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saintobio · 9 months ago

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𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐃 & 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐓. (final part to 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐈𝐍 & 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐑.)

in the painful memory of what once was, sylus learns that love can't be bound where it was never meant to stay.

♱ pairings. sylus, fem!reader

♱ genre. angst, smut, boss/assistant, 18+

♱ tags. sylus's pov, reader is not l&ds!mc, sylus might be ooc, main story spoilers, razor's dance spoilers, nightplumes spoilers, lots of timeskip, fast-paced, unrequited love, profanity, petnames (kitten, sweetie), espionage, jealousy, brief smut, mentions of pregnancy/impregnation kink, mentions of accidents, suicide attempt, injuries, blood, usage of guns, usage of knife, killings, death, my own theories incorporated into the lore, sylus groveling bcos yall want him to

♱ notes. 9.5k wc. l&ds!mc is referred to here as 'diana'. THIS IS A REPOST of the original post i accidentally deleted. i already posted this several hours ago, so if you’re seeing this new one again, blame my dumbass 🤧 oh well life is life.

Sylus had a part of him that wished things could be different.

Ever since he turned away and left you that night at the alleyway, he didn’t really realize the chain of events his decision would set into motion. He simply underestimated how strongly your threats were backed by the grudge you had on him for bringing the hunter girl from Linkon into his base.

After all, you were just an assistant of his. And her, she was everything to him. It wasn’t just about the Aether Core, too—their bond stretched back into his distant past, into another planet where two of them ruled before the inhabitants of Philos came to ruin everything. Him and Diana had a connection he couldn’t sever no matter how much you had come to mean to him. And he spent years, centuries even, just to search for her.

So, how could a mere assistant he had known for less than a decade have such entitlement to her role in his life?

Eventually, days turned into weeks. Weeks into months. With your prolonged absence from the Onychinus base, Sylus’s business transactions and illicit deals had become increasingly unruly. He had grown too dependent on you as his right-hand woman, relying on your meticulous management to ensure all his illegal activities ran smoothly. Yet now, without your oversight, things were falling apart.

And while he was contemplating how to fill the void your absence had created, the office door slammed open. A subordinate soon rushed in, breathless and wide-eyed. “Boss, she’s betrayed us!” Luke exclaimed. “She’s gone to the Hunter’s Association. We got word that she was a high-ranking intelligence agent there!”

“A.K.A a spy!” yelled the other twin, Kieran, who looked equally hurt at your betrayal. “She fooled all of us. And here, we treated her like family.”

That was how Sylus learned that you had left the N109 Zone, seeking refuge in Linkon City, and had exposed critical intel on Onychinus. At the time, rage naturally exploded within him. Didn’t he take good care of you while you were here? He had given you everything, trusted you, and you had thrown it all away. Four years of falling into his trap. Four years of being his partner in crime, his right-hand woman, his lover. People even saw you as the modern day Bonnie & Clyde. Sylus couldn’t understand the root of your betrayal, couldn’t imagine how letting you slip away from his grasp would cost him so much in return.

When you vowed to do everything in your power to kill Diana, was this just a part of your grand scheme? What other machinations were you orchestrating in your pursuit of revenge?

“She’s a wild animal on loose.” Sylus looked up at the twins, maintaining a calm yet ruthless mien as he sat on the couch. He might be idly tossing a coin like he didn’t care, but inside his brain was chaos ensuing. “Where’s she now? Any news?”

It was Luke who shrugged in response. “She hasn’t been seen anywhere, boss-man.”

“We suspect the Association is hiding her,” Kieran added.

The hunter girl, Diana—the very girl you were jealous of, was sitting next to Sylus throughout the conversation. Their hands were connected by a strong energy linkage that was seemingly ignited by the Aether Cores in their bodies. They couldn’t separate themselves even if they wanted to. And God forbid you would have lost your mind tenfold had you seen their situation right now.

“That g-girl,” gasped the hunter girl, eyes wide in bewilderment at what she was hearing. “Sylus, your assistant. She did all that? She was a spy from the Hunter’s Association?”

Luke tilted her head at the girl, his beaked mask mocking her. “Oh, miss hunter! Haven’t you heard about the HIS? You should know them better than us.”

“Well.. what is the HIS?”

“Hunter Intelligence Services.” Sylus was the one who answered, releasing a deep sigh while rubbing his temples. “They’re top secret. Regular hunters wouldn’t have known about them, because they only deal with people like me.”

Diana looked between him and the twins, rubbing her wrist before moving closer to the boss of Onychinus. Her close proximity allowed him to smell her familiar sweet scent. “Is she… after me? But I don’t understand. If she’s part of the Hunter’s Association too, then shouldn’t we be colleagues?”

Kieran cleared his throat. “Ever since you came—”

“Place a bounty on her head,” Sylus interrupted the twins, and also ignored the question of the girl next to him. She didn’t need to learn the history behind you and him, or why you chose to target her. “Make sure to bring Y/N back to me. Alive.”

“Roger that, boss!”

It was his last desperate attempt to draw you back to him. Now that you had the Hunter’s Association protecting you, Sylus knew that locating you wouldn’t be as simple. Otherwise, he would have easily captured Diana long ago. He convinced himself that the bounty was to punish you, but deep down, he knew it was because he couldn’t bear to lose you to his enemies completely.

It took you a year to return to the N109 Zone.

Did you forget he had eyes and ears everywhere? He was the boss of that infamous No-Hunt Zone. Even if you leaked intel about his residences and the Onychinus base to the Hunter’s Association, Sylus still had a few tricks up his sleeve. He had hideouts in places that even you weren’t aware of, and the residents of the N109 Zone were loyal to him. Too loyal that they wouldn’t give any information to anyone no matter the consequences.

And how foolish were you to forget about Mephisto’s existence?

“Caw! Caw!”

The mechanical crow’s eyes glowed with the same red hue as Sylus’s as it landed on his arm, projecting visions of you entering the underground fight club disguised in an Onychinus uniform. It was almost farcical that you thought you could infiltrate a place Sylus frequented unnoticed.

But then, the vision shifted to you speeding on a motorcycle with a truck in hot pursuit. Sylus quickly recognized the truck’s decals—it was the hitman he often employed for dealing with his enemies, now terrorizing you in a high-speed chase. Without hesitation, Sylus grabbed his leather jacket and mounted his own bike, racing to your location in sixth gear.

He arrived just a minute too late. And what was meant to be a dramatic reunion turned into a scene of you lying unconscious and injured on the road, while the hitman grinned nearby with an expression of triumph. If it hadn’t been for your helmet, Sylus would have been met with the gruesome sight of your shattered skull.

“Mr. Sylus!” the hitman exclaimed, jumping out of his truck with arms outstretched in petty victory. “Can I get the $500,000,000 in cash?”

As Sylus’s gaze fell on your unconscious, injured body sprawled on the ground, a surge of anguish overwhelmed him in ways he couldn’t understand. But it was quickly replaced by seething rage—rage that made him summon his black-red mist, enveloping the hitman in its dark tendrils.

“I said not to harm her,” Sylus growled, his red eye glowing ominously against the desolate highway backdrop. “You failed your task.”

“P-Please, Mr. Sylus! I thought you—”

Without another word, Sylus scooped you up in his arms while his mist dealt with the hitman behind him. The hitman’s desperate cries were soon drowned out by the expanding tendrils, which tightened around him until he was engulfed. Then, in a violent burst, the mist exploded, reducing the hitman and everything around him to dust.

Sylus brought you to his underground hideout immediately after. And an unfamiliar—or perhaps strange—pang tugged at his heart as he gently laid you in bed, his gaze lingering on the road rash you obtained from the crash. The injuries were severe, with patches of skin nearly stripped away in the most brutal fashion he could think of. He could only imagine the burning pain you had to endure as soon as you skidded along the gravel, and Sylus felt his own frustrations knocking at the door knowing that he didn’t have the power to extend his fast-healing abilities to you.

“Tch. My kitten’s reckless as always, riding without the proper gear,” Sylus grumbled, looking at your unconscious body. “You’ve never been one to follow the rules, have you?”

To make up for his inability to save you on time, he applied a potent medicinal ointment all over your body and placed you in an anesthetized state while you healed. His mist enveloped you like a protective shroud the entire time you laid in bed unconscious. Every single day, Sylus tended to your wounds, changing your clothes and bandages, and applying the ointments over your bare body. He even took special care to ensure the twins did not enter your room without his permission.

Despite the care he showed, a persistent question echoed in his mind: Why am I doing this for you? You were his enemy, a traitor, and a woman who had betrayed him. It didn’t make sense.

That afternoon, feeling suffocated from this internal conflict, Sylus decided to leave you in the care of Luke and Kieran while he went to Linkon. He knew he needed space to grapple with the feelings that were driving him to care for you in the first place.

He needed to see the real woman he should be caring for.

Because you had not only exposed intel on Sylus and Onychinus to the Hunter’s Association, you also asked for them to isolate Diana so she would have no way to see or contact him. Who knew that mere feelings of jealousy would spark you to do such trivial things?

Frankly, you were insane. You were dark and twisted like him.

But in a way, it only underscored how similarly deranged the two of you were. Perhaps, in your madness, there was a strange compatibility—one that Sylus found unsettlingly fitting. The suggestion of you two being more a suitable pair than he and Diana gave him an unease that he couldn’t simply shake away.

It should be her. Her. Just her and her alone. He dedicated his whole life into finding her, yet you came into his life to ruin the foundations he had built to meet the person he was supposedly destined for. He had repeated it over and over in his mind like a broken record—the voices in his head telling him to let you go, to hurt you, to make you suffer.

However, as he stood across the pedestrian crossing, watching Diana from afar, a realization hit him like a cold gust of wind. There she was, oblivious to his presence on the other side, but the spark that once ignited in his heart whenever he saw her was gone. Now, his pulse remained steady and his heart stayed still.

With a wary glance around, mindful of any watchful eyes, he decided to pick up his phone and ring hers. It was a good thing he was able to seamlessly blend into the crowd, with his practiced nonchalance making him invisible among the throng of people. After all, he was Sylus Qin, the mastermind of Onychinus—disguise was second nature to him.

“Sylus?” Her voice came through the line, tentative and filled with a mix of emotions as she scanned the faces on the other side of the crossing.

“According to the conditions set by the Hunter’s Association, we shouldn’t be meeting again.” His voice was steady, almost detached, as he kept the phone pressed to his ear. “Or if not, you will be marked as a Tenebra.”

Her eyes eventually found him amidst the walking crowd, keeping an expression on her face that showed both longing and forlornness. “Not the first time someone has been marked a Tenebra because of you,” she managed to slip in a snarky remark in her worried expression. “Are you hurt? Did they hurt you?”

“Are you worried about me?” he nonchalantly asked, watching as she stepped off the curb when the light turned green. Each step was a step closer to him, but nothing changed the pace of his own heartbeat like it should have. Nothing stirred within him as it once did.

“You have the audacity to use a phone when you’re right in front of me,” she snapped, frustration flaring as she yanked the phone from his grasp. Without hesitation, she grabbed his arm, dragging him along with her to escape the dangers of being seen in public. They ended up in an alleyway, a place hidden from prying eyes, an irony that made Sylus chuckle under his breath. The alleyway. Why has that become such a memorable place to him? “Sylus, what’s so funny? I was so scared something happened to you! You couldn’t even call me back or text me the past few days?”

He remained expressionless as he observed her outburst. Strange. In her frantic worry, she reminded him of you, and it was a discomfiting parallel that sent chills down his spine. “I said I’d need to disappear from your life completely, so I have to tie up loose ends,” he began, each word seemingly a dagger to her heart. “We haven’t been able to resonate either way, sweetie. There’s no reason for us to keep meeting.”

“No!” she adamantly denied the thought, pulling him into an embrace. “No, you’re not allowed to disappear just like that! We need to find a way to get—”

“It’s a dangerous gamble to be caught in my world,” he said in a low voice.

But she was stubborn. “I’m already caught in it! So, please, Sylus, take me with you. Take me to the N109 Zone or wherever you’re hiding. I want to be where you are.” And in spite, she uttered words that made Sylus think twice about his perception of you. “It’s her fault that this is all happening. She’s a traitor to you and to the Association. Her loyalty isn’t with anyone but herself, Sylus. She’s the one who needs to disappear!”

Back at his hideout, Sylus was careful to ensure that Diana remained oblivious to your presence in another room. He was already grappling with how to manage the situation—torn between the woman he loved and the woman he had wronged who, ironically, were both now under the same roof. The thought of you two crossing paths was a nightmare he didn’t want to deal with, so he gave strict orders to the twins, notorious for their loose lips and loud mouths, to keep Diana far from you.

Because when Sylus returned to your room, he knew you were awake. The dark classical music playing from the vinyl record had likely stirred you from unconsciousness. It had been nearly a week since the crash, but thanks to his meticulous care, your wounds had mostly healed, leaving only faint scars behind.

“You can’t hide from me forever.” Sylus hovered over you to whisper into your ear, summoning his protective black-red mist to slowly release you. “Wake up, kitten. We have unfinished business.”

When you finally opened your eyes after what felt like an eternity, Sylus told himself it was natural to feel relieved, that it was only right for his heart to soften at the sight of you returning to consciousness. But as you awoke, the voices in his head—the damned, relentless voices—grew louder, mocking him, provoking him, and luring him into darker thoughts. His right eye began to glow like a flickering candle, and when he saw the fear on your face, the words that followed weren’t his own. They were driven by the unforgiving side of him he couldn’t control, a side that thrived on your terror. The beast that couldn’t be tamed.

She’s a traitor.

Punish her.

Hurt her.

Devour her.

While in a heated, dramatic exchange with you, Sylus was spewing words he didn’t mean. He was doing actions without regard. He was mocking your pain. Your jealousy. Your heartbreak. The drive to hurt you was strong in his head, but he fought desperately against it. The demon inside him that tried to consume his every thought. He tried to battle his own self just to protect you.

“I betrayed you because of her!”

His laughter died down, but the amusement in his eyes only deepened, replaced by the wicked smile on his face that enjoyed seeing you suffer. “It’s always been about her, hasn’t it? You see me with her, and you can’t stand it. It eats at you, makes you act out.”

You tried to move away, but Sylus pressed his foot firmly on your wrist. She betrayed you, Sylus. Punish her.

“I’ve seen your struggle,” he continued, his voice soft but laced with corrupt satisfaction. “The way you watched me with her, the way it gnaws at you. It’s almost poetic, really.”

It wasn’t until you reached for the gun on his nightstand, pointing it at yourself, that Sylus snapped out of his dark trance. The horror in his eyes was a stark contrast to the sorrowful shine in yours as you stood there, sobbing in front of him. Each word you spoke was tailed with the pain of a heart shattered by everything he had done and said.

“...All I wanted was your love,” you choked out with tears cascading down your face, “I j-just wanted you to love me. I turned my back on the H.A. for you. I left all my friends and family for you.” Your breathing was still for a moment, but your heart had already been blown into smithereens. “All I had was you. I loved you. I devoted all my body and soul into loving you, Sylus. Why c-can’t I have even a little bit in return?”

Even as his gaze softened and a flicker of regret passed across his face, you had already made your decision when your finger tightened on the trigger. The recoil jolted your wrist, but before the bullet could find its mark, Sylus’s hand shot out and expertly deflected your aim. Instead of ending your life, the bullet shattered a window, ricocheting off the glass and disappearing into the night.

“Are you out of your mind?!” Sylus roared, his voice a thunderous mix of fury and disbelief.

You were barely responding to him as he cupped your cheeks and forced your lachrymose eyes to lock into his crimson ones. It was as though you had already resigned yourself to reality, that ending your own life would have been a better option than being with the man you hopelessly loved.

“Y/N,” Sylus tried to shake you awake, desperate for you to look into his eyes. “Y/N! Enough. Let’s end this game.”

“...I was never playing one with you.”

Sylus was overwhelmed by a profound, indescribable pain that pierced his chest. It was a pain that mirrored yours but was infinitely more intense. “I warned you many times before to never fall in love with me,” he said in a low, softened voice, “It’s for the best, and it’s what will keep you safe. Why don’t you listen?” He longed to pull you into his arms, but the crushing reality was that he only now realized how deeply he cared for you. It was devastating that his awakening had come at the cost of your near-suicide, forced by a love he was unable to return.

Was it truly too late for him to come to terms with his feelings for you? Was it too late to accept that he had fallen in love with you rather than the woman he believed he was meant to be with?

His answer came in the form of a gut-wrenching realization. It manifested in the frantic voice of Diana—the woman he believed he loved, piercing through the haze of his thoughts by yelling, “Sylus, step back!”

“No!” he shouted, his black-red mist swirling to intercept the bullet.

But his efforts came too late. The bullet had already been set in motion, and it tore through the side of your head.

It penetrated your skull with a cruel precision, not just once but twice. And the warmth of your blood seeped through his fingers as he caught your head before you fell onto the floor.

Sylus’s mind raced with the enormity of what had just happened. His face grew ashen as he looked at your bloodied head and lifeless eyes, a wave of acid welling up his chest until he couldn’t breath. But the reason for his suffocation was because of his own guilt and grief. It was at the force of a sledgehammer when he was hit with the admission that he had always been in love with you. All along, despite your tangled mess, it was you who had captured his heart in this world.

His chest tightened, his breaths coming in ragged, broken bursts, while he held you close in his arms. And your last three words, your very last words of “I… love… you…” as you stared despairingly at him was icing on this bitter cake.

No… no!

He couldn’t fucking accept it. He was losing his mind, he was going insane. He was plunging into madness. Utter hysteria. “Y/N, please,” he begged, his voice breaking as your eyes, once full of life and light, were now glazed over with the sheen of death. “Don’t leave. No, I can’t let this happen!” For the first time in a long time, he once again felt hot tears leaving his eyes. It was an emotion so rare it only ever showed toward the people he deeply cared about. “I love you too,” he struggled to say. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean what I said back there.”

Sylus held you close, disregarding the blood staining his clothes while he was consumed by agony and regret. He had driven you to this, pushed you away, and then drawn you back into his orbit only to lose you forever.

Though he may have conquered your heart, in doing so, he had only destroyed the both of you. The memory of your love and the warmth of your touch would haunt him for the rest of his days. And as he held your lifeless body, he knew that he would never be whole again.

But it shouldn’t be too late. No, it shouldn’t! He didn’t know if it was the hysteria or adrenaline kicking into him, but he had thought of an idea—no matter how immoral—that would return you back to him. He just couldn’t weigh which strong emotion he had to deal with first; should he grab the gun and shoot Diana out of anger? Or should he ignore her presence entirely and just focus on you?

Sylus chose to proceed with the latter as he carried you through the corridors of the base, his steps heavy with guilt and his shirt drenched in blood as you remained unconscious in his arms. The hunter girl had followed him in his spiritless steps, her eyes wide with confusion over his anguish.

“Sylus, why are you doing this?!” she demanded, grabbing his arm to halt his progress. “She would’ve killed you. That girl’s a traitor!”

Although he stopped in his tracks, he couldn’t really return her gaze. His eyes could only look at your lifeless ones. “That girl you shot in the head,” he spoke low and in despair, “is my woman.”

Diana was horrified. “But… but you never said—” Before she could finish, the twins intervened, holding her back from pursuing Sylus further. “What about me?”

He had already turned away. “I’ll fulfill my promise to protect you from afar, but this is where our paths part. Do not come near me again.”

Sylus stood over your unconscious body, his eyes bloodshot and tears-streaked, while his heart pounded with a mix of grief and desperation. He had summoned Philip and the finest surgeons he knew to his hideout, where you lay in a medical bed, exposed and vulnerable, as if you were a subject in a desperate experiment.

Philip arrived with a grim expression, his eyes scanning the scene with both skepticism and professional detachment. Sylus could barely contain his desperation as he demanded, “Do everything you can to save her. Even if it means infusing a high-grade protocore in her brain.” After all, he had plenty of that. Sylus had all the resources, protocores of the highest grade, each with their own purpose and capabilities.

Yet Philip hesitated, his face contorting with concern. “Mr. Sylus, you know I can’t do this. She’s gone. The best thing to do is accept—”

That was when Sylus’s composure cracked. He kicked the nearby chair out of rage, tears streaming down his face as he begged, “You’ve done it before. Do it again! Please, I need her to live!”

The sight of Sylus, usually so imposing and dominant, breaking down in front of him was shocking. Philip felt a pang of sympathy toward the Onychinus boss who was willing to do everything for a woman who was already dead. His hands trembled as he spoke, “I-I can try. But I’m warning you, Mr. Sylus… even if she survives this, there’s zero chance her memories will be the same. They may even become altered, and it will be out of our control.”

Sylus’s gaze never left you. “I don’t mind. Just do it.”

Weeks later, Sylus found himself in a secluded alleyway, meeting with a deepspace hunter who was also an enemy of his from another planet. Of course, the atmosphere was tense as both men stood in front of each other, eye-to-eye, carrying a defensive stance from one another.

They were never friends. But that day, they weren’t enemies either.

“How’s she?” Xavier broke the silence first.

Sylus answered with a low voice. “She hasn’t woken up, but she’s stable.”

“Why’d you ask to meet?”

“I want you to look after her,” the Onychinus leader began, his voice steady but carrying an undertone of desperation, “Speak to the Association about taking Y/N back and forgiving her for her betrayal. In return, I’ll step away from Diana’s life. She’s all yours. I just want Y/N to return to her normal life.”

Xavier’s expression was serious. “You’re forgetting you still have a bounty on your head.”

“And you’re forgetting you and your backtrackers destroyed the planet where I was living,” he replied in equal disdain, but only enough to trap Xavier into a wall of guilt and obligation.

“I’ll see what I can do,” said Lumiere—or, in his current form, the deepspace hunter, Xavier. “The HIS will be easy to convince. But what if she wakes up and wants to go back to the N109 Zone?”

Sylus felt a tug of deep sadness pulling at his heart. “She won’t. Her memories of me are gone for good.”

If this was his karma for hurting you, then it was definitely the worst kind.

Sylus maintained a distant watch over you after you returned to Linkon, observing from afar as you rejoined your life with the support of the Hunter’s Association and former colleagues. Each day, he sent Mephisto to monitor your whereabouts, carefully tracking your interactions and daily activities. The mechanical crow often returned with glimpses of your life, which Sylus scrutinized with intense focus as if he were watching a movie. Each glimpse offered him a sense of relief, happiness even, at knowing how easy you were settling back into your old life.

You had been officially dismissed from the Hunter’s Association due to a medical condition that rendered you unfit for duty, but they continued to cover your pension and provided free lodging—likely thanks to Xavier’s persuasive influence over the Association. The official story was that you had been sent on a dangerous mission where a Wanderer had placed you in a life-threatening predicament. The narrative praised your honor and dedication to the end. There was no mention of Sylus, Onychinus, or the N109 Zone. No hint of the life you had once led or the truth behind your memory erasure.

Yet, in a bitter twist of irony, perhaps the story you were told may not actually be farther from the truth.

After all, Sylus was the dangerous monster that sent you to that life-and-death situation.

But at least now, you were well cared for. So much so that Sylus fought to contain his jealousy whenever Mephisto’s eyes relayed visions of you sharing lunch with a physician named Dr. Zayne. He struggled to mask his irritation as he saw the man drape an arm around your shoulders while guiding you out of the hospital or wrapping a scarf around your neck to keep you warm. He would often even drive you home and send you gifts that were masked as tokens of “recovery.”

Bullshit.

Sylus clenched his fist, his thoughts of jealousy consuming him. My girl, he thought in despair, my beautiful girl is cherished by other men, while he remained imprisoned in the desolate shadows of the N109 Zone, longing for you.

Eventually, Sylus felt an overwhelming urge to see you in person. After discovering that you had taken a job at a café in Bloomshore District, he convinced himself that observing you from a distance wouldn’t cause harm. He just wanted to be near you, to ensure your safety, and to protect you from any potential threats.

As he sat on a nearby bench, Luke joined him with a comment. “Boss, you said we needed to disappear from her life.”

Kieran, taking a seat on Sylus’s other side, added, “Do you think she’d recognize us if we walked into that café? If she doesn’t, I’ll give her a hard time with my orders ‘til she remembers us!”

“Ha ha! Let’s do that!”

“Boss, let’s go!”

“Leave her be.” Sylus took a deep breath, adjusting his sunglasses and setting aside his newspaper—part of his disguise—as he watched you through the café window. He noticed the subtle traces of familiarity in your actions, but the connections that once bound you were now distant memories. “...I’m just here to make sure no one’s bothering her.”

The truth was, he wrestled with his emotions each time he visited the café you were working at. He wanted to approach you, to speak to you, but he hesitated each time because of the fear of rejection and the pain of seeing you not remember him holding him back. There were so many what-ifs in his head that it drove him insane to think about.

Because if anything, what if you were already seeing someone else? What if you were already in a relationship with that scumbag doctor from the Akso Hospital?

It was petty jealousy that drove Sylus into stepping into the café. And the first time your eyes met since you resurrected, his heart initially froze, then raced uncontrollably. His heart swelled with hope as you looked up at him, but it was quickly replaced by the lack of recognition in your eyes the moment you spoke from the counter.

“Hi. What can I get you?” you asked, treating him no differently than any other customer.

Sylus was caught off-guard, but he knew he had to play the part. “I, uh, I’ll get an Americano. Large.”

“Alright, sir. And your name, please?” you asked, following your routine without any real interest in the man before you.

But in a way, this was a relief for Sylus. It confirmed that the protocore embedded in your head was functioning as intended, and that any dark memories from the past had been completely erased, even if it meant he was no longer part of your life.

“Skye,” he said with a soft smile. “That’s my name.”

There wasn’t a single day Sylus missed visiting the café.

At first, he worried that his constant presence might seem odd, or that you might think of him as a stalker. But as the days passed, seeing you became an essential part of his routine. A day without catching a glimpse of you felt incomplete, almost maddening. Seeing you was like a drug he couldn’t get enough of.

Initially, you found his regular visits a bit strange, but gradually, the small interactions between you two evolved. Sylus began to appear at the café just when you needed him most—whether it was fixing a broken coffee machine, addressing rude customers, or simply offering a helping hand. These acts of kindness somehow transformed your view of him. What started as a customer-service relationship slowly became more personable, and in recent days, you often greeted him warmly and smiled whenever he walked in. If only you knew how badly it warmed his heart that he got to do things for you without making him feel like he was intruding in your life.

And to be honest, Sylus even felt like he might be—as Luke termed it—foolishly ”crushing” on you.

“Who knew our boss-man could be a hopeless romantic~?”

There was a time when he visited the café, only to find out from your manager that you called in sick from work. Sylus knew where you lived, but going to your place uninvited was a different story. He had to put some boundaries no matter how worried he was for you. But that was when Mephisto became useful; the mechanical crow would simply fly off to your place and observe you from outside. Then, an idea to drop a box of medicines and chocolates at your balcony was something he had thought of at the last minute.

Back in the N109 Zone, Sylus anxiously looked at his crow. “Are you sure she didn’t see you?”

“Caw! Caw!”

“Did she eat the chocolates?” he asked, exhaling a deep breath he didn’t think he was holding.

“Caw! Caw! Caaaw!” Mephisto responded, fluttering its wings as if to reassure him.

And then, that day happened.

The day Sylus finally gathered the courage to ask you out, fate had other plans. And what began as a simple gesture to offer you a ride home during a stormy night quickly escalated into something far more intense.

Because one moment, he was offering you a ride. The next, he found himself in your bed, having the most passionate sex he had ever had with someone. He wasn’t even sure if he could call it that, because it felt more like he was making love to you, even if to you, he was probably just an attractive guy you unexpectedly hooked up with.

So, he had to make himself known. He had to hear his real name leaving your lips. “Sylus,” he breathed into your ear, hands tracing your curves, “Call me Sylus, kitten.”

That night, he was an insatiable man who could only be satisfied by his woman.

When he was buried far too deep inside you, he enjoyed the sight of ecstasy on your face and lavished at the sounds of your titillating moans with his every thrust. Not only did he miss the feeling of your walls tightening around his shaft, he also remembered how badly you used to want him to cum inside you.

And so, he did just that. At his climax, he released hot spurts of seed into your womb, fulfilling a wish from the past that he used to deprive you of.

But as the night progressed and the heat of the moment faded, the conversation shifted to a more profound and emotional terrain. Sylus wrestled with the urge to reveal the truth about his true identity—every painful detail and the secrets he kept from you. Yet, he knew that doing so would only complicate matters further and risk causing you more pain. The idea of hurting you again, after such a meaningful connection, was unbearable to him, especially now that you were still fragile as glass, ready to shatter at any moment.

“Why do I get the feeling that I was the one who experienced a one-sided love before?”

“No, you were loved. You were very loved. There was no one else,” he pressed, forcing you to believe the narrative with his rueful eyes staring back at you. “I was the one who wasn’t worthy of you… But I’d like to try and win your heart again this time. If you allow it.”

“Sylus… I don’t know what to say. I’m sorry for not recognizing you before. I just… I lost a chunk of my memories, and I don’t know if it’s been altered or what, but…” He caressed your back as you took a deep breath. “I’ll try to remember, okay?”

“Please don’t.” He shook his head, crestfallen as he thought of the past that was rightfully erased. “And there’s no need for apologies, sweetie. There wasn’t anything you did wrong.”

Your relationship with Sylus remained unclear since that night. And it seemed as though the roles had reversed—now he was the one left wondering where he stood in your life. Because on the surface, it did seem like you were willing to work on building a relationship with him again, but every encounter you two had were always physical rather than emotional.

Sylus found himself at your apartment frequently, three or more times a week, engaging in intense, passionate encounters. He had lost track of how many times you two could do it in a single night, exploring every possible position, in every corner of your home. He had tried his hardest to make you feel like he was the only man who was more familiar with every inch of your body than anyone else. Yet, despite the physical closeness, he sensed that the emotional barriers between you remained intact.

No matter how deeply intertwined your bodies became, the walls around your heart remained firmly in place, and Sylus knew that there was a part of you he still couldn’t reach.

That, and the fact that he was still seeing you interact a little too closely with that doctor from Akso.

It somehow didn’t surprise you when Sylus’s car showed up outside the hospital to pick you up, and you got on with a guarded look.

“How’s it for my kitten today?” Sylus asked as he secured your seatbelt, his lips brushing against yours in a quick peck. “You didn’t mention you’d be at the hospital.”

You shifted uncomfortably, avoiding his gaze. “Oh, I just... didn’t think I needed to inform you of my whereabouts.”

Dammit. He knew you weren’t officially together, but it hurt more than he cared to admit. And it didn’t help that Sylus’s pride couldn’t naturally take it, so he probed more. “That doctor. He’s not your neurologist, is he? It seems a little inappropriate for him to always be around you like that.”

“Well, I’ve known Zayne for a long time,” you merely replied, eyes focused on the view outside rather than the driver of the car. “I’d also appreciate it if you'd be less territorial over me, Sylus. I know you said we have a history together, but I don’t remember a thing, so… I hope you won’t rush me.”

The Sylus you knew back then would have been enraged. Who were you to order him around? Who were you to tell him what he should and shouldn’t do over someone he rightfully owned? But he was a changed man now, and it was all because of you. You were the beauty that tamed him into a powerless beast.

“I understand,” Sylus replied, swallowing his pride as his hands tightened around the steering wheel, focusing on the road ahead. “I apologize.”

He heard you sigh beside him, and a part of him wondered if it was out of sympathy. But before he could dwell on it, you spoke up, your tone more serious. “I was at the hospital today because I had a pregnancy scare.”

Sylus hit the brakes at the red light a bit too abruptly, his heart racing in excitement. “Are you?”

“No, thank God,” you breathed out in relief. “But... can you please stop doing it inside? I really don’t like it. It’s not smart for me to get pregnant by a man I barely know.”

His chest tightened in a way he couldn’t describe. The old you nearly begged him for a baby so he could be yours forever, but he was aware that this version of you right now was not the same. It never would be, and that was the price he had to pay for love.

“I won’t do it again.” Once again, swallowing his pride. “I’m sorry.”

You still invited him to sleep at your apartment that night, and your reason being to work on the memories of him you had lost. Time and time again did Sylus tell you it was better you didn’t remember them, but he could also understand your dilemma when you told him that you always felt like a piece of you was missing ever since that “accident”.

“And this ugly scar on my temple,” you pointed it out, settling into your side of the bed. “What kind of Wanderer did I fight for me to get a traumatic brain injury?”

Sylus placed a tender kiss on your scar. “Perhaps it was a heartless monster more terrifying than a Wanderer.”

Like me.��

“Oh, well.” You pulled the sheets over your body, suggesting you two would have no action tonight. “Good night, Sylus.”

“...Sleep tight, kitten.”

You didn’t need to worry, though, because he wouldn’t have touched you even if you had explicitly asked him to. After hearing your words that afternoon—about not wanting to get pregnant by him and asking him to stop being so territorial—Sylus felt the need to pull back and be more cautious in his actions toward you. Your words had cut deep, but he understood you were only protecting yourself from a man who was, essentially, still a stranger to you.

And despite the sting, he had promised himself that he would be patient for the only woman he cared about.

However, that same night was a different story.

No, it was actually way past midnight when Sylus woke up from an agonizing scream that pierced the silence of the night, chilling him to the bone. Instinctively, his hand reached out to the side of the bed where you should have been, but the sheets were cold and empty. And then panic gripped him, forcing him to leap out of bed, his mind racing with a single horrifying thought: the protocore.

He darted outside of your bedroom and deeper into your apartment space, his eyes scanning every shadow, every corner. The image of you, eyes wild and frenzied, ravaged by the effects of the protocore, haunted him.

What if it’s happening now? What if I lose her for good?

The horrifying thought of the protocore making you berserk like a wild Wanderer was always there.

His heart nearly stopped when he saw you on the kitchen floor, curled up, your body wracked with sobs. Relief washed over him to have found you, but it was fleeting, replaced by a deeper, more insidious fear. He tried to approach you cautiously, his voice soft as he placed his hands on your shoulders, “Sweetie, are you okay?”

You flinched at his touch, and when you turned to face him, the sight made his blood run cold. Your eyes, usually so warm, were now wide and filled with tears—tears of terror, of anger. And in your trembling hand, you held a knife, its blade gleaming in the low light as you pointed it directly at his throat.

“Don’t come any closer!” you cried, your voice breaking at every word. Sylus froze, his breath catching in his throat as your sudden hostility surprised him. The knife’s tip hovered dangerously close to his skin, but it wasn’t the threat of violence that shook him—it was the raw, unfiltered pain in your eyes.

“Kitten, let’s talk about it calmly.” His voice was laced with cautiousness.

“Stop calling me that!” You swallowed hard, your grip on the knife tightening. “You! I had a nightmare... about you. But it felt real, like a memory. You were torturing me at your base, laughing... and then, you shot me in the head.”

Sylus’s heart dropped into his stomach at hearing your altered memory. He felt his soul tear apart at the edges as he stared into your tear-streaked face. “It was just a dream. It wasn’t real, kitten.”

But you weren’t listening. “But is it also not real? That you…” You uttered each word with a threatening voice, “are the boss of Onychinus?”

The question hit him like a physical blow. He opened his mouth to answer, but the words were stuck in his throat and refused to form. He was trapped. The situation felt like a dead end—he could deny that your dream was a real memory, but admitting he was the leader of Onychinus would only validate that lie.

His silence alone was an answer to you. And your expression crumbled into one of betrayal at that. “You lied to me! You’ve been lying to me this whole time. How am I supposed to believe anything you say now?”

The anger in your voice enforced the stillness of Sylus’s breath. He knew he had no saving grace from this situation, but still, he took a step closer, his hands raised in a placating gesture. “Y/N, I never wanted to hurt you—”

“Get out!” you screamed, the knife shaking in your hand. The sight of you so broken, so shattered, tore him apart. “Get the hell out of my sight! I don’t wanna see you ever again, you monster!”

But Sylus couldn’t leave—not like this, not when you were hurting because of him. So in his desperation, he lunged forward, grabbed your wrist, and forced the knife into his own chest. The sharp pain radiated through him as he plunged the blade in and stabbed himself repeatedly, his face twisted in agony, but not from the physical pain. This was nothing compared to the torment of knowing he was the source of your suffering. Again.

“Even if I can’t die,” he choked out, his voice ragged as he tried to absorb the stinging ache in his chest, “I’ll take all of this pain away from you.”

His own blood soaked his fingers, staining your hands as he released his grip on the knife. It fell on the floor as he stepped back, his heart aching more than his wounds ever could, but those wounds easily healed. The pain of losing you again, on the other hand, would never heal.

He looked at you one last time, seeing his monstrous reflection from your frightened eyes, before turning away. Sylus walked out of the apartment with heavy steps, feeling his soul crushed from your antagonism. He knew he had lost you—perhaps forever—and the realization was more than he could bear.

A haze of cigarette smoke and the clink of glasses filled the air of the bar. Sylus sat alone at the counter, his new glass of whiskey untouched as he stared blankly into the amber liquid. The sting of alcohol was nothing compared to the numbness that had settled in his heart after that agonizing night with you. Every swallow of the hard liquor was a desperate attempt to drown out the torment of recent events, but the pain lingered, and it was damn persistent and unforgiving.

As he poured himself another drink, the muffled sounds of conversation around him blended into a dull roar. That was until a familiar voice cut through the haze—someone he wished he hadn’t come across.

“Sylus?”

He looked up, squinting against the dim light, to see Diana standing before him. He hadn’t seen him for the past year or so. And surely, her presence was unexpected, but he felt a sudden tinge of irritation at the sight of her. While her, she looked both apprehensive and determined, as if she had just made a hard decision to confront him.

“H-How have you been?” she asked the question as a conversation starter, but Sylus could see the faint hint of unease in her eyes.

He then straightened up, and his posture became stiff and defensive. “I told you it’s not wise for us to cross paths,” he said curtly, his voice slurred from the alcohol but still holding a note of finality. He didn’t want to engage, not with her, not tonight.

On the one hand, Diana’s eyes flickered with an emotion he couldn’t quite place—regret, perhaps. “I… I wanted to say sorry for what happened with Y/N. I didn’t realize how much she meant to you. Xavier… told me everything. About you and her.”

The apology was genuine, but the mention of your name was a fresh wound, and he felt the anger and sadness surge again, bubbling beneath his carefully maintained exterior. He wanted to lash out, to blame her for everything, but he swallowed the words, knowing it wouldn’t change a thing. In the end, this was all his doing and he couldn’t point fingers over the mess that he alone had created.

Sylus tried to stand up, the room spinning slightly as he steadied himself. “I’m leaving.”

But Diana stepped closer, her hand reaching out as if to stop him. He simply brushed past her, his movements unsteady but undeniably distancing from her. The desire to remain composed was slipping away, replaced by the harsh reality he faced every day since you were taken from him.

He made his way to the exit, pushing through the bar’s heavy door with a forceful shove. Sylus’s next move was to lean against the wall outside as the cool winter breeze blew on his face.

“Boss.” Kieran’s voice held a note of concern as he and his twin steadied Sylus by wrapping his arms around their shoulders. “We’ll take you home.”

Luke glanced at his brother with a sad glint in his eyes before leading Sylus toward the car. “Maybe it’s time to let her go, boss.”

February nights were the coldest. And it was supposedly the day for lovers, too.

Unlike the couples that littered the riverside, Sylus stood alone, his breath forming small clouds in the frigid air. His dark coat offered little protection against the biting wind, but he stayed committed, his gaze fixed on the empty expanse before him. Four hours had passed since he had sent you the message, and each minute he stood there waiting for you felt like an eternity. The biting cold gnawed at him, but he was determined to wait even if he’d end up getting frostbite. It was the least he could do.

The frozen river’s surface glistened with a thousand points of light as the moon cast its silver glow over the landscape. And for the next thirty minutes that passed, he was still alone.

She won’t be coming, said the voice in his head. Give up.

As he prepared to leave, the ache of disappointment settled in his chest, and his heart skipped a beat as he recognized you, standing cautiously across him, your eyes wide and filled with both curiosity and trepidation. The sight of you, despite waiting in the cold for hours, instantly warmed his freezing body.

“Thank you for coming.” He took a deep breath, his voice trembling slightly as he spoke. “I won’t keep you long.”

You maintained your distance, wary of his next move. “Why did you want to meet?”

With a slow, deliberate motion, he began to peel the scarf from around your neck, and he felt a prick in his heart seeing you flinch. “I’m not gonna hurt you.”

He waited until you allowed him to proceed, his fingers brushing against your skin in a touch that was both gentle and reverent. You looked at him with confusion, the chilly air fought by the warmth of your breath. Sylus was just carefully replacing the scarf with the necklace he had given you long ago, the red Beryl crystal catching the light and sending soft, radiant glimmers into the night.

Do you even recognize it?

“I’m just returning a gift, kitten.”

As he fastened the clasp behind your neck, he pressed a tender kiss to the nape of your neck, his lips lingering for a moment before he straightened. That small gesture of his was actually carried by the depth of his affection and regret. And, if you may, it was his silent apology for all that he did to you.

“Sylus…”

His red eyes shimmered, intensified by the bloodshot whites. Sylus stared at your face with a mixture of love and ruefulness clouding his expression. He was looking at you like you were the most precious thing in the world. And he struggled to hold back the tears that threatened to spill, with his voice breaking as he feathered the snowflakes that rested on your hair. “Take care of yourself. Always lock your doors at night and stay warm.” He took the scarf Zayne gave you, and pulled out a new one from his coat. It was a silly scarf with kitten prints all over it, that he soon carefully wrapped around your face and neck. “Wear that whenever you can.”

Your own eyes were large and rimmed with tears as though you were also hurting inside. “Why are you saying this?” you asked, keeping the weakness inside. “You sound like you’re saying goodbye.”

Sylus’s gaze was suddenly directed back to the river, but it was only because he had to avoid looking at your eyes or he would lose it. “The Association managed to track me here in Linkon and they’re still after me. I just managed to escape, but I can’t stay here,” he explained calmly, “I only came back to this city because of you… But now, I have to disappear, so don’t worry about having me around. I won’t bother you anymore.”

Your eyes widened in shock, and the tears that had been pooling your eyes finally spilled over. “Are you crazy?” you cried, seemingly unable to comprehend the words he was spewing. “You’re leaving me?”

Sylus’s heart broke at the sight of your tears, but he had to restrain any weakness by giving in. Instead, he reached out, and his hand trembled as he wiped a tear from your cheek. “I love you, Y/N.” He wanted to be the first one to say it this time. “Even if you regain all your memories of me—good or bad—I want you to know that I regret every pain I caused you. Even if you hate me, I’ll still love you. Today, tomorrow, and in our next lives.”

Sylus took one last, lingering look at you, his eyes filled with a sorrowful haze that nearly blinded his vision. He turned slowly, walking away from the river’s edge, with each step causing distance from the love he was leaving behind.

And you, you stood there, the necklace around your neck feeling heavy as you watched him disappear into the night. A surge of emotion overwhelmed you, and without thinking, you sprinted towards him. You took quick, long strides just to reach him, pulling him into a tight embrace, and crashing your lips against his in a bittersweet kiss.

Both of you cried as the kiss deepened, and you were encasing each other’s lips in a tight lock. The intensity of your emotions poured out in this poignant, intimate moment. And frankly, Sylus had never been this emotional. No one had ever seen this fragile side of him that he had always kept hidden. After all, what dominant, cruel boss of Onychinus would spill tears over a woman?

But they wouldn’t understand it. They never would.

When you finally pulled away, your eyes were red and swollen from tears. “Be careful,” you sniffled, barely unable to catch the breath you needed for the next. “Keep in touch if you can. And when I’m ready, I’ll find you.”

Sylus’s eyes were also filled with tears, but he managed a forlorn smile as he nodded. He reached out to brush a strand of hair from your face, his touch gentle despite the heaviness of the moment. “I’ll wait,” he promised softly, his voice breaking slightly. “I’ll wait for you, no matter how long it takes.”

“Until we meet again.”

As he stepped back, the distance between you seemed impossibly vast, but the promise in your eyes and the love in his heart made the separation bearable, if only just. And when Sylus turned away, his heart was heavy but full of the hope that one day, you would find each other again. That one day, this distant love would become a cherished memory that you would look back on as you grow old and wrinkled, yet insurmountably happy and content with the life you had lived. With or without him.

PREVIOUS PART

#love and deepspace x reader #love & deepspace x reader #lads x reader #lads x you #sylus x reader #sylus x you #sylus x yn #lds x reader #l&ds x reader #l&ds x you #sylus angst #sylus fanfic #l&ds sylus

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aleksatia · 1 month ago

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🎨Blind date with your ex-husband. You never expected it to be… Rafayel.

Inspiration hit me going 100mph down the highway, and I took an unscheduled gas station stop just to write this down. My husband almost divorced me again thinking I’d lost my mind — so in a way, this series is dedicated to him. And to second chances. I know they exist. I’ve lived one. 🥀

An unplanned new series. Five ex-husbands. Same setup, different reactions.

❄️ Zayne | 🏍 Sylus | ✨Xavier | 🍎 Caleb

CW/TW: Divorce / Post-divorce emotional trauma, Toxic romantic cycles, Verbal conflict / emotional manipulation, High emotional volatility, Crying / vulnerability, Jealousy, Theatrical intensity, Implied sexual content (consensual, emotionally charged), References to artistic obsession, Codependency themes.

Pairing: Rafayel x ex-wife!you Genre: Operatic angst, sensory overload, intimacy tangled in art and argument. Enemies to lovers to something mythic and broken. Summary: Rafayel was always too much — too vivid, too loud, too in love with the idea of being in love. Now, in a room made of silk and memory, you’re forced to confront the passion that nearly devoured you both. What begins with masks ends in scorched truths, spilled wine, and a kiss that remembers every wound it ever caused. Word Count: 3.6K

The room was a mirage made of silk.

Blue and amber fabrics swayed gently overhead, catching the glow of hanging lanterns that burned like slow, ancient stars. Patterns scattered across the floor like constellations, stitched from shadow and gold. The air pulsed with warmth, scented with saffron, cardamom, rosewater, and smoke — something too heady to be real.

A low table stood in the center, set for two. Carved brass, aged like a secret. Cushions instead of chairs. A bowl of candied figs. Crystal glasses half-filled with something rich and ambered, already beading condensation in the heat.

The music played softly, something stringed and spiraling, full of bends and minor keys. It didn’t fill the space — it wrapped it. Like a whisper over skin.

You sat with your hands folded in your lap, heart steady, but only just. Something about the room felt dangerous. Not overtly. But the kind of danger that came wrapped in silk and compliments. The kind you didn’t notice until it was inside you, changing your breath.

Then the curtain stirred.

A figure stepped through the veil — tall, lithe, draped in pale fabrics that shimmered like wet paint. A mask covered the upper half of his face: smooth silver, delicate scrollwork, slightly fox-shaped. His hair was dark — maybe lavender? — but the lighting played tricks, casting halos where none should exist.

He moved with a liquid elegance that set your nerves on edge. Not performance. Presence.

And something in your chest twitched.

He sat across from you without hesitation, folding into the cushions like the air had made room for him. One ringed hand toyed with the stem of his glass. He hadn’t looked at you fully yet, but even the curve of his jaw behind the mask felt… familiar in a way you didn’t want to name.

You watched him watching the room.

The shape of his throat. The line of his wrists. The quiet, performative grace of someone used to being looked at — and loving it.

Your stomach turned, slowly.

Then he looked at you. Just briefly.

And smiled.

The candlelight caught in his eyes — unnaturally pale, a hue caught somewhere between rose and seafoam. Impossible. Stunning.

Your pulse skipped. Once. Hard.

No.

No, no, no—

Too dark. Too hazy. Too many fragrances in the air. That’s all this was. A trick of the senses. A trick of memory.

And then—

He spoke.

“Let me guess,” he said, voice smooth as velvet over glass, warm and slow and theatrical. “You’re the one they warned me about.”

Your throat tightened.

No name. No gesture. But your skin recoiled like it had just touched flame.

You made yourself breathe. Spoke without thinking. “Depends. What was the warning?”

He tilted his head slightly, like he’d heard something inside your voice that he didn’t expect.

“That I’d end the evening ruined.”

Your fingers curled in your lap.

That voice. You hadn’t heard it in almost a year. But your bones remembered.

Still — you didn’t move. You didn’t give him the satisfaction of recognition.

He poured the drink anyway. Fluid, slow, luxurious. Passed the glass across the table with the same fingers that once traced poems into your shoulder blades at dawn.

No. Don’t go there.

“Drink,” he said, watching you now. “It makes the disappointment more beautiful.”

The room shifted with the sound of his voice, like the silk overhead had caught its breath. One of the lanterns flickered. The scent of rose and something darker curled tighter around your ankles.

You didn’t touch your glass.

“Disappointment implies expectation,” you said. “You always did mistake fantasy for reality.”

He smiled — sharp and amused, like you’d stepped into a trap he’d laid years ago. “Still fluent in cruelty, I see. Good. I was afraid domesticity might’ve tamed you.”

You reached for the glass then, just to keep your hand busy. “And I see you’re still confusing cleverness with depth.”

The flicker in his eyes was almost too fast to catch.

You took a sip. The drink was sharp, floral, and laced with something decadent.

He was watching you. Not politely. Not appreciatively. Like a man trying to decide whether to paint you or burn the memory of you from his mind entirely.

“I should’ve known it was you,” you said finally, setting the glass down with a deliberate clink. “All this silk and smoke? Feels like the opening act of one of your breakdowns.”

He smirked. “Then you should’ve checked under the cushions for a script.” A beat. “Though if anyone here’s performing,” he added, “it’s not me this time.”

That got a laugh out of you. Low, involuntary. Dangerous.

“God,” you said. “You’re exhausting.”

He lifted his glass again, gaze steady over the rim.

“And yet someone out there thought we’d make a charming pair.”

A pause.

“Statistically improbable,” he added. “But then again, so were we.”

The silk walls shifted faintly in the breeze of the central fan, as if the whole room leaned in.

You tilted your head. “They said this was a blind date. I didn’t realize they meant blind in the Biblical sense.”

“Ah.” He leaned back. “There’s the sermon I missed. Tell me, do you rehearse those in the mirror, or do they just fall out of you naturally?”

“You want natural?” you asked, voice cool. “Then take off the mask.”

He didn’t move. So you did it first.

The mask slid away with a soft hiss of fabric. You held his gaze, daring him to flinch, to breathe, to blink.

He didn’t.

Instead, after a beat, he reached up and peeled his own mask off — slow, like undressing a wound.

And there he was.

Exactly as you’d known he’d be. Beautiful in that way that always made you want to hurt something. Or kiss him just to feel how much it would cost.

His expression flickered when he saw your face.

“I thought you’d look different,” he said.

“I thought you’d grow up.”

That wiped the smirk right off his mouth.

For half a second, he looked like the boy who’d once painted your collarbone in gold leaf just because he could.

Then it was gone.

“You know,” he said, gaze dropping to your mouth, “for someone who always wanted peace, you start fights like it’s foreplay.”

You leaned forward slightly. “And for someone who always wanted to be adored, you sure made yourself easy to leave.”

Rafayel’s smile didn’t falter. But it sharpened — fractionally. Like the curve of a blade when it catches the light.

“Maybe,” he said softly, “I didn’t want you to stay.”

The words landed like silk draped over broken glass.

You blinked once. Then twice. Then let out a low breath of laughter — measured, dangerous, devastating.

“Oh, darling,” you said, tilting your head, “you always were such a convincing actor. Shame the role of coward never quite won you any standing ovations.”

He chuckled. “Coward?” he echoed, voice rich with amusement. “From you, that’s practically a love letter.”

You leaned back slightly, the candlelight catching the glint in your eyes.

“No, love letters require vulnerability. You wouldn’t recognize one if it was monogrammed and hand-delivered on rose petals.”

He lifted his glass in a mock-toast, eyes never leaving yours. “To you. The only woman who ever left a man mid-soliloquy and still expected an encore.”

You clinked your own glass to his with a smile that could’ve slit a throat. “To you. The man who wrote odes to my shadow but never once looked me in the eye long enough to know my shape.”

He laughed. You hated how beautiful the sound still was.

There was a pause, charged and theatrical, like the air had leaned forward on cue.

“And yet,” he said, swirling the drink in his glass, “you sat across from me. Masked. Unapologetically luminous. Like a challenge waiting to happen.”

“I was aiming for quiet mystery,” you replied, raising your glass. “But I suppose provocation always did look better on me.”

He leaned forward, close enough now for the scent of rose to cling between you.

“Then let’s drink,” he said, “to what we ruined so beautifully.”

You raised your glass. He raised his. Both smiles intact.

“To mistakes,” you said.

“To masterpieces,” he replied, then added, with a flick of his lashes, “—that deserved better muses.”

And that was it. Your hand moved before you thought.

You didn’t throw the wine.

You grabbed the wrong glass — the other one — and without hesitation, flung the contents at him.

It was tea. Very hot tea.

There was a stunned half-second as the amber liquid splashed across the front of his perfect, pale shirt — followed by a sharp inhale through his teeth.

He hissed softly, setting the glass down with a slow, deliberate clink. Then — without hesitation — he pulled the shirt over his head.

The fabric stuck to him slightly, steam curling off his chest like the room itself was reacting. His skin caught the lantern-light like marble dusted in firelight — golden, sharp-lined, impossible.

You stared.

Unfortunately.

He ran a hand through his damp hair, exhaling. “Always dramatic, aren’t you?”

“You deserved it,” you snapped. “And more.”

“More?” He stepped closer. “You always did like escalation. Tell me — should I throw a fig at your face? Or set something expensive on fire?”

You crossed your arms, not trusting your breath. “You’d enjoy that too much.”

“Because it’s the only language you speak!” he shot back. “Break it. Burn it. Drown it. But for God’s sake, don’t sit still and talk like a human being.”

You laughed, bitter and breathless. “That’s rich. Coming from you.”

He gestured wildly. “I begged you to stay! I begged you with everything but the word!”

“That was the problem,” you said, eyes burning now. “You gave me poetry when I needed something real. Something steady. Not ten thousand metaphors and a gallery of regrets.”

His jaw clenched.

“And now,” you said, voice cracking just enough to give it teeth, “you say I wasn’t enough of a muse. Well—”

You stood suddenly, movement sharp, breath shaking as your body tried to hold the rest in.

“—maybe you should’ve picked a prettier tragedy.”

You turned away, shoulders tight and trembling.

He froze.

Your back was to him now, and thank God, because your throat was tight, and your hands were shaking and that single line — that stupid, perfect insult about your worth — cut deeper than it should have.

You felt it first. His presence.

Then the heat of him, close, pressing in without touching.

And then — his arms wrapped around you from behind. One quick, quiet motion. Not forceful. Desperate.

He pulled you against him, bare skin warm and still faintly damp from the tea.

His nose buried in your hair. His breath unsteady.

“I didn’t mean it,” he whispered.

Your breath caught.

“I didn’t mean it,” he repeated.“God, I didn’t— You know I say things when I’m scared. And you looked like you were about to walk away all over again.”

You didn’t answer.

So he tightened his hold.

“I’m sorry,” he said, softer now. “I’m sorry I made you think you weren’t everything. I’m sorry I hurt you to feel less hurt myself. I’m sorry I used my mouth to ruin what it was made to worship.”

You closed your eyes.

His voice cracked on the last word.

“I never wanted anyone better,” he whispered. “I only ever wanted more time with you.”

You turned in his arms with a suddenness that surprised even you.

You meant to push him away. You meant to say don’t, to reclaim your anger before it crumbled. But your hands — traitors — only reached his chest and stayed there, limp. Useless. Pressed against his bare skin like they belonged.

He covered them with his own.

Not roughly. Not to keep you there. But to hold the contact steady — as if you might dissolve if he let go.

The heat of him burned through your palms. Steady. Alive. Too much.

You wanted to scream. You wanted to fold into him and scream into his collarbone.

Instead, you whispered, “How did we get here?”

His breath hitched.

“I loved you,” you said. “You loved me. And somehow we became this—” your voice broke, “—this shipwreck of a marriage. What happened to us, Raf?”

He didn’t answer right away.

So you filled the silence with everything your mouth had been holding for too long.

“It used to be magic,” you said, eyes wet now, but you wouldn’t let them fall. “God, we were light. We were gold. You made me feel like I was flying. And then one day, it was like we couldn’t breathe unless we were screaming.”

He said your name. Just once.

Low. Like an apology wrapped in prayer.

You kept going.

“Why did it turn into a stage? When did our home become a theater and our life some broken play where we both forgot our lines? I didn’t want to be a performance, Raf. I wanted to be real.”

He slid one hand up your back, slow, careful. As if you might break from anything more sudden.

“I know,” he murmured. “I know.”

“I didn’t recognize us anymore,” you said, the words trembling. “All we did was throw paint. Emotions. Blame. Color, color, color, until we drowned in it. Until we forgot what normal even meant.”

He leaned his forehead to yours, his breath catching against your cheek. And when he spoke, his voice had changed. Quieter. Lower. Without the velvet and dramatics. Just him.

“I was scared,” he said.

You blinked.

“I was scared,” he repeated. “That if things slowed down — if we got too quiet, too normal — you’d leave. That you’d realize I wasn’t enough without the chaos. Without the fire.”

You stared at him. Your hands still pressed to his chest. You could feel the way his heartbeat stumbled.

“So I gave you fire,” he said. “I gave you storms. I made our life… louder, because silence felt like death.”

“And I left anyway,” you said.

“Because I set the house on fire and expected you to dance in it.”

You closed your eyes. His words were knives. But so was your silence.

“There was jealousy,” you murmured. “And guilt. And all your little accusations when I was too tired to match your flame.”

He swallowed hard.

“You were angry when I fell asleep during your gallery story,” you added. “But I’d just come home from a mission. I’d spent five hours knee-deep in wanderers and blood and—” you exhaled, “—I needed sleep, Raf. Not a performance.”

He didn’t interrupt.

“I needed rest,” you said. “And all I got was another curtain call.”

He looked ruined. Not fragile. Not shattered. Just exhausted from pretending not to be.

“I was so afraid of losing you,” he said. “So I smothered you with everything I thought would make you stay.”

You looked at him — really looked — and something inside you cracked down the center.

And still, part of you whispered: It might not be enough.

Rafayel tensed — just a little. The shift of a shoulder, the pause in his fingers at your back.

“Did you come here,” he asked, voice low and almost too careful, “because you’re ready to move on?”

You smiled, slow and sly. Not to tease, but to veil the flicker of something softer.

“Maybe my life’s been too normal lately. Too gray.” You leaned the smallest bit closer, letting your cheek rest against his bare chest. “I needed a little danger again. And you?”

His heart responded beneath your skin.

He chuckled, brushing his knuckles lightly down your spine. “I could say I was looking for an exotic muse to paint. Something with cheekbones sharp enough to draw blood and an aura of doomed seduction.”

You huffed a laugh against his skin. “That would’ve been a very you thing to say.”

“But the truth,” he murmured, “is boring. Thomas set me up. Said he registered, got sick, and that some poor woman would be stuck alone unless I stepped in. He was very dramatic about it.”

You tilted your head back to look at him, eyes narrowing. “Tara pulled the same trick on me.”

“Ah.” His lips quirked. “Coordinated sabotage. Typical.”

A moment passed, heavy in the hush. You hadn’t meant to relax like this, but here you were — cheek to his chest, listening to the rhythm of a heart that had once been your home. And still was, apparently. Because everything inside you had gone soft, slow, steady.

It felt like something had clicked back into place. Like a missing tile in a mosaic suddenly slotted home and made the whole thing whole again.

Your voice, when it came, was quieter. Uncertain. Honest.

“Raf… why did you sign the divorce papers?”

He didn’t answer at first. His fingers moved gently through your hair, brushing behind your ear. When he finally spoke, his voice had dropped into something rawer.

“Because I respect your decisions. Even when I didn’t agree with them.”

You looked up, eyes burning.

“I wanted you to be happy,” he continued. “Even if it meant watching you bloom from the sidelines. Watching you learn how to smile again without me in the frame.” He swallowed. “Are you happy?”

You hesitated. But the answer was already rising, uninvited.

“No,” you said. “The world turned grayscale. It’s like I’m walking through some awful dystopia with clean counters and dry eyes. Everything works. Nothing shines.”

He exhaled, long and low. His arms tightened around you, fingers threading into your hair, grounding you in scent and heat and skin.

“Cutie,” he murmured, voice close, mouth brushing your temple, “just say the word. I’ll paint the colors back in.”

“I’m afraid,” you admitted. “Still. Afraid to go blind from too much kaleidoscope.”

“I won’t lie,” he whispered. “I can’t promise restraint. I might always be a little too loud. A little too much. But I can give you something else now. Balance. Space. Stability. Peace, if you’ll have it.”

You searched his eyes.

He added, “Only if you’re ready. If you want to let me back in.”

“I never really closed the door,” you said. “Just stood behind it. Waiting.”

And that broke whatever spell held you still.

He kissed you.

Not hurried, not frantic — just whole. His mouth claimed yours like it had a right to, but still asked permission with every slow pull of lips, every breath passed between you.

You pressed into him, fingers curling at the base of his neck. His hand splayed across your lower back, warm and deliberate, guiding without demand.

He leaned into the cushions with you, dragging you down into silk and shadow, his mouth never leaving yours.

The taste of saffron and heat and memory filled you.

He kissed you the way people wrote arias — rising, falling, trembling with feeling too big for language. His tongue brushed yours gently at first, then deeper, hungrier, as if your mouth were the only place he could breathe.

You moaned softly against him, and he swallowed the sound, pulling you closer. Your legs tangled. His hand slipped beneath the hem of your dress, fingers grazing your thigh with aching reverence.

You moved like tide against him — hungry and fluid.

The lanterns swayed above. The cushions sighed beneath you. One of the glasses tipped over with a soft thud, spilling rose-colored wine that neither of you noticed.

His lips trailed down your jaw, to your throat, where he lingered, breathing you in like incense.

“You still taste like paradise,” he whispered.

And when he looked up again, your hair tangled in his fingers, your body flushed and pliant against his — you knew.

There was nothing gray left between you.

Only color. Only fire. Only Rafayel.

Your body answered his touch like it had been waiting a lifetime. Hot, eager, instinctive. Every stroke of his fingers sent sparks down your spine. Every kiss — soft or sharp — undid you a little more.

The silk beneath you could’ve caught fire from the heat you were building between each other.

His hands roamed without hesitation, without apology — palming, stroking, gripping — sometimes tender, sometimes greedy. Your back arched into him, chasing the sensations, chasing the memory of what it felt like to simply be wanted like this. Loved like this. By him.

His mouth found your throat. Then lower. His tongue trailed over skin like it was sacred. When his lips closed around your nipple, firm and aching, you whimpered — low and breathless — and pulled him closer, nails raking his back.

He groaned into your skin, and you swore your entire body melted into flame.

You didn’t want to stop. You didn’t want him to stop.

But then—

A soft, mechanical chime broke through the haze. Gentle. Too real.

The signal. The end of the hour.

You froze. So did he. Still hovering over you, still half-undressed, still hard and pulsing between your thighs.

You looked up at him, breathless.

He was watching you like the world might end if you looked away first.

“Do you regret it?” he asked, voice roughened by want.

You shook your head, smiling softly despite the ache in your chest. “No. Do you?”

His mouth quirked — cocky, fond, feral.

“Do you even have to ask?” he murmured, then rocked his hips forward just enough for you to feel the full weight of him, hard and ready. “Does that feel like regret to you?”

Your breath caught.

“I could steal you for the rest of the night,” he whispered, voice low and wicked, like a shared sin.

You grinned up at him, hand sliding into his hair. “You could steal me for the rest of my life.”

He growled — quiet and deep in his chest.

“We’ll see what you say tomorrow morning,” he muttered, brushing his lips along your jaw, “when you can’t walk straight or remember how to say no.”

You bit his bottom lip, teasing.

“Do you even know what moderation is?”

His eyes darkened with something hungry, reverent, unstoppable.

“Only in everything except how much I love you.”

And this time — when he kissed you — it wasn’t a performance. It wasn’t memory. It was home.

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brights-place · 4 months ago

Note

I loved your fanfic with an innocent reader. Now do it with Sanzu, Rindou and Inupi. Please!

Love your work!

[TR] Rindou & Inupi & Sanzu x Reader (separate) Warnings: Smut, NSFW!!, Drugs, BDSM, Kinky shit

A/N: I cannot control if minors read this or not or if your un-comfy with smut don't read this I do not recommend if you do not enjoy these topics and if you IGNORE my authors note and my simple instruction to click off this tumblr post and get mad at me if you don't like it I will tell you off for not READING a basic instruction from my typed out words. I write smut I write angst I write fluff I write what you request because I enjoy it so if you get mad I will shake my filipino fist telling you "TO GET OFF MY BLOG" like an old white man now ENJOY if you still wanna proceed!! Anyways this is sooo short cause I’m writing this at 1AM after having a night shift kms😰

Summary: Sanzu, Rindou and Inupi with a cute and innocent reader? Reader loves wearing bows and wearing cute things, besides being very innocent and naive.

Rindou Hitani

- Rindou with a sweet innocent reader is one of the most devious things I can think of cause *tucks strand behind my ear and giggles* (Not as much as my top 4 favs but he’s still there)

- Rindou with a sweet cute innocent reader is sweet he’d make sure to take care of you and pamper you lovingly always smiling warmly at your reactions how cute you look

- Praises your outfits and helps you put on your heels and sometimes swaps them with his shoes sometimes when they start to hurt hell if Inupi and Izana can do it so can he

- He loves seeing you wear silk pajamas it’s always so cute to him and enjoys the texture

- You know how you have bows and all that? Yeah you can tie a ribbon around it for more friction - Every time it happens everything feels so good your eyes crossing and closing as you wrap your arms around him, his scent intoxicating and surrounding you - Grunts and whimpers some times and enjoys how you look cute in pink and white - Gripping onto your hands or waist while he makes you take him and loves kissing you to see your drool passing your lips - Fucking loves how you try to speak but your words are slurred because his dick is just ramming into you without hesitation and with pure joy at how he could ruin something as sweet as you

Sanzu Haruchiyo

- Not gonna lie everybody writes sanzu as like he’s a rabid dog (The mad dog of Bonten LMAO) in sex and drugs as if its his only characteristics cause of all the drugs and stuff but genuinely I think he’d just be chill with most stuff and would just give a thumbs up cause well he kills and has a fucking KATANA cause he’s so pent up with all this shit (Bonten arc reference)

- So I think sanzu would be too lazy to do stuff or to have sex so depending on his mood it also depends on what yall do

- He enjoys your cute bows and stuff sometimes when he’s high out of his mind he’ll sloppily kiss you and compliment you saying shit like “Hey-! Yur cute ya knowwww god i’m soo lucky ya know? Hey lets bother koko-puffs for some money to get ya cute new skirt for me to rip!” Or “Ahaaa~ your so pretty when wearing matching outifts with meee *hic* I llve you so much”

- Shit like that but at the same time he’d be abit unhinged as fuck every now and then aswell with you - He was obsessed with the fact that every thing about you to your jewllery and to the soles of your shoes to your every dress that clung to your body was all his doing and what he was going to rip off your body - Loves the feeling of your walls clench around him he enjoys it dearly as he can't help but bite into your shoulder to keep quiet cause he can't help but enjoy ever single aspect of you - Clutching onto your hair grinning smugly at your scent -He likes knowing how much stronger he is than you, not that it isn’t obvious - So he loves to manhandle you whenever he gets the chance - The way you give him all the power in the world to move you around is heaven to him as he can't help but giggle - Sobbing into his arms like a giant mess as he degrades you while enjoying seeing you suffer because of him in many ways - gets excited with how you willingly allow him to rip your skirts and cute tops sometimes use your ribbons to cover your eyes if they are big enough to cover your eyes enjoys seeing you panic slightly

Seishu Inui

- Seishu like Kokonoi’s kinks aren't bad nor are they good it's just there like he’s just smiling softly and lovingly at you when you doll up infront of the vanity

- He makes sure that later on he fucks you against the same vanity to see how pretty you are WHO SAID THAT?! -He’s awful respectful of you and your space, and he really does want to take things slow, but Christ you don’t know what you do to him. - Loves to tease you quietly but keeps quiet and reminds you to keep your voice down - despite telling you to keep quiet he would purposely angle his hips to hit against your g-spot continuously causing you to struggle with keeping your volume down. - truth to be told he loves to hear the noises that slip past your lips as he kisses you - He would not want to cause you pain however he might try out with bondage and perhaps simple toys like the vibrator to use on you to make it more exciting - Inupi is quite good with his tongue there was once where he made you climaxed with his tongue alone for 3 times in a row without stopping ignoring your cries in overstimulation he just loves hearing your famillar normal voice turn into one that craves for more of him

reblogs + comments are appreciated ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡ ©brights-place 2025 — do not repost on another platform, copy, translate or edit my works! if you fit my DNI list please don't interact!

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1nk20ul · 17 days ago

Text

Jonathan Sims ALIVE?? I Believe I Have Proof.

(Spoilers for The Magnus Protocol!)

You heard that right. And if you've listened to TMP 39 - Dependents, you've heard it too. Not only can I prove without the shadow of a doubt that not one, but two Archivists are roaming TMA's London, but I can also prove with spectrogram + phonetical analysis exactly what Jon is saying.

Let me prove it to you.

First, let's start with an unedited audio sample, taken at 16:30:

Did you catch it? If you didn't, I don't blame you. There's a lot happening here. Let's check the official transcript for more context about what we're hearing.

So, what we're hearing is definitely the Archivist. It's evident that it's whispering something, but the specifics are currently hidden under layers of reverb, static, and tape winding. Let's clean it up a bit to get a better listen. I pitched the audio down 30%, reduced the background noise, and ran it through a few frequency filters to make the speech more prominent.

Oh.

Oh, shit.

Yeah, that's definitely Jon.

At the very least, we know this is obviously not Beth Eyre, who voices [ERROR]. Since the transcript states that this audio has to come from an Archivist, that really only leaves us with one other possibility.

But let's assume you still don't believe me. I took the liberty of isolating the vocals entirely and running them through a linguistics analysis programme called Praat (which is fantastic + free by the way!). This way, we can analyse the speech all the way down to the position of the Archivist's mouth when speaking.

Here's the new sample we're working with:

I admit, the speech is a tad more muffled in this version. However, the lack of background noise makes the spectrogram much easier to read, which is what we are aiming for here. We're far past the point of just using our ears.

Behold the Spectrogram:

Looking at this diagram, we can conclude that there are four words being spoken here. (The second word is the gap in the middle part. Note the density shift at around 1000Hz. We know this word must be free of any sharp consonants.) More importantly, the formants provided can be compared to samples of Jon's RP dialect to determine if there's a match. If the frequencies match, it's the same voice. If we get the wavelengths to match, it's the same word.

Let's start with the first word. I'll skip the specifics, as explaining every minute detail would take forever and bore everyone to death. The left image was extracted from the spectrogram above. The right photo? That's Jon saying the word "this."

Note how both waveforms are split into two halves, low then high. Note how the high half trails off at the end. Take into account the similar placement of the red formants. This is the same word, pronounced in the exact same dialect, with the exact same frequency. It is Jon.

Let's do that again with the second word.

Again, the formants line up in the exact same order. The audio on the right is a bit louder, which is why the waveforms have a higher contrast.

What did this word happen to be? World.

Here is the original spectrogram in Audacity. The two bright spots on the right-hand side are easy. It's the same sound as the end of the first word as well. (Notice the frequencies are the same.) These are an easy Letter S. I then fact-checked this using methods like before.

Finally, we have clear, undeniable proof:

"This world isn’t yours."

Edit: thank you to @thestrangepoet for correcting “is” to “isn’t!” The presence of the letter T was a bit inconclusive, but it makes so much more sense in this context.

Now, what does that actually mean? Well, he’s likely referring to Sam. The extent of what he actually knows I’m uncertain of. Feel free to theorise and let me know! I have an idea about how this affects the overall story, but that's a post for another day.

I furthermore checked every single instance [ERROR] spoke for occurrences like this, and what did I find? Nothing. There was a bit of whispering in TMP 10 that I couldn't manage to isolate, but the voice was definitely Beth Eyre's. The only other time an Archivist audibly appeared in this fashion was... Oh, Hello. The TMP series teaser with Jon and Martin. Brilliant.

Now I just have to hope that nothing gets debunked by tomorrow. I'm crossing my fingers, TMP 40.

Thank you to Rusty Quill for sending me down this rabbit hole! The details added to all corners of the production bring so much life to the Magnus mystery. I'm glad I could dig deep and analyse this - We love you!

#jonathan sims #jon sims #the magnus archives #the magnus protocol #tma #tma spoilers #tmp spoilers #tmagp #tmagp spoilers #tmagp 39 #tmagp theory #jmart #tma jmart #the archivist #do not archive #tmagp season 2

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adieutristana · 3 months ago

Text

vanity; jinx x fem! reader

loosely inspired by this fic by @moshuka.

summary; jinx used her looks to flirt her way out of a situation. her girlfriend isn’t happy.

characters included; jinx

tags/warnings; nsfw, porn w (some) plot, sub!jinx, dom!reader, brat!jinx, mirror sex, rough sex, strap-on use, strap-on referred to as a dick/cock, hair pulling, crying, humiliation ig?, slight degradation, use of the word ‘whore’, size queen jinx, squirting

men and minors dni.

at first, you were worried.

jinx tends to get herself into dangerous situations more often than not, way too often for her own good. it's what she's known for, after all. jinx: the mad bomber. the loose cannon. zaun's princess.

but she has a way of getting herself out of those situations. her reflexes are impeccable, her strength nearly inhuman for someone of her stature. it is inhuman, considering the shimmer coursing through her veins. weapons that she's built herself regularly save her in battle, and most of all, she's got a smartass mouth.

one that usually comes in handy, but clearly not this time.

"jinx," you start. your arms are crossed over your chest, one hip popped. you're trembling in frustration- coming apart at the edges. "i heard you were flirting with some guy who cornered you. i'm gonna be graceful and hear you out."

she bristles, and the girl's breath catches.

"what i do depends on if i like what you have to say."

you'd heard from passersby on the streets gossiping about what jinx had done. nothing stays a secret for long in zaun; there's almost always a witness, someone who can't keep their mouth shut. people love to gossip, and with that, they love to twist the truth.

so you're hoping to janna above that what you'd heard was a simple rumor. jinx being cornered by one of smeech's goons. a new one, a guy seemingly too good for the likes of this line of work. apparently not. he'd threatened jinx, gotten close to her, nearly hurt her. but instead of her usual solution of whipping out her gun and pressing the cold barrel to someone's neck as a warning, she'd flirted.

told the guy that he's young, attractive, promising. he's too good for a business like this. if he'd just leave her alone, she'd let him go without any fuss, and there would be no mess to clean up. maybe they'd even cross paths again someday.

"i didn't mean any of it, toots," her hands are raised in a mock-surrender. "he was ugly, honest!"

"i didn't ask if he was ugly," you bite. you're inching closer to her, until your noses are nearly touching. the tone in your voice tells jinx you're not fucking around- yet that makes this all the more exciting for her. "i asked you to tell me what happened."

"i didn't do anything, just flirted a little. no harm done."

"you have a gun. why didn't you use that?" you push.

jinx huffs, rolling her eyes. it only serves to piss you off even more. "i just wanted to switch it up, yanno? try something new. and it worked, didn't it? didn't have to spill any blood or nothin'. no cleanup."

"so what i heard is true?"

"depends what you heard."

"oh, you-"

that's it. you take jinx's wrist, and just about drag her to her cot. she's giggling all the way, that signature shit-eating grin plastered on her face. you wish there was blood to clean up. although you know nothing happened- jinx wouldn't dream of being unfaithful to you, this feels calculated. like she'd done it on purpose, just to get under your skin. she was probably sitting in her hideout, just waiting for someone to start talking.

you want nothing more than to slap that grin off of her, make her grovel and apologize and make it up to you.

but you won't. with a quick motion, jinx is flung onto her cot. she gasps, but doesn’t move from her sitting position, doesn’t stop fucking grinning.

"come oooon! you're always telling me i'm soooo pretty. i’m like a work of art.” she comes to lazily toss around the end of one of her braids, playing with it the same way she’s playing with you. “maybe i just wanted to use that to my advantage.”

gods damn it.

you come to stand closer to jinx, looming over the girl. she’s still sitting on her cot, nice and pretty. she looks so innocent, so sweet, if you didn’t know any better, you’d think she actually was. too bad you do know better. your forefinger and thumb grasp her chin, forcing her to look at you. your thumb lazily traces along her plump bottom lip.

“oh, you’re pretty, alright.” your thumb pushes past her lips, flattening against her tongue. “gorgeous, even. but that doesn’t mean you go around using those looks like a fucking whore.”

jinx would be smiling right now, but her mouth is… occupied, not sucking, not licking at your thumb, but letting you do what you must. you withdraw it as quickly as it was put in, wiping her spit on her bare shoulder.

“you’re all talk,” she gasps. “not gonna do a damn thing about it, are you?”

“do you want me to?”

“sure.”

“do you deserve it?”

“does it matter?”

it’s then that you flip her onto her stomach.

“take those clothes off. get back on the cot- face down, ass up. i’ll be back.”

no time is wasted walking to another platform in her hideout and swiping the shattered mirror from one of her tables, and a strap-on from one of her drawers.

you place the mirror directly in front of jinx’s cot, and to no surprise, jinx is completely bare now. her perfect heart of an ass in the air, pussy nearly glistening in the dim light with her arousal. she’s braced herself on her hands, and she isn’t moving, but you can tell by the way her arousal is already dripping down her inner thighs that she’s eager.

it’s a sight straight out of a porn film. the mad bomber, desperate and wanton. maybe you’ll buy a polaroid camera for next time, really capture the moment.

“ugh, toots, are you just gonna stand there, or are ya gonna fuck me?” she whines, only interrupted by the sound of the harness fastening around your hips.

“you’re not exactly in a place to make demands right now.”

you lean over her, your breasts pushing into the smooth skin of her back and your lips almost touching her ear.

“‘revolver’, if it gets too much.” you whisper.

and with that, the tip pushes past her folds. bright pink and dusted with glitter, about 8.5in and girthy. a large task for a small girl, but jinx insists she can take anything you give her.

“hngh- fuck!” she whines out, already beginning to buckle. you’ve got one hand rested on jinx’s hip, the other trailing down her side- her shoulder, the grooves of her ribs, her tiny waist, until it finds purchase on her other hip and you push into her.

another lewd cry falls from her lips. you’re barely even halfway in, and she’s already panting and moaning so pitifully. maybe another day you would’ve taken pity on jinx, but not after the shit she pulled.

“come on,” you coo. “can’t take it?”

“i didn’t- agh, say that-” she pants. the girl’s form is beginning to tremble, but you don’t waver. you ram the rest of the toy into her hole, which brings a borderline pathetic wail from her. the way her greedy hole is impaled by your cock is a sight you wish you could burn into your mind. if she were on her back, you bet you'd be able to see it from inside her stomach, but that can wait for another time.

“fuck- fuck! too big!”

“too big, huh? should’ve thought about that before you went and threw yourself at some guy.”

you ease the strap out of her, before slamming it back in. positively prying your girlfriend open. you then take one of jinx’s long twin braids in your hands, looping it once around your wrist and yanking. forcing her to look up.

she gasps with the motion, yet somehow, she still has the willpower to defy you. squeezing her eyes shut and grunting. you jerk her braid farther back, jinx hissing at the stinging pain.

“look at yourself.” you demand.

it’s then that you move. a slow pace at first, in, out, in, out. drawing wet squelches from her cunt with every thrust. she’s shaking and thrashing and whining, but you can’t deny the way jinx’s cunt sucks you in, clenches around you. greedy and sopping, as if it was made to take your dick.

“aah, hhhng- oh! oh!”

your pace is quickening, and you can hear the skin of your hips slapping into her ass. jiggling ever so slightly with each movement, but the best thing is the mirror.

there’s multiple images of the scene in the shattered glass. the sight is something right out of a dirty magazine; you pounding jinx’s poor, abused pussy from behind. jinx struggling to support her upper body despite her strength, you tugging at one of her braids and forcing her to look directly at her reflection. small tits bouncing with each thrust, plump lips open and the slightest bit of drool dribbling down her chin.

“do you see it?” you pant, the base of the toy nudging your clit with each thrust. “the- hah, way you look right now? while i’m fuckin’ you?”

“yes,” she breathes out, her voice a high shrill. her strength is starting to fail her, shaking on her arms and eventually dropping down to her elbows to support herself. a smirk tugs at your lips at the sight, seeing jinx being broken down so quickly. she brought this on herself, really.

"f-fuck, you look a mess," snapping your hips against jinx's, pathetic whimpers and whines falling from parted lips like a stream. "feels good, huh?"

"feels- hmmph, so good!" she groans. her body is being forced forward and back ever so slightly with each motion, and to see herself being fucked in real time is both thrilling and downright humiliating. jinx never knew this is what she looked like, so wrecked and sloppy, but she can't be bothered to care right now. all she can care about is you fucking into her relentlessly.

arousal dripping down her inner thighs, a stinging sensation in her scalp while you hold onto her hair. she knew you'd get jealous if she flirted- expected a thorough spanking, maybe, or for you to sit on her face and use her mouth until you were satisfied. never did jinx think you'd force her into a front-row seat to her own punishment.

“you’re not gonna do that again- mm,” you groan, base rubbing against you so right. “are you? hngg- tell me you won’t.”

“i won’t, i won’t! unghh, i’m sorry!”

she nearly screams out. the pleasure is mounting, it’s painful, she’s being stretched open and almost split down the middle. but it’s so fucking delicious, the feeling of you fucking her so thoroughly. so deeply. tears are beginning to well in her eyes, her mascara already running down her cheeks. it’s filthy. the tip of the plastic dick kisses her cervix with each thrust, coated in sleek juices.

"oh- oh, please," she breathes out. her bangs are sticking to the thin sheen on her forehead, her breaths coming out in ragged gasps. "pleasepleaseplease-"

there it is. jinx is close, that much is obvious from her flushed expression, her straining against your grip, trying to push her hips back onto your cock like some needy slut. your own climax is building, but you want- need to see jinx get there first.

you reach underneath her with your free hand and press against her neglected clit, which draws a high-pitched squeal from jinx. you revel in the sound. right now, it’s as if jinx is an instrument, fine-tuned for your playing. making these beautiful, obscene sounds.

you can see hot tears running down her face in the mirror, lips parted and the pale expanse of her neck bared. her lipstick is smeared from the dribble running down her chin, and thin black streaks run down her cheeks.

“i’m- i’m gonna-!”

the girl doesn’t have time to finish her sentence before she squirts over your hand and the cot beneath her- coating you in light pink. she’s boneless, panting beneath you, collapsing as soon as you pull out of her and release her braid. she can’t muster up any words, she’s spent- laid on her stomach, sniffling and simply trying to breathe.

maybe next time, she won’t be so fucking vain.

#jinx x reader #jinx x fem reader #jinx smut #arcane x reader #reader insert #arcane x you #sapphic #lesbian #idk how i feel about this one tbh

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tbaluver · 3 months ago

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S/O With ADHD- The Love And DeepSpace Men

parings in order: Xavier x Reader, Zayne x Reader, Rafayel x Reader, Sylus x Reader, Caleb x Reader requested: by a couple anonnies ♥︎ a/n: hihi my lovelies! ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡ i just want to mention a disclaimer about this. while i do have adhd, everybody experiences things differently so what might be common for me, can be completely different to another person! these symptoms presented here are only what i’ve experienced and what my friends have experienced and what people have requested! do not refer to this to diagnose yourself. if you suspect you might have adhd, please refer to a professional! there will be a part two to this because theres more to add but anyways enjoy reading ! (∩˃o˂∩)♡ any likes and reblogs are always appreciated! enjoy!

⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆

Xavier:

He didn’t fully grasp the idea when you tried to explain your adhd to him, your thoughts would jump from one thing to another and he tried to keep up. He would do his own research to understand better what you were going through. He would notice the little things, the way you would say you 're going to do something but never actually start or how tasks seem to take you forever to finish.

No worries about being late or rushing to go on dates or hangouts with him, there’s no set start time. Often times the dates and hangouts are flexible. He’ll wait until you’re ready as long as he gets to spend time with you and eat yummy food together, he’s happy

Indulges and learns your hyper fixations and your current obsessions. He’ll learn more about them on his own time so he can talk more about them with you

If you’re okay with it, he’ll join you whenever you need to rest and watch your comfort shows whenever you’re feeling drained or overstimulated. He’ll make the atmosphere in the room feel more cozy either by giving you space, adjusting the lighting and closing the curtains, tucking you in your blankets, so you can recharge

Praises your smallest victories even if it was just cleaning your room or finishing a simple task in under an hour without thinking or worrying about it. He knows that even the simplest tasks can feel overwhelming so when you manage to do something without thinking or bed rotting before doing something, he’s genuinely proud of you.

Zayne:

He would truly listen when you go off on a tangent of your hyperfixations, letting you ramble about them without interrupting you. Even if you branch off too many topics that you swear relates to the main topic, eventually forgetting what the point was, he patiently brings you back to the main point.

“..wait what was I talking about?”

“you were talking about how ___ and __”

He’s very organized, constantly tidying and rearranging things for you without needing to be asked. He doesn’t mind it at all. He organizes in a way that he knows would help you but if you ever forget where something is, he’s quick to help you. lost your keys? by the dining room table. your jacket? in the laundry basket. your phone? you’re holding it

Tries to keep his explanations short and easier to understand. He’ll give you just enough without getting lost in any unnecessary details

When he’s not around, he helps you by texting you on specific times to check up on you or to help shift your focus

Separate calm activities alone but together with him. You could be doing your own thing while he reads his book(s) or finishes up any medical reports

Calculates how long it usually takes you to get ready, so he’ll plan dates with reservation an hour or two ahead of time, sometimes maybe even more depending on the date, just to avoid overwhelming you. He’s always patient and understanding, sometimes he’ll help you get ready to take the weight off your shoulders

Rafayel:

In the beginning, he’ll notice you can run late to things but once you explain that it’s because of your adhd, he’ll be more understanding. Still, he can’t help but tease you just a little but he means well. He’ll just plan more hangouts that don’t require any set start time, just as long as you two are together at the end

Yap sessions with him take up an ungodly amount of hours. You both branch off to different topics, each one you both swear is just as important as the last, so the conversation goes in different directions. It takes forever to circle back to the original point.

He loves hearing about your hyper fixations. You can tell him everything, every little fact and he’ll ask you a million questions, indulging in your passion for it as well.

Loves to spend time with you but he is mindful and lets you have the space to unwind whenever you might feel overstimulated or just need to recharge

Shows so much encouragement whenever you show your creative and passionate side. He’ll recognize and appreciate the things you’re good at, even if you’re not able to see it in yourself

It’s canon that he sends you separate messages instead of big blocks of texts but its not because that’s how he feels more comfortable texting but also because he knows that long paragraphs can feel overwhelming. He doesn’t want you to miss anything or feel pressured to read through a lot at once

Sylus:

Lets you hold his hand whenever you want, no need to ask. He knows how much you fidget and he loves how you rub circles on the back of his hand, melting under your touch. If it helps you feel better, then go ahead. He’d even buy you rings to fidget with, ones that maybe match and also just so you can have something to twist and twirl when he’s not around

He adores listening to your obsessions and your hyper fixations, letting you ramble your latest interests or the new trinkets you’ve added to your collection. He’ll even surprise you with little trinkets he remembers from past conversations, knowing they would make you smile

Enjoys spending time with you even if you were focused on your own thing, whether it was hobby related or just unwinding in your own way while he’s also doing his own thing.

When you need help focusing and he’s not around, he’ll reach out at a certain time to check in and help refocus your attention

Doesn’t really send you paragraph lengths of text messages but sends you shorter messages so it doesn’t feel as overwhelming. He’ll mostly send voice messages that are short and the right length so it doesn’t let your mind drift away

Online shopping with him can help so you can control yourself from impulse buying so many things. He doesn’t mind you buying the entire world with his card but sometimes he has to stop you from buying things you absolutely don’t need

Caleb:

It’s easy for tasks to slip through or become overwhelming. You might start one thing but your mind jumps to something else and it takes a while before you can get back to what you were originally doing. Caleb would help by breaking down your chores one at a time or with more manageable steps or most of the time he’ll step in and take care of things for you so you don’t feel burdened.

If anything important was coming up the day after, he’ll leave little sticky notes for you all over the house, each one with a tiny apple doodles. They’ll be on your mirror, bedroom door, anywhere else he knows you’ll see them

Ever since you were a kid, he’ll still help you go over any of your works or anything you were unsure about when you feel like you missed any details. He’ll make sure you don’t miss anything

Never judgemental at all if you cut him off mid-sentence. He understands that you need to get your thoughts out quickly before they slip away so he lets you speak freely without worry

Sometimes you might forget to reply to a message or forget to come back to the conversation, so he’ll send a follow up message like, “whaddya think pipsqueak? :o” or he’ll send you a post to bring you back to the convo

If you’re struggling to focus on something, instead of pushing you to keep going, he’ll encourage you to take a break. He’ll help you ease back into it whether it’s breaking things down further or offering some encouragement

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sunshades · 26 days ago

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FINALLY THE NORMAL SPRITE IS DONE so: cathy in her official outfit, as a t corp. researcher, as an atelier logic fixer, and as a tres association fixer. some notes on design and association ideas + a couple color variations for the base one under the cut 🕊💜🙇‍♂️

🕰 t corp. is based on the researchers' design from ruina- they're the ones who operate the tt2 protocol for the hatchery, i thought it'd be very funny (not for her) if this was what she did in the r corp. world. it looks like they're just wearing some shapeless black dress thingy but that'd look pretty boring to sprite, so to keep the same vibe i went w pants and long skirt, more modest like t corp. fashion and also more fitting for what should be slightly colder weather in district 18. the boots are "matt's" lol. i wanted her to have really long hair like those guys but also needed to make her look different from the k corp. one, plus the ponytail looked too...peppy i guess so i just made the braid as long as it could get without looking weird 😭 i imagine she's just a bit too depressed to cut it.

💼 atelier logic! we have now seen a good deal of their work so i had a good idea of the aesthetic to go for, black&white with small detailing, simple but expensive looking...

i wanted to do a white vest with black pinstripes so it'd look like a gunpowder trail, but i couldn't find a piece that worked for a vest, then i saw how cute the butler sleeves looked on it and i went with a cool lil uniform instead... of course, she shares this world with full-step heathcliff so what i wanted the most was for them to match, with the opposite colors shirt and tie... should've had black gloves as well but the contrast is better like this. turned out nice they're really silly 💜

🔩 tres 💃💃💃 i can't wait to see them cuz i love workshops. i went with a reddish/rosy color since we saw that in like all workshops we've met (rosespanner, leaflet, yuria's outfit) and it's not being used by another known association for now. i couldn't think of any spanish trope that could be used to inspire tres (like cinq has the musketeers) so i just went for a mechanic kinda look. their secondary color is silver, from the armor pieces they wear. i went with full pink on weapon and armor highlights, but maybe they change those up depending on personal taste. cathy's also carrying that nice ribbon since well. long-time bell fans will remember this one shares her mirror world with oufi heathcliff. the spear...chainsaw axe thingy is also not standard, i imagine they work on prototypes a lot, so their official weapons would have some points of commonality but be mostly unique between one another. they still would be either charge or tremor based as their main thing, typically keep the rose main color, and always include the association symbol in them. here it is

and we're at the end SO here's more kitty. a purple one because u know i like it better, and a red one for the classic epic kate bush reference, and because i'm still genuinely surprised the dress wasn't supposed to be red without the t corp. filter dsyghujdfnk

#limbus company #project moon #catherine limbus #catherine lcb #cathy limbus company #sprite edits #shades art #lot of stuff happened yesterday real awful but at least today i ended up resting and well.#making lil sprites is so healing as usual #i'd been wanting to make the base outfit one for so long!! glad i figured out a way im super happy with how she turned out

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yukioos · 5 months ago

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APOCALYPSE

SUMMARY: jayce talis x reader // after dealing with much criticism from heimerdinger and complaints from viktor about hextech, he finally walks home and ends his day peacefully lying on your chest.

AUTHORS NOTE: hi guys! i’m working on a viktor x vampire reader fic so that’ll probably come out this or next week. happy holidays, have a good day! this is 1.6k words

WARNINGS: not proofread, angst, jayce is going through a lot, depression, stress, anxiety, reader n jayce are married, pet names, reader is referred to as ‘mrs.’ and ‘wife’

jayce had to sit in a room and listen to heimerdinger criticize and critique his work for three hours. three whole hours were spent listening to him complain about hextech, and the professor wouldn’t let the scientist utter a single word. eventually, he just tuned out the sounds and words from the elder, and instead tried to think about you, his wife.

most of his days were spent thinking about you anyway. but sometimes your relationship would go through rough patches because of how little time jayce was at home. you understood he couldn’t be home all the time, he was a scientist, after all. the city of piltover heavily depended on him, and you knew this put major stress on the man.

sometimes he would become distant, and you would become worried for him and his health. days without hearing a word from your husband were common, you became accustomed to it. because of this, you cherished your days with him, and continue to do so whenever you encounter him.

jayce didn’t know how much of an impact he had on you by not being in your life as often as he wanted to. you were everything to him. you were the reason he did everything for piltover, it was all to protect you.

but he didn’t know how unhealthy it was for him to skip meals and hardly get any sleep just to keep the city safe. he knew the city wouldn’t be as developed without him, but he always felt the need to do better. when heimerdinger critiqued his work constantly, he began to feel overwhelmed and anxious with every step he took, in fear of not pleasing someone.

he once snapped at viktor for incorrectly solving a formula used for the hextech. unfortunately, he hadn’t noticed how agitated he had become because he was too focused. he began to hate himself more and more with every mistake he made and overworked himself past his limits.

as the days passed, you hardly heard from jayce. worry clouded your mind, and your heart raced quickly once your phone rang. you picked it up and glanced around your bedroom.

“um, hello?” you stuttered, seeing professor heimerdinger’s contact on the screen. you tilted your head and thought to yourself why the professor would be calling you at this time, at eleven at night.

“ah, mrs. talis! i wish we could speak on better terms, it is nice to speak to you again. however, eh, your husband has… collapsed. i was wondering if you could bring him back to your residence once we wake him up?” his chirpy voice seemed duller than usual, with a hint of dissatisfaction. he glanced at viktor, who gave him a halfhearted smile as he continued pacing around the room.

“wh— huh? i’ll pick him up but why has he passed out? i’m confused, professor, is he—”you began to ramble, overthinking all the scenarios that could have happened to your loved one. he hasn’t come home in days, you should’ve been at the academy with him. you should’ve been by his side, maybe this wouldn’t have happened if you were.

“please, mrs. talis, do not worry. i believe he hasn’t slept for a healthy amount of time, so he just passed out. no biggie, do not feel frightened for him. he is okay, he may just be… taking a power nap.” another voice is heard on the other end of the line, and the professor pauses, “ah, i apologize. i must leave now, as i have more work to do. please head over to the academy and pick him up. thank you, goodbye!” he replies, speeding up his words near the end of the call. he hangs up, leaving you with unanswered questions.

you slowly take the phone away from your ear and stare at the frame on your nightstand. it’s a photo of you and jayce getting married, and he looked as handsome as ever. tears were visible on both of your faces, mascara ran down your cheeks. it was the happiest day of both of your lives.

you really hoped he was okay.

when you arrived at the academy, you walked up to the professor’s lab, as you had studied there years ago. your heels clacked against the tiled floor, having to use a flashlight to see through the dark hallways. you gently knocked on the professor’s door and were met face-to-face with jayce’s lab partner, viktor.

“hello, mrs. talis. it is nice to meet you. as the professor also said, i wish it were under different circumstances.” he smiled and turned his head toward jayce, who ashamedly looked down at the ground. heimerdinger was gently speaking to him, but it seemed as if jayce wasn’t listening, like he was in his own headspace.

he had dark eyebags and had lost weight, his skin became more pale and ghostly. it was clear he wasn’t taking care of himself.

your eyebrows turned upwards, and you slowly approached your husband with worried eyes. heimerdinger cleared the path to him and nodded, permitting you to speak to him.

“jayce, sweetheart,” you mumbled, looking up at his form as he sat on the stool, you bent down so his eyes would look at yours. you brought your manicured hand up to his face and rubbed his cheek.

“we’re gonna go home, okay? you gotta take a break,” you persuaded, continuing to comfortingly rub his pale cheek. it was always one of the things that made him feel warm and cared for.

he nodded and mumbled an, “okay,” before slowly standing up and waiting for you to lead him outside. you gently placed your hand in his, and he weakly curled his larger hand around yours. you mouthed a ‘thank you’ to viktor and heimerdinger, then walked the path toward your shared house.

once the two of you arrived, jayce slipped his shoes off, and you did as well. you lead him up to your bedroom, where you suggested he’d properly sleep for at least eight hours.

the both of you slipped off your clothes and changed into comfortable ones, but what bothered you was that jayce hadn’t said a word since you brought him to the house. so when you dimmed the lights and laid on your side of the bed, you were surprised to see jayce hadn’t curled up into your side yet. he was normally a cuddle bug, but maybe he’s changed.

his eyes looked sullen as he stared at the ceiling. he sighed and turned his head towards you without a smile or word, staring deep into your soul, as if he was trying to tell you something.

you could guess what he was thinking, so you opened your arms up to him. he slowly moved to your side of the bed, and laid his body on yours. he let out a large sigh and perfectly laid his head on your chest. his breathing suddenly became more relaxed once you began to scratch his scalp, a gesture he loved ever since you two settled into a romantic relationship.

you began to feel cold drops of liquid on your chest, ones that you could only guess were tears. when you glanced down, you saw him biting his trembling lip. his body was shaking and holding onto you for dear life, and your heart broke at the sight. you would never want your husband to feel whatever he must’ve been feeling at that moment.

“jayce, baby, what’s wrong? i’m getting worried about you,” you mumbled, tilting his head up with your free hand. he began to let out sobs and whimpers, trying to hold them back but failing miserably. his walls broke down just at the caring words from his wife.

“‘m sorry ‘m not good enough,” he gasped, trying to take in more air. you and his mother always told him he was perfect, that he didn’t need fixing. hell, he even started telling others that, but he never would’ve believed he would’ve stopped thinking he was good enough for himself. his world came crashing down, all the stress plummeted to his heart, and in his lover’s arms.

“jayce, you’re perfect. you’re good enough for me, you’re good enough for the city, you should be good enough for yourself. you’re amazing, do you even know how much you’ve done for this city? you should be proud of yourself, honey!” you praised, causing his whimpers and sobs to become quieter, as he felt loved by your words.

“do you have an idea on how to not… dive into the headspace you’re in again?” you asked, wanting him to have control over the situation. maybe he would feel a bit better that way.

“can you make that decision for me?” he mumbled, not wanting to think too much. he just wanted to rest on your plush chest, with your warm arms trapping him in your hold.

you giggled, “mhm. how does a couple of days or a week off work sound? i’m sure the professor would let you have a break, baby. you need it.” you felt a smile and nod against your chest, and glanced down to see his almost asleep figure. his grip on your body became loose, even as his hand lingered on your thigh.

you were glad he was back home and safe. hopefully he would feel better and take it easy by the time he got back to working on the hextech.

even though he was almost asleep, you murmured soft praises to the man, including quiet ‘i love you’s,’ hoping it eased his mind. he fell asleep happy and peacefully in your arms, knowing he was loved and perfect in your eyes.

#yukioos #x reader #arcane x you #arcane x reader #arcane #jayce #jayce talis #arcane jayce #jayce league of legends #jayce lol #league of legends #league of legends jayce #lol #jayce x reader #jayce talis x reader #jayce arcane x reader #jayce arcane

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muniimyg · 4 months ago

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BAD HABIT // JJK

00 | prologue // series m.list

the divinity

there are rules to the universe. constants, like the way the moon pulls the tide, or how the seasons fold into one another without fail.

and then there are soulmates.

for the divinity—the chosen ones, the ones born with a glow beneath their skin—soulmates are less of a possibility and more of a promise.

it’s not just love.

no, that would be too easy.

it’s balance, power, inevitability.

it’s their very being. if they are stars, this is the dust of their very exitance—the very essence of it. only those in the divinity can have soulmates. only the chosen ones can feel it, but the rest of the world can see it.

when soulmates meet, the universe reacts.

auras intertwine, colors bleeding into one another, something cosmic and unbreakable settling between them.

they glow.

when soulmates glow, the invisible string ties them together. being a part for an extensive amount of time leads to sickness. simple symptoms include nausea, headaches, chest pains, and general weakness—sometimes it means life or death.

you

you were always meant to return.

it’s all you ever dreamed of—the palace, the academy, the weight of your name finally meaning something again. you spent years in the outside world, away from the divinity, away from your glow, and now—finally—you’re home.

and you’re ready.

ready to learn, to grow, to embrace your power.

ready to meet the person the universe has chosen for you.

your soulmate.

what you don’t expect is him.

jungkook

jungkook has always known who he is.

he’s a prodigy, a leader, a force to be reckoned with. his aura—golden, commanding—demands attention, his power bending the world around him with effortless precision.

he is not used to things happening to him.

he is not used to surprises.

and yet—

there you are. standing in the great hall, your aura humming in time with his, bright and unshakable.

his soulmate.

his future.

jungkook stares at you, jaw tight, eyes unreadable.

you glow.

context

words

divinity: the chosen ones with auras auras: power / their souls (depends on the context) invisible string: soulmate analogy glow: the glow only happens when soulmates initially meet and only happens when they're in pain or healing the outside: literally the rest of the world that isn't their palace. it's filled with regular people and these people depend on the divinity to keep the balance of the world going (good and bad, life and death, etc)

you

status; born into the 'royal' family that built the palace, that houses the academy. rumoured and referred to 'the long lost princess' as no one in the divinity has ever met you

aura; resistance and immune to everyone else’s powers. you're the one thing in this world that doesn’t bow to the divinity (to be dramatic, you are the divinity)

princessa; grew up outside the palace, living freely. this was because your parents wanted you to see life outside the palace and understand what you'll be responsible for

fate and responsibility; the upcoming leader of the divinity

jungkook

status; one of (if not) the highest of the divinity. he is the one in 7 generations to have this power. it makes him feared and at the same time; so precious

aura; mind control (speciality) but maniplates anything and anyone. from people's mind, feelings, and blood to elements of water, earth, fire, and air. he's basically avatar but emo because...

lifeline; jungkook's aura is rare and often short-lived. the more he uses his aura, his life line shortens. except, no one knows the length of his life line. it's a guessing game for everyone thus why everyone protects him

inspo

this fic has been in my drafts since paraluman and has been posted before (just the series m.list) after literal years of contemplating and multiple crying sessions over wicked (2024) ,, i have reconstructed this fic into something i'm so excited to share with you .

this fic is a mix of wicked vibes, (the anime) gukuen alice, and literally the basic concepts of soulmates (invisible string theory, symptoms when separated from soulmate, etc) and of course !!! mullet jungkook .

to be honest, i'm kinda nervy lol. this is my first time writing a fantasy au and hope to bring all i have planned for this fic into life through the best fitting words and imagery (as you can tell,, i am very nervy as i am yapping thru this) nevertheless, i'm excited to challenge my writing and to mold it into something 10x more dramatic and romantic . i hope i paint the picture just right cos bad habit jk has been living in my mind for wayyy too long . to me, he is the perfect mix of tsundere and gut wrenching simp lol ...

the series will begin feburary 14, 2025 .

all the love,

kimi ♡

#bts smau #bts fic rec #bts soulmate au #bts fantasy au #jungkook fantasy au #jungkook soulmate au #jungkook fanfic #jungkook x yn #jungkook x reader #jungkook fluff

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tendermiasma · 1 year ago

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I always avoided using references, but couldn't point out what exactly made me avoid it. I have finally realized that due to being unfortunate enough to be surrounded by people boldly claiming "real artists draw everything from imagination without any references" [now i know it's bullshit] in my early years of artistic journey, I developed fear of being too dependent on references and fear of being completely unable to draw anything good without "copying". Any ideas how to overcome that fear?

It's not something I hear at all in professional spaces. We've straight up traced weird angles of our arms before. I use lots of references. You will naturally get better at drawing intuitively with the more references you use since we learn by example. I draw intuitively much more accurately than I did many years ago, but I still use references because my idea of a polished drawing is a moving goalpost.

Jason Rainville is one of the best of the best, paints MTG cards and he often posts his references. You can see how closely they mirror the final image:

If you want to get good at art, you have to look at things and that's all it boils down to. Those who say it's bad to use references are either 1) never getting good at art, or 2) are insecure and are posturing in front of other artists. Hope this helps!

#asks #art tips

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interstellarsystem · 28 days ago

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You Could Be Median!

We've seen some posts lately where people are saying they feel too plural to be a singlet and too singlet to be plural, or that they feel certain plural-ish ways about their kintypes... And, well, we have news for you--there's (possibly) a word for that!

See, while a lot of people see "multiple system" and "plural system" as interchangable, they actually have nuance to their meanings. And there's a third term, "median system", that might actually apply to you!

Some descriptions of the terms, for reference!

This won't be the only term list in this post, but to avoid dumping a ton of terms at the start without context, they'll show up where relevant. For now, though, here's a few.

Singlet:

The state of being one singular person/identity in one body. Synonym for non-plural.

Plural:

More than one entity, self, identity or consciousness in a single body. Simply, being more-than-one in some way. This is more of an umbrella term for multiple and median.

Multiple:

Having more than one distinct identities or people within a body.

Median:

The state of being somewhere between "singlet" and "multiple" on the plural spectrum.

Now, that's pretty vague, especially if this is a new concept to you! What does "inbetween" of multiple and singlet even really look like? The answer is, well... Anything, almost! But that's also vague and unhelpful. So...

Some examples of what being a median system could feel like...

You're like a metaphorical hydra--all part of one dragon, but there's different heads. You might feel parts of yourself arguing or thinking different thoughts, and some might be more in charge at times than others, but in the end, you're all a part of one unit anyway.

You're like a metaphorical coin--you're all one single thing, but there's different faces. Depending on what angle someone looks at you from, they could see something completely different.

You're like a gemstone cut for a ring--all one stone, but there's facets of you that reflect light just a little differently.

You speak to your subconscious, but because that subconscious is you, you feel like you're an inbetween of being just one person and two people. (This can also include things like daemonism!)

You feel like your identity itself is a shapeshifter (not in a kintype way--your identity as a whole).

You're otherkin/fictionkin/etc, and your kintypes have juuuust a little too much separation from you to feel like they're still you, but they're you enough that they're not separate people. They're not entirely distinct from you, but they're also not entirely wholly you, either. (More on this one later!)

You feel too much like a singlet to be plural, but too much like a system to be a singlet.

You age or pet regress, and feel like your regressed self is a different version of you. Sure, they're still you! But they're just different enough that they fall in a grey area of being "you" vs "not you".

You feel like "you" are, in whole, a person wearing a lot of different masks. The masks might make you act a little different, or look a little to-the-left of your normal appearance. All the masks are a part of you, as much as you're a part of them.

You feel like you sometimes have a different "filter" put over you, like a photo being digitally edited. You're still the same base thing, but sometimes there's an extra layer on top that makes you a little different.

You don't feel singlet or multiple, but feel like a secret third thing that's in any way inbetween.

You feel like you're almost a system.

Now, that's nowhere near an exhaustive list, but it's a bunch of stuff we've experienced and/or heard from others in the community. That gemstone comparison is actually common enough for the median version of the term "headmate" to be a sort of reference to how it feels!

Headmate (also alter, system member):

An entity/person that is a part of a system.

Facet:

A type of headmate that is a part of a median system.

There's also a term for identities that blur the line between "fictive" and "fictionkin", because the experience of being median while having identities that feel like fictives and fictotypes simultaneously is so common! (There's now a factbased identity term for the experience too!)

Fableing:

A type of facet in a median system that shares experiences of both fictionkin and fictives, making them an inbetween, adjacent to both experiences, or both at the same time.

Factling:

A type of facet in a median system that shares experiences of both factkin and factives, making them an inbetween, adjacent to both experiences, or both at the same time.

Otherkinity and Median Systems

In particular though, we see a lot of otherkin who say a lot of very plural-y things about their kintypes. While not everyone who says these things is 100% plural and maybe just one or two of these points to nothing plurality related at all... These are things we think are pretty good indicators you should at least consider looking into median systems, even if you've looked into being multiple before.

Your kintypes can speak or communicate to you, disagree with you or each other, or interact with things separate from you. This doesn't need to include written or spoken language, either! Sometimes internal instincts clashing can feel a lot like median facets disagreeing.

Shifting causes you to experience memory loss, amnesia, or anything similar.

Shifting causes a complete gender change, even if previously and after the shift you disagree.

Shifting causes you to act "out of character" compared to your usual self.

Shifting causes a complete sexuality change, even if previously and after the shift you disagree.

Shifting causes you to want to change your name, even if previously and after the shift you disagree.

You don't feel like you're yourself while shifted.

You get thoughts that you don't feel belong to you, and feel like they belong more to your kintype.

You don't feel too much like you are your kintype, unless you're in a shift. (Also check out fictionflickering/otherflickering!)

Your kintypes do things that you're unaware of while you're shifted.

You commonly dissociate during or before shifting.

Your kintypes change your likes and dislikes (for example, while shifted you might hate apples while when not in a shift you love them).

You'd call your kintypes headmates or you feel like they'd be classified as headmates if you had DID/OSDD (spoiler alert, you don't need those to be a system!)

Your shifts cause a full or very strong personality change--especially if other people notice.

You feel disconnected from your body or lose control of your body while shifting.

You come out of a shift and are confused, distressed, or surprised at how you acted during it.

Like I said, not all of these point toward being median if there's just one or two--but, if you have the time to look into it, I'd recommend giving it some thought!

Misc FAQs

Do I have to call myself a median system if I fit a lot of/all of this?

Nope! Your identity is yours to label, and this post isn't meant to shove people into boxes. This is simply meant to inform people of what a median system is, and let people come to informed decisions themselves.

Can you be both multiple and median?

Absolutely! There's plenty of ways this can be a thing, too. Some examples:

Multiple system with median subsystems.

Median system with multiple subsystems.

A system that fluctuates between median and multiple.

A system with a bunch of headmates who are median or multiple (regardless of subsystems).

You could be both at once, which we've seen called "mediple"!

Can you have a CDD (like DID and OSDD) and be median?

Yep! It's commonly believed that most (not all!) OSDD systems often fall under the median umbrella, even! A system of any structure or origin can also have median members within it, regardless of other parts of how it functions.

Can you choose to be median?

As with plurality in general--yes, probably! We haven't seen any guides to specifically form a median system, but we're sure it's possible. Daemonism, for example, is usually counted as a nonplural experience by their community, as daemons are "you" in another font--for lack of better phrasing. But a lot of people do consider this to be a type of median plurality in their own experiences!

Is this an endo system thing?

No. Endogenic and traumagenic systems alike can both experience median plurality, and can also be disordered or nondisordered. The term didn't even originate in endogenic-specific spaces, nor did it originate recently either. "Midcontinuum" was presented as a term in around 1996-1997, and "median" was created in 2002. Some early plural communtiy mentions of the terms:

Us and Being Median:

This was co-written by a median subsystem (Dagger of Decay) and one of said subsystem’s QPPs in-system (Shrapnel). While we don’t reflect the entirety of our experience of having median plurality within our system, we can share what we personally know of our own life in the hopes that it resonates with others in a helpful way.

Being a median subsystem to me (Dagger of Decay), feels like I’m separate sides of the same metaphorical coin. (At least, that was an accurate descriptor until I discovered more facets than just the two.) You look at this coin, and one side might have a picture of one thing on it, while the other has something completely different–but you’d be wrong if you said that this was two separate coins just because it’s different depending on how you see it or how you hold it. You’d also be wrong in saying that the coin only had one uniform side–I mean, it clearly has different pictures on each side, they’re clearly different!

The faces of the coin are the fableings that make up me as a person. If I really wanted to, I could probably label myself as one person with very strong kintype shifts, but that doesn’t feel like it covers the full scope of my identity. I can’t talk to my facets, I also can hardly ever disagree with them because we’re so close to the singlet end of the spectrum. But even still, when I’m Tomura Shigaraki, I’m not really the other facets of myself anymore–it’s like you’ve spun that coin around and they’re the ones who are face down, hidden from sight for that moment. The same is true for when any other one is in control. The coin just sort of flips itself occasionally and oops! I’m the same base guy, but in a different font. A little bit to the left maybe.

The amount of separatedness between us fluctuates–sometimes I say “I” to refer to all of me, other times we say “we”. That’s one of the more noticeable fluctuations between my facets, but there’s plenty of other things that shift and change too–how distinct we feel, how much we can disagree with each other, how much we feel connected to other identities we hold… But in the end, we’re solidly sat in the grey area between “one singular guy with no extras” and “multiple guys in one head”--and it took our system a while to get a hold of what that can mean and feel like, so I hope some people who are questioning or struggling with their identity can get a little bit of something out of this post.

For further reading:

The Dragonheart Collective's "Am I plural" guide.

Allium House's "what is the self?" essay.

Endogenic Hub's "Medians" page.

Otherkin Wiki's Plurality page (section on median plurality included).

Beepbird's "Median is More than People With Parts".

Beepbird's "For Medians: Fronting and Switching Control".

Beepbird's entire median plurality links section, honestly.

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