Love and Deepspace Dreams

I often dream of that place. I want to become the person in my dreams. I record them, hoping to find their traces. I want to experience them as best as I can. And if it's possible, I want my warm dreams to consume me. I wish I wouldn't wake up from these dreams. When I wake up, only a cold wall will stare at me. There is no loving gaze like what I see in my dreams. I yearn for that gaze. There is no gentle touch like what I feel in my dreams. I yearn for that touch. There are no warm feelings like what I sense in my dreams. I yearn for that warmth. I wish I could stay in those dreams.  —- I first met him in my dream. He looked just like the man I yearn for, but he had sadness and loneliness in his eyes. I thought he was just an apparition, but he kept appearing, looking at the woman next to the man I yearn for with such longing eyes. So I took my first steps to approach him. He had a confused look in his eyes when he saw me. I asked him who he was and if he knew or related to t...

She wasn’t supposed to be here. Her credentials were clean. Her demeanour, professional. Hunters moved freely -ghosts with authorization, built to solve problems without invitation. But N109 wasn’t built for ghosts. It was his . A sovereign perimeter, shaped to precision, governed by function. He didn’t answer to outside authority. He tolerated its presence the way one tolerates a shadow -seen, noted, ignored. She hadn’t entered his command space. No one did. The security was layered, almost ritualistic. Not to keep people out, but  to remind them they were not in control . Even the twins knew better than to cross that line. Kieran might joke, Luke might wander, but they both understood the weight of thresholds. She had not crossed it. And yet. That morning, as he stepped into Command, something was off before he even reached the centre of the room. Not noise. Not movement. Stillness , wrong in its shape. He crossed the floor without a word. The chessboard stood where it...

Zayne dreamed in shattered glass. The reflections surrounded him, suspended in darkness, fragments of a world that didn’t quite belong to him. He stood at the center, the crisp white of his coat stark against the void. The shards shifted, some sharp as knives, others smooth as the surface of water. They showed pieces of himself, faces that were his, but not… lives he had never lived, yet felt deep in his bones. A temple wreathed in mist. A blade catching the first light of dawn. A mountain untouched by time. Dawnbreaker was the first to step forward, his hazel eyes narrowed, searching. “Do you dream of me too?” Zayne didn’t answer. The first time he had spoken to these echoes, he had woken up gasping, his mind caught between realities. But Dawnbreaker wasn’t waiting for an answer. His gaze flicked across the fragments, jaw tight. “It doesn’t make sense,” he muttered, more to himself than to Zayne. “Your world… it shouldn’t feel this close. But every time I sleep, I see pieces of i...

  The room held its breath. Magic clung faintly to the walls... dimming, dissolving. His outline still glowed, the last warmth of something expended. She stood near, not touching, the space between them steady and taut. Her gaze lingered on him. “He doesn’t know what a beautiful creature he is.” He met her eyes, something gentle stirring behind his stillness. “Like a butterfly,” he said. “You as well never see the beauty that I do, my sorceress. Your wings are far more beautiful.” She let a breath escape... half sigh, half softness. “Then let us be each other’s mirror, my love, so we don’t forget.” He shifted slightly, as though drawn toward her by something older than instinct. “There is no love purer than mine. Use me, if you have to.” Her fingers curled slightly at her sides. “I would sooner tear the heavens down than use you,” she said, her voice low, sure. “You’re not a weapon. I see the soul beneath the flame, and I won’t pretend that doesn’t matter.” He looked ...

She stepped toward him, watching him lounging on the couch, his expression unreadable. The moment she was close enough, Sylus moved. His hands seized hers in a swift motion, pulling them behind her back with practiced ease. A sharp inhale caught in her throat before she could stop it. He always did this—waited until she thought she had control before taking it away. Heat flared low in her stomach, but it wasn’t just that. It was the knowing. The quiet, electric certainty that she was his to command, his to unravel, if he so chose. “Tell me…” His voice was a dark whisper, amusement curling around each word. He smirked, his hand trailing the dip of her waist, lips brushing against her ear, teeth grazing just enough to make her breath stutter. A shiver ran through her. He knew the effect he had, and he reveled in it. She felt it in the way he hovered, in the deliberate weight of his silence, in the way his fingers skimmed just short of where she wanted them. “What do you want, my sweet k...

  Caleb sits in the dark, the cold glow of his phone casting sharp shadows across his face. His breath is slow, controlled, but his grip on the dog tag around his neck tightens. The metal is cool against his skin, grounding him, keeping him from slipping too deep into the thoughts circling his mind. She’s there. Not with him, not really. But close enough that he can see her, feel the distance between them like a hand around his throat. He scrolls through the images slowly, tracing the lines of her face, the way she tilts her head, the softness of her eyes when she thinks no one is looking. A moment frozen in time. A moment that doesn’t belong to him, but one he takes anyway. Each photo tugs at something deep inside him, easing the ache for a second before making it worse. She’s out there, somewhere, living her life. And he tells himself this is just to keep her safe. That’s why he watches. That’s why he makes sure no one gets too close. But he knows, deep down, that’s only half the...

"You were glowing that day." His voice is low, the warmth of it curling around the memory like the spring breeze that had tangled your hair as petals drifted past. Zayne leans against the bed, his gaze locked on you... unreadable yet impossibly soft. "The moment you saw the trees, your eyes lit up like I’d just taken you to another world." A quiet chuckle rumbles from him, the kind that lingers between amusement and something deeper. "And for a second, I almost believed you were part of it... Like if I let go, the wind might carry you away with the blossoms." His fingers brush against your wrist, barely there. A touch lighter than the petals that had fallen onto your shoulder as he’d stood behind you... watching... memorizing. "I tried to be subtle about keeping you close... But you caught me, didn’t you?" His lips twitch, the memory of you turning... laughing... teasing... etched into the way his eyes crinkle slightly. "You always do....

The city stretched out before them, its lights flickering in the distance, softened by the night air. Up here, away from the noise, the world felt quieter—just the two of them, standing close, as if nothing beyond this moment mattered. Lassy stepped in, her fingers trailing over the worn leather of Sylus’s jacket. He didn’t pull away, but there was something restrained in the way he held her, like he wasn’t sure if he should, or if he even had the right. "Everything has changed,"  she thought.  "And I feel I would be happy going anywhere, doing anything, as long as you were by my side." She had spent so much time moving forward without knowing where she was headed, never expecting to find someone who would make her stop and want to stay. But now, standing here with him, the answer felt simple. "Being with you is more than I could have ever wished for." Sylus’s eyes flickered with something unreadable, his grip on her waist tightening just slightly, like he...

  Wash the fruit. Let the water refresh you, like a cool shower, or a celebration of summer. Take a peach. Inhale its sweet scent, press your lips against its soft, bare skin. Brush it lightly with your mouth. Run your tongue along its smooth grooves, break the tension with your teeth. Let the juicy sweetness catch you off guard. Move forward, bite by bite, straight to the heart. It guards its secret behind a hard shell—but secrets are meant to be uncovered. Now take a strawberry. Choose the one that tempts you most—plump, yet firm, resisting just enough. Hold it with three or four fingers—don’t let it slip away. Place it in your mouth without hesitation, let it press against your tongue, its cool freshness teasing before surrendering to warmth. Measure your first bite, press it gently with your lips, taste its brightness. Then bite as much as you want. Swallow. Now a handful of cherries. Enjoy their roundness, their color—deep as desire, rich as the night. Let one ...

  Lassy had barely had time to breathe that week. Between tracking down rogue wanderers, dealing with ambushes in the dead of night, and patching up wounds that should’ve taken her out, she had been running purely on instinct and exhaustion. She hadn’t even thought about the gala. Not until the dress arrived. At the time, she had simply exhaled in relief, grateful that Sylus had thought ahead. Of course, he had. His taste was impeccable, and if he wanted to be seen with her on his arm, he wasn’t about to let her show up in a last-minute scramble of thrown-together fabric. She had slipped into the dress without much thought, never once questioning that he was the one picking her up. So when the knock came, she didn’t hesitate. She opened the door and realized her mistake. Sylus was there, as expected, a picture of confidence in his black suit and open red shirt, eyes gleaming in approval as they moved over her. “Sweetie…” His smirk curved lazily. “Perfect.” But just behind him, ano...

Caleb stands in front of the bathroom mirror, the golden morning light slanting through the blinds, casting soft shadows across his sculpted form. His dark hair is still slightly damp, tousled as if he had run his fingers through it absentmindedly. His sharp, well-defined features—high cheekbones, a straight nose, and a strong jawline—give him an air of quiet intensity, but it’s his eyes that hold the most weight. Dark, focused, and unreadable, they linger on the gun in his hands, his grip firm but not tense. The chain around his neck—a single dog tag resting against his bare chest—catches the light with a muted glint. His physique speaks of discipline; broad shoulders tapering into a lean, powerful frame, muscles subtly flexing as he wipes down the weapon with steady hands. A towel hangs low on his hips, the only barrier between him and vulnerability, but Caleb isn’t the kind of man who ever truly lets his guard down. Even here, in the solitude of his own space, he seems ready. For ...

The room is warm, the air thick with candlelight and the faint trace of her perfume. The scent is something delicate, lingering—like jasmine after rain, like something meant to be remembered. He sits on the couch, his suit immaculate, posture relaxed but precise. The low glow of the lamps catches the sharp cut of his jaw, the composed stillness of his expression. His eyes—dark, unreadable—follow her with quiet certainty. Always watching. She stands before him, wrapped in the softest whisper of lingerie, satin ribbons hugging her curves. A bow sits tied around her waist, its message written in careful script: “I am your present.” A slow smile plays at her lips as she tilts her head, letting the anticipation stretch just a little longer. Then, her voice—low and smooth—breaks the hush. “I told you yesterday I had a present for you.” She watches the way his gaze lingers, not just on her skin but on the meaning behind her words. “Did you like it?” His reply is quiet, measured. No hesitation...