#(in mind)

[basslinegrave]

horrible wretched thing be upon ye i dont know. public apology and all that idk

[kiwi-jammy]

"Even if I don't make it out, at least he will." Ugh they make me sick love those duelists

[totallyxtaurus]

Depollute me, gentle angel pt.2

Summary: Sylus is away on a business trip while you sink deeper into your depressive episode. Pairing: Sylus x gn reader Genre: Angst, some fluff (maybe, hopefully!) Trigger Warnings: depression, mental health struggles, anxiety, self-neglect, and hints of suicide. A/N: I hope this doesn't feel too rushed! I'm still trying to figure out a good pacing of how I should break these up without them being too long or too short. Posted too quickly or not quick enough, so any advice would be very welcomed and appreciated! I hope I did Sylus justice with his responses, I just took what I would want to hear essentially. But, Hozier's Wasteland, Baby! album is so Sylus coded. I got so many ideas for other fics, so stay tuned! And again, please please please take sweet care of yourselves! 💗

Prev

The chime echoes through the apartment, and for a moment there’s nothing. No footsteps, no shuffle of movement inside. Sylus exhales, fingers softly tapping on the doorframe while he waits. He already knows. He had known the moment communication stopped, when his calls went to voicemail, when even the short, tired texts faded into silence. At first, he assumed you were just busy, needing space. But the longer he waited, the clearer it became—if it were up to you, you wouldn’t come back at all. He began doing his own investigation, looking up the traits you portrayed usually compared to these moments of time and he found his answer. So, he started paying attention. Comparing your usual habits to these stretches of absence. Watching for the patterns. Having Mephisto follow you to your therapist’s office had only confirmed what he already suspected.

As advised, he gave you time—three days, exactly. Then the calls began, gentle and steady, each one a quiet pull back to him. Each time, he waited for you to let him in, to say something. But instead, he got excuses. Busy with work. Out with friends. His personal favorite: just sleeping. It’s almost amusing, how you seem to forget he has your location. He always knows where you are. 

Sylus toys with the key in his hand, should he, or shouldn’t he? Would this cross a line? You had given this to him for an emergency, wouldn’t this be considered one? It has been a full week without hearing from you. He never lets it go this long but work held him up so he couldn’t do his usual routine. He continued to ponder the ethics of his decision until he heard it, movement. A sign of life behind the door that still won’t open up for him. That’s it, he decides and inserts the key. 

As the door swings open, a gust of stale air hits him, thick with stillness. His eyes immediately scan the space, searching for the life he just heard. But as he steps inside, it’s clear- the main rooms haven’t been touched in days, especially the kitchen. He moves toward the bedroom when the bathroom door suddenly swings open. 

Both of you freeze, staring at one another in shock. 

For a moment, he just looks at you. Taking in the hollowed eyes, the tangled hair, the way your clothes sit wrong on you—looser in some places, clinging in others— like they were meant to fit differently but now just hang, like an afterthought. His chest tightens—not in disgust, never that— but in a quiet, constrained ache. He swallows it down, he knows letting you see that pain won’t help. Instead, he inhales, careful, and controlled. Just as he opens his mouth to speak, he hears it. 

Get out 

The words reach him, but his mind trips over them, grasping for meaning. 

For a second, all Sylus processes is the sound of your voice—hoarse, unsteady, faint, as if it took all your energy to speak at all. His mind is still trying to catch up, to piece everything together. But that’s when he really sees you. The way you stand there stiffly, eyes shining with unshed tears, flickering to anything that isn't him. As if meeting his gaze would break your resolve. The tension in your jaw, arms crossed tightly over your chest, shoulders hunched forward, as if you’re shielding yourself from him. And then he sees it—fear. Shame. They were there all along, laced with the exhaustion and neglect. Deeply settled, lingering long before he walked in the door. He had been so focused on finding you, making sure you were safe, that he hadn’t realized—you didn’t want to be found. Not like this. 

The tightness in his chest twisting further, a quiet reminder of his mistake. Instead, he exhales in that same rehearsed way.

"Sweetie," he tries again. His voice was low, full of gentleness. Less of a greeting, more of a reassurance. He’s not going anywhere. 

You just shake your head, a silent refusal, as if willing for him to disappear. Your stance is firm, guarded. But Sylus isn't someone who retreats at the first sign of a challenge. Especially not when it's you. 

"I know kitten, I know you don't want me to see you like this. And I know you think that pushing me away will make everything easier for you, for me. But it won't, it hasn't. You don't have to do this alone." 

He sees the tears start to fall, a quiet surrender that he takes as a response. Without hesitation, he continues, his voice softer but unwavering.

Taking a small step forward, slow yet deliberate as he speaks, "Just focus on me for a second, okay? Forget about everything else, it's just us. Can you breathe with me, my love?" As he demonstrates with measured, even breaths. Never forcing, just offering, hoping it will bring your attention back to the present instead of whatever thoughts you're trapped in.

He notices the way your hunched shoulders drop, relaxing slightly, and how your clenched arms finally loosen their grip on your body. He continues to encourage you, taking slow, careful steps closer. 

"You don’t have to do anything big. I’m not here with any expectations. Why don’t we just sit down? We don’t have to talk, I’ll just sit with you, if that’s okay." His voice is soft, low, coaxing. 

Sylus notices the immediate shift in your demeanor as you register his close proximity-the shield coming back as your body goes rigid once again. You close back in on yourself and take a step back. 

You should go. I stink and I'm sure I look horrific; you mutter as your hand comes up to your face to shield it. His heart pangs, but he doesn't let his expression falter. He can't afford to let you see how much it hurts him that you're hiding from him like this. He takes another small step closer, never pushing, just allowing the space between the both of you to remain as it is. He doesn't want to make you feel trapped, but he wants to show you, prove to you, that he's not leaving.

"Kitten," his voice steady and carrying a weight of reassurance deeper than words can convey. "I'm not leaving. If I wanted to, I would. You know I don't do things I don't want to. But I'm here, for however long you want me around. I'm yours." 

You scoff, shaking your head, still refusing to meet his gaze. "Why?" you ask, voice cracking. "Look at me, smell me, Sylus. Jesus Christ I'm disgusting. Why would you want to stay? Are you nuts?" 

"It's been suggested," he cuts in, his tone remaining gentle yet firm. Finally, you look up at him, and the anger in your gaze takes him by surprise but he holds his ground. 

"You just don't get it," you emphasize, your words sharp and full of frustration. "What's there to get?" he wonders but doesn't dare to speak it. "Sweetie," he says tenderly, "if this is you at your worst, then I've suffered far worse than this. You think I haven't smelled, or hit rock bottom before? When I did-or if I do sometime in the future, would you leave me? Would you push me away" 

"Don't be ridiculous," you say, your voice tinged with exasperation. His lips quirk into a soft smirk, his eyes never leaving yours.  

"Can I hold your hand?" he whispers, watching you closely, waiting for your response. You hesitate, then barely nod, just enough for him to catch it. He takes your hand in his, lifting it gently to his lips and pressing a soft kiss on the back of it.  

Out of the corner of his eye, he catches the way your face scrunches up, a grimace of discomfort, but the smile on his lips remains warm and unwavering. 

"How about this," he continues, "I'll make you something small to eat. You don't have to finish it. Just one bite. No pressure."  

You pause, your mind working through his offer. Until, after a moment, your shoulders sag in defeat, and with a sigh, you agree. Your hand still secured in his, he leads you to the kitchen, placing another kiss on the top of your head before turning to the fridge to pull out what little food there is. 

"After we eat, can you shower with me?" The words barely escape your lips, so faint that for a moment he's unsure he heard them. He looks at you, hoping his love for you radiates in his gaze.

"Of course," he replies, his voice steady and sure. "Whatever you want, my dove." He watches as the faintest of smiles flicker across your face, the kind of smile he's willing to wait for, no matter how long it takes. 

Tag list: @withering-dream @madam8 @t4naiis @sunhooniez

[corroding-time]

Your hands were absentmindedly roaming his front when he woke up. The two of you were on your side, the morning sun filtering through the windows. As he shifted and you sensed he had awoken, you got up, dressed and simply… left.

He was bewildered by your behaviour.

You were his latest favorite hookup, you topped and it was a nice switchup. It was an on and off thing, sometimes, when he didn’t go out at night. But never once did you ask about his wounds. The scars and stitches and bruises that were all over his body, fresh and old. You just fucked him and left.

All the other people he was ever with always let their curiosity get the better of them and asked. Why didn’t you? He played with the blanket, twisting it between two fingers as he thought. He knows he has more bruises than usual, yet you still didn’t notice. Or was it just that you didn’t care? Whatever. He didn’t care. Right?

-

You walked into his room after another call from him. It was always like this. Like you were something to be summoned. To be honest, you didn’t really like his high and mighty attitude. But his hole was so nice… That was the only reason you kept coming back.

Dropping your jacket on the floor, you glanced at his still form on the bed. He was laying on his stomach, lower half covered by the blanket, face away from you. Your intercourse was always silent, far from intimate. You both got what you wanted- like a transactional relationship.

When you prepped him, he tried to muffle his groans. And he made sure to face you, legs spread nice and open, always staring at you with those eyes of his. He stares at you like he’s waiting for something, watching for reactions.

Slightly irked, you purposely pressed his prostate and he closed those irritating eyes of his from the pleasure. Huffing, you pulled out your fingers, and somewhat roughly, turned him to his back. Your breath hitched when you saw it. A large bruise running across from his mid waist to hip. You traced it softly and he practically whimpered.

Smirking, you shook your head. Who knew he, the man known for his dominating and intimidating demeanor, was like this? You gently lifted his hips, it was going to be hard to do this without hurting him. You lined yourself up, squeezing his thigh as you pressed in and his rim sucked you in. Leaning down and breathing heavily, you whispered in his ear, warning him that it was going to hurt.

Thrusting in harshly, you gripped his thighs. He let out a guttural moan, biting on the sheets. You gave a few experimental thrusts and scowled. This wasn’t gonna work, you needed a better hold. You opted for his wrists that clutched the sheets, basically mounting him. His teeth left their place as he turned to you. The usually silent man stares at you in confusion.

“What are you-?” He gets cut off with another thrust. Oh yeah, this is good. He lets out a shocked moan as he squeezes his eyes shut. His mind was filled with nothing but the way you made him feel so good, how you were the perfect fit to be able to touch every inch of him. 

His jaw is slack, allowing drool to seep out of his mouth. He trembled and shivered, moaned and groaned, but he always stayed still. Completely in one place, just for you. Unfinished hey haha i forgot the plot for this oh no what to do what to do let’s just bullshit it for the rest lmao You clench your teeth to suppress your own moans, cause no way were you giving him the satisfaction of him having made you feel good.

You remember the smug look on his face the first time you had sex, loud groans leaving your mouth the entire time, the way you had come way too fast. Just the thought of that face irritated you and you sped up. What snapped you out of it was the moan he made, definitely not out of pleasure.

It was a pained one, immediately making you slow down in your relentless abuse to his hole. You almost asked him if he was okay, biting your lip to stop yourself. It wasn’t like you cared.

He slowly turned his head to you and you flinched when you realized that his eyes looked wet. Wow, that was a pretty look on him.

His face had a look of realization before a sleepy smile spread across his features. “You do care…” He mumbled. “I… knew it…” Just as you were about to deny it, his body slumped and went limp underneath you.

…Did he just faint?

-

You had finished applying the balm you brought and tidying the area up when you looked at the time. It was the dead of night. You stretched and groaned, picking up your stuff to leave. You glanced at his peaceful form, a feeling of guilt building up. You had made him faint. You tsked at yourself, his words from earlier had gotten to you. Whatever. You thought. You already vowed you wouldn’t come back to this place (even though you knew it wasn’t true, you were a weak man). You left without another glance.

[blight-of-dei]

being his highschool sweetheart and being his darling partner. hes very doting with you, always checks up on you after class and always gets you to have lunch together. he'll even feed you some of his own lunch, since he knows you'll get distracted watching the youtube video you set up. you insist that you can't eat without watching things, so he'll have to work with it. he doesn't really get whats so interesting about the show you're watching, but he does adore seeing you happy. thought he'd much prefer if your happiness was because of him

its always been just the two of you the entirety of your year. you're too tired to go join any clubs or extracurricular activities, but you do come over to his club's event to watch him. he's so good at his job and his grades are good and his looks are stunning and he's so, so nice with you that you can't help wonder how you pulled a guy so fine. what you did to deserve a guy so perfect.

you never really noticed it, or maybe you did but didn't quite mind, but your life has slowly revolved around him. in class, you sit next to each other. no one really gets the chance to talk to you because he's busy filling up the space. you eat lunch together, you spend time after school together, whether it's going out to do group project or just waiting for him on the bench for him to finish his club activities, and sometimes he even sleeps over at your place.

every aspect of your social life has suddenly revolved around him. his presence has seeped into every crevice of your time until he's become all you've known. until he's stolen every bit of your life that you're meant to spend making friends and bonds with just him.

well, better him than anyone else anyway.

[kakashidaily]

day 42 // playing cards

[amberwrens]

no good deed goes unpunished