#lads queue

[indycinders]

I finished it \o/ even before his birthday came qvq imma schedule it for his bday tho uwu

I had a lot of fun with this and all the little details!

Caleb is such a comfort character for me ;3; there's just something inside me that he's been healing. Happy birthday, Colonel Apple <3

[indycinders]

@sylus-little-meow-meow cry with me

- Ordinary Traces -

'I've been coming here longer than you.'

'Was there a reason you started coming here?'

'It's interesting.'

'I knew you were quite curious about my world.'

'Your world? It's a world with you in it.'

---------

'Everyone here showed up in pairs. Is there anything to boast about when I see happiness that doesn't belong to me? I decided last year that I wouldn't show up this year.'

'But you're here now. It's because this year is different from before, right? Because this year, I'm here with you.'

[asiatic-apple]

I need the smut mirror sex prompt with Sylus and female reader please

Your wish is my command, anon ;) I’m still a little unsure about what Sylus’s dirty talking would be like…If y’all have any feedback on how I wrote it here, lmk what you think!

Requests are open for my follower celebration

Breathtaking view

Sylus x female reader

Prompt: mirror sex

Content: lots of praise, hair pulling (but it’s gentle), slightly rough fucking…but sylus remains a gentleman, a moment of possessive!sylus, creampie

The ornate floor-length mirror across from Sylus’s bed at Onychinus’s base felt a little over the top when you first saw it. But now, you’re starting to understand its appeal—and why Sylus positioned it with the perfect view of his large bed.

You're on all fours at the edge of the mattress, facing the mirror with your back arched and hands gripping the silk sheets. And Sylus is behind you, fucking you with a rhythm that has your thighs trembling.

He usually doesn’t take you like this. Normally, he likes the moment to be more intimate, his body pressed against every delicious curve of yours. He likes to cradle you in his arms and use his weight to keep you in place while he overwhelms you with deep thrusts.

But tonight, he can’t deny there’s something special about this view.

“Look at that,” he groans, low and reverent. One palm glides down your spine while the other grips your hip tight enough to bruise. “So perfect…”

You try to focus on the mirror's reflection—the sight of your flushed face, mouth parted, body jolting forward with each powerful thrust. But your eyes are drawn to him. The way his gaze is locked on you like he’s memorizing every detail, every shudder, every moan.

You cry out when he hits that perfect spot inside you, making your arms buckle and your head drop forward onto the sheets. But there’s no real reprieve from the intense pleasure. He folds his strong torso over your back, his thrusts not missing a beat while he presses warm kisses to your shoulder and neck.

“Eyes on the mirror, sweetie,” he rasps, voice thick with desire.

All you can do is whimper in return. You’re not sure if you have the strength to stay upright when Sylus fucks you so deep, his cock kissing your cervix with each roll of his hips.

And he knows it. He always knows. His fingers slip up the nape of your neck, threading gently into your hair before giving a firm tug at the roots. It’s not too rough. Just sudden enough to make you yelp and lift your gaze.

The moment your eyes meet his in the mirror, he slows, just for a heartbeat. It’s not hesitation. It’s just a quick check-in. Ready to stop if you need to tap out.

But you don’t. You want this. Your body tingles with pleasure when he resumes the rough pace of his thrusts, fucking you a bit harder now that he has your attention.

“That’s it,” he growls, that trademark smirk tugging at his lips. “Don’t look away.” Your cunt clenches around him in response, and he lets out a noise that’s guttural, downright feral. “Fuck…just like that,” he groans between the sounds of your pussy slicking him up with more of your arousal. “You’re squeezing me so well, sweetie.”

You whine his name, hips pushing back against him instinctively. You’re lost in the heat of his words and the stretch of him inside you.

“Such a precious little thing,” he murmurs, almost to himself.

His eyes never leave the reflection. He’s drinking in the sight of your body—how gorgeous every dip, curve, and soft roll is while you writhe from the pleasure.

And while he’s lost in admiring you, you’re just as caught up in him. The way his muscles flex with every movement. The way his skin glistens with sweat. The sharp lines of his jaw clenching when he grits his teeth. You’re hypnotized by his strength, his hunger, his absolute focus on you.

Then his arm snakes around your waist, and his fingers slip between your thighs to lazily circle your clit.

“Beautiful,” he whispers, still mesmerized by you and talking mostly to himself. “And you’re all mine.”

He fucks you like he plans on keeping you forever. And he kisses your neck with such gentle affection—it’s a dizzying contrast to how hard and deep his cock moves inside you.

Watching yourself like this, seeing how your own body seems to glow with confidence, it makes you moan even louder. Only Sylus brings out this side of you. And he loves it. He loves knowing how his words, his praise, encourages you to love yourself harder. You deserve it all, and he’s proud of you for accepting both his cock and his affection so openly.

The two of you get lost in the sinful image of your bodies intertwined, appreciating how sexy you look together. You’ve always brought out the best sides of each other.

It’s that feeling—the recognition that Sylus completes you and you complete him—that has your fingers clawing into his bicep as he thrusts into you harder, chasing both your highs at once.

“Come on, sweetheart,” Sylus says between breathless grunts. “Come for me.”

With one more circle of his fingers and a deliciously deep thrust, you fall apart on his cock. Your mouth parts in such a pretty ‘o’, and Sylus eagerly watches every twitch and shiver of your body through the mirror.

He follows a breath later, hips jerking one last time as he spills inside you with a rough groan of your name.

After such passionate lovemaking, even someone as strong as Sylus can’t stay upright anymore. He collapses beside you, careful to roll you over so you don’t get stuck beneath his heavy body.

The two of you need a few minutes to catch your breath, and he pulls you into his arms to pepper sloppy kisses all over your sweaty skin.

“Hm, you always look good, sweetie,” he murmurs, between kisses full of adoration. “But tonight? You were breathtaking.”

💕 tag list: @heartyluv @doeeyes515 @lethalasylum @starryeyed-apple @starlitfics @craeatio @rafayelslittlestar @ruralamours @alyssac9 @blushofeve @alastor-simp @nezuswritingdesk

🐉 tag list: @voidsylus @keiva1000 @terriblesoup

Want to be added to my tag list?

Creds: mdni banner by @/cafekitsune divider by @/sweetmelodygraphics

[comatosebunny09]

second best | sylus

cw: reader is not mc, injury, blood, mild language, alcohol consumption, melodramatic, jealousy, confessions, ooc, unrequited love, all hurt, no comfort now playing: no one noticed - the marías never tell - luke chiang

The pain in your side is visceral. Pulsing. Sticky.

A stab wound. You didn’t see it coming. Then again, it’s become more difficult to focus on not getting yourself killed these days.

Blood stains your haphazard dressing. You’re donned in slacks with your blazer slung over your shoulders—only a bra beneath to maintain a scrap of modesty. 

You hiss as you plop onto the barstool of an empty Lux, signaling to the bartender for a drink—anything to dull the pain, both in your side and in your head. 

She’s hesitant. Pensive. She pulls something dark from the top shelf. Whips out a shot glass, poising the spout over it to pour, already accustomed to seeing you like this. Bearing it all on your own, bleeding, splintering at the seams. 

You knock her hand away, grasping the neck of the bottle. The bartender catches your glare when she doesn’t immediately let go. Narrows her eyes. If only eyes could speak. And if they could, if only you’d listen.

Reluctantly, she relinquishes the bottle to you, turning away to wipe the opposite counter. 

You scrutinize her shoulder blades before tugging out the spout and throwing your head back for a swig.

It burns. A good burn. It’s unsightly how liquor pours down the sides of your mouth. Whatever. You’re not in a contest to be ladylike. 

You set the half-consumed bottle down as the bartender returns. 

“Should I bring you a gun to finish the job, or are we taking the scenic route to our graves tonight?” 

Your jaw ticks. You finger the bottle’s foil label. Huff at her audacity. She doesn’t renounce her iron glare. She cares. You know she does. And she’s right—the wound beneath your bottom rib throbs, reminding you of its existence. Of your mortality. Your carelessness. 

The bartender looks like she might admonish you further. Mouth drops open, brows pinched. She doesn’t get the chance as you watch her eyes flit over your shoulder, chest expanding with a quiet gasp. She stiffens, skin clammy beneath the red wash of the strobe lights. 

She draws away before you can bug her about the shift in demeanor. The back of your neck prickles. You rotate in the barstool, wincing, a hand shielding your wound, the other clasped around the bottle. 

And now it all makes sense.

Your blood runs cold. Tongue sticks to the roof of your mouth. It’s suddenly hard to swallow. You’re wincing for an entirely different reason now, unconsciously shrinking beneath the brilliance of his irises.

Typically, you would appreciate him like this—arms crossed over a virile chest, forearms spilling from the rolled sleeves of a dark sweater, watch gleaming on his wrist. Pressed slacks, polished loafers. Coiffed hair, warm skin. 

But his expression is sour. Lips thinned with annoyance. His eyes flit from the hand over your side back up. Something stirs in his gaze—disappointment? Grief? Guilt? Whatever the cause, you suddenly feel self-conscious.

He exhales slowly, letting the pulse of the turned-down music and the impenetrable atmosphere stew between you. A wordless staredown. A silent war of pride. 

Ah. 

Did you ruin his date? 

You knew you shouldn’t have let the twins see you like this. Fucking snitches.

—

He works quietly. Efficiently. 

There’s a rehearsed grace to his movements as if he’s done this before—personally tended to your injuries, lips tight, brows pinched, fingers shaky as they dab antiseptic onto your stitched-up wound.

Ah.

He has done this before, hasn’t he? Used to do it all the time. The norm before everything changed. Before you started hiding things like this from him. 

You hiss at one particular press of his fingers. Feel the malice behind it. “That hurts,” you push through a scowl.

“Good,” he clips, eyes trained on his task. 

The air of his study is dense with tension. Nothing but the tick of his wall clock and the sound of him rifling through the first aid tin on his desk.

You’re propped on its edge, hunched over, jacket thrown over the armchair near the entrance. 

He’s seated halfway to the side, pasting a foam dressing over your mended skin. You flinch when he smooths over it. Not from the sting, but from how gentle he’s being despite the mood. It’s almost like an insult—a nick to your pride.

“Well, aren’t you quiet tonight?” you note, trying to sound nonchalant. It drips with resentment—a challenge. You want to argue. 

“You’re hurt. I’m focusing.”

You scoff and roll your eyes. “Focusing. Yeah.”

He doesn’t outwardly react to your jab. You twirl the figurative knife between your fingers, poising it at his throat.

“Always so focused. So calm. So put together. Until someone else is around to distract you.”

He errs in his movements. The tendons in his jaw pull. You’ve slid the blade across his neck. Done well on your threat. You narrow your eyes, driving the serrated edge deeper.

“Since when do you care, anyway? Since when do you give a shit what happens to me? Don’t you have better things to worry about? Better people?”

You garner the reaction you initially sought. He straightens, elbows digging into his thighs. Exhales slowly, scrutinizing you. 

“If there’s something you want to say to me, I suggest you get to the point.”

You scoff again, hopping down from his desk. The pain is still there, yet it doesn’t contend with the ash burning your throat. 

Crossing your arms, you pace around, tongue passing over your teeth. Stopping, you cast your glower on him. “You know what pisses me off more than anything, Sylus?” 

His name on your tongue is thick with vitriol. Venomous.

He flinches as if visibly struck. Shifts on his seat, shoulders bowed forward, lacing his fingers together, drilling into your soul. His silence serves as your cue to forge onward. You swallow, steeling your resolve. This confrontation is long overdue. 

“Four years, Sylus. I’ve been by your side for four years.” 

You drop your hands at your sides, a humorless laugh dribbling past your lips. He bites the insides of his cheeks. Glances at his hands, expression slackening, before he’s looking at you again, attention undivided. 

“I’ve been your little errand girl for years. Running behind you, taking out your trash. I’ve been stabbed, shot, and nearly died. All because you made me think I meant something to you.”

The man of the hour sits up, spine ramrod stiff. Features halfway hopeless, his voice breaks. “You do mean something to me.”

“Bullshit.” Your lips quiver, eyes warm. “If I mean something to you, why do you keep leaving me by myself? Why do you keep—”

Arctic, shaky hands close around your arms. You rub them to self-soothe, emotions welling in your throat. Dejection worms through you, spilling hot. 

You’re tired of treading thin ice. Tired of pretending like you aren’t cracking yourself.

Your voice steeps low, crackling with agony. With untapped feelings.

“God, Sylus, I—I love you, for fuck’s sake.” It’s like the words are ripped from your throat. From your very being. You blink away the bleary film of tears hijacking your sight. “I’ve loved you forever. So much, it hurts.

“And you—you always used to look at me like I was the only person in the world. Like I was all you needed. You trusted me. You told me everything.” You take a tentative step closer to his desk, feeling utterly hopeless.

“Now, you…you won’t even look at me.” 

As if remembering his voice, he tries to speak, mouth spilling open, hovering around words that won’t come. You don’t grant him the satisfaction.

“You don’t even see me. Not like you see her. I mean, she just fucking walks in, all bright-eyed and optimistic, and you—you throw me to the wayside to play knight in shining armor to someone who hasn’t seen you bleed like I have.”

Your wound throbs, blood lazily beading through the stitches from your jostling about. You pay it no heed because keeping these things bottled up any longer will kill you before infection settles in. 

“I’ve been your right hand. Your ace. Your fucking lapdog. I never complained. I never asked for anything in return. I stayed, Sylus. I stayed this whole time. I worked my ass off to prove myself to you, to prove my worth, hoping that one day…one day, you’d feel the same. That you would see me.”

The weight in your chest doesn’t let up. Despite the molten tears pooling in the corners of your eyes and your uneven breathing, your attempt to compose yourself, control, you still feel heavy. 

He stands so swiftly that his chair lifts, nearly toppling over on the floor. Hands held out placatingly—fingertips sticky with your blood—he nears you. Blinks steadily as if keeping his own emotions at bay. You don’t recall a time you’ve ever seen him so conflicted. So disjointed. 

“I never meant to hurt you.” His throat fills with bile like sand spilling through a sieve. “I never wanted to lead you on.”

Your lips pull into a bitter smile. Tears stream down unbidden, plopping thick and heavy on the polished surface of his desk. 

Shrugging, you laugh, “Of course you didn’t. And I never wanted to fall in love with you. But here I am, giving my heart to someone who doesn’t even want it.”

“I’m sorry. You know that I can’t—”

“Don’t!” you bite with an accusatory finger aimed at him when he cautions forward. “Don’t even—I don’t—fuck!”

Frustrated, you tear your fingers through your hair, beating on your temple with the heel of your palm. “I feel so fucking stupid! I can’t—fuck.”

Hysterical and utterly humiliated, you snatch up your blazer, shouldering through the heavy door of his study and out of sight until the frenetic, jarring click of your heels in the hallway is but a distant memory.

He’s motionless in the wake of your afterimage. Stunned as something acrid furls in his chest.  Every synapse in his brain fires off, screaming for him to go after you. To fix this. Closure.

Yet he fears driving the metaphorical knife deeper, permanently severing the remaining, fragile sinews keeping your relationship intact.

[voidcat]

Beginning to kiss Rafayel’s moles on his face with the premise of a “where we were most kissed in our past life, we get moles in the exact spot.”

When the topic reaches about how his moles are rather small and hard to spot, you pull back for a moment, seeming deep in thought.

Faint, small dots, barely like freckles, difficult to spot on unless you’re observing his face carefully and with such delicate attention.

Those five seconds feel like ages to Rafayel, yearning for your warmth, the feel of your lips on his skin instantly, as his hands shoot up to tug at you and pull you back to him, your expression shifts as if thinking ‘eureka!’ Like you’ve cracked the code, or this world’s biggest mystery.

“If you’re so upset about what your faint moles indicate regarding your past, my dear artist— it seems I must make it up to you in this life time. For all the quick pecks stolen while no prying eyes were on us, I will kiss you tenfold and not let go no matter whose gaze burns down on us.”

[indycinders]

Yessss exactly. Like this is the basis of their whole relationship across time and if there was any time to be super intimate and sweet like this, it would be their origins.

I'm not crying you're crying

im loving the sheer amount of kisses and intimacy in this card.

I mean not only because "hehe MC and Rafayel kiss" but because it really shows how much they treasured each other.

The way he clings to her every time, wrapping his entire body or hands around her, as if he was afraid it would be the last. He worshipped every inch of his dear bride and they wanted us to feel that.

It all makes the moment he loses MC all the more painful because then all he (and now that player) have left are those short and sweet moments.

[indycinders]

Sylus 🐦‍⬛

Favorite Memory:

(Continuous Symphony)

Current Affinity: 89

With Him(not updated yet):

Sylus' turn uwu

[paintedcrows-caws]

Front row seat to Alex Hirsch's InMotion London Talk!! Aaaa!! (The high quality close up photos were taken by the wonderful @stupidlittlespirit! Who was sitting with me and had a far better camera, haha)

You can watch the full thing here, recorded by the brilliant Topaz Animation!: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Hn_O7CMM67A&t=137s

[asiatic-apple]

Fluff prompt 1 with Sylus and female reader

Thanks for the request, nonnie! Hope you enjoy this one

Requests are open for my follower celebration

First kiss in the rain

Sylus x female reader

Prompt: getting caught in the rain together

Content: one mention of the pet name “kitten”, a little bit suggestive, making out in the rain

The sky had looked innocent enough when you left the cafe with Sylus. It was cloudy, sure, but not too threatening. It wasn’t until the two of you were halfway down the street that the first drop fell. Then another. And another.

Now you’re sprinting side by side, completely soaked, laughing as you duck under the overhang of a closed flower shop. Rain comes down in heavy sheets, drenching the pavement and painting the world in watercolor grays and glimmering reflections.

“You have got to be kidding me,” you mutter, breathless from the run and the ridiculousness of it all.

Sylus pushes back wet strands of silver hair, looking unfairly handsome when he’s soaked to the bone. “I told you we could have taken the car,” he teases, water dripping from the sharp edge of his jaw.

You elbow him lightly, feeling slightly embarrassed that you were the one who stubbornly pushed to walk back to your apartment. It’s more romantic to walk, you had said, sticking your chin out in that cute pout Sylus loves so much. Now you’re eating your words and drowning in the torrential rain.

But you’ve always been too stubborn for your own good. Some might call it a flaw, but Sylus likes that you stick to your guns—you’re his feisty kitten for a reason.

“I was right, though,” you exclaim over the patter of the rain. “This is way more romantic than a boring car ride.”

You playfully flick a droplet from his collarbone, subconsciously licking your lips when you watch it scatter into smaller rivulets that glide beneath the lapel of his dress shirt. Yeah, Sylus looks even better when his clothes are damp and sticking to him like a second skin.

You shiver without realizing it, and Sylus shifts closer, ready to take care of you. “Cold?” he asks with a raised brow. It’s unclear whether he’s smiling out of affection or because he knows exactly what made you shudder like that.

“A little,” you lie, wrapping your arms around yourself. Your own clothes also cling a bit uncomfortably to your skin. But your face is too warm—probably from how he’s looking at you.

“You should’ve let me bring my jacket,” he teases.

You scoff. “And have you suffer instead? No way.”

He hums thoughtfully, then steps in front of you, his hands reaching out to gently tug your arms from your sides. He wraps them around his waist, pulling you flush against him like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“There,” he murmurs. “Now you can steal my body heat.”

You tilt your head back to look up at him. “This is very convenient for you, huh?”

“Extremely.” His smirk is handsome as always, but the look in his eyes is different now. It’s calmer, softer. Like the rain has washed everything else away but this moment between the two of you.

A drop of water slides down your cheek, and he brushes it away with his thumb. His hand lingers, warm against your skin despite the chill in the air.

You swallow, heart pounding. “We’re very wet.”

“I noticed,” he murmurs, his voice lower now. His thumb brushes the corner of your mouth before returning to your cheek too quickly for your liking. “Should I pull away?”

“Not if you’re about to kiss me,” you whisper, already rocking forward on your toes to lean in.

The kiss is gentle at first, sweet and careful, as if he’s savoring the moment. But when your fingers curl into the front of his shirt, damp fabric bunching in your hands, Sylus deepens it with a quiet groan that makes your knees go weak.

His hands cradle your face, keeping you anchored as the rain hammers the pavement around you. For a second, you forget everything else. You forget the cold. You forget the puddles. You forget that anyone could walk by and see you both soaking wet, making out under a flower shop awning like something out of a movie.

You pull back just slightly, enough to catch your breath and whisper, “This is a little cliché, don’t you think?”

Sylus leans his forehead against yours, his soft panting the only sign that your kiss affected him just as much as it did you. “You say that like it’s a bad thing, sweetie.”

“It’s not,” you admit with a smile. “I like it.”

“Good,” he whispers, pecking you on the forehead. “Because I’ve been wanting to kiss you in the rain for a while now.”

You have half a mind to laugh, assuming he’s just being a tease as always. But the look on his face is sincere. You don’t have a witty response this time. All you want to do is kiss him again, until he’s breathless and dragging you back home to peel off these clothes that stick to your body.

The rain shows no signs of stopping, but for once, you don’t mind. Not when you’ve got Sylus pressed against you, his warmth soaking in deeper than the cold ever could. Not when your lips find his again, slower this time, like there’s no rush. Like this is exactly where you’re both meant to be.

💕 tag list: @heartyluv @doeeyes515 @lethalasylum @starryeyed-apple @starlitfics @craeatio @rafayelslittlestar @ruralamours @alyssac9 @blushofeve @alastor-simp @nezuswritingdesk

🐉 tag list: @voidsylus

Want to be added to my tag list?

divider by @/thecutestgrotto

[indycinders]

Mm I was kind of hoping for something the same tbh. I do like this banner and I'm excited for it but I want more comfort and fluff haha. I imagine after this one might be a spring banner maybe so hopefully we'll get out fluff and comfort then 👉🏼👈🏼

Infold really said start the new year out horknee

Hot take on the Valentine's event and feel free to disagree coz I wanna hear everyone's opinions on this:

I was hoping for something more fluffy or romantic than the upcoming event, icl I'm low-key getting bored of the constant "hot and steamy" banners and I am most likely going to skip this one 😅.

ALSO WHY CAN'T WE HAVE THE NEW HAIRSTYLES FOR THE GUYS FOR FREE!???

[solifloris]

≡;-꒰ 𝐗𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐄𝐑 ꒱₊˚ ପ⊹ I  𝒇𝒓𝒐𝒎 𝒂 𝒔𝒌𝒚 𝒇𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒆𝒅 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒘𝒊𝒔𝒉𝒆𝒔…

╰┈➤ ❝ xavier x afab!reader | 18+ only

tags : kinda pwp (without plot) but like uhhh a poetic version i guess?, like actually don't expect anything super explicit for this askjhgs, more introspective and prose-y (aka less dialogue involved), loosely inspired by "inflorescence imprints" but no direct card spoilers, xavier glows when he's happy (bc this is my new personality and i'm including this in all the xavier fics ever /hj), slow dancing in a field, kisses and making out, wandering hands, heavy petting, oral (f. receiving), semi-public setting (open (empty) field), let's ignore the technicalities of open field shenanigans yes? yes.

wc : ~2k

an : i lied when i said i would get a fic done before april ended, so HAPPY MAY !!! THAT WAS MY LIE IN APRIL hehe <3 bc the title is from 'hikaru nara' aka the first opening song of 'your lie in april' <3 (since i was supposed to post this yesterday when it was Still April…) (but you're with me on the xavmc your lie in april parallels right…)

taglist : under the cut! (SIGN UP HERE)

ko-fi jar / commissions

In this meadow full of flowers, the two of you are the only ones who exist.

Did you need music to dance?

Your feet touched the grass, light steps gliding to the gentle crunching beneath every little movement. A rhythm, in the silence. Soft, whispered melodies of the night, flown delicately into the passing breeze.

One, two, three; one, two, three; one, two, three; one, two, three.

It was easier, this time. You knew this dance. You knew these steps. Three counts in a measure, feet on the ground with every count… practiced movements, now freer, now easier. After all that time you'd spent with him in his living room under the dim lights of his apartment, you'd gotten used to it. One step forward, two steps back—one, two, three; one, two, three; one, two, three.

And, yet, this time… you didn't need to count, not really.

This was a waltz, yes; this was a dance, yes.

But an open field lay no constraints.

All you'd needed was one phrase of invitation—

Dance with me.

It was your lead, after all.

With a warm hand in yours, the other placed on your waist, expert ease allowed him to keep to the rhythm. He was used to it, far more than you were. The grass didn't deter him, nor the soil beneath your feet. Your arms felt lighter, steps more nimble; a more relaxed atmosphere surrounded the both of you as barefooted steps whirled around in the meadow belonging only to both of you.

And Xavier was always gentle.

Xavier was always patient.

Even now when he smiled at you, even now when he'd adjusted his footing ever so slightly to guide you into the right direction, he would still skillfully guide you to follow him. You'd made a misstep—the first one of the night. An achievement, on your part, for lasting so long without making one. It was enough so to earn a chuckle from him as he drew you in.

"Good," he murmured, quiet like the evening, firm like the stars in the sky that night. "You've gotten better."

Xavier was always gentle. Even in your error, he still quietly nudged you along.

And as moonlight spilled across the open meadow, filtering through his hair, painting silver over the flora surrounding… You didn't need music. You knew that well enough. Your hold on him relaxed, your head dipped down to rest on his shoulder… It was less of a waltz, now, and more of a simple slow dance, but he adjusted. Careful, unhurried. Easy. And, now, it was as if the night itself had paused to watch the two of you.

This was all you could have ever needed.

Every step and every twirl, every movement floating above the field—his hands held you close, securely nestling you into him. He smelled like cinnamon, like warm vanilla. He felt like spring afternoons, like this field of flowers now attuned so specifically to him that you were sure you wouldn't look at another lily without drawing in thoughts of him.

It didn't take you too long to realize that this rhythm you'd been dancing to was entirely his—

You didn't need music; his heart was enough. He was enough.

The clouds, the sky, the grass, the flowers, the dew drops of silvery light from the moon above… all orchestrated like twinkling stars in the night sky, rendered solely to match the beatings of your heart.

That was music enough.

A melody so free-flowing, so smooth, so—

So everything.

So you waited with baited breath, trust in his every move, a melody to the will of its conductor. And your body fell pliant to his hands as he dipped you low against the grass.

Rise, fall; rise, fall.

The dance had ended—

The music had not.

"Xavier," you murmured. You liked the sound of his name—liked the way his lips twitched when you said it, the way the tips of his ears turned the slightest bit of red when your gaze lingered a little longer. "Xavier."

Again.

Cradled gently in his arms, the next measure of the piece had begun anew.

"Xavier."

It was his turn to settle into you, draw you close enough for his forehead to meet your shoulder. His breath proved unsteady, fingers trembling slightly with a single caress down the curve of your spine. Silence gave way to apprehension—yet, sometimes, music would speak for itself.

You let him wander.

Eyes raised to meet yours, blue and bright. This man in your arms, you knew, was yet another star—but one that could have settled in the sky yet chose, instead, to stay here with you.

"Xavier."

Every whisper of his name made him bolder.

Gentlemanly touches turned coy, trails and caresses added a subtle knead against every expanse of skin he could find. And then his hand dipped beneath your skirt—

"Xavier…"

His touch stuttered.

More.

Again you felt him nuzzle into your shoulder, shifting slightly to rest in the crook of your neck. Lips met your skin—a warm welcome against the chill of the evening, soft kisses trailing your nape before he let out a quiet groan.

"You make me so impatient," he whispered. "A star doesn't forget to shine, but, I… think this one… shines even brighter when it's with you…"

Teeth grazed at the base of your neck.

Slowly, you felt yourself falling. Light as a feather, down to a bed of flowers, he caged you between his arms and nudged at your jaw.

"And, you make me feel… free," he groaned. "So much, I… can't…"

Your eyes closed.

You didn't stop him.

It had long since been a symphony of his own making; kisses littered all over your skin like notes on a page as the sleeves of your dress pushed aside and you wouldn't dare keep the music from playing.

"You are my freedom."

He said it in a hushed whisper.

You'd have missed it, almost; drowned in the way he would nip at your skin and then soothe with a lick. But a moment passed as he raised his head to look at you, then. Your skin felt ablaze, eyes easily beginning to fog with a cloud of lust you were familiar with, and…

Closer.

Closer.

There was no need to reply to that.

Unsteady vision focused only on him as he moved in, thumb grazing your lower lip before finally—finally—

He kissed you.

Feather-light, soft. Slow; warm. His hand reached to gently cup your chin and tilt you towards him, and there was no rush. Only the quiet hum of devotion seemed to flow through the way he pressed his lips to yours, over, and over, and over, and over—

You're unreal. You thought it, yet you couldn't speak it.

You're like starlight. He thought it, yet he couldn't speak it.

But you could see it in your peripheral—the glow of the moonlight did nothing to hide the specks of light mixing in with the tufts of his hair; daresay these shined even brighter.

And you knew what that meant.

Xavier glows when he's happy.

And the scent of crushed petals filled the space between the two of you, evening wrapping around you like silk as you fell. Deeper, deeper—kisses gave way to a desire blooming parallel to the blooms that carried you, fingers tangling in each other's hair as you turned and rolled in that little bed of flowers. Down then trailed his kisses, a resumption of his earlier exploration; every kiss and every touch carried with it a whispered promise of devotion.

…Devotion.

You felt your legs part pliantly to the nudging of his hands, and then you felt it again.

Devotion.

How was it that?

He'd find so much freedom in you, and yet worship you with such tender aching that you gasped.

He held you with such love.

Ever slow, and rhythmic, and deliberate—still the symphony moved onwards, with every caress, every trace of his tongue mirroring constellations twinkling above. Your back arched, allowed him to dive into you. You gripped his hair tightly while the other curled into the earth below, and you knew what it was that he truly felt.

He'd been telling the truth.

In the end, never before had you seen him so unbridled in his desire.

Yet, there was something different now—gentle, as always, but… more certain. More sure. As if truly, in loving you, something inside him had unchained. His movements stayed reverent, hands gliding over your skin as if they belonged, kisses deep and intimate and so determined to bring you to your high—

You had been wrong.

This was not a melody that had been orchestrated by him.

Your breath caught in your throat, because it was him. He who gave himself to the rhythm of your very being; he who danced to the tune of what you had commanded.

He would follow you.

He would adjust for you.

Each flick of his tongue against your sex was more than just a vow—it was surrender.

He could speak—I am yours.

And a quiet moan filled the air between you as you writhed beneath his touch, writhed beneath the intensity of his love, the weight with which he had resigned himself to carry for your sake.

"Am I not… your undoing?"

You swallowed thickly as your words spoke out of your moans, and you threaded your fingers through his hair.

"Am I not… selfish?"

No reply.

Stars clouded your eyes—he wouldn't stop.

His mouth latched onto you as his hands roamed your body once more, and he didn't dare to look up to meet your eyes, yet he continued. His tongue thrust inside you, thumb reaching down to circle where you needed him most.

Perhaps the answer to those questions was yes. Perhaps the answer had been one he'd come to accept so long ago. Something so sacred as love, so precious as freedom… so terrifying as sacrifice…

His eyes raised to look at you as you cried out his name, a sputtering chant as you arched into his mouth and the sky above became clearer.

Your thighs trembled. Your breath fell in uneven staccato pants; the music had now begun its diminuendo.

And all of this; all of these feelings, all these values… They'd been given to you by the very man that you loved. You were his freedom, he would say—yet in these words unspoken, you understood. Understood that in giving himself to you completely, then he'd chosen to be bound—Because he wished to be.

You had never meant to own him.

But there was that look on his face.

Xavier's eyes were half-lidded; satisfied— He had poured out everything and anything, all for your sake, and, that look, you—

"I…"

Another swallow, and swift movements pushed him back against the flowers.

"I want… to choose, too," you whispered. "I choose you, too."

Legs drawn on either side of him, you straddled his hips, reaching between you, taking ahold of him.

As the swollen tip brushed against your entrance, your legs quivered.

A smile tugged on your lips as you took note of that little telltale sign of his relief.

Xavier glows when he's happy.

Tentatively, you reached out to sift your hand through the glowing particles of light floating around you.

Ah, Xavier… You'll let me be a little selfish for wanting this… won't you?

You leaned in to kiss him as his hands found your hips, and slowly, slowly, he sank you down onto him. Moans muffled into your kiss, hands cradling his cheeks as you wished, wished, wished that you could mirror the way he had loved you, even as you let him guide your hips to your own undoing both.

If the night doesn't end, then the stars won't leave, will they? you thought.

In that case, then… From a sky filled with wishes, I wish, that… I…

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© solifloris. all rights reserved. do not: steal, copy, repost, reupload, modify, or claim any of my works as your own, regardless of credit given. absolutely do not use my works for AI training and other related purposes.

[diwns]

Sylus: Nightplumes ★★★★★ ☾ (1/?) ➥ "There's snow in your hair."

[grabby-smitten]

*bangs fist on the table and points to the snake man* HE SAID IT. NOT ME

[indycinders]

Ok but same girl uvu/

A Wild Sylus and Melody Appear

(Note: Melody is the "Mc")

*******************************************************************

Melody squints up at the man towering above her. He’s like a damn skyscraper or something. 

Who gave him the right to be so tall? At least make it fair for the rest of us.

She looks down at her short legs. 

Then she sighs and imagines a world where she's gained a couple of inches. 

Maybe if she had longer legs she could outrun this man or avoid him, but he's pretty persistent, appearing at the most inconvenient of times.

She's remiss to think of all the times she had to cover for his presence. 

New years for example. 

Wait, no. Don't think about it.  

Just doing so, haunts her to this day—remembering when she'd had to play up her relationship with Sylus due to the fact that one of her co-workers almost got way too close to figuring out his actual identity. 

Melody needed a distraction.

So she'd faked a dating announcement to stop the guy from piecing together the clues. 

It worked. 

A little too well if you asked her. 

And the smug look of satisfaction on Sylus’ face made her want to put glue in his shoes. 

Or maybe swap out his shampoo with red hair dye for a nice pink color. 

He looked about ready to lose it with laughter when they were forced to hold hands and he'd bought her one of the bracelets at the stands.

He got a matching one because of course he would. 

At least with Sylvia she'd gotten away with calling him a friend. 

She hadn't gotten so lucky during new years. 

Right now, she fortunately doesn't see anyone she recognizes roaming the street they are currently on, though a few people do give Sylus a wide berth.

His sharp features can become intimidating to the best of people. 

Though they're also very defined and pretty, though she's loathe to admit it. 

Sylus: Is there something wrong, kitten? You're staring an awful lot at my face.

The red-eyed demon of a man pulls her attention back towards him. 

He's lowered himself down, bending at the waist so they're eye level. He's so close she can feel his breath. 

Melody brushes a hand down his face.

Melody: Shhh. I'm fantasizing about suffocating you in your sleep. You're ruining the moment. 

Sylus appears amused as she pulls her hand away. 

He catches her wrist before she can withdraw completely and this makes her frown.

Sylus: You barely managed to take the broach and that was simply because I let you.

Melody gives him a look.

Melody: Didn't I just admit this was a fantasy? 

Sylus: Yes, but my point is, if you're really set on killing me, a simple method like suffocation won't do. 

Melody: Golly Gee Willickers. You don't say? Me putting that bullet into your chest didn't give me the first major clue, I just really needed it spelled out for me. 

Melody: Thank you for that much needed information. I'll use it for the next time I'm plotting your ultimate demise which is currently. 

Sylus smirks and finally lets go of her hand before straightening. 

Sylus: Considering how you fell for Luke and Kierans antics, I figured you could use all the help you could get despite how seemingly obvious the point was. 

Smart ass. 

He really knows how to hit where it hurts. 

He's still watching her and she shifts from foot-to-foot. 

She wants to hold his gaze in an effort to show she won't back down, but for some reason she can't and ultimately looks away.

Maybe it's that look in his eyes.

Like he's trying to tell her something but she's not entirely sure what. 

For some reason, it makes her want to pull further away and avoid him altogether.

She's not ready to face whatever it is.

And maybe she'll never be ready. 

Sylus: Kitten, I didn't come here to rile you up if that's what you're thinking. Though…

The smugness is back and the secret message he's trying to relay is gone.

Sylus: I'd be lying if I said it wasn't an added bonus. 

Melody: And what is it, exactly, that you came here for?

Sylus’ expression softens. 

Sylus: I wanted to know if you'd have dinner with me tonight. And before you say no, I thought I'd give you more incentive.

Melody lifts her chin. 

Melody: What kind of dinner are we talking about here?

The subject of food is this girl's weak point and Sylus smiles because he knows it given how she consistently raided his kitchens when she stayed with him in the N109-Zone. 

Sylus: All you can eat seafoo—

Sylus: Where are you going?

He turns as she brushes past him.

Melody: What does it look like I'm doing? Do these look like pants with a waistband that can take on an all you can eat buffet?

Melody: Because I think not. 

[indycinders]

Caleb 🍎

Favorite Memory:

(Stage Observer)

Current Affinity: 86

With Him(recently updated):

And finally the (almost) Birthday Boy uwu

[tonystark-official]

For clarification, Keener, Parker, Spidey, and Morgan are my kids. Three of them just aren't my kids.