an apron? I need to sit down.”

He’s painting.

Or pretending to.

Really, he’s mostly shirtless, barefoot, standing in the center of his studio surrounded by chaotic swatches of violet and gold while a brush dangles lazily between two fingers.

And you?

You’re curled up on the floor near the open window, sipping tea, flipping through a magazine when you say:

“I kind of want to quit working. Just stay home. Full-time wife. Cook, nap, look hot, raise tiny artistic children who only wear linen and answer to names like Moth and Cypress.”

You mean it jokingly.

Casually.

But the sound of a paintbrush hitting the floor makes your head snap up.

Rafayel’s just staring at you.

Mouth slightly open.

Eyes blown wide.

“You…” he breathes. “You want to be mine?”

You blink. “I— I am yours?”

“No, no. I mean domestically. Biblically. Artistically. Legally.”

And then?

He drops to one knee in the most chaotic half-prayer, half-shock position you’ve ever seen.

“I always knew you were divinely unhinged, but this—this is the final painting. My muse. My wife. My aproned disaster angel. I need a moment.”

You roll your eyes. “You’re being ridiculous.”

He lunges for you.

Pulls you into his lap on the floor, paint still wet on his hands, smearing across your shirt like it’s a signature.

“Say it again.”

You: “What?”

“That you want to stay home. That you want to make soup and babies and let me buy you pastel oven mitts.”

You laugh. “I mean, I do like pastel.”

“We’ll get matching ones. For the baby.”

You freeze.

He doesn’t.

“Rafayel—”

“I want them to have your mouth and my hair. Or your hair and my mouth. Either way, they’ll be dramatic and ruinous.”

He starts sketching. On your thigh. With paint-stained fingers.

“Tiny limbs. Stubborn expression. Covered in jam. Perfect.”

You can’t stop laughing now, your face buried in his shoulder.

“You’re not supposed to be more excited about this than me.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” he hums, kissing your collarbone. “I’ve been ready to ruin you with love since the moment you snuck into my studio and insulted my color palette.”

You whisper, “So you’d really want that?”

And for once, he goes still.

Serious.

His fingers curl at your waist.

“I’d worship you every day for it.”

“I’d paint your swollen belly and your tired eyes and your messy hair like it’s the only truth I’ve ever known.”

A beat.

“You don’t have to be anything for me. But if you want to just… be loved? Be kept?”

His voice drops.

“I was made for that.”

ZAYNE — “I’ve been waiting for you to say that.”

You say it on a Tuesday.

The apartment smells like coffee and something citrusy—probably the linen spray you used on the couch that made him sneeze earlier.

You’re curled into the corner of the sectional, legs tucked under you, still in one of his oversized shirts from last night. Your hair’s a mess. Your heart? Still not at full strength after last month’s mission.

Zayne’s at the kitchen island, scrolling through research on his tablet.

And that’s when you say it:

“I’m thinking of quitting.”

His eyes don’t move at first.

Just a slow blink. Still calm.

“Quitting…?”

You shrug, voice light. “Hunting. The whole thing. Maybe it’s time. I could stay home. Rest. Get spoiled. Be your sexy little housewife or whatever.”

You expect a scoff.

Some half-snide retort.

Instead?

He sets the tablet down.

Quietly.

Then walks over.

You blink up at him. “What?”

He crouches in front of you.

Not joking. Not teasing.

Just… looking.

“Say it again.”

You falter. “That I want to quit?”

He nods once. Slow. Like he’s memorizing every word.

And then?

He exhales. Deep. Controlled.

“Good.”

“Zayne?”

His hand comes up to your chest—right over your heart. Like he’s checking it. Like he always does. Thumb brushing that familiar spot beneath your collarbone.

“Do you know what it’s been like watching you come home hurt?” he says softly. “Waiting to see if you’ll faint halfway through a sentence because your pulse is erratic again?”

You go quiet.

His jaw tightens, but his voice stays gentle.

“You think I didn’t notice how your hands were shaking after that last field run? Or how long you spent in the medbay?”

“I didn’t want you to worry—”

“I do worry.”

A pause.

Then—

“But if you’re really done… if I can finally stop wondering whether your heart will give out before mine ever gets the chance to break…”

He trails off.

Then rests his forehead against your knees.

Breath shaky. But steadying.

“Then I’ll build you the quietest life imaginable.”

“You’ll never have to lift a finger again. Not if I can help it.”

You lean down, fingers threading through his hair.

He presses a kiss to your thigh.

“I’ll take care of everything,” he whispers.

And for the first time in months?

He doesn’t check your pulse again.

Because for once, he can feel it—steady. Safe. Home.

SYLUS — “You want to be mine? Fully? Then say it again.”

It starts as a joke.

Just a passing comment while you’re still half-asleep in his bed, buried in his obscenely expensive sheets.

“I think I wanna be a stay-at-home wife.”

You say it with a yawn. Barely conscious.

But Sylus?

He stills.

Lays back on the pillow and turns his head toward you.

His eyes narrow just slightly. That unreadable look—the one that means he’s calculating something dangerous in the background.

“Say that again.”

You blink up at him, confused. “What?”

“What you just said.”

You hesitate. Then mumble, “I said I wanna be a stay-at-home wife.”

There’s a pause.

Then—

His smirk curves slow and sharp.

He sits up. Drapes one arm across the headboard. The sheets slide down his chest, revealing the fine lines of muscle.

“Finally,” he murmurs.

“Finally what?”

He leans in.

“Finally you’re giving me an excuse to spoil the hell out of you without pretending to feel guilty about it.”

You blink. “Wait, I was joking—”

“No, you weren’t.”

He presses a kiss to your temple.

“I’ve seen the way you melt when I buy you things. The way you light up when I feed you. The way you pout when I’m gone too long.”

He grabs his phone from the nightstand.

You frown. “What are you doing?”

“Canceling every mission you had this week.”

Tap. Tap.

“Calling my architect to add another garden wing to the house.”

Tap.

“And messaging my tailor to start designing custom loungewear.”

“…Sylus.”

“You’ll need something to wear while you parade around this apartment doing absolutely nothing except looking pretty.”

You try to sit up, but he throws an arm around your waist and pulls you into his lap instead.

“No more early meetings. No more danger. No more stress.”

His fingers trail down your spine.

“Just this. Me. Spoiling you.”

You blink up at him. “What if I get bored?”

He smiles slowly. Dangerous and amused.

“Then I’ll give you something to do.”

“Like what?”

His voice drops.

“Like carrying my last name.”

“Like letting me put a baby in you.”

You go silent.

Your face heats.

And Sylus?

He just hums against your neck.

“Thought so.”

“Now shut up and let me shop for your new walk-in closet.”

[creepychan08]

thinking abt boyfriend!caleb...

boyfriend!caleb who fixes everything without you even needing to ask. drawer sticking? already taken care of. lamp flickering? rewired it. he doesn't tell you—he just watches as you notice it later and coyly grins into his coffee. 

boyfriend!caleb who claims he's not tired after a long mission, only for you to find him half-asleep on the couch, boots still on and one arm curled around a pillow. His mouth is slack, just barely drooling onto the fabric, grumbling something unintelligible as you try to take off his shoes for him. 

boyfriend!caleb who never talks about his nightmares, but you know he has them. sometimes you wake to find him already staring at the ceiling, eyes tired and fingers quietly tracing his necklace. you don't press—you just reach for his hand under the covers, and he squeezes back like that's all he needed to fall back asleep again. 

boyfriend!caleb who always insists on carrying the groceries, your bags, or even your water bottle if you're out walking together. “what kind of man would I be if I let you haul this on your own?” he says, smug—but you catch him sneaking glances at your smile every time. 

boyfriend!caleb who brushes your hair behind your ear while you're half-asleep just to get a better look at your face. when your eyes flutter open, he’s still staring, mischief in his voice as he mutters, “would you look at that—i’m still not dreaming. guess i’m really stuck with you after all, pips.” 

boyfriend!caleb who likes it when you sit on the counter while he cooks. Not because it's helpful, but because he likes having you close, swinging your legs and stealing tastes while he pretends to scold you. “that’s for the plate, not your fingers. …okay, one more.” you’re lucky you're cute. 

boyfriend!caleb who doesn't say he's jealous, but suddenly gets a lot clingier after someone else makes you laugh. an arm slung around your waist, chin hooked over your shoulder, voice low and casual as he asks, “new friend of yours?” as much as you tease, he just hums and pulls you closer. “didn't know I needed to remind you who you belong to.” 

boyfriend!caleb who hates fighting with you—not because he can't argue, but because he refuses to let it wedge between you. even if he's still annoyed, he'll find you in the dark, sliding his arm around your torso, voice firm. “we’re not ending the night like this. i’m mad, you're mad, fine. but i’m not losing sleep over something we can fix. not with you.” 

boyfriend!caleb who pouts when you steal his jackets, but always makes sure the next one you take smells freshly laundered and has something tucked in its pocket—a wrapped candy, a scribbled note, a folded paper star—something small. something tender. something that’s his. 

boyfriend!caleb who doesn't flinch when you're angry because he wants you to feel safe expressing anything with him. he lowers his voice, softens his expression and says, “okay, hit me with it. no shields.” and he listens. 

boyfriend!caleb who dreams of a small life away from the fleet, from Ever, from everything. a place where no one knows his name, where the two of you can be ordinary. even when you blow off the prospect, he’s already mapped it out in his head, blueprints and all. 

boyfriend!caleb who doesn't let you see how much it kills him that he's part machine. but every time your fingers brush the metal of his arm, and you don't flinch—every time you press your lips to the cold and say, “still you”—something in him stitches back together. 

boyfriend!caleb who can't stop watching you when you're distracted. reading, cooking, tying your shoes, it doesn't matter. he stares like you're the most fascinating thing in the world. and when you catch him, he just shrugs. “what? can't look at my beautiful girl?” 

boyfriend!caleb who says “mine” under his breath when he kisses you. it’s not about ownership, it’s about fear. like he still can’t believe you chose him. like if he doesn’t say it out loud, the world might steal you back. 

boyfriend!caleb who has contingency plans for if you go missing. not because he doesn't trust you (at least, for the most part), but because the world is dangerous. he's memorized every route of town, planted caches, and learned the faces and names of potential threats. you’ll never know how deep it goes. 

boyfriend!caleb who keeps a photo of you hidden behind the inner clasp of his uniform, its surface creased and edges softened by time and touch. no one knows it's there, not even you—but when the world turns brutal, pressures high and hands bloody, he’ll press his fingers to it like a lifeline. and sometimes, when no one's looking, he unfolds it—just for a moment—and allows his eyes to soften in a way his subordinates never see. you’re his axis. his anchor. his only constant in a world of smoke and lies. he’d crawl through fire, through blood, and through everything he hates about himself just to come home to you. 

Anyways... more Caleb here :)

[creepychan08]

"Astra's tools can never fall in love"

Twitter

[creepychan08]

rendezvous

summary: sylus has realised he's real, but everything around him isn't. but what happens when he decides to kidnap you from the real world?

a/n: ok! so contrary to my expectation, this week wasnt bad at all, just super tiring. i had no time to read anything let alone write. but i have a couple days off so hopefully ill finish this one. also this lovely idea from @tofufairy was just too good to only write as a oneshot. ill write it in two long ass parts. lemme know your thoughts!

word count: 6k

genre: sylus, love and deepspace, sexual tensions. slight stalking.

Sylus wiped grease from his knuckles with a ragged cloth, squinting at the bike’s engine like it had personally offended him. The bike wasn’t even broken, he just needed something to do with his hands, something to keep the silence at bay. The garage was quiet except for the occasional plink of a loose bolt hitting concrete and the distant hum of traffic. Then, footsteps. Light, almost skipping.

He didn’t look up until she was right beside him, her shadow stretching across his toolbox.

“Hey!” she said, voice bright enough to make his teeth ache. “Nice bike. Vintage, right?”

Sylus clenched his jaw. Don’t engage. She’ll leave if you don’t engage. He grunted, flicking a speck of rust off the carburetor.

She didn’t take the hint. Leaning in, she tapped the fuel tank like they were old friends. “My neighbour used to have one just like this. Well, almost like this. His was blue, and the seat had this weird tear-”

“Mhm.” Sylus reached for a wrench, deliberately turning his back.

“-oh, you’re so right, it’s totally going to rain later-”

Sylus stared.

Her voice twisted, warped. The words melted together like a shrill. His chest ached, hollow and heavy all at once. He knew this feeling. The one that came after the anger, when the fire burned out and left nothing but ashes.

Alone.

Even when she was here, screaming at nothing, he was alone.

She kept talking. About the weather. About some café down the street. About nothing, really. He tuned it out, focusing on tightening a bolt until his fingers hurt.

Finally, he stood, slinging his jacket over his shoulder. He didn’t bother with a goodbye, just walked toward the garage door, her voice still bouncing off the concrete walls behind him.

Then it hit him. The talking hadn’t stopped.

He glanced back.

She was still there, grinning at the empty space where he’d been standing, gesturing animatedly to no one. Her laughter echoed, high and bright, as if he’d never left.

Sylus exhaled through his nose. Not real. Again.

He shoved his hands in his pockets and kept walking.

Somewhere behind him, she was still laughing. Somewhere inside him, the silence was worse. (a/n: cue play last of us intro)

***

The clock glared at you from the corner of the screen. 11:47 PM.

Twelve minutes. Twelve fucking minutes.

Your fingers hammered the keyboard like it had personally wronged you. The essay was done, mostly, but the last paragraph was a wreck of half-formed thoughts and caffeine-induced word vomit. You backspaced violently, teeth sinking into your lower lip. “Come on, come on.”

Your roommate’s cat, a judgmental ball of fur called Binx, hopped onto the desk and sat on your notes.

“Not now,” you hissed, nudging him away. Binx flicked his tail in your face and settled just out of arm’s reach, watching you suffer with unblinking yellow eyes.

11:53.

You skimmed the essay one last time, your vision blurring from screen fatigue. Was that a typo? Did you mix up “affect” and “effect” again? The words swam on the screen, morphing into meaningless shapes. 

Good enough. With a shaky breath, you hit Submit.

The page loaded with agonizing slowness.

11:58.

Your knee bounced under the desk. The cursor spun. Spin, spin, spin.

Submitted successfully!

The clock ticked over to 11:59.

You made a sound between a sob and a laugh, slumping back in your chair. The tension drained from your shoulders all at once, leaving you boneless. For a long moment, you just stared at the ceiling, your heartbeat finally slowing. The desk lamp cast long shadows, the room suddenly too bright, too quiet.

Binx meowed, unimpressed.

“Yeah, yeah,” you muttered, but there was no heat in it. The relief was too sweet.

You got out of the chair, your muscles protesting like you’d run a marathon instead of typing. The shower beckoned you. Hot, steamy, glorious. You turned the water up until it nearly scalded, letting it pound the stress from your back. The shampoo smelled like coconuts, the steam fogging up the mirror until your reflection vanished. For the first time in weeks, you could finally breathe.

After, you slipped into your favorite slip dress. The oversized lavender one that pooled around your thighs. Your skin still hummed with the warmth of the shower, hair dripping lazily onto your shoulders.

Then, the real reward.

You snatched your phone off the charger, thumb hovering over the app you hadn’t opened in weeks. Love & Deepspace, the game you’d been too buried in assignments to touch. Just the icon made your pulse skip. The opening theme swelled as it loaded, the familiar melody wrapping around you.

“Please don’t crash. Please don’t-”

The home screen loaded, vibrant and welcoming. A rush of warmth flooded your chest. God, you’d missed this. Missed the pixel-perfect smiles of your favorite characters, the cheesy dialogues, the way your stomach fluttered during the romance scenes. It was stupid. It was perfect.

You curled onto your bed, pulling the comforter up to your chin. Binx settled beside you, purring.

For the first time in forever, you grinned.

“Alright, boys,” she whispered to the screen. “Let’s fall in love.”

You blinked at the screen, waiting.

The Destiny Café’s afternoon glow bathed everything in honeyed light. Cozy, inviting, but wrong. Because he wasn’t there.

Sylus should have been front and center, seated on the couch with that infuriating smirk, his silver-white hair catching the light like frost under the sun. His crimson eyes like blood spilled over fresh snow, should have been locked onto the screen, onto you, with that knowing glint that always made your stomach flip.

But the space where he usually stood was empty. Just an untouched coffee cup and the faint imprint of where his hip would have rested on the couch.

Your finger hovered over the screen.

What the hell?

You switched to Rafayel. He appeared instantly, greeting you with a soft smile. Then Zayne, Xavier, Caleb. All were present. Exactly as they should’ve been. But Sylus?

Gone.

You reloaded. Same empty café. Same hollow silence where his voice should have been.

A weird, creeping unease settled in your chest. This wasn’t right. Sylus wasn’t some side character. He was Sylus, the one who always greeted you, made you laugh but did, the one whose rare, genuine smile felt like a secret just for you.

You clicked the “Date” option. His name was still there. But his icon was grayed out, as if you’d never unlocked him. But you had. You knew you had. You remembered the grind, the late nights, the way your heart jumped when his story finally unfolded. You remembered the exact shade of his eyes. His sly remarks. 

And now?

Now it was just… nothing.

The game hummed on, oblivious. The other characters chatted, flirted, existed like nothing was wrong.

But you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was.

Where the hell was Sylus?

You switched characters again, as if he'd magically appear this time. But no. His spot remained empty. No silver-white hair catching the light, no crimson eyes glinting with amusement. Just emptiness.

Frustration settled under your skin. You exited the game, force-closed it, reopened it. Same empty café. Same missing man.

“Okay, maybe it’s just a bug.”

You hopped onto Reddit, scrolling through forums, searching for anything about Sylus missing. But there was nothing. No posts, no complaints, no panicked "Where's Sylus??" threads. Just the usual chatter. Fan theories, event guides, thirst edits about the other guys.

Your stomach twisted. 

Why was no one else talking about this?

You checked the official website. No mention of him being removed. No maintenance notices. It was like the universe had decided to gaslight you.

What was the point of playing if he wasn't here?

You glanced at the clock on your bedside table. 2:43 AM. You were too tired for this. Maybe it was just a weird glitch. Maybe tomorrow, when you logged back in, he'd be there like nothing had happened.

With a sigh, you tossed your phone onto the nightstand, flicked off the light, and yanked the covers over your head.

***

You were jolted awake by a sudden, unnatural sensation. Not by any sound or dream, but by the distinct feeling of movement while lying completely still. Your eyes flew open to complete darkness, but this wasn't the familiar comforting dark of your bedroom. The air felt charged.

You rubbed your eyes and felt yourself lifting, floating, as if gravity had momentarily forgotten you existed. Your breath caught in your throat as you realized you were actually hovering, weightless. Before panic could fully take hold, you sensed a presence beside you, touching you. The heat from his body searing through his clothes, enveloping you. Did someone kidnap you?

Slowly, almost afraid of what you might see, you turned your head.

And there, carrying you bridal style, was Sylus. Not as pixels on a screen, but as a living, breathing being. His silver-white hair seemed to glow faintly in the darkness, like moonlight reflecting off fresh snow. Those crimson eyes, the ones you'd have known anywhere, locked onto yours with an intensity that made your heart pound violently against your chest.

"You noticed," he murmured, his voice deeper and richer than you'd ever imagined, sending an unexpected shiver down your spine. The scent of winter air and something faintly metallic, like cold steel, surrounded him. Every rational thought screamed that this couldn't be real, that you had to be dreaming, but the warmth of his breath against your skin felt terrifyingly real.

He smirked, that same infuriatingly perfect smirk you'd seen a hundred times on your phone screen, but now it was directed at you in a way that made your stomach flip. In this impossible moment, only one thought rang clear in your overwhelmed mind. He was real, he was here, and nothing would ever be the same again.

How the hell was he here and not in the game? But he wasn’t actually here, right? You were probably just dreaming. A dream that felt dangerously real. That had your heartbeat accelerating, the hairs on the back of your neck standing upright, your palms clammy, and your thoughts all mushed up. 

In that moment, you could think of nothing else but to do the only sane thing. The one thing any normal person would do. You screamed. Maybe Sylus wasn’t expecting that. He stopped in his tracks and just for a faint second, you noticed his eyes widen. Your scream tore through the night air. Before the second shriek could escape, Sylus' gloved hand clamped over your mouth. 

The leather smelled faintly of gun oil and winter mint, an unsettlingly human detail for someone who shouldn't exist.

"Easy there, little kitten," he murmured, crimson eyes glinting with amusement under the moonlight. "We're in the N109 Zone. Do you really want an audience here?" 

His thumb brushed your cheekbone almost tenderly as he said it, lingering for just a moment longer, making your pulse stutter.

The scream died in your throat as his words registered. N109 Zone. You'd seen it in the game before. You remembered what almost happened to the MC when she first came here. Your wide eyes darted past Sylus' shoulder, finally taking in your surroundings properly.

Moonlight bled through the trees, their twisted branches clawing at the sky. The air hummed with something electric, raising goosebumps along your arms. You looked ahead to where Sylus was walking, still holding you swiftly like you weighed nothing. It was a glorious mansion adorned with intricate details, sculptures, gardens punctuated with red roses.

Sylus followed your gaze. "Ah. You've noticed our destination." His hand slid from your mouth and he stopped just for a moment to let you down. "Walk with me. Questions can wait until I’ve safely escorted you inside."

Every survival instinct screamed to wrench away, but the rational part of your brain knew escape would be futile. This was Sylus, after all. Dream or not. 

You found yourself matching his strides as he led you toward the glowing mansion, your bare feet sinking into unnaturally warm moss with each step.

The night was still young. Your slip dress that had once been perfectly comfortable in your bedroom, now felt flimsy as a tissue paper.

"You're shaking," Sylus observed without breaking stride. His thumb stroked your pulse point, where your heartbeat fluttered like a caged bird. "Don't tell me you only like me from behind a screen."

“I do like you. But you’re not even real.” You managed to speak without stuttering, although you knew he sensed the nervousness in your voice anyway.

“Or am I, sweetie?”

"I like fictional characters who stay fictional," you snapped, then immediately regretted it when his fingers tightened fractionally.

Sylus laughed, a rich, unsettling sound that didn't quite reach those blood-bright eyes. "Oh, darling. If only you knew how fictional your world seems from here."

The mansion loomed closer, its glowing arches humming. Something in that sound made your teeth ache. Sylus' grip shifted to your elbow as you approached the massive doors, his breath warm against your ear. "Deep breaths now. I wouldn’t want my guest to panic. What kind of host would that make me?"

You locked eyes with him. There was something in his eyes you couldn’t quite discern. This dreaming was driving you crazy. 

As the doors swung open silently, revealing a cavernous hall pulsing with strange light, you realized with dawning horror that maybe, just maybe, this wasn't just some bizarre dream. The game had never shown this place. Never warned about any of this.

And the man beside you, the one whose smirk had once made your stomach flutter, now felt about as safe as a live wire in a thunderstorm.

Your breath caught as you took in the grand hall, its vaulted ceilings stretching endlessly. The air hummed with a faint warmth, carrying the scent of aged parchment and something richer, like smoldering embers and black tea. The walls were adorned with intricate carvings, their swirling patterns shifting subtly under the glow of floating orbs of light that drifted lazily through the space.

This place shouldn't have existed.

You'd spent hours in Love & Deepspace, memorizing every pixel of Sylus' world, or so you'd thought. But this? This had never been in the game.

As if reading your thoughts, Sylus chuckled low beside you. "The game only showed the places I wanted it to."

You tore your gaze from the opulent decor to glance at him, but he was already looking away, his expression unreadable. Still, you caught the faintest curve of his lips, smug, satisfied. Like he was enjoying your bewilderment.

Before you could retort, he stepped forward, extending a gloved hand toward you. "Come." It wasn't a request.

You hesitated, fingers twitching at your sides. Every rational instinct screamed that you shouldn't take it, that you should demand answers, find a way back, run. But curiosity was a traitorous thing.

You placed your hand in his.

His fingers closed around yours, warm and firm, and suddenly, you were moving.

He guided you through the mansion with quiet precision, his grip on your hand unyielding as you moved through rooms that felt too expansive, too real to belong to any game. The air smelled of polished wood and gun oil. The walls were lined with sleek display cases, holding meticulously maintained firearms. Some modern, some antique.

A long hallway opened into what looked like an armory, racks of rifles and handguns. You recognized some from the game. The sleek, futuristic designs that had always appeared when you fought alongside Sylus. But others were unfamiliar, their edges worn from use. You paused beside a case holding a silver revolver. “This wasn’t in the game,” you murmured.

Sylus hummed, stepping closer. His shoulder brushed yours as he reached past you to tap the glass. “No. Some things are just for me.” His voice was low, intimate.

The next chamber was a training area. mats covering the floor, a shooting range tucked behind soundproof glass. A half-dismantled rifle lay on a workbench, its parts spread out. 

You couldn’t believe your eyes. Yes, Sylus was your most favourite fictional man. He was just your type. You’d spent hours reading his fanfictions, replaying his memories. Watching his fanarts. But this? This was incomprehensible. You were torn between the thoughts whether this was dangerous or exciting, whether you were dead or dreaming?

You turned to him, your pulse quickening. “Is this real?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. “Or am I inside the game?”

Sylus studied you for a long moment, his crimson eyes unreadable. Then, with deliberate slowness, he reached out and caught your wrist, guiding your hand to his chest. Beneath the fabric of his shirt, you felt the steady, rhythmic beat of his heart.

“Does it matter?” he murmured.

Your fingers curled slightly against him, warmth seeping through the material. It was too real, the heat of his skin, the faint scent of leather and something darker, like black coffee. The game never felt this real. It felt, well, just like a game.

He tilted his head, watching your reaction with that same infuriating smirk. “You wanted answers,” he said. “But you haven’t asked the right question yet.”

You swallowed. “Then what’s the right question?”

Sylus leaned in, his breath brushing your ear. “Not where you are,” he said. “But why you’re here.”

A shiver ran down your spine.

Before you could respond, he straightened and tugged you forward again. “Come. I want to show you something.”

And despite the unease coiling in your stomach, you followed.

The heavy oak door swung open under Sylus' touch, revealing a library so vast it made your breath hitch. Towering mahogany shelves stretched toward the ceiling, their upper levels vanishing into darkness. Rolling ladders stood along the walls. The scent of aged paper and polished wood wrapped around you, rich and comforting.

You took an involuntary step forward, your fingers already itching to touch the spines. "This is..." Words failed you as your gaze traveled up, up, up the endless shelves.

"Excessive?" Sylus offered, his voice laced with amusement. He leaned against the doorframe, watching your reaction with those piercing crimson eyes. "Or perhaps just adequate."

You turned to him, eyebrows raised. "Adequate for what? Collecting every book ever printed?"

His lips quirked in that infuriating half-smile. "For you."

"For... me?" Your hand froze halfway to pulling out a volume of what appeared to be 18th century botanical illustrations.

"You like books." He pushed off the doorframe and strode toward you, his boots silent on the thick rug. "I noticed. When you wouldn’t log in to finish a book you’d just bought. When you'd pause the game just to squint at some background text."

Heat crept up your neck. You hadn't realized he'd been paying that much attention. How could you? Until now you didn’t know he was real. Although you still weren’t entirely sure. "So you... what? Built me a library?"

"Some of these don't exist in your world. First editions of books that were never published. Manuscripts that were lost to war or censorship." His gloved fingers brushed a bookspine. "Thought you might appreciate holding what others never got to read."

Your throat tightened unexpectedly. This wasn't just some game logic, this was thoughtful in a way that unsettled you. "But why go to all this trouble?"

Sylus tilted his head, considering you. "Why does a hunter maintain his weapons? Why does a scholar preserve his texts?" He reached past you to pull out a slender volume bound in deep blue leather. "We care for the things that matter."

That matter? Did you matter to him? So much to have him build you an entire library.

The book pressed into your hands felt strangely warm. You opened it carefully to find handwritten pages in a language you didn't recognize.

When you looked up, Sylus was watching you with an expression you couldn't decipher. "This is impossible," you whispered.

"Yet here you are."

Sylus watched you trail your fingers along the book spines, his gaze darkening as you bit your lip in concentration. When you pulled out a volume, his shadow fell over you, close enough that his breath stirred your hair.

“Find something interesting?” he murmured.

You turned too fast and suddenly you were chest-to-chest with him. The heat of his body seeped through your clothes. His eyes dropped to your parted lips.

“I-uh.” Your voice cracked. His smirk deepened. Ugh! How is he sexier in person?

He reached past you to rplace back the book, his arm caging you in, the scent of leather, gunpowder and black coffee wrapping around you. “Take your time, sweetie. I’ll always be right here.”

You had no idea how much time you spent immersed in the books, how long Sylus kept looking at you. As you put back a leather-bound book onto the shelf, you heard a soft ruffle a fabric as he stepped closer. “Not interesting?”

“Overwhelming?”

“Do you want to see your room, sweetie?”

“My room?”

He lead you through many different halls and up a long flight of stairs. The door swung open under Sylus' touch, revealing a bedroom that stole the breath from your lungs. Soft blush-pink walls glowed in the golden light of crystal sconces. White curtains fluttering gently in the breeze from the open doors that led to a private balcony.

You took an involuntary step forward, your fingers brushing against the plush velvet pillows in shades of ballet slipper pink and creamy ivory. Each one was embroidered with tiny floral details. On the nightstand sat a collection of porcelain trinket boxes, one shaped like a kitten, another like a miniature treasure chest. Exactly like the ones you'd been eyeing online but could never bring yourself to buy.

"I..." Your voice caught as you noticed the vanity table, arranged with crystal perfume bottles and a jewelry box with a tiny ballerina dancing inside. The mirror was framed with tiny LED lights, just like the one in your wishlist. "How did you...?"

Sylus leaned against the doorframe, his arms crossed. Even in setting, he looked effortlessly beautiful. The sharp features of his face contrasting with the softness surrounding him. "I know you have a particular fondness for pink," he said simply, as if that explained everything.

Your cheeks warmed as you turned in a slow circle, taking in more details. A bookshelf held familiar titles, all your favorite novels in first edition hardcovers. The sitting area by the balcony had a plush reading chair with a crocheted blanket draped over one arm, the exact shade of cotton candy pink you'd once tweeted was your favorite.

On the dresser sat something that made your breath hitch. A limited edition snow globe from that anime you'd mentioned in passing months ago. Only 500 had been made worldwide. You reached out with trembling fingers to lift it, watching as glitter swirled around the tiny figures inside.

"You remembered this?" you whispered, unable to hide the wonder in your voice.

Sylus pushed off the doorframe and walked toward you, his boots silent on the plush cream carpet. "I remember everything," he murmured, so close now you could see the flecks of darker red in his irises. His gloved hand came up to brush a strand of hair from your face, the leather cool against your flushed skin. 

"The way your eyes light up when you talk about your favorite things. The exact shade of pink that makes you smile."

Your heart hammered against your chest as his fingers trailed down to tilt your chin up. The air between you was fused with tension, his gaze dropping to your lips. His right hand slid slowly up to cradle the back of your head, fingers tangling gently in your hair as he leaned in. 

But your stomach chose that moment to growl loudly.

Sylus blinked, then huffed a quiet laugh, stepping back. "Dinner is at eight," he said, adjusting his gloves with that familiar precision. "The closet should have everything you need." He gestured to a door you hadn't noticed before. "Though I suspect you'll find the contents... predictable."

With that, he turned and left, the door clicking shut behind him.

You stood frozen for a moment, still clutching the snow globe. Then, with shaky legs, you moved to investigate the closet. When you opened the door, a soft gasp escaped you. Racks of halter tops, micro skirts, mini shorts, bell-bottom jeans. Dresses with delicate lace trim, cozy sweaters with pearl buttons, even pajamas with little cartoon characters, all in your exact size.

A sound from outside drew you to the balcony doors. You stepped into the cool evening air just as the first notes of a piano floated up from the garden below. Leaning over the railing, you could see Sylus seated at a grand piano beneath a tree, his silver hair glowing in the twilight as his hands moved effortlessly across the keys.

The song was unfamiliar but beautiful, a melancholy melody that seemed to echo the strange ache in your chest. You wrapped your arms around yourself, watching as petals drifted down around him, caught in the breeze.

This man had recreated your dream bedroom down to the smallest detail. He knew your tastes better than anyone in your real life. And yet, as you watched him play with such quiet intensity, you realized with a pang that you didn't know the first real thing about him.

You slipped into a chiffon dress from the closet, one that hugged your curves in all the right places and a neckline that dipped just low enough to feel daring. After smoothing your hands down the fabric, you took a deep breath and headed downstairs, following the scent of roasted herbs and something rich and buttery.

The dining room took your breath away. A long, polished table stretched beneath a glittering chandelier, set with fine china and crystal glasses that caught the candlelight. Platters of food covered every inch. Seared scallops drizzled in lemon butter, rosemary-crusted lamb, truffle-infused mashed potatoes, and a dozen other dishes you couldn’t name but made your mouth water.

Sylus stood at the head of the table, his back to you as he poured wine into two glasses. He’d changed into a tailored black suit, the fabric stretching across his broad shoulders before tapering at his waist. When he turned, his crimson eyes flickered over you, lingering for a heartbeat too long on the dip of your neckline before meeting your gaze.

"You look exquisite," he said, his voice low.

Your pulse fluttered. "You didn’t have to go through all this trouble."

His lips curved. "I wanted to."

He pulled out your chair, his fingers brushing the nape of your neck as you sat, sending a shiver down your spine. The meal began in quiet elegance, the clink of silverware the only sound between you, at first.

But then you stole a glance.

His hands were unfairly elegant. Long fingers, swift movements as he speared a piece of lamb with his fork, the way his thumb pressed against the edge of the fork before bringing it to his lips. You watched, as he chewed slowly, the muscles in his jaw flexing before his throat worked with a swallow, his Adam’s apple bobbing.

God! Why does he have to be so sexy?

At that point, you were torn between two dilemmas, as if two angels were fighting over what was right or wrong. He was hot and now you were imagining not so decent things. Why? Well, of course because he was Sylus. You loved him. But you hardly knew him. Technically, you knew him. But who knew if he was the same person? Did his looks make you forget one crucial thing? What the hell were you doing here!? What kind of dream was this? Maybe he knew… 

You always knew he was dangerously attractive, but now you’d been too mesmerised with the newfound surroundings to notice. But now that you did…

Heat pooled in your stomach.

You looked away, taking a sip of wine to distract yourself, but it didn’t help. Every time he lifted his glass, you caught the way his fingers curled around the stem, the way his lips parted just slightly before the red liquid touched them.

A traitorous wetness settled between your thighs. Without thinking, you clenched them together, biting your lip. Sylus’ fork stilled.

"Careful now, kitten," he murmured, his voice a dark caress.

Your breath hitched.

He set his utensils down with deliberate slowness, his gaze locking onto yours. The candlelight flickered in his crimson eyes, turning them molten. "You keep looking at me like that," he said, "and I’ll start thinking you want something."

enjoy this cute gif. think of it as the room sylus prepared for you.

lemme know if you wanna be added to the taglist for the next part!!

[creepychan08]

Hi my loveee🥰 I was wondering if you’d be interested in writing something where reader/mc does the fake backshots thing to lads men, if that makes sense? Like you go up behind him and bend them over and pretend to give ‘backshots.’ Other than that, I love your work and I hope you have a lovely day/night!

I can sure try!

WHAM!

You asked Rafayel to pick up the paper that fell to the floor as soon as he bent over…WHAM! He jumped up quickly mushing your face. His arms were over his chest as he glared at you. He was beet red and embarrassed.

“What is wrong with you?” He whispered making you laugh.

“I love you?” It was more of a question than a statement.

He doesn’t answer just walks away from you but his eyes don’t leave your figure. He was scared you would attack him again. Before fully disappearing he gives you a ‘I’m watching you’ hand signal.

He was cleaning the counter when you did it. He was shocked and teleported behind you. You were stunned at his fast movements as he blankly stared at you. He returned the favor of course! What did you expect from Xavier?

“How do you like it?” He teases as you wiggle in his grip.

“Xavier!” You playfully hit his hip a few times. He laughs nearly making both of you fall to the floor.

���You started it.” He laughs as you both play fight each other.

Caleb is all for it! You snuck up behind him as he was mid workout and gave it to him. He played along after his confusion washed away. He even fake moans which causing you to fall out laughing.

“Give it to me!” He moaned through his laughter. You burst out laughing because you weren’t expecting it.

“What? You humped yourself dry?” He teases as he hovers over you who’s uncontrollably laughing.

“Caleb stop I’ll pee!” You wheeze holding a hand in his face. He smirks and nods before going back to his workout.

Sylus is all for joking around and he’ll even play along. You saw him taking a break after boxing and decided to pull a little prank. He bent over to grab his water from the floor when you tried to get him from behind. You had to jump a little due to his height which made it funnier.

“Is there a reason you’re clinging to me like a baby koala?” He deadpanned as he stands up straight causing you to hand off of him.

“Well now I look stupid.” You state making him smirk. He switches you both around lacing your hand in his.

“How’s this?” He teases. Your body becomes hot as you glare at him, “Not funny.” You pout as he smiles at you.

“I’m just reciprocating the love.” He hugs you from behind making you melt into his touch. “Yeah whatever.” You reply.

Now you know he’s shy! Why do you insist on doing this to him? He immediately stiffens when you do it, all he was trying to do was reach for some paperwork. He slowly turns to you his eyes slightly wider. You awkwardly smile at him.

“Why are you acting like a rabbit in heat?” He questions you in his regular tone.

“I wanted to see your reaction.” You smile innocently. He blinks at you before standing up.

“It’s surely a…reaction.” You tilt your head at him before letting him sit back down. His neck and ears bright red making you giggle.

“I couldn’t resist.” You tease kissing his cheek. He hums softly before getting back to his paperwork.

I surely tried my best! Trying to get through these last few requests because my week is busy and who knows when I’ll be free again 😩

[creepychan08]

PAYPIG SYLUSS HELLOOOO HIM GETTING OFF ON YOU SPENDING HIS MONEYYYYY BEGGIJG YOU TO SPEND MORE!!!!! pls

.✮⋆˙ ⟡ 1LLEGAL M1SS10N 04: CAR S*X ⊹₊ ✧ ⋆

‧₊˚✩彡 — SYNOSIS Sylus loves when you spend his money, after all, it’s not just his, it’s yours too. So, when you take him to a shopping spree and give him a pretty show of all the little lingeries you found, it’s really not his fault that he’s going to watch to push your panties to the side and play with your pussy!≽^•⩊•^≼

‧₊˚✩彡 — GENRE smut, porn with little plot ‧₊˚✩彡 — PAIRING Sylus x reader (has chubby reader in mind, anyone can read tho!) 

‧₊˚✩彡 — WARNING fem!reader, pwlp, established relationship, possible grammar errors, explicit content, pet names, car sex, fingering, squirting 

A/N Oh I genuinely love this ask sm, I don’t I’ve yapped about Sylus getting hard just from seeing you spend his moneyദ്ദി(˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧Just know that I’m cooking up another dragon Sylus fic ꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱I’m srry if this seems a bit lazy

۶ৎ Sylus is a rich man, it’s no surprise that the Onychinus’s ferocious leader is quite wealthy. Dirty money is still money. Furthermore, it’s not really shocking when Sylus started to develop such a strange habit.

Spoiling you rotten, nothing in the world could make him happier than that. In fact, he constantly reminds you over and over, until it was practically engraved into your memory, that Sylus would spend thousands, millions even, on you with no hesitation nor regrets. His money is your money after all.

Nothing can surpass the intense feeling of pride when he sees your pretty eyes light up when he, coincidentally, gives you that same sparkly necklace you were eyeing for weeks. And when you decide to be so sweet and press a tender thank you kiss to his cheek, oh, it just makes Sylus want to spend even more on you now. He’s wealthy, so wealthy that everything he picks out and buys for you is always top quality, sometimes unnecessarily expensive, and simply luxurious.  The abnormally large sum of money doesn’t matter to him, money is the last problem for the Onychinus’s leader. Sylus will take you absolutely anywhere, especially the mall. Staring at you hungrily every time you opened those silky curtains of a changing room, seeing a pretty red lingerie set wrapped around your pretty plump body, you looked absolutely ravishing and enticing.

And Sylus can’t deny the, oh so, obvious fact that he gets off watching you spend his money so recklessly. He loves spoiling you, anything you could possibly desire would be in your lamp. He’d even beg you to spend his money.

“Oh I’m so sorry, Sy” you mumble softly, breaking the comfortable silence between you and Sylus.

“I didn’t think we’d be out so late. . just from shopping. .” You hum quietly, your honeyed voice gentle and quiet, soothing to the ears. 

Well, why are you acting as if it’s a surprise? Shopping occasionally can take an excruciatingly long time, especially since you and Sylus were going on a shopping spree. Expensive dresses that hugged your plush form perfectly, pretty skirts that varied between lengthy and mini, and sexy lingerie sets that made you look even more bewitching and luring. 

Once the two of you were finished with your extended shopping spree, the sun was nowhere to be seen. It was unlit and empty in the parking lot, hushed, almost noiseless. It was pretty impressive to see Sylus’s arm covered in heavy pink and white bags, and he wasn’t even struggling at all!

You briefly glance up from your phone, take a sneaky peak at your boyfriend, who’s focused on the road ahead as it’s barely lit up, just a long dark road with occasional light posts. What was only meant to be just a few hours is shopping with Sylus quickly taking a turn, spending a whole day on shopping. You don’t think you’ve ever felt so exhausted and sleepy before, a whole day just trying on clothes is not for the weak.

You can tell that Sylus is equally spent and tired as you are, if not, more than you are. An empathic expression forms on your face, oh, your poor sweet, innocent boyfriend.

“. . I swear, the moment we finally get home, you’re going to get the best cuddles, endless kisses, and all my affection” you beam happily, an angelic grin forming.

“Mmph. .” Sylus hums drowsy, voice obviously tired, rough, and a bit croaky.

Once again, the car falls into a pleasant and comfortable silence. In Linkon City, the nights often get colder around this time of the year, therefore, Sylus gave you his jackets. His jacket is draped over your body, practically smothering you in the fabric.

But, his jacket is keeping you warm from the cool air gently blowing onto you. You sigh in contentment, further snuggling yourself into his jacket. Sylus’s jacket reeks of his signature cologne, a rich, intense, and amber fragrance, it's comforting. His car is quite dark, barely lightened up to properly see anything inside, well, except the dim brightness from your phone illuminating, casting a soft glow on your face.

There is a soft, slow, quiet, and boring song playing on the radio, luring you deeper and deeper into your sleepiness. 

“Mmh. .” He breathes out, one of his hands letting go of the steering wheel.

“There is nothing to be forgiven, sweetie. .” Sylus mumbles, his hands reaching out towards your thighs.

Sylus rests his free hand onto your thigh, his hands felt awfully warm, a bit rough on the texture, however, he seas tender and gentle with you, very aware of his strength. He gingerly massages your thighs, his thumb glides against your squishy and supple skin. His touch makes you feel somewhat giddy, however, you can feel his hands sliding further up your legs, dangerously inching closer and closer to somewhere it shouldn’t be.

You breath hitches quietly, barely audible, you know Sylus heard you though, with that smirk on his face says everything. You shift in your seat slightly, feeling a brief wave of  disappointment when his hands retract from your thighs, holding the steering wheel again. 

“Don’t waste your breath. . you have no reason to be sorry, kitten” he says, glancing at you from the corner of his eye.

He keeps his eyes on the empty road ahead, taking a deep breath only to grunt quietly. Sylus shifts in his seat slightly, groaning and swearing under his breath. When you glance toward him curiously he only clears his throat and pretends nothing happened. 

“You must be quite exhausted from all that shopping, hm?” He hums, chuckling dryly when you groan and whine. 

“Ugh. . I’m not even tired” you scoff, rolling your eyes.

“Mmh? Is that so? You seem a bit. . sluggish, sweetie” Sylus points out.

“Now, now, don’t be so feisty, kitten. Just try to get some sleep, sweetie” 

“Rest, I’ll be right here” he reassures, one hand letting go of the steering wheel, reaching over to try to pinch your cheek, only to be swatted away.

“But I’m not even tired. .” You mumble, huffing in annoyance. 

Right after you said that, a little yawn escapes you, rubbing your eyes tiredly. 

“Mmph hm. .” Sylus tuts slowly, as if he was saying I told you so.

Sylus keeps one hand on the steering wheel, the other resting on the center console. You rest your cheek against the palm of your hand, a bored and tired expression on your face. There is a groggy muffled groan, pant, and audible huff that can be heard.

Ever since Sylus saw you in the first dress you picked up he’s been acting strange. A cheeky grin forms on your face, now staring at your boyfriend who’s brows are furrowed in concentration. 

“Soo. . earlier ago” you start, your hand grazing Sylus’s wrist. 

“You seemed different, what exactly had you so hot and bothered-?” You tease, your hand sliding further up to his beefy arms.

“- you seemed so. . riled up” you hum, tracing small hearts and flowers into his skin. 

Your eyes twinkle with mischief, a cheeky smile on your face. You pinch and poke at his muscular arms, feeling them flex under your touch. You teasingly squeeze at Sylus’s bulky arms, tracing the small veins on his arm with a finger, you feel like a teenage girl fawning over their crush.

“Mmph. . curious, aren’t we? I’d hate to leave you pondering, sweetie” he mumbles, his voice slowly getting quieter. 

“Can you really blame me for being so riled up? You, so graciously, gave me front-row seats to your little fashion show” Sylus says, his hands landing on your thighs once again.

Instead of teasing you as he did previously, slowly trailing his hands further and further up your body, his hand is dangerously close to your throbbing pussy. His middle finger and pointer finger slides between your thighs, squishy your thighs. You gasp, looking at him with a shocked expression.

“Might I add, you looked absolutely stunning, provocative, and sexy” he says simply, acting as if his words wouldn’t make you feel flustered. 

You try to pretend as if you were not affected by his words in the slightest, however, you can feel the pleasurable wave of heat wash through your body. 

“And for once, you let me spend my money with hissing and clawing at me, kitten” Sylus says in a deep, raspy voice.

In only a mere second, his middle gently brushes against your clothed pussy. You shiver violently, unconsciously spreading your thighs wider, glancing down your body to see his fingers sliding up and down your clothes pussy. 

“S- Sy. .” You moan softly, watching him silently as his fingers disappear between your thighs. 

His finger finds your clit, rubbing tender circles onto your throbbing clit. You whimper quietly, leaning back against the car seat, your thighs spreading wider. Sylus chuckles softly at that expression on your face, lips parted slightly, eyes watching his fingers toy with your poor clit, cheeks flushed pinkish red, and eyes, oh they are so pretty, hooded and filled with desire and need.

“Mmph. . that outfit looks breathtaking on you. .” Sylus mumbles, his finger settling on your clit, applying delicious pressure to make you gasp out.

“However. . with our current situation, I rather you have them off” He purrs, summoning a whiny protest when he retracts his finger from your aching clit.

You are so desperate, you waste no time, propping your hips up to be able to shuffle your shorts off your body. Sylus hums in satisfaction, his hands back between your thighs in only a second. He slides his fingers up and down on your soaked panties, your juices sticking into his fingers.

“So. . wet” Sylus mumbles under his breath, his fingers hooking around the waistbands of your panties. 

Sylus tugs your panties to the side, the cool air blowing onto your dripping pussy, goosebumps forming on your thighs, shivers running through your body. You whimper quietly, moaning when his ring fingers find your swollen clit.

He lets out a guttural groan, trailing his fingers through your sticky, soaked folds. Sylus drags his finger down to your gummy entrance that flutters around nothing, desperate to be filled up. A thick finger plunges deep inside your pussy, stretching your gooey walls apart.

“Hng. . S- Sylus. .” You moan, that embarrassingly loud squelching sound of your pussy gushing around his fingers can be heard. 

You flutter helplessly around his finger as he slowly slides his finger in and out of your gushing and creaming pussy, your juices sticking onto his skin. Your mouth goes agape, strings of moans and whines escaping you as Sylus’s middle fingers push inside your poor cunt. He can feel you fluttering and squeezing around his fingers, it’s hard to thrust his fingers inside you when you're sucking his digits back inside your warm walls. 

“O- oooh. .” You mewl, eyes rolling back. 

Everytime his fingers push back deep inside your pussy, the tip of his fingertip pushes at your deepest parts. Sylus curls his fingers just at the right post, your g-spot, everytime he plunges his finger back inside you, his finger would poke at your g-spot. He’s hitting your sweet spots, making you pussy gush around his fingers, drawing yelps and moans from you.

The palm of Sylus’s hand grinds against your puffy clit, making your thighs twitch and your eyes water. The filthy and erotic sound of your pussy gushing and squelching around his fingers only gets louder and louder, your juices trickling down the fat of your ass. You can feel that heat in your belly slowly and steadily getting hotter and hotter, your body trembles weakly. 

“S- sy! N- nghh. . f- feels good” you drool, sneakily rubbing your swollen, neglected clit.

“I- I wanna cum!” You bubble dumbly, it’s like all the thoughts in your head were never there to begin with.

“Mmh hmm? You wanna cum, kitten?” He teases, the wet plapling sound as fingers thrust back into your needy cunt.

His once steady and slow pace of fingering you quickly disappeared, he’s mercilessly finger fucking you. You let out a choked moan, your cries of pleasures are loud. 

“H- haah-! C- cumming!” You squeal, drool seeping from your parted lips. 

Your walls flutter around his fingers tightly, that heat in your belly exploding. You let out a broken wail, tossing your head back. Your juices squirts from your stuffed pussy, spraying onto the car seat and the dashboard, leaving a sticky mess. 

“O- oh god! Fuckfuckfuck!” You whine, grabbing his wrists to stop him from fingerfucking you.

“I’m sensitive-! N- no more, please!” You wail pathetically, however, your body says something way different.

Your pussy spasms around his fingers, desperate to keep him inside. 

“Hush, hush, kitten. You know you can take much more than this” Sylus breathes out.

.✮⋆˙ ⟡All work belongs to only ME, jadestone2. Translating, plagiarism, copying, posting on another website, claiming as your work will NOT be tolerated, instant block ⊹₊ ✧ ⋆

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[creepychan08]

-ˋˏ ༻❁ surprise encounter 🤍 sylus 秦 ❀༺ ˎˊ-

❀˖°pairing: sylus x reader

❀˖°summary: You’ve been playing love&deepspace ever since the game came out and it became your comfort place now. You like all of the boys, but you have the highest affinity with sylus, who had your heart in a grasp ever since the beginning. Who would’ve thought that he shares the sentiment? And after your monthly absence from the game, he decides to pay you a little visit and finally confess to all of it (and maybe kind of try to kidnap you in the process too oho).

❀˖° tropes: fluff, angst to fluff, fluff to angst to fluff? fluff to angst to fluff to angst to fluff???? idk angst with happy ending!

❀˖°word count: no idea, it goes on for days sorry. (7k!!)

❀˖°warning!: i apologize for any mistakes, i am not a native speaker of english!! if you see any errors you can write me a dm and i will correct them for sure ♡ and i think it gets better later! i can’t write for shi, especially the beginnings, and the second part was fueled by my delulu so it is probably much more fun to read 🤍

•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙ ⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙

You liked days like these: quiet days, lazy ones, when you didn’t have any errands to run, meetings to attend, or people to please. You could just stay inside for the whole day, reading your favorite books and playing cozy games, spending your time however you wanted. Today was Saturday and you didn’t have to go to work until Monday and you decided that you finally deserved to have some rest after the last couple of weeks of almost working yourself to the bone due to the amount of the assingments you had to complete at work. You often had to stay after hours or work from home to complete everything in time. Your work was not usually that challenging, but there were certain times of the year when everyone at your job had their hands full and when it happened, you were almost completely cut off not only from your social, but also personal life. However, you never complained, because you actually liked what you were doing, and even if the occasional hard times were inevitable, your work brought you so much fun and satisfaction.

And today was a good day! You finally finished everything you had to do, so you could go back to your favourite game. You didn’t have time to play recently due to the amount of work, up to the point that you didn’t even bother to check in to grab some stamina. Usually, love&deepspace was an important part of your day - you logged in there at least twice a day, completed every task thrown your way and had a blast doing so, but these couple of weeks were so hard for you that you almost forgot about it completely. But even if you were too busy, you thought about the boys from time to time, as well as about the events that you were probably missing out on. You really hoped that if some new events had taken place during that time, that they did not involve Sylus, because if you had missed them, you would be slightly devastated.

Sylus was your favorite. Ever since the beginning, there was something about him that caught your attention. You downloaded the game after his announcement and haven’t looked back since. You played with other boys as well, but your time with Sylus was always the most memorable. Not only was he extremely attractive in your eyes, as well as the eyes of other players around the world, but you also understood his character, adored his little jokes and mannerisms, and could safely say that he made your life a little more exciting. You knew that it probably sounded lame to someone who didn’t play such games, and you were aware that he wasn’t real, but you enjoyed yourself regardless. In your real life, you had some experience with men and were pretty popular among them; however, you never felt comfortable enough to form more serious romantic relationships.

Here, with Sylus, you didn’t have to worry about such things. You were aware that he was only a game character and maybe that was why you were so honest with him from the very beginning. You knew that he wouldn’t judge you, misstreat you or make you miserable - he was created in a way that was supposed to make your playthrough enjoyable so you didn’t have to worry about your responses in the messages for him or your real life reactions to everything he said or did. You could just be yourself. And you loved how freeing that felt.

That is why you felt so excited ever since you woke up. Because you knew that today you could finally go back to playing l&d, and you could meet up with your Sylus after so much time apart. You quickly did your chores, spent some time on self-care to slightly relieve the fatigue from the weeks before, you put on your favourite cozy outfit and finally clicked the ”enter game” button.

And there he was. Sylus was standing in the cafe, wearing his extremally attractive biker outfit and you caught yourself sighing dreamily at the sight of him. You missed him so bad, you missed the little memories you shared and the sound of his voice. You missed playing kitty cards with him, catching plushies together and even looking for that bastard Tobias again and again. You couldn’t help but smile brightly at him.

“Hi Sylus, you have no idea how happy I am to see you.” You said cheerfully, feeling kind of dumb for it but you couldn’t help yourself. You often talked out loud to him during your playtime.

You watched him blink slowly once, then twice, and you started to think that there was something wrong with the server because his response should have already been uttered. But then the look on his face changed. At first, he appeared really shocked and relieved, but then a little frown appeared between his perfect little eyebrows.

“Where the hell have you been?” He responded quickly and it shocked you. You didn’t know that they could swear in the game, but after connecting some dots you figured that it had to be included in the special responses after the player was away for some time.

“At work mostly, been so busy lately but now I’m back and ready to defeat some Wanderers!!” You fist bumped the air above you, you couldn’t contain your excitement.

You also noticed that his expression stayed the same. He was silent, looking at you through your phone screen with bewilderment, and he looked almost hurt. In an attempt to provide some comfort to him, you swiped your finger gently through his hair and across his cheek. However, when you touched his cheek, he closed his eyes and nuzzled into your finger, which made you widen your eyes in surprise. Was that always a thing? Was he always so responsive to your touch? It had to be a new feature; you didn’t remember him being so lively.

“Next time you decide to leave me without a word, I think I’m going to take more drastic measures, sweetie” He said while opening his eyes. You couldn’t help but notice he did look different than usual. More… realistic? Even the way in which he moved his body looked so smooth.

“If not for Mephisto, I would have worried sick about your safety. You can't do this to me every time you have more work than usual; you have to visit me, even if it's just for a minute. I won't exaggerate when I say that I almost went insane after the first week of your cruel silence” And at that you were completely stunned. Should he talk this much? He never talked this much. And how could he know that you had more work than usual? Was that a lucky guess on the studio’s side?

“That’s so weird…” You whispered and touched his hand to trigger some kind of reaction that would appear more usual than what was happening right now.

“Is that your way of catching me off guard? If you wanted to hold my hand so badly kitten, then you would have visited me sooner. I will not let myself be distracted by your cute little behavior” He raised the hand you touched and crossed his arms at his chest, while continuing to frown. And you were still so, so confused.

“Promise me that you won’t leave me again, I know where to find you now.” You raised your eyebrows and bit your lip gently. You started to feel a little bit out of place, you knew that he was not real, but he sounded kind of scary. His voice was demanding, and the part about him finding you? You shivered involuntarily.

“What happened? Cat got your tongue, kitten? Or did you finally understood the selfishness of your actions?” Sylus continued and you opened your mouth in awe. “Promise. Me.” He said slowly, his gaze unnerving. Suddenly you heard a series of loud caws outside on your balcony. The sound made you jump in place, and you dropped your phone on your bed. Was that a freaking crow?? Outside your apartament???

You quickly picked up your phone and cursed softly. You were going insane. You got scared just because the game had an update you did not know about. You almost wanted to laugh at how stupid that was. Almost. Because Sylus walked up to the front of your phone screen and spoke to you again.

“Why are you hesitating? Are you really planning to leave me again?” You swore you never heard him so hurt.

“No!” You said before you could think.

“No?” He answered immediately, which scared the hell out of you. “I am not sure I believe you. And I can’t stand it. I can’t stand being away from you anymore.” He took two steps back and closed his eyes.

That was when the game crashed. Your phone appeared to be broked too, after the colourful lines appeared on the screen, flickered a couple of times and the whole screen turned black. You threw the device away from you and your heart started beating so fast you could hear the blood pulsing in your ears. You were so confused and genuinely scared. Was there an update that switched the genre of the game to horror? You were stunned.

And then you heard the knock.

You almost jumped out of your slippers. You brought your hand to your heart in order to calm yourself down and you started taking slow, deep breaths. It’s just a game. It’s just a game. Besides, how did Sylus, of all people, managed to scare you so badly? You adored that character, and you should know that he was prone not only to exaggeration, but also to intimidating behavior. That was literally one of his characteristics. So you forced yourself to calm down and opened the damn door, because it was probably either a mailman, or one of your friendly neighbors, and here you were making a scene like some kind of a delusional psychopath.

One. Two. Three.

You opened the door, and at first all you could see was a huge cloud of black mist. You closed your eyes in order to keep the mist from clouding your vision and then you felt wind pushing you gently further into your apartament. You heard the door close and the sound of the key turning in the lock. Everything happened so fast. And when you opened your eyes your knees almost buckled.

Sylus.

Sylus was all you could see. He was standing in front of you, in your own apartament, looking so out of place that you wanted to laugh. The first thing that you noticed about him was that he was huge, you couldn’t really see past him, and the more you looked at him, the more real he appeared to be. Soft-looking silver hair, rugged skin, that perfect nose and those piercing eyes. They looked into yours now, and at first they seemed to be searching for something, and after one quick second they visibly softened. You could also see how his handsome, oh so handsome mouth started to display his signature little smirk. And that was when you started to tremble.

“W-wha—” You tried to say something, anything but your mouth was not working. You have never been so confused and scared in your entire life. “Who—W-who are—” He was starting to close the distance between you and that is when the panic finally took over your body. You flinched and went to take a step back, but you slipped on your soft carpet.

Yet you didn’t fall. You felt the gentle caress of the mist that managed to caught you before you hit the ground, and it streightened your posture so that now you stood tall in front of the man.

“Careful kitten, I do not think that falling on four feet applies to you.” He spoke out loud for the first time and the voice was so familiar to you. It was the same, deep, husky timbre that you loved to hear, the same voice that made you squeal in happiness, that lulled you to sleep countless of times. You couldn’t believe it.

“Oh my god, am I dead?” He laughed softly at your reaction and looked at you through his lashes. “This can’t be happening.”

“Oh but it is. I knew that I would find my way to you, I just needed time.” He said and tried to close the distance between you, but you didn’t let him. Every step forward he took, you took one back. “It was so hard to find you. But after you disappeared without saying a word I think I got desperate.” Something flashed in his eyes. You recognized it as determination.

He stopped walking when he noticed that you were getting too close to the balcony. He straightened his posture, and you almost released a gasp. He was huge. And he was real. Alive and so, so real, that you had trouble breathing. You were so scared, but at the same time, so happy to see him, that your body didn’t know how it should react. You just looked at him, taking him in, trying to assess whether it wasn’t your mind playing tricks on you, or if it wasn’t some random man breaking into your apartment and your brain had created a new, fantastic defense mechanism. But no, the longer you took him in, the more similarities you managed to notice: the scar in the corner of his eye, his unevenly clipped fingernails, strong but dry hands, olive skin, slim lips, long, slightly furrowed eyebrows. The not-so-hidden gentleness in his gaze as he was taking you in himself.

“It’s really you.” You managed to breathe out.

“You’re so beautiful.” He answered and his voice was slowly starting to make you feel these familiar butterflies. “So, so magnificent.” He continued. You felt your cheeks heat up and he seemed to drink that reaction in. “Will you talk to me more? You sound angelic. I did not think that you could sound even better than you did through the phone but I guess you will never fail to surprise me, sweetheart.” He did not move an inch. He just looked at you, and you still didn’t know how to react, but you were slowly coming to terms with the fact that it was not a weird dream. He was here and he didn’t appear to have bad intentions. At least you wanted to believe that.

“You’re still trembling. Are you really that scared of me?” He pressed his lips into a line.

“I’m sorry. I just… I’m just not sure what is happening. I had no idea you were… real.” He laughed softly at that.

“You wound me, kitten. Is that your way of unleashing your little claws?” He continued with a small smile on his lips and you couldn’t take it. He looked… stressed. And you thought that was new for him. You spend so many hours playing with him in l&d but you have never seen him so stressed.

Everything that came out of his mouth was slow and precise, not a word was spoken without a purpose. However you could see by his appearance that he was uncertain.

“Of course I’m real. And all the time we spent together is real too. Was it so wrong of me to expect that you would be at least a little bit happier to see me?” He was starting to look hurt. But not angry, not displeased. More concerned than anything, and that was when most of your worries started to disappear. He was your Sylus. He really was.

“I am happy to see you. I really am.” You said truthfully, the fear slowly dissolving. “What are you doing here? How did it happen?”

“When you left me, I was worried to death. I had to come see that you were alright for myself.” He said, not taking his eyes off of you. “I found a path between our worlds, and first I sent Mephisto after you. And that was how I knew you were fine, just busy.” He started explaining slowly and put two fingers at the bridge of his nose. This gesture was so familiar that you felt a slight pang in your chest. “Which l understand. But you stopped visiting completely and I panicked that I lost you. And that you lost your interest in me. And when you logged in today I guess I just lost control over myself.”

“I had to see you. I had to feel you. I needed to know that you will never leave me like that again. But how could I be so sure if you thought I was not real, sweetie?” His voice carried a hint of a ridicule. He smirked slowly and you allowed yourself to relax. You spend so much time with him on your phone, that you knew when he really needed reassurance. And it was the first time you saw him being so honest about his own feelings.

You decided to step closer to him and his eyes widened slightly. His body tightened because of the sudden change in proximity, and when you gently touched his hand bringing it to your mouth, he appeared to be rendered speechless.

“I would never leave you, Sy. At least not without saying goodbye first. You are my safe space, remember?” You said quietly and smiled at him brightly, reminding him of what you had written in your game bio. And then you brought his knuckles to your lips and placed a soft kiss upon them. His hands were much warmer than you expected them to be. They felt harsh, but gentle.

The next thing you heard was a soft grunt and you felt yourself being suddenly lifted in the air. You yelped and found yourself pressed against his big, solid chest. Sylus hugged your body to his by wrapping both of his arms around your torso, and when he realized that you weren’t comfortable, he put one hand under your thighs and brought your body to his by your waist. You let your arms wrap around his neck and squeezed, and he buried his head in the crook of your neck. You heard him inhale your scent and his breath became rigged, as if he could not contain his excitement. You also became familiar with his scent. He smelled so manly and comforting, you could catch some notes of wood and leather, and something surprisingly sweet.

“You smell divine. You’re so soft, so warm.” He breathed against your neck and you felt goosebumps spreading throughout your whole body. You were so embarrassed, you felt like you needed to release some tension.

“I did not expect you to be so open with me. You’re usually the teasing type.” He chucked deeply and put his forehead against yours, while closing his eyes. Your cheeks burned. You couldn’t believe it wasn’t a dream.

“There will be a time for teasing you, kitten.” He rubbed his forehead against yours slowly. “Right now let me enjoy you for a bit. I can’t believe I finally got to see you.” He squeezed you harder to him. You reciprocated the hug with all you had. You were actually kind of scared that your grip was too hard, but he seemed to bask in it. “Communicating through that small device was not nearly enough for me. I could always see you and I heard your little responses to everything I was saying. But it took me some time to figure out how to change some things up.” Your eyes went wide at the mention of your reactions, you knew that a lot of times there were beyond embarrassing, but you decided your blush to speak for itself. But what truly caught your attention was how he managed to appear in your home.

“Change things up?? You must have made such a mess, will it really be okay?” The concern in your voice made him look up and find your eyes with his. You were now looking at his beautiful red ones, so full of adoration and determination. You could see that the consequences of his actions did not matter to him at all.

“Sweetie, I would gladly burn the world down for you, even if it meant that I could see you just once.” You swallowed audibly and proceeded to shy away from his piercing gaze. You started to feel unworthy of such attention, you couldn’t quite grasp what exactly made him care about you to such extend. “Fortunately for everyone, the process did not involve starting an intergalactic war.” He smirked slowly, his eyes finding your lips and staying there for much longer than necessary. “Yet.”

You chuckled at that and proceeded to bury your fingers in his hair, stroking the strands with care. They were so soft to the touch, they reminded you of silk. He closed his eyes and let you touch him to your heart’s content. Your hand quickly found its way to his forehead, and then to his cheek, stroking the skin delicately. You couldn’t believe how someone so handsome could really exist.

“See something you like, kitten?” He said and nuzzled into your palm, pressing a kiss right there. “You will have all the time in the world to touch me when we arrive in the N109 Zone.” He seemed so peaceful, so content with himself, but the mention of the N109 Zone stopped you in your tracks. You tensed visibly and he opened his eyes, noticing the change in your posture.

“The N109 Zone?” You asked puzzled. “Are you taking me away for a weekend?” You took your hand from his face and he used his Evol to bring it back to his cheek. The mist around your fingers felt weird, but not unpleasant.

“For a weekend? No, no.” He locked his eyes with yours, his head slowly closing the distance between you. He licked his lips and looked at your mouth once again. “I am taking you away for forever.” And before his lips managed to touch yours, you flinched. Your hands quickly pushed him away and the panic returned to your features.

“What do you mean by that?”

“I meant what I said. Pack your bags if you believe there is something that I cannot provide for you quickly enough, and we will be off shortly.” He said matter of factly, kind of annoyed by the distance you decided to put between you. “Luke and Kieran have already prepared a room for you, although I think that you will have more than enough space for your belongings in mine.” His eyes brightened with excitement that you unfortunately could not share. Instead, you lightly pushed his torso, making him lower you to the ground grudgingly. His brows were once again furrowed.

“I can’t go with you Sylus. At least, not for forever”

“You can. We can stay together for the rest of our lives and no one would have any objections. I took care of everything.” He reached to grab your forearm and stroked it softly with his thumb. He was so sure of everything he was saying that you could feel how much he let himself get lost in his fantasy. It did make you feel wanted, loved even. But no matter how happy you were that he was real, and apparently shared your feelings, you couldn’t agree to his plan.

“No, Sylus. I need to stay here, I have built my whole life in this place.” You could feel how much your words shocked him. He was looking at you so puzzled as if he didn’t think that you declining his offer was even an option. “I can’t leave everything that I managed to achieve, I really am content with my life, despite how complicated it can be.” You said truthfully. A part of you wanted to go with him, to feel safe and cherished for, for the rest of your life but you knew that was not realistic. You wanted to achieve more, you wanted to have your own life and your own space. You needed to be independent, to feel that you were perfectly capable of caring for yourself and your own needs.

“I do not understand. Don’t you want to be with me?” It pained you how quickly he jumped to that conclusion. And you hated the look on his face - it made you feel like you were betraying him.

”I do want to! Oh my god— I really, really do want to Sylus. I don’t think that I can live without spending time with you anymore.” You smiled at him, and took hold of his huge, rugged hand. “But I can’t live with you in the N109 Zone. I can’t leave my whole life behind.” And the fact that he wanted to make you do that somewhat scared you. Made you feel distressed.

“I see.” He sounded deep in thought. Then, he broke the eye contact for a second, looked at his hand in your hold and before you could even react, he grabbed your body gently with his Evol and picked you up. Your whole body was above ground and although you felt secured, you looked at him with surprise.

“What are you doing?” You wanted to get free from the hold of the mist, but it was impossible with how tight it was. “Sylus, you have to let me go.” You tried not to panic, you knew that you weren’t in danger. But he looked relentless, unforgiving as if his mind was already set in stone.

“No. I can’t. Not now when I finally got to have you.” He looked up at you, with his eyebrows still furrowed, and you could hear a hint of a growl in his voice. “If you do not wish to go with me, I guess I would have to take you by force.”

It was then that you felt a sense of panic. You knew him, and you knew that if he wants something, he always gets it. It just did not cross your mind that he would ever go against your own wishes.

“No. No, no, no, Sylus, please calm down.” He narrowed his eyes and stood motionless before you, his face devoid of almost any emotion. Almost, if not for the desperation shining through his watchful eyes. “You cannot take me away. At least not for now. But I will do anything you ask me to! You can also stay here for some time, and visit me whenever you want to, I swear, I would be so happy to have you.” You just needed him to listen. You knew that you could change his mind, he always listened to what you had to say, he just needed a little bit of persuasion. Maybe he didn’t even think about alternative options?

“And I would make you happy in the N109 Zone with me.” You laughed with disbelief. He was completely missing your point. You decided to once again yank your hands from the grasp of his mist, and then hissed with pain when it did not loosen up its hold. “Your struggle is futile, please stop, I do not wish for you to get hurt.” He was annoyed with you and your disobedience. He did not think that you would have any objections, he started loosing his cool.

“You would never let me get hurt.” You answered, wanting to assure yourself of it as well. You didn’t like how commanding he sounded.

“Yes.” There was no doubt in his voice. “Yes, you know I would stop at nothing to protect you.” His gaze never wavered from yours. He truly thought that what he was doing was for the best. And you just had to let him know how wrong his approach was.

“Yes! Yes I do know that! Because I know you, Sy.” You started to sound as if you were pleading. Deep down it scared you, send uncomfortable shivers down your spine. “I know you, and I know that you also know me.”

He placed his hand on his heart.

“And I adore every single piece of information. And I still wish to know you much, much better.” You tensed when you noticed that his right eye was starting to glow. You did not know if that was intentional, or just a trick of the light.

“Then you MUST know how much this life means to me. How much I like my stupid job, and how much I love the people that are here for me. My friends, my family.” You noticed that your reasoning started to get to him when he clenched his fists and avoided your eyes for a second. “And you have to know how much it would hurt me if you were to take me away from them.” He appeared taken aback. It seemed that his longing for you clouded his judgement, and now he started to notice the faults in his plan.

“But I cannot stand to be apart from you anymore, sweetie.” In normal circumstances that would be so touching to you. But nothing about this situation was normal, and you guessed you just had to show him how normal looked like.

“You won’t be. You can visit me anytime you want. Stay for how long you want.” You wanted that too. So bad.

“But that is not ENOUGH.” It was the first time you heard his raised voice and you started to tremble. His outburst must’ve thrown him off guard too, because he wavered and the grip he had on you loosed. You acted instinctively. You freed yourself from the mist and started to run towards your door. And although he was stunned by your reaction, he quickly teleported so that you ran straight into his chest. His hands grabbed yours in order to protect you from falling due to the impact.

He gently caressed your now slightly red forehead and sighed loudly. You could hear that he was hurt. You cried out from frustration.

“If you really thought that you could run away from me then you must be a total fool.” He tucked your hair behind your ear and lifted your chin up with his finger. “Usually I like playing cat and mouse with you, but I do not like the fact that you appear genuinely scared of me right now.” He hugged your waist and brought you closer to him, lowering his head at the same time. “And that you tried to run away from me when I only want to offer you my protection.”

“It doesn’t sound like protection, it sounds like imprisonment.” You used strong words, but you sounded so small. You did not know what to do with him, you were so scared. ”I’m just scared. I tried to run away because you scared me, Sylus.” You sounded desperate for him to understand you. To look past his own clouded vision.

“You do not have to fear me. I just want what is best for you. For us.” His grip on your waist tightened, and he also proceeded to grab your wrist.

“No. You only want what is best for you. You are not listening to me. I do care about you Sylus, but I cannot leave this place.” You tried to stand your ground but you two never argued before. It was an unfamiliar ground to you, especially when it was the first time that you had a conversation in person. Everything felt more intense and dangerous when you remembered the extreme measures he was always willing to take to achieve his goals.

“You can. And I will make you leave.” He almost growled and a cloud of black and red mist surrounded both of you, and that was enough to bring tears into your eyes.

”Sylus, no, please, I don’t want to. Please, just listen to me, please.” And it was at that moment he started to came into his senses. Your quiet voice and your eyes full of tears made his breathing stop. It was the first time he was seeing you react like this. He hated how broken you sounded. How small. “I’m so scared, Sy, please stop scaring me.” Your voice sounded choked and you could feel that the tears started streaming down your face. Every single one physically hurt him. It was your first meeting and he already made you so miserable. He wanted to scream. “Please.” You tried once again and it shocked you that it finally worked on him.

He tensed and released you from his grip. The mist also dissipated as he took a step back from you. You could hear him breathing deeply.

“I cannot do this." He sounded panicked. “I did not want to scare you, and I cannot listen to your little broken pleas. They break my heart.” He hidden his face in his hands and curled in himself. He felt as if someone pierced his heart with a knife and twisted it. He could not bring himself to look at your beautiful heartbroken face again. “They really do. Please, just stop crying. You won.”

You sniffed softly and touched your wet cheeks. You tried to calm yourself down, he finally listened to you.

“It does not feel so good this time for some reason.” You answered, referring to your Kitty Card battles. You wanted to relieve the tension somehow. You knew that he didn’t want to hurt you, you understand that he lives in a different reality where danger awaits everywhere. You could understand why he wanted to have you beside him at all times. But it scared you how insistent he was, how brutal and final. “Do you really understand why I got so scared?”

He nodded helplessly. “I won’t steal you away. Not when I know how much you despise the idea of spending the rest of your time with me.” You noticed how hard he was pressing his hands to his face and you grabbed them in your own. He let you uncover his eyes and you saw how much it hurt him to let you go.

“Oh, Sy.” You whispered and hugged his hands to your chest. “You know that’s not the reason.”

“Stop calling me that. It drives me crazy.” He breathed and met your eyes. “You drive me crazy. What am I going to do with you? How can I make sure you are safe now?” You took his hands and made him follow you into your bedroom. You sat on your bed and urged him to do the same. This way you could finally talk with him more comfortably.

“Sylus, we have to talk about it.” You squeezed his hands and he looked at yours and took notice of how much smaller they were in comparison to his. So fragile, so breakable. He couldn’t stand it. His whole body longed to protect you. “I do not despise the idea of spending my time with you. I just can’t randomly leave everything I know and love. And this world is different from the one you know, we have our dangers but no one wants my head.” You explained to him slowly. “There are no Wanderers. No protocores.” He looked conflicted.

“I already know that sweetheart. I do. But when you disappeared for such a long time I couldn’t help but think that something bad happened to you” he gritted through his teeth. “I nearly lost my mind looking for you everywhere. It was terrifying, that thought in my mind and the idea that I would never have another chance to speak with you. To see you.” He touched your forearms and brought you a little closer to him. “And when Mephisto found you safe and sound I thought that I never want to feel that fear, that helplessness again. And the only way to do that is to keep you beside me at all times. To guard you with my own body and soul.” He took your hand and rested it on his chest. You could feel the fast and steady rhythm of his heart. You could feel his desperation, his complete devotion. And it almost made you tear up.

“I-I’m so sorry that I made you worry this much.” He studied your face with intention and you shake your head. “But I didn’t even know that you were real. I really thought it was just a game that made me feel less alone and now…” You swallowed audibly. “Now I know that everything I built with you during our time together was very much real and I’m still having trouble to wrap my head around it to be honest.” You smiled at him softly and he nodded with understanding.

“And then you came in and wanted to kidnap me to a world much more dangerous than mine where I do not have my close ones and—”

“I did NOT mean for that to be a kidnapping I though that you shared my sentiment, and also wanted to spend some time—”

“SOME time?? Sylus you wanted me to switch literal worlds and live with you in your freaking villa in the middle of nowhere—”

“I live in an apartment that has a fantastic location, mind you, and you would feel so comfortable in—”

”Apartament??? You cannot possibly be a freaking leader of Onychinus and live in an apartment complex, are you being serious with me right now??”

“Have you ever heard of a saying that the darkest place is under the candlestick, kitten? Besides there is no one in the whole N109 Zone that would pose an actual threat to me—” He cut off when he met your eyes full of laughter, and then he heard that beautiful sound. You burst into giggles right in front of him and you touched him by the bicep and brought his forehead to yours. He couldn’t help but chuckle too, understanding the absurdity of the situation. Feeling your forehead against his, hearing your adorable chuckles and inhaling your sweet scent made him feel so at peace that he closed his eyes to embrace the moment completely. He couldn’t believe that he almost ruined your relationship by being so selfish.

“I missed this. This back and forth with you” You said and he chucked deeply. “I really am happy to see you, Sy. And I swear that we will be able to talk and spent time with each other more often now. And actually see each other in person.” He nuzzled into your face more and you caught his smirk by the corner of your eye. “We can stay in touch at all times, so that you won’t have to worry about my safety so much.”

“So bossy, kitten.” He answered, but the small smile did not leave his face. He couldn’t make it go away even if he tried. “Forgive me for scaring you earlier. I was not thinking straight. I was just so elated to finally have you in my arms that I let my selfishness get the best of me, and for that I’m sorry. I did not want to ruin our first meeting, sweetie.” You hugged him by bringing your arms around his chest and he closed his eyes drinking in the proximity. You were too small, too adorable, too attractive for him to take it. Too honest. Too lovable. Made just for him to adore. To protect.

“You did not ruin anything.” You said into his shirt, hugging him tighter. “I understand you, Sylus. And I like you a little selfish if it means that’s what brought you to me” He smiled into your hair and reluctantly let go of your fragile frame. He touched your chin and delicately lifted your face up to face him. His eyes were once again drinking you in, committing every single one of your features to his memory. He sighed contentedly.

“Selfishness was not the reason of my visit.” You could see how his eyes softened and you felt your chest squeeze. You brushed his cheek, loving the way how he seemed to relish in your touch. His eyes wandered to your lips: pink, plump and so inviting. “Adoration was. The complete love and devotion that I have felt for you for quite some time now.” You gasped quietly and opened your lips slightly, which didn’t go unnoticed by him.

“Sy—”

“And I guess a little emotional push was what made me finally find my way to you, my beloved.” He half-whispered, leaned in, and pressed his lips to yours, locking you in a sweet, passionate kiss that went on and on, seeming to deepen with every minute you spent in his embrace.

*˚⁺‧͙ ⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*

[creepychan08]

Self Aware Love interest Series

Last update: 01 june 2025

Synopsis: The Li becomes sentient and decides to come to your world.

Warnings: This is a NSFW series so MDNI! / The ‘extra’ is my interpretation of a dark version of the Li.

!Self-aware Caleb! 🍎 part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | extra

mdni / nsfw (masturbation, cunnilingus, manipulation, baby trapping, pregnancy kink, breeding kink, !darkCaleb)

!Self-aware Sylus!🍷 part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | extra

mdni / nsfw (masturbation, manipulation, angst, cunnilingus, dom/sub relationship, cockwarming, creampies, semi-public sex, blowjob, breeding kink, worshipping, !darkSylus)

!Self-aware Rafayel! 🌊 part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | extra

mdni / nsfw (masturbation, manipulation, cunnilingus, p in v, unprotected sex, semi-public deepthroating, somnophilia, cnc?, !darkRafayel)

!Self-aware Xavier! 🌟 part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | extra

mdni / nsfw (masturbation, manipulative bunny, cunnilingus, overstimulation, unprotected sex, cnc, somnophilia, choking, semi-public deepthroating, !darkXavier)

!Self-aware Zayne! ❄️ part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | extra

mdni / nsfw (masturbation, cunnilingus, overstimulation, p in v)

!Self-aware MC! 👑 part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | extra …coming soon

<<< back to LaDS Masterlist

[creepychan08]

Sorry, Have another request for the LADS boys. Their reaction to the reader doing the walking in naked challenge on them plz

🍑Walking in naked challenge with the LADS men.🍑

I had a lot of fun with this one. I hope you like it! ❤️❤️

Headers: @bc.lay on Tik Tok

TW:Smut

He's burning something again.

The scent of burnt food wafts through the apartment, a not so subtle reminder of Xavier's culinary ineptitude. You've had enough of the silence stretched between you, the unspoken tension from your argument still lingering in the air. His stubbornness is infuriating, but you know pushing the issue now would only lead to another fight.

The scent lingers as you push open the bedroom door, a silent protest against Xavier's kitchen misadventures. You shrug off your clothes with practiced ease, leaving them in a discard pile on the floor, a small act of rebellion against his brooding silence.

It's just a silly prank.

A smirk tugs at your lips as you decide to leave the necklace on, the chain draping down the valley between your breasts. You know how much Xavier loves seeing you wear it. How his eyes linger on the way it rests between your breasts.

He's not the only stubborn one around here

You slip out of the bedroom. The smell of burnt food grows stronger with each step, but you hardly notice it anymore. Your focus is solely on the figure hunched over the stove, trying to salvage whatever he's attempting to pass off as dinner.

He's going to kill himself cooking at this rate, you muse, shaking your head. But he's so damn cute when he's being incompetent.

You lean against the doorframe, crossing your arms under your breasts as you watch him. You wait for him to notice, wanting to see the look on his face when he realizes you're here.

You push off the doorframe and take a step closer to him, enjoying the way his shoulders stiffen as he senses your approach.

He's trying to ignore me now, but he can't resist looking for long.

"You know, at this rate, you're going to burn the whole building down," you point out, your voice dripping with false concern. "We should just order a pizza. Or maybe get takeout. Anything but...this."

You gesture vaguely at the smoking pan, the burned remnants sizzling and popping angrily.

He's still not saying anything. Good.

You sidle up beside him, close enough to feel the heat radiating off his body.

He's trying so hard to focus on the pan, on not giving me the satisfaction of a reaction. But I know better.

You lean in closer, letting your lips brush against the shell of his ear as you whisper, "Unless...you wanted an excuse to get out of cooking altogether?"

There. Now he can't ignore me.

As you turn away, you can feel Xavier's gaze burning into your back, tracing the curves of your figure. You know exactly what he's looking at, what part of you has always drawn his attention like a magnet. You lift your hand in a casual wave, calling out over your shoulder,

"I'm gonna order something. I think we've had enough of...this." You punctuate your words with a nod towards the smoking pan.

You take your time walking out of the kitchen, putting an extra sway in your step. You disappear around the corner, leaving him to his burning culinary disaster. As you walk away, you can't help but grin to yourself, knowing that you've gotten under his skin.

And then he is following you.

You walk to the dinner table and grab your phone to place your order, bending slightly at the waist, you lean over the table, phone pressed to your ear. Your heart races as you feel Xavier's presence growing closer, his footsteps echoing behind you.

Just as the person on the other line greets you, ready to take your order, you begin to straighten up. But before you can fully upright yourself, you feel his hands gripping your hips, pulling you back down.

You gasp, the phone nearly slipping from your hand as he bends you over the table, your breasts pressing against the cool surface. His grip tightens, fingers digging into your ass as he holds you in place.

You can feel his hips pressing against your backside, the hard, thick length of him nestling between your ass cheeks as he leans over you. His breath is hot against the back of your neck, his lips brushing against your skin as he speaks.

"I think you're forgetting something," he murmurs "You don't get to prank me and then walk away that easily."

You swallow hard, trying to focus on the voice on the other end of the line as they prompt you for your order. But it's nearly impossible to concentrate with Xavier looming over you. You feel his hands leave your hips, and you start to straighten up, relief washing over you.

But your relief is short lived. In an instant, he's slamming you back down against the table. You gasp as you feel his other hand moving to the waistband of his pants.

You bite your lip hard, trying to stifle the moan that threatens to escape as you hear him shoving his pants down.

The person on the other end of the line prompts you again for your order, snapping you out of your lustful daze.

You feel his hard, thick cock spring free, the heat of it searing your skin as he presses it between your ass cheeks.

"A-Ah! I'd like 2 large orders of spicy noodles, please," you emphasize the word "Large" just as you feel him push forward, sinking inside you with a single, deep thrust.

Your back arches, pushing your hips back against his as you feel every hard inch of him stretching you open.

A soft moan escapes your lips, which you quickly try to cover with a cough, hoping the person on the other end of the line will attribute it to a bad connection.

You take a shuddering breath, trying to calm your racing heart as you wait for the person on the line to confirm your order. All the while, you can feel the heat of Xavier's skin against your back, his cock throbbing deep inside you.

As the person on the line reads your order back to you, confirming the details of your large, spicy noodles, you can barely focus on the words. Your entire being is centered on the feeling of Xavier starting to move behind you, his hips pulling back before slamming forward with a newfound intensity.

"Y-Yes," you whisper breathlessly into the phone, the single word drawn out as he pounds into you. Your fingers curl, nails digging into the hard surface as you try to anchor yourself against the force of his thrusts.

"We have your location already, it's the one linked to this phone number right?"

Yes!" you nearly scream into the phone, the word echoing off the walls he lifts your leg higher, your foot flexing in the air. For a moment, you're not sure if your desperate affirmation is for the patient woman on the line or the man relentlessly pounding into you.

"Will that be all miss?"

"Mmm, yes...yes, that's it," you pant into the phone, the words coming out in breathy, broken gasps. "I mean, yes, that's my order! The large spicy noodles!"

Please let her think I'm just really excited about my food order and not the fact that my boyfriend is fucking me silly right now.

"Ok it will be there in 30 min."

"Yes, yes, that's it!" you cry out, slamming your palm against the table as you hang up the phone, too lost in the throes of pleasure to remember basic manners. The phone clatters to the floor.

"Such a good girl, holding back your screams"

"Mmmmfff...ahhh..." you whimper, drool dripping down your chin as you bite your lip hard, trying to stifle the shrieks of pleasure threatening to erupt from your lungs. Your eyes roll back in your head, your toes curling so hard they start to cramp as he fucks you through your climax and straight into another one.

"Fuck, Xavier," you gasp out "You fuck me so good. So fucking good."

His hand slides down your belly, fingers delving through the slick, tangled curls at the apex of your thighs. He finds your clit, swollen and sensitive from your recent orgasm, and he pinches the sensitive nub between his fingers. He rolls it, rubs it, teases it mercilessly as he continues to pound into you from behind.

"Next time you play these little pranks on me, just think again, bunny. The joke might be on you"

You knew Zayne was on an important call, but his stoic demeanor made you wonder if he would ever truly let loose and chase after you like the men in those videos. Still, you had to try your luck.

With a deep breath, you slowly pushed open the heavy door to Zayne's office, the hinges creaking softly as it swung inward. Zayne, engrossed in his call, didn't even glance up as you crept inside.

You knew he could sense your presence, but he simply paused, his brow furrowing slightly as he listened to whoever was on the other end of the line.

You couldn't chicken out now. You had to see this through.

You shiver slightly as the cool air of Zayne's office kisses your bare skin, your nerves on edge as you begin to walk around his spacious workspace. You run your fingers along the spines of the countless medical textbooks lining the shelves, pretending to scan the titles, all while secretly relishing the feeling of Zayne's gaze, now fixed on you.

His eyes, usually so sharp and focused, seem to cloud over with confusion and growing awareness as he takes in your naked body, wandering around his office. You can see the slight clench of his jaw, the minute flinch of his fingers tightening around the receiver of the phone pressed to his ear.

Yet, to your surprise and mild disappointment, he doesn't utter a word, doesn't so much as clear his throat. He simply watches you, his expression unreadable, as you continue your shameless display. You can feel the weight of his stare boring into your back as you bend over to "examine" a stack of papers, your bare behind pointed squarely in his direction.

His silence is unnerving, but also thrilling, as you carry on your charade, waiting for that moment when he'll finally snap and give in. But for now, he simply listens to the voice on the other end of the line, his eyes glued to your every move, the only sign of his agitation being the rhythmic tapping of his pen against the desk calendar.

You feel a pang of disappointment as you realize your little stunt didn't have the desired effect. Zayne remained stoically focused on his call, not uttering a word or making a move to stop you as you began to turn and walk out of his office.

But just as you were about to slip out of the door, you heard Zayne's deep, measured voice ring out behind you. "Give me 30 minutes and I'll give you a call back," he said, his tone calm and professional.

Your heart skipped a beat, knowing you had waited too long to make your escape. You froze, one hand on the doorknob, as you heard the click of the phone being set back into its cradle. A tense, heavy silence filled the room, and you knew with a sinking feeling that you were well and truly caught.

You could feel Zayne's presence looming behind you, his tall frame seeming to dwarf your smaller one as he rose from his chair. The air grew colder, and you shivered as you slowly turned to face him, your eyes wide and wary.

Zayne stood there, his arms crossed over his broad chest, his eyes dark and stormy as he looked you over. His eyes raked over your naked body, taking in every curve, before settling on your face with an intensity that made your breath catch in your throat.

"Y/N," he said,"what do you think you are doing?

You try to play it off with a flippant laugh, walking backwards "It was just a prank, Zayne! Lighten up."

Before you can react, he's swept you up into his arms, throwing you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. You yelp in surprise, your naked body bouncing against his shoulder blades as he carries you back towards his desk.

"Zayne, what are you doing?" you gasp out, your face flushed with embarrassment and growing excitement. "Put me down!"

But he ignores your protests, his hand coming to grip your bare ass with a possessive squeeze. "Oh, I'll put you down alright" he growls.

He tosses you onto the plush bed, your body bouncing slightly on the mattress. You lie there, staring up at him with wide, startled eyes as he looms over you.

In a matter of seconds, Zayne has shed his shirt, tossing it carelessly to the side. His eyes blaze with a hunger you've never seen before as he quickly removes his pants and underwear, baring his impressive length.

He crawls onto the bed, settling his weight on top of you, pinning you down with his hips. You can feel his cock pressing urgently against your stomach.

"We have 28 minutes, sweetheart," Zayne murmurs "Lets make every second count."

He leans down, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear as he speaks "I should punish you for this little stunt. But instead, I'm going to fuck you so hard, you'll forget your own name."

Zayne's hand slides down to palm the soft curve of your breast. He squeezes roughly, his fingers sinking into the flesh as he tugs and teases your nipple, rolling the hardened peak between his fingers.

You barely have time to gasp his name before Zayne is thrusting into you, filling you completely in one powerful surge. A low moan tears from your throat, your head falls back against the pillow as your body struggles to adjust to his size.

Zayne sets a relentless pace, his hips snapping forward with a force that rocks the bed frame and makes the headboard slam against the wall. Each thrust drives the breath from your lungs, your breasts bouncing with the impact.

You feel dizzy, overwhelmed by the intensity of it, your senses reeling as he takes you with a hunger bordering on feral. Your fingers scrabble at his back, nails digging into the hard muscle of his shoulders as you cling to him.

He buries his face in the crook of your neck, his breath coming hot and fast against your skin as he loses himself in the feel of your body. One hand grips your hip, holding you in place as he drives into you, while the other palms your breast, kneading the soft flesh roughly.

You can feel the tension building low in your belly, the coil of heat tightening with each drag of his cock against your walls.

He suddenly flips you over onto your stomach and before you can catch your breath or gather your wits, he's positions you on your hands and knees.

You try to crawl away, to escape the intensity of his lust, but it's too late. Zayne's hands grip your hips as he pulls you back against him. You feel the hard length of his cock pressing against the curve of your ass, hot and insistent.

"Oh god, Zayne, wait-" you gasp out, but your plea is cut off by a sharp cry as he thrusts forward, sinking deep into your core. The new angle allows him to plunge even deeper, the head of his cock kissing your cervix with each thrust. It hurts so good.

You try to crawl forward again, your elbows and knees shaking as you attempt to escape the brutal pace of Zayne's thrusts. But it's no use because he yanks you back by the hips, slamming you against his pelvis and burying his thick cock even deeper into your cunt.

"Keep trying to run away," Zayne snarls "Keep fighting it, sweetheart. Eventually, you'll run out of bed, and I'll still be here, fucking your brains out."

You tiptoed inside his studio, trying to be as quiet as possible but the wooden floorboards creaked softly beneath your feet, catching Rafayel's attention. He turned to look at you, his eyes widening in surprise when he saw you were completely naked.

"Cutie, what are you doing?" Rafayel asked, setting down his paintbrush as he rose from his stool. His eyes lingered on your body "Walking around naked like that, you'll catch a cold," he teased, moving towards you with a playful glint in his eyes.

You giggled, backing away slowly as Rafayel approached. Your heart raced with exhilaration and a hint of nervousness.

Suddenly, Rafayel lunged forward, attempting to catch you in his arms. Startled, you let out a yelp of surprise and spun around to flee. But in your haste, you failed to notice a loose floorboard and your foot caught on it. Time seemed to slow as you lost your balance, your arms flailing wildly.

Rafayel reached out to catch you, but his own foot slipped on the slick floor from the spilled paint.

Together, you both tumbled towards a table, crashing sounds filling the studio. The table tipped over, sending paints, brushes, and canvas clattering to the floor.

Rafayel landed with a grunt, his body cushioning your fall as he wrapped his arms protectively around you.

"Gotcha!" Rafayel whispered with a triumphant grin, his arms tightening around your naked body as you laugh and squirm beneath him. The cool paint dripping down your thighs and stomach contrast deliciously with the warmth of his skin pressed against yours.

You try to break free, playfully attempting to escape his grasp, but Rafayel doesnt let you go. He chuckles as he holds you firmly in place. "Not so fast, my little troublemaker," he teases "You can't just barge in here naked and expect to get away without consequences."

"Look at the mess you've made," Rafayel remarks, his fingers trailing lightly over the colorful streaks adorning your skin.

"And now, look at the mess I'm going to make of you," he adds with a smirk, his intentions clear in the heated gaze he directs at you.

You gasp as you feel his hand slide down, paint and skin mingling as his touch ignites sparks of desire within you.

"Rafayel, wait," you breathe out, your voice barely above a whisper. But your body betrays your true desires, arching slightly into his touch, craving more of the delicious sensations only he can provide. 

Rafayel's hands, slick with paint, slowly drag up the curve of your stomach. His touch leaves a trail of colorful streaks on your skin. You can't help but shiver, your body both chilled and electrified by the contact.

As his hands reach the swell of your breasts, Rafayel pauses, admiring the way the paint contrasts against your natural skin tone. A grin spreads across his face as he cups your breasts, his thumbs brushing teasingly over your nipples. The sudden stimulation makes your back arch slightly off the floor.

"Beautiful," Rafayel murmurs, more to himself than to you. But the reverent tone in his voice is unmistakable, his gaze filled with adoration and desire. His hands knead and caress your breasts, the paint now smearing across your sensitive skin, marking you as his canvas.

Your nipples harden under his fingers, aching for more of his attention. Rafayel seems to sense this, his thumbs circling and teasing the stiff peaks until you're writhing beneath him.

"Such a stunning masterpiece," he whispers, before leaning down and replacing his fingers with his mouth. His lips close around one nipple, suckling and flicking over the sensitive bud, while his hand continues to grope and massage the other.

"Raf...please..."

"Please, what?" Rafayel murmurs against your breast. His tongue swirls around your nipple, the cool paint mixing with the heat of his mouth, the combination of sensations driving you wild.

He pulls back slightly "Please, stop?" he asks, feigning innocence. "Or please, don't stop?"

Rafayel's lips, now stained a pretty shade of blue from the paint, curve into a playful smile as he looks down at you. His eyes, those mesmerizing swirls of blue and pink, dance with amusement "You're the one that walked in here," he points out "Shouldn't you be more specific about what you want, cutie?" his words are dripping with sarcastic charm.

He tugs his pants and underwear down, freeing his pretty cock. Its already fully erect and leaking as he takes himself in hand to line the swollen head with your entrance.

"Oh my god, Raf..."

"That's right, cutie," Rafayel growls, his voice dripping with arrogance "The only god you're going to be calling right now..."

With a sharp thrust of his hips, he sinks fully inside you, stretching and filling you completely. A moan tears from your throat, your pussy clenching tightly around him.

"...is me."

You walk down the hallway, heart pounding in your chest as you approach the slightly ajar door to Caleb's office. The sound of his voice, muffled and formal, filters out from inside, he must be in the middle of a video meeting with his Farspace Fleet colleagues.

Perfect.

Taking a deep breath, you push the door open and slip inside, letting it click shut behind you. Caleb's focused on the camera, oblivious to your presence as he discusses some kind of mission briefing.

This is it. Now or never.

You walk in, naked as the day you were born. The cold air raising goosebumps all over your body. You smirk to yourself, imagining the look on Caleb's face when he sees you.

Slowly, you make your way towards him, footsteps silent on the carpeted floor. As you get a bit closer, you hear him say something about wrapping up the meeting.

Shit you are running out of time.

You hold your breath, heart hammering wildly in your ribcage as Caleb spots you. This is it. The moment of truth. Will he be pissed? Or will he find it funny, sexy even?

His eyes widen as they land on your naked body, traveling slowly down. The shock on his face is priceless. For a moment, he just stares, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.

He slams the laptop shut, abruptly ending the video call. The sudden move makes you flinch, a flicker of uncertainty crossing your mind.

Did I go too far this time?

He steps towards you, each footfall deliberate and measured, until he invades your personal space. You have to crane your neck back to maintain eye contact, your breathing shallow and quick.

He reaches out, his gloved hand coming to rest beneath your chin, tilting your face up to meet his eyes. His thumb brushes over your lower lip, a teasing caress that sends a shiver down your spine.

"Trying to get yourself into trouble, it seems," his voice is low and tinged with a hint of laughter. "And succeeding beautifully, as always."

" Caleb, it's just a prank... I..."

"Didn't anyone ever tell you it's rude to interrupt someone during a meeting?" he asks playfully, head cocking to the side as he looks down at you.

You don't think twice and run, your bare feet slapping against the floor as you make a break for the door.

"Oh, you're in for it now," Caleb growls. You can practically feel him gaining on you, his long strides devouring the distance between you.

You reach the door, wrenching it open and sprinting out into the hallway. The cool air kisses your skin, your hair whipping behind you as you run. You can hear Caleb's footsteps growing louder, closer.

Suddenly, you feel his hand close around your wrist, yanking you back. You stumble, falling against his chest, your naked body molding to the hard planes of his uniform. He wraps his arms around you, caging you against him as he walks you backwards into the bedroom.

"Did you really think you could run from me?" he murmurs, his breath hot against your ear.

Caleb's strength is no match for your struggling. With a swift tug, he wrenches you off your feet, sending you tumbling onto the bed. You land on the soft mattress with a soft oof, breath knocked out of you momentarily.

Before you can recover, Caleb is on top of you, pinning your wrists above your head. "I think I'll just have to find a better way to...keep you occupied."

Using his evol he flips you onto your hands and knees and you feel the heat of his body hovering over you, the rough fabric of his pants brushing against your bare skin.

You hear the unmistakable sound of his zipper lowering and you glance back over your shoulder, heart pounding in your throat. His eyes are dark, almost black in the low light, his gaze fixed on where his cock rests at your entrance. He's already hard, thick and heavy, the head of his cock nudging against your entrance.

"I bet you thought you could tease me and just run off, didn't you?"

He rocks forward, the length of his cock sliding between your folds, teasing you.

"Well, you're not going anywhere now. Not until I've fucked this neediness out of you. Not until you're a boneless, satisfied mess beneath me."

A sharp gasp escapes your lips as Caleb's gloved hand fists in your hair, gripping the strands tightly. He twists once, twice, using the makeshift handle to yank your head back. At the same time, he drives forward, his hips snapping against your rear as he thrusts inside of you.

His grip on your hair tightens, forcing your back to arch as he starts to move. "I love watching you run pipsqueak,"

"Caleb..."

His other hand comes down hard on your ass, the leather of his glove leaving a reddening imprint on your skin "because I get to fantasize about what I'll do when I catch you"

You stand before Sylus, Naked. The cold air pebbling your nipples as you take a deep breath to steady your nerves. This is crazy, you know it, but Sylus would never harm you.

You watch his face intently for a reaction as he remains bent over his gun, still meticulously cleaning it.

"Lost something, kitten?" Sylus asks casually, not even glancing up from his task. "I don't recall inviting you in here in such a state of undress."

Ugh, of course he knew

He sets the gun down and leans back in his chair, finally meeting your gaze. His eyes widen slightly as they move over your naked body. A smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth.

"You know, most people knock. Or at least have the decency to put on a robe before invading someone's private space." He reaches out and lightly traces a finger along your stomach, his touch electric against your bare skin.

"Well, don't let me stop you from your little game. I'm sure you had a reason for barging in here naked."

You shrug nonchalantly, a playful grin spreading across your face. "It was just a prank, Sy. I saw it on a video online and thought I'd try it out on you."

Sylus stands up slowly, towering over you and takes a step closer, his chest nearly brushing against you.

"Perhaps you should be more careful with your pranks, sweetie. A girl could get hurt, parading around like a piece of meat."

He leans in closer, his breath ghosting over your ear. "Or worse...she could get eaten."

Before you can react or try to run from him, he raises a hand and flicks his wrist. Suddenly, tendrils of his signature black/red energy erupt from the shadows, coiling around your body.

They wrap around your wrists and ankles, binding you firmly but not painfully in place. The tendrils are cool and smooth against your bare skin. You find yourself anchored, unable to flee, at Sylus's mercy.

"Running off so soon, kitten?" Sylus chuckles, his smirk still on his lips as he circles your bound body slowly, admiring the view from every angle. "We were just starting to have fun."

He sits back down on the chair, his movements graceful and predatory. With a pulse of his dark power, he sends tendrils of energy snaking out to wrap around your thighs. They lift you effortlessly, pulling your naked body over his lap, your stomach pressed against his muscular thighs.

His hands come to rest possessively on your hips "If you're so determined to be a cock tease, Y/N, there will be consequences."

You feel the rigid length of Sylus's arousal pressing insistently against your bare stomach as he holds you pinned in his lap. The heat of it, even through his clothing, sends a shameful thrill through you.

Without warning, his hand comes down hard on the soft flesh of your ass, the sharp slap echoing in the room. He repeats the action, spanking you firmly on both cheeks twice in quick succession.

"Ah!" You can't help but gasp, face flushing hot with embarrassment.

Sylus grips your stinging ass cheeks hard, kneading the tender flesh almost painfully as he leans in close. "Consider this a warning for the next time you decide to put on a little show and get my dick hard with no intention of following through."

Another hard smack to your ass, the force jostling your body against his clothed erection. The combination of pain and shameful arousal is dizzying.

"Because I won't be so gentle if you keep teasing what you can't handle, sweetie. You play with fire, you're liable to get burned," Sylus growls, squeezing your ass roughly again before delivering another sharp slap.

You can feel the slick heat gathering between your thighs, your clit throbbing in time with your racing heart.

If you were to part your legs just a bit he would be able to see what this was doing to you.

So you do it. Just an inch.

As Sylus sees the glistening arousal coating your inner thighs, he chuckles and once again his evol tendrils lift you, positioning your cunt right over the bulge straining against his pants.

Sylus makes quick work of his belt and zipper, freeing his fat cock. It springs up, long and thick, the swollen head leaking with need. Your eyes widen at the sight, a fresh gush of wetness flooding your core.

"Look how wet you are, kitten," Sylus whispers approvingly, rubbing the leaking tip of his cock teasingly along your slit, not quite penetrating you. "Clenching around nothing, aching to be filled."

"If I'm going to ride you Sy, does that mean I get to be in control?"

He throws his head back with an amused laugh at your naive question and then with a sharp thrust of his hips he sits you down on his cock. The breath is driven from your lungs at the sudden intrusion, a strangled moan escaping your lips.

"Ffffffffuck" You can't help but cry out, back arching as you're stretched and filled.

"Don't get it twisted, kitten. I can fuck you just as good from the bottom as I can from the top."

[creepychan08]

take my cock, milady ! ˖𓂃 .⚜ ݁˖

♥︎ ︎ featuring: servant! caleb, sylus, zayne, rafayel, xavier x countess! fem-afab!reader

— ༉‧₊ᐟ premise: you are the beloved countess of a prosperous noble family, cherished for your innocence and grace. but no one is perfect, for in a secluded room at tonight’s social ball, something rather ungraceful is unfolding…

❝ but—we're not allowed! it's improper—! ❞

— ༉‧₊ᐟ tags/cws: [nsfw] pure smut, regency au, piv, creampie, indecent / semi-public exposure, dubcon, classist / sexist sentiments, forbidden attraction

— ♫₊ᐟ soundtrack: wildest dreams (from bridgerton s1)

✧ a/n: inspired by the lewd royal manhwas they don't allow on the naver webtoon app (and bridgerton, ofc) <3

It’s social season again.

You…dislike it. The wide, blinding smiles with little behind them, the stuffy ball gowns with far too many frills, the uncanny conversations about the weather you’re forced to endure… It’s all so tiring.

Here you are, in your poufy designer skirts, growing more anxious by the second. Your pink lace corset is squeezing the life out of your lungs. It wouldn’t be the most admirable display of manners, but you could really use some time alone right now.

You enter one of the empty study rooms down the busy hallway, suffocated and overwhelmed all at once. But what you don’t expect is your freshly-hired servant to follow you in…

“Are you quite alright, Milady?” You startle, surprised to hear another voice in the room with you. Male. Oh no. “Yes, yes, I’m just fine. Thank you, Caleb.” You politely request some peace and quiet, waving him away with delicate, gloved fingers. Let’s just say, it would be less than ideal if someone were to catch you alone in here with a man. A playful grin plays at his lips, and you freeze. How have you not noticed his ravishing good looks all this time? “It seems to me that you’re in need of a little release. A beautiful maiden like you must be…frustrated.” You pretend to misunderstand him, though you know perfectly well what he means. He’s right—being cooped up in the manor all day has left you dry, in every sense of the word. Heat pools in your core, though you try your best to ignore it. After all, it isn’t proper for a noblewoman to be consulting her servant on intimate matters like these.

His breath warms your cheek as he steps infinitely closer, and the throbbing between your legs intensifies. “Let me handle you, Milady…” he whispers, soft and alluring. Your body leans into his, even as your mind screams at you to shove him straight to the heavens.. His hands are on your hips, bunching up the fabric of your skirt— “This is improper— We can’t—” But instead of pulling away, you let yourself succumb to his ministrations, lost in the wonderful feeling of his searing touch on your skin. He’s planting wet kisses on your neck now, gently pushing you up against the wall as you sigh and wonder if anyone outside can hear you. “You’re wet for me, Princess,” he muses as he reaches a skilled hand between your legs, his thumb brushing against your nub of nerves. A small squeal leaves your lips. “Shh shh shh, they’ll hear us…” He pushes your skirt all the way up to your waist before freeing his large, erect cock, angling it so that the tip rests just between your folds. Your mouth hangs open as he pushes his length all the way into your sex—the first long, delicious glide of his dick along your walls like releasing a breath of relief. You fail to suppress a tortured moan, and he chuckles against the curve of your neck.

His thrusts are slow at first, unhurried. But then his grip on your waist tightens and your pussy clenches in response, the blinding pleasure overwhelming you. Distantly, you remember this man is your servant—a man without status or recognition—yet here he is, fucking you into oblivion at a ball with your back against a priceless, likely stained painting. He groans into your ear and your whimpers come out louder, prompting him to press a hand to your mouth and muffle your cries. “You’re going to go back out there…and act like nothing happened… You hear me?” he grits out between pants, holding your thigh up to pound into your cunt with unforgiving force. You come undone. Hot, sticky cum fills you to the brim while you shake and spasm like a hummingbird, the most euphoric sensation washing over you.

By the time he’s pulled out and gathered his composure, you’ve only just smoothed down your unruly mess of hair, your legs still trembling as you attempt to straighten your skirt. “Alert me whenever you’re in need of a little fun, Milady. I’ll make sure you never forget how it feels to be wanted again.” He winks at you, and your heart stills. His cum is still dripping down your legs when you return to the ballroom.

“Well, you look awfully pale, Milady.” You bristle at the deep, husky voice, unaware someone had followed you in. “Relax. It’s only me. I came in to check on you,” he pauses, examining the sleeves of his uniform. “Am I right to say that you’re a little…wound up right now?” He says it with concern, though a teasing lilt punctuates his words. “Sylus, we can’t be seen here together.” You say, panic rising in your throat. What will people think? What will your family say? Rumors spread like wildfire in high society—it won’t be long before your reputation is irreversibly tarnished. He merely snickers at your urgency, low and ominous. The smirk on his face is telling, though you don’t want to know what it is he’s trying to tell you. He steps closer to you, towering over your ribboned head with an un-servant-like ease.

Sparks ignite in your belly, a strange, filthy feeling that leaves you wanting more. His gloved hand brushes the side of your face as he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. “I happen to know all the ways to satisfy a lady…” Your eyes flutter as he loosens your corset, every inch of your body responding to his touch. “The pleasure I’m capable of providing… Aren’t you tempted, Kitten?” And even though you know it's wrong, and you know it’s unbecoming, and that you’ll probably regret this the second it’s over, you breathe, “Yes…” He hums in response, trailing soft licks and kisses down the side of your neck as he wrenches your corset apart. Your plump breasts spill out, and his pupils dilate, his gaze fixated on your bare chest like an animal watching its prey. Hickeys bloom across your shoulder as his fingers twist your nipples, eliciting squeaks of surprise from you that only fuel his desire. “I’m going to bend you over, and you’re going to stay quiet. You hear me?” he orders, and you nod pathetically. As much as you hate the thought of submitting to your servant right now, the growing arousal between your legs is too much to bear.

You get on all fours on the carpeted ground, hoping to god no one walks in. The door doesn’t have a lock—it’s entirely possible for someone to stumble upon you like this. Impatient, he rolls your skirt up to expose your rear, and you shudder as he pulls your knickers down to your knees. “Wait— What if someone walks in—” But your protests are silenced by his rock-hard cock sliding into your pussy, the feeling of his girth stretching you from the inside sending waves of suffocating pleasure to your head. It’s obscene, the squelching noises echoing through the room as he plunges into you so fast and hard you see stars on the ceiling. With every thrust, his balls slap against your clit, and your eyes nearly roll to the back of your head. “Sylus— Slow down— I’m going to—” You moan into your elbow as he slams into you from behind, grunting and swearing under his breath as his cock swells.

Warm cum bursts from his engorged tip, the thick, viscous fluid leaking out of your pussy like syrup funneled from a tree. You collapse onto the floor, utterly spent. You were wrong—you don’t regret this one bit. “You’re free to take my cock whenever you’d like, Milady. After all, I do live to serve you.” The sardonic grin on his face nearly has you coming apart all over again.

“Is something the matter, Milady?” You recognize that voice. It’s your new servant, Zayne—the younger one. He isn’t supposed to be in here. “You looked a little pale earlier, so I took it upon myself to accompany you.” Your heart warms at his display of concern, though it does little to ease your distress over the situation. A woman must not be in the company of a man unchaperoned. “Can we speak outside?” The worry in your voice is clear. He walks up to you in an attempt to console you, his stride cautious. Right off the bat, you’d identified Zayne as “bright”. He’s hardworking, earnest, and never meddles in other people’s business. Today must be an exception. “Allow me to offer my help, Milady. I believe I know just the way to soothe a lady’s nerves. It’s…textbook.” Your stomach drops. He’s going to defile me—right here in this room! The indecency of it repulses you, yet you don’t head for the door. Your feet are rooted to the ground, completely helpless as his icy gaze travels the length of your body.

Gently, he guides you down onto the wide couch, settling you on his lap with a care that makes your breath hitch. “You’re my servant, Zayne—” But your efforts are futile. He’s dragging his hand along your thigh, his touch scorching hot as your skirt hikes up with it. You’ve never felt such powerful sensations before. It’s intoxicating. He reaches under your knickers and, with his thumb, begins to draw small circles on your most sensitive spot. You whimper in response, slickening almost instantaneously. How embarrassing..! “Does this feel good, Your Grace?” Your eyes respond for you, half-lidded and needy. It isn’t long before you’re grinding on his leg, chasing that sweet friction you now desperately need. Is he doing this on purpose? Drawing it out for your benefit?

He doesn’t torment you for long. Withdrawing his hand from between your legs, he pulls his pants down to his ankles and his twitching, hard cock springs free. You gape at the size of it, wondering if it’ll even fit. But that wicked, aching need in your core only grows stronger with every second that passes; the idea of him barely fitting sounds… To put it plainly, you're willing to do many unladylike things in this room right now. And though every last brain cell is telling you to get up and leave while you still can, you slide onto his cock anyway. It tingles so wonderfully where you’re connected in his lap—you give in to your body’s desires and bounce on it. “Faster, please—” he groans as you fuck yourselves silly on the couch, keeping your pace as best as you can and crying out each time his tip hits your sweet spot. People might hear us… you think anxiously, yet somehow your pleasure only heightens, the mental image if you and your servant fucking like rabbits in a room that doesn’t belong to you so thoroughly demented.

His dick throbs inside you, and your walls flutter. You both struggle to muffle your cries as he pumps his thick seed into your cunt, every part of your shaking so violently you nearly fall off his lap. “I sincerely hope that was…effective, Milady. Judging by your body’s response, I’d say you’ll be satisfied for a while. But when that satisfaction eventually fades…” His dick is still snug in your pussy, and you feel your walls tightening again. “Eventually” may come sooner than he thinks.

“Tough crowd, Milady?” You gasp and spin around. What? “You look like you’re about to faint.” Your new servant, Rafayel, stands by the closed door, a curious expression on his face. “I-I’m fine. Could I have some privacy, please?” you stammer, flustered. It isn’t acceptable for a lady to be hiding away at a social event like this, let alone with a male servant. So many things could go wrong. “Why? Don’t you think it’d be in your best interest to let off some steam?” He smirks at you, coy and sensual. There’s a hidden edge to him you’ve never noticed before—it’s making your knees weak. He tosses his gloves onto the floor and approaches you, slowly. Darkly. He looks like he’s about to give you orders.

“Face the wall. You’ll do as I say, won’t you?” He’s lust-drunk, hazy and hungry at the mere sight of you. The command—along with the aching throb between your legs— offends you, and you spit, “I am a noblewoman, excuse you—” “You’re a woman. And we both know you’re wet for me…” he whispers, sending shivers down your spine. Your body involuntarily arches against his, and he chuckles sadistically. Silently, you start to pray. You don’t know exactly what it is you’re praying for, but it involves his hands all over you and your mouth on his— Your sinful thoughts shock you, yet you’ve never longed for anything as miserably as you do this. Fresh arousal dribbles down your inner thigh as he corners you against the wall. At a loss, you glare at him defiantly. “You’re a nobody—”

You’re spun around and pressed up against the wall in an instant, the outline of his cock pressing against your ass. A started whimper leaves your lips as he nips at your earlobe, sharp and angry. “You’re gonna regret all that mouthing off, Princess,” he snarls, and your toes curl in anticipation. In one sudden movement, his pants are on the ground, and your skirt is pushed up to expose your ass. He shoves your undergarments to the side and thrusts his length into your sopping cunt, a firm hand restraining yours to the wall. The pleasure is euphoric, foreign—each jerk of his hips sending you into a mindless daze. His breath warms your cheek as he groans, and in the heat of the moment, he seizes your mouth, hot and hurried. “I think I’m going to—” But you choke on your words as a strained moan erupts from your throat, his dick hitting the ceiling of the sticky space inside you. What would the other nobles think if they saw you like this; all whiny and pathetic while taking your servant’s cock?

With one final thrust, ropes of cum drench the walls of your pussy, and the feeling of coming undone around his cock is indescribable. He grunts as he pushes his seed deep into your heat, his grip on your waist never loosening. Though you loathe to admit it, you needed that. You cling to his strong arms as you descend from your high. His voice is possessive, sinister when he says, “You’re mine. I don’t care who stands in my way. You’ll always be mine.”

“I couldn’t help but follow you in, Milady.” Xavier? What on earth is he doing in here? “It’s come to my attention that you haven’t been feeling your best tonight.” He’s naturally reserved and a bit on the no-nonsense side—you know that much. Surely he’s only here with good intentions. “No worries, Xavier. Just needed a little breather, that’s all.” His icy blue eyes lock on yours, and your breath catches in your throat. He looks…unconvinced. “Don’t look at me like that,” he murmurs, averting his gaze. Like what? There’s no one else in this room. Could he be…in heat right now? You frown at him, wary, and make your way to the door.

A hand reaches out to grab you by the elbow, effectively stopping you in your tracks. “What—” He pulls you into his embrace, his breaths short and labored. “You’re not leaving this room, Milady. I need to have you here.” He unties the ribbons holding your corset together, his fingers fumbling with urgency. You’re too stunned to move, yet you don’t yell at him or push him away. Heat pools in the pit of your stomach, an ache begging to be soothed. Your perky breasts are freed in an instant, swaying in his face before he latches onto your nipple and begins to suck at it like a man starved. The wet, sloppy licks of his tongue cloud your brain, and your pussy clenches. “Xavier, wait—” you protest, but he’s sucking on your other nipple right now, and your words die in your mouth. He’s clearly skilled, but you still can’t wrap your head around it. This servant of yours—a quiet, modest boy—is driving you to tears by suckling on your tits.

“Do you want my cock?” he asks, suddenly arrogant and crude. You nod obediently and let him pull you down onto the floor, shivering as he frees his hardened length and pushes your legs apart. You’re so wet it’s embarrassing, but it only seems to encourage him. He removes your knickers and presses his tip to your folds, the friction making your hips roll upwards. “Be patient,” he orders, and you nod once more. Slowly—torturously so—he inserts himself into your tight heat, making sure you feel every inch of his cock rubbing against your walls. You moan his name and flush hot, unused to the feeling of being this naked, this vulnerable in front of a man. He’s pounding into you seconds later, unable to hold back himself. Thrust. Thrust. Thrust. His control is slipping, and you’re paying the price for it. You feel so full, so dirty with his cock between your legs, like you’re committing an unforgivable sin that will bar you from heaven forever. But you don’t care—this is heaven to you. This is pure, inexorable bliss.

His movements stutter, and he blows his load deep into your cunt as you fail to muffle your screams. Your pussy spasms hard, your juices leaking onto the carpet in an obscene puddle. Can’t—stop—shaking— He helps you up, his hold around your waist steady. “I apologize, Milady. I-I couldn’t resist.” You stare at the cum gliding down your calf and consider making him your personal servant.

— ⋆˙⟡ ©berrryparfait

《 please do not copy / plagiarize / translate my works or publish them on any other platforms. 》

[creepychan08]

Soft Yandere!Self-Aware!Zayne with Inexperienced! Player headcanons

warnings: fem!reader, aged-up!reader (early to late twenties), nurse!reader, self-aware!au, obsessive behavior, OOC, ghosting.

Special thanks to @jinwoosbabyboo and @circeyoru for their help with beta-reading as well as proofreading the earlier stages of this piece so that it be posted on Valentine’s Day. I am happy to announce that Rafayel is finished and scheduled to be released on 2/22. I am hoping to finish the edits for Caleb on 2/28 but uncertain at this point due to putting in more overtime at the office. I will make a post or mention it in the author’s note for the next segment

With that being said, sit back, relax, and enjoy the show~!

Although studies have shown that having hobbies can have a positive impact on a person’s physical and mental health, you weren’t too sure how the hottest mobile game on the market would count under that category. A coworker had recommended Love and Deepspace, praising the sleek game mechanics, the plot, and, of course, the good-looking capture targets. You had enough otaku knowledge from your high school and college years to figure out how otome games worked, but you never bothered playing them because it felt weird to have a romantic relationship with someone who didn’t exist in real life. Plus, it’s hard to find time and sit down to play games when you’re constantly on your feet at the hospital as a medic or running around town trying to finish all your errands on your only day off. Adulting can be super rough, especially in today’s economy.

However, you knew your coworker would not stop pestering you to give Love and Deepspace a chance, so you downloaded the darn game anyway after you got home from your twelve-hour shift. You ended up watching a few videos on how to play it, then tried to see how the game mechanics worked once you were fully awake. Customizing the Hunter’s appearance was easy. Farming gems, understanding the basics of combat, learning the importance of leveling up Memories and trying to not let the Energy Capsules expire? That took a lot longer to learn than just a weekend like your co-worker accomplished.

You ended up selecting Zayne as the love interest you wanted to romance after completing [Prologue to Tomorrow]. Between Xavier and Rafaeyl, the cardiac surgeon who treats the Hunter for her heart condition piqued your curiosity. Well, more like how accurate the medical terminology in the game was and how he treated his patients.

He was good-looking too, if that counted for anything.

A couple of YouTubers who have played the game recommended logging in daily for rewards on the off chance that you, the player, might even get Empyrean Wishes to help unlock Memories from the Wish Pools and get closer with the capture targets.

But what happens when you don’t log into the game for a month, leaving Zayne worried about you at Destiny Cafe as time slowly ticks by in his world? If you had known that by not logging in even once when things suddenly got busy in real life…would your current situation have changed for the better, or for worse?

Self-Aware! Zayne wasn’t sure what to make of you at first. He truly thought he was imaging things, caused by overworking and accumulated stress. After all, how could he hear someone else’s voice that doesn’t belong to his Hunter? But the more he interacted with Miss Hunter at the hospital or in public, the more he noticed your existence. How would he confirm you are real? That was another question entirely.

Then the incident happened.

Except for Miss Hunter, no one else knew that he had a sweet tooth. If it weren’t for his daily home workouts and balanced diet, he would have probably become prediabetic with multiple trips to the dentist to remove cavities. Yet one day out of the blue, he smelled the aroma of freshly baked cinnamon rolls and freshly brewed coffee.

“Oh yeah, these look absolutely delicious!” He heard a thunk, like a tray being placed on top of a stovetop, followed by two beeps, presumably turning off the oven. “Ari’s gonna love these when I bring some over tomorrow morning. Now for the icing-”

“Who are you?” He blurted.

“Huh?” You said. “Who said that? There isn’t a weirdo in my house, is there?”

“No, it’s just me.”

“Uh, when did the LADS app open up? Wait, why is Zayne talking to me? Like in real time and not in standby mode? I didn’t log in with my voice, did I? ‘Cause that isn’t an update I wasn’t aware of.”

He frowned. “I am myself. More importantly, how do you know my name and what did you mean by the LADS app-” The chiming of a bell suddenly rung in his ears, then silence. Zayne called out to you again. No response. He sighed heavily, rubbing the bridge of his nose. Did he go too far? He wasn’t sure.

While he was finishing up some work in his office before his two o’clock consultation appointment arrived, however, he heard your voice again, but it was faint alongside another person.

“-you sure that you haven’t seen that happen in the app before, Ari?”

“Nope, and I’m the one who’s been playing it the longest. Log in and let’s see what the home screen looks like.”

“Okay.”

Zayne heard the bell in his ear again; but instead of resuming his interrogation, he opted to test a hypothesis. If this sound was a signal of your arrival, what would happen if he acted as he heard nothing at all?

“I don’t know what to tell ya. He seems normal to me. Nothin’ glitchy or out of the ordinary. You sure you’re getting enough sleep, mama?”

“I think I am, but I stayed up late to watch the latest episode of The Great British Baking Show. Two more episodes and then the season finale!”

“Girl, those shows aren’t going anywhere. Seriously babes, go to bed early and no television or gaming tonight. God knows we’re going to need it with the season just around the corner. Oh, looks like Tonya is calling everyone for rounds. Let’s talk more later, yeah?”

“Fine.” Zayne could practically see the pout on your face. “But I still think I’m sane.” He was sure he heard Ari laughing and not you before he heard the bell chiming in his ear. You were gone, or had ‘logged off’ if he wanted to be technical.

This scenario would probably lead to Self-Aware! Zayne having a small existential crisis, or would immediately jump into the rational, scientific conclusion that you existed in a different dimension entirely. Why were you related to Miss Hunter? He couldn’t think of a conclusion yet, except that if he crossed paths with you again, he might get an answer.

Because all his initial interactions with you started at Destiny Cafe, Zayne expanded his investigation of the establishment on a whim. He really thought he wouldn’t find anything, at least until his hand bounced off of a pixelated barrier. He poked and prodded at it, but the fascinating thing is that no one even paid attention to what he was doing; people were continuing to enter, order at the counter, and then leave with their purchases as if it were just another day in Linkon City.

Quite unsettling indeed.

It took him almost two weeks to get past the barrier, not including crossing through the other gates shaped like different apps and the stars twinkling above him. Self-Aware! Zayne concluded this world was actually the inside of a cell phone. But how would he contact you from here? He highly doubted that you would answer if he pressed the Phone app. You could be working right now or even sleeping. The Message App was a possibility, and so was the Camera app. He decided to try the latter on a whim, speaking through it on Video Mode. A simple ‘hello’.

Self-Aware! Zayne didn’t expect to hear such colorful language leave the mouth of the person who resembled Miss Hunter to a startling degree, minus the scrub top and ID badge. At last, he could finally put a face to the voice he’s been hearing.

He watched you fumble over your words, excusing yourself from rounds to take a personal call in the breakroom as the screen above shook from your frantic footsteps. He heard the door close with a click before you looked down at him.

“What the fuck?” You whispered. “What the actual fuck? Please tell me that Zayne is talking to me because of another glitch in the game and that I am not losing my shit from all these extra shifts I’m taking.”

Self-Aware! Zayne frowned. “I am real, and I have been wanting to talk with you for a long time. I hope you aren’t losing sleep because of these extra shifts you’re doing, though. It’s good to be a team player, but it’s also important to take care of yourself.”

You swore again, even almost ready to faint from shock or exhaustion before he heard Ari’s voice from the other side, obviously worried at your unusual behavior. “You better go.” He said. “Perhaps we can talk during your break or after your shift? I imagine that this is…quite shocking.”

“Understatement of the year.” You grumbled. “But fine. When I get off of work, we’ll talk.” You glared at him. “If I find out that this is a prank, I swear to God-”

“I assure you it isn’t. Have a good day.” Then he disconnected himself from the Camera App, allowing himself to float back into his world until you contacted him at Destiny Cafe.

That was how his first meeting went with you. Not exactly something from the script of a cliched romance film, though the cardiac surgeon would like to think that his relationship with you has gotten better in the months that followed.

Self-Aware! Zayne is actually happy to meet someone who was also working in the medical field. He couldn’t discuss cases with you because of patient confidentiality, but he would share his day with you once you were online. He does his best to cheer up if you seem disheartened or stressed, suggests watching your favorite TV shows together on the couch. You need some space? He understands and hopes that if you need to vent, he’s here.

Self-Aware! Zayne takes an instant liking to the cooking shows in your world, especially the baking competitions. Coffee hangouts on your days off were especially delightful, especially when you have more than ten minutes to talk to each other before you have to log out to run an errand.

He understands you cannot always see him, though that doesn’t mean he isn’t thinking about you. If he were to be totally honest, he is looking forward to being in your company more than Miss Hunter. He loves to hear you talk about your family, your friends, anything that makes you happy.

“Hey Zayne, how come you haven’t been hanging out with Miss Hunter recently?” You asked as you were prepping your meals in the kitchen, getting ready for the next morning shift while your scrubs were tumbling in the dryer. “Is she out on another mission? Or do I dare think that you, the fluffy marshmallow that I know oh-so-well, is ignoring the childhood friend that he cares for so dearly?”

“I’m not ignoring her.” Self-Aware! Zayne said as he sat in the cafe, reclined in his favorite chair as his fingers tapped against the keyboard of his laptop. The hospital was especially busy this afternoon, hence why he’s rushing to finish his work before he can give you his undivided attention. Believe it or not, she’s free to do anything she wants. In fact, she just left the city to investigate the sighting of an Aether Core in the N109 zone.”

“So what do you call not responding to her texts? Ghosting? Because that is sort of the same thing, but a little more dick-ish. No offense, but you are way too calm at the fact that your friend is on an assignment in an incredibly dangerous area that is oozing with criminal activity.”

“You have nothing to worry about, [First Name]. Miss Hunter will be fine. If anything happens, she knows how to reach me. More importantly, did you drink an adequate amount of water and take a lunch break today? You mentioned last night that today was going to be….more stressful because a state inspector would visit your facility to make sure everything’s up to code. And eating an apple doesn’t count as a full meal.”

“An apple a day keeps the doctor away?”

Zayne chuckled. “Nice try.” He said. “What are you making for tomorrow’s meals?”

“Blueberry muffin with coffee for breakfast, then leftover chicken with broccoli, yellow rice, and a salad.”

“Eggs have more protein and fewer carbs than muffins, [First Name].”

“This is my cheat meal. Hush.”

“Fine, fine. Whatever you say.”

Self-Aware! Zayne could not imagine a life without you at this point. You were not a Hunter like Miss MC, and danger didn’t fill every corner of your universe. You’ve tried to push him to spend time with his childhood friend, someone he’s known for a long time, and was a person he thought he loved romantically. But you think otherwise, and that bothered him a little.

What could he do to show you he wants to be part of your life, through the ups-and-downs and everything in between? If he started expanding his reading into scientific journals about physics and parallel dimensions…would he be able to bring you to his world?

Taglist: @augustineyukimura @cherryblossomfox @suiana @lovelyevil @thattallpan @star-likes-fictional-people @angelltheninth @enrique-elidi @mochinon-yah @ottjhe @akiqvq @ixchelhernandez4 @zephyri1388 @gudaworks @lxdymoon0357 @dreamlessnight @circeyoru @jurijyuu @kthehoeforfictionalmen @lollipipz @beardedblizzardexpert

[creepychan08]

Organized Love and Deepspace Non-Mc Fic Recommendations

Sylus

☆ Angel of Her Own Making - by bwennie (link here)

☆ Mister Dragon, Let Me Love You - by clairewritesfanfics (link here)

☆ Heartbreak Anniversary with Sylus - by mephisto-reporting (link here)

☆ Sylus with non!mc reader - by yukithestar (one, two, three, four)

☆ enough - by captivating-flavors (link here)

☆ away (loosely part 2 of enough) - by captivating-flavors (link here)

☆ wilted promises - by shaiyasstuff (one, two, finale)

☆ delayed beginnings - by shaiyasstuff (one-shot, sequel, epilogue, bonus)

☆ The Great (Unnecessary) Divorce Incident - by mangooes (link here)

☆ The Winner Takes it All - by misshuntereevee (one, two)

☆ one in the head, two in the chest - by comatosebunny09 (link here)

☆ hurst so good - by comatosebunny09 (link here)

☆ The Sin & The Sinner - by saintobio (link here)

☆ Calm and Serenity - by blueivyy99 (masterlist)

☆ Impartial Hearts - by ladsonlads (link here)

☆ A Blooming Predicament - by subliminalwish (link here)

☆ merry christmas, mr. sylus - by comatosebunny09 (link here)

☆ merry christmas, mr. sylus (aftermath) - by comatosebunny09 (link here)

☆ sylus x non mc reader - by comatosebunny09 (link here)

☆ Lonely Birthday - Sylus - by i-messed-up-big-time (link here)

☆ BY NAME, ON PAPER - by ryusjwks (link here)

☆ OUT OF BOUNDS - by novthirty - (masterlist)

Zayne

☆ Nocturne of Twilight - by chuluoyi (part one)

☆ Dawn's First Light - by chuluoyi (part two)

☆ pit-a-pat - by shaiyasstuff (one-shot)

☆ Heartbreak Anniversary with Zayne - by mephisto-reporting (link here)

☆ Heart of Glass - by szarina (masterlist)

☆ My Wedding Vow Is To Divorce You - by kira-loves0905 (link here)

☆ Claiming Something That's Not Yours - by authorssmc (link here)

☆ evermore - by shaiyasstuff (link here)

☆ Lonely Birthday - Zayne - by i-messed-up-big-time (link here)

Caleb

☆ Rotten Apples - by rcvcgers (masterlist)

☆ mine - by captivating-flavors (link here)

☆ The Colonel's Keeper - by saintobio (link here)

☆ The Colonel's Saint - by saintobio (part two)

☆ The Terminator's Curse (spinoff of The Colonel Series) - by saintobio (link here)

☆ weightless paradise - by huxhsz (masterlist)

☆ back to friends - by hxlxnaaa (link here)

☆ Heartbreak Anniversary with Caleb - by mephisto-reporting (link here)

☆ Lonely Birthday - Caleb - by i-messed-up-big-time (link here)

☆ even when there was rain, sunshine came - by yuansie (masterlist)

☆ seven years - by cosmoszyn (link here)

☆ eighth year (part two of seven years) - by cosmoszyn (link here)

☆ a decade (part three of seven years) - by cosmoszyn (link here)

☆ LETTERS UNSENT - by orphicmeliora (link here)

Xavier

☆ glass half full - by shaiyasstuff (drabble)

☆ 3:07 a.m. - by shaiyasstuff (one-shot, sequel)

☆ we can't be friends - by kitimeq (link here)

☆ Duty's Cruel Embrace - rcvcgers (masterlist)

☆ Lonely Birthday - Xavier - by i-messed-up-big-time (link here)

Rafayel

☆ Heartbreak Anniversary with Rafayel - by mephisto-reporting (link here)

☆ Ocean Memories - by yuansie (masterlist)

☆ fate - by shaiyasstuff (one-shot, sequel)

☆ Loathe To Paint You - by rcvcgers (masterlist)

☆ You Were Meant For The Ocean - by sapphirexsolarium (link here)

☆ Lonely Birthday - Rafayel - by i-messed-up-big-time (link here)

◇ There's probably a lot of non-mc fics out there that i haven't read/seen BUT these are the ones that I'm currently reading / already read!

◇ To the authors mentioned THANK YOU FOR YOUR AMAZING WRITING/WORKS AND I LOVE YA'LL 🙈💗

◇ All links are up to date / will be updated!

◇ This list will be updated as well!

Last Edited May 28, 2025 12:14 am

♥ dividers used is made by enchanthings ♥

[creepychan08]

through the fire | sylus

synopsis : In a world where soulmate marks appear on your skin, yours arrives in red—the color of unrequited love. And the name written there is the last one you ever wanted to see: Zayne.

content : soulmate!au, unrequited love, angst

You stared at the name scrawled in red across your forearm.

Zayne.

So small. So cruel. So final.

Your breath caught in your throat, a trembling whisper slipping past your lips.

“Why is it his?”

The question barely made a sound, yet it rang loud in the silence of your apartment, echoing off the sterile white walls and the clinical smell of hospital-grade soap still lingering on your skin.

You pressed your palm over the name like you could smudge it away.

But red ink never fades. It brands.

It condemns.

A red soulmate mark.

You had seen the pamphlets before—those rare anomalies that happen once in a few hundred thousand people.

The ones born defective, the ones whose soulmates were already claimed by someone else.

Fated to ache. Fated to long. Fated to never be loved back.

You always thought it was tragic in a distant, abstract sort of way.

Until now.

Until it was his name.

Until it was Zayne.

Your Zayne.

Your friend. Your colleague.

The man who offered you coffee the day you transferred, when everyone else couldn’t be bothered to remember your name.

The one who knew when your hands shook after a 12-hour surgery and would silently leave your favorite chocolate mousse in the breakroom fridge.

The one who walked you home after night shifts, even though his apartment was one floor above yours.

The one you tried not to love.

You tried.

God, you tried.

Because his mark had already appeared months ago—in black. Like it was supposed to. Permanent. True. Undeniable.

You remembered how he told you.

How he looked almost dazed, fingers brushing over his skin like he couldn’t believe he was lucky enough to find her.

You had smiled. You had said you were happy for him. You had even helped him pick out a gift for their anniversary.

And maybe you were happy.

A small, pure part of you had been.

But the rest of you was bleeding.

But you didn’t expect this.

You didn’t expect the universe to be so cruel.

Because months later, your body chose him.

As if fate wanted to mock you.

As if it wanted you to watch him belong to someone else, forever just one floor above you, one breath out of reach.

Red meant doomed.

Red meant defect.

Red meant you would love someone who was never yours to begin with.

Your fingers trembled as you traced over the ink again.

You imagined what it would feel like to show him.

To watch his face crumble, or worse—pity you. To be told, gently and with unbearable softness, that he loved someone else.

That his heart already belonged to the woman whose name was etched into his skin in perfect, black permanence.

You would never be that name.

You would never be enough.

So you rolled down your sleeve and turned away from the mirror.

The name still burned beneath the fabric.

And in the quiet of your room, you allowed yourself to break—silently, like you always did.

Because even the stars knew.

You were never meant to be loved.

Only to love.

—•

Day by day, you saw him.

In break rooms and bustling hallways, beside you during rounds, across you during late-night debriefs.

He was always there—smiling softly, offering you coffee in the way only he knew you liked it.

Asking about your day with that quiet warmth that made your chest ache.

He never noticed the way your fingers twitched when you took the cup.

Never saw how you always kept your sleeves pulled just a little too low.

Never questioned the stiffness in your smile.

It had been months.

You had become an expert at hiding the truth—an actress in your own life, wearing ease like armor.

You laughed when he teased you.

Teased him back when he tried to guess your soulmate’s identity.

“He probably doesn’t live around here,” you’d say with a light shrug, the same one you’d perfected in the mirror.

And he’d nod, gentle and non-intrusive, never the type to pry.

And maybe that made it worse.

That he was kind.

That he was always kind.

His soulmate didn’t make things any easier either.

She was bright, and sweet, and unbearably thoughtful. The kind of person you couldn’t bring yourself to hate, even if it would make surviving this easier.

She brought you takeout after long shifts, remembered your favorite boba order, got you a little potted plant for your birthday and left a sticky note on your locker that read, “For when life gets too sterile.”

Just like now.

You sit quietly at your desk, the hospital gone still with night, overhead lights buzzing low.

The sky outside is a deep, velvet black, rain tapping gently against the window.

She hums softly as she unpacks the sushi she brought, setting it out like you were her little sister she needed to fuss over.

“You need to eat properly,” she scolds, her voice warm, mothering.

You smile up at her, gratitude in your eyes.

You mean it. You really do.

Even as your wrist pulses beneath your sleeve—raw, restless, unbearably red.

Even as your soul screams a name it can never say aloud.

You thank her.

You eat.

And you pretend not to feel the burn.

“Any luck yet?” she asks gently, nodding toward your wrist as she takes a sip of water.

You follow her gaze, pulse ticking beneath the fabric, and force a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

“No,” you say, voice light, practiced. “Maybe I’m just destined to be alone.”

A half-truth.

The kind that slips out easily when the full one is too cruel to name.

Because what could you say?

That the name on your wrist has been there for months?

That it burns with a devotion that will never be returned?

That it’s his name—her soulmate’s name—written in red?

That while she buys you dinner and worries over your health, your heart quietly bleeds for the man who kisses her forehead and saves his smiles for her?

So instead, you say nothing.

You stir the soy sauce into your rice and let the lie settle between you—gentle, unspoken, and unbearable.

She offers you a sympathetic smile, her voice soft with well-meaning hope.

“You’ll meet him someday.”

And there it is.

The ache.

Low and sharp, blooming beneath your ribs like something cruel and familiar.

You nod, because it’s easier than telling the truth.

Because she’s looking at you with such kindness, such sincerity—never realizing that her comfort is the wound.

She doesn’t know.

She can’t.

That you’ve already met him.

That he’s just down the hall, finishing up his reports, waiting to walk her home.

That the universe gave you a name and then watched you unravel.

So you smile again.

The kind that feels more like a wince.

“Yeah,” you whisper. “Maybe.”

—•

“I’ll see you around, Y/N.”

She smiles, radiant and unaware, her arm wrapped easily around his as the two of you stand face to face.

Your mark flares beneath your sleeve, a slow, burning throb that pulls your eyes to where her hand rests—light, familiar, right—against his.

And Zayne—

He looks down at her like she hung the stars.

With that quiet kind of fondness that once lived in his gaze for you, before the universe chose to remind you of your place.

Before the mark.

Before everything changed.

He told you once, in passing, how they met.

At a park. A lost puppy.

He’d helped her look for it, stayed with her until it was found. Said it felt ordinary. Nothing sparked then.

Not until a week later, when her name bloomed black on his wrist.

You remember the way his voice softened when he said it.

“Shaiya.”

Like it meant something holy.

Like it made sense.

You had smiled back then too.

And you do it again now, a practiced expression, polished by months of pretending.

“Yeah,” you say, voice steady. “See you.”

She waves, content.

Zayne glances at you, just for a second—just long enough for your heart to betray you.

Then they turn.

And you’re left behind.

As always.

Your mark burns again as you watch them walk away—slow, steady, inseparable.

It always flares like this when you start to ache for him.

When you let yourself want him, even for a moment.

As if fate itself is reprimanding you.

As if the pain is a reminder: You were never meant to be his.

Just a defect. A flaw in the system.

But you ignore it.

You’ve learned how to live with fire under your skin.

Instead, you cling to the memories—the ones that feel softer in hindsight, even if they hurt now.

“I hope your name appears on my wrist someday,” he’d said once, offhandedly, turning his head to glance at you with a quiet smile.

You had laughed, heart skipping despite yourself.

“If I was your soulmate, you’d probably end up with a headache from dealing with me.”

It was meant as a joke. Lighthearted.

But now—

Now, it tastes like irony.

Because it did appear.

Your name did show up.

Just not where it was supposed to.

Not on him.

—•

You didn’t quite know how you ended up here.

Maybe it was the silence of your apartment. Maybe it was the way your wrist still throbbed beneath your sleeve like a wound that wouldn’t close.

Or maybe—just maybe—you were tired of pretending you were okay.

So you found yourself in a dimly lit pub, the kind where no one asked questions and the music was low enough to disappear into.

You sat near the bar, shoulders hunched in a way you hadn’t noticed until your reflection caught you in the mirror.

One hand wrapped loosely around a glass of whiskey, the other idly pushing ice cubes in lazy circles.

“Here’s to unrequited love,” you mutter to no one, raising your glass like a toast to the cruel stars above.

You take a slow sip. Let the burn settle in your throat. Let yourself feel it—just for tonight.

Then—

A scent. Sharp. Clean.

Masculine and strangely grounding, like rain on stone.

It hits you all at once.

And before you can turn, an arm slides across the bar beside you—unhurried, confident.

He settles into the stool next to yours like it was always meant to be his.

You catch a glimpse.

White—no, silver—hair catches the low light. Almost too perfect. Almost otherworldly.

“Gin. On the rocks,” he says, voice low and smooth, like smoke rolling over velvet.

You glance at him, just for a moment.

And somehow, you felt drawn.

You let your gaze drift to the stranger beside you, curiosity outweighing caution.

He was striking in a way that demanded attention—dangerous, almost.

Red eyes, sharp and unflinching, stared ahead with the kind of focus that made the world seem like background noise to him.

His hair was a mess of white-silver strands, tousled and unruly, falling just above his brows like they had been kissed by moonlight.

And his mouth—curved in an easy, knowing smirk—looked as though it had never forgotten how to charm.

As if he was always just about to say something wicked.

There was an ease in the way he occupied the space, like he wasn’t merely sitting at the bar—but claiming it.

You stared a beat too long.

And then—

A sharp sting.

Your mark flared beneath your sleeve, searing hot.

You flinched, barely, teeth gritting as the pain sliced through the moment like glass.

Of course.

Even now—even with someone like him sitting beside you—the universe couldn’t let you forget.

You were still branded.

Still trapped.

Still hopelessly tethered to someone who would never be yours.

And the burn beneath your skin felt like fate laughing.

You cursed under your breath, the word slipping out low and bitter as the sting pulsed through your wrist like a cruel reminder.

You took another sip, letting the whiskey scorch its way down, hoping it would dull something—anything.

It didn’t.

Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed him shift.

The stranger turned his head slightly, just enough for those crimson eyes to find you.

There was something unreadable in his gaze—sharp, deliberate.

Not surprised. Not amused.

Just… intrigued.

“Rough night?” he asked, voice low and laced with dry amusement.

You didn’t answer right away.

Just stared into your glass, watching the ice crack quietly beneath the amber.

“Something like that,” you muttered, not looking at him.

But he didn’t look away.

And somehow, you felt seen.

Not pitied. Not judged. Just… noticed.

Like maybe, for the first time in a long while, someone wasn’t looking through you.

He chuckles, a low, rough sound that wraps around the edges of your exhaustion like velvet trimmed in iron.

“Same here,” he murmurs, raising his glass in a mock salute before taking a slow sip of his gin.

There’s a beat of silence.

Then—“I’m Sylus,” he says, turning slightly to face you now.

There’s something in the way he says it—easy, but deliberate. Like his name is a secret he only offers to a select few. Like he’s giving you a choice. To take it or don’t.

You glance at him again.

That silver hair, those red eyes. The quiet confidence that radiates off him in waves.

He doesn’t ask for your name.

He just waits.

And for reasons you don’t fully understand, you give it.

“Y/N,” you say quietly, your voice barely above the clink of glass and the murmur of conversations behind you.

Sylus nods, as if the name fits. As if he already knew.

“Nice to meet you, Y/N,” he says, and somehow, it doesn’t feel empty.

Somehow, it feels like the night has started over.

You blink slowly, eyes fixed on the amber swirl in your glass.

“All my nights are rough,” you murmur, your lips curving into a tired, self-deprecating smile. “Not just this one.”

You take another sip, let the warmth settle into your bones like armor.

Beside you, Sylus raises a brow—curious, maybe, but respectful. He doesn’t ask. Doesn’t press.

And somehow, that’s more comforting than if he had.

So you both sit there, shoulder to shoulder, in a silence that feels oddly natural.

Not forced. Not heavy.

Just… there.

The sting on your wrist begins to fade, slowly—like a held breath finally exhaled.

Maybe it’s the alcohol.

Maybe it’s his presence.

Maybe it’s just that for once, you don’t feel so unbearably alone.

A sudden courage bubbles up—liquid and reckless.

You keep your eyes forward, voice casual.

“What do you think of people with red marks?”

You feel him glance your way.

There’s a pause. Barely a second. But in it, something passes—something unsaid.

He seems a little surprised by the question, but his expression remains unchanged. Calm. Measured.

“I wouldn’t know,” he says after a sip of his gin. “Mine’s never shown.”

He shrugs like it means nothing. Like fate hasn’t touched him at all.

And somehow, you envy that.

“Good for you,” you say, a little too flat, a little too bitter around the edges.

A beat of silence follows.

Then—a chuckle, low and quiet, rumbles from his chest.

Not mocking. Not cruel.

Just… amused.

Knowing.

“Interesting,” is all he says.

The word lingers between you, heavier than it should be.

Like he’s already pieced something together. Like he sees more than you intended to show.

You don’t look at him, but you feel his presence beside you—steady, unbothered.

As if your pain isn’t a burden here.

As if your broken pieces don’t make you harder to hold, only more worth noticing.

And for the first time in a long time, your chest doesn’t feel so tight.

He reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out a small piece of paper and a pen—moves smooth, unhurried.

You watch as he scribbles something down, his handwriting sharp and elegant, like everything about him.

Then he slides it across the bar toward you, the paper curling slightly at the corners as it stops in front of your glass.

He doesn’t look at you right away—just takes another sip of his gin, eyes still trained on the bottles lined across the shelves.

“I am fully aware of stranger danger,” he drawls, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips, “but do call if you need… company.”

His voice lingers on the last word, smoky and deliberate.

Not suggestive.

Not empty.

Just a quiet offering from one broken night to another.

You glance down at the number.

It looks oddly out of place between your fingers—this small, absurd lifeline.

But it’s there.

And so is he.

You give a small, tired smile, the kind that doesn’t reach your eyes but feels a little more genuine than the others tonight.

“Maybe I will,” you say, tucking the slip of paper between your fingers like a secret.

He doesn’t respond, but there’s a glint in his crimson eyes as he raises his glass, as if to toast to unspoken things.

To bruised hearts.

To broken fates.

To strangers who feel a little less like strangers.

You both drink in silence after that, letting the night bleed slow and quiet around you.

No questions. No confessions.

Just the comfort of existing beside someone who doesn’t ask you to pretend.

When you finally step back into your apartment, the stillness greets you like an old friend.

Familiar. Too familiar.

You loosen your coat, kick off your shoes, and sit at the edge of your bed, the quiet pressing in.

The mark on your wrist is calm now—dormant, for once.

You pull the slip of paper from your pocket, smoothing the crease with your thumb.

Sylus.

You murmur the name to yourself, letting it linger in the dark.

As if, maybe this time, fate might finally listen.

—•

You sigh, long and weary, as you sink into your desk chair.

Every part of you aches—your back, your hands, your mind.

Eight hours in the operating room, eight hours of focus and tension and the weight of someone else’s life resting in your palms.

You close your eyes for a moment, letting the silence wrap around you.

Then—

A knock at the door.

Soft. Familiar.

Before you can even answer, it opens just enough to let him in.

Zayne.

His dark hair falls slightly into his hazel-green eyes, coat still dusted with rain from outside.

He walks in with quiet purpose, holding out a paper cup—your usual coffee order, still warm.

“Long day?” he asks, voice calm and steady, like always.

Your chest tightens.

And then it comes—the burn.

That same, awful heat radiating from your wrist, seeping into your bones.

You clench your jaw, forcing a tired smile as you take the cup from him.

“Thanks,” you murmur, hoping your fingers don’t brush too long against his.

He doesn’t notice the wince you try to hide.

Doesn’t see how tightly you’re holding your sleeve.

Because to him, it’s just kindness.

To you, it’s agony.

You both sit in silence, the kind that would feel companionable if it didn’t ache so much.

The coffee sits warm between your hands, grounding you in the moment—keeping you from unraveling.

Then he speaks.

“I saw you out two nights ago.”

His tone is casual, but there’s something underneath it—curiosity, maybe. Concern, even.

You glance at him.

He doesn’t look at you. Just takes a sip from his own cup, as if the words don’t mean much.

“Were you drinking again?”

You pause, fingers tightening slightly around the paper cup.

The truth sits heavy on your tongue, bitter and unspoken.

You look down at your wrist, still hidden beneath your sleeve, the phantom sting of the mark pulsing like a second heartbeat.

So many things you could say.

Yes. Because pretending I’m fine all the time is exhausting.

Because I watched you walk away with her again and smiled like it didn’t kill me.

Because my mark won’t stop burning, and I don’t know how to live with this kind of love.

But instead, you offer a small shrug.

“Just needed some air,” you say quietly. “That’s all.”

A lie.

But it’s one he won’t press.

Because he trusts you.

Because he doesn’t know.

He gives you that small, familiar smile—the one that always undoes you more than it should.

“Don’t overwork yourself,” he says softly, like it’s second nature to worry about you.

Then he turns, footsteps fading down the hallway, leaving you with the smell of coffee, the echo of his voice, and the quiet devastation he’ll never see.

Your fingers curl around the cup.

Tight. Too tight.

As if holding on to something will keep you from breaking.

But your mark burns hotter now, searing through your skin like punishment.

As if it’s angry.

As if it’s jealous.

And for a moment, you wonder why it hasn’t bled.

Why it doesn’t just split open and spill all this hurt onto the floor where everyone can finally see it.

“Stop being so kind to me,” you whisper into the silence, your voice shaking.

But there’s no one left to hear it.

Only the sterile hum of the lights overhead, and the sound of your heart breaking—quiet and familiar—as tears trace down your cheeks, uninvited and unstoppable.

Somehow, without really thinking, you found yourself at his doorstep.

The city was quiet, the air cool against your cheeks, your coat clutched tight around you like it could hold the pieces of you together.

Your wrist still ached beneath your sleeve, raw and restless, but you had long since stopped trying to soothe it.

Sylus had texted you the address after your call—short, clipped, and straightforward, like him.

And now you’re here, standing in front of a door you never expected to seek out, uncertain of what you’re hoping to find on the other side.

Healing?

Distraction?

A place where your mark doesn’t matter?

You raise your hand to knock, hesitating for a moment as your breath fogs in the cold.

Then, before you can lose the nerve, your knuckles meet wood.

One. Two. Three quiet raps.

A pause.

Then the door clicks open.

And there he is—Sylus.

Silver hair a little messier than usual, a glass still in his hand, red eyes sharp but softer than you’ve ever seen them.

No questions. No judgment.

—•

He didn’t say a word.

Just nodded once, slow and understanding, and led you inside.

Now, the two of you sit on opposite ends of his worn leather couch, a respectful distance apart, the fire crackling gently between you like a heartbeat neither of you wants to claim.

The room is dim, shadows dancing along the walls, the only light coming from the flicker of flames and the occasional glint in Sylus’s eyes when he turns his head slightly to look at you—then away again.

You’re still.

Tired.

The kind of tired that no sleep could ever fix.

The tears have long since dried, leaving behind the familiar hollow ache in your chest, like grief carved a space in your ribs and decided to stay.

And your mark—

Still there.

Still burning beneath your skin.

You stare into the fire, your hands loosely clasped in your lap, and for the first time in days, you breathe—slow, deep, and unguarded.

Sylus doesn’t speak.

Doesn’t pry.

He just sits there, presence steady, like a wall you can finally lean against without fear of collapsing.

And in that silence, something shifts.

Not healed. Not whole.

But a little less alone.

You turn your head slightly, eyes drifting from the fire to him. His profile is lit in warm gold—sharp, unreadable, but not unkind.

“Sorry,” you say softly, the word catching at the edges of your throat.

For what exactly, you’re not sure.

For showing up. For falling apart.

For being the kind of person who calls a near-stranger because no one else feels safe anymore.

He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t turn to look at you.

Just gives a small shrug and takes a slow sip from his glass.

“It’s good company,” he replies, casual, like it’s nothing.

Like you aren’t a burden.

Like this—the silence, the ache, the weight of everything you can’t say—is somehow welcome.

You exhale quietly, some small part of your heart unclenching.

Maybe that’s what you needed.

Not comfort. Not words.

Just someone who doesn’t mind the quiet, even when it’s heavy.

“I can understand.”

His voice breaks the stillness, low and quiet—almost like an afterthought, but it sinks deep.

Your eyes dart to him.

Sylus is still facing the fire, his expression unreadable, the flames dancing across the sharp lines of his face.

“I love someone,” he says, slowly, deliberately. “But her name isn’t on my wrist.”

He takes a sip of his drink, his fingers steady around the glass.

“There’s another name on hers.”

The words hang in the air like smoke—soft, but heavy with weight.

And suddenly, you understand why his silence felt so familiar. Why he never asked questions. Why he didn’t flinch at your pain.

Because he knows.

He knows what it’s like to love without being chosen.

To look at someone and see a future they’ll never see with you.

To exist in the quiet spaces between their laughter—wanted, but not meant.

You swallow hard, the ache in your chest mirroring his.

Your voice is barely a whisper.

“Does she know?”

A pause.

“No,” he murmurs. “And I’m not sure I want her to.”

And for a moment, you’re not two strangers on a couch.

You’re two people clinging to the same kind of hurt.

And somehow, that makes it just a little easier to breathe.

“How does it work?” you ask, barely above a whisper.

Your eyes stay fixed on the fire, but your voice trembles with something deeper—something raw.

“Love. How does it work?”

There’s a pause.

Sylus doesn’t answer right away. He sets his glass down on the table, the faint clink of glass on wood echoing in the quiet.

You finally glance at him.

He’s staring into the flames, brows drawn slightly, as if the question has rooted itself somewhere inside him.

“I don’t think it does,” he says at last, voice low and unfiltered. “Not the way we’re told it should.”

His gaze flicks to you, slow and steady.

“Everyone talks about fate. About destiny. About names on skin and inevitability.”

He leans back, resting an arm on the back of the couch, red eyes glinting.

“But love—it’s messy. It’s inconvenient. It doesn’t follow rules or timing or marks.”

You swallow, something stirring painfully in your chest.

“Then why does it still hurt this much?” you whisper.

He looks at you for a long moment. Not with pity, but with understanding so deep it feels like a balm.

“Because you love honestly,” he says. “And honest love never goes unpunished.”

“I just want it to stop burning,” you whisper, the words escaping before you can take them back.

You’re not looking at him—your gaze stays fixed on the fire, on the flicker and hiss of flame. It’s easier than meeting his eyes.

“It’s not the unrequited part,” you continue, voice low and frayed at the edges. “I always knew it would be like this. I never expected anything more from him.”

You inhale shakily, pressing your hands tighter around your knees as if that could steady the tremble in your chest.

“But the mark—it burns every time I think of him. Every time I miss him, want him, remember him.”

The heat isn’t just under your skin. It’s inside your lungs, your throat, your heart.

A fire that reminds you with every spark that your love is a mistake written in red.

“I just want it to stop hurting every time I feel something.”

A quiet hush follows, broken only by the crackling of the fire.

Then, Sylus speaks. His voice is softer than you’ve ever heard it.

“Love shouldn’t feel like a wound,” he says.

You glance at him. And for once, there’s no teasing in his expression. No smirk, no defense. Just something quiet. Something honest.

“And yet,” you murmur, “it always does.”

He doesn’t offer easy comfort. Doesn’t pretend to have answers.

Instead, he leans back, watching the flames for a moment.

“Maybe,” he says slowly, “the pain won’t go away completely. But it can dull. If you let someone help carry it.”

Your chest tightens, but this time, it’s not from the burn.

It’s from the way he says it. Like he means it.

Like he would.

He steps toward you—unhurried, deliberate. The firelight flickers across his face, catching the sharp lines of his jaw, the glint in his crimson eyes.

“I may not know you,” he says slowly, voice low and steady, “but I know your pain.”

His words settle over you like a weighted blanket—not too heavy, not too light. Just enough to be felt.

Then—

He extends a hand.

Open.

Unassuming.

Offered without expectation.

Not to fix you.

Not to save you.

Just to stand with you in the wreckage.

You stare at it for a moment, your breath caught between resistance and the aching need for something—someone—to anchor you.

And somehow, in the quiet of that moment, it doesn’t matter that he’s a stranger.

Because pain recognizes pain.

And for the first time in a long while… you don’t feel alone in it.

You hesitate—just for a breath—then slip your hand into his.

His grip is firm, warm, steady.

He pulls you gently to your feet, the motion smooth, careful, as though you might break if he moved too fast.

And then—

The mark flares.

A sharp, scalding pain radiates up your arm, and you flinch, breath hitching as the heat sinks into your bones like fire licking at old wounds.

But before you can pull away, his arms are around you. Solid. Certain. Anchoring.

“Let it burn for a bit,” he murmurs, voice close, low, and rough with something almost tender.

Then he guides your head to his chest, where his heartbeat drums slow and steady beneath your ear.

No rush. No pressure. Just presence.

And in that quiet, flickering room—with the fire crackling, your heart aching, and his arms holding you like a promise—

you let it burn.

—•

“Y/N? Are you listening?”

The sharp snap of fingers in front of your face jolts you back to the present.

You blink, startled, eyes locking onto Shaiya’s concerned expression across the table. Her brows are slightly furrowed, lips tugged into a gentle frown.

You’d drifted again.

Your thoughts had wandered—slipped away from her words, from the crowded café, from the clatter of cups and the warmth of the sun spilling through the window.

You were thinking about him.

About Sylus.

About how his arms had felt around you.

How steady his heartbeat was.

How you let yourself lean in, even when the mark warmed beneath your skin like a quiet warning.

“Sorry,” you murmur, straightening in your seat. “I was… thinking.”

Shaiya softens, letting out a small sigh as she reaches for her drink.

“You’ve been spacing out a lot lately,” she says gently, not accusing—just noticing.

You force a small smile, fingers curling around your mug to hide the slight tremble.

If only she knew who you were thinking of.

And how much it wasn’t her soulmate.

“Just… soulmate,” you blurt, the word tumbling out before you can catch it.

Your heart stutters in your chest the moment you say it, the regret immediate and sharp.

Shaiya’s face lights up, eyes wide with surprise and sudden excitement.

Her hands nearly drop her fork, and she leans in, voice hushed but eager.

“Did you find him?” she asks, a hopeful smile blooming across her face.

You freeze.

There’s a second—a split, breathless second—where the truth rises in your throat like a wave.

That yes, you found him.

That it’s not a matter of who, but how painful it’s been.

That his name is carved in red into your skin.

And that her name is written on his.

But you don’t say any of that.

You just force a smile, one you hope doesn’t look too broken at the edges.

“Not exactly,” you say softly. “It’s complicated.”

How do you explain being loved—held—by someone who might be more than a stranger… but isn’t quite fate?

Suddenly, an arm wraps around your shoulders—casual, confident—and your breath catches in your throat.

The scent hits you first. That same sharp, clean cologne.

Then the warmth.

Then the voice.

“Why don’t you just tell her you did?” he drawls, low and unbothered, his tone laced with a kind of amused defiance that only he could make sound like an invitation.

Your heart stumbles.

You turn your head slowly and catch the now-familiar glint of white hair falling just over crimson eyes that look too pleased with themselves for someone who walked into your unraveling.

Sylus.

Of course it’s him.

You’re frozen, stunned, as your mark flares beneath your sleeve—burning a little brighter, a little wilder, as if it recognizes the chaos he’s just dropped into.

Shaiya’s eyes widen as she looks between the two of you.

“Oh,” she breathes, lips parting in surprise. “Is this…?”

And still, Sylus doesn’t move his arm.

He just smirks.

And you—

You can’t decide if you want to run, scream, or lean into him and let the world burn.

Sylus doesn’t miss a beat.

He gives a small, deliberate nod, his expression unreadable but his voice smooth as silk.

“Yes,” he says calmly. “I’m Y/N’s soulmate.���

The words land like a strike of lightning.

Shaiya freezes, her eyes wide, mouth parting in shock as she looks at him—then to you—then back again, like her mind is trying to catch up with the reality laid out in front of her.

You feel the burn instantly—sharp, searing, a violent protest beneath your skin.

Your mark is screaming.

But you smile anyway.

You lie through the pain like you’ve always done.

With practiced ease, you reach for Sylus’s arm, pulling him down to sit beside you.

His body is warm beside yours, grounding and steady in a way that only makes the burn worse.

“Yeah,” you say, your voice soft, your lips curled into a sheepish smile. “We’ve been… keeping it quiet.”

Shaiya blinks, still stunned, still searching your face for some confirmation that she hasn’t stepped into a dream.

You glance at Sylus, who is already watching you with something unreadable in his gaze.

And all you can do is smile.

Even as your wrist burns like a brand.

Even as your heart threatens to give out beneath the weight of the lie.

Because in this moment—right here, right now—you just wanted to be chosen, even if it was a lie.

“Oh, that’s great! How did you guys meet?” Shaiya beams, already clutching your hands in excitement.

You glance toward Sylus, your heart a tangled mess of gratitude and quiet devastation.

He smirks faintly, unbothered.

“At a bar,” he says smoothly. “She toasted to unrequited love.”

You laugh softly, a breath too close to breaking.

“Yeah,” you say, eyes on him. “And he didn’t walk away.”

Shaiya claps her hands, practically glowing.

“Oh, I have to tell Zayne!” she exclaims, already pulling out her phone.

Your breath catches.

You stare at her, helpless, your pulse thudding in your ears.

There’s a flicker of panic—of heartbreak—just beneath the surface.

And then you feel it.

Sylus’s hand, warm and steady, closing over yours.

Silent. Certain. There.

You glance at him, and he doesn’t say anything—just holds your gaze, letting you borrow his strength.

So you smile.

Small. Fragile.

But real.

Even as the pain coils in your chest and your mark burns beneath your sleeve like a wound that won’t heal.

After the café, Shaiya darted off, excitement practically radiating from her as she called over her shoulder about celebrating soon.

You could only wave, sheepishly, watching her disappear into the crowd.

Beside you, Sylus chuckled, that familiar, low sound that always managed to cut through your thoughts.

You turned to him, brows furrowed, voice soft.

“Why?”

He glanced down at you, completely unfazed, and shrugged.

“Would you rather people think you were lonely for the rest of your life?” he asked, smirking. “Because you were giving off tragic energy.”

You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t help the small, reluctant smile tugging at your lips.

—•

A week passed.

And somehow, Sylus was everywhere.

In the hospital lobby, leaning against walls like he belonged there.

In the café line beside you, pretending it was coincidence.

On your lunch break, slipping you your favorite pastry like it was nothing.

You didn’t complain.

Even when your mark burned with every glance, every word, every moment spent too close.

Because his presence—while painful—was constant. Steady. Like a shield between you and everything else you couldn’t bear to face alone.

Now, you were in your office, signing off reports, when the door creaked open.

Zayne.

You looked up, startled, your eyes meeting his. His expression was unreadable, but there was something there—something frayed at the edges.

Conflicted.

Still, for the first time in what felt like forever, you smiled at him.

Your mark responded immediately, pulsing beneath your sleeve.

“I heard from Shaiya,” he said, voice calm, measured. “You finally found him?”

You nodded, sheepish. “Yeah.”

He opens his mouth—stops. Looks at you.

“That’s… good,” he finishes, but it lands flat. Like he meant something else. Like he almost said it.

You ask, carefully, “Is everything okay?”

He nods. Smiles. Too polite.

“Yes. I’m just… glad.”

And as he turns to leave, your mark pulses—not from yearning this time, but from something worse, realization.

You’re left in the quiet hum of your office, with the sting of your mark flaring and a new ache settling deep in your chest.

Because this time, it wasn’t just unrequited.

It was almost.

Sylus enters not long after, silent as ever.

The room doesn’t announce him—he simply is, like a shadow slipping into light.

His eyes find you instantly.

You expect the usual smirk, the dry remark perched on his lips.

But instead—

He just looks at you.

And something in his expression softens.

Like all the sharp edges of him have momentarily dulled.

Like seeing you—tired, unraveling, still trying to hold it together—matters.

He doesn’t say a word.

He doesn’t need to.

“Why was he looking at me like that?” you ask, your voice cracking under the weight of it.

The question isn’t really for Sylus, but he hears it anyway.

It slips out before you can stop it—raw, unguarded, aching.

You’re not sure what hurts more.

The look in Zayne’s eyes, or the fact that it came too late.

Too late, when you’d already chosen to pretend.

Too late, when someone else had stepped in to hold you through the burn.

Sylus doesn’t answer right away.

He just steps closer, his gaze steady—never pitying.

“Because,” he says softly, “he’s starting to see what he never let himself feel.”

And the worst part is… you’re not sure that changes anything.

“That’s worse,” you whisper, the words breaking as they leave you. “That means he knew.”

The realization crashes over you like a wave—sharp, cold, merciless.

All this time.

All those quiet moments.

All the silence between your smiles.

He knew—and still chose someone else.

The first tear slips down your cheek before you can stop it, then another, and suddenly you’re unraveling—slow, quiet, but completely.

And without a second’s hesitation, Sylus is beside you.

No questions. No hesitation.

Just arms around you, solid and warm, pulling you into him like he’s done this before—like he knows this pain.

You bury your face in his chest as the sobs come, muffled and broken, and he holds you tighter.

One hand in your hair, the other against your back, grounding you.

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs.

And for once, you believe it.

You look up at him, eyes glassy, voice trembling.

“That means he had a choice,” you whisper. “That the soulmate mark… meant nothing.”

The words feel heavy in your mouth, bitter and raw.

Because if Zayne knew—if he saw your love and still turned away—then the mark wasn’t fate.

It was just a cruel joke.

Something to cling to while he chose someone else.

Sylus holds your gaze, his own expression unreadable for a moment—quiet, intense.

Then he speaks, voice low and steady.

“It means the mark doesn’t make the choice. We do.”

He brushes a tear from your cheek with his thumb, gentle in a way that undoes you.

“And he didn’t choose you,” he adds, soft but honest.

“But I would.”

You choke on a breath, barely able to speak past the lump in your throat.

“But you… you don’t have a mark. Not yet.”

Your voice wavers, caught between disbelief and something dangerously close to hope.

Sylus doesn’t flinch.

Instead, a faint smirk tugs at the corner of his lips—wry, almost sad.

“I had mine removed,” he says, like it’s nothing. Like it didn’t once cost him something.

“Years ago.”

You blink, stunned. “Why?”

His gaze lingers on you, softer now.

“Because I didn’t want fate to decide who I could love.”

Then, quieter—just for you:

“I wanted the choice to be mine.”

“Then… the girl,” you murmur, barely above a breath. “The one you loved…”

Your voice falters, unsure if you want to know the rest. But the question hangs there between you, fragile and trembling.

Sylus’s eyes dim slightly, the usual spark giving way to something quieter—something older.

“She never chose me,” he says, his voice low, steady. “Even before the mark showed up, I think I knew.”

He exhales through his nose, gaze drifting somewhere distant.

“And when it finally appeared,” he continues, “I already made a choice.”

The silence that follows is heavy, but not suffocating.

You feel it—the familiar sting of being almost enough.

And as he looks back at you, something in your chest eases.

Not because the pain is gone.

But because he understands.

You wanted to feel happy.

Wanted to let Sylus’s words wrap around you, ease the ache, soften the hollow in your chest.

But the mark burned—sharp and relentless—like it knew you were trying to let go.

Like it refused to be ignored.

A cruel reminder that no matter how gently Sylus held you, no matter how steady his presence or how kind his eyes—

your heart still belonged somewhere else.

To someone who never asked for it.

And never wanted it.

And that was the worst part.

Because for once, someone was choosing you.

And still, some part of you couldn’t stop choosing him.

Sylus watched you quietly, his gaze lingering not on your tears, not on your mark, but on you—the part of you that still hadn’t healed.

He saw the way your fingers twitched, the way your eyes dropped to the floor like you were ashamed of your own heart.

And then, softly—gently—he spoke.

“I know,” he said. “You don’t have to choose me now.”

No pressure. No expectation.

Just understanding.

Because he knew what it was like to love someone who couldn’t let go of someone else.

And still, he stayed.

Not to replace. Not to compete.

But simply to be there.

You didn’t say anything.

You just leaned into him.

And Sylus opened his arms without a word, holding you like he’d been waiting—like he knew you would break again, and he’d already decided he’d be the one to catch you.

You let yourself cry.

Not the quiet, hidden kind, but the raw, aching sobs that shook your shoulders and spilled everything you’d been trying to bury.

He didn’t flinch.

He didn’t pull away.

He just held you.

Steady. Solid. Safe.

And in his arms, for the first time in a long while, you let yourself feel it all.

—•

You stared up at the white ceiling, its endless blankness strangely comforting.

Sterile. Still. Silent.

The soft, steady beep of the machine beside you was the only sound in the room, each pulse reminding you that time was still moving forward, even if part of you hadn’t caught up yet.

It had been three months.

Three months since you stood in front of Zayne and smiled through your breaking heart.

Three months since Sylus stepped into your life with his sharp words and soft hands and gave you something you didn’t know you needed—space to fall apart.

Three months since everything changed.

And Sylus never left.

Not once.

He stayed through the confusion, through the aching nights when you couldn’t sleep and the mornings when the mark burned so violently you thought it might consume you.

He was there when you made the decision—tired, trembling—to pack your things and leave it all behind.

Zayne.

The hospital that held too many memories.

The city that never stopped reminding you of what you couldn’t have.

You moved somewhere quieter.

Somewhere you could breathe.

And now you were here—lying on a padded bed in a clean, white room, moments away from erasing the mark that had defined you for far too long.

You weren’t doing it to forget him.

You weren’t doing it out of spite.

You were doing it to reclaim your skin.

To stop punishing yourself for loving too much.

To stop letting fate write a story you never agreed to.

There was fear, yes—lingering at the edges of your thoughts like a shadow.

But there was peace, too.

Because this time, the choice was yours.

And just beyond the clinic door, waiting in the hallway like he always did, was Sylus.

Waiting—not to save you.

Just to be there when you returned. Whole. Scarred. Free.

The procedure wasn’t just to erase ink from your skin.

It was to quiet the fire.

To silence the part of you that still, after everything, ached for Zayne.

The part that stirred when you heard his voice in a memory, that still wondered what if, even when you knew the answer.

At first, you were afraid.

Afraid of what you’d lose.

Afraid that without the burn, without the mark, you might feel nothing—or worse, that the emptiness would linger.

But then you thought of him.

Of Sylus.

Of how he stayed when he had every reason not to.

Of the way he never asked you to love him, only to let him stand beside you.

And somehow, that gave you strength.

You closed your eyes, letting out a slow, shaking breath as the doctors moved around you.

The bed shifted beneath you as they began to wheel you away, the lights overhead passing in soft, distant flickers.

You didn’t cry.

You didn’t look back.

But just before you crossed into the next room, you whispered it—soft, steady, final.

“Goodbye, Zayne.”

And this time, you meant it.

masterlist

[creepychan08]

— Arthur Miller, The Crucible

[creepychan08]

This one hurts a little too much I think