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loviatarsluv · 9 days ago

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silent poem - zayne 黎深

you haven’t seen zayne in weeks—his surgery schedule demanding and unrelenting. when he comes home late at night, kissing you awake, you can’t help but help him relax. a continuation of zayne’s four-star memory “silent poem.”

━ .ᐟ✧ PAIRING: zayne x female reader (afab)

━ ✧.˖ GENRE: smut, porn with some/little plot, secret time continuation

━ .ᐟ✧ WORD COUNT: 5.8k

━ ✧.˖ WARNINGS: mdni, explicit sexual content, continued off ‘silent poem’ with my own twist (expect tweaked dialogue and “plot”), unprotected sex, massage, nipple play and biting/sucking, handjob, zayne is needy and demanding, lots of making out, mating press, thigh riding, zayne is demanding let me reiterate that, no use of y/n, use of pet names, idk guys im so tired

━ .ᐟ✧ LINKS: video | ao3

━ ✧.˖ A/N: this is not proofread very well i got very tired. continued and based off of silent poem with creative liberties taken, so expect some aspects to be different.

i know i don’t write for zayne much anymore im sorrryyyyyy take this as a peace offering,

THIS IS MY ONLY ACCOUNT. I WILL NEVER POST MY FICS ON OTHER TUMBLR BLOGS. I WILL ONLY POST ON THIS ACCOUNT AND ON AO3.

✦ . ˖ ✧ .ᐟ ˖ nsfw | minors dni | 18+ only | minors dni | nsfw ✦ . ˖ ✧ .ᐟ

Lately, it was only in the deepest whispers of your dreams that you got to see Zayne.

You’d gotten used to only being able to see him for a few minutes in the morning—when he was heading out the door and you were just waking up to the sounds of your incessant alarms. You cherished those fleeting moments.

But the last few weeks, you didn’t even have that to look forward to. As of late, your dear boyfriend was always coming home when you were fast asleep and out the door before you’d even had a chance to fully wake up. Some nights you suspected he didn’t come home altogether, opting to sleep at his office instead.

You knew it’d get better. It always did.

But that did little to help the aching emptiness you felt in his absence.

On the nights it got particularly bad, you found yourself with your face smothered in your pillow, hand between your thighs, calling out his name until your throat felt raw.

And those same nights would be filled with dreams of that same raven-haired surgeon.

Mostly, you’d just dream of that rare half smile he’d give you when you brought him sweets between surgeries. Or the way he always folded his arms across his chest when he would wait by his Audi, on the rare days he got off work before you and would pick you up.

You just missed every single thing about him.

So when you felt those familiar cold lips against yours, your sleep-thickened eyes fluttering open to face Zayne himself, you were certain you were dreaming.

“Mmmngh—Zayne…?” you mumble, voice laced with grogginess. It’s still dark and you can’t differentiate between dream and reality, especially when you’d felt his soft lips on yours just moments earlier.

“Apologies,” his voice is incredibly gentle, cold fingers stroking your cheek tenderly, “Did I wake you up?”

You shake your head vehemently, or as urgently as you can with your sleep-fogged brain. Zayne chuckles, leaning back down to press his lips into your forehead.

“Late surgeries?” you yawn, sitting up on your elbows and squinting at the clock on his bedroom wall. It read 3:21 AM.

Zayne looks conflicted but ultimately sighs, effortlessly lifting you and scooting you so that he can climb in beside you, tucking you against his chest and cradling you reverently. Normally, he’d never get into the bed in his “outside clothes,” no matter how clean he always was, but right now? He just couldn’t resist.

He’d missed you terribly.

“Yes,” he murmurs into your shoulder, kissing the exposed skin there, “It’s been hectic at the hospital. Every day, I’ve had to come home in the middle of the night.”

You shiver as he presses another chaste kiss to your shoulder blade, “I’m sorry for waking you, love. You looked so peaceful. I couldn’t resist.”

He rests his chin on your shoulder, taking a deep inhale of your scent, face burying into your hair. His breath is shaky, making your heart ache.

“Zayne,” you whisper, craning your neck back to look at him, “You sound tired. You need to sleep.”

Zayne sighs, “Let me hold you for a bit. It helps with the exhaustion.”

“Mmmm…” you mumble sleepily, already feeling sleep creeping up again. Zayne’s sturdy body cocooned yours, the warmth and security making it impossible to stay awake. Before you know it, you find yourself dozing off.

That’s until you feel his thick bulge pressing between your rear, almost fitting perfectly between your cheeks even through your sleeping shorts and his pants. Until you feel his restrained movements, almost as if he was desperately trying not to rut against you—like a starved animal.

Zayne was a man of immense self control. And if he was wavering, even just a little?

He needed you.

Forcing yourself awake, you flip onto your other side to face him, wriggling around in his embrace. You don’t miss the way his jaw clenches when your lower half brushes insistently against his tented lap, biting back a wanton groan.

And suddenly, you aren’t sleepy anymore.

“You should relax more,” you murmur, your fingers stroking his jaw, the slight stubble ticklish against your hand. He’d undoubtedly been forced to loosen up his normally rigid morning routine, foregoing his daily shave.

Zayne chuckles, “Is that so?”

“Yeah,” you smile innocently, “I can help.”

Zayne catches your fingers as they idly brush against his cheek, bringing them to his lips in a quick kiss.

“How exactly will you help, sweetheart?” His voice is thick with both exhaustion and desire, eyes hooded as he anticipates your next move.

Your heart flutters with excitement as you sit up, kneeling beside him. Zayne tracks you with his hazel eyes expectantly, his breathing quickening as your hands find his muscled shoulders.

Though you wanted nothing more than to mount him right then and there, you knew there was undeniable truth to his exhaustion. Standing for 15 hours at a time, hands and arms constantly locked into the most precise and expert micromovements, you couldn’t even imagine just how badly his body needed relief.

Zayne can’t stop the soft grunts that escape as you start working your delicate fingers into his sore muscles, eyes nearly rolling back.

“A massage. I see,” he grits breathlessly, fingers digging into the silk sheets.

“And here I thought…” he trails off, his green eyes practically glowing in the darkness of his bedroom as he looks up at you, growing hoarse as you press harder into him

He clears his throat, “Nevermind.”

You giggle, “Thought what?” You shift your weight onto your other knee, leaning over him so that you can focus on his other shoulder. Zayne swallows a curse as your chest looms slightly above his face, just out of reach. He feels his pants tightening as the soft skin of your breasts spills over the top of your flimsy camisole, illuminated only by the soft moonlight filtering through the curtains.

“Feel good?” you murmur, deceptively innocent.

Zayne’s lips quirk ever-so-slightly with amusement, catching onto your flirtatious whims, “My neck and shoulders are feeling much better.”

His hand reaches up to gently trace the loose strap of your top, sending a shiver down your spine. You nearly collapse onto him from that simple touch alone, unbearably deprived of him.

“Even my eyes…aren’t as tired as before,” his voice is gruff and low as his eyes flicker down, making your heart thump excitedly. His beautiful emerald eyes pause at your lips before raking down the soft skin of your collar that leads to your breasts. His mouth waters at the sight—hungrily taking in the view.

The same view that would invade his thoughts when he had five minutes to rest in his office between surgeries.

As Zayne’s fingers brush against your collarbone, your knees buckle and you nearly double over on top of him.

“Just sit on me, sweetheart,” Zayne murmurs, catching you gently with his palms against your ribs, “It’ll be easier for you.”

“Oh, easier huh?” you laugh, “for some reason I think it’ll definitely be harder.”

You throw your thigh over his lap and climb atop him. Your palms find purchase on his sturdy chest, able to feel the pounding of his heart under your wandering fingers.

Zayne groans as you straddle him, his hands automatically finding your thighs, kneading gently. His breath is heavy and uncontrolled as you situate yourself, grunts escaping his lips when your fingers begin digging into his knotted muscles again.

Your tummy flutters at the breathless pants he tries to hold back, biting your lip as your palms dig into his muscled chest. You could feel yourself dampening already as you planted yourself firmly against his solid body—excited by the knowledge that Zayne wanted something more. Just as you did

And by the feel of how insistently it was pressing against your shorts—he wanted it just as much, if not more, than you did.

Your fingers knead a steady path down his chest, gently working into his biceps. You unfurl the thickly tightened knots, undoubtedly exacerbated by his increased surgery schedule.

Zayne moans gently, fingers tightening against your hips when you press particularly roughly. You have to stop your own lewd sounds from escaping, unbelievably pent up and reactive to even just his hands on your waist. One of his hands abandons your hip, tenderly cupping your face in his large palm.

“I feel better already,” he murmurs gruffly, voice laced with frustratingly tamed desperation. “You’re more effective than the world’s strongest, most soothing medicine.”

You grin, heart fluttering with immense happiness, “Are you just flattering me because you feel bad for leaving me alone?”

Zayne chuckles softly, almost choking when you bear down on him. His thumb brushes across your bottom lip, gently coaxing it apart.

“Do you want some water? Your lips are dry.”

Sitting up and straightening your posture, you nod. When Zayne pours a glass for you, you shake your head and tap your lips silently.

Zayne’s eyes sparkle with amusement, “You haven’t learned to drink it on your own?”

Your grin widens and you shake your head ‘no.’ Zayne laughs gently, sitting up with you. Your eyes flutter as he adjusts the both of you, his erection pulsing under your own heat.

“Spoiled,” he murmurs, his back against the headboard as he brings the glass up to your parted lips, “Is this what happens when I leave you alone for too long?”

Instead of responding, you grind down onto him while taking the cool glass into your lips. Water dribbles down your chin and onto Zayne’s chest as you giggle at the way he writhes under your deliberately punishing movements.

“Steady now,” he grits out, his words laced with his heady breath. The hand that holds your hip crawls upward, cupping your back and pressing you closer to him.

He tilts the glass further as you gulp down the cool water, “Don’t rush. It’s spilling out.”

His words are innocent but your skin crawls deliciously, goosebumps forming as you stare into the moonlight reflected in his beautifully golden eyes.

As Zayne sets the glass back down on the night stand, you look down at how much water you’d let dribble down your chin and now onto both of your chests.

“Zayne,” you whine in a sing-song voice, “You spilled everywhere.”

Zayne raises an eyebrow at you, “Oh, did I now?”

“Yes,” you whisper simply, using your thumb to catch some of the escaped water that now drips down his collar. Zayne tenses, instinctively pressing you closer with his outstretched palm on your back.

“Alright. Then I’ll help clean you up,” he whispers into your ear, his fingers threading into the back of your head. His grip on your hair is firm but careful, making your body tingle excitedly.

Holding you in place, he leans back to inspect you carefully. You shiver at the dangerous shimmer in his eyes, a silent promise of all the things he’s planning to do to you tonight.

You cry out when he leans back in, his lips brushing against your collar. His tongue darts out to lick up the bead of water there.

“Zay—Zayne,” you whimper, squirming in his hold. You feel your arousal smear against your panties uncomfortably as you writhe against his impossibly hardened cock.

Zayne kisses the heated skin between the water he’d already licked up and the next droplet. With his lips never leaving your skin, he peers up at you through thick black eyelashes.

“This is what you wanted. Right?”

You moan at his question, back arching when he carefully pulls your top down, his kisses descending further as they follow the spilt water.

“Don’t know wh-what you’re talkin’ about,” you bite out between your desperate breaths, “Just wanted to help you feel better.”

Zayne readjusts subtly. His erection now sits proudly against both your abdomens, straining against the confinement of his slacks. You scoot closer to him, so close that his cock now nestles between your thighs.

“I knew it,” he groans, fingers tightening at the back of your skill. As he presses you urgently against himself, his hips rock against you, using the friction of your legs against his thick length.

“You wanted to do this to me again,” he whispers, half accusing and half pleased. It was impossible for him to hide just how badly he was enjoying this—that he’d been craving this all week.

You roll your hips against him, biting your lip as his bulge grinds into your covered lips, the pleasure shooting up from your hardened clit. Zayne detaches from your skin, throwing his head back with a groan, his Adam's apple bobbing with the weight of his pants.

He composes himself nearly instantly, sitting back up with dangerously heated eyes. Forcefully, he pulls your face to his, devouring you with his soft cold lips. His strong arms keep you locked against him, unable to escape even if you wanted to,

Your bodies move against each other like ocean waves as he explores your mouth methodically with his skilled tongue. He grips your scalp with enough force to make you whimper for more, his other hand palming your back.

Pulling away, Zayne moves back to the swell of your breasts. You gasp when he sucks on the area just above your pebbled nipple. Your body moves on its own accord, pressing into him and desperately trying to get him to envelope you whole.

When he doesn’t, you whine, “Zaaayne. You—nngh—you’re taking advantage!”

Zayne laughs against your chest, his breath warm against your sensitive flesh, “What do you mean, sweetheart?”

Without giving you a chance to respond, he moves closer to where you want him most, “Aren’t we just…helping each other relax?”

With those foreboding words, he finally takes you fully into his skilled mouth. Your fingers tug at his hair at the overwhelming sensation, back arched so deeply your spine aches.

“Mmngh—! Zayne!”

Your breasts hang out over the top of your top as Zayne has his way with you. His tongue swirls around your sensitive peak, his other hand coming between you two so he can tweak the other with his finger tips.

Your eyes widen when Zayne bites down. with more force than he normally would. The sting chases all of the lingering drowsiness away, your excitement growing in the face of his aggressiveness. It mingles intoxicatingly with the overwhelming pleasure, pushing you closer to the cliff of climax with this single sensation alone.

With a soft pop, Zayne releases your breast—much to your dismay. He chuckles at your shell-shocked expression, gently tucking your hair behind your ear.

“Well, it’s all clean now.”

“You…” you gape in disbelief, upset at having your orgasm taken away. Not able to find the words to playfully berate him, you instead surprise him with a demanding kiss.

Zayne grunts in surprise but reciprocates seamlessly. As he graciously relents access, his lips parting for you. You take his submission as an opportunity to reach between the two of you and grasp his cock through his slacks. He goes rigid beneath you, nearly choking against your lips.

“Hah—” Zayne groans into your receptive mouth, tongue still deeply entangled with yours. His soft and labored grunts fuels you with confidence, releasing his cock to slip off your camisole and hugging him closer.

You wince when his chest presses against yours, your kiss bitten nipples stinging. Zayne registers your pain instantaneously, pulling back.

“Sorry, did I hurt you?” he asks, going into doctor mode. He tenderly cups your breast, thumb ghosting along the inflamed skin where his teeth had sunken in.

“Not at all,” you reassure, your hand rubbing his chest and undoing the buttons one by one, “Just tender. It’s been a while since I got to see you.”

“It has been a while,” Zayne agrees, dipping his head down to press a soft kiss to your sore nipple, “I missed you.”

You gasp when he takes the hardened peak back into his mouth, this time swirling his tongue around it soothingly. You grapple with his shirt before grabbing his bulge again, jerking it excitedly.

“I can tell. You’re so pent up. You really need to relax,” you giggle, undoing the zipper and button. His cock springs free, almost angrily, hitting his abdomen.

Zayne hisses as you expose him to the cool air-conditioned breeze of the bedroom.

“Does this also need to relax?” he asks, the plea clear in the way his eyes shine at you.

He needs you.

“Absolutely,” you say, fluttering your eyelashes innocently as you take him into your outstretched fingers, “That’s all this is.”

Zayne groans, hips bucking slightly up into your hand.

“Of course, then. In the name of relaxation.”

You lean in teasingly, letting your lips brush against Zayne’s as your fist moves slowly up and down. His breath is hot on your skin as he grunts, struggling to breath steadily. He reaches up to grip the back of your head, closing the last of the minuscule distance between your lips, kissing you passionately.

“Different techniques for different muscles, hm?” he groans, “Sometimes, being skillful is what really makes a difference.”

He kisses you again, messy and pleading. Saliva dribbled down his chin, but he was so utterly desperate for you—for your perfect fingers, that he doesn’t even bother wiping it.

“Mnngh…” he moans your name deliciously, “I think…it’s getting more tense now.”

You giggle, languidly pumping him up and down. Zayne nearly bursts when you lubricate him with your own saliva, his cock lurching in your hands at the sight.

He swallows thickly, neck bobbing, “Perhaps…you could add a little more pressure?” His hips quiver as he fights from chasing a pleasure only you can give him.

When you give him a firm squeeze, Zayne throws his head back with a strangled moan. Still straddling him, your other hand comes down to cup his balls, wanting to work him into a release he so clearly needed.

Zayne moves his strong thighs beneath you, insistently brushing his thick muscles against your cunt. You try to focus on both the burning piece of flesh in your hands and your own please, riding his thigh diligently.

“How long were you planning to pull this stunt on me,” he demands breathlessly, gripping your chin.

“Nnngh—stunt?” you giggle breathlessly, pumping harder now, “I just missed you. Is that a crime?”

Zayne struggles to speak as you grind against his lap, biting out, “Haah…yes of course. I missed you, too.”

Your thumb teases his tip, smearing his pearly pre-cum around. Your entire palm is sticky with a mix of his seed and your saliva, “How much?”

Zayne chuckles before hissing, particularly sensitive near his thick head, “How much…?”

He brings your eyes to his, tilting your chin. There’s a dangerous darkness in his eyes that you can just barely make out against the moonlight. Your breath catches with excitement.

“From another perspective…” he drawls, eyes hooded as he takes you in, “I suppose I’m also your special dose of medicine.”

You shiver, enjoying hearing that he misses you, needs you, as much as you did him.

That as many lonely nights you spent without him, he spent those same nights in his office, thinking of you.

He gently removes your hand from his erection, holding you in his strong arms. He sets you down on the bed on your back, hovering over you. He deftly undresses, leaving him stark naked in the moon’s glimmering spotlight. Unfairly and unbearably beautiful.

“Let me tell you…” he promises darkly, leaning down so he can ghost his breath across your parted lips. His biceps bulge when lifts you by your hips, removing both your shorts and panties. A shadow overcomes his hazel eyes when he sees your glistening skin staring back at him. Taunting him. Beckoning him.

“Tell me what, Zayne?” You hold his face in your hands, feeling indescribably blissful to have him in your bed, your arms, again.

Lining himself up with your entrance, Zayne tucks your hair away from your eyes, rubbing himself up and down your weeping slit. The feeling of your arousal against his sensitive flesh makes his jaw tick dangerously.

“…How much I missed you when we couldn’t see each other.”

With that promise, he pushes himself into you, wrapping your thighs around his waist for leverage so he can kiss you freely.

Your cries are drowned out by his ravenous lips, fueled by a hunger only you could sate. Nails digging into his shoulders, your thighs tense around him—almost unable to take his massive member after so many days without it.

Zayne rips his face away with a strangled gasp, saliva connecting your parted lips.

“Relax,” he pleads, his voice a strangled growl as he cries your name, “Relax, sweetheart. You’re squeezing me so tightly.”

“S-Sorry Zayne, I—anngh—can’t control it,” you whimper, thighs trembling. You try to focus on your breathing, “H-Hurts when we haven’t i-in a while.”

Zayne strokes your cheek apologetically, stilling his hips so you have time to adjust, “I’m sorry, love. I didn’t mean to hurt you.” Though he’d never hurt you, it takes everything in him to not bury himself entirely inside of your irresistible heat after weeks without you.

Your heart swells and you kiss him eagerly. His soft tongue, his intoxicating taste, his soothing fingers—it’s enough to make the pain ebb away into nothing but a pleasure you’d missed so terribly.

When you withdraw, Zayne kisses down your jaw, “Does it still hurt?”

You shake your head ‘no,’ causing Zayne’s eyes to darken considerably with excitement. He presses a thumb to your clit, pressing your stomach down with his other palm when you lurch forward. Carefully, as he plays with your hardened bud, he sinks another inch into you.

“What about this?” he pants, almost begging you to say yes, “Does it feel better? Or…do you want to change positions?”

Zayne hisses when you squirm, inadvertently sinking him deeper into your pussy. The pain has quickly dissipated into a familiar ache that you so desperately crave, especially as you watch the pleasure that contorts Zayne’s flawless features.

“No,” you say shakily, “I want to see you.”

Zayne’s throat bobs at your words, bringing your fingers up to his lips and pressing soft soothing kisses into them. With your limited mobility, you try to grind against him, wanting more.

“Zaaaayne,” you whine, not even caring about the sting anymore—or how pathetically desperate you sounded. You needed him and you needed him now, “Just do it and stop asking questions.”

He pants as you wriggle against him, gritting his teeth with restraint, “What do you mean?” His question comes off tauntingly rhetorical.

He sinks another inch into you—domineering, possessive, and demanding.

“Didn’t you ask me how much I missed you?”

Another inch deeper, bruises forming on your thighs from his grip. He devours your filthy cries, every whimper fueling his desire. His hips are intentional against the back of your thighs, your legs dangling over his shoulders now.

“Nnngh—f-fuck—!” you whimper, threading your fingers into his soft black hair.

Any restraint he once showed has disappeared, especially when he can see the pleasure in your cockdrunk expression. He’s an impossible mix of careful and unrestrained, losing himself to the feeling of your perfect pussy—nearly drunk off you.

How did he go without this for weeks?

“I missed you so damn badly, beautiful,” he grits, jaw clenched with exertion as he revisits his earlier words, “I would never rush this.”

The moonlight reflects off the thin sheen of sweat on Zayne’s muscled chest, “Not when you feel like heaven wrapped around me.”

Pressing you deeper into this mind-numbing hold, Zayne molds his mouth against yours. His tongue is demanding, pushing against yours as it demands access to every part of you—tasting and devouring you like a full course meal. When he pulls away, his chest is heaving nearly as roughly as his hips against yours.

“I plan on taking my time with you.”

Your eyes roll back and flutter at his filthy promises, knowing just how truly he means them. Your entire body shakes at Zayne’s punctuated thrusts—even the expensive bed frame feels unstable as it rattles against the drywall.

“C-Can’t—! Oh…god!” you cry, fingernails digging into the delicate silk sheets. Zayne’s eyes flicker down to your white knuckles before taking your hand into his. He holds both your shaky hands above your head, just one of his larger palms able to restrain both of them.

At your drooping eyelids, Zayne taunts lightheartedly—amused, “You can. Or are you tired already? Do you want to sleep?”

There’s an underlying playful lilt to his words, and you roll your eyes, ”Hah—not a chance.”

Zayne’s lips turn up, “Good. Because we’re not done here and quitting halfway isn’t something I would do.”

Your gut clenches with desire, inexplicably enjoying his playful taunts. He fucks the words out of you as he rolls his hips into yours, his heavy balls grazing your other entrance with every intentful thrust. His words become increasingly erratic as he loses himself to your tight warmth.

“The night is still young,” he rasps, sweating beading down his pale skin, “We have plenty of time to re-learn each other.”

Not that Zayne would ever need to re-learn anything about you. He’d memorized every little thing about you. But you nod eagerly in agreement, unable to form words as he reaches your deepest, most sensitive, spots—the throbbing veins of his cock indenting into your soft gummy walls.

Nothing would ever compare to this. To Zayne. To how he made you feel. How he made your body sing.

You’d never be able to live without this.

“Let me hear your voice,” Zayne demands roughly between his gasps for air. His forearms brace on either side of your head as he deepens the mating press he has you in.

“Right now.”

This kind of desperation was rarely given so openly from Zayne. Not that he wasn’t desperate for you, because he was, but he was just a man of such unfettered control that it rarely ever presented itself like this.

But when it did, it consumed you whole—leaving you at the complete mercy of his every wish.

“A-All night,” you babble in agreement, nearing an explosive peak, “However many times you want.” Zayne groans in satisfaction, kissing you with a fiery passion that nearly suffocates you.

He wipes the saliva from your lips with his thumb, praising you affectionately, “Just like that, love.”

Seeing the nearly feral desire in his eyes, you do your best to speak—wanting more of Zayne’s desperation, “I—hah—fucking missed you. O-Oh god, so much!”

Zayne’s hips stutter at your strangled cries, his fingertips turning frosty as his Evol runs with his intense emotions for you—for this moment he’d been dreaming of for weeks. He releases your wrists.

“Did you, sweetheart?” he groans, one hand digging into the globes of your ass while the other finds your clit. You scream at the sensation of his icy fingers, the shocking stimulation short-circuiting your already muddled brain.

“Mnngh—s-soo badly,” you reaffirm brokenly, hardly able to form words.

Your orgasm builds at an alarming pace, especially after it’d been abruptly taken away from you earlier. The addition of his frost-tipped fingers is nearly enough to send you over the edge, but you hold back—wanting more than anything to fall with him.

And even after weeks without this, Zayne knows your body—every tremble, every whimper—like the back of his hand. It all belonged to him.

“Don’t hold out on me,” he whispers, voice low and demanding, squeezing your nipple between his frozen fingertips—not in punishment but rather desperate to pull your orgasm from you.

Your squeals bounce off the walls, unable to take much more. It was all too much for your poor body. Your stolen orgasm, the weeks without him. His cock felt almost bigger than it normally was, nearly swollen with all the cum that he’d craved to fill you with. His Evol was less controlled—overstimulating your poor hardened clit and nipple alike.

“W-Wait—!” you cry, unconvincingly at that—your body rolls into Zayne’s hips, meeting his every torrid thrust, “S’close Zayne!”

Zayne stutters as you clamp down on him, voice hoarse as your cries—your body— drives him to absolute madness.

”Don’t hold out on me, beautiful,” he repeats, reaffirming his heated demands, “Just like that.”

Your attempts at holding back are hopeless—no match against Zayne. Not when he’d been deprived of your sweet orgasms for the last two weeks. He truly was a starved animal, lost in the hunt.

“G-God—you feel divine,” Zayne groans in awe, stuttering uncharacteristically while his hips grow increasingly erratic and untamed.

Your back arches off the bed, vision growing blurry as Zayne brings you closer and closer to the precipice. The veins on his forearm grow more prominent, hooking it under your spine. He holds you tightly to his damp chest, burying his face into your neck with his lips at your ear.

“Just what I needed,” he grunts, “I’ve been thinking about you—every single day.”

You cling to his shoulders, nearly sobbing with pleasure—tears pooling in your eyes, “I’m so c-close!”

Zayne presses his cool lips to your temple, breath hot as he comforts you, “I know. Let go for me.”

He seals his words with another breathtaking kiss, pulling away to look deeply in your hooded eyes—your name is a sacred prayer on his tongue,

“Say my name.”

That single plea shatters your remaining control, your orgasm consuming your body whole. It ravages every nerve in your body, blinding you and rendering you absolutely destroyed.

“Zayne—!” you cry, nails digging into his back, “F-Fuck—m’cumming!”

Zayne moans, struggling to withstand how tightly you clench against him, sucking him in and refusing to let go—to withstand how you sing his name as you explode against his cock still hammering into you.

“Cum for me, sweetheart,” he grunts, working himself into an absolute frenzy, unbearably close to cumming himself.

You gasp for air as Zayne firmly tugs against your hair, exposing your neck before him.

“Fuck—oh god!” you ramble, “Zayne!”

The way you scream his name proves to be Zayne’s absolute undoing.

“You’re so good for me,” Zayne rasps, “I’m c-close.”

You do your best to nod, your entire body wracked with the tremors of your long overdue orgasm. The way Zayne stutters, both words and rhythm, makes you delirious with satisfaction. He prolongs your orgasm, determined to feel your walls milking him when he cums, the unrelenting ecstasy of your climax ebbing throughout your every nerve ending.

“I need to make up for lost time,” he rambles with his teeth clenched, “Ready, sweetheart?”

“Y-Yes, please!” you beg, desperate to be flooded by him. The slick moisture smears between your joined bodies, wet sounds joining the sounds of both your pleasure.

Zayne hugs you impossibly tight as he explodes inside of you, painting your insides milky white. Your hips scream in protest, your body folded nearly in half, but your arms grip him closer. He chants your name as he cums, desperation reaching new heights as you milk him unbearably dry.

“Mnngh—that’s it,” he murmurs darkly, thrusting wildly through his violent orgasm, “All of it. You’re perfect.”

His lips claim every inch of skin he can reach, your body covered with sweat and saliva. Goosebumps form in his wake as he gasps your name repeatedly, voice broken and vulnerable.

“S-So full,” you whisper raggedly, feeling bloated as his burning seed drips down your thighs. You look down, inspecting the glistening mess smeared against your thighs and Zayne’s marbled pelvis.

Zayne inhales deeply, his lips at your temple. His lengthy fingers stroke your hair tenderly, hips still rocking into you as he tries to fuck the cum back into you.

“I know,” he murmurs, “I said I missed you.”

Zayne shifts, rolling on to his side without detaching from you. You whine softly as he cradles you back into his strong chest, making sure he keeps himself plugged inside of you.

“How do you feel?” he whispers, “I didn’t hurt you too badly, did I?”

His fingers find your trembling thighs, digging his skilled fingers into them. He massages you gently, sending your eyes rolling back.

“Ah…I feel fine. Better than I have in weeks,” you reassure, kissing the corner of his lips. As Zayne continues to work his hands into your aching muscles, you moan and squirm—unable to keep from reacting to his expert touch.

He holds you in place, his hips shallowly thrusting into you in warning—still hard and twitching.

“Sweetheart…” he warns lowly, “Behave.”

You laugh, eyes sparkling with amusement. Sighing in contentment, you press your head against his chest. Zayne’s arms tighten around you, his fingers still cold from his Evol as they stroke your burning skin, pressing innocent kisses into your temple and forehead.

“Relaxed?” you ask, feeling your eyelids droop as the drowsiness sets back in—especially after the ringer he’d put your poor body through. Your hands rub soothing circles on his back, feeling bad as your fingers trace the deep scratches you’d left there.

“Yes,” he breathes you in, committing the scent to memory—especially knowing there’d be more weeks like this, “There’s no medicine in the world quite like you.”

“Damn right,” you grin playfully even as your eyelashes flutter heavily. Zayne chuckles at your haughty words

“But…” he drawls, voice hushed against your sensitive earlobes, “I haven’t had my fill.”

You shiver, whining as Zayne gently shakes you back awake. Even as your mind craves sleep, your body reacts readily to Zayne’s movements, his words.

“Wake up sweetheart,” he murmurs seductively, breath hot in your ear. Your stomach lurches with excitement, “I still need you.”

“No. I’m asleep,” you mumble playfully, keeping your eyes closed. He chuckles at your adorable antics, big hands rubbing up and down your thighs. It wasn’t often that Zayne was so vocal with his carnal desires, and that alone easily broke down your resolve.

“My schedule won’t be lightening any time soon,” he sighs darkly, “I need to give you something to remember me by.”

You moan as Zayne gently presses his thumb into your clit, the rough digit cold with the effects of his Evol—no doubt on purpose. He knew you loved when he used it on you.

“Zayne…” you mumble, halfway between a warning and a plea.

His icy fingertips collect the pearly essence that had dripped down your soft thighs, smearing it against your lips, still stretched out over his cock buried inside you.

“This isn’t nearly enough. Not when I have so much more to give you.”

Yeah, there was no way you could say no to that.

.ᐟ✧ THIS IS MY ONLY ACCOUNT. I WILL ONLY POST ON THIS ACCOUNT AND AO3. i am not @/aeyumicores or @/aeyumiicore or any variations of my blog name.

✧.˖ i do not permit translations or reposts of my work on tumblr, ao3, or others. please do not reuse my blogpost headers, dividers, or layouts. these are original designs of my own.

#YUMI STRIKES AGAIN #bless your soul for this good eatin I was starving #Zayne #l&ds #fic recs

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loviatarsluv · 20 days ago

Text

Only One

synopsis: You and Sylus are trapped. Only one can escape.

content: ANGST

The shuttle hummed quietly beneath your boots, a smooth glide through the dark velvet of space as Onychinus protocol played out around you. It was supposed to be a routine mission—just a brief meeting on a neutral station with a few Ever representatives. Nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing dangerous.

Which was exactly why you were allowed to come.

And exactly why Sylus hadn’t argued. Much.

He sat across from you now in the low-lit cabin, one ankle resting over his knee, gloved fingers idly spinning a sleek pen between them. The flick of silver caught the ambient light every few seconds, glinting like a secret. His coat hung open just enough to reveal the curve of his collarbone, the dark red shirt beneath it still crisp despite the long ride.

“You’re staring,” he said without looking up.

“I’m thinking,” you replied, arms crossed, pretending like the flush on your cheeks wasn’t blooming from the slow, smug smile that curved across his lips.

“Oh?” He tilted his head toward you now, lashes low, violet gaze narrowed with mischief. “Thinking about how I’ll look when I’m charming Ever’s delegates into spilling all their secrets? Or... something else?”

You raised a brow. “That’s a pretty bold assumption, considering you haven’t charmed anyone into anything yet.”

“Yet,” he echoed, and then leaned forward—elbows braced on his knees, eyes locked to yours. “I’ve got a solid track record, sweetie. When I want something, I get it.”

You swallowed. Too warm. Too smug. Too close.

“Then I guess it’s lucky I’m here to keep you from getting too cocky.”

That earned a soft laugh, rich and low. “You? Keep me in check? You’ve never denied me anything.”

You lifted a hand and flicked the pen out of his fingers.

“Hey.”

“I’m denying you this.”

He leaned back again with a quiet groan, but the grin stayed. “Unbelievable. I bring you on a date in deep space and you steal my toys.”

“This isn’t a date,” you said, even though it kind of felt like one. It always did, when it was just the two of you. Even on missions, even during late nights in his dimly-lit gym or quiet returns to the base after long days. The space between you always buzzed, not just with desire, but something deeper. Familiar. Pulled tight by history. Threaded through with want.

He gave you a look like he could hear your thoughts. “Could be a date. If we make it one.”

“Sylus—”

The shuttle landed with a gentle jolt. The cabin lights brightened as the system booted down, and your moment shattered into the reality of metal and motion.

“We’re here,” he said, voice still soft. But he lingered before standing. Reached out and tucked a stray lock of hair behind your ear, thumb brushing your cheek. “You ready?”

You nodded, breath caught in your throat.

“I’ve got your back,” you said.

His gaze lingered a beat too long.

“I know.”

The shuttle hissed as it docked, pressure seals engaging with a heavy clunk. Beyond the reinforced doors, the Ever outpost loomed — pristine white corridors, gravity-neutral chambers suspended in magnetic harnesses, the whole facility floating like a jewel in the dark curve of Earth’s upper atmosphere. From here, the stars looked like pinpricks carved into black glass. Still. Cold. Watching.

You tapped your fingers against the strap of your harness, watching Sylus slide his hands through his hair with practiced ease. He looked calm — as always — but you caught the way his shoulders rolled once, like he was working out tension. He always got quiet before meetings like this.

"Still time to back out," he said, not looking at you as he locked the weapon case on his belt. “Could say it was a boring intelligence recon. I’ll even tell them you had the flu.”

You gave him a look. “And miss watching you pretend to be professional?”

That earned a huff — not quite a laugh, but close. He turned, finally, meeting your eyes with that slow-burn warmth only he ever gave you. “I’m always professional, sweetie.”

“You’re still wearing the necklace I gave you under your shirt.”

“You picked it out. I’m not suicidal.”

He stepped closer, the synthetic floor humming under his shoes. His fingers brushed against your cheek, tipping your chin slightly. The pressurized hum of the ship behind you faded just a little as he lowered his voice. “You’re sure about this, kitten? These aren’t just numbers in a report. Ever plays deep.”

You nodded. “I know that. I need to know what they’re hiding. Same as you.”

For a moment, he didn’t say anything — just looked at you, red eyes flicking over every line of your face like he was memorizing it. He always did that before missions, too. Like just in case.

Then: “Alright.” He leaned down, his lips brushing your temple. “But if anyone so much as looks at you wrong in there—”

“You’ll what?” you teased, stepping past him toward the door. “Tell them a long-winded story about Mephisto’s kleptomania until they cry?”

He followed with a faint smile. “It worked once.”

The Ever operatives were already waiting in the glass-panel briefing room — a sterile, floating space tethered between two structural beams. They offered polite nods, cold tea, and a datapad loaded with false transparency.

Sylus kept his tone clipped but polite, asking about Rift signatures near the old Chronos Labs, subtle mineral patterns in the asteroid belt — things only Ever would try to hide under the pretense of benevolence.

You watched their faces closely as they lied, your hand drifting to rest lightly on the edge of the console, where Sylus’s hand brushed yours beneath the table. He didn’t look down. Didn’t react. But his thumb curled around your fingers slowly — anchoring.

They talked for over twenty minutes. Boring, clipped lingo about graviton behavior, quantum decay rates, ship logs, monitoring systems. But something itched at the back of your skull. Like this entire facility was too clean. Too quiet.

Too rehearsed.

When the meeting adjourned, the lead agent offered a tour. “We’re proud of the improvements. All Ever technology is shared freely with Onychinus, of course. Feel free to observe what you like.”

You and Sylus exchanged a glance.

“Of course,” Sylus said, with a smile that never quite reached his eyes.

The walk through the corridors was long — and strange. A few labs, observation pods, bio-stasis chambers that didn’t quite match what the facility claimed to be. Too few staff. Too many locked doors.

“Something’s off,” you murmured to Sylus, close enough for only him to hear.

He nodded once, subtly. “I’ve been mapping the hallways. Two sectors don’t line up with their official schematic.”

“And the lead agent?”

“Hasn’t blinked in twenty-seven seconds. I’m betting implants. Maybe worse.”

You exhaled slowly. But he squeezed your hand once, behind the shield of his coat.

“You trust me?” he asked under his breath.

You didn’t hesitate. “With everything.”

“Then stay close.”

He grinned then — that roguish, cocky one he only wore for you. “And after this, I’ll take you for a joyride. I mean it.”

You reached the core chamber under pretense of a systems inspection. The moment Sylus accessed the terminal, the entire room changed.

A low pulse rippled through the walls — like a heartbeat — followed by a sudden drop in temperature.

Behind you, the door sealed with a violent clang.

The lights flickered red.

The gravity vanished.

You floated for only a moment before a dull thrum surged through your skin — wrong, wrong, wrong — and Sylus cried out, grabbing his chest. You reached for him instinctively—

“Sylus?”

His knees hit the floor with a grunt. Sweat beaded at his temple. “Antimatter—”

“What?”

“Antimatter chamber,” he gasped, bracing on one elbow. “It’s—nullifying me.”

Your heart dropped into your stomach.

Antimatter. The one thing that could sever him from his Evol. Disable everything that made him what he was.

He looked up at you, face drawn, breath ragged. “This is a kill box.”

“Sylus—”

Your voice cracked as you dropped to your knees beside him, the air thick and vibrating with something wrong — something cold and heavy pressing in on all sides. He braced himself on one arm, jaw tight, his free hand curling into a fist against the floor.

“Sylus—hey—” Your fingers found his wrist, trembling slightly as you gripped it. “It’s just your Evol right? You’re gonna be alright—”

“Feels like…” he hissed through clenched teeth, forcing himself upright. “Something’s pulling—tugging—like static inside my bones.”

You felt it too, now that he said it. A buzz under your skin. Not painful exactly — but oppressive. Wrong. The floor no longer vibrated with ship systems or station hum. The silence was total. Manufactured. Staged.

You moved in closer, pushing hair out of his face, anything to comfort him.

“I’m sorry— I should have sensed it before we walked in— I should have—”

Sylus places his hand over your own trembling one, and then: “It’s not your fault sweetie,”

The look in his eyes made you want to cry. You turned your cheek, willing the sting behind your eyes to go away, scanning the room for any possible exit.

“The door sealed behind us, but maybe there’s another way out. Maybe if I resonate—”

“It’s an antimatter nullification field,” Sylus said again, voice low and strained, like he was forcing each word through glass. “It doesn’t just strip my Evol. There’s no energy in this room, so you won’t be able to resonate either.”

Your breath stuttered. “But why—”

A sharp electronic squeal sliced through the chamber, and you instinctively ducked, moving even closer to Sylus to shield him— arm braced around his waist.

The ceiling above flickered with life — a broad, concave screen shimmered to life with an unnatural glow. Blue light painted your faces, cast your shadows long and skeletal on the chamber walls.

Then a voice crackled through the air, smooth and artificial, modulated and unplaceable.

“Welcome, subjects.”

The chamber stilled.

“You’ve been selected for Ever’s latest experimental paradigm: a study on survival instinct, emotional prioritization, and the threshold at which love becomes expendable.”

Your blood went ice cold.

Sylus straightened beside you, more from sheer fury than recovered strength.

“You are inside a sealed facility. All exits are currently inaccessible.”

A long pause. Then:

“Only one of you may leave.”

You froze.

Sylus didn’t breathe.

“You have sixty minutes to make a decision. If no choice is made, both participants will be eliminated. This study aims to explore whether the human will to live outweighs the depth of emotional attachment. If sacrifice is instinct… or illusion.”

The voice smiled without smiling.

“Will love compel you to die? Or will instinct compel you to survive?”

A soft ding echoed in the chamber.

From the ceiling, a small ring of projection light scanned the floor, and a holographic timer materialized in midair.

59:5959:5859:57

It ticked slowly. Quietly.

You could hear Sylus’s breathing next to you — harsh and uneven.

The projection vanished from the ceiling, leaving only that timer, glowing a sickly blue in the dim.

You turned to him, your voice catching.

“We’re not doing this.”

He looked at you, eyes sharp. “Obviously not.”

“We can find a way out. We always do.”

Sylus’s lips twitched, and for a second you thought he was about to argue. But then he nodded — short, clipped, decisive.

“Then let’s get to work.”

59:06

The first ten minutes passed in a blur of frantic logic.

Sylus pulled himself up onto a bench embedded into the wall, wiping sweat from his brow, and you scrambled to scan every seam, every panel. The chamber was smooth, shiny surfaces that reflected your haunted gaze — the kind of manufactured perfection meant to be inescapable. No visible access points. No screws. No exposed wiring.

Just white walls. Blue light. And that damn ticking.

He walked you through what he could remember — where the fail-safes might be, how Ever had developed prototype nullification protofields before, but nothing ever stable. “They can’t keep this field up forever,” he said. “It’s too volatile. We just need to outlast it.”

“So we wait it out?”

“No,” he said immediately. “They won’t let it reach that point. If their data corrupts, they’ll kill us to preserve control.”

You grit your teeth. “Then what’s the plan?”

“Look for feedback points. Anything magnetic. Antimatter is sensitive to polarity. If we reverse the chamber’s flow…”

He didn’t need to finish. You were already scanning again, dragging your fingers over the edges of the panels, looking for hairline breaks, inconsistencies.

“You said your Evol is gone,” you said after a beat. “Completely?”

He flexed his hand slowly. “It’s not gone— it’s just… useless. In a place like this.”

His words made your stomach turn. You couldn’t hide the grimace that rippled across your face.

“I can still think. Still fight.” He made his way towards you, then, softly: “Don’t give up on me now, sweetie. We still have time. I promised you I would remain undefeated, I intend to keep that promise.”

You nodded, swallowing hard.

He pulled you into his chest, one strong hand cradling your head, the other gliding up your back.

“I will get us out of here.”

50:02

The timer ticked past 50 minutes.

You’d found nothing.

No irregularities. No temperature shifts. No hidden seams.

You slammed your palm against the wall and let out a frustrated breath. “There has to be a way out.”

Sylus was kneeling by the floor now, eyeing the base of the door where the seal had activated. “As much as I hate to admit it, they engineered this room well.” A pause. “Seems like they finally found someone competent enough to take me out.”

You turned sharply. “Don’t talk like that.”

“I’m being realistic.”

“This isn’t a joke, Sylus. Ten minutes have barely passed and you’re already talking like you’re going to die!”

He looked at you, his expression unreadable.

You took a step toward him. “You said we’d get out of this. That you’d take me for a joyride.”

“I meant it.” A flicker behind his eye. Then:

“I will.”

Your shoulders dropped, just a fraction of tension released from your frame.

“Then stop talking like that. Work with me.”

He exhaled slowly, and for a moment — just a second — he looked exhausted. Not from pain. Not from the nullification. But from you. From the ache in your voice. From what it meant.

You dropped to your knees beside him again. “We’re going to figure it out. After everything we’ve been through— this can’t be what beats us.”

He looked at you finally. “It won’t, sweetie.”

You reached for his hand — and this time, he let you hold it.

His skin was cool, but his warmth spread through your chest all the same.

40:13

You were stuck to the screen on the far wall of the room now. Trying everything you could think of — hacking, overriding the system — anything that might disengage this experiment and end the nightmare.

The room felt smaller. The air thinner.

Sylus hadn’t moved in minutes.

Internally, he was spiraling.

He was still trapped in this room — physically — but mentally he was in Tarus City. He was in the Judicator’s sanctuary, clutching his chest, fighting his desire to kill you, to fall victim to the curse.

He was running away. Running away from fate — from a choice he would never make if he had any say — running away from you.

He was trying to save you.

He didn’t notice you approaching.

“Talk to me,” you whispered. “You’re shutting down.”

“I’m not—” he said too quickly. “I just keep thinking... if I hadn’t brought you—”

“Sylus, don’t.”

He looked at you, jaw clenched.

“I followed you,” you said, reaching for him. “I chose to be here.”

“You didn’t know what this was.” He said, gripping your hand.

“Neither did you, I don’t blame you.”

He didn’t answer.

Silence stretched. Thick. Choking.

Then, softer:

“I’ve survived a hundred different deaths,” he said. “I’ve been through worse than most people can imagine. But if you die in here—if you die because of me—I won't come back from that.”

Your throat closed. You reached for him again, gripping his hand tighter.

“Then don’t let it happen,” you said. “Sylus, it’s not over.”

His eyes met yours — and this time, they were glassy.

But he nodded.

Once.

Then:

“Thirty minutes left.”

You looked up at the timer.

29:59

The chamber had gone still.

Only the low-frequency hum of the containment core pulsed through the walls — cold, mechanical, absolute. Every path you’d tried had dead-ended. Sylus’s fingers hovered over the holographic interface, but the security script just blinked back at him: ACCESS DENIED. CORE LOCK ENGAGED. COUNTDOWN: 00:27:42

He’d hacked through far worse before. Coded intelligent AI, cracked encrypted data under pressure, bypassed systems no one else even dared touch. Somewhere deep in his bones he wished he could summon Mephisto — anything that might crawl through a crack in the system, find a loophole he couldn’t reach alone.

But he was quiet. Too quiet.

He was scared.

You watched him from across the room. He stood motionless — not breathing for a second too long. His shadow stretched long and distorted beneath the sterile overhead lights, warping where the antimatter field shimmered faintly against the walls.

And then he said it.

“I want you to be the one who gets out.”

Your heart stopped. “What?”

“If we don’t find a way out in time,” Sylus said, still not meeting your eyes, “you should live. You have to. Don’t argue.”

Your voice cracked. “Sylus—”

He turned. His red eyes were soft — devastatingly so.

“I know how this looks. But I’ve already thought it through. The antimatter nullifies me — my Evol, my regeneration, everything that makes me unstoppable. But you... you’re still whole. You can walk out of here, strong, resilient. Everything I’ve ever wished for you to be.”

“You are not sending me out alone.”

“You would survive,” he pressed, stepping closer. “You still have your future. Your work. Your world. So much more ahead of you. Me—?” His smile twisted with unbearable tenderness. “I’ve lived long enough. I’ve seen everything worth seeing.”

“No you haven’t,” you snapped, cutting him off. “I won’t let our future slip away because of some stupid fucking experiment—” You paused, breath hitching. “You don’t get to make that decision for me, Sylus.”

“Sweetie...”

“Don’t do this.” Your voice broke. You crossed the room in two strides and caught his face in your hands. “Don’t you dare talk like you’ve already decided. Like you’re disposable.”

His hands closed around your wrists — warm, steady, trembling slightly.

“You don’t understand. I brought you into this. I told you it was safe.”

“I told you I don’t care about that!”

“You should. I wasn’t paying attention. I missed the signs. I—” He cut himself off, the guilt knotting in his throat. “You could’ve been anywhere else. You should have been.”

“I chose to be here,” you snapped, tears stinging. “Because I love you. Because I trust you.”

He faltered.

You touched his jaw, voice shaking but sure. “If I hadn’t come — if you died — without so much as a goodbye—” You choked back a sob. “I wouldn’t know what to do. If this is really it— then we go out together.”

He flinched. That guilt in his eyes twisted deeper, sharper.

“Don’t say that. I told you I wouldn’t let you die. I meant it.”

You stared at him. “It’s not your decision to make. We still have time. Let’s not waste it.”

You turned back to the screen, steel settling into your spine. You forced yourself to block out the timer, even as it kept bleeding toward zero. Sylus returned to the door, beginning another pass over the mechanisms, searching for even the thinnest crack in the system.

But your words echoed in his mind.

It’s not your decision to make.

You were right. He knew that. But it didn’t change the truth: he was selfish. Selfish in his desire to protect you. Selfish in the way he’d always placed himself between you and danger — not out of arrogance, but fear. Desperation. Love.

He was selfish then, too. In another life.

Letting you plunge the sword through his chest had come as naturally as breathing. There was no other option in his mind. Dying was the only way to free you. To protect you from the curse — from himself.

It had felt right. At the time.

But was it what you would’ve chosen?

He didn’t let himself think about what became of you afterward. Not often. On the hardest nights, he told himself you had your revenge. That you relished in the treasures he left behind. That you lived out your days in peace. That you moved on.

He had to believe that.

He couldn’t believe he left a gaping hole in your chest.

He knew he was wrong.

He thought of the binding curse you laid over him — how your grief kept him tethered to this life. Not vengeance. Not hatred. But love. Your curse was your forgiveness. A second chance — one where doomsday was behind you and the only fight left was to love each other freely. To see it through to the end.

And now he was here again.

If he left you behind, would you forgive him again?

Will this be my final curtain call?

15:01

“Sylus—”

Your broken sob dragged him out of the spiral.

He turned fast. You were trembling at the console, braced against the edge as though it were the only thing holding you upright. Silent tears tracked down your cheeks. Your eyes stayed locked on the monitor — on the timer ticking relentlessly downward.

Fifteen minutes.

Fifteen minutes until one of you died.

“Sylus,” you whispered again, breath hitching, fragile with panic and fury and unbearable love.

He didn’t speak. He crossed the room with quiet urgency and laid his hand on your back. You flinched—not from him, but from the weight of it all. The pressure. The grief. The fear.

“I can’t do this,” you said hoarsely. “I can’t—pretend like we’re okay. Like this is just another mission. I—every time I look at that timer I feel like I’m watching you disappear in real time.”

His voice came soft. “I’m still here.”

“But for how long?” You turned toward him, eyes red-rimmed and pleading. “You’re already deciding. I can see it. You’ve already made peace with leaving me behind, and I hate it.”

He swallowed hard. “It’s not peace. It’s just—logic.”

“Fuck logic!” you snapped, stepping into him. “I don’t know what to do— I can’t figure anything out with this stupid panel and my Evol won’t work—”

Your words dissolved into sobs.

“Sweetie, come here.”

He wrapped his arms around you. Held you like a lifeline.

“I know this is stressful. But there’s still time. Try not to panic. Just breathe with me for a minute.”

You buried your face in his chest, clutching his shirt like it could anchor you to this moment — this heartbeat, this warmth. His breathing steadied you. Together, for just one fleeting moment, you felt the world pause.

And then—

The intercom buzzed to life again, slicing through the silence like a blade.

“Subjects. You have ten minutes left. If a decision is not made in this time, both parties will be eliminated.”

A sob tore from your throat.

Shaking, you looked up at Sylus. His eyes were glassy now too — red and wet and barely holding back everything.

“Sylus—” you choked, voice breaking, “I know it might not work— but try to resonate with me.”

“Sweetie...”

“Just do it!” you snapped.

He said nothing. Just slowly slid his hand down your arm, lacing your fingers together. A grounding touch.

You closed your eyes, reaching inward with everything you had left — begging your Evol to reach past the containment field. Past fear. Past time.

Please… please…

You focused everything into him.

And waited.

The silence was unbearable.

No warning klaxon. Just the low, invisible hum of the antimatter trap and the weight of the minutes slipping through your fingers.

Sylus’s hand was still warm in yours, but your palms were slick, fingers trembling. You’d been trying everything. Overclocking your Evol, syncing your rhythms, pushing your Evol to its limit. The chamber had pulsed once—just once—with a shiver of blue light, your hands glowing gold for half a second like a breath being held. But then it collapsed. Fizzled.

Too weak.

“No, no, no—” you muttered, pressing your hands to the floor as if sheer force of will would draw something out. “We’re close. We have to be close. Why won’t it hold?”

The resonance flickered again — a bright, shuddering pulse that cracked through the silence like a held breath finally released — then dimmed just as fast, like it had thought better of trying.

You flinched at the collapse of it. “That was closer, wasn’t it? That had to be—”

Sylus’s hands tightened around yours. “It was. But it’s not enough.”

“No,” you whispered, shaking your head hard. “No, we just have to—”

Another surge, then nothing. Not even a hum.

You pressed your palms flat to the chamber wall, sweat collecting at your temples. The silence afterward was unbearable. You could hear your heartbeat in your throat, loud, choking, useless.

“We can’t give up,” you said quickly, breath catching. “It was working. We can make it work again—if we try harder—if we—”

“Hey. Hey, kitten.” Sylus caught your face gently, brushing back damp strands of hair. “You’ve done enough.”

His voice was soft, so maddeningly soft, like you were already being put to sleep.

Your throat clenched. “Don’t talk like that.”

“I’m just saying it out loud,” he murmured. “In case we don’t get another chance.”

“No,” you said again, harsher this time. “We will. Don’t say that. Don’t you dare—”

His forehead rested against yours, warm and grounding. “I love you,” he said.

You froze.

“I love you more than I ever thought myself capable of loving anything,” he went on, voice trembling for the first time. “And if this is where it ends, I need you to know that was never your fault.”

You gripped his sleeves. “Sylus, stop. You’re talking like you’ve already chosen.”

“I did. The moment this trap activated.”

“No—”

“Yes.” He breathed in shakily. “I made peace with it already, sweetie. You have to let me.”

You shoved away from him. “I won’t let you. I already told you you’re not allowed to make this decision for me!”

His jaw tightened, but his gaze stayed steady. “I’m not choosing for you. I’m asking you to live.”

“You’re asking me to kill you,” you snapped.

“I’m asking you not to waste everything we’ve survived for. Everything you’ve become.”

You were shaking. “And you think I could live with myself if I just let you go? If I climbed out of here and left you behind in this empty metal tomb, alone—?”

“If it means you live, then yes.”

You shoved him, not hard enough to hurt. “You’re so selfish.”

He blinked. “Selfish?”

“You think you’re sparing me pain, but really you’re just choosing the option that makes you feel better. You’d rather be the one left behind than risk living without me.”

He opened his mouth to argue — then closed it. His silence was answer enough.

Tears blurred your vision. “You said you loved me.”

“I do.”

“Then stop trying to leave me.”

Sylus pulled you close, breath catching. “If you walk out, maybe I don’t die. Not really.” You looked up, startled.

He hesitated, voice lower. “You’ve always been the only one who could truly end me. If you leave… maybe some part of me will keep waiting. Maybe I’ll come back.”

Your hands trembled against his chest. “That’s not enough. I don’t want a ghost of you. I want you. I want us both out of here.”

“If it can’t be both,” he murmured, “then it has to be you.”

You shook your head, desperate. “There’s always another way. We just haven’t found it yet.”

“You said that an hour ago.”

“I’ll say it until my voice gives out,” you whispered, pressing your forehead to his again. “Because I refuse to live in a world that doesn’t have you in it. If this place wants us to choose one life—it can’t have either.”

He didn’t answer. His arms only tightened around you.

The next resonance surge was weaker. Your time was running out.

5:00

The air in the chamber hummed like a dying star — pulsing faintly, then fading, the light from the holographic screen beginning to dim. Sylus sat against the wall, one arm around you, the other curled protectively over your hand, which trembled in his grip.

The resonance had sparked — once, twice — a flicker of your Evols trying to harmonize. But it never held. The antimatter core in the center of the room seemed to absorb everything. Even hope.

Your breathing was unsteady now. Not just from exhaustion. From fear.

“We almost had it that time,” you whispered. “I could feel it… just for a second. Sylus, maybe—maybe if we try again—”

“No,” he said softly, his voice so gentle it almost didn’t register as refusal. “It’s not going to work, sweetie. You and I both know it. I don't want to waste what's left pretending it’s not happening,”

A silence passed between you. Sylus looked at the ceiling — at the thin sliver of metal and glass that separated you from the sky outside. The stars had long since disappeared.

He let out a quiet breath. “I used to think dying scared me. That the worst thing in the world was not knowing what came next.”

You shook your head, voice raw. “Stop.”

“But it doesn’t. Not anymore. Not if I know you’ll keep going. That you’ll live the kind of life I always wanted for you.”

“No—stop it.” Your voice broke. “Sylus, listen to me. If I leave here without you, that life means nothing. I don’t want it. I never did.”

His hand tightened around yours. “You don’t mean that.”

“I do.” You looked him dead in the eyes. “You talk about me living, like I’m supposed to be okay walking away from this. Like I could smile and move on. I can’t. I won’t.”

There was a flicker of guilt in his expression—deep, old, familiar. Like a shadow resurfacing from some buried place.

“I made this mistake before,” he murmured. “A long time ago. Gave up my life, thinking it would be enough to save you. But it wasn’t. You still suffered.”

You frowned, confused—but he shook his head before you could speak.

“Doesn’t matter,” he said. “What matters is I know better now. Dying for you doesn’t fix it. Not if it breaks you in return.”

You were both quiet for a while.

The core in the center of the room pulsed once—like a heartbeat. Then stilled.

You swallowed. “Then we don’t choose. Not one over the other.”

Sylus’s throat bobbed. His voice cracked when he said, “You mean—”

“I mean we stay.” Your hand lifted to his face, brushing his cheek. “Together.”

He exhaled shakily, pressing his forehead to yours. “You’re sure?”

“Yes.” The tears came now, but you weren’t afraid anymore. “If this is it… I’d rather it be with you. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

He kissed you — slow, aching, his hand at your jaw like you were something sacred.

When the antimatter core began to glow brighter, signaling the final countdown, neither of you looked away.

You leaned into him. Wrapped your arms around his waist.

“I’m not afraid,” you whispered.

“Neither am I.”

The core was blinding now. You buried your face in Sylus’ shoulder, whispering your last goodbye.

“I love you, Sylus.”

“I love you, too, sweetie.”

And then—

Darkness.

Two sets of fingerprints on the glass.

Two people, curled together like they were always meant to return to each other — even here.

Even at the end.

a/n: i kind of hate this i won't lie. perhaps my first flop on this blog. when u love sylus so much u have to put him in a saw trap in ur fic

#yeOWCHHHH #did u kiss the brick before u threw it at me #Sylus #l&ds #fic recs

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