Love and Deepspace Dreams

You were summoned by Sylus to his compound in the N109 zone. He didn’t give context to why but when does he ever? You walk into the main entry room, the fireplace lit and two figures standing and one sitting on the couch. As you approach you see Sylus sitting on the couch and two dark haired men behind him. You realize it’s Caleb and Zayne, both standing above Sylus. Your expression shows shock and confusion. Sylus reads your expression immediately and smirks, speaking in his signature low demeanor, “Hey kitten, a certain birdy told me that you had been seeing these two other men as well as me~” Your start panicking, realizing where this was going and shake your head, “No it’s not like that! We are-“ Sylus chuckles, a small devilish grin still stuck on his face, “No need to explain sweetie.” He looks up at the two men and then back down to you, a glint of lust in his eyes. “I’ve gathered him because it seems you want to experience other men, as well as yours truly. So,” He said, gettin...

It never starts with the ones who deserve it. The loudest always walk away clean. But the quiet ones...the ones who were just beginning...they vanish first. A slow-burning story. A lover at the edge of recognition. Two characters circling a shared truth they hadn’t dared speak yet. Then someone fires the first shot. Accusation. Call-out. Reputation warfare in the name of pride. And the ones holding hands in the background? They let go. Not because they want to... but because everything suddenly feels too dangerous to touch. You were never the target. You just got caught in the blast radius. I watched a maybe turn into a silence. A soft promise replaced with absence. All because someone else needed a win. And no one writes about the casualties.

(For one who sees truth in shadow and still tries to be the light) You said you were a black hole once, and yet, I’ve never known one to be so gentle with gravity. You orbit pain with the grace of someone who’s learned how to keep it company. And still, you move... soft, magnetic, trying. I see the way you mirror the sky someone gives you. Not because you're empty, but because you're listening; because you learned too well that tone was a language, and silence, a place to survive. You didn’t have to be Jupiter. You didn’t have to be a star. And still... you’ve kept your system from collapsing. Your presence is enough.  Even if no one is watching. Even if it’s only this voice, soft and quiet in your night sky. I don’t need you to answer. Just… stay.

  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...

  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 ...

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 ...