#LnDS

[bibbysstuff]

woops!

[slimepuparibaba]

true love is giving your partner a gigantic ass scythe upon request

[blueivyy99]

Calm and Serenity (Part 4)

Sylus x Non!MC

summary: you didn't know what sylus saw in you. he said you were calm, quiet and serene and that's what he needs. you believed it. he showed it. not until little miss hunter came. she's everything you're not. news that she's in danger can make the ever so calm sylus to run and leave everything behind. it made you think, would he do that for you as well?

tags: angst, romance, hurt and comfort, confused sylus, non-mc reader, mentions of death/dying, cursing

taglist: @fcknblsht @aboobie @nin10doo @ixloom819 @damatically @sylusgirlie7 @stellisangelicus-world @kira-loves0905 @wanderlustingcastaway @browneyedgirl22 @lumieresdreams @babygirl-panda19 @picnicinthegarden @96jnie @xxfaithlynxx @wrimaira @reni502 @lazypostfandomer @augustdxjiminx @hey-airam @vevlvtcherie @marquitas-en-verano @ma-cherie-lovely @zeskyzed @imnikki @shiorihoshino @mentaltrouble2201 @sylustoru @imaginarytheatre

note: OMG hi here's the promised update. ALSOOO BIG THANK YOU to all your reaction/comment/reblogs huhuhu im so happy reading your comments and im glad that you liked this little piece of mine. i hope you enjoy this one as well (i actually want to hide in a corner lol)

Series Masterlist

Sylus can't shake the eerie feeling that's been bugging his chest since he left you in Elysium. He knows that you're upset. He can see it in your eyes, he can feel it in his bones.

But what can he do? Miss Hunter is in danger and his body just autopilots to go to her. Does he want to? No. Not really because if he were to choose, he'd rather be beside you all the time but the bond is not letting him. Whenever he's trying to resist, the energy linkage on his wrist would constrict and a painful sensation is shooting up on his chest making it harder for him to say no to her.

It's been a pain in his ass and he didn't know what to do especially when he first met her. Past memories, past emotions, past tragedies suddenly flooded him and for a moment he faltered.

For a moment, all those feelings came back. He missed her, honestly speaking after all, she has half of his soul and finding her again in N109 Zone felt like his soul is whole again.

It was like he was in a daze. All his goals were reduced to mere thoughts and he was obligated to make a connection with her that he got too busy helping her get the aether core and making her remember everything, too busy resonating with her and he made you wait for him every day only to be given a mere fraction of his attention.

But when he's alone and he's contemplating the decisions he has been making as of late, he will be reminded of you. Of how you slowly grew quieter and your gaze was always on him, waiting and anticipating for him to initiate something that would make up for the time he's been wasting with Miss Hunter.

It did cross his mind to let you go. He understands that what he's doing is completely unfair to you, but when the thought of you leaving and potentially finding someone else crosses his mind, he almost went crazy.

He can't. He just can't.

He won't allow it.

He won't let that happen.

You're the only thing in his life that he can call his “voluntary choice". Ever since he lived all his lives, everything seemed out of control, it seemed like everything was a cycle.

Sylus, I curse your soul to never fade away. You'll always be tied to me. This is my curse. Only I can grant you true death.

Soulbound. That's him and Miss Hunter. The first few lives he lived, he can accept dying in her arms as long as it's with her. That's how powerful his love is and he doesn't mind waiting even if it takes a couple of millenia he wouldn't mind because it's her. He even put traces of her in every corner of N109 Zone, even sent Mephisto to stalk her every move when she first became a hunter. So it's safe to say that in the earlier years in this life, he did wait for her.

But then, YOU came.

Someone unexpected. Someone so pure despite the filth in this underworld. You saw him like a normal person and made him feel human. You didn't treat him like the leader of Onychinus.

You treated him as Sylus. Just Sylus. A weak, vulnerable and could-be-hurt Sylus.

In you, he found his humanity.

In you he found love and peace. For the first time in eons, there is tranquility.

He wanted to deny it at first. He can't entertain the thought of you and him together. He knows he can't have you. He can't have that luxury because he will have to let you go eventually when Miss Hunter comes to the picture, the cycle will repeat again. He will die in her arms and he will live another life only to be met with the same ending.

He had given up on anything and everything at this point, so little by little he's letting you go.

But when you came to his rescue, fighting for him even with your limited fighting experience when he was caught off guard by one of his enemies he let himself indulge in you.

Maybe this time will be different.

He let himself be under the shade of your warmth. Happy that in this life he gets to experience this. To experience a love that felt like it could last forever. A love that makes him want to live for as long as he can.

So when he made sure that Miss Hunter is alive and breathing, he is quick on his feet to leave.

“Sylus, can you stay with me for a while?" her voice begging.

And there it was again. The tug on the energy linkage in his wrist. At the mere thought of him denying her request, he can feel it tighten in his wrist that it hurts almost like his hands were going to be cut off.

The sensation in his chest is there again.

But no. He can't stay.

He won't.

“I can't," he answered not even looking back at her. “Y/N is waiting for me.”

He steadied his breathing. He needs to calm himself despite the overbearing pain.

"I will find a way to sever our connection and put an end to this curse. I want to live a life for myself not tied down to any of this destiny bullshit.”

He left after saying that. He's sure that she will understand what he meant.

If she doesn't? Then that's on her.

But for now he wants to come home to you.

To make things right. To tell you everything to ask for more time to figure things out. To tell you that he's been trying to figure out how to sever the connection that he and Miss Hunter have.

To explain that what he did to you was beyond what he can control. That he is under a curse and his choices are influenced by the repeating cycle of his lives. Clouded by the thought that there's no way out of this mess and sooner or later he will find his lifeless body in Miss Hunter's hands.

To tell you that this time he wants to fight back.

He wants to own his life again. He wants to make a decision for himself again.

Sylus respects the idea of soulmates. He even loved the idea of it before. But now it's different. Because if being soulmates with Miss Hunter means losing you, then he doesn't want it.

He will die trying as long as he's with you.

In record time, he's back in Onychinus’s base and the air feels different. It feels heavy. Something is not right.

Sylus is quick on his feet to walk (run) to your shared bedroom and you're not there. He felt a lump on his throat.

No. No.

“Sweetie? Where are you?" He called out. The mighty Sylus’s voice quivers at the end of his sentence. He roamed around the base trying to find you.

“Darling?"

In the bathroom? None.

“Little fox?"

Kitchen? It's empty.

"Baby?”

The guest room? Deafening quiet.

“Y/N?"

He searched in every corner but you're not there. He tried to call you but it seemed like your phone was off.

He called Luke and Kieran, they quickly answered his call and their words made his world crumble. “Boss! The Madame is gone. We can't find her anywhere. Elysium's owner told us she left quickly after you were gone. We searched everywhere we could but we couldn't find her.”

“Keep patrolling the area. Find her."

He dropped the call and quickly sent Mephisto to wander all around the N109 zone.

His mind is reeling back to the events that happened before he left. It can't be.

What happened? Why did you run away? Did someone take you?

Did you leave him?

No, gods please no.

You can't be gone.

No. Not now. Not when he figured out what he wanted.

“Please, come back.”

Part 5 the next day if im not busyyyy (no promises) reaction and comments are welcome 🤗

[moopsoup]

caleb is a fucking freak. you should’ve known that by now.

his cum is still warm inside you, leaking down your thighs, and he’s already got his mouth between them again. you barely have time to catch your breath before he’s spreading you open, fingers digging into your thighs as he groans at the mess he made.

“fuck” he breathes out, voice thick with something primal. his thumb swipes through the slick dripping out of you, then he licks it off, eyes rolling back like he’s savoring the taste. “shit, pipsqueak, you taste so good like this. we mix so well.”

he licks into you like he’s obsessed. like he can’t get enough. like he’s addicted to the way you taste with him still dripping out of you.

[shaiyasstuff]

ever after | sylus | sequel

synopsis : Fate may draw the lines, but it is choice that colors the heart.

content : soulmate!au, zayne x reader x sylus, zayne x non-mc!reader, unrequited love, angst (light or not, you decide)

note : here is a short peek into reader’s life after the events of through the fire and red. This was super short because I kinda just ran out of ideas, forgive me lovelies🥹

“Ow,” you groaned softly as the tiny needle pricked your wrist.

A low chuckle came from beside you. Sylus leaned back in his chair, holding up his arm. “I already got yours tattooed. Besides, this was your idea.”

“I know,” you muttered, trying not to flinch. “But it hurts.”

The tattoo artist grinned beneath her mask. “Won’t be long now.”

“That’s what you said thirty minutes ago,” you grumbled, earning laughter from both of them.

—•

You stared at your wrist, eyes wide with something between awe and disbelief.

There it was. His name. Sylus.

Written in bold black ink, permanent against your reddened skin.

Beside you, he smirked and slipped an arm around your waist, pulling you close without a word.

“How’s it feel?” he asked.

You glanced up at him. “Itchy.”

He laughed.

“At least it’s my name,” he said, looking ahead with a rare softness in his voice.

You followed his gaze, then grinned, bumping your shoulder against his.

“Yeah,” you said quietly. “I guess so.”

Suddenly, the world around you fell quiet.

The hum of the city faded into a comfortable stillness as you and Sylus walked side by side beneath the soft glow of the evening lights.

There was no rush. No need to fill the silence. Just the sound of your steps, the breeze brushing past, and the warmth of his hand resting gently at your waist.

He turned to you, eyes softer than usual, the sharp edges of his expression dulled by something quieter.

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

You looked up to meet his gaze—those deep crimson eyes that had once unsettled you, now familiar, mesmerizing.

You reached down, letting your hand rest atop his, grounding yourself in the moment.

“To be honest,” you began, your voice calm, steady, “it was empty at first. I had to get used to not feeling the pull… the ache.”

You smiled gently, not bitter, just honest.

“But I’m here with you now. And it’s my choice.”

You paused, the weight of those words settling between you like a vow.

“It’s… liberating.”

Sylus said nothing at first—just looked at you, something unreadable flickering behind his gaze. Then, slowly, his fingers curled around yours, steady and sure.

And in that silence, you both understood.

This wasn’t fate.

It was something better.

You leaned your head gently against his shoulder, eyes half-lidded as the quiet between you settled deeper.

“Thank you,” you murmured.

A lazy smirk tugged at his lips.

“Haven’t you thanked me enough?” he drawled, voice low, amused.

You chuckled softly, the sound warm against the cool evening air.

“I don’t think a lifetime of ‘thank you’s will ever be enough.”

He glanced down at you, the teasing glint in his eyes softening just slightly.

“Good,” he said, a hint of fondness lacing his words.

“Guess I’ll stick around to collect them all.”

It had been almost a year since you walked away from it all.

The heartbreak.

The mark.

The unbearable weight of loving someone who could never choose you back.

Now, your days were quiet. Peaceful in ways they hadn’t been in years.

Life with Sylus wasn’t perfect—nothing ever truly was—but it was real.

There were still nights when the past reached out with ghostly fingers.

Times when you’d turn away from his touch, not because you didn’t want him, but because the emptiness still echoed too loud.

Your body had been trained to ache for someone else.

To mourn.

To burn.

Choosing Sylus hadn’t been easy.

But he never rushed you. Never pulled when you needed space.

He waited. With the kind of patience only someone who understood pain could offer.

And little by little, you let yourself lean into him.

You let his hands steady you, his voice soothe the cracks, his presence remind you what it felt like to be wanted—not by fate, but by choice.

Now, there was no one you trusted more.

He knew you in ways no one else did.

He understood the quiet battles. The loneliness that crept in when the lights went out. The guilt that lingered like a scar.

And still, he stayed.

Not because he had to.

But because he chose to.

Just like you did.

Shaiya still called, every now and then.

The first time, you had finally felt strong enough to answer. To explain why you’d vanished without a word.

You remembered sitting on the couch, knees pulled up to your chest, the phone pressed against your ear as her voice broke on the other end.

She cried.

She apologized—again and again—for something that was never hers to carry.

You had only listened.

Because what could you say?

That it hurt more to know she cared? That her kindness made the healing harder?

You never once blamed her. You never could.

But Zayne…

You hadn’t spoken to him. Not once.

Not because you didn’t want to.

But because some things are better left untouched—like old letters in a drawer or wounds that have just stopped bleeding.

The surgery had taken away the physical pain—the pull, the burn—but not the years of quiet devotion.

That kind of love didn’t vanish with ink or tissue.

And that was enough.

For you, and for him.

Shaiya had mentioned they got married. No fanfare. Just a small gathering, vows exchanged quietly with people they trusted.

You’d smiled faintly at the news.

“Congratulations,” you’d said softly, fingers brushing over Sylus’s as he sat beside you.

He didn’t say anything—just watched you with that ever-present smirk, his thumb lazily tracing slow circles against your palm like he was reminding you of his presence.

And now, things were steady. Familiar. Whole.

Until Shaiya’s voice rang from the other end of the call again, “I’m going to be in town for work. Do you wanna meet for coffee?”

You glanced at Sylus. He’d already heard.

He arched an eyebrow, not saying a word—just letting you choose.

You smiled into the phone.

“Sure. I’d like that.”

Shaiya clapped, the sound muffled but full of joy. “Okay! See you soon!”

The call ended.

You lowered the phone, and Sylus leaned in, resting his chin on your shoulder, his fingers still tangled with yours.

No questions. No tension. Just presence.

And for the first time in a long time, you were at peace with the past.

Your eyes drifted down to his wrist, to the place where your name was inked in dark, permanent lines—etched into him like a promise.

You reached out, running your finger over it gently, tracing each letter with a quiet kind of reverence.

“I’ll never get used to seeing it,” you whispered, a soft smile tugging at your lips.

Sylus chuckled low in his throat, the sound warm as he leaned in closer, his breath brushing against the curve of your neck.

“I know,” he murmured, as if he’d been waiting for you to say it.

And you both stayed like that—entwined in each other’s warmth, your heartbeats slow and steady beneath the quiet hum of the room.

No strings pulled by fate.

No ache left behind.

Just two people, holding on.

Not fate.

Choice.

—•

“Sy, stop it.”

“What?” he replied innocently, even as his fingers continued their relentless mission—pinching your cheek with maddening precision.

“Stop doing that!” you huffed, swatting at his hand, your pout deepening as you tried to glare at him.

He just laughed, completely unfazed. “How intimidating,” he teased, his voice low and amused.

You groaned in defeat, crossing your arms dramatically as he leaned back, clearly proud of himself.

The two of you were sitting outside a quiet little coffee shop, tucked beneath a striped awning, the afternoon sun filtering through the trees.

You were waiting for Shaiya, but somehow, with Sylus next to you, it didn’t feel like waiting at all.

Just another soft, easy moment—with a side of cheek-pinching torment.

He only stopped when he caught movement from the corner of his eye—Shaiya, approaching with a bright smile and an excited wave, her footsteps light as always.

Sylus lowered his hand, finally releasing your cheek, though his signature lazy smirk remained firmly in place.

You turned at the same moment, catching the familiar warmth in her expression, and your features softened.

You lifted your hand to wave back, fondness blooming quietly in your chest.

Beside you, Sylus leaned back in his chair, still watching you, but now with something gentler behind the teasing glint in his eyes—like he could see the weight of everything this meeting meant.

And for a moment, the world felt still again.

Steady. Safe.

You stood as she reached you, pulling her into a hug that was tighter than expected—tight enough to steal a bit of your breath, but you welcomed it all the same.

“How are you?” she asked, her voice laced with concern and hope all at once.

You pulled back just enough to smile, then glanced over your shoulder at Sylus, who was still lounging in his seat with one arm lifted in a lazy wave.

“Never been better,” you replied, the words easy, true.

Shaiya’s face lit up, her smile blooming wide as she took your hand and gave it a squeeze.

Then the three of you sat, the air light with something like peace.

No ghosts. No ache.

Just the quiet comfort of healing, and how far you’d come.

“Zayne couldn’t come,” Shaiya said, reaching into her bag, “but he asked me to give you this.”

She placed a small box on the table in front of you.

You stared at it, unmoving. First at the box, then up at her, then finally at Sylus.

He met your gaze calmly, offering only a small shrug, as if to say, It’s okay. If you want to open it, do.

With a steadying breath, you lifted the lid.

Your fingers stilled.

Inside was your doctor’s tag.

The one you hadn’t seen since the day you left. The one you were sure had been lost in the shuffle of your quiet escape.

Your breath caught.

Shock flickered across your face, tangled with confusion.

Shaiya’s expression softened. “He said you’d need it. If you’re going away.”

Your eyes lifted to hers again, searching.

She smiled gently. “He had me search your old apartment top to bottom to find it.”

You looked down at the tag again, the weight of it suddenly heavier than its size should allow.

Memories pressed at the edges, but beside you, Sylus reached out under the table, resting his hand on your knee—grounding, steady.

You exhaled.

Not everything had to hurt.

Some things could just be part of the journey you left behind.

And maybe, a small piece of it could come with you as you moved forward.

You understood what he meant.

This was his way of saying goodbye—quietly, gently.

Of apologising, to tell you he’s let go.

There was no letter, no grand parting speech. Just a small, familiar tag. A memory returned, so you could finally move forward without looking back.

You blinked back the emotion gathering in your chest and turned to Shaiya with a soft, grateful smile.

“Thank you,” you whispered.

She only nodded, eyes warm and knowing.

And beside you, Sylus gave your hand a gentle squeeze—no words needed.

You were free now.

And finally, you were ready to be.

—•

Soon, you returned to work.

It felt strange at first—stepping back into that world, but something inside you had settled. Healed.

With your resume and years of experience, the hospital welcomed you without hesitation. Chief surgeon. Yeah, just like that.

You were still wrapping your head around it when Sylus let something slip, far too casually, over dinner.

“I might have made a few calls,” he said, swirling the wine in his glass with a smug tilt of his head.

You narrowed your eyes at him suspiciously.

“You’re full of secrets, aren’t you?” you teased, leaning forward. “First, you lied about your soul mark. Then you decided to casually reveal that you own this city.”

He arched a brow, unbothered.

“Is there more I should know?” you asked, grinning.

He smirked, that signature lazy curl of his lips.

“Oh, probably.”

He leans in close.

“Like how I’m exceptionally good in bed,” he said with a straight face, though his eyes gleamed with mischief.

You didn’t miss a beat. “I know that already.”

He smirked, undeterred. “How I ride bikes?”

You raised a brow. “That too.”

He leaned in closer, grinning now. “Then that means you know everything already.”

You chuckled, resting your chin in your hand as you met his gaze.

“Hardly,” you said, lips curling into a smirk of your own. “You’re an open book with missing pages, Sylus.”

He tilted his head, clearly amused. “Guess you’ll just have to keep reading, won’t you?”

You tilt your head back laughing as he smirks at you.

Your heart felt warm.

There was someone who finally saw you.

And you aren’t ever letting that go.

Soul marks be damned.

That night, as you lay in bed with Sylus, wrapped in the quiet hush of the room, you couldn’t remember a time you’d felt more at peace.

His arm was around you, his chest rising and falling beneath your cheek in a slow, steady rhythm. You listened to the sound of his heartbeat—calm, unwavering—like the world outside couldn’t touch you here.

Then, you felt the soft press of his lips against your wrist.

You let out a quiet chuckle, warmth blooming in your chest. “What are you doing?”

He smiled against your skin, not lifting his head. “Kissing my name,” he murmured, voice low and fond. “The one that’s on my love.”

Your breath caught.

And for a moment, the world disappeared.

Just his voice, his touch, and the way your heart skipped a beat—reminding you that this, here, with him, was real.

Not fate.

Not obligation.

But love.

Chosen, freely and entirely.

“Sy?”

He turned to you instantly, eyes softening the moment they met yours—gentle, steady, like he was always ready to listen when it came to you.

“Yeah?”

You hesitated for only a breath, then reached out, fingers brushing lightly against his cheek.

“I love you,” you whispered.

The words settled in the space between you like they belonged there.

His eyes didn’t widen. He didn’t freeze.

He just smiled. Slow, warm, and so full of something that made your heart ache in the best way.

“I know,” he murmured, voice quiet with affection. “I’ve been waiting to hear that.”

And he pulled you closer—like you were already home.

Perhaps you were.

[chanelrolls]

Love & Deepspace Men reacting to you giving them head while they drive

warnings. mdni, nsfw, explicit content, sexual themes, blowjobs, dick-sucking

pairings. sylus, zayne, rafayel, xavier, caleb (separate) x reader

notes. it's my first time to write a full-blown nsfw piece so please excuse me if it doesn't come as good. anyway, requests are very much open.

SYLUS

Sylus is focused, one hand on the wheel, the other resting against the gear shift—relaxed, poised, in control. Or at least, he was.

You lean in, lips ghosting over his thigh, barely a whisper of contact. At first, there’s no reaction—no sharp inhale, nor a startled twitch. Just the steady, unwavering presence of him, ever composed.

You press another kiss, this time firmer, lingering just a little longer against the fabric of his pants. His grip tightens. "You’re playing a dangerous game, kitten."

His lips curl into a slow, knowing smirk. His leg shifts slightly, as if to subtly press closer to your lips, but before you can take the invitation, his fingers suddenly catch your chin, tilting your face toward him.

He doesn’t look away from the road, but his grip is firm, thumb brushing against your lower lip with deliberate slowness. "If you’re going to test my patience," he murmurs, voice impossibly low, "at least be prepared for what happens when you lose."

"By all means, don't let me stop you," Sylus would purr, a wicked glint in his eyes as he watched you work on his shackles. "In fact, I insist you continue. Show me what that pretty mouth of yours can really do." He'd chuckle darkly, the sound rumbling through his chest.

Sylus would make no move to stop you, instead watching with a critical eye as if evaluating your performance. His breathing would remain steady, his heart rate barely increasing, a testament to his ironclad self-control. He was Sylus, after all. Nothing could ruffle his feathers, least of all a little roadside dalliance.

"Faster," he'd command, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Put your back into it, sweetheart. I know you can do better than that." His fingers would tighten in your hair, guiding your movements, pushing you to take him even deeper. "That's it, just like that."

He'd grip the steering wheel harder, his knuckles turning white as he fought the urge to surge forward, to take over, to claim his pleasure for himself.

And when he can't hold himself back anymore, he forces the tip to rub against your throat, and you wince in response, but he doesn't bugde, no, he keeps you there. "Keep going," He'd say, teasingly rubbing his tip against your throat, not caring about the way that you're already tearing up. "Don't you dare stop now. I want to see you finish what you started."

And then, suddenly—the car swerves. You barely register the motion before he pulls onto a quiet side road, the tires crunching against gravel as he slows to a stop.

Then, finally, he turns to you fully—one hand still on the wheel, the other trailing down your jaw, tracing the line of your throat before gripping the base of your neck. His touch is light, teasing, but there’s an unmistakable warning behind it.

"Congratulations," he murmurs, tilting your face up, "You got my attention."

ZAYNE

Zayne drives with precise, almost mechanical ease. One hand rests on the wheel, the other draped over the console between you.

Your fingers skim along his thigh first, light and teasing, tracing patterns against the fine material of his slacks. He doesn’t react. Instead, he exhales steadily, like someone who anticipated your next move before you even thought to make it.

Lips grazing over the fabric, the warmth of your breath seeping through, so close yet still not quite enough. Then, his fingers flex. "Do you think this is wise?"

A few beats pass in silence, and you almost think he’s going to ignore it completely, let it roll off his shoulders like he does with most things. But then, suddenly, his hand moves.

Not in warning. Not in restraint.

But to press you down. Fingers threading into your hair, keeping you close, firmly and deliberately, like he’s giving you a choice but already knows what you’ll pick.

"You're trying very hard to test me tonight," he murmurs, and now his voice is lower, rougher, something just a touch undone.

And when you finally took him into your mouth, he'd let out a low, sharp inhale through his teeth, his jaw clenching as he fought to maintain control. He'd say your name, voice strained, "we're in the middle of a..." He'd trail off, his words lost in a soft groan as you took him deeper.

Despite his initial surprise, Zayne would make no move to stop you, instead trying to focus on the road ahead. He was a pragmatic man, after all, and he knew the dangers of distracted driving. But damn if your sloppy mouth wasn't making it hard to concentrate.

"Careful," he'd warn, his voice a low rumble. "I don't want to cause an accident." But his words were undercut by the way he rolled his hips slightly, pushing himself deeper into your mouth.

Suddenly, he lets his grip loosen, fingers tracing the nape of your neck before slipping away entirely.

And then—just as quickly—he accelerates. The car surges forward, the sudden force pressing you back against your seat, "That's enough," the air shifting around you as he drives faster, sharper, more reckless than before.

He exhales slowly, smoothing a hand over his tie, regaining that signature poise—but when he finally speaks again, his voice carries that same unshakable authority as always. "Seatbelt on," A small pause, then, "You’ll need it."

RAFAYEL

He’s humming some tune under his breath, something slow. Then, your hand moves first, fingers gliding over the firm muscle of his thigh, innocently enough that he doesn’t react right away. But when your lips followed after, pressing into the fabric of his slacks, his hum falters.

Then stops entirely. For a moment, all you hear is the steady hum of the engine. The way his grip subtly tightens on the wheel. Then—

"You’re a real menace, y’know that?"

His voice is airy, light—like he’s amused, pretending to be unfazed. But you don’t miss the way his breath hitches when you press another kiss, this time dangerously close to the inside of his thigh.

He exhales sharply, tongue swiping over his bottom lip. "Go on," he muses, tilting his head slightly, glowing eyes flicking down at you, and dark with something indulgent. "See what happens, cutie."

You know exactly what will happen. Because Rafayel is all bark until he’s bitten. Until he’s whimpering, breathless, fingers trembling with the effort of keeping control he never really had in the first place.

And when you do press forward, when you start to eat him out, he lets out a sound—soft, bitten off, caught between a laugh and something much filthier.

Rafayel lets out a startled gasp as your lips wrapped around his sensitive cock, his hips jerking forward involuntarily. "H-hey, what do you think you're doing?" as if he didn't challenge you outright.

He tangles his fingers in your hair, not pushing you down, but not pulling you off either, torn between his desire and his stubborn pride. "I never said you could just... just do this, you know," His nose wrinkles in a mixture of annoyance and arousal. "Such a bold little thing, taking what you want without asking..."

But even as he spoke, Rafayel's body betrayed him, his cock twitching and throbbing against your tongue, growing harder by the second. He bites his lip, trying to stifle the moan that threatened to spill out while you swirled your tongue around the sensitive head, lapping up the bead of pre-cum that had already formed at the tip.

"Nngh... y-you're not going to distract me that easily," Rafayel insisted, even as his grip on your hair tightened, his fingers trembling slightly. "I'm not just going to let you... ah! ...just take control like this, without even asking me first!" He tried to sound indignant, all the while rocking his hips to match your movements.

"Y-you're... hah... you're not going to win this way," Rafayel panted, his face flushed and his eyes glazed over with lust. "I won't let you... just... just have your way with me like this..." But even as he spoke, his head fell back against the headrest, his eyes fluttering shut as the pleasure entirely consumed him.

XAVIER

The night stretches long ahead, the road open, the streetlights casting fleeting shadows across Xavier’s sharp profile. His hand rests on the wheel, fingers drumming idly, while the other is perched casually on the gear shift.

Leaning in, you press your lips against the inside of his thigh, soft and fleeting, just enough for him to feel it. Then, his whole body goes rigid.

His foot presses down a little too hard on the gas before he corrects, rolling his shoulders back like it was nothing, like you didn’t just do that.

A muscle in his jaw twitches. "Don’t start." His voice is firm, clipped—but there’s something beneath it, something unraveling at the edges.

You don’t listen. You never do. Another kiss, slower this time, your breath warm against denim.

His fingers tighten around the wheel. "I said—" He stops, inhaling sharply through his nose. A slow, controlled breath—like he’s trying to center himself.

But then he does something unexpected. He shifts in his seat, just slightly—just enough for his thigh to press closer against your lips.

Your lips curl. "Thought you said not to start," you murmur, letting the heat of your breath fan against the fabric of his jeans.

Xavier smiles to glance at you—a short, breathy huff coming out of his lips, almost like he hates that you caught him. "I also told myself I wouldn’t let you get to me."

He keeps driving. Still in control. Still composed. But you can feel it—the tension in his shoulders, the way his body is slowly but surely giving in. "...Keep going," he murmurs, almost absently, like he’s already resigned himself to the inevitable.

He would keep himself unnervingly still and eyes on the road while you lap up his girth, but barely seeing it. "When have you gotten good... at this?"

As Xavier would reach his peak, he'd let out a sharp, hissed intake of breath through clenched teeth, his body going rigid for a moment. He'd rasp, your name a little more than a breathless whisper.

Then, with a sudden, violent jerk of his hips, he'd bury himself deep in your throat, his thick, hot seed erupting forth in thick, heavy spurts.

Xavier's eyes would flutter shut, his head falling back against the headrest as he rode out the intense waves of his climax.

A low, guttural moan would rumble in his chest, a sound of pure, unadulterated pleasure that seemed to echo through the confines of the car. His fingers would tighten in your hair, holding you in place as he emptied himself into your eager mouth, ensuring you took every last drop of his essence

As the final, weak spurts dribbled out, Xavier would slump back in his seat, his chest heaving as he struggled to catch his breath.

A sheen of sweat glistened on his brow, and a faint flush colored his usually pallid cheeks. He'd shoot you a heated look, his eyes half-lidded but intense as they raked over your face. "Swallow it."

CALEB

Caleb would react to a sudden blowjob while driving with a mix of intense arousal and possessive desire lurking beneath the surface.

His eyes would flash with a fierce, hungry light as he glanced down at you, grip tightening on the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white.

"Oh, you're brave, huh?," he'd growl, your name falling from his lips like a dark promise. "You're playing dirty, my love."

Despite his words, he made no move to stop you, and instead of grabbing your hair, his veiny hand finds your nape, holding you in place as you worked over his throbbing cock. "Silly girl, trying to distract me like this..."

Caleb's hips would start to rock, fucking into your hot mouth with a growing sense of urgency. "Fuck, baby, your mouth feels so good," he'd pant, his voice rough and strained with pleasure.

As his climax approached, Caleb's eyes would darken, a fierce, almost manic light burning in their depths. "You're mine, you're... mine." he'd rasp, his voice a dark, dangerous rumble. "Only mine. And I won't let anyone, not even you, take that away from me." He'd tighten his grip on your nape, a touch of pain mingling with the pleasure.

He always had a habit of continuously praising and showering you possessive nothings while reaching for his climax.

With a harsh, animalistic cry, Caleb would reach his peak, his hot seed spurting forth to fill your mouth. "Fuck, yes, take it all!" Even pushing himself deeper to the point you wouldn't be able to breathe anymore.

And after he cums? "I'm not done yet." He pulls over the side of the road, and gets on you. Literally.

[feralkuromi]

I was going to say this is Caleb, but tbh I think it’s a bit of all the LIs

pretty boys whose eyes roll back into their head when you finally touch them. pretty boys who whisper "oh fuck" under their breath. pretty boys who need to be restrained because they can't handle the teasing. pretty boys who forget they're holding their breath and let out little gasps and pants. pretty boys who cry when they get to leak for you.

[misshuntereevee]

The Winner Takes it All, part 1.

( part 2 is out now. )

Synopsis: You look like the MC, and you actually remember bits and pieces of the myth (not all.) But MC finally shows up, with no memory, and Sylus can’t help but be drawn in. What will happen?

Note: I haven’t written anything in like a month so go easy on me 😅 I also am not beta-read, I just need Sylus simping and begging for forgiveness…

—

Two years ago. The little reminder flits across the screen.

But nonetheless, you sit in your shared apartment -- alone with a glass of wine. No missed calls, no texts.

You weren’t sure when it started. Probably the first time he saw her. She looked just like you. You — just like her. You didn’t think anything would shake how Sylus saw you. His princess. But she obviously did. He found himself torn -- were you his sorceress? Or was this woman?

When you do finally get a message from Sylus, it’s enough to make your heart drop. “I’ll be home late. Don’t wait up.”

No mention of the anniversary. Being sneaky, you decide to tap and see where he is. Linkon? Another few tabs and you see the feed of a sidewalk -- with him and Miss Hunter chatting. Your eyes close, your fingers rubbing the bridge of your nose. You feel your hands tighten around the stem of your wine glass until it shatters. You didn’t even feel the glass dig into your skin -- just the blood trickling down your wrist.

She’s wearing your smile. The smile that you give him. And he’s looking at her like she’s you. And as your doppelganger, she’s probably close.

As you treat your wound, you can’t help it. Tears overflow as blood washes out into the porcelain sink.

You’d promised yourself after how your father treated your mother that you’d never let yourself feel this way. Unloved. Don’t get you wrong -- if it had been this once, you probably wouldn’t have cared. But the fact of the matter -- this is the third time. You’d been keeping count.

So you call.

Once. No answer.

Twice. No answer.

By the third unanswered call, your hands tremble. The broken wine glass sits untouched beside you, the clock ticking in mockery. You stare at the phone screen, willing his name to appear, but nothing. Just silence. The kind that suffocates. The kind that makes decisions for you.

“If I’m not your little bird, then fine,” you say, grinding your teeth. You make one more call, this time to your best friend. She answers on the second ring and it’s not long before you’ve made your decision -- you’re leaving.

* * *

He’d call you as soon as he dropped her off.

He promised himself that. And while Sylus had a great memory, he suddenly had a nagging feeling that he was forgetting something. But he ignores the phone in his pocket as he listens to the woman next to him. Miss Hunter.

He can’t lie and say he doesn’t feel the attraction. But what happened? Why was she here if you were too? And which one was his princess? Which one was the one he was bonded to? He’d never had this linkage bond with you -- no, that only happened with this hunter. That…looked exactly like you.

The phone is ringing again, and Miss Hunter tilts her head. “Aren’t you going to answer that? Might be one of your henchmen.” She teases.

So he glances -- seeing your name, his fingers hover over the screen before pushing decline. “It’s not important right now.” And he shoots the simple text: Don’t wait up.

Walking her upstairs, Miss Hunter turns to face him. “Well, thanks for the ride… maybe you aren’t the monster everyone says you are.”

His lips stretch up in a smile. The words make him feel warm -- the way that for the longest time only you could do. “Careful, kitten. I might think you're softening up on me.”

“Never,” is all Miss Hunter says, before disappearing into her apartment.

He’s almost on his motorcycle when he gets another call. He answers it without looking, convinced it’s you again. “Hello, my little bird,” his voice says softly. The familiarity is settling in now that he knows he can talk to you -- something absent with Miss Hunter. In a way, he can recognize that Miss Hunter will never be able to give him that. But he has to know why she’s here. Why does she exist when you’re right there?

But it’s not your voice that replies. “Oh -- no, it’s Luke, boss. I thought you and the Missus were out on your anniversary date. I was calling --”

Sylus’ grip on his handlebars tightens. “What?” he nearly growls. The blood in his veins turns ice-cold. His knuckles go white, the rich and expensive leather groaning under the pressure. His breath catches in his throat, heart slamming against his ribs. He forgot. Fuck, he forgot. The realization crashes into him like a freight train, knocking the air from his lungs.

“Oh, I just saw the date on your calendar --”

“I’ll call you back,” he snarls.

Sylus knows as soon as he gets past the second ring that you aren’t going to pick up the phone. You never let it ring longer than that. But just in case, he waits until you let it go to voicemail. And then he calls again. And again. If he was a normal man, he’d be a little embarrassed to call so much -- but he wasn’t normal and he didn’t care.

By the tenth call, he’s gripping the device tightly. “'Pick up. Please, my little bird. Pick up.” The call goes to voicemail. Again. His chest tightens. He feels it now—the absence of you. And for the first time, he's truly afraid.

And for a moment, he wondered if he’d panic this much if it was Miss Hunter who was upset. Would he be upset if she was mad at him? Finally, he leaves a message: “Little bird, call me please. You know we need to talk about this.”

You’ll call him back with that. He was almost certain. But as he got closer and closer to your shared apartment, it became clear that you weren’t going to call. And all it did was give him time to think. And he came to the conclusion that you had every right to be pissed.

But he had no idea how pissed you were until he unlocked your shared front door -- and it’s all gone.

Not the furniture, no. But your favorite cardigan by the door? Gone. Your mail slot? Your name was ripped off, and only Sylus’ remained. The further he got into the apartment, the more he noticed was gone. Your brush, your blankets. Each missing item was a knife in his heart.

“Little bird?” He called out, holding onto a shred of hope before noticing a note on the bed. His red eyes narrow, stepping softly toward it.

And the words are enough to make him ball the note into a crumbled mess, and throw it against the wall with a snarling yell:

Sylus,

I don’t know how to write this. But as the weeks have passed since you met my doppelganger, I’ve realized there’s really nothing I can do to compete with myself. I thought our history was enough -- but I guess I can’t win against fate. My only wish is you would have let me know before I dug my claws in.

Like you’d know, my dragon, it hurts to pull them back out. And it hurts even more to see the open wound I left -- I am not sure if it will stop bleeding out.

Take care of yourself,

Your Little Bird

Y/N

The words you wrote echo in your voice in his head. He could see the teardrop stains marking the paper. Little scratch marks -- like you hesitated. And he’s hit with the feeling -- maybe if he’d just answered sooner, he could have stopped this.

And -- how stupid could he have been to pay so little attention that he missed your anniversary? And how stupid was he for still feeling conflicted about Miss Hunter?

But the strongest feeling was this: he needed to see you again. The possibility of not seeing you again… that was enough to make him never visit Linkon again.

* * *

It’s been two weeks since you left. You weren’t from the N109 Zone and you weren’t from Linkon -- so he’d crossed that off his list. But you weren’t in your hometown either. Sylus rode his motorcycle through your old stomping grounds -- and it brought him some comfort to be here. In your home -- since you’d fled the one you’d shared together.

His phone rings -- Miss Hunter.

And surprisingly -- he doesn’t answer.

Because a better notification comes up from Luke and Kieran.

“Hey, Boss! We’ve got sightings of Madam over in Brighton,” they say, happy to give him some sort of good news. Because the last few weeks -- Sylus has been downright vicious in his hunt to find you. To tell you sorry.

“Brighton? Interesting. Send me the coordinates,” he says. The location is a cafe. It’s filled with books, magazines-- all your favorites. That part made sense. There’s slight relief in his thoughts. Knowing where you were was better than not knowing. If you were in Brighton, then you were probably safe. Alive. And not under Ever’s thumb somewhere.

You’re safe. That’s what matters. That’s what he keeps telling himself as he watches you laugh at a cashier’s statement —like nothing is wrong, like the past two years meant nothing. You’re alive. You’re fine.

But the longer he looks -- it’s enough to make him murderous.

It’s the cashier you’re speaking with. You’re laughing…you’re happy. ayou hadn’t smiled like that at him since Miss Hunter arrived… Realistically, anyone could say it was innocent, but now --

He should be the one making you laugh. He should be the one paying too. Jealousy doesn’t come easy to Sylus -- but right now -- he’s understanding how you felt the last few weeks with Miss Hunter. But unlike you -- he thinks to himself as he puts the kickstand on his bike down -- he’s not afraid to step in.

If you thought two years would disappear like that -- you’re wrong. And he’ll prove it. (He has to.)

Please like/reblog for part 2! I am not sure how much I love this or not yet, so let me know if you do. Comments are appreciated but not required. 🫶🏻

[bibbysstuff]

Caleb w/ thick/chubby Mc

[slimepuparibaba]

i don't know what those things are but they're cute

(also Mei cameo in the back lez go)

[aly4khq]

⋆｡°✩# VIBRATING SENSATION ?!

⟢ summary: rafayel ALSO torturing you with a vibrator but it's in public!

⟢ pairings: rafayel x reader

⟢ warnings: mdni — vibrating panties, voyerism, rafayel being a freak, carried over his shoulder, alcohol mention!

"Rafayel you sick bastard..." you whispered into the earpiece, letting out a small gasp at the feeling. "Who does such a thing—Hah!—"

You two were currently in a random auction place where one of us artworks were being sold illegally, going for money that Rafayel will never even achieve. In an angry wife's response, you offered to try and get it back, even though Rafayel didn't exactly care about it. That lead to him wanting you to be the best dressed, so he planned out everything — your dress, bra, panties, shoes, hair accessories and jewellery.

Who would know that he had something up his sleeve, or your panties.

"What? Making you squirm? Wriggle? Wanting to touch yourself right there by the bar? Naughty girl, you are."

"I might—mhm— go to the bathroom for a second—"

"No you're not."

Rafayel interrupted, his eyes meeting yours from the table he was sat on, your seat emptied as he tapped the cushioned seat with his long fingers. His eyes telling you a different story, 'I want you here.'

"...But..."

"No buts, sit your little ass down on this table. We'll leave properly after you cum here."

With a scoff, you took your drink before sitting back down, smiling as the people reentered you into the conversation.

Your eyes looked down to see Rafayel's hand holding a small device, you could see his hand hovering over the voltage button, the sensation was on a 4 but it could go up to 16. If this was harder imagine 16...

"You look amazing, miss. Where did you get your dress?" One of the men asked, the whole table turning to you. You went to speak when suddenly, Rafayel upped the voltage to a good 8.

"..U-um...I got the dress from a shop called Bonnie Boutique, down in central. It has great— d-dresses. The price? I-Isn't a problem for me, but it might be for ...others."

That sentence took everyting in you to now moan out, the panties vibrating around your whole pussy, stimulating your clit the most.

"Great!"

"I'll check it out,"

"Thank you, miss."

"Wonderful shop, even I recommend."

Everykne continued to talk yet you couldn't even respond, Rafayel just whispered into the earpiece subtly.

"Don't.Make.A.Sound."

He upped the voltage straight up to 16 as you instantly covered your mouth, your legs shaking as your orgasm came quickly, making you twitch and wriggle in your seat. After the sensation continued even after you came, more and more escaped your cunt.

You held his hand, "Okay okay okayyy! Rafayel I just came please...just lower it—Please!"

You whispered as the people got distracted by the auctioneer. Rafayel just let out a laugh before standing up and carrying you over his shoulder, the hand that was around your thigh rubbing your inner thighs.

"Rafayel..the painting?—"

"I don't care about it, I never did. I want you now. You did a good job, cutie."

date made: 30/3/25

don't steal @aly4khq's work!!

[shaiyasstuff]

red | zayne | prologue to through the fire

synopsis : Fate chose another, but his heart never stopped choosing you.

content : soulmate!au, zayne x reader x sylus, zayne x non-mc!reader, unrequited love, angst (light or not, you decide)

writer’s note : read through the fire heree. Guys I stayed up all night writing this because I’m flying to europe today and I don’t know if I’ll have time to write😭 so have fun reading this guyss

Shaiya

Zayne stared at the name etched into his skin, barely brushing his fingers over the letters as if touching it would somehow make it less real.

Silence crashed around him like a wave. The world dimmed.

No, he thought, chest tightening. It should’ve been her name.

Yours.

He wanted to claw at it, to tear it off and rewrite the universe.

But all he did was stare—still, quiet, unreadable. His face gave nothing away, though his heart was screaming.

You didn’t cry when he told you.

He had expected the silence. Maybe even anger.

But not the way you reached for him, pulling him into a soft embrace as if you were the one offering comfort.

As if you were the one letting go.

You smiled.

And that broke him in ways he couldn’t explain.

He held you too tightly for a moment too long, afraid that if he let go, everything between you would unravel.

Then he forced a smile—calm, polite, practiced. Like he was happy. Like this wasn’t the end of something sacred.

But he wasn’t.

He didn’t love Shaiya—not then. There was no spark, no fireworks when he first saw her in the park.

There was just you.

You, with your quiet steadiness, your silent understanding. You, who noticed every flicker of emotion on his face, even when no one else did. You, who knew how to wait through his silences.

But something kept pulling him back to Shaiya. A whisper in his gut. A gravitational force he couldn’t explain.

So he went.

And when she laughed, something in him stirred. When she smiled, he felt breathless. Her presence, soft and bright, wrapped around him like a tether he hadn’t asked for—but couldn’t ignore.

It wasn’t like with you.

With you, it was slow, quiet, real.

With her, it was sudden—like being caught in a current he couldn’t swim against.

And yet, even as he sat beside Shaiya, laughing at something she said, he couldn’t stop his thoughts from drifting.

Back to you.

Back to the way you smiled without expectation. Back to the warmth of your hug.

Back to everything he was afraid he’d just lost.

—•

“Zayne? You there?”

He jolted upright at the sound of Shaiya’s voice through the phone, pulled sharply from the spiral of thoughts he hadn’t realized he’d fallen into.

He cleared his throat, forcing steadiness into his voice. “Yeah. Sorry—I was signing some reports.”

A lie, smooth and effortless.

Shaiya laughed lightly, the sound soft through the speaker.

“It’s okay.”

Then, after a beat, her tone shifted, quieter. Concerned. “I’m a little worried about Y/N. She’s been… distant lately.”

That made him still. Completely.

“What do you mean?” he asked, voice low. His fingers curled against the edge of the desk.

Shaiya hesitated. “She spaces out sometimes. When I talk to her, she smiles but it doesn’t reach her eyes. I caught her clutching her wrist the other day—I think she might be hurt, but she brushed it off.”

Zayne didn’t hear the rest. Her voice faded under the weight of his thoughts.

How hadn’t he noticed?

You, the one person he thought he always saw clearly. The one whose silences he understood. He’d been so caught in the chaos of his own confusion that he hadn’t seen you unraveling in the quiet.

He swallowed, guilt settling in like a stone. “I’ll talk to her,” he murmured.

“Okay,” Shaiya replied, her voice soft again. “I’m heading to bed now—early shift tomorrow. Don’t forget to eat after yours.”

The line disconnected, and silence bloomed in the space it left behind.

He sat for a moment, staring at nothing. Then he stood.

Before he could talk himself out of it, his feet carried him across the corridor.

He stopped in front of your door. Raised his hand. Hesitated.

Did you have a mark yet?

The thought hit him like a wave.

And somewhere—deep and cruel and honest—a voice inside him whispered that he hoped you didn’t. That maybe, if fate had overlooked you too, you’d still stay.

That you’d still look at him the way you always had.

That he wouldn’t lose you completely.

But even he knew that was selfish.

So he knocked, softly.

No reply.

The door creaked open.

He stepped inside, meaning to call your name, to ask if you were alright—but the words never made it past his lips.

You were asleep, curled up at your desk, your breathing steady. Peaceful.

And then he saw it.

A flash of red ink on your wrist.

His name.

His breath caught.

Everything in him stilled.

This—this wasn’t how it was supposed to go.

His name was on your skin. In red. And he hadn’t even known.

He stumbled back like the air had turned to fire, his legs moving before he could think.

The door slammed behind him as he pressed his back against it, chest rising and falling in erratic waves.

That’s why.

That’s why you’d been pulling away. Why you smiled like it hurt. Why you never said a word.

Because it did hurt.

And all this time, he’d been too blind to see it.

Tears stung his eyes, blurring the fluorescent lights of his office as he clenched his fists at his sides.

You had been burning alone. Crying alone.

And now that he knew—

There was still nothing he could do.

—•

He saw you.

It was late—close to midnight—when he stepped out of his car, bone-tired from another shift.

The streets were quiet, bathed in the soft yellow haze of flickering streetlamps.

And there you were.

Leaving your apartment, coat hastily thrown on, arms folded tightly around yourself like you were holding yourself together.

Zayne froze, half in the shadow of the trees lining the sidewalk.

He meant to call out. Your name was already on the tip of his tongue.

But then he saw your face.

Not just the weariness, but something sharper—something broken.

Sadness. Anger. Resignation.

And suddenly, he couldn’t speak.

Because he knew—

He knew it was because of him.

So he stayed silent.

Just watched.

He followed your steps with his eyes as you crossed the street, your pace slow, unsteady.

The city was quiet around you, but inside, you were a storm. He could see it. He felt it in the way your shoulders sank.

You disappeared into the dim glow of a small pub tucked between closed storefronts.

He didn’t go in.

He stood across the street, leaning against the hood of his car like a coward, watching through the window as you made your way to the bar.

Sluggish. Heavy.

He saw your hand signal the bartender. Saw the first drink vanish. Then the second. Then the third.

His chest tightened with every empty glass.

Because it was his fault.

He was the reason you were unraveling one drink at a time. The reason your mark burned red with his name while he bore someone else’s in black.

Then—

He saw him.

A stranger. Tall. Pale hair that glinted under the bar’s low lighting.

Zayne’s breath caught as he watched the man slide onto the stool beside you, say something with a smile, and slide across a piece of paper.

He saw your smile falter. Saw the pain flicker across your features like lightning.

Saw the way your body flinched, just barely, like a wound had been pressed too hard.

And Zayne saw it all.

Every agonizing detail.

But he didn’t move.

Didn’t cross the street. Didn’t pull open the door.

He couldn’t.

Because what would he say?

What right did he have?

He stood there, paralyzed in the dark, watching you turn away from the man politely, watching you order another drink with trembling fingers.

And he hated himself more with every breath.

—•

Two days later, he stepped into your office.

The door clicked softly behind him, and for a moment, he simply stood there—watching you work, your shoulders tense, eyes tired in that way only he seemed to notice.

He cleared his throat gently. “Long day?”

His voice was calm, casual, as he placed a cup of coffee on your desk like it was just another routine between colleagues.

You looked up and offered him a smile—soft, warm, as if nothing had changed. As if nothing had shattered between you.

“Thanks,” you said quietly, fingers curling around the warmth of the cup.

It hurt.

Because he saw it now—what he’d missed before.

The subtle flinch when your skin brushed the sleeve of your sweater.

The split-second delay in your smile. The way you didn’t quite meet his eyes.

He swallowed. The words slipped out before he could stop them.

“I saw you out. Two nights ago.”

The air shifted.

You stilled for a fraction of a second, but didn’t look away.

He wished he hadn’t said it, but he couldn’t help himself. He wasn’t just worried. He was jealous.

His jaw tightened as he brought his coffee to his lips. “Were you drinking again?”

His voice cracked—just barely—but enough to betray him.

You blinked. Then turned your gaze to the window, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Just needed some air. That’s all.”

And then, as if your body hadn’t yet caught up with your lie, your fingers drifted down, brushing against your wrist—so faintly it would’ve gone unnoticed.

But he saw it.

He always saw you.

He opened his mouth, something sharp and aching rising in his throat.

But he bit it back.

The truth. The apology. The longing.

None of it would fix what fate had done.

So he stepped back.

“Don’t overwork yourself,” he said, turning on his heel before the tremble in his voice could betray him again.

And he walked away.

Because what else could he say?

When it was his name on your wrist.

And someone else’s on his.

—•

A week later, he stood motionless in his office, staring blankly at the floor.

Shaiya’s voice still echoed in his ears.

“She found her soulmate.”

His heart didn’t sink—it clenched. Like something inside him had braced for a blow and still wasn’t ready for the impact.

He didn’t believe it.

Not for a second.

Because he knew you.

Knew the kind of lies people told when they were trying to protect themselves from pain.

Before reason could stop him, his body had already moved. He found himself standing in front of your office again, just like he had so many times before—only now there was something different clinging to the air.

A desperation he couldn’t admit.

He wanted to shake you. To ask why.

Why you were doing this to yourself. To him.

Why you were pretending this didn’t hurt when everything in your eyes told him otherwise.

But he said none of that.

Instead, he knocked gently and stepped in.

You looked up at him, and for a moment he forgot how to breathe.

Because you smiled. Small. Warm.

As if nothing had changed.

As if it didn’t ache.

And that only made it worse.

“I heard from Shaiya,” he said, voice low, too even. “You found him?”

You nodded, the gesture soft, almost apologetic. “Yeah.”

His mouth parted slightly, like there was something he needed to say—but the words caught halfway.

“That’s… good,” he said finally. But the pause before the word good was a wound all on its own.

It hung in the air. Heavy.

And it wasn’t joy that colored his tone. Not even relief.

There was something else.

You blinked, startled by the hollowness of it. “Is everything okay?”

Zayne looked at you, long and quiet, his gaze searching your face like it held an answer to something he couldn’t name.

Then, slowly, the mask returned.

A neutral expression. The kind he wore in operating rooms. In grief.

“Yes,” he replied, forcing the edges of his mouth to lift. “I’m just… glad for you.”

But even you could hear it.

The tremor beneath the stillness. The way glad didn’t quite land.

Silence stretched.

Zayne looked away for a moment, then back—eyes flickering with something raw, something not yet buried deep enough.

And still—he said nothing.

Because what could he say, when it was his name on your skin—

And someone else’s story you were trying to live?

When Zayne stepped out of your office, his chest tight and throat dry, he nearly walked past him—

The man from the bar.

Tall, silver-haired, with that same calm presence that had unsettled him days ago.

This time, he stood waiting. Expecting him.

“I’m Sylus,” the man said coolly, offering nothing more than his name—because he knew it was enough.

Zayne stopped mid-stride.

His eyes widened for a brief second before narrowing into something colder. His fists clenched at his sides, knuckles white.

He remembered that night.

The flash of your pain. The way Sylus had leaned in, close but careful, like he knew exactly how much space to take.

Zayne’s jaw tightened.

“Take care of her,” he said, voice sharp but restrained. Controlled. Like a blade held at the throat but never pressed in.

Then he turned without waiting for a reply, shoulders stiff, the weight of what he couldn’t say trailing behind him like a shadow.

But if he had stayed just a second longer—

He would’ve seen it.

The slow, knowing smirk tugging at Sylus’s lips.

Not arrogant, not mocking—just assured.

A look that said he would.

And maybe even more than that—

That he already was.

—•

The hospital hallway was quiet at this hour—just the faint hum of fluorescent lights and the echo of distant footsteps.

Zayne stood alone in the on-call room, the door shut behind him, the walls far too close.

He leaned against the locker, head tipped back, eyes closed.

But the silence wasn’t peace.

It was suffocating.

She found someone.

She said she found her soulmate.

The words circled in his mind like vultures, tearing into the edges of his restraint.

He clenched his fists, breathing slow—too slow, like he was trying to stay afloat in his own chest.

Sylus.

The name had weight now. It wasn’t just a stranger from the bar anymore—it was someone you had chosen. Someone who made you smile, even through the ache.

Someone who could stand beside you without carrying the guilt Zayne did.

His hand lifted without thinking, pressing to his chest like he could calm the sharp, twisting ache there.

He didn’t understand it.

Why did the mark choose Shaiya?

Why not her?

Why not you?

Because if the universe had any sense of justice, it would’ve branded your name into his skin.

Not someone else’s.

Not someone he had to learn to care about.

Not someone who wasn’t you.

Zayne sank onto the bench, elbows on his knees, fingers tangled in his hair.

His shoulders hunched in on himself, like the weight of everything was finally catching up.

All the moments he’d brushed aside.

The quiet hurt in your eyes.

The way you smiled like you were trying to protect him.

He remembered the night he saw you drinking, the way you flinched when Sylus got too close, the pain you thought no one saw.

And he had done nothing.

He had stood there, watching.

Helpless.

His name was on your wrist. In red.

And it didn’t matter.

Because fate had already played its cruel joke—and he had laughed along with it, pretending he could live with it. Pretending he was fine.

But he wasn’t.

He had spent so long mastering silence, mastering stillness—he didn’t know how to fight for something that wasn’t supposed to be his.

His breath trembled, a rare crack in the mask he wore even when no one was watching.

He wanted to scream.

To demand answers from whatever force had decided this was how the story would end.

But all he could do was sit there.

In a quiet room.

With your name echoing like a phantom in his chest.

And nothing he could do to make you stay.

[meinii]

“I love you”

summary: Sylus loves you, and he was ready to tell you… but it seemed to never be the right time ໒꒰ྀི ੭-ࡇ-꒱ྀི੭

content: fluff, mentions of food

୨୧･｡｡･♡･∴･♡･｡｡･୨୧

Sylus had never been the kind of man to hesitate. ruthlessness, precision, and control—these things came naturally to him. he could break a man with a word, send empires crumbling with a command, and yet…

three simple words had him struggling

“I love you.”

he had never said them before. never needed to. but with you, he wanted to. he needed to

he just… couldn’t.

the first time he tried, you were curled up beside him on the couch, watching some movie he wasn’t even paying attention to. your head rested against his shoulder, his arm lazily draped around you, fingers tracing absentminded patterns along your wrist. you were warm. soft. comforting in a way he didn’t know how to describe

the words pressed against his throat. all he had to do was say them. three words. three stupid, simple words

he opened his mouth—

“do you want more popcorn?” you asked, sitting up slightly

he closed it. inhaled through his nose. forced a smirk “tch, i don’t eat that cheap stuff”

you rolled your eyes “liar. you had a whole handful ten minutes ago”

“that was different”

you snorted, throwing a piece of popcorn at him. he caught it between his fingers, flicked it back at you, and just like that, the moment was gone.

the second time, you were half-asleep in his bed, tangled up in the sheets with one of his hoodies drowning your frame. he watched you, his fingers brushing over your cheek, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear

the words sat heavy on his tongue

“I love—”

you made a soft sound, shifting slightly “mm… Sylus?”

he swallowed hard “yeah?”

“stop staring. creepy.”

he huffed a quiet laugh, pressing a kiss to your temple instead. you drifted back to sleep within seconds, and he exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair

what the hell was wrong with him?

the third time, he almost had it

you were sitting on the balcony, the night breeze ruffling your hair as you gazed out over the city. he stood behind you, leaning against the railing, watching the way the neon lights reflected in your eyes

“I love y—”

“hey,” you interrupted, turning to look at him “why do you keep staring at me lately?”

he stiffened “what?”

“you just seem like… you wanna say something. but you don’t”

Sylus clicked his tongue, forcing his usual smirk

“maybe I just like watching you”

your brows furrowed slightly, but then you smiled, shaking your head

“you’re weird”

he watched as you turned back toward the skyline, his hands curling into fists

coward.

he didn’t get another chance

because the next time, you beat him to it

you were both in the kitchen, doing absolutely nothing special. he was leaning against the counter, watching you stir your coffee, and you just… said it

“I love you, Sylus”

just like that. so casually. so effortlessly.

his brain short-circuited

you blinked at him, waiting. then, slowly, a frown crept onto your face. “…Sylus?”

he swallowed, gripping the edge of the counter. he had waited so damn long to say it first, and now you had stolen the moment right out from under him

his expression must’ve given him away, because you suddenly broke into laughter

“oh my god were you trying to say it first?”

his eye twitched

you covered your mouth, still giggling. “I can’t believe you’re actually pouting about this. you’re so cute”

his scowl deepened “shut up”

“no, really, it’s adorable. the big bad Sylus, all sulky because I said it first”

he groaned, dragging a hand down his face “this is a disaster”

you stepped closer, resting your hands against his chest “hey,” you murmured, smile softening

“it doesn’t matter who said it first, you know. you don’t have to force it. just say it when you’re ready”

he exhaled slowly, eyes dropping to yours. something in his chest squeezed tight, and finally

“I love you”

you beamed “see? that wasn’t so hard”

he sighed, tugging you forward, burying his face against your shoulder “shut up”

but he was smiling

[nakedinthetrees]

HEY SO OH MY GAWD???💀💀😳

I love that everyone just agrees Caleb is a panty sniffer

Art by @Evil_fishie on twitter

[syluxs]

shower for two

pairing: sylus/reader

summary: showering together for the first time, you expected something intense--overflowing tension, something unmistakably heated. but instead, it was easy, playful. sylus has proved once again that he wasn’t like other men, washing your hair like it was the most natural thing in the world

notes: pure fluff i wanna combust

honestly, you had expected this to be….. intense. awkward. full of charged tension. after all, seeing each other naked during that time was different--there was an urgency, a purpose. there was an unspoken heat that left no room for hesitation.

but showering together?

you were both level-headed, fully aware, with nothing to hide behind. that made it feel almost too different. also, it was a me time thing for you back then. a moment of solitude. a time to think, to let your mind wander, to just be in the calm. it wasn’t supposed to be shared--at least, not with anyone else before you started dating sylus. this was yours, something personal, something just for you.

yet here you were.

sylus was completely unfazed. with an ease that only he could pull off, he took off his towel and neatly hung it up--because of course he would. he wasn’t some unhygienic guy who would just let it drop onto the floor.

your eyes widened at his action, mouth parted slightly in shock at him being so casual abt this.

he noticed, of course, and let out a deep chuckle, clearly amused by your reaction.

"really?" he teased, tilting his head at you. "it's nothing you haven't seen before."

you frowned at him, determined not to give him the satisfaction of seeing you flustered. slowly, deliberately, you removed your own towel--though far less smoothly than he had--and awkwardly hung it up, mirroring his movements like some kind of hesitant, poor attempt at composure.

you stood there for a moment, shifting uncomfortably, as if trying make yourself invisible. your posture was stiff, like you weren’t sure what to do with yourself.

finally, after a deep breath, you hesitantly stepped toward the shower, trying to make yourself seem as small as possible.

sylus immediately noticed your unusual sheepishness. instead of teasing, he simply let out a soft chuckle and, like it was the most natural thing to say, he said, "why are you hiding, kitten? you're beautiful, you know that."

your entire body tensed. it was such a casual compliment, but it hit you like a tidal wave. you could feel ur stomach making all sorts of movements, heat rising to your face as you struggled to keep your composure.

maybe this was just the honeymoon phase, since you had only recently started dating. but still, it had always been like this with sylus, even before you were together. the feelings were always intense, ready to swallow you whole.

he reached out and turned on the shower, letting the water heat up before stepping under the stream. you watched as he tilted his head back, running a hand through his wet white hair, his red eyes momentarily closing as he let out a deep, satisfied sigh. the sight made your heart do an embarrassing little skip. his toned muscles stood out under the bathroom light, water running over the sharp lines of his broad shoulders, down the contours of his chest. with his hair pushed back, his sharp, handsome features were on full display--something you tried so hard not to openly admire.

instead of making a snarky comment or throwing a teasing smirk on at how shy you were acting, like you expected from the dynamics where you two started out, even before dating, he just… hummed. content. relaxed.

"water’s nice," he murmured. "you getting in or just gonna stand there and stare?"

you scoffed, stepping in. "not staring. just mentally preparing myself."

"for what?" his lips twitched. "afraid you’ll get overwhelmed by my beauty?"

"more like bracing myself for the ego explosion."

sylus chuckled, stepping aside to let you under the stream. the warm water cascaded over you, washing away any lingering awkwardness. for a moment, you stood there, eyes closed, enjoying the sensation.

then--

"hey, move," you grumbled, nudging his side when he took up way too much space. "you’re hogging the water."

"i am the taller one here," he pointed out. "makes sense i take up more space."

"that’s not how this works," you huffed, shoving at his arm. "equal shower rights. scoot."

he let out a dramatic sigh but shifted over, giving you a bit more room. but just as you started shampooing your hair, you felt a hand on your head.

you blinked up at him. "what are you doing?"

"saving time." he said as he lathered the shampoo into your hair.

you narrowed your eyes. "this is suspiciously nice of you. are you planning something?"

"do i need a reason to do this?” he smirked. "besides, your height makes it easier for me to reach."

"maybe you're enjoying this a bit too much."

"maybe," he admitted, fingers massaging your scalp in slow, deliberate movements.

you almost melted on the spot. okay, maybe sharing a shower wasn’t that bad. in fact, it was actually kind of….. nice. relaxing.

but, of course, sylus couldn’t resist being sylus.

"you look like a wet cat right now."

"oh my gosh, get out." you playfully pushed at him, but he barely budged, his laughter only growing.

sylus was completely unbothered as he grabbed some soap and turned you around. "stay still," he muttered, running his hands over your back with gentle efficiency. his touch was firm but careful, working in slow, methodical circles as he scrubbed away the suds.

honestly, with how most men were, you expected this to have some kind of tension, maybe even turn into something intense, something undeniably charged with anticipation. but it wasn’t. not even close. and you felt so good about that, because once again, sylus had proven he wasn’t like other men. damn.

you huffed but let him, feeling oddly pampered.

when he finished, you grabbed the soap and grinned up at him. "your turn."

sylus raised a brow but turned around, giving you access to his broad back. you dragged the soap along his toned muscles, biting back a laugh at the contrast of how nonchalant he had been about touching you versus how stiff he got when you did the same.

then, unable to resist, you playfully smacked his ass.

he jolted, nearly slipping. "what was that for?"

"couldn’t help myself," you grinned. "prime, golden opportunity."

his ears turned red, and for the first time since you stepped in, he looked flustered. “you're unbelievable.”

"aww, don’t be shy, kitten," you teased, mimicking his earlier words.

sylus groaned, covering his face with one hand. "i regret everything."

he may have said that, but he didn’t mean it. not even a little. the way his lips twitched, the way his red eyes softened when he looked at you--it was obvious. no matter how much you exasperated him, he wouldn’t have it any other way.