Beacons

“I have a hit list,” he says, his voice low with a terrifying calm. You can feel the restrained anger beneath it. A sharp dark tone he almost never uses on you.

“You do?” You tilt your head, a faint, unbothered smile touching your lips as you put down your glass of water. “Tell me more.”

“It appears I don't need to tell you anything at all,” he steps closer. There is a dangerous focus in his eyes. “The list has been rapidly cleared over the last few months. Target by target. Quietly… and efficiently.”

“Hmm.” You track his movement, keeping your posture relaxed. “How strange.”

“There is no trace left behind.” Rafayel continues, stopping right in front of you. He leans in, placing a hand on the kitchen counter on either side of you, trapping you against it. “But I did manage to find one common thread linking to every single one…”

“You—”

“—Me.”

Both of your voices overlap in the quiet room.

You smile up at his intense and dark expression, entirely unfazed by the threat radiating off him. “Jinx.”

Rafayel closes his eyes for a fraction of a second, letting out a harsh strained breath. When he opens them again, the anger cracks, revealing the raw, agonizing frustration underneath.

“…Why?” he whispers, his knuckles turning white against the marble counter. “Why would you do that?”

You look up at him, your smile soft and lovely.

“You are an artist, Rafayel,” you reach up to rest your hand over his clenching jaw. “...Blood on your hands doesn't suit you.”

His breath hitches at your touch, his gaze trembling slightly as he leans into your palm despite himself.

“…Neither does it suit you,” he murmurs, his voice cracking with a fierce and helpless pain.

You pause, the heaviness of his words hanging between you for a heartbeat. But you don't back down. Your fingers gently caress his cheek before slipping down to rest over his heart, feeling it beating against your hand.

“You are asking the wrong question, Rafayel.”

He stares down at you, caught in the trap of your devoted gaze.

“The right question is… what am I willing to do for you?” You lean in slightly, whispering, as if sharing a secret, your voice dripping with a slow molasses sweetness. “And the answer is… a lot.”

He tilts his head slightly. “Pixel art,” he begins, “is restraint. Every single square matters. You don’t blend, you decide. Color by color, pixel by pixel. It demands patience… precision… and a rather stubborn kind of vision. You cannot hide behind softness or flourish. If it’s wrong, it’s obviously wrong. Artists who excel at it… tend to think like strategists. Or architects.” His gaze flicks back to you.

“Now, digital painting…” He exhales softly, almost amused. “That is where instinct breathes. You can layer, blend, erase, reshape… like waves reshaping the shore. It allows emotion to spill through more freely. Light, texture, atmosphere… it’s far more forgiving, but also deceptively so.” He leans forward just slightly. “Because freedom,” he adds quietly, “can make you careless.”

“If you lack fundamentals, digital art will expose you just as mercilessly… only more subtly.” He taps the brush against the table once. “So which is better?” A soft chuckle slips out. “Neither. That’s a question beginners ask when they’re afraid of choosing.”

Passing you in the hall, “Can I stop by your class later?”

“So, Miss, when are you gonna let me paint you, hm?”

Leaning in close to you in one of the faculty offices, whispering, “You look cute today, Miss.”

All of which happened, over and over, long before you finally found yourselves stumbling into his office, ripping each other’s clothes off to explore every single inch of one another’s bodies.

Sat on his desk completely bare with your legs spread, “We r-really shouldn’t be doing t-this—ngh—s-shit.”

“Hm, why cutie?” His lips land on your inner thigh, his index and middle finger slowly pushing into your entrance, “It’s not like you’re my student or I’m yours...”

“Y-yeah, but—” you whine when his fingers are inside you completely, a slight curl upward, “oh m-my god…”

“But, what?” He starts to pump his fingers in and out, delicate and smooth, “Shh, you’re so pretty—being so good for me.”

You gasp, your fingers coiling around the edge of his desk for support, “And i-if we—nngh—get caught?”

He brings his mouth straight to your dripping cunt, hovering directly over your clit while his fingers continue to work you, “We won’t. Promise.”

All of those “little” comments—and lingering, burning gazes—built up over months, with the added coffee or pastry brought to you before your class started, left you here.

***

Why you ever agreed to this was absolutely beyond your comprehension. He was persuasive, very persuasive—to say the least. He promised he wouldn’t actually use it. However, even you weren’t naive to that particular glint in his eyes that you let you know he was lying. That lie excited you—so you agreed.

In recent weeks, you spent way too many mornings rushing out from his house to get to work on time. But this morning… This morning, after he made you cum numerous times, he then got down onto his knees, pushing a small oval-shaped vibrator into your already spent and leaking cunt.

“Raf—h-hurry up—I’m gonna be late—I-I—” He slows his pace, leaving teasing kisses along your slit until the toy is buried inside you completely.

“But…you’re just sooo pretty. Gonna be good for me today, hm? Don’t wanna make me use this—” he picks up the small remote by his side, “do you?”

You bite your bottom lip hard, peering down at him and shaking your head no. After using his other hand to spread your slit with his fingers to get a good look, he looks back up at you, “Oh? No, you’re not gonna be good for me? Or no, you wanna make me use this, hm?”

“No—n-no. I’ll be good, I swear. P-please, don’t use i-it.” Holding your slit spread with his fingers, his tongue grazes over your exposed clit and you whine loudly, still so sensitive from before.

He groans, licking you once more, “God, but you’re just so perfect. It’ll be sooo hard not to. I can see it now…”

You moan, a tremble already returning to your thighs, “R-Raf—”

He practically bats his lashes at you, cooing, “What about right now, hm? Before you go…”

“I c-can’t—we already—I’m g-gonna be—” with a simple click from his thumb on the remote, the toy starts vibrating, your walls immediately twitching and clenching around it at the feel of its subtle vibration, “Nngh!”

“So…pretty…” He drops the remote, both of his hands immediately gripping your thighs and holding you apart so he can suck on your clit.

He was sure to make you cum at least once more before you left—that much, came easy…literally.

Whether the toy was on or not, you were soaked all fucking day, your panties sticking and clinging to you as you squeezed your thighs together, which only prompted you to frequently recollect this morning. The fact that is was there, waiting under the threat of being used, made your cunt clench around it, over…and over. All. Day.

***

Toward the tail end of your last lecture for the day, your face falls mid-sentence at the feeling of a low vibration deep inside your cunt. That. Fucking. Asshole.

After struggling your way through your last few reminders, staying as calm as you are able, “Class— …dismissed!” With only a few brow raises around the room, when your students start shuffling out, you immediately sit down, trying to focus all of your attention on your desktop—hoping and praying there are no end-of-class questions. By the grace of all that is good, you receive none.

Once everyone is gone, Rafayel does a slow clap as he walks in, “Bravo, bravo, cutie.”

You snap your head toward the sound of his voice, your hands gripping the edge of your desk, “Y-you—!”

He tsks, walking closer to you, “Ah, ah. I mean what I said. You did a very good job.” 

With his left hand in his pocket, the closer he gets the vibration only gets stronger, “Mm—ngh—s-stop—holy s-shit—the d-door is still—”

He raises his brows, the pace of the vibration stabilizing—for now, “Open? Mhm. You should stay quiet, then.”

You whine, trying your very hardest to keep your voice down, “Rafayel—!”

He places his free hand on the edge of your desk, smirking down at you in your chair, “That’s Professor to you, Miss.”

You scowl at him, but your face can’t hold the expression long as your lips part and your burrows furrow, “We’re both—gah—mmmph—you asshole—ngh!”

His voice is a coo, drinking in each twitch of your expression, “So gorgeous…” When you let a quiet moan slip, he cocks a brow at you, “Are you gonna cum at your desk, hm?”

“P-please—h-holy fuck—” You tilt back into your chair, trying to squeeze your legs together to no avail.

Leaning in toward you, his right hand on your desk and his left still in his pocket, his look is beyond devious, “So naughty, what if someone were to walk in, huh?”

“Y-you—”

The vibration gets stronger, again, “Shh, be a good girl and keep your voice down.” He grins when your eyes close as you bite your bottom lip, “That’s it…”

Your eyes snap back open, “Raf!” You lean forward and snatch the end of his tie, drawing his face toward yours in desperation.

He tsks again, shaking his head, “Quiet. You can do it, cutie. You did so well while teaching your class. You can handle it, hm?” While staring down at your lips, “Now, the whole room is empty—just us.”

Quickly losing your ability to fight it for much longer, you gaze back at his own lips—his smirk—visualizing the look of him this morning, “F-fuck—nngh—”

His lips inch toward yours, “Mmhm, good gi—”

At the end of the room by the door, a voice breaks the tension and immediately makes you come back down to earth and silences Rafayel, “Miss? Oh—!” You instantly let go of his tie and he stands up straight, cocking his head back and to the side as you both look over.

“U-um—” thankfully, from his hand in his pocket, the device clicks off, “s-sorry, he was—”

He interrupts you, standing up straighter and using his teacherly tone, “Helping her navigate some documents on her desktop. Did you need something?”

“O-oh, um, I was just going to ask Miss when the study guide would be posted.”

“This weekend! Mhm, probably Fri—” he glances at you, his eyes widening slightly—he is taking you out this Friday, “Saturday. On Saturday.”

The student smiles, “Great, thanks! See you next week!”

“Of course, see you then.” You let out the deepest sigh when they turn around to leave.

As soon as the student steps out completely, you snatch his tie and draw him straight back down to your face. After an initial eyebrow raise, he grins, “Go close. That. Fucking. Door.”

“Yes, Miss,” he pulls his tie out from your grasp with his right hand, turning away and walking toward the door, “whatever you say.” From within his pocket once again, the device turns back on.

“Y-you—!” He closes the door all right, but only with him on the other side of it. You eek out a whine, “Raf!”

“Oh my god—” You know he’s staying at least relatively close by, the connection from device to remote not that strong. “That f-fucking—mmmph—nngh!”

You press your forehead down against the edge of your desk, gasping and squirming in your seat. You nearly shriek when you feel the vibration get just one notch stronger from the place it last left off. “O-oh—fuck—I’m gonna kill—nngh!” You squeeze your thighs together and bite your palm, mewling into your hand as you cum violently.

Just as you’re panting, still a hefty tremble in your thighs, your phone vibrates from a text message.

Rafayel: cum see me in my office cutie

"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.

***

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, an orange ball of fur called Caramel, hopped onto the desk and sat on your notes.

"Not now," you hissed, nudging him away. Caramel 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.

Caramel 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.

You crossed your fingers. "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, baby," you whispered to the screen. “Miss me?”

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, the one whose rare, genuine smile felt like a secret just for you.

You clicked the "Date" tab. 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 unlocked. 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.

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.

"I see someone’s up," 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, one that had your heartbeat accelerating, the hairs on the back of your neck standing upright, your palms clammy, your thoughts all mushed up. Just what the hell was going on?

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, lingering a moment longer than it needed to.

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. Ahead of you, where Sylus was walking, still carrying you like you weighed nothing, stood a glorious mansion adorned with intricate details, sculptures, gardens punctuated with red roses.

Sylus followed your gaze. "Ah. You've noticed our destination." He let you down, setting you carefully on your feet. "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, once perfectly comfortable in your bedroom, now felt flimsy as tissue paper.

"You're shaking," Sylus observed without breaking stride, his thumb finding 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’d rather my fictional characters 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. "Your?"

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 gaze you couldn't quite discern. This dream, or whatever it was, 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. But that wouldn’t make sense, right?

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.

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 brushing yours as he reached past you to tap the glass. "No. Some things are just for me."

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 favourite fictional character. He was just your type. You'd spent hours reading his fanfictions, replaying his memories, poring over his fanart. But this? This was incomprehensible. Was this dangerous, or exciting? Were you 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 or something? ‘Cus this does not feel like a dream at all."

Sylus studied you for a long moment, his crimson eyes unreadable. Then, with deliberate slowness, he 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, as if taking in your every word. "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.

"Okay." You closed the book slowly, gathering yourself. "I get it. You made this, all of this, for me." You gestured vaguely at the shelves towering around you. "But why? I'm so confused. How do you even know me? Like, actually know me. Not the version of me that logs in for fifteen minutes between classes."

Sylus stared you for a long moment, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes. "That's the question you should have led with."

"That's not an answer."

"No," he agreed. "It isn't."

He stepped closer, close enough that you had to tilt your head back to hold his gaze. "But I'll give you this much." His voice dropped, quieter, stripped of its usual teasing edge. "I don't hide my affections. I'm smitten with youm, have been for longer than you'd believe. You're all I've ever known that felt worth knowing."

Your breath caught. "That's not an answer either."

"No," he said again, the smirk returning, softer this time. "But it's true. The rest, you'll have to earn."

You looked away first, your cheeks heating up under his gaze. You didn't know what to say to that, didn't know where to put your hands or your eyes or the strange, fluttering thing lodged in your chest. He'd just said it so plainly, like it cost him nothing to hand over, while you stood there fumbling for words that refused to come. He was so unfairly expressive, so sure of what he felt and unbothered by saying it out loud, and you were just... clueless. Overwhelmed. Out of your depth in a library that shouldn't exist, standing in front of a man who apparently knew exactly what he wanted.

"I–" You cleared your throat, staring very intently at the spine of the nearest book instead of at him. "That's a lot to just... say."

"Is it?" Something in his tone suggested he found your fluster more amusing than he'd admit.

it was a stupid idea, right? 

sending a casual text to sylus besides something like “i’m on my way!” on a random weekday felt wrong. 

you had cleaned blood off of each other, for god’s sake. 

and trying to text flirt? how were you supposed to flirt with someone over the phone who already connected with you on a soul level?

it’s not that he didn’t text you. he often did while he was away on missions. and he definitely flirted. 

but you really missed him, and something along the lines of “what are you up to?” didn’t seem like it was going to get you what you wanted. 

so your message remained typed, your finger hovering over the send button as you contemplated every possible response he could send with growing anxiety. 

you squeezed your eyes shut and tapped the button before you lost your nerve. 

you: hey mr. boss-man, i’m trying to switch up my workout routine and was wondering if you’d tell me yours? 👀

you felt so embarrassed. you’d never even talked about his workout routine, but he clearly spent a lot of time in the gym. 

your phone buzzed. 

sylus: sure, kitten. but it might be easier to show you.

blinking in disbelief, you replied. 

you: show me? how? aren’t you on a mission somewhere right now? 

he sent another message, and your jaw dropped. 

it was an image. 

a mirror selfie of him in front of a weight rack. in an impossibly tight tank top. phone held dangerously low. 

the angle made him look enormous (he was.) the dim lighting made his eyes glimmer a deeper, sultrier red, and the corner of his lips were upturned in that perfect half-smirk. 

and his muscles… good god. he was perfectly drenched in sweat, and now you were perfectly drenched down- 

your phone buzzed again. 

sylus: no more questions? 

you scrambled to type.

you: nonono sorry I was uhhh

you sent the message and punched a few more letters to appear like you were typing… 

and then another image appeared. 

this angle showed off the back of his incredibly built shoulders, back… and his large, wrapped hand curling around his phone. 

bzzz!

sylus: are you drooling, kitten? 

you let out a strangled laugh, face heating as you remembered to keep typing. 

you: HOW DID YOU- (sent) 

I MEAN (sent)

no… 

you were slower to send the last message. 

sylus: really? care to explain why you were typing for so long, then? 

you took a deep breath, remembering why you texted him in the first place. 

you: i was just thinking that my timing is perfect!! you’re already working out! buuut pictures might be a lot of work if you’re gonna show me the whole workout… 

sylus: they aren’t too much trouble. I promise. 

you: well… how am i supposed to see the workout moves if you’re still? 🧐

he took a minute to respond. 

sylus: ahhh. you’d like a demonstration. 

you bit your lip, waiting to see what he’d send next. 

he’d sent you a few pictures before. one of a kitten plushie once, an antique gun another time, even a picture of him wearing some new sunglasses in one surprising instance… but never anything like this. 

bzzzz!

your heart raced as you opened the message. 

it was a video. 

you pressed play. 

sylus’s phone rested on the ground, likely propped against a wall, and he dropped to his knees in front of the camera. 

your eyes widened at the close up of his sculpted thighs in gym shorts, but you were only allowed a glimpse before he dropped to his hands and started doing push-ups. 

he did 20.. 40? who knew, it was probably 1,000 reps… you’d honestly stopped counting after 3, entirely transfixed on the way his muscles shifted and skin gleamed with each dip to the mat. 

and his deep, heavy breathing… your thighs squeezed together. 

you found yourself scoffing when he picked up the phone, ruining your view- until you realized you had an excellent view of his chest. 

but that, too, proved to be fleeting, because he set his phone down in favor of some dumbbells to start curling. 

his biceps flexed with each curl, his chin tipped back, allowing you a very personal view of the sweat dripping down his neck and chest. 

you groaned. 

and then he was picking up the phone again, ending the video with a wink that made your stomach flip. 

sylus: I hope this is helpful. 

you: VERY 🙂‍↕️ thank you… 

sylus: any another questions, sweetie? or perhaps a request? 

you were absolutely out of your mind, but your dopamine was high, so you took advantage of it. 

you: yeah, actually. i’m so sorry… i was actually wanting to learn some more ab exercises. got any good ones ??

a few minutes passed, and you were suddenly nervous again. did you finally cross a line? 

bzzz!

you opened a second video. 

he’d managed to set up the phone near his feet, the angle sloping downward to capture his movement as he began doing sit-ups at an incline. 

you swore his camera work had never been so good, because you could count the outline of all 4…6… 8!? of his abs through his form-fitting shirt from how perfect the angle was. 

you also caught a glimpse of pale skin peeking out as his shirt rode up, and then deep lines that cut into a perfect v-shape from his waist down past the waistline of his shorts…

oops. you were actually drooling now. 

did he really have no idea what he was doing to you? 

the groan that slipped past his lips as he finished the set suggested otherwise. 

he sent another message. 

sylus: I’m about to finish up. did that video show you what you wanted? 

he was insufferable. and you loved it. 

you: mmhmmmm! very informative

you sent it, bit your lip, and decided to keep pushing your luck. 

you: you might wanna ditch the shirt though. seemed like it was starting to get in the way 

a minute passed. then another. 

sylus: thanks, kitten. I’ll keep that in mind. 

you frowned, slightly disappointed that he didn’t send another picture. 

you: soooo what about leg workouts? ☹️

sylus: unfortunately, I won’t be able to show you any today. 

your frown deepened, but you tried to ignore it. he was a busy man. he probably just didn’t have time to keep talking to you… 

another message appeared. 

sylus: in fact, it would probably be best if you joined me for training when I get back. that way I can show you all of the moves in detail. 

a small smile lit your face. 

you: that sounds great 😊

sylus: good. it’s settled, then. 

you were about to set down your phone for the evening, a foolish smile plastered on your face, when your phone lit up. 

sylus: you should text me more often, kitten.

you: oh yeah? i guess my timing really is excellent 

sylus: I agree. 

and then he sent another image. 

luckily, you were already laying down, because otherwise you might have fainted. 

he had ditched the shirt. 

you ogled for precisely 3 minutes before remembering to send a response. 

you: … i’m gonna to have some gooood dreams tonight 

sylus: going to bed already? 

you: yeah, i have work in the morning 😭 i should try and get some sleep 

sylus: hmm. are you sure? I’m about to take a shower. 

your jaw dropped. was he- no… seriously…?

you typed a message very slowly before finally deciding to tap the send button. 

you: are you telling me that because you’re offering to send more pictures… orrr… 

you clicked the screen off before he could respond, too nervous to see if he had started typing. 

a few minutes passed.

then your phone buzzed. 

your entire body flooded with heat as you read the message. 

sylus: only if you say please, kitten. 

you didn’t go to sleep for a long time. 

dividers by @uzmacchiato

XAVIER (word count: 133)

You and Xavier spent most of the night playing video games, and by the time you're done, you decide to just stay over at his place.

You always wake up before he does, so you quietly head to the kitchen to make breakfast for the two of you.

Still half-asleep, you absentmindedly open the bathroom door.

There stands Xavier.

Completely naked.

He looks at you, eyes widening ever so slightly, a faint blush dusting his cheeks. Otherwise, he seems remarkably calm as your gaze lingers on his body.

“Is this what they call a sleeper build?” you muse aloud.

A smile tugs at the corners of Xavier's lips.

“Like what you see?”

Xavier takes a slow step closer.

“Would you like to join me?” he asks in a half serious, half teasing tone.

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ZAYNE (word count : 165)

Without thinking, you push open the bathroom door.

As you look up, your eyes meet Zayne's.

It takes your brain a moment to process what you're seeing.

He's standing there completely naked, droplets of water still clinging to his skin after stepping out of the shower.

Zayne holds your gaze, his expression as composed as ever. But the deep crimson blush creeping from the tips of his ears down the length of his neck betrays him.

“Do you mind?” he asks, reaching for a towel and wrapping it around his waist.

Too late.

You've already seen everything.

“I don't mind at all,” you admit, a playful smile tugging at your lips.

One of Zayne's eyebrows lifts.

“In faaact…” You pretend to study him thoughtfully. “I think you have the perfect physique for studying anatomy."

For the briefest moment, Zayne is speechless.

Then he lets out a quiet sigh, the corners of his lips lifting ever so slightly.

“I'll take that as a compliment.”

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RAFAYEL (word count: 152)

Yet again, Rafayel refuses to answer Thomas's texts or phone calls.

So Thomas asks you to check on him.

You make your way through Rafayel's studio, calling his name.

No answer.

Maybe he isn't home?

As you pass the bathroom, you notice the door is slightly ajar.

You push it open.

There stands Rafayel, completely naked, leaning over the bathtub.

The second his eyes meet yours, he lets out a high-pitched squeal.

“Cutiiiee!” he cries, immediately covering himself with his arms. “Don't you know how to knock?”

“The door was open,” you point out. “And I called your name several times.”

He pouts dramatically.

“Can't a fishie get any privacy in his own home?”

“I thought you'd be comfortable in your own skin,” you tease, struggling not to laugh.

Rafayel huffs, his cheeks flushed bright pink.

“...Would it make you feel better if I invited you to join me in the bath?”

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SYLUS (word count: 155)

When you arrive at Sylus's base in the N109 Zone, the twins inform you that boss-man is in his room.

The moment you step inside, you can tell he's in the shower.

The steady sound of running water fills the room, and the glass enclosure is clouded with steam.

Most people would leave the room and wait.

You, however…

Sliding the shower door open just enough to slip inside, you carefully avoid making a sound.

In the steam you can barely make out his silhouette.

“Like what you see, kitten?” Sylus's voice cuts through the haze.

You hum thoughtfully.

“I'm not sure.”

“I can't see much through all this steam.”

Out of nowhere, two strong arms wrap around your waist and effortlessly lift you off your feet.

Instinctively, your legs lock around his waist, your arms finding their way around his neck.

“So…” Sylus smirks, his crimson eyes meeting yours.

“Is this a better view?”

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CALEB (word count : 154)

Caleb invited you over for dinner, but when you let yourself inside, he's nowhere to be found.

You search the house, checking every room.

The bathroom is the last place left.

Without knocking first, you open the door.

There stands Caleb with his back to you, completely naked.

The moment he catches your reflection in the mirror, he yelps.

“Pipsqueak! Get out!”

A towel comes flying through the air, landing squarely over your face.

“Can't you see I'm naked?” he splutters.

You pull the towel off your head.

By then, Caleb has already wrapped another towel around his waist.

A grin spreads across your face.

“I thought I could join you in the shower,” you say, innocently.

“But never mind.” You shrug dramatically. “Guess you're not interested.”

You turn to leave.

Before you can take another step, Caleb's evol wraps around you, pulling you back into the bathroom.

The door swings shut behind you.

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VALKO (word count: 130)

When you arrive at Valko's home, you let yourself inside.

You call his name.

“In here!” he calls, his voice carrying from the bedroom.

You find him standing beside the bed, fresh out of the shower, a T-shirt hanging loosely from one hand.

He glances over his shoulder, his tail wagging lazily.

“...Hello.”

A relaxed grin spreads across his face.

You lean against the doorframe, your gaze drifting over him without the slightest hint of embarrassment.

“...You're awfully calm, considering I’m seeing you like this.”

“Shouldn't I be?”

“It's only you.”

His wolf ears flick, and his tail swishes a little faster.

“You won’t be needing that,” you say, nodding toward the T-shirt in his hand.

He lets out a quiet chuckle.

You kick the bedroom door shut behind you.

Tag list: @thehyperfixationgirly

If you enjoyed this story, feel free to check out my other Love and Deepspace fanfiction.

XAVIER (word count : 427)

You sit in the living room, hunched over your desk, fingers flying across your laptop's keyboard. The deadline is closing in, and you've been working for hours without a break. As a copy editor, you're grateful you can work from home.

In the bedroom, your boyfriend, Xavier, is asleep. He only returned earlier today from a weeklong mission, utterly exhausted. The last thing you want is to wake him. You keep the lamp dim, your earphones in, and every movement as quiet as possible.

Then, without warning, your laptop screen goes black.

“Oh, no.”

“No... no, no, no.”

Panic flares in your chest.

“Please…”

Your hands dart across the keyboard, pressing random keys. Nothing.

All those hours of work. Unsaved.

Your stomach drops.

You stare at the bedroom door.

Standing, you move and crack the bedroom door open just enough to peek inside.

Xavier is still asleep.

You slip into the room and carefully climb onto the bed. The mattress sinks ever so slightly beneath your weight.

“Xavier…” you whisper, “...Xavier. Please wake up.”

You gently shake his shoulder.

He stirs, blinking a few times before rubbing the sleep from one eye.

“Starlight…” His voice is rough and deeper from sleep. “What's wrong?”

“My laptop…” Your voice trembles. “It... it crashed. I don't know what happened.”

You swallow hard. “My work…”

The concern in your voice wipes away the last traces of sleep. Without a single complaint, Xavier sits up, gets out of bed, and makes his way into the living room.

“Let's have a look,” he says, settling into your chair.

You linger several feet behind him, fidgeting on the spot.

A few moments later—

“There.”

The screen flickers back to life.

You let out the breath you'd been holding and step closer.

“The battery died.” He glances up at you with a small smile. “You forgot to plug it in.”

Your face pales.

“I'm... I'm so sorry.” The words tumble out. “I woke you up for something this stupid.”

Your voice cracks. “I'm such an idiot.”

Xavier stands and gently pulls you into his arms before you can say anything else.

“Hey, starlight.”

“It's okay.”

You bury your face against his chest, unable to meet his eyes.

His fingers trace slow circles along your back.

“You can come to me for the big things, the little things, and even the things that turn out to be nothing at all. That's what I'm here for.”

You shake your head against him.

“I don't deserve you.”

“You don't have to earn the right to need me, Starlight.”

---------------------------------------------------

ZAYNE (word count : 254)

You knock softly on the door to Zayne's home office before cracking it open, only peeking your head inside.

His back is to you as he sits at his desk, reviewing reports before leaving for the Asko hospital.

“Zayne…” you call quietly.

“Yes, my love?” He swivels around to face you.

You hesitate.

“I'm sorry to bother you while you're working.”

A pause.

“But…”

“...have you seen my glasses? I can't find them anywhere.”

Without them, the world is a blur.

“Where did you last have them?” Zayne asks, already scanning the room.

‘I think I took them off before I showered,l you mumble. “But they aren't there.”

“I'll help you look.”

He stands without the slightest hint of annoyance.

“You check in here,” he says, gesturing around his office. “I'll look in the bathroom again.”

You nod, squinting as you carefully search around his office. You hate coming in here.

What if you move something important?

What if you put something back in the wrong place?

A few moments later, Zayne returns, your glasses in hand.

“They were in the bathroom.”

He steps in front of you and slides them onto your face.

“They ended up in the laundry basket,” he says with a small smile.

“I’m sorry…” You lower your gaze. ‘I interrupted your work over something so trivial.”

“Nothing that concerns you is trivial.”

You finally look up at him.

Adjusting your glasses a sheepish smile tugs at your lips.

“I'm glad I can properly see my handsome boyfriend again.”

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RAFAYEL (word count: 252)

Rafayel sits on his stool, completely absorbed in his latest painting.

You pace nearby, stealing glances at him as you nervously bite your thumbnail.

“Cutie.” Rafayel sets his paintbrush down. “Your thoughts are so loud, they're distracting.”

You stop in your tracks.

‘I'm sorry,"” you mumble.

He turns to face you.

“Is there something you want to tell me?”

You take a deep breath.

“My friend is having a birthday party. She invited me.”

“Sounds fun.”

A small pause.

“Need help picking out a gift?”

“Actually…” You hesitate. “She wants me to bring you.”

“Me?” Rafayel blinks.

“My friends have been asking to meet my boyfriend for a while now.”

You quickly raise your hands.

“But you don't have to come. Really. I'll just tell them you're busy.”

Rafayel tilts his head.

“Why wouldn't I come?” A small pout forms on his lips. “Don't want me there, cutie?”

“What? No!” You shake your head. “Of course I do.”

You look away.

“I just... know you don't really like social gatherings. Or... humans.”

Rafayel chuckles and walks over until he's standing right in front of you.

“I have my reasons for disliking humanity,” he admits. “But if they're your friends, I'm willing to give them a chance.”

Your eyes light up.

“So... you'll really come?”

“Of course.”

A grin spreads across his face.

“How else are your friends supposed to see what an incredibly handsome, talented, and caring boyfriend you have?”

You can't help but laugh, the knot in your chest finally loosening.

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SYLUS (word count : 271)

Sylus sits on the couch, casually cleaning one of his many guns.

Most people would find the sight intimidating.

You don't even bat an eye anymore.

Curled up on the other end of the couch, you stare wistfully at your phone before letting out yet another sigh.

“What's with all the sighing, kitten?” Sylus asks, glancing your way.

You meet his gaze but say nothing.

“You know I don't like it when you bottle things up.”

He sets the gun down on the coffee table.

“What's on your mind?”

You sit up and silently hand him your phone.

He studies the image on the screen.

A breathtaking library, straight out of a fantasy novel.

“So that's what's got you so distracted.” A smile tugs at the corner of his lips. “Consider it done.”

He hands your phone back.

You stare at him, eyes wide.

“Why do you look so surprised, kitten?” he asks with a chuckle.

“You want one just like it, don't you?”

“...Yes.”

“Then it'll be yours.”

You lower your eyes.

“But... it's a want, not a need.”

Your voice grows quieter.

“Asking for something like that feels... selfish.”

Sylus hooks a finger beneath your chin, tilting your face back up.

“You can be as selfish as you want with me.”

There's not a trace of hesitation in his voice.

“I intend to make every one of your dreams come true.”

He picks up his gun and resumes cleaning it as though he'd merely commented on the weather.

“Oh, and you'd better start buying more books.”

A smirk curves across his lips.

“Wouldn't want your new library looking empty.”

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CALEB (word count: 274)

You're in the bedroom, hanging freshly washed clothes in the wardrobe, when Caleb walks in.

“How about we have lunch?” he asks with a smile.

“Is it lunchtime already?” Panic flashes across your face. “I didn't realize the time. I'll start cooking right away.”

You abandon the laundry and hurry toward the kitchen.

“Actually, I was planning on making lunch,” Caleb says, following after you.

You quickly shake your head.

“No, no. I'll have something ready in no time. You should relax.”

He laughs softly.

“Cooking is how I relax.”

Opening the fridge, he glances back at you.

“What are you in the mood for?”

“I'm not picky.” You fidget with the hem of your T-shirt. “You really don't have to cook. If you're hungry, we can just order something.”

“Or…” Caleb raises an eyebrow. “Do you want to go out instead?”

“No!” The answer comes too quickly. “I just thought... it would be faster.”

He closes the fridge and turns to face you.

“Why are you so worried about me making lunch?” he asks gently. “I really don't mind.”

Your gaze drops to the floor.

“It's just…’

You hesitate before quietly admitting, “Isn't the kitchen supposed to be a woman's place?’

Caleb blinks, looking genuinely bewildered.

“You know... cooking, cleaning, taking care of the house…”

Your voice grows smaller.

“Isn't that supposed to be my job?”

“I don't believe in outdated ideas like that.”

His voice is calm but certain.

“If two people live together, then the responsibilities belong to both of them.”

A warm smile returns to his face.

“So…” He opens the fridge again. “What should I make us for lunch?”

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VALKO (word count: 168)

Valko is lounging on the couch, watching TV and snacking on chocolate when he notices you lingering in the doorway.

You've just come home from work. Your shoulders are slumped.

There's no smile on your face.

He can practically feel the mental exhaustion weighing on you.

“Bad day?” he asks.

You shuffle over, stopping beside the couch. After a moment's hesitation, you quietly speak.

“Could I... have a hug?”

The question is barely above a whisper.

Valko's tail starts wagging.

Without a word, he gently takes your wrist, careful not to scratch you with his claws, and tugs you down until you're lying on top of him.

His arms wrap securely around you. You melt against his chest, the tension slowly leaving your body.

“I'm sorry,” you mumble. “I just... needed one.”

“You never have to ask - let alone apologize - for needing comfort.”

He rests his chin lightly atop your head, nuzzling you ever so slightly.

You close your eyes and let yourself sink completely into his embrace.

Tag list : @thehyperfixationgirly

If you enjoyed this story, feel free to check out my other Love and Deepspace fanfiction.

And when we leave this place, when, not if, I will see to it that the world does not dare question you.

You won’t be confined to gardens or glass walls. No more pretending. No more being admired for something that was never yours to begin with. You will walk beside me as you are, dressed how you wish, seen as you wish… lived as you wish.

Though… I must warn you. If you entrust me with dressing you as a man you’ve always been, I will be thorough. Perhaps dangerously so. I won’t settle for convincing. I’ll make you undeniable.

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