totallytaurus4

[totallytaurus4]

250623 / JinSoul

[totallytaurus4]

This is too fucking good not to share 😩

Rafayel lets you underestimate him.

He lets you think he’s over dramatic, a push over, that he’s submissive and needs your protecting. All so he can have the satisfaction of catching you completely off guard.

Now, you're under him, legs pushed so far up they squish against your breasts. You can barely breathe, barely think, barely make a coherent sound.

He's pounding into you so hard, so fast, so deep.

Reminding you that he is, in fact, six feet tall and rather muscular. That he’s extremely powerful, strength wise and his evol. That he can portray himself as a lithe, quiet artist with a love for the dramatic flare. He played you. Bad.

“R-Rafayel!” You’re losing your mind, unable to wriggle out of his hold. The pleasure is too much, too intense, his hips are pounding into you at near inhumane speeds. If you could run from his cock, at this point you would.

But he has you pinned to the bed, his body rendering yours immobile, and all you can do is lay there and take it.

Your third — no, maybe your fourth — orgasm hits you like a freight train. The feeling of submission, of helplessness, throwing you right over the edge.

“That’s it, cutie. Cum for me, make a bigger mess of my cock. Remember who’s really in charge here.”

This whole fandom underestimates Rafayel. So many portrayals of him being the smallest, the weakest, flamboyant. My mans is 6 feet tall, muscular and lithe at the same time, a literal god. Fym weak 😩

[totallytaurus4]

Definitely reading this one later 😌

ever, ever after

pairing: sylus x non-mc reader

summary: sylus didn't love you. how could he when she was around? but would he come look for you if you willingly step into EVER's boundaries?

word count: 2.6k

a/n: ehhhh just a random idea. not too proud of it. listening to cinnamon girl prompted me to write this. ive never written or read anything angsty. its not great, just my first attempt. lemme know your thoughts! would you wanna read more?

I

The hallway stretched before you, dim and silent except for the muffled creak of the floorboards beneath your boots. The air smelled faintly of polished wood and something sharper, gun oil, maybe. You exhaled slowly, your breath barely disturbing the stillness.

And then you heard it.

A laugh, bright and effortless, ringing through the house.

You froze.

You didn’t need to follow the sound. You didn’t need to see her draped over Sylus’s arm, her fingers curled around a wine glass, her lips parted in amusement. You knew. You had always known.

Sylus had loved her long before he’d known you. Not in this life, perhaps, but in another, one where they were bound by something deeper than reason. You had sensed it the moment you first saw them together, the way his gaze lingered just a second too long, the way his voice softened when he spoke her name.

And you? You had been careful.

You never let your hands tremble when you handed him reports. Never let your voice waver when he stood too close, his presence like a storm pressing against your skin. You were smarter than that. You had to be.

The file in your hand suddenly felt heavy. You set it down on the side table, the sound swallowed by the thick silence of the house. 

A few steps farther, and there he was. Mephisto, perched on his stand like a sentinel, his feathers catching the faint glow of the hallway sconces. Sylus’s ever-watchful spy. 

Your fingers closed around the bird’s body before you could second-guess yourself. Cold metal bit into your palm as you twisted its neck, pressing the hidden switch beneath its wing. A faint click, and the red light in its eyes flickered out.

No more watching. No more recording.

You didn’t walk to your room so much as you drifted there. The corner by the window looking welcoming, the floorboards smooth beneath your knees where you had sat so many nights before. You didn’t move. Didn’t make a sound. Just waited, as if some foolish part of you still expected.

But no. Of course he didn’t come.

Why would he? You were just an asset. A tool. And tools don’t warrant concern when they go quiet. They’re replaced.

The realization settled over you like a weight.

You stood. Your bag was already half-packed from some forgotten mission, duffel shoved beneath the bed, dust clinging to its straps. You yanked it free, tossing in the essentials: cash, a knife, the forged papers you’d been smart enough to prepare months ago. No hesitation. No second thoughts.

You didn’t bother with stealth. Didn’t tiptoe past his study, didn’t glance toward the wing where her laughter still curled through the air like smoke.

He wouldn’t notice you were gone.

***

Two years. 

Two years since you'd walked out of that gilded prison with nothing but a half-packed duffel bag and the clothes on your back. Your plan had been absolute in its simplicity: vanish from the N109 Zone completely. Disappear into some forgotten corner of the world, someplace so remote and inaccessible that not even Sylus with his vast resources would think to look.

But you were never naive enough to believe it would be that easy.

In the silent hours before dawn, when the city outside your new apartment windows hummed ever so softly, the truth would wrap around your throat like cold fingers. If Sylus ever truly wanted to find you, he would. No amount of running, carefully constructing false identities, calculating distance would stop him. 

The realization should have terrified you. Instead, it settled into your bones like an old scar, familiar, aching, but no longer sharp. So you did the only thing you could: you became invisible. Not by hiding, but by thriving in the last place anyone would expect to find you.

EVER Group. Those gleaming letters embossed on every lab door, every piece of correspondence, every business card that now bore your name. Eternity Vanquishes Evolution Restraint. A name as pretentious as it was accurate. They didn't recruit through job postings or career fairs. They hunted. For minds like yours. Sharp, adaptable, willing to dance on the edge of ethics if it meant progress. 

And when they'd found you six months after your disappearance, when they'd slid that first offer across the table with promises of resources beyond imagination and challenges worthy of your mind, you'd said yes without hesitation.

Your new title, Human Augmentation Engineer, rolled off the tongue with clinical precision. The work suited you in ways you hadn't anticipated. Your days were spent in sterile white labs where the air smelled faintly of ozone and disinfectant, your fingers dancing across holographic displays as you designed biomechanical enhancements that pushed the boundaries of human limitation. 

Cardiac regeneration systems that could theoretically keep a heart beating forever. Neural interfaces that blurred the line between human thought and machine precision. 

The ethical implications would have kept a lesser person awake at night. For you, it was just another equation to solve.

The irony wasn't lost on you. EVER was, by any reasonable standard, monstrous. Their research ventured into territories that would terrify most people. Resurrection protocols, memory extraction, experiments that could theoretically stop death. And yet, for the first time in longer than you could remember, you were happy.

Mornings began with the quiet ritual of coffee brewed exactly how you liked it, black with a single sugar, sipped while reviewing data from your latest prototypes. Your colleagues greeted you by name, their respect earned through competence rather than fear. Meetings were lively debates rather than tense performances, your ideas were met with genuine interest rather than dismissal. There was a birthday celebration for you, a real one, with terrible store-bought cake and off-key singing.

Your apartment, small but yours, became a sanctuary. The couch was worn in just the right places, the kitchen stocked with foods you actually enjoyed rather than what was expected. Evenings were spent curled up with research journals or trashy novels, the city lights painting shifting patterns across your walls.

No more straining to hear footsteps in the hallway. No more rehearsing conversations in your head, measuring every word before it left your lips. No more choking on the sound of her laughter ringing through the halls like wind chimes.

You thought about him, of course.

It was impossible not to.

Sometimes when you passed a certain shade of crimson in a shop window, his colour, your breath would catch just for a moment. The scent of expensive bourbon would still make you turn your head. And on rare nights, when sleep eluded you, you'd find yourself wondering. Did he still keep that ridiculous collection of antique pistols? Had he replaced you immediately, or had he waited out of pride, if not sentiment? Was she still there?

But the thoughts came less frequently now. When they did surface, you’d forget about them after a moment or two. Did it hurt? You weren't sure. More importantly, you didn't care enough to find out. This life, this messy, complicated, gloriously ordinary life, was yours by choice. Every late night at the lab, every terrible office party, every quiet evening alone was a decision you'd made for yourself.

And you didn't regret a single second of it.

The past was a closed door.

***

Two years.

Two years of silence.

Two years of waking up expecting to see you in the study, bent over reports with that familiar furrow between your brows. Two years of catching himself turning to make some dry remark, only to remember that there was no one there to hear it. 

He had to admit. You'd outsmarted him.

The realization still tasted like broken glass.

Sylus sat in his office, the glow of a dying fire casting long shadows across the mahogany desk. The room smelled of leather and gun oil, of expensive bourbon left untouched in its crystal decanter. His fingers traced the edge of a file, your file. The one he kept locked in the bottom drawer despite having memorized every word.

Page 37 showed your favorite café, the one with the terrible coffee you pretended to enjoy because the owner reminded you of your grandfather. Page 89 mentioned your habit of humming off-key when working late. Page 203 contained the little notes he’d leave for you around the house. He knew you loved his handwriting. He’d known the moment you asked him to write down everything he needed done instead of telling you. 

He snapped the folder shut.

Mephisto had been his masterpiece. Programmed to follow you silently if you ever left unannounced, to watch over you when he couldn't. A safeguard. A gift, in his own twisted way. But you'd known. Of course you'd known. The way you'd manually shut the bird down with the sole purpose of running away from him, haunted him more than any ghost ever could.

He'd searched every corner of the N109 Zone. Burned through favors, called in debts, even risked venturing into rival territories himself. Nothing. No whispers in the underground, no sightings in the usual haunts. Just empty leads and dead ends piling up like corpses.

His fingers tightened around the glass.

He'd been a fool.

All those carefully calculated moves, every strategic play, and he'd still managed to lose the only piece that ever truly mattered. Standing too close under the guise of examining your work. Leaning down just to catch your scent, ink, gunpowder and something faintly floral. Asking you to move in like some lovesick idiot instead of just saying it.

What kind of boss invites a mere employee to live with him?

The answer burned in his chest.

One who couldn't admit he'd rather die than watch you walk out that door.

His fingers found the scar along his collarbone. Four precise lines from when you'd stitched him up after a job gone awry. You'd been furious he'd gotten shot, even after seeing him heal himself, you still insisted on medical care. Your hands steady but your voice trembling as you told him exactly how stupid he'd been. That was the moment, if he was honest with himself. When he'd known.

Then, a knock came at 2:17 AM.

He didn't bother looking up. "If this is another dead end, don’t bother coming in."

The door creaked open, revealing two familiar silhouettes, tall, lean, their features obscured by those masks they never removed. Even in the dim light, he could tell them apart instantly.

Neither spoke.

Sylus set his glass down with deliberate precision. "Well?"

They exchanged glances, Luke's mask tilting just slightly left, Kieran's right hand twitching toward his hip holster. A full three seconds of silence.

The decanter shattered against the wall behind them.

"Where is she?"

Kieran didn't flinch at the spray of glass. "EVER Group's Bioengineering Division. Senior augmentation specialist." His voice was flat, but the way his thumb rubbed against his index finger.

A long silence. The ticking of the grandfather clock.

The name hit like a bullet. The irony was almost poetic. His brilliant, cautious girl hiding in the belly of the beast itself. His laughter cut through the silence, sharp and humorless. "Of course she is."

Luke’s gaze shifted from Sylus to his brother. Then, all of a sudden he blurted out, "She's happy."

Sylus' cufflink caught the light as he reached for his pistol case.

“Get the car.”

***

The alarm screamed at 5:00 AM.

Your hand slapped over it before the third shrill could shatter the fragile peace of your apartment. For three breaths, you lay perfectly still, staring at the ceiling where dawn’s first light painted watercolor streaks through the stained-glass window. The sheets smelled of lavender detergent. Real lavender, not the synthetic crap they pumped through EVER’s ventilation systems.

The shower scalded just shy of painful, steam curling around the bullet scar on your left hip. You scrubbed with a lemon-scented soap, the odour sharp enough to cut through the chemical fog that clung to your skin after long days in the lab. 

The mirror fogged over, but not before you caught sight of the woman staring back. Nearly unrecognizable from the ghost who fled N109 Zone. Your hair was now cropped into a sharp bob, your cheekbones pronounced from actually remembering to eat. Only your hands remained the same. Steady, scarred, capable of both delicacy and breaking a man’s wrist in three places.

You dressed methodically. Black tailored slacks with the hidden knife slit in the right seam, a white blouse buttoned to the collarbones, a lab coat starched stiff as a corpse’s shroud. The ridiculous 3-inch Louboutins Luke stole for your birthday pinched near the pinky toe, but you wore them anyway. The coffee brewed strong enough to dissolve spoons, poured into the chipped World’s Okayest Engineer mug Kieran gifted after your first successful mission.

The elevator to Sublevel 7 smelled like antiseptic and ozone. You balanced the coffee in one hand, tablet in the other, scrolling through today’s schedule when Dr. Cho’s voice interrupted.

“Dr. (reader)!”

He clutched a sealed dossier to his chest like it contained nuclear codes, sweat beading along his receding hairline under the fluorescent lights. “You are reassigned,” he blurted. “Effective immediately.”

The coffee turned to acid in your throat.

Conference Room B smelled like, well, cool, clean air.

Twenty-seven faces stared back as Cho announced Project HDS-7213, EVER’s first live-subject augmentation trial. Your promotion to Lead Biomedical Engineer. The way his voice hitched on live sent a tremor down your spine.

“Congratulations,” Mara whispered, nudging a thicker dossier across the table. “You earned this.”

The file weighed more than it should’ve. Page 1: Subject M-7. Male. 28 years old. Page 3: Evol Classification: Energy Manipulation (Class VIII, potentially IX). Page 9: Containment Protocols: Electromagnetic shackles. Sedation drip. Two cranial failsafe implants.

Your thumb left a smudge on the surveillance photo, a blurred figure in black attire. “Why bother with a photo?” Mara commented.

“Mara,” you murmured, tapping the Evol classification. “We never worked with anyone above Class IV.”

Her knee pressed against yours under the table. “Remember those Tesla-looking monstrosities they brought in last week? Turns out they are portable suppression fields.” Her smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Nothing to worry about. I guess.”

Frowning, you turned your gaze back to the file. Your mission was clear cut. Suppress the subject’s Evol to null and transfer it to another subject. You gulped. Wouldn’t that kill him? What had you gotten yourself into?

The walk to Lab 7 took exactly 4 minutes and 37 seconds. You counted each step, each sip of now-cold coffee, each erratic heartbeat as clearance doors hissed open before you. The file revealed another horror. Subject resisted standard sedation (they switched to a veterinary elephant tranquilizer).

The final door required retinal scan and voiceprint.

“Dr. (reader), authorization code Rose-9-White.”

The locks disengaged with a sound like bones breaking.

Lab 7 was colder than the morgue.

Your heels clicked against frosted glass flooring as you approached the observation window. The suppression field hummed at a frequency that made your teeth ache. Coffee sloshed over the rim of your mug as your hands betrayed you.

On the other side of the glass was a man. Not just a subject.

Chained in a chair that looked more like a medieval torture device, his bare torso marked with fresh burns where the electrodes bit into flesh. Blood crusted along his split lip. Silver hair matted with sweat and something darker near the temple. His head lolled forward, chin nearly touching chest, but you could see the rise and fall of ragged breathing.

Then, as if sensing your presence he looked up.

Crimson eyes locked onto yours through the glass. Not the dull gaze of a sedated prisoner. Not the wild glare of a feral test subject.

Your mug shattered on the lab floor.

Because the man strapped to that chair, the man whose file now trembled in your hands, was Sylus.

[totallytaurus4]

STAYC 'Lover, Killer / BEBE -Japanese Ver.' Concept Photo

[totallytaurus4]

“my angel is in pain and i didn’t notice it until now…”

sylus

sylus would notice everything. the small winces, the silent hesitation when standing, the way your hands tremble when holding something heavy. he’s a caregiver, you can’t hide it from him.

he wouldn’t confront you outright. instead, he’d sit beside you in quiet moments and say things like, “it’s okay to lean on someone, you know. you don’t have to do it all alone anymore.”

the first time you finally ask for help—maybe with your shoes or reaching for something—he doesn’t make a sound. he just kneels, handles it gently and looks up with warm, unwavering eyes. “i’m honored that you let me.”

to sylus, love means being present. he will never see your needs as weakness—just more reasons to be near you.

caleb

caleb would be the most emotionally rocked. he’s a protector by nature, and when he realizes you’ve been hiding your pain, it hits him hard.

you try to brush off your exhaustion with a laugh, but he catches your arm and gently says, “hey… why didn’t you tell me it hurts?”

he’d sit beside you, pull you into his arms, and hold you against his chest like he’s anchoring you to safety. “you’re not a burden. not to me. you could ask me to carry you every day and i’d thank you for it.”

expect lots of massages, warm baths drawn for you, and this boy learning everything about how to ease your muscle stiffness and whatever exhausts you. helping you would never feel like a chore, it would feel like devotion.

zayne

zayne wouldn’t even wait for you to ask. the first time you slow down or stumble, he’s already pulling you to his side with a breezy, “whoa, i got you.”

when you finally stammer that you didn’t want to be a burden, his face drops, like you just stabbed him in the chest. “burden? you? darling… if someone told you that before, they were dead wrong.”

he gets serious in that moment. raw, open emotion as he cradles your hand. after all he’s a doctor and he wants, no, he needs to help you. “i want to help. not because you need it, but because i love you. you don’t have to prove anything.”

he’ll start carrying a heating patch or a little comfort item for you without ever making a big deal about it. to him, this is just part of being your partner.

rafayel

rafayel is incredibly emotionally intuitive, but he respects your pride. he’ll wait, watching, quietly offering help without pressing, until you break down just once.

maybe you’re in pain and trying not to cry, and he just takes your hand and brings it to his lips. “you don’t have to suffer quietly for my sake. i have room in my heart for all of you. even the tired parts.”

he would turn your care into ritual, brushing your hair gently when your neck aches, rubbing your calves while reading to you aloud. “let me worship you. especially when you can’t.”

he’d never make you feel less-than. instead, he’d make you feel cherished in your vulnerability, like letting him in was an act of deep trust.

xavier

xavier is the hardest one to open up to, but once he learns the truth, his reaction is devastatingly gentle.

when you finally admit you’re afraid to ask for help, he doesn’t speak for a moment. he takes your hand, his thumb brushing over your palm. “you don’t have to carry everything alone anymore.”

xavier doesn’t say it often, but when he does, it lands like a vow, “if you ever fall, i’ll be right there. every time. i won’t let you break.”

expect quiet accommodations—adjustments to tech so you can rest your muscles, silent understanding when you cancel plans. he won’t push, won’t ask. he’ll just be there, like gravity.

[totallytaurus4]

you hadn’t meant to start a fight, not really. but rafayel had this uncanny talent for pushing all the right buttons with that silver tongue and pouty mouth. a careless comment here, a teasing grin there until suddenly the mood snapped, and you walked away instead of feeding into the bickering.

he texted that night.

still mad at me, little star?

you know i didn’t mean it.

fine. be like that.

you didn’t respond. you turned your face into the pillow, groaning softly. you were still mad. angry enough to stay quiet, but not angry enough to stop rereading his messages.

don’t leave me on fucking read.

your mouth fell open at this message. it was bold, even for him. maybe also a little hot.

your phone buzzed again, almost vibrating off the nightstand.

answer me.

another buzz.

i’m outside.

your heart stopped. you rushed to the window and pulled back the curtain and there he was. in the middle of the night, arms crossed over his chest, expression dark, hair tousled, that velvet shirt clinging to him like sin incarnate.

his violet eyes lifted and locked on you. you froze and then your phone lit up again.

if you don’t open the door, i’m climbing through your window like a movie villain. don’t test me.

you opened the door and he was on you in seconds. mouth crashing into yours with a hunger that bordered on desperation. his hands gripped your waist, then your face, like he didn’t know which part of you to hold first, like he’d spent all day aching for you and didn’t care how mad you were as long as he could taste your mouth.

“i hate you,” you whispered against his lips.

“you left me on read,” he pouted—pouted, even now—walking you backward, hands sliding under your shirt. “i went insane.”

“you deserved it.”

“i don’t care.”

his fingers curled in your hair as he kissed you deeper, tongue pushing past your lips, claiming every last inch of your mouth with possessive heat. he backed you into the bedroom with that smooth, predatory grace he always had, soft and sharp at the same time, velvet and danger. he pulled your shirt over your head, breathing hard.

“i kept seeing you walking away,” he murmured, trailing his lips down your neck. “i hated it. i hated how i let it happen.”

“then don’t let it happen again,” you whispered.

“i won’t.” his voice dropped. “you’re not going anywhere.”

he made sure of it. he laid you down like you were the only thing that had ever mattered, kissed you like he was still fighting the memory of losing you. his hands going straight to your thighs, parting them as he sank to his knees at the edge of the bed.

“i was an asshole,” he said, eyes flicking up to meet yours. “i know i was.”

he didn’t wait for permission. he just kissed your inner thigh, slow and soft, and then higher. higher and higher, until his lips met your heat through the thin fabric of your panties and you exhaled a soft, broken sound.

“i can say i’m sorry a hundred times,” he murmured against you, the warmth of his breath making your hips twitch, “but it won’t mean anything unless you feel it.”

and oh, did he make you feel it. he dragged your panties down your legs with reverence and pressed his mouth to your core like a man starved. his tongue moved slow, deliberate, needy. one hand gripped your thigh, the other snaked up to hold your stomach down when you started squirming.

every flick of his tongue, every suck against your clit, was an apology. every moan he coaxed from you was a confession. he looked up at you as he did it. deep, violet eyes locked to yours, drinking in your pleasure like it was his penance.

you came with your hand tangled in his hair and his name a shattered moan on your lips. but he wasn’t done. he climbed over you, mouth glistening with your warm arousal, pupils blown wide.

“still mad?” he rasped. you could barely breathe, let alone answer. “good.”

because then he kissed you, deep, filthy, still tasting like you, and slid into you with one smooth, punishing thrust. your back arched. his name escaped your throat again. he fucked you slow and unrelenting at first. like he needed you to feel how sorry he was from the inside out. his forehead pressed to yours, hand laced with yours against the pillow, the other gripping your hip so tight you’d wear the bruise tomorrow.

“i love you,” he whispered against your mouth. “say you forgive me.”

you didn’t, but you wrapped your legs around his waist and pulled him deeper. his eyes fluttered shut before they opened again. he never looked away, not once.

even as you fell apart beneath him a second time, and a third. even when his voice broke as he spilled into you, burying his face in your neck with a choked, “mine. mine. mine.”

even after, when you were both trembling and tangled and silent in the dark, he held your face in his hands, lips ghosting over your cheeks like prayer. “i’ll never fight with you like that again,” he said.

you smiled, dizzy and dazed. “good. because next time, you might not get to apologize with your mouth.”

“there won’t be a next time.”

you both knew there would be.

“so, i better make tonight count.”

and he did. over and over again, until you forget why you were fighting in the first place.

[totallytaurus4]

Rafayel who really likes to be marked as yours.

Rafayel who leaves the house with a red kiss mark on his cheek every single day. What's more, if one gets close enough, (a privilege that only you have) it becomes clearer to the observer that even his lips are slightly stained a lipstick shade of red, and slightly the scent of cherries.

Rafayel who absolutely refuses to leave the house unless you give him his kiss goodbye. He simply can't help it, a non-negotiable. He'll pout, he'll sulk, he'll make it your problem if he makes the journey all the way to the front door without you following for his goodbye kiss.

He especially loves the days where you have makeup on, not because you look less beautiful without it, but because of how your lipstick lingers on everything your lips touch. The rim of his favorite mug, the head of your toothbrush that sits next to his, the backs of each of his finished paintings, his cheek, the collar of his white blouse. It's proof of your presence. It is the most intimate detail to him, the trace of your love.

Your hand was whacked away the first time you had tried to wipe your lipstick off his cheek. He had said something about not messing up the art. He has sported his now signature lipstick stain ever since. Never in the same place, and not always as prominent as other times.

He goes to each of his art exhibitions this way. And just as he intends for it, everyone notices. No one brings it up to him, but they notice, and they wonder. They wonder who is so lucky to send him off with a kiss each day, and have him show it off with so much pride.

Then one day you walk in and it all clicks. By the middle of the exhibition, the showroom has filled up and Rafayel had already begun talking to his patrons. The energy shifts with your presence, Rafayel's especially, with the way he immediately turns to you with lit up eyes. The crowd instantaneously knows that you're behind the kiss marks on Rafayel's cheek.

"There you are, Cutie," the audience becomes ignored as Rafayel gravitates to you like a lost puppy, spinning and kissing you as if it were second nature. He pulls away with another dark stain on his cheek. "Ah, ah, don't wipe it yet, let them see." Such a possessive lemurian.

[totallytaurus4]

I will care for your heart...till we meet again. And you reclaim it for yourself.

[totallytaurus4]

This one for later ❤️

rendezvous

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

a/n: as promised here's the long ass second and last part. honestly writing smth as long as this is fun and all, but rechecking it is a pain in the ass. so please ignore any errors. i hope you like reading it as much as i loved writing it. once again thankyou @tofufairy for this wonderful idea! <3

word count: 7.7k

genre: sylus, sylus smut, smut, love and deepspace, sexual tensions, slight stalking, cunnilingus, oral (female receiving), p in v, creampie, sexual content, nsfw. MINORS DNI!

The last bite of chocolate lingered on your tongue as your gaze drifted to the exposed skin of Sylus' throat. The undone buttons of his shirt revealed the sharp cut of his collarbone, the smooth plane of his chest, and you caught yourself wondering if he’d taste like the wine they’d shared or something darker, something just his own.

Then his fingers flexed around his fork, and you realized that he’d noticed.

You jerked your eyes away, clearing your throat nervously. "You promised you'd answer all my questions," you said, gripping the edge of the table like an anchor.

Sylus set his fork down slowly. Then, without a word, he rose and crossed the room to an old record player tucked in the corner. The vinyl hissed as the needle dropped, and a slow, sultry melody filled the air.

He turned back to you, hand outstretched.

"Dance with me," he said, voice rough, "and I will."

Your pulse stuttered.

For a breath, you hesitated. Did you want answers or did you just want him? The way his fingers twitched, impatient, told you he already knew.

You took his hand.

His palm was warm, his grip firm as he pulled you flush against him. One hand settled at the small of your back, pressing just enough to make your breath catch. The other tangled with yours, his thumb tracing slow circles over your knuckles.

"Where are we?" you asked, voice barely above a whisper.

Sylus didn’t answer immediately. His gaze stayed locked onto yours, intense, unreadable, as if weighing how much truth you could handle. The music swelled around you, the heat of his body seeping through your clothes.

Finally, he spoke.

"You could say I brought you with me inside the game," he murmured, fingers tightening on your waist.

It seemed as if those words shattered your world. Because that wasn’t an answer, it was a confession.

And you weren’t sure you cared. Not when his lips were so close, not when the hand on your back slid lower.

The game had never felt like this.

And suddenly, you weren’t sure you wanted to go back.

The music still played, his arms still held you close, but everything felt suddenly too sharp, too real. The warmth of his hands, the scent of him, the weight of his confession hanging between you.

Your fingers tightened on his shoulder, nails digging in just slightly, as if testing whether he’d flinch. He didn’t.

"Why?" you demanded, voice trembling. "Why bring me here?"

Sylus didn’t hesitate. "Because you’re real." His thumb stroked the curve of your hip, slow, deliberate. "And none of this is."

A shudder ran through you. "How did you even leave the game? How is any of this possible?"

"For you," he said simply, as if that explained everything.

Your breath hitched. "Millions of people play this game. If you could just, just step out of it, why didn’t anyone notice you were gone? Why only come to me?"

He laughed then, low and dark, the sound curling around you like smoke. "You really don’t know?" His grip tightened, pulling you impossibly closer until your chest brushed his with every breath. "I wanted you with me. I wanted something real to live for in this miserable world."

The admission should have thrilled you. Instead, it made your stomach twist.

"But-" You faltered, voice trembling. "You don’t even know me. You like the game’s protagonist. Not... not me."

Sylus went utterly still.

Then, abruptly, he stopped dancing. His hands dropped from your waist, and he stepped back, his expression hardening into something unreadable. For a long moment, he just stared at you, crimson eyes burning with an intensity that made a shiver run down your spine.

"You think," he said slowly, each word deliberate, "after everything I’ve done, after tearing myself out of that godforsaken code, reshaping this world just to hold you, that I don’t know exactly who you are?"

You opened your mouth to protest, to demand more, but he cut you off with a sharp gesture.

"You’re not listening," he said, voice dangerously quiet. "I didn’t bring the protagonist here. I brought you."

The implication hung in the air, heavy and undeniable.

He’d chosen you. Not the game. Not the story. You.

And suddenly, the truth of it was terrifying.

The words tumbled out before you could stop them, sharp and laced with disbelief.

"Wait, so you did this out of greed?" You took a step back, the warmth of his touch still lingering on your skin like a brand. "You were... lonely, so you just dragged me here?"*

Sylus froze. His brows furrowed slightly, lips parting as if he’d been struck. For the first time since you’d met him in the game, in this impossible place, he looked lost.

"You don’t even love me," you continued, voice cracking under the weight of the realization. "You love her. The protagonist. The MC. The one written into your story, the one you’ve always smiled at, always fought for. Am I just– what, a replacement? Because you wanted something real to hold onto?"

The air between you grew heavy, suffocating. The record had long since stopped playing, leaving only the sound of your uneven breaths.

Sylus didn’t move.

Then, slowly, something in his expression shifted. His sharp features softened, the usual smirk gone, replaced by something raw and unguarded. His crimson eyes, always so calculating, so knowing, glistened under the dim light, as if your words had carved something out of him.

"You think," he began, voice quieter than you’d ever heard it, "that I don’t know the difference?"

You swallowed hard.

He took a step forward, then another, until you could see the flecks of crimson in his irises, the faint tremor in his jaw. "You think I spent months watching you, learning the way you bite your lip when you’re concentrating, the way your nose scrunches when you laugh at something stupid, the way you always pick the selfless choices even when it costs you, just to replace you with some scripted fantasy?"

"You think," he began, voice rough, "that I could love a script? A few lines of code designed to make players like you fall for me?" He took a step closer, and you swore you could hear his heartbeat or maybe it was yours, pounding in your ears. "Every word I said to her was for you. Every smile, every touch. Yours."

His hand lifted, hovering near your cheek as if afraid to touch. "You called my name through a screen. You stayed up late just to hear my voice. You-" His voice broke. His eyes were glistening. "You made me real. Not her. Never her."

A tear slipped free, yours or his, you couldn’t tell. His thumb caught it before it could fall, his touch achingly gentle.

"So tell me," he whispered, "who else was I supposed to love?"

Your chest ached.

"I don’t love her," he murmured, his hand lifting, hovering near your face as if afraid to touch. "I never did. Because she isn’t real. But you-" His thumb brushed your cheek, so gently it made your breath catch. "You’re the most real thing I’ve ever known."

The confession hung between you, fragile and terrifying.

You wanted to believe him.

But the doubt still clawed at your ribs. "Then why didn’t you just talk to me? In the real world? Why this?" 

You gestured around at the prison he’d built.

Sylus exhaled, long and slow. "Because out there, I don’t exist." His fingers curled into a fist at his side. "And in here? I can be someone worth loving."

The raw honesty in his voice shattered something inside you. Because now, finally, you understood.

He hadn’t taken you out of selfishness.

He’d done it out of hope.

And tha was so much worse.

Your vision blurred as hot tears welled up, spilling over before you could stop them. You took a shaky step back, the warmth of his touch still seared into your skin. "Sylus, this isn't right..." The words came out broken, barely above a whisper.

The moment they left your lips, something in his face shattered.

"Why are you blaming me for being real?" His voice cracked like ice under pressure. "For having feelings? For loving you?" Each word landed like a blow, his usually composed features twisted in anguish you'd never seen before. Not in the game, not in all your time here.

You shook your head, another tear tracing down your cheek. "You don't love me, Sylus-"

"I saw you in her. Always." He closed the distance between you in one swift movement, his hands coming up to cradle your face with surprising gentleness despite their trembling. "I've always loved you." His thumbs brushed away your tears, the leather of his gloves surprisingly soft against your skin. The scent of winter mint and something uniquely him.

"How do I make you believe me, sweetie?" His voice dropped to a whisper, his forehead nearly touching yours. "I wish I could show you what lengths I'm willing to go for you."

Your breath hitched as memories flashed through your mind. The library with its impossibly rare books, the bedroom crafted to your exact tastes down to the smallest detail, the way he'd remembered your favorite shade of pink. The way his eyes lit up when you laughed, the care he took in preparing every meal, the piano music drifting through the halls.

But then the darker thoughts crept in. The way he'd taken you from your world without asking. The way he'd watched you for months through a screen. 

You could feel his breath mingling with yours, see the desperate hope in those crimson eyes that usually held nothing but cool confidence. The realization hit you like a physical blow, he was terrified. Terrified you'd reject him. Terrified that after everything, it still wouldn't be enough.

The conflict tore at you. Part of you wanted to melt into his touch, to believe every word. Another part screamed that none of this was normal, that love shouldn't come with kidnapping.

But when his thumb brushed your lower lip so gently it made your knees weak, when you saw the unshed tears glistening in his eyes. Eyes you'd stared at through a screen for so many lonely nights. You couldn't bring yourself to pull away.

Because the most terrifying realization of all?

Part of you wanted to stay.

The moment stretched between you.You could see the intention in Sylus’ eyes as he leaned in, the way his lashes lowered slightly, the way his breath hitched just before he closed that final inch of distance. His lips were parted ever so slightly, and you caught the faintest scent of the dark coffee he’d been drinking earlier, mingled with something warmer, something him.

But at the last second, you turned your face away.

His lips brushed your cheek instead, so soft it might have been imagined. He froze. For a heartbeat, neither of you moved. You could feel the heat of him so close, the tension in his body, the way his fingers flexed against your jaw as if fighting the urge to pull you back.

Then, slowly, he straightened.

You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him. Your pulse roared in your ears, your skin still tingling where he’d almost kissed you. You wanted it. God, you wanted it. But the weight of everything. The mansion, the game, the way he’d taken you here, sat heavy in your chest, a knot of fear and longing tangled together so tightly you couldn’t separate them.

Sylus didn’t move.

You could feel his gaze on you, burning, waiting. He didn’t push. Didn’t demand. Didn’t try to convince you again. He just stood there, his presence a silent question, his hands now limp at his sides.

A floorboard creaked somewhere in the mansion, the sound unnaturally loud in the silence. The scent of the candles, vanilla and something smokier, like sandalwood, clung to the air, suddenly overwhelming. Your fingers trembled at your sides, and you clenched them into fists, nails biting into your palms.

Still, you didn’t speak. Still, you didn’t look at him.

And then a quiet exhale. The barest rustle of fabric as he stepped back.

You didn’t realize you were holding your breath until you heard his footsteps retreating, measured and slow, as if giving you every possible chance to call him back. The distance between you grew, the warmth of his body fading, leaving you cold in a way that had nothing to do with the temperature of the room.

Only when the sound of his footsteps completely disappeared did you finally lift your head.

The dining room was empty.

The candles still flickered, casting long, wavering shadows across the untouched dishes. The record had long since ended, the needle stuck in a silent, endless loop. Your reflection in the polished tabletop looked pale, wide-eyed, a stranger staring back at you.

You sank into the nearest chair, your legs suddenly unsteady.

What had you just done?

Part of you ached to run after him, to take back the unspoken rejection. You remembered the way his voice had cracked when he’d said I’ve always loved you, the rawness in his eyes when he’d realized you didn’t believe him. He’d spent his entire existence in a world that wasn’t real, surrounded by characters who weren’t real, loving a protagonist who wasn’t real, until he’d seen you.

And you’d turned him away.

Your fingers traced the edge of the table, the wood smooth beneath your touch. The mansion was so quiet now. No distant piano music, no footsteps, no low murmur of his voice. Just the oppressive silence.

You thought of the library, of the way he’d watched you as you’d pulled books from the shelves, his expression soft in a way the game had never shown. You thought of your bedroom, of every little detail he’d remembered, every trinket he’d placed there just to see you smile. You thought of the way he’d looked at you tonight, like you were the only real thing in his world.

And you’d walked away.

A sound escaped you, half laugh, half sob, as you pressed your palms into your eyes. You were such a coward. You wanted him. You ached for him. But the fear, the fear of what it meant, of what he’d done to bring you here, of the fact that none of this should be possible, had won.

The clock on the mantel ticked loudly, each second stretching into an eternity.

You stayed there for what felt like hours, staring at the untouched glass of wine in front of you, the liquid long gone still. The candles burned lower, their glow dimming as wax pooled at their bases.

And Sylus didn’t return.

Eventually, you pushed yourself up, your body heavy with exhaustion. The halls of the mansion stretched before you, dark and empty. Your footsteps echoed as you made your way back to your room, the door clicking shut behind you.

The bed was still perfectly made, the pillows fluffed, the blankets turned down, as if waiting for you. As if he’d known you’d come back here alone.

You curled into yourself beneath the covers, staring at the canopy above.

Somewhere, in this impossible house, in this impossible world, Sylus was alone too.

And for the first time since you’d arrived, you wondered which of you was more trapped.

The hours stretched endlessly as you lay there, the plush comforter beneath you suddenly feeling too soft, too suffocating. Moonlight filtered through the curtains, painting silver streaks across the ceiling. You traced them with your eyes, your mind racing through every moment since you'd arrived in this impossible place.

Your favorite fictional character had somehow stepped out of the game. For you.

The thought alone should have thrilled you. It had, at first. The library with its rare books, the bedroom crafted to your exact tastes, the way he'd remembered every little detail about you, your favorite color, the way you took your coffee, the anime merch you'd never been able to afford. He'd given you everything you'd ever wanted, everything you'd daydreamed about during lonely nights scrolling through your phone.

And now?

Now you'd pushed him away.

You rolled onto your side, fingers clutching the pillow beneath your head. Had you ruined everything? The way he'd looked at you, like you were the only real thing in his world, flashed behind your eyes. The rawness in his voice when he'd said I've always loved you. The way he'd stopped when you turned away, even though he could have easily forced the kiss, could have made you stay.

But he hadn't.

Because despite everything, despite the fact that he'd taken you here, he'd still given you a choice. A shaky breath escaped you.

Even if you wanted to go back now, you'd need his help. The realization settled heavily in your chest. You had no idea how this world worked, no idea how to return to your own. The thought should have terrified you, and it did, a little. But beneath the fear, there was something else.

Did you even want to go back?

Not yet. Maybe not ever.

Right now, all you wanted was to see him. To talk to him. To feel him, the warmth of his hands, the solidness of his chest beneath your palms, the way his breath hitched when you got too close.

Your gaze flicked to the ornate clock on the nightstand. 3:17 AM.

What was he doing right now?

Was he lying awake too, staring at some ceiling of his own, thinking of you? Was he in that grand library, fingers trailing over the spines of books he'd collected just for you? Or was he at the piano again, playing that same melancholy melody, his silver hair catching the moonlight like frost?

The thought of him alone, hurting because of you, made your chest ache.

Before you could second-guess yourself, you pushed back the covers and stood. The floor was cool beneath your bare feet as you treaded to the door, your pulse thrumming in your throat.

You had to find him. You needed to.

The hallway stretched before you, dark and silent. Somewhere in this mansion, Sylus was waiting. And this time, you wouldn't turn away.

***

Sylus sat on the edge of his bed, his body rigid, his hands clenched into tight fists on his knees. The room around him was dark, the only light coming from the pale moonlight filtering through the half-drawn curtains. He didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. He just stared blankly at the opposite wall, as if he could erase the last few hours from existence if he focused hard enough.

But he couldn’t stop thinking about you.

The way you had looked at him, like he was something terrifying, something wrong. The way you had turned your face away when he’d tried to kiss you. The way your voice had trembled when you’d accused him of being greedy, of dragging you into his world without a second thought for what you wanted.

And you had been right.

A hot tear slipped down his cheek before he could stop it. Then another. He didn’t wipe them away. He just let them fall, his jaw clenched so tightly it ached.

Pathetic.

He had spent so long watching you from behind the screen, memorizing every little thing that made you smile, every detail that made you you. He had built this entire world for you, crafted every room, every book, every piece of clothing to perfection, all because he had been lonely. Because he had wanted you to look at him the way you’d looked at the screen.

But he had never stopped to think about what you might feel.

He had been selfish. Desperate. Greedy.

A broken laugh escaped him, harsh and humorless. He had spent his entire existence inside a game, surrounded by scripted lines and predetermined choices, and yet this was the first time he had ever truly felt real. And now he had ruined it.

Sylus leaned back against the headboard, pressing his palms against his eyes. He didn’t want to think about you. Didn’t want to imagine the fear in your expression, the way you had flinched away from him.

But he couldn’t help it. Because even now, even after everything, he still loved you, still wanted you.

And that was the worst part.

***

Your bare feet tingled across the cold marble floors as you stepped through the darkened halls. The mansion felt too vast, too silent, every corner and empty room a reminder of the distance you'd put between you.

You checked the library first, nothing. The piano in the garden sat untouched, its keys cold. Even the kitchen, where he'd prepared every meal with such care, stood empty.

Then, at last, you pushed open the door to what must have been his bedroom.

Oh. Shit.

You froze, one foot still hovering over the threshold. You should have knocked. What if he..

But then you saw him.

Sylus lay half-propped against the headboard, his silver-white hair messed up from restless fingers, his lashes casting delicate shadows over his cheeks. Moonlight spilled across him, gilding the sharp angles of his face, the curve of his parted lips. He looked younger like this, softer. The usual sharpness in his features was smoothed by sleep.

You held your breath as you crept closer, the plush carpet muffling your steps. For a moment, you just stood there, watching the steady rise and fall of his chest. Then, before you could second-guess yourself, you climbed onto the bed, knees sinking into the mattress as you crawled toward him.

He didn't stir.

Up close, you could see the faint furrow between his brows, the way his fingers twitched slightly against the sheets. Had he cried himself to sleep? The thought sent an ache through your chest.

Slowly, so slowly, you reached out.

Your fingertips brushed his cheek first, warm, so warm, the stubble rough against your skin. He exhaled softly at the contact but didn't wake. Emboldened, you traced the bridge of his nose, the curve of his bottom lip, marveling at the reality of him. The game had never captured the way his breath hitched when you touched him, the way his skin flushed slightly under your fingers.

Real. He was real.

And in this moment, with the moonlight painting him in shades of silver and blue, with the quiet intimacy of his sleeping form beneath your hands, you couldn't remember why you'd ever pushed him away.

Your thumb brushed over his lip one last time and crimson eyes flicked open.

You froze.

For a heartbeat, neither of you moved. Then Sylus's hand came up, his fingers wrapping gently around yours. Not pulling away. Just holding.

"Still doubting I'm real?" he murmured, voice rough with sleep.

Your breath hitched as crimson eyes locked onto yours, and for a second, panic spiked through you. Why did he have to wake up right now? You jerked your hand back, but his grip on your wrist stayed firm, not tight enough to trap you, but enough to make your pulse stutter.

You looked away first, your face burning. The room suddenly felt too small, the moonlight too bright, the silence between you too loud. What were you even supposed to say? Sorry I was creeping on you while you slept? Sorry I pushed you away earlier?

When you dared to glance back, Sylus was still watching you, his head tilted slightly, that infuriatingly knowing glint in his eyes. He didn’t speak. Just waited.

So you took a shaky breath and let the words spill out.

"Sylus, I’m sorry." Your voice was barely above a whisper. "I-I don’t know what you must have been going through all this time. Trapped in a world that wasn’t real, surrounded by people who weren’t real. And then I... I acted like you were the one who didn’t understand." You swallowed hard. "Maybe I was being too hesitant. Too scared."

Still, he said nothing. Just listened, his thumb absently stroking the inside of your wrist, sending little shocks of warmth up your arm.

"It’s just-" You huffed a frustrated laugh, your free hand gesturing vaguely. "None of this is supposed to be possible. You’re not supposed to be real. And yet here you are, and you… you know me. Better than anyone. And that’s terrifying."

Your voice cracked. "Because what if I’m not who you think I am? What if you’re disappointed?" The words hung between you, raw and vulnerable.

Sylus didn’t immediately respond. He just studied you, his gaze tracing every flicker of emotion on your face. Then, slowly, he tugged you closer, until your knees brushed against his thigh.

"Sweetie," he murmured, his voice rough with something that made your chest tighten. "Do you really think I’d go through all this trouble for someone I didn’t know?"

His free hand came up to cradle your cheek, his thumb brushing away a tear you hadn’t realized had fallen. "You’re not a character in a game. You’re messy. You’re stubborn. You overthink everything." His lips quirked. "And I like that. All of it."

You let out a shaky breath, your shoulders dropping. "So... you’re not mad?"

"Oh, I’m furious," he responded. Then, softer, "But not at you."

His fingers slid into your hair, tilting your face up until you had no choice but to meet his gaze. "I should’ve given you time. Should’ve asked instead of just taking you." His thumb traced your bottom lip. "But I’m selfish. And impatient. And I wanted you here."

The admission should have scared you. Instead, it just made your heart ache.

"I’m still scared," you admitted quietly.

Sylus hummed, leaning in until his forehead rested against yours. "Good," he murmured. "So am I."

Your forehead pressed against his, breaths mingling in the narrow space between your lips. His exhales were warm and uneven, fanning over your mouth in a way that made your skin prickle with anticipation. Without thinking, your tongue darted out to wet your suddenly dry lips and his grip on the back of your head tightened ever so slightly in response.

Sylus leaned in slowly, his movements deliberate, giving you every chance to pull away. But when his lips were just a hair's breadth from yours, he paused, crimson eyes searching yours one last time.

Permission. He was asking.

Something inside you melted at the realization.

Instead of answering with words, you closed the distance yourself.

Your lips met his in a kiss that was soft at first, tentative, testing. His mouth was warmer than you'd imagined, the faint taste of coffee and something uniquely him lingering on your tongue. His hand cradled the back of your head, fingers tangling in your hair as he kissed you back with a tenderness that contradicted everything you knew about him.

Then his other arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you flush against him, and the kiss deepened.

His teeth grazed your bottom lip, drawing a quiet gasp from you that he swallowed hungrily. Every point of contact between you burned, his chest pressed against yours, his thigh between your knees, his fingers tightening in your hair just enough to make your pulse spike.

When you finally broke apart, both of you were breathless.

Sylus didn't let you go far. His forehead came to rest against yours again, his breathing ragged. 

"Convinced yet?" he murmured, voice rough with want.

You huffed a laugh, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. "I think I need more evidence."

His answering smirk was all the warning you got before he claimed your lips again.

The moment your lips met again, any remaining hesitation burned away in the heat between you. His mouth moved against yours with a hunger that stole your breath, his tongue sliding past your lips in a claiming sweep that made your toes curl. You moaned into the kiss, fingers tangling in his silver-white hair, tugging just hard enough to draw a growl from deep in his throat.

Sylus didn’t just kiss you, he devoured you.

Every slide of his tongue was a challenge, every nip of his teeth a demand. You met him stroke for stroke, your thighs clenching together as wetness pooled in your panties. His hands roamed your back, pressing you impossibly closer until you could feel the hard planes of his body against every inch of yours.

When you finally broke apart, gasping for air, you were met with an unexpected sight.

A rosy blush staining Sylus’ sharp cheekbones, his lips swollen from your kisses.

You couldn’t help the breathless chuckle that escaped you. "Sylus," you teased, thumb brushing over his heated skin, "are you blushing?"

His crimson eyes darkened, a flicker of something dangerous and utterly delighted passing through them. His hand slid down to grip your hip, fingers pressing possessively into your flesh as he leaned in, his voice a low, rough purr against your ear.

"Do you see what you do to me, kitten?"

The words sent a shiver down your spine.

Before you could respond, he captured your lips again.

In one swift motion, Sylus pulled you up into his lap, your legs straddling his waist as he claimed your mouth again in a searing kiss. His hands gripped your hips, fingers digging in just enough to make you gasp, a sound he swallowed with a satisfied hum.

His lips left yours only to trail down the column of your throat, teeth scraping lightly over your pulse point before sucking a mark into your skin. You arched into him, fingers tightening in his hair as a breathy moan escaped you.

"Sylus-"

His name on your lips seemed to unravel him. He pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, and what you saw in his crimson eyes stole your breath. Raw, unfiltered desire, a hunger so deep it made your stomach flip.

"Am I being too greedy," you whispered, your thumb brushing his cheekbone, "if I ask you to keep your eyes only on me?"

A low, rough laugh rumbled in his chest. "You always had that right." His hands slid up your sides, possessive. "Which means you can be even greedier." He nipped at your jaw. "Do you want it, kitten?"

"Yes." The word left you in a rush, barely more than a breath.

Sylus groaned, his lips finding your neck again, then your jaw, then the shell of your ear, each kiss hotter than the last. "I’m hoping yes is still your answer," he murmured, voice thick with need, "because I just can’t hold back anymore."

His hands slid under your thighs, lifting you effortlessly as he stood from the bed, your legs locking around his waist. You barely had time to register the movement before your back met the softness of the mattress, Sylus hovering above you, his silver hair framing his face like a halo in the moonlight.

"Last chance to say no," he breathed, though the way his hands trembled against your skin told you how much the words cost him.

You answered by pulling him down to you, sealing your lips against his in a kiss that held no hesitation, no fear, just want.

His mouth crashed into yours like a drowning man gasping for air, hot, desperate, and utterly consuming. You could taste the hunger in every searing kiss, the way his teeth nipped at your bottom lip before his tongue swept in to soothe the sting.

Then, without breaking the kiss, he gripped the fabric of your sleeve between his teeth and tugged it down your shoulder with deliberate slowness, his crimson eyes locked onto yours the entire time. The cool air hit your exposed skin, raising goosebumps that had nothing to do with the temperature and everything to do with the way he was looking at you, like he wanted to devour you whole.

His lips left yours to trail down your jaw, your neck, your newly bared shoulder, each kiss searing a brand into your skin. You arched into him with a gasp, fingers tangling in his hair as he worked his way lower, his teeth grazing your collarbone just hard enough to make your breath hitch.

He didn’t stop there.

His mouth traced a slow, torturous path down your arm, kissing, nipping, licking, until he reached your wrist. Then, with a final, lingering press of his lips to your palm, he turned your hand over and met your gaze again, his breath hot against your skin.

"Still with me, kitten?" he murmured, his voice rough with want.

The moment his lips found the sensitive spot beneath your ear, a shiver raced down your spine. His fingers trailed down your back, finding the hidden zipper of your dress with practiced ease. As the fabric loosened, sliding down your shoulders, you caught the flicker of his gaze, dark with desire, but with a faint blush creeping up his neck.

He was blushing.

The realization sent a thrill through you. You reached for the buttons of his shirt, your fingers trembling slightly as you worked them open one by one. His breath hitched when your palms skimmed over his toned abs, tracing them with slow, teasing strokes.

When your hand drifted lower, brushing over the hardness straining against his jeans, his entire body tensed. But before you could go further, his fingers closed around your wrist, stopping you.

"Let me make you feel good tonight, kitten," he murmured, his voice rough with restraint.

His thumb brushed over your pulse point, his crimson eyes burning into yours. "Just you."

Then his mouth was on your neck again, his free hand sliding up your bare thigh.

His fingers traced slow, teasing paths up your bare thighs, the calloused pads of his fingertips dragging just hard enough to make your breath hitch. When he reached the damp lace of your panties, he paused, his thumb brushing over the soaked fabric with a low hum.

"Fuck, kitten," he murmured, his voice rough with desire. "Already this wet for me?"

You whimpered as his fingers pressed harder, circling the aching bundle of nerves through the thin material. Your hips jerked involuntarily, seeking more friction, but he tutted, his grip tightening on your thigh to hold you still.

"Patience," he hummed, though the dark hunger in his crimson eyes betrayed his own restraint.

With deliberate slowness, he peeled your dress the rest of the way off, letting it pool around your waist before his hands moved to the clasp of your bra. The second it came undone, his mouth was on you, hot and greedy. His tongue swirled around one peaked nipple, then the other, sucking just hard enough to make your back arch off the bed.

"Sylus-!" Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging as pleasure coiled tight in your core.

He chuckled against your skin, the vibration sending another jolt of heat straight between your legs. "Love the way you say my name," he murmured before nipping lightly at the soft underside of your breast.

His lips trailed lower, kissing a searing path down your stomach, his tongue dipping into the hollow of your navel. You squirmed beneath him, your thighs trembling as he reached the waistband of your panties, but instead of removing them, he hooked his fingers into the lace and dragged them to the side, exposing you completely.

His breath hitched.

"Perfect," he growled.

Then his mouth was on you.

The first lick was light as a feather, just a teasing swipe of his tongue over your clit that had you gasping. The second was firmer, more deliberate, and by the third, he was devouring you like a man starved. His lips closed around your clit, sucking hard before flicking his tongue over the sensitive bud in rapid, relentless circles.

"Oh, god-!" Your back arched, your hands fisting in the sheets as pleasure crashed over you in waves.

He groaned against you, the sound vibrating through your core. "You taste even better than I imagined,kitten," he rasped before diving back in with renewed hunger.

His fingers joined his mouth, two slipping inside you with ease, curling just right to stroke that sweet spot that made your vision blur. Your hips rocked against his face, chasing the building pressure, but he held you down with his free hand, his grip unyielding.

"That's it, kitten," he murmured between licks. "Let go for me.”

And when you finally shattered, his name on your lips and his tongue drawing out every last shuddering wave of pleasure, he didn't stop, not until you were limp and trembling beneath him, oversensitive and utterly spent.

Only then did he pull back, his lips glistening, his gaze locked onto yours with dark satisfaction.

"Mine," he breathed, like it was the only truth that mattered.

Your chest rose and fell with each ragged breath as you watched him unbuckle his belt with deliberate slowness, the leather sliding free. His jeans fell to the floor, and your gaze dropped.

Oh.

A dark, wet patch stained the front of his boxers, the fabric clinging to the thick outline of his cock beneath. He palmed himself through the material with a rough groan, his head tilting back, the muscles in

his neck straining. The sight of him so desperate, so needy, made your mouth water and panties wetter.

Then he hooked his thumbs into the waistband and pushed his boxers down, freeing himself.

Your breath caught.

He was big, thick and flushed, the tip glistening with precum. He wrapped his hand around his length, giving himself a slow stroke, his hips jerking slightly into the touch. His crimson eyes locked onto yours as he bit out, "Fuck, sweetie. You’re watching me like you want to taste."

You did.

But before you could move, he was on the bed, hovering over you. His fingers slid between your thighs, gathering the slick arousal coating your folds, then dragging up to circle your clit, making you gasp. He didn't stop there. His wet fingers wrapped around his cock, spreading your wetness over his length as he stroked himself again, his groan vibrating through you.

Then he was pressing the head of his cock against your entrance, rubbing slow, teasing circles. "Is this what you want, kitten?" he gritted out, his voice wrecked.

You could only nod, your hips lifting toward him in silent pleas.

He smirked , that infuriating, perfect smirk, and finally pushed inside.

The moment he entered you, your breath caught in your throat, a sharp gasp escaping your lips as you arched your back in delicious surrender. His thick, throbbing length stretched you exquisitely, filling you so completely that your inner walls instinctively clenched around him, desperate to keep him buried deep inside. He paused, letting you adjust, his dark eyes burning with hunger as he watched your face twist in pleasure.

"Fuck, you're so tight," he growled, his voice rough with need.

You could feel every inch of him, every vein, the way his cock pulsed inside you, the way your body yielded to him so perfectly. And then he moved slow at first, a torturous drag of his shaft against your sensitive walls, each thrust sending sparks of pleasure up your spine. The obscene sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, the rhythm growing faster, harder, until you were both lost in the primal heat.

Your nails raked down his back as he pounded into you, his hips pistoning with relentless fervor. The heat between your bodies was unbearable, sweat glistening on your skin as you writhed beneath him. Every snap of his hips sent shockwaves through you, your moans growing louder, more desperate.

Then your eyes fluttered open, drawn to the mirror above. The sight was breathtaking, his sculpted body moving over yours, his back muscles flexing with each deep thrust, his cock disappearing into your slick, willing clit over and over again. The visual was intoxicating, and you whimpered, your arousal spiking at the sheer sight of it.

He noticed your gaze and smirked, his fingers tightening on your hips before he suddenly pulled out completely, leaving you empty and aching.

"Come here, sweetie," he commanded, patting his lap.

You didn't hesitate, straddling him eagerly, your wetness coating his thighs as you sank down onto him in one smooth, delicious motion. His groan was deep, guttural, as your tight warmth enveloped him again. Leaning back against the headrest, he gave you full view in the mirror, his thick cock buried inside you, your body taking him so perfectly.

His hands found your breasts, palming and kneading the soft flesh, his thumbs flicking over your hardened nipples until you were whimpering. Then he leaned forward, capturing one peak between his lips, sucking hard before grazing his teeth over the sensitive bud. You cried out, your hips rolling instinctively, grinding down on him as pleasure shot through you.

“That's it, ride me like a good girl,” he murmured against your skin, his hands gripping your waist, guiding your movements.

You obeyed, lifting yourself almost all the way off before slamming back down, taking him to the hilt. The friction was divine, his cock rubbing against every sweet spot inside you. The mirror reflected your desperate movements, your breasts bouncing, your body glistening with sweat, his thick length glistening with your arousal as you rode him harder, faster.

You could feel your climax building, coiling tight in your core, your walls fluttering around him. "Sylus, I'm... I'm going to-” you panted, your voice breaking as pleasure threatened to consume you.

And he knew. With a wicked grin, he thrust up into you with renewed force, his fingers digging into your hips as he drove you toward the edge. The sounds of your bodies colliding were filthy, wet, obscene, moans mingling, the slick sound of his cock plunging into your dripping pussy.

Just as you were about to shatter, he pulled out again, leaving you trembling on the brink. A whimper of protest escaped your lips, but before you could beg, he spun you around, bending you over the edge of the bed. His hand gripped the back of your neck, holding you down as he positioned himself behind you.

One powerful thrust, and he was inside you again, deeper than before, his cock stretching you impossibly wide. You screamed, the fullness overwhelming as he began pounding into you with brutal, unrelenting force.

"Fuck, you take me so well," he growled, his voice dark with desire.

Each thrust sent jolts of pleasure through you, his pelvis slamming against your ass, the sound lewd and intoxicating. You could feel every ridge of his cock, every pulse of his arousal as he fucked you with wild abandon. His fingers dug into your hips, his grip possessive, claiming.

"You're mine," he snarled, his pace becoming erratic, his breathing ragged.

Your orgasm crashed over you without warning, your body convulsing around him as pleasure ripped through you in violent waves. Your walls clenched, milking his cock as you cried out, your vision whiting out from the intensity.

Feeling you tighten around him, he lost control, slamming into you one final time before burying himself to the hilt. A deep, guttural groan tore from his throat as he came, his hot seed flooding your depths in thick, pulsing ropes. You could feel him twitching inside you, his release endless as he held you tightly against him, both of you trembling from the force of your climax.

He collapsed over you, his breath hot against your skin as you both struggled to come down from the high. 

His lips found your shoulder, pressing a lazy kiss there before murmuring, "Fuck, you're perfect." 

And you lay there, still connected, still throbbing from the pleasure.

He pulled out slowly, careful not to jostle you too much, and you exhaled, a long, trembling breath, as he leaned over you, pushing the damp strands of hair from your forehead. His fingers were warm against your skin, brushing gently, as if memorizing the way your lashes fluttered against flushed cheeks. He kissed your forehead, lingering there for a moment, his lips soft and reassuring.

"Let me take care of you," he murmured, voice rough but tender, and you nodded, boneless in his hands.

He left you just long enough to run the bath. You heard the rush of water, the quiet clink of the faucet as he adjusted the temperature. 

When he returned, he gathered you into his arms, lifting you effortlessly, and you melted against his chest, your face tucked into the curve of his neck. The bathroom was already hazy with steam, the air thick with the scent of lavender from the oil he’d added to the water.

He lowered you into the tub with infinite care, one hand braced against the small of your back, the other guiding your legs in. The heat was perfect, sinking into your muscles, winding off the last of the tension coiled in your limbs. 

You sighed, tipping your head back as his hands glided over your skin, smoothing soap along your arms, your collarbones, the dip of your waist. He was thorough but unhurried, washing away the sweat and the lingering heat of your bodies.

When the water cooled, he helped you out, wrapping you in a towel so large it swallowed you whole. He patted you dry with the same slow attention, dabbing at your shoulders, the backs of your knees, the delicate skin of your wrists, before turning his focus to your hair. 

The towel was soft as he gathered the damp strands, squeezing out the excess water before combing his fingers through the lengths, untangling the knots with a patience that made your chest ache.

You were drowsy by the time he finished, your eyelids heavy, your body loose with warmth and contentment. He chuckled, low and fond, and lifted you again, carrying you back to the bedroom where the sheets had already been changed, fresh and cool against your skin as he tucked you in.

"Wait," you mumbled, catching his wrist as he moved to pull away.

He hesitated, still half-dressed, still damp from the bath, but you tugged, insistent, and he complied, sliding in beside you. You curled into him immediately, your head pillowed on his chest, your fingers clutching the fabric of his shirt. 

His arms wrapped around you, holding you close, and you could hear the steady beat of his heart beneath your ear.

"Sleep. I’ve got you," he whispered, pressing his lips to your hair.

another cute gif

tags: @harbingers-lullaby, @crimsonsylus, @theshadowsdragon, @dummiebunny, @nm4565natty, @robotinvenus, @librarydame, @moonlight-inthe-sea, @myeagleexpert, @seventeen-x, @randomness39, @amiamango, @fangbangerghoul

[totallytaurus4]

Definitely reading this later

rendezvous

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

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

word count: 6k

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

read part two here!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sylus stared.

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

Alone.

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

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

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

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

He glanced back.

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

Sylus exhaled through his nose. Not real. Again.

He shoved his hands in his pockets and kept walking.

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

***

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

Twelve minutes. Twelve fucking minutes.

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

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

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

11:53.

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

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

The page loaded with agonizing slowness.

11:58.

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

Submitted successfully!

The clock ticked over to 11:59.

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

Binx meowed, unimpressed.

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

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

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

Then, the real reward.

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

“Please don’t crash. Please don’t-”

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

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

For the first time in forever, you grinned.

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

You blinked at the screen, waiting.

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

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

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

Your finger hovered over the screen.

What the hell?

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

Gone.

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

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

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

And now?

Now it was just… nothing.

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

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

Where the hell was Sylus?

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

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

“Okay, maybe it’s just a bug.”

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

Your stomach twisted. 

Why was no one else talking about this?

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Or am I, sweetie?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This place shouldn't have existed.

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

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

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

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

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

You placed your hand in his.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Does it matter?” he murmured.

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

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

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

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

A shiver ran down your spine.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yet here you are."

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

“Find something interesting?” he murmured.

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

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

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

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

“Overwhelming?”

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

“My room?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But your stomach chose that moment to growl loudly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His lips curved. "I wanted to."

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

But then you stole a glance.

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

God! Why does he have to be so sexy?

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

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

Heat pooled in your stomach.

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

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

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

Your breath hitched.

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

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

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

[totallytaurus4]

ARTMS ICARUS (2025)

[totallytaurus4]

Just recently finished watching "Alchemy of Souls" S2, after a 2-3 year break. Have to admit that I genuinely loved how they made the season. There was just enough pining, drama, comedy and action.

So here are these two in the most k-drama shots I've ever made.

[totallytaurus4]

I can only say that I absolutely adore this ❤️🥹

Being Babied by Sylus ♥︎ - Sylus x reader

Summary: You enjoy being babied, Sylus enjoys babying you. It’s as simple as that. Content: Fluff, established relationship, reader is fed by Sylus, very self-indulgent fluff tbh, fem!reader implied, 2.1k wc A/N: I wanted to write something really fluffy. Personally, I love being babied and it made me think of how Sylus would happily take care of a reader who enjoys the same.

You first discovered you enjoyed being babied during one of your most vulnerable moments. For a week straight you were fighting a vicious case of the flu. Normally, you would push through any illness because wanderers and criminals don’t take a day off so why should you? But this case of the flu was…different. You had an unrelenting cough, a fever of 101°F, body chills and you felt too weak to even microwave yourself a cup of ramen for meals.

The fatigue you felt resulted in you slumped over on your couch with your eyes at half-mast. It was silent and peaceful in your apartment, besides the TV playing your favorite show on repeat. The familiarity of the episode playing combined with the blanket you were snuggled under was lulling you to sleep. But a dark shape swooping through your open balcony doors startled you out of your fuzzy daze.

You felt the cloying lethargy leave your body as you scrambled to sit up. It took your eyes a while to focus on what (or who?) invaded your space. Eventually, you spotted Mephie who was perched on top of your coffee table. His red, bejeweled eyes were focused on you, taking in your weakened state. His head was tilted to the side as if he was analyzing you to figure out what was wrong. You gave a weak wave in his direction before melding your body back into the couch. You heard his metal talons click against the coffee table before he pecked at a piece of your hair, let out a mischievous squawk, then left your apartment the way he came.

“What the fuck?” you whispered to yourself before you let sleep take you under once again. The next time you’re conscious, you know that you are not alone. You kept your eyes closed as someone ran their large, cool, hand across your forehead. You tried not to alert the other person that you were awake, but your acting skills left much to be desired.

“I know you’re awake kitten, no need to put on an act for me.”

When Sylus’ velvety voice graced your ears, you finally put in the effort to open your eyes. He was devastatingly handsome on a regular day, but through your sick haze, he looks like a fallen angel specifically here to lift your spirits.

“What are you doing here?” you croaked at him, too weak to judge if this was a fever induced delusion or reality.

“A little birdie told me that my kitten was in trouble. I had to see what you got yourself into this time,” he smoothly replied.

A disbelieving snort left you as you readjusted your body on the couch. You felt gross and sticky with sweat. Your mouth felt dry, and your throat was in shambles from coughing all day. You also felt embarrassed that Sylus was witnessing you in such a state, this was unfamiliar territory for your relationship.

“Well as you can see, I am perfectly safe. I’m just a little sick,” you replied as you allowed your eyes to close once again.

“I think you’re more than a little sick sweetie. Let me take care of you,” he crooned. You already were weak to Sylus when he does literally anything. But when he shows his affectionate side, you can’t deny him. So, you shyly nod your head in acceptance.

Sylus leaves to run a bath for you. You heard him rifle through the cabinets before the sound of Epsom salt pouring into the tub greeted your ears.

When Sylus re-entered the room, he was silent as he headed straight towards you. After picking you up, he walked back into the bathroom. The black and red mist of his evol held you up as he let go of you to quickly undress. When he was done, he helped you undress as well. Once you both were naked, he sunk into the bath water first before pulling you between his legs to settle against his front.

The sponge used to cleanse you felt heavenly on your skin. Each stroke washed away the sweat that came with your sickness. You were boneless in his hold, not putting up any resistance as he diligently washed you, then himself. Delivering sporadic kisses on your skin, so light that you wonder if you imagined them. Still, not a word was said between you. And, at the same time, nothing needed to be said.

This moment felt…intimate in a way that you’ve never experienced before. You rarely get sick. But when you do it is never to this degree. Although you may feel guilt, self-conscious, or the urge to push back against being taken care of in this way — you refuse to put in the effort to deny yourself this comfort.

After you both were dried off and in fresh sets of pajamas, Sylus carried you back to the couch. He laid you down in a sweat free spot with a new blanket while he rummaged through your fridge. The smell of vegetable soup soon filled your apartment and your stomach made a frighteningly eager sound in response. You weren’t certain, but you thought you heard Sylus humming a tune while he prepared your first meal of the day.

In less than an hour your soup was ready, and Sylus once again gathered you into his arms to take you to your dining room table. Instead of putting you down in your own seat, he placed you sideways on his lap and gazed into your eyes.

“Sweetie, considering how fatigued right now — how about I just feed you your soup?”

You stare in disbelief as you process his sentence. You could feel a protest build up in your throat as a blush spread across your face. You were suddenly unable to meet his eyes as you wriggled in his lap.

“I don’t think that’s necessary,” you murmured.

Sylus chuckled lowly before he replied.

“Oh, I insist. I can’t have my kitten burning herself with hot soup because she’s too weak to hold up her spoon.”

While you scrambled to come up with an argument, he gathered some soup on the spoon, blew on it, then offered it to you. His ruby red eyes soaked in the multitude of expressions that cross your face before you let out a resigned sigh and open your mouth.

You accept the first spoonful of soup then let out a pleased hum at the flavors that splash against your taste buds. The veggies in the soup are perfectly cooked and the squeeze of lemon you taste tops everything off. You swallow and look at him expectantly for your next bite.

Sylus lets out a pleased hum at your acceptance then continues to feed you until you are pleasantly full of soup. Warm on the inside and out now.

He spent two more days at your place, catering to your every whim until your sickness let up. Although you would vehemently deny it if asked, you appreciated being spoiled by him in your time of need. And the moments you spent together have lived rent free in your mind (and his) since.

The second time Sylus babied you was while you two were lazed around the Onychinus base. It was a gloomy, rainy day which made a movie marathon the perfect choice of an activity. The minute you arrived; he was at your beck and call. He instructed you to sit and helped you remove your boots, changed you into cozy pajamas, and grabbed whatever item you needed to get comfy on the couch with him.

You both settled on watching a trilogy that neither of you have seen before. The second film was currently on, but it was paused. You were looking up cute cat videos on your phone as small pops and the buttery smell of popcorn wafted throughout the room.

You put your phone down when you heard Sylus return to the living room. He placed down a bowl of popcorn onto the coffee table before sitting on the couch. He pulled you back to your earlier position — which was between his legs — then pressed play to resume the movie. You were blissful as you used his chest tiddies as a pillow.

When a tense scene begins to play out, you hear Sylus dig into the bowl of popcorn. You don’t pay the sound much attention until his hand slowly invaded your field of vision.

You blinked a few times before a warm feeling spread throughout your body. With little hesitation, your mouth dropped open to accept the kernel of popcorn. While you chewed, he ate some popcorn in the meantime. And when you were done chewing, he offered you more pieces until you both had your fill, and the bowl was empty.

It made logical sense for him to feed you when you were sick. But now it seemed like an intentional act of service. You felt soft, cherished and taken care of in a way that you didn’t want to ponder on further. Instead, you were left visibly giddy the rest of the day.

(Sylus pretended not to notice this outcome.)

The third time Sylus babied you was on vacation.

You both managed to make the stars align so that his schedule was free of business deals in the N109 Zone and your time off request was approved by Jenna. You spent a full week together hiking in the mountains, sampling the local cuisine, and basking in each other’s company. Today was the last day of your vacation and you have ended up in a major city.

Tonight, you were dressed in a form fitting, mid-length dress that had a slit on your right side. Your makeup was beautifully done, highlighting your striking features.

Sylus donned an outfit that made your heart flutter each time you glanced his way. Although he typically favored dark colored clothing, tonight he was wearing a breezy, cream colored silk shirt, with linen dress pants. He exuded effortless confidence and was unbearably attractive. This, in addition to the relaxed aura this vacation afforded him was a magnetic combination.

You — and what felt like every other person in the restaurant — could not help but steal a glance at him. You tried to keep your jealous huffs to yourself, but you realized you failed when Sylus sends an amused glance your way.

He doesn’t have the opportunity to tease you over your apparent jealousy because the waiter came and placed your meals on the table. As you reached for your utensils, Sylus placed his hand on top of yours to stop you.

“Since this is the last day of our trip, please permit me one more self-indulgent experience.”

Your heart skipped a beat and your face warmed when you interpreted his request. He was making it clear that he wanted to feed you again, to baby you. But this time you were in public. His offer felt multifaceted.

Sylus was proudly broadcasting the nature of your relationship. It isn’t the first time he’s done this of course. But each time he does, it fills you with butterflies.

He’s making your heart sing because you’ve impatiently waited to see if he would initiate — whatever this is — again. And who are you to deny his wish?

You sent a faux annoyed look his way before nodding your head. It is only then that he scooted his chair closer and began to feed you bites of the creamy pasta dish you ordered. You can’t help but feel the weight of the gazes from the people seated near you. But it all melts away as Sylus focused his full attention on you and offered you perfectly portioned bites. The past few times you were unable to gauge his expression as he fed you, but tonight you had a front row seat to his beautiful visage.

His eyes have softened, and his lips are pulled into a subtle smile as he watched you enjoy each bite. The devotion in his eyes was clear and unmistakable. So much so that you cannot hold in the delighted giggles that bubbled up between bites.

“What’s so amusing kitten?” he asked you leisurely.

“Nothing, I just really love when you treat me like this,” you say shyly as you look down at the table.

“And how am I treating you?” he questioned.

“You’re…babying me,” you said in a hushed tone.

Sylus hummed and used his index and middle finger to tip your chin upwards, so your gaze met his again. “Of course I am, it’s what you deserve,” he rasps before leaning in for a kiss.

From that day, he shamelessly babied you in as many ways as you allowed and you have never felt more fulfilled.

Sylus loves taking care of you, whether it be financially, physically, or emotionally. To him, babying you is not “weird”, too much, or a chore for him. He would never question or tease you about enjoying this because he enjoys it just as much or more than you do.

[totallytaurus4]

“We can’t be separated, when I miss you I close my eyes and go to you for a while” JINSOUL in EGOIST

[totallytaurus4]

The third one gives too much k-drama vibes, my heart can't handle it

҉ ⁀➷ 𝑺𝑷𝑹𝑰𝑵𝑮 𝑨𝑵𝑫 𝑭𝑳𝑶𝑾𝑬𝑹𝑺

╰ 𝑹𝒂𝒇𝒂𝒚𝒆𝒍 LOVE AND DEEPSPACE: SPRING AND FLOWERS

[totallytaurus4]

This is so delicious I can't even.

aespa DIRTY WORK (Performance Video)

[totallytaurus4]

Endless Summer

Pairings- Yandere! Caleb x F!reader

Summary- You are staying home from summer break before Senior year of college with your Gran, Josephine, when a huge surprise happens, after over a year of being unable to see Caleb, he comes back to stay. You're so happy, but there's just a couple problems - one, you want him in ways you shouldn't, and you're just starting to get over it with the distance. And two, Caleb is pretty fucking pissed that you have a date.

Warnings- eventual smut, light angst, taboo relationships (Caleb basically is MC's stepbro lol, so it's the same dynamic here) longing, mutual pining, JEALOUSY like a mf, yandere Caleb, he's a virgin bc that's canon to meee, him being utterly obsessed bc that's how we love him. This chap - teasing, sexual thoughts, SO MUCH TENSION, mentions of masturbation and jealousy

Third time writing Caleb but this will be my first LADS series!! I'm excited to write something longer. It'll be like 4 parts hehe, lmk if you want a tag in the next!!!

Part One

"Caleb!" You run up to him and he picks you up in his big arms, strong and so tightly wrapping you, you almost can't breathe. He's laughing, the sound you missed so badly in person - over the phone just wasn't the same. His big white grin melting your fucking heart, the arms you feel so safe in squeezing you so tightly.

"Pip squeak!" He's lifted you up in his arms, spinning you now, as Gran smiles at you two, crossing her arms and watching as you peck kisses along his head. "Stop, you're slobbering all over me!"

"You should thank me, you stink you know!"

"Hey!" He glares playfully, you're giggling, heart so full from seeing him again, as he eases you down, and for a moment you feel your cheeks heat up.

God he's gotten even buffer, hasn't he? Are his shoulders broader, what the fuck?

It seems completely unfair, in his black military uniform with ribbons and gold buttons decorating the chest, of the many accolades he's already gotten. His hat sits just so over his head, hiding those dark brown locks that used to tint gold over the summers you spent together, your hands touch that thick, sturdy material over his strong forearms as you smile.

You had a dream of him last night - but it wasn't some prophetic dream, no you wish it was something sweet like that. It was you in his bed, trying to inhale any scent left of him, soaking wet from picturing Caleb's head right between your thighs.

You'd woke up drenched, and cumming, your cunt pulsing without even touching yourself, as you wore one of those sweaters of his that hit right mid thigh, so fucking embarrassing. You refused to touch yourself to him, in his childhood bed, the one he'd hold you in when you had a nightmare, when you got scared.

It started before then, the obsession with Caleb, but you were able over these years to shove it back, to hold it in, to explain it away with this or that. Seeing him again, being in his arms, inhaling that musky scent of his was enough to do you in.

Little do you know, Caleb has no problem jerking his cock to you, in fact he does so every night - as much of a routine as washing his face and brushing his teeth. In that order actually, brush teeth, wash face, jerk off to your photos.

He used to have the scent of you on the panties he stole, but he's been gone far, far too long to have that anymore. Now, it's pictures of you, the selfies you send him, so innocent and sweet too, not knowing the boy you grew up with jerks and cums to them nightly.

The distance made it somewhat bearable, the torture he's been put under with his obsession with you, but now, holding you again?

He damn near forgets Gran is in the fucking room, he'd love to pick you up and press your body against that wall, or take you up to your childhood bed, the one he'd watch you sleep in, and tuck you in back then - but instead, now he would fuck you so hard he breaks the goddamn thing.

He can't stand your sweet scent filling his nostrils, the way your cheeks tint that perfect hue in his presence - He's hopeless for you, and he can't do a fucking thing about it in this proximity.

"Shower time for Caleb!" You tease, dragging him up by your hand now, and Gran laughs as the two of you shove each other playfully back and forth until you help him get settled in his old room.

"You all never change anything, huh?" he teases, running fingers over the photos of both of you lining the cork board on the walls. Over all these years, no matter how many women have tried, he's been unable to be with any of those girls, no matter if he's been as horny as can be, he's still waiting for something he doesn't even show.

He's pretty sure if anyone knew he was a virgin, they wouldn't believe him - including you. You tease him about his fanclub of girls he's always had, not realizing he doesn't even pay attention to a single one, how the fuck could he when you exist?

He has to wonder... it can't be the same for you, can it?

He'd die to lap you up right between your thighs, that are pressing together as you sit up on his dresser, smiling at him and swinging your calves back and forth, he admires the shape of them far more than is normal for any human being. He barely registers that your perfect lips are moving, then focuses.

"Of course Gran changes nothing, I haven't been here since spring for a couple days actually, I feel bad she's alone!"

"How's college going, make any friends?" You nod shyly, looking down, and he watches the lights from outside his window flicker along your skin, washing it in the golden light. He nervously unbuttons his jacket, feeling your eyes on his chest as he does.

"It's good, and I do have some friends. Oh! You still wear this?" You reach over, touching the dog tags you got him so long ago, back when he started training and you were in high school.

"Of course I do." He takes your hand, smiling the way only Caleb does, his hand feels too good, like everything is heightened from your stupid fucking dream now. "And do you, wear yours?"

You nod, and his fingers drift across your neck, eyes lit in a vivid amethyst as he sees a bare neck. "Here," you tug it out from under your shirt, smiling as he traces it with his long fingers, calloused and rough against delicate skin. "I always wear it."

"Even in the shower?" He teases, but the thoughts whirl in his mind, of you naked. He's seen you before of course, he's always averted his eyes, tortured by the memories, but you're entirely grown now, your body so sexy he's dying picturing it. You just get more beautiful every time he sees you.

"Yeah, in the shower, silly. Speaking of- go take one." You shove him off, before darting in your room, taking several breaths, shutting your eyes tightly.

You can't want him.

*****

The next day, you're all dressed up, trying to straighten your hair unsuccessfully, honestly Caleb spoiled you so badly as a teen that he dried and straightened your hair for you. You still kind of suck at it, always missing the back. He also cooked for you and Gran constantly, and you do tend to order out or make ramen, you just never liked food like you liked his.

Caleb walks by, just wearing a sweater, you're mortified as you remember you were wearing it and cumming the other day, but he doesn't seem to notice your expression. He's raised a brow, as you count the new freckles speckled across that straight nose of his, new ones you missed before.

"Need some help, punk? The back of your hair is a mess." You glare playfully, but nod, handing him the black straightening wand and your brush.

"Please."

"So spoiled, still huh?" He teases, and begins to move it slowly, detangling your hair as you sigh in bliss, remembering out it feels. "Why are you all dolled up, girls night?"

You smile a bit, curious if he'd notice your pretty outfit. When he said anything sweet to you it meant more than a compliment from anyone. "No, um... I have a date."

"A date?" Caleb's words come out hoarse, as he runs the burning hot straightener through your hair, his dark violet eyes unreadable as he stands so tall behind you in the reflection.

"Yeah, Caleb you haven't been home in a year and I hadn't really mentioned it because it's not too serious, but I am talking to someone," you murmur, not bearing to meet his reflection. How could you, truly, when the man you want is right here? "Me and gran are glad you visited you know!"

"Are you," his voice is darker than usual, the lilting and sweet way he speaks to you, it's different. Just like the darkness in his usually brilliant eyes, running the hot ceramic over your hair. "It's been so long you forgot about me?"

"What, Caleb!? No! I missed you so bad. I wrote to you constantly, you know," you frown now, and he sighs, moving to another section of your hair. "I miss this."

"Will someone else do this now?" You're blinking in confusion, his hurt tone, so soft yet something dangerous to it, something you can't quite place, as you eye him in the mirror.

"Will someone straighten my hair?"

"Yeah, a boyfriend maybe?"

"I..." you trail off, looking at him in confusion. Though unspoken surely, you've never worded just how you feel, nothing but countless entries in your diaries about the love you surely shouldn't feel, but have since you met him that day as a little kid.

"Your date is here, honey!" Gran says, just for Caleb to accidentally burn your neck then, you gasp in pain and he curses, so furious about the thought of anyone with you, he didn't pay attention. Now he's hurt you, the last thing he ever wants to do.

God he just wants to kiss it better.

"Shit, I'm sorry pip squeak." He's immediately setting the straightener down, turning and touching your neck, you cry out in pain as he observes the burn forming on your skin. "I'm so sorry."

"it's okay, mmm," you try to put on a tough smile, but you see his sweet puppy dog eyes, that little expression that tugs on your heart.

"Let me take care of you, please," he says softly, you shake your head, and his brows lower. "Let me help."

"It's nothing-"

"I'll get some aloe, hold on." You're running cool water on your neck as your gran comes up, she took the two of you in a very long time ago, but Caleb's military training has left her alone, mostly, when you're not in school. She treasures every visit, especially the two of you together.

"Are you all right honey?" She asks, you nod asCaleb frantically runs and grabs it, eyeing the man that walks in calmly now into the kitchen.

He pauses, glaring, dark lashes narrowed as he takes him in - he wants to fucking kill him just knowing he'd get a chance at taking you out, when you're his and always would be. Those memories of being a kid, when you two first met and he said those words -

I'm Caleb, and I'll always be by your side.

Well, Caleb meant it, yes he had to be out of town and missed a lot of time to make sure you all had anything you needed financially, but that doesn't mean he's not just as much a part of you as you are of him.

"And who's this, Gran?" He asks, as she's back down stairs, he can still hear the water running upstairs.

You always do that when you get burnt, when he's told you many times it's not the best solution, but you're stubborn.

Caleb smiles as he grabs the bottle of dark blue aloe, and Gran looks at him with a smile. "It's her date for the night." She introduces a name he barely registers, shaking the young guys hand, a good six inches shorter than Caleb, squeezing the shit out of it with a smirk.

"Oh, hi there. I'm Caleb." He says, and the man clears his throat, shaking his hand out.

"And you are..."

Caleb pauses- just what is he to you? After all these years, you are his everything, all he lives, breathes and dreams, but what do you feel for him now? Grown up, grabbing plates off shelves yourself, living at your dorm and enjoying your own life, your own world, where does he fit in anymore?

A week here, a week there, writing you letters every time he leaves for a mission, knowing he may never see you again. You've never seen them, he's never told you that he wants more, so much more, than just being 'family' or whatever the fuck this was. That he wants to kill anyone that comes near you.

How does Caleb ever explain that?

"He's our family," Gran says with a smile, touching his shoulder. "Did she hurt herself bad?"

No, Caleb hurt her, and it feels horrible knowing he did. The last thing he ever wants is to hurt you.

"She just burned herself with a straightener, so it'll... be a few." He murmurs, Gran nods a bit, and Caleb runs back up, seeing you bent over the sink now, in a skirt that's way too fucking short. He can see the outline of your cunt under panties he'd die to have against his face, filling him with the need to just devour you.

If he could, he'd have his own perfect little fucking world, with just you and him.

"Caleb?" You ask, standing, the water dripping down your top, little droplets that trail down your perfect breasts.

He says nothing, cock throbbing under his jeans, mind in a mix of hatred for this random boy, and desire for you, equal parts fucking his entire brain up now.

"The aloe?"

"Yeah, here..." he shuts the bathroom door, leaving the two of you completely alone, far too close, you have to angle your head up to look at Caleb, as tall as he's gotten. He takes two fingers, pumping the clear gel onto them, brushing your hair back with his other hand, so intimate your breath catches.

There's just one problem lately, and that's the fact that you want Caleb, more than a family should, more than friends should. You want him to touch you in places you touch yourself, thinking of him shirtless and sweaty after a workout, thinking of his long fingers buried inside you so deep.

You hate the thoughts, you hate how lonely you get when he leaves, how badly you want him to come home, but when he does, especially over summer break, when you climb into bed during a storm? It's very clear you're not a little girl anymore, not when his hard body does things to you.

Not when you wake up embarrassingly wet in his arms and pray he doesn't notice.

Now, he's touching your fingers gently with the gel, as he watches your pretty breasts heave up and down, the icy cool gel soothing your burned skin. Your eyes shut, sighing in pleasure, while Caleb bites down on his lip to prevent his own sigh, of how perfect your skin feels for him.

He wants to tear this slutty little outfit off of you. He doesn't want the random guy to see it, he doesn't want him touching you, he doesn't want anyone to touch you, but him. He wants a perfect world where it's the two of you, and no one else, tracing his finger across your collar bone, while your eyes flutter open now, looking at the darkened gaze.

"Feel better, Pip squeak?" He manages hoarsely, you shake your head nervously. "No, need more?"

"Please," you whisper, he takes a little more of it, stepping even closer, your back is against the bathroom sink, as he leans low, so big over you. "Hurts."

"I don't want you to hurt, ever," he touches that spot again, but then his hand slips lower, down your arm, leaving goosebumps in it's wake. "Why are you going out tonight? When I'm here?"

You swallow nervously, feeling his breath against your neck, his huge hand gripping your wrist. "Because I... have to have a life, Caleb, you can't just take me on a date you know. I... need things."

"You need things?" He presses a kiss right over that burn, his lips dry and cool, as his hand brushes the side of your breast, and you gasp at it. "I will give you everything you ever need."

"You can't give me everything, can you?" A thigh comes between yours now, and he whines softly in your ear as he feels your heat. "Can you, Caleb?"

"I'll give you anything-" Knock Knock Knock.

Caleb steps back, as you panic, and he sees how hard your nipples are, infuriated that this guy is going to get to look at you like that. You turn, brushing your hair now. "Is the burn okay hunny?"

"Yes, Gran, Caleb put aloe on it." You smile as you brush past him, seeing the tense look on his face and shoving it back.

You and Caleb can't be more than this, you can't let yourself even think it.

"I'll be down in a minute!" You wave down to the sweet boy from college who asked you out from on top of the stairwell, going to your room to put on a pair of high heels.

Caleb follows you, leaning on your doorway, so broad shouldered he takes over the fucking doorway. "Shouldn't I know about him, to keep you safe?"

"I'll be fine, you trained me well. And look." You pat the gun on your thigh, showing him far too much of those thighs he wants to grip onto. "I know how to use it if I gotta."

"That's my girl," he bends down, helping latch the little buckle on your heel, his breath right against your thigh, making you soaking fucking wet, as he looks up at you like that, making you think the worst things that you cannot think.

God if he inches his lips up a little higher...

He eyes the slick on your inner thigh glistening in the light, he doesn't say anything about it, god he'd never embarrass you, disrespect you, despite thinking of all the ways he'd love to take you. From the back with your ass arched up, mating press so you'd take all his cum, but mostly grip your hands, so small compared to his, and look right in your eyes as he fucks you slow. As he makes love to you.

He just kneels before you for a moment, swiping it off your thigh and hearing your intake of breath, he wants to taste it immediately, but he waits. It's too long of a moment, before standing up and holding one of your hands tightly. He's now the supportive Caleb, the sweet Caleb - But you want more.

"If you need anything, I'll be here, just call me, okay honey?" Honey, the way that rolls off his tongue almost does you in, as sweet as the substance itself. You somehow maintain that composure, when haven't you had to with him since you became a teenager?

You can do it, you can keep it normal, it's just a couple of weeks.

"It's a dinner date, relax." You smile, kissing his cheek, in the sweet and friendly way you always have, reminding yourself - You can't feel this way - you smile at your date, so sweet he's brought you flowers. You resign yourself to go have fun, to have a life - it can't just be waiting around for Caleb forever.

Surely, he's had a life, he's had women - just look at him, the thought alone makes you unreasonably jealous, you hate feeling that way, it's like him coming home brought it all up when you had done such a good job of tucking it away. You feign a giggle and a bright smile as you two walk out the doors, and down the front porch.

You feel it, some eyes on you, you look up to see the curtains close in your room now. Surely he just wants to make sure you're okay, as you step inside the car, the feeling making you just stare up at that window, wondering if he went through anything in his mind even close to you - and not seeing him eagerly sucking your arousal off his fingers.

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