tw: main character death, hurt no comfort, if this pains you go blame @wetforsylus

“…Sylus?”

Your tone is wrong. Sylus has never heard you sound like that. But something in his souls tugs, so he turns to look at you quickly, ignoring the large claws swiping at the space his head was occupying three seconds ago.

You’re bleeding. Badly.

Time starts to slow down almost immediately.

Sylus fires one more bullet, enough to leave the wanderer fading away, reaching you just before you hit the ground. You gasp when he catches you, face twisted in pain, blood rapidly staining your shirt.

“Is-is it bad?” You murmur, clearly not catching the panic in his face as he presses down on the wound. You wince when he does, and a murmured apology leaves his lips.

“No-no it’s not bad. You’re gonna be alright. I’m here.” His evol can help you, he knows it can, but he also knows you could bleed out before it does.

“I’m-I’m tired Sy…” Your eyes flutter shut for a moment, but he’s quick to shake you awake. You shouldn't be like this so soon. Had you lost that much blood already? That can't be right. It can't be.

“No no sweetie stay awake for me. It’s gonna be okay.” The energy is slowly working to pull your wound closed, but blood is still slipping through his fingers. Your blood.

“Sylus I-I love you. I’m-I’m sorry it had to be like this.” You lean into his chest, seeking out his warmth as you had done just this morning, eyes fluttering shut once more.

“Keep your eyes open. It’s okay, I’m almost done.” Really, he is, he just needs a few more minutes.

“Say-say it back Sylus, please?”

“I’m not going to say it back because you’re not dying.” He says stubbornly, holding you tighter to prevent your shivering.

He feels it as it happens.

Your heartbeat was slow before, but when it slows more Sylus feels his own start to shatter. It hadn’t worked. You’d lost too much blood and you were going to die here and there was nothing Sylus could do about it.

You take a breath, meeting his eyes with a heartbreaking clarity. The words catch in his throat, tears lining his eyes as yours slowly shut.

It’s only once your heart stops does he finally manage to swallow the knot in his throat.

“I love you too.”

I encouraged this btw <3

─ HIM TEXTING YOU AFTER YOU DIE

FEATURING: xavier, zayne, rafayel, sylus & caleb

CONTENT WARNINGS: death, suicide ideation (most prominent in xavier's), read rafayel's 'when light falls' card so his part makes sense, fem reader in rafayel’s, they're super mean to other people here😭, angst, angst & a whooooole lotta angst

NOTE: my debut post to the lads community! i just wanna say i am SO sorry for such a brutal first smau oh my goodness💔 i would also like to apologize if they're a little ooc, i just started playing the game and im still trying to get a feel for the characters 😵‍💫 i hope you all enjoy this regardless! :')

masterlist

@kamieow 2025. reblogs are greatly appreciated! <3

𝒹𝑜 𝒾𝓉 𝓱𝓪𝓻𝓭𝓮𝓻..

This one isn't even the most nsfw I have drawn but him like this... just hits different.

I'm unwell, now you gotta be unwell too I guess 😈😁

@koenigami

small thing before a banner TW:Dark(?) Caleb

Full X

sylus mc fluff

RING IT ON!

When Caleb first threatened about putting a collar on you—complete with that tiny, innocent bell—the situation had been tangled, heavy, almost too much. You brushed it off back then, buried it deep down into your heart. But now… now the thought alone makes the heat coil low in your belly, shameful and undeniable.

So when you actually show up with the real thing—a soft black leather collar, golden bell dangling quietly—you can see the exact second his brain short-circuits.

“You want me to—” His voice cracks, purple eyes blown wide and glassy as they lock onto yours. His chest rises and falls in shallow, helpless pants. “You’re serious?”

You bite your lower lip, slow and deliberate, giving him the heaviest bedroom eyes you can muster. “Put it on me, Colonel…” Your voice drops, syrupy-sweet. “…and then fuck me stupid.”

Caleb’s knees actually give. He catches himself on the headboard, knuckles white, leaning in so close you can taste his ragged breathing. “Pipsqueak…” he rasps, tongue darting out to wet his lips like he’s starving. “You have no fucking idea what you just unleashed.”

Minutes later the bedroom is a warzone.

Your clothes are somewhere across the room—doesn’t matter where. Caleb is still mostly in uniform, dark coat shoved open, chest bare and heaving, pants just low enough to free his aching dick. The moment the collar settles around your throat, he pauses—gentle despite everything—and presses the softest kiss to your forehead.

“Tell me if it’s too tight, yeah?” he murmurs, voice wrecked.

You nod, already whimpering, pussy clenching desperately around nothing.

He teases you first—lazy, torturous glides of the fat head of his cock through your slick folds, never quite pushing in. The friction is maddeningly slow, dragging broken little sounds from both of you. He stares down at your naked body spread out beneath him, collared, marked as his, bell glinting faintly with every tiny shift.

“Fuck…” he breathes, almost reverent. “Look at you. Hottest goddamn thing I’ve ever seen… such a filthy little thing, begging to be ruined like this.”

Then he finally sinks in—slow, deliberate, stretching you open inch by thick inch until he’s buried to the hilt. You both moan, loud and wrecked.

He holds there for a second, panting, eyes locked on yours.

“Feel that?” His voice is gravel. “Feel how fucking deep I am inside you?”

Before you can answer he snaps his hips forward—hard. The blunt head of his cock slams against your cervix. You cry out, body jerking. The bell chimes sharply.

Ring.

He freezes for half a heartbeat… then a feral, manic grin splits his face.

“Oh you’re fucked now, baby.”

His hands clamp down on your hips, bruising, possessive—and then he starts pounding.

Relentless, deep ’n filthy.

Every brutal thrust makes the bell ring out—bright, obscene little chimes that mix with the wet slap of his heavy balls against your ass, your broken cries, his choked whimpers and filthy praise.

Ring. Ring. Ring.

Skin on skin. The creak of the bedframe. His low, desperate growls.

“Fuck—fuck—look at you taking it so good… my pretty little baby—”

He’s gone. Completely lost in it.

And from the way the bell keeps singing with every punishing roll of his hips… yeah.

He’s definitely discovered a new kink tonight.

Thanks to you.

Step on Nerdvier? 👓 👠

@mrs-kurooo

Sylus getting hit with an aphrodisiac and fucking himself to tears. Like overstimulating himself until he's sobbing into your neck, buried in your cunt, gasping for air but his hips won't stop thrusting :(

Your neck is wet from his euphoric daze, his choked little sobs making you clamp down around him which only results in him whimpering as the pleasure nearly blinds him :(

His cute little noises as his cock rams between your gummy walls, moans and whines and whimpers at a pitch you didn't think he was possible of making. Your name a pretty little prayer on his bitten lips because fuck his hips won't stop meeting yours :(

His groin and thighs being all slick and wet, a mix of his cum and yours leaking out of your abused cunt. All warm and full of his constant releases, the aphrodisiac making his body work overtime :(

You're just under him, crushed by his weight and mind melting into pleasure as he hits those sweet spots over and over again. You hadn't even been affected by the aphrodisiac itself but his ferocity had you nearly drooling, jaw forever slack as he fucks into you.

He's so hot, sweat slicking his skin, his scent enveloping you. Your fingers tremble as you cling to him, nails raking dully at his shoulder blades. He's too heavy for you to thrust your hips up to meet him, getting pounded right into the mattress by both his weight and force.

This would heal me in several ways tbh </3 Sylus how dare you not be real.

yeah

contemplating....

caleb reupload from my old account that I deactivated + some small adjustments to the shading :]

It’s been a long time since Caleb has come home to you crying, scissors in hand and regret obvious.

His keys are still in his hand as he pushes the apartment door open and the faint sound of her pacing greets him before she does.

She’s standing in the middle of the bathroom doorway, scissors dangling from her fingers like a guilty weapon, hair on the floor in sad little clumps. One side is an inch shorter than the other. The back looks like it lost a fight with a weed whacker. There’s a crooked swoop over her left ear that makes him want to laugh and cry at the same time.

As she looks up, her eyes are already glassy.

And just like that, years collapse into one heartbeat.

He’s 17 again, sitting on the edge of the bathtub while she sobs into his shirt, clutching those same damn scissors, bangs hacked to uneven stubs because she “wanted to look cool like the girls on TV.” He’d spent an hour fixing it with gran’s good comb, whispering “it’s okay, I got you” until she stopped hiccuping.

Now she’s twenty-something and still running to him the second something goes wrong with her hair.

He drops the keys on the counter, crosses the room in three strides, and kneels in front of her without a word.

Her lip wobbles. “I messed up.”

“Yeah,” he says, voice soft, already reaching for the scissors. “I can see that.”

She sniffles. “I was trying to do that cute wolf cut thing from TikTok.”

He bites the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. “I can see that too.”

He turns her gently toward the mirror, standing behind her, hands settling on her shoulders. Their eyes meet in the reflection, she’s pouting, unshed tears glistening and he looks at her steadily and reassuringly.

“Same as always, huh?” he murmurs, brushing a choppy strand behind her ear. “You freak out, you call me, I fix it.”

She nods, small and sheepish. “You’re the only one who’s ever been able to.”

He smiles. It’s slow, fond, the same smile he gave her when they were kids and the world felt too big.

“Sit,” he says, nudging her onto the closed toilet lid.

She obeys. He grabs the good scissors from the drawer (the ones he keeps sharpened just in case), combs his fingers through what’s left of her hair, and gets to work. He snips slowly, carefully, evening out the disaster with the patience of someone who’s done this a hundred times.

Every few cuts he pauses to kiss the crown of her head.

“Still cute,” he mutters after fixing the swoop. “Even when you butcher it.”

She snorts, a wet little laugh. “Liar.”

“Not lying.” Another kiss. “You could shave it all off and I’d still think you’re the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

And in all his learned skills as her personal hair stylist over the years, he’s finished in 10 minutes. Soft layers, a little messy in that intentional way, framing her face perfectly. He steps back, tilts her chin up, studies his work.

“There,” he says quietly. “All better.”

She turns to the mirror. Blinks. Touches the ends like she can’t believe it.

Then she spins around and buries her face in his chest, arms tight around his waist.

“Thank you,” she mumbles into his shirt.

He wraps her up, chin resting on her head, breathing her in.

“Anytime, trouble,” he whispers, kissing her hair. “You know I’ve got you.”

(And he always will.)

caleb checks if he'd fit inside size difference, size kink, excessive use of gege

He was kind, and gentle, and patient. That was how you knew him. Even when tension radiated off his body after a long absence with the fleet. Even when you pestered him, pushed him, secretly hoping he might snap and finally, finally let you make it better.

It's no different now, as he sits there across from you, helping you finish a model plane you'd been working on for weeks.

You crawl across the carpet to him, frustrated with the fiddly parts. "I can't make them fit," you pout, holding out two pieces for inspection.

"Hm?" he hums, placing his own little piece of the project down beside him. "Let me see."

Just another normal day in N109 Zone