Ghost

25 she/her || Was a ghost reader with no tumblr but ffs here made my heart go uwu that I needed to validate the authors by liking their posts bc im still shy so I made one

[pursuitofjane]

♬ — 𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐕𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐈𝐂 (𝟏/𝟑)

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 | Valko x Executive Assistant F!Reader

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | Sometimes it feels like Valko’s more your friend than your boss, but that’s precisely the problem—boundaries inevitably blur, and feelings you’re not supposed to have push constantly against your ribs. And then keeping secrets from someone who sits just feet away from you five days a week, ten hours a day, only becomes that much harder when you find yourself stuck in an elevator with him late one night and... well, let’s just say nobody likes to take the elevator after that.

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | non-MC reader, fluff, coworkers/friends to lovers, rom-com vibes, light angst, mutual pining, idiots in love, not actually unrequited love, poor reader is so oblivious, Valko is probably OOC since I know next to nothing about him (but whose fault is that?), EVENTUAL SMUT in a later instalment.

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 4.1k

𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 | This will be my first full blown fic that I’m sharing with the world, and I’m a bit nervous 👉🏻 👈🏻 🥺 Please be kind <3

𝐄𝐥𝐞𝐯𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫 𝐌𝐮𝐬𝐢𝐜 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐕𝐚𝐥𝐤𝐨 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ⋆·˚ ༘ * 𝐌𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

“Hey.”

“Hm?”

“If you could trade bodies with anyone in the world, who would you pick?”

From the opposite side of the elevator comes a scoff. “No one. I’m amazing, why would I wanna trade?”

“Come onnn,” you groan. It’s been nearly an hour since the elevator’s stopped, and your butt is getting sore from leaning against the handrail. You shift, trying to get more comfortable, but it’s impossible. The thin flats you’re wearing also don’t offer much support, and your calves are already starting to get sore from standing.

“That’s such a boring answer,” you almost whine, doing everything but stomping your feet like a petulant child, “and I’m so dang tired of watching the floor indicator not change.”

You’d think that in a fancy building like this one, smack dab in the middle of downtown Linkon’s sparkling financial district, that things would be better maintained than most. Instead, you’d gotten onto the elevator at the thirty-fifth floor, the prestigious executive suite, only to get stuck between floors twenty-eight and twenty-nine just seconds later.

It’s nearly ten o’clock on a Friday night. Almost everyone has already gone home for the night, with the exception of you because a) they say you have a problem, and the word they most often use is “workaholic”, and b) when you’re executive assistant to the chairman to EonCore Tech, there’s rarely ever a day when you leave right at five.

And the Chairman himself?

You look up, the glass surrounding the elevator letting in more than enough moonlight for you to see Valko leaning against the wall. You do your best not to swoon, watching silently as he reaches up to run one large hand through his auburn hair. His suit jacket is unbuttoned, and your eyes cannot help their descent down the length of his tie towards—

“‘Dang bored’, she says,” a small huff of laughter, and then Valko is looking back at you. You try not to squirm under his golden yellow stare, try not to break eye contact too quickly lest he starts getting that look on his face—the one that says he’s worried about you—and your resolve starts to weaken. He stares at you for a second, then two, before he relents and turns away, allowing you to breathe again. “Fine. I’d pick you then.”

“Me?” You blink.

“Yeah, you,” and then he’s smirking.

“…Why?” You ask with narrowed eyes, slowly angling your body away and giving him a dirty look, even though you’re pretty sure your blood’s just turned into lava when he gives you a slow, very deliberate once-over.

“Why do you think?” He’s still smirking. Asshole.

“You—!” You raise your fist threateningly, but Valko just snickers. One of his canines poke out over his plush lower lip, and with the way he side-eyes you with such mirth, it’s a deadly combination.

You want to punch him in his stupid, perfect face. Or shove your tongue down his beautiful throat. Or punch him and then shove your tongue down his throat. Oh yes, that sounds delectable—

Nope, dangerous territory. Abort. I said abort!

He doesn’t make it easy for you.

“Mmm… I’d make you do things you never do, sweetheart,” he says, tone dripping with suggestion. You glare and move like you’re going to hit him, but he doesn’t even flinch. He just continues giggling like a giant kid, “Yeah, I’d drink and curse like a sailor. Have you ever even dropped an F-bomb before?”

You kiss your teeth, cheeks growing warm. “Of course I have.”

He obviously doesn’t believe you. “And I’d go out on Friday nights instead of sitting at your desk here in this boring old place. I’ve told you a million times, you don’t need to stay late just because I do.”

You don’t say anything. He thinks you do it because you’re dedicated to your job, and you are, but a larger part of the reason is you’ll take all you can get when it comes to him. That’s what you get for being the world’s biggest cliche, and falling in love with your perfect, stupidly hot, and ultimately unattainable boss.

“I’d also make you splurge on things other than old books and thrift store yarn. I pay you enough, don’t I?” He smiles, and you just roll your eyes.

“Not nearly enough. How about a 500% raise?”

“I know you’re kidding, but I’ve already got the paperwork drafted in my office.”

“You’re such a liar.”

“I’ve left the amount blank,” he shrugs, “you can put in whatever salary you want and I’ll pay it. Show me anyone who says you don’t deserve it and I’ll tell them otherwise.”

“Valko, nobody pays their assistant two hundred thousand—”

“Maybe then you’ll start buying your pantsuits in other colours besides grey.”

You open your mouth to refute that last statement, because of course you have other clothes, but then you look down at your grey dress pants and matching grey jacket.

“This is sexual harassment,” is what you go with instead.

Valko balks, but he’s still smiling. That is not good. Well, actually, it’s downright brilliant, but it’s also absolutely terrible. For your heart, that is. And for the heat that is currently pooling between your legs—

“How is that sexual harassment?”

If only he knew. “What would you rather me wear to work then?”

“That’s not what I meant,” the bastard is laughing now. Actually, it’s more of a chuckle, a sound that makes you want to press your ear to his chest so you can hear it directly from the source. “It’s okay, sweetheart. I’m rather fond of the pantsuits, actually.”

You try not to hone in on whatever the heck that means. You can spiral about that later, once you’ve been rescued and you’re in the safety of your own home. “What did you mean then?”

He sighs. “Nothing.”

You gasp, clutching at your non-existent pearls. “You want me to wear nothing?!”

Just say the word, boss.

“No!” His eyes go wide while you try not to let the disappointment show, and one of his large hands—which you certainly do not think about at all late at night when you’re in bed, alone and lonely—reaches across the darkness to shove at your shoulder lightly. The contact is so brief, maybe half a second, but it sparks warmth all the way down your arm and across your chest. “Stop doing that.”

You stop doing that.

“Doing what?” You challenge, and his eyes remain bright with amusement, soft with something you might mistake for genuine affection if you were delusional enough. Valko does care about you, you know that, but not in the way you want. Not in the way you need. It makes you ache in all sorts of ways.

“You’re messing with me,” his smile grows wolfish, one of his eyebrows quirking in a way that threatens to turn all the cartilage in your knees into jelly.

“You mess with me all the time,” you turn away to sulk a little, about this and about all the things he doesn’t know about. Subsequently, you don’t notice the way his gaze dips slightly, towards the vicinity of your pouting, flowering lips.

“Yeah,” he slowly looks away, too slowly, as though reluctant… but you don’t catch that either. “But I’m allowed. I’m the boss.”

He doesn’t always act like it though, which is the crux of your problem. You could handle being hopelessly in love with your boss, so long as you could keep a clearly drawn line between the two of you. You could keep your head down and do your job, putting on a mask that you would only take off once you were alone and he was far enough away.

Except the line has now blurred into a giant unrecognizable blob.

You should be grateful. Your boss is reasonable, patient, and never asks too much of you. In fact, sometimes he seems to take it upon himself to assist you, rather than the other way around.

“How many hours did you sleep last night?” Valko would ask you, arms crossed over his chest, glasses slipping down the perfect slope of his nose. He looked like a stern, sexy teacher. You didn’t know you’d be into that until right that very moment.

You hesitated to answer, because you knew it’d be one he wouldn’t appreciate. But he’d just wait patiently, until you could no longer stand the silence or the staring. “…Four.”

“Four?!” And then he’d be almost having a meltdown. “Are you—?! Haa… take the rest of the day. No, actually, it’s not negotiable. And I’m watching you, don’t even try to sneak any files home to work on them later. Your laptop stays here, understand?”

He makes you tea.

On your very first day, he brought you to the break room and showed you how to use that fancy espresso machine that probably cost more than your monthly rent. He made you a cup and then slid it across the counter, waiting for you to take a sip. “You’ll never have coffee any other way, I promise.”

You hesitated, but still picked up the tiny little cup and smiled at him. “Thank you, sir.”

“Please, just Valko.”

“Okay. Thank you, Valko.”

“…”

“…”

“You don’t drink coffee, do you?”

“Not even a little, I’m sorry.”

But then boxes of xiangpian and tieguanyin showed up in the cupboards just days later, and he brewed a cup for you every morning ever since.

“Shouldn’t I be doing this for you?” You asked him one day, standing up to take the steaming, perfectly steeped cup from him and placing it onto your desk.

“You’re my executive assistant, not my personal assistant,” was what he’d said before starting the short walk back to his office. “Besides, I’ve got a pair of perfectly good hands and I know how to use ‘em.”

You looked up at his retreating back, startled, but it didn’t seem like he realized what that sounded like. He stopped in his tracks, his ears suddenly turning bright red before he whirled around and stuttered, “Oh shit, th-that’s not what I meant!”

It only endeared him to you further.

He asks you about your cats.

He doesn’t even like cats. You know because he’s mentioned before that he’s more of a dog person, and because he wrinkles his nose in what you can only describe as mild disgust when he sees the cat hairs on your clothes sometimes.

“How are the… felines?” He’d ask, barely able to suppress a shudder, spitting that last word out like it left a bad taste in his mouth. “Still licking their own privates?”

You rolled your eyes. “Dogs do that too, you know.”

He ignored you. “Better not choke to death in your apartment. They’d eat your corpse and nobody would ever know what happened to you.”

You just shrugged, having already run a cost-benefit analysis in your head when you first adopted Miso and Mirin, “At least it’d save my family the cost of a cremation.”

Valko burst out laughing, but once the laughter had subsided, he’d said, “I’d look for you.”

“You would?”

“Wouldn’t stop until I found ya.”

“But there’d be nothing to find,” you pointed out for this peculiar little scenario, but when you looked up from the document you were reading, he just nodded and shrugged his shoulders.

You looked away immediately and didn’t say anything after that, because he couldn’t possibly mean what you thought he meant.

If he did, he was just kidding. Valko did that a lot. He was a funny guy.

It’s your job to help him manage his calendar, but there are dates he remembers even without being prompted. March 17, the date you started working at EonCore, is marked on his calendar as your “anniversary”. See? Funny.

Except he makes sure to keep his calendar clear after noon. He orders takeout for dinner, because he knows you don’t like going out to crowded restaurants on weeknights after a long work day. He always orders from your favourite place, the Thai restaurant just a few blocks away.

The two of you have a standing order—cashew fish, mango salad, and panang curry with a generous side of jasmine rice, all made medium spicy.

“Plus a giant cup of iced water,” he would announce proudly before plopping the takeout bags and your water onto your desk. “Because you’re a freak of nature.”

“If you want me to stay hydrated, the water must be iced.” You told him unapologetically.

And then the two of you would sit at your respective desks, the office smelling like coconut and curry paste, everything quiet except for the scraping of utensils, the clicking of your keyboards, and the occasional comment or question about what you were working on.

He’d give you a ride home, waiting until just before you got out to say in a joking manner, “Oh, hey. Happy anniversary.”

What choice would you have but to say it back, smiling even though you wanted to cry, knowing it would never mean the other thing?

And he remembers your birthday. Every single year without fail, even though it’s not on either of his calendars, work or personal. You’ve checked.

What kind of boss breezes into the office on a Thursday morning, looking the way he does, and says loud enough for everyone to hear, “Guess what I got for my favourite assistant for her special day?”

Like, what the heck?

It’s even worse because he doesn’t simply throw his money around. He doesn’t toss designer jewelry onto your desk that will just sit in their velvet boxes, tucked away in a drawer because you’re too afraid to damage or lose it. He never bothers with impractical trinkets or fancy gadgets that serve no other purpose than to show off its hefty price tag. He doesn’t just hand over his credit card and say something like, “Buy yourself something nice.”

No. He puts thought into the gifts he buys for people he cares about, and even though you don’t always necessary end up liking the gift, you’re a firm believer of it’s the thought that counts.

“Surprise library?!” You gasped, eyes gleaming, spinning around in your chair and ignoring the way your heart stuttered at the sight of him. You’d gotten pretty good at pretending after all this time.

“What?” Valko faltered slightly, but then placed a very pretty pink box onto your desk. “Uh, no. Not that.”

You deflated and muttered, “It’s never a surprise library.”

“Just open it, ya weirdo.” He tapped the box and urged you to undo the matching pink ribbon, and when you did, you were only further disappointed when you brushed aside the layers of tissue paper and pulled out… a taser?

“What…?” You looked up at him, puzzled, wondering if he’d picked up the wrong box this morning or was just messing with you like he always did. But his facial expression didn’t change, he just leaned forward to take the thing out of the box and show you how to use it.

“You’re a single woman living alone in the city, and you refuse to buy a gun—”

“Yeah, ‘cause I’m normal—”

“This is my solution.”

“Well, it’s a dumb solution.”

“Hey.”

You said that, but it was actually kind of sweet that he cared about your personal safety enough to even dwell on the matter at all. You pictured him at the store purchasing it, all serious in the way that he gets when it comes to stuff like this… all for you.

A swell of affection within you surged up so quickly it almost spilled out from your lips, but you bit down on the inside of your cheek and swallowed it back down.

“And even if someone does break into my place, by the time I get close enough to use this on them, they’d have already shot me in the face and looted my things.”

“And that is why I signed you up for self-defence lessons last year,” Valko sighed, still holding the taser because you refused to take it from him. You weren’t really a weapons kind of girl. “You never went, did you?”

“No,” you admitted easily, not because you didn’t think they were worth it, but because when would you even have time to go? You’re either here burning the midnight oil, or you’re at home trying to get some sleep. “But thank you, sir.”

Valko smiled, even though he didn’t really like it when you called him that. “Oh. Well, you’re welcome—”

“For the useless, useless gift.”

But it got worse. Because that was yesterday.

Today, you stepped out of the elevator and just stood there, mouth slightly agape when you saw a brand new triple wide bookshelf anchored to the wall behind your desk. It was painted a beautiful sage green, complete with elegantly arched baffles and intricate gold detailing, all eighteen of its shelves bursting with genres of all sorts.

When your brain started working again, you approached your desk to find a single book lying on top of the box that still held your brand new taser. You picked it up and turned it over to read the cover—The Gift of Fear and Other Survival Signals that Protect Us from Violence by Gavin de Becker—and rolled your eyes, but also smiled so wide that you thought your cheeks might tear.

You were still holding the book when the thought occurred to you, wiping the smile from your face. This was no longer working. You might have been able to pretend up until this point, but now that he’d gone and done the nicest and most thoughtful thing anyone has ever done for you, it is the last straw.

How are you supposed to keep things professional now? You don’t think you can go another full day without dissolving into a sad weeping mess, without him running over to ask you what was wrong, and then all the words you’re not allowed to say and feelings you’re not supposed to have come spilling out and you’ll have to stand there and listen as he tells you sorry.

Because you’re not his type. Yes, Valko flirts. You don’t think he realizes he’s doing it, sometimes. Yes, he calls you his “work wife” and then people started talking—as they inevitably do when a successful and powerful businessman has a good relationship with his female assistant—and he’d winked at you and said, “Well, since everyone already thinks we’re sleeping together, I might as well drop the ‘work’ and just call you ‘wife’.”

You thought you’d burst into flames, but he was just trying to lighten the mood. It was his way of telling you not to mind the rumours, because he could stand up to defend your honour and integrity, deny it until he was blue in the face, but people would still whisper behind closed doors. So as long as the two of you had a clear conscience, nothing else mattered.

And you’d seen the women who come in here, with their expensive designer dresses and stiletto heels, curves in all the right places. They lean against his desk and smile coquettishly, batting their eyelashes and laughing a bit too loud whenever he says something even remotely amusing. He’d smile back, that smirk that is both infuriating and tantalizing, his head tilting playfully to the side and you’d have to force yourself to look away.

But the worst is when she comes in. Unlike the others, this woman doesn’t sneer down at you when she asks if Valko’s in. If he’s busy, she sits down in one of the chairs in the lounge while she waits and makes friendly small talk. “If he ever gives you any trouble, let me know and I’ll beat him up for you. Us girlies gotta stick together.”

You’d smile, because she really is so darn nice. But when she comes in, Valko suddenly becomes shut off. They go into his office and he tells you they aren’t to be disturbed. When you try to ask for details after, he doesn’t tell you. You don’t even know her name. She is only known to you as Miss Hunter, and she is the only part of Valko’s life that you are not privy to.

It’s fine, though. You’re fine. You’ll be fine.

There are lots of jobs out there. Maybe not one that pays as good as this one or one that you enjoy nearly as much, but at the very least you can hope that your next boss won’t be a walking romantic hazard, sex on impossibly long legs.

Maybe he’ll even be a married balding man in his fifties, happily married for decades with grown children, who doesn’t give you butterflies or filthy, unspeakable ideas that you fantasize about in the privacy of your own mind.

Yes, it is fine.

You will email him your resignation letter over the weekend. You’ll make up some excuse as to why you can’t give him the standard two weeks’ notice and beg for a reference letter, so you don’t have to look him in the eye when he demands to know why. So that he can’t try to talk you out of it, because he will succeed.

Oh, god. The Surprise Library. You won’t even get to enjoy it. He just bought it too. It probably cost a lot. Well, for you. For him it was probably just a drop in the bucket.

You won’t give him the chance though. This is for your own good. In a few short months, he’ll have forgotten all about you and you’ll be moving on instead of spending every waking moment thinking about how badly you want his mouth on yours, or precisely what those hands are capable of, or that you want him pressed so close up against you that it makes tears spring to your eyes—

“What about you?” Valko suddenly asks.

“Huh?” You blink, only now realizing it’s been quiet for a bit too long, prompting him to break the silence.

“Who’d you pick? If you could switch bodies.”

You compose yourself. Security should be doing their rounds around the building soon, so it’s only a matter of time before someone realizes the elevator isn’t working and Valko’s car hasn’t left the parking lot. You just need to get through this final stretch and then you can go home and spend the weekend crying over a broken heart he knows nothing about, like you do most weekends.

“You, of course,” you say as nonchalantly as you can. Valko smirks, all cocky and smug, but before he can start cracking wise, you beat him to the punch. “For one, I’d steal all your money. Nobody can do anything about it because on paper, you’re just giving it to me.”

This doesn’t seem to rattle him nearly as much as it should though, because he just grins like he’s actually entertaining the idea. You try a different approach.

“And all that time you spend at the gym? All in vain, my friend. I’d eat everything and do, like, negative exercise. You know I hate working out.”

Now his smile drops. “You wouldn’t.”

“Oh, I most definitely would,” you double down, starting to laugh at the mental image. “I’d sit under a conveyer belt of food. I’m not burning one calorie for you.”

“Aw, sweetheart, that’s not funny!” He stands up straight now, gesturing at his immaculate body. “I’ve worked hard for this!”

Yes, he obviously has, and it has clearly paid off, but you’re not going there right now. “I’d eat until you grow moobs that touch the floor.”

His hands immediately fly up to cover his pecs, and you pretend like you aren’t looking at the way his broad shoulders, sculpted chest, and bulging arms are absolutely stuffed into that white dress shirt.

God, he’s huge.

Your mind wanders, imagining just how huge he’d feel towering over you, your hands on the wide expanse of his back as he leans down to kiss you—

Well, so much for not going there.

You clear your throat. “Oh, and I’d throw away all your protein powder.”

That gets the biggest reaction yet. He’s absolutely aghast now. “You actually can’t. Protein powder is expensive!”

“You’re not a bodybuilder, Valko, or a professional athlete—”

“What do you actually know? I could be training—”

“You don’t need to add protein to everything!”

See, this is good. You won’t think about how angry and disappointed he’ll be come Monday morning. That’s a problem for another day.

“Says the woman with the noodle arms.”

You gasp. “Take that back!”

He snickers again. “Quick, drop and give me twenty.”

For tonight, you’ll just enjoy what you have while you still can.

To be continued.

[kisstrela]

𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝐌𝐄 𝐁𝐄, 𝐆𝐎𝐎𝐃 𝐒𝐈𝐑 ! 𝐈❜𝐌 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐀𝐈𝐍 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑 !

⟢ sylus x fem!non-mc!reader.

𝐘𝐎𝐔'𝐑𝐄 𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐒𝐌𝐈𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐎 the world of love & deepspace. great! one thing: you’re not the main character. 

so, what the hell are you supposed to do when you wake up in his bed, the man is hugely affectionate, despite you not being his canonical love interest?!

⟢ 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞 ⨾ isekai / transmigration, canon au, fluff, humour, angst(?), 18+

⟢ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 ⨾ 7k

⟢ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 ⨾ [n]sfw(??? kinda?? i wouldn't recommend reading this in a public space is all) / implied sexual content (nothing actually happens) / however MDNI / canon universe / (attempts at) humour / reader is very self-deprecating / i will probably expand on this idea with the other leads, lmk if you'd like to see that / uh really playing to that classic manhwa trope we all know and love and are kinda tired of now with this / this is probably the risqué-est stuff i've written ahaha 🧍‍♀️ anyways enjoy!!

⟢ ao3.

For context, and to clear your name, you’ve long grown out of that silly, adolescent desire to be transmigrated into your favourite fictional universe, because you know, and have accepted, that it could never happen.

The unobtainability of fiction, if that’s a word, is probably what makes it the most appealing. An escape from reality, because reality could never be so sweet, and just something to occupy your mind when you’re idle and missing out on sleep again. Thankfully, people don’t bother you too much. You liken yourself greatly to Rhiannon from Sweetpea. You like that show a lot.

Love & Deepspace was just one of your many distractions from life. Pushing thirty and still stuck in that low-end assistant job to your unhelpful manager, you hadn’t even had your first kiss yet, let alone dated. Your mother told you it was high time to settle down with someone nice and handsome and preferably rich. Every annual family event you attended, that you were actually invited to, it was her and your aunts and grandmother who nagged you about it.

It had gotten to the point where, man or woman, you weren’t going to bother with romance at all. You didn’t stand out, you see. You weren’t pretty like Libby from public relations, you weren’t sociable like Rick from customer service, and you weren’t brilliant like Katherine from accounting. You were just…there, running around after everyone like you were still an intern, and the prospect of a promotion to where you actually had autonomy in that tedious job had long fizzled out of existence.

At least you could feel a little appreciated when you opened the app and that theme song started playing again. It was then that you realised you were grasping at straws, quite literally. Becoming reliant on some pixels and coding stuck in a screen, fictitious? Where the character you play as is pretty, is sociable, and is brilliant? Truly laughable.

So, what the hell is this?

About three minutes ago, you’re pretty sure, you opened your eyes. Your sheets are soft-blue and flannel, because it’s winter. These sheets are wine-red and silken, perfect for the summer, or late-spring. The duvet isn’t too thick, either, and it distinctly smells of sandalwood and expensive cologne, utterly unfamiliar, masculine. Your arm’s up over it, chilled in the early-morning air, and bare. Your pajama top is long-sleeved because, as aforementioned, it’s supposed to be winter. You don’t really wear spaghetti straps unless it’s summer, and in the short one-hundred-and-eighty-and-counting seconds since your eyes sprang open, you’ve long realised you’re not wearing a top at all.

It all slowly comes to you in quick successions of realisation. One, you’re in someone else’s bed. This one’s a superking, you’re pretty sure, considering the good distance from you to the edge of it. Your bed is a king-single, barely. Your dingy apartment can only fit so much. Two, you haven’t got any clothes on. Your legs are sticking uncomfortably to each other, which is why, whether summer or winter, you usually wear long pajama pants, and dislike being in the nude anyway. And three, someone has their arms wrapped around you, and their chest is pressed to your back.

They are asleep; warm, soft breaths puffing into your ear and neck, crotch slotted snugly to your behind, and hair tickling your cheek. You’ve tried moving, tentatively, and found their grip around you to be quite solid. You are caged in this man’s arms. Your heart is beating out of your chest at this point, like a trapped bird, breathing growing laboured.

Oh god. Oh god. Oh. God. What did I do? What have I done? Why am I here? Who even is this? I’m not hungover, and I did not go out drinking last night—I think I went to bed after my shower at the usual time… Your mind is racing a million miles a second. Trying to piece this all together, trying to work it out, trying to recall the very big blunder you must’ve made and the sticky situation you’ve gotten yourself into here—it’s all getting quite overwhelming very quickly. What did I do?

There is some kind of gap in your memory, there has to be, because you distinctly remember exhaustedly crawling into bed just last night, alone, barely even possessing the energy to complete your dailies on Love & Deepspace, or any other games you played. Somehow, you managed, but you went out like a light shortly after that. You remember feeling very happy at the knowledge that tomorrow—today?—would be Sunday, your day off, and you could finally sleep in for the first time in a good millennia.

Carefully, as slowly and as gently as you can, you slip your uncovered arm under the blanket, both hands now moving to pry the man’s from around your waist, eyes darting around your limited vision to try and spot any kind of clothing you could cover yourself with once free. You need to get out of here. You don’t dare look over your shoulder at whoever it is that’s holding you. You just need to leave.

You listen closely to his breathing patterns—they’re soft, rhythmic, deep, a sure sign of complete slumber. It’s painstakingly slow, the way you move then pause then move then pause, but, bit by bit, you ease his hold off you, and you carefully shift to separate yourself from him.

Whoever this man is, you know you don’t know him, and you know that you have no business being here. Never in your life would you have ever dreamed of having a one-night stand—well, maybe when you were younger and more starry-eyed and naïve and excited for the future, but now, you are utterly indifferent. You don’t think you’re the sort of woman men look twice at, anyway, even when piss-drunk.

It would be for the best if you were to take your leave before things get severely awkward. Just by casting one glance around the place is more than telling enough about this individual’s financial status. If you had less dignity and more ulterior motives, you’d stick around, but all your dignity is already long gone now anyway, and you want to salvage the last few remnants left by high-tailing it out of here.

You softly exhale in relief when you successfully get his hands off you, stopping to listen to his breathing again. Still asleep. A bit more encouraged now, you slowly sit up, holding the blankets close over your chest, and look around a bit more closely. 

Much to your chagrin, there is no item of clothing suitable enough within reach to grab and shuck on—you lean to the side, if a bit strained, to peer over the edge of the rather magnificent bed, where you lay eyes on the carpeted floor. Heat flares up your neck immediately.

Shirts and bottoms and a jacket and a coat and a bra, your size, along with a few other…bits of clothing, lie strewn across the ground, tossed haphazardly, evidence of impassioned rush and obvious…enthusiasm. You blink. You gulp. Oh, I’m in the shit now, aren’t I?

The nearest thing to you is a belt. A man’s belt. It looks expensive, too. You pointedly look away from it. The room is dim, with a high, beamed ceiling, a cold fireplace, a sofa, a massive TV, two armchairs, a large dresser, vanity, and an ajar door to, presumably, the closet. The other, average door, is shut closed, its knob gold, and there is a sliver of sunlight splayed across the floor, working its way along the room, stopping somewhere halfway up the wall to your right. The wallpaper also looks expensive. Everything looks expensive. Not anywhere the likes of you have any business being around.

Now it’s time to brave it all and look over your shoulder at your companion. You’d really rather just get out of here, but fearful curiosity has you rooted to the spot, duvet clutched to your front, bare back rippling with goosebumps from the chill. It would be the polite thing to do to wake him up and let him know of your departure, but you have this terrible feeling that getting any more embroiled in this mess you literally just opened your eyes to, not ten minutes ago, would be a very bad idea.

Slowly, you look to your left and set eyes on the drawn curtains, towering high over the room, where a narrow gap lets in the early-morning sunlight. In your periphery, you see a shoulder, a bicep, and a jawline. You suck it up and look at him fully. And then you almost scream.

Silver hair, mussed and dropped low over a brow. Broad shoulders. His arms lay limp where you just were, empty of you, toned and bulky and very familiar. And then there is his face.

Unfortunately, considering the circumstances, you’d know those lips and that nose anywhere. There is also the issue of his criminal jawline. It’s getting harder not to shriek in horror.

With a barely-concealed gasp, you whip back around and stare wide-eyed at the wall in front of you. There is no way. There is just no way. I’m dreaming. I’m still asleep and dreaming, aren’t I? Wouldn’t this kind of thing be a nice dream, though, and not one that feels like a nightmare? What the hell is going on?! Why am I so scared?!

Probably because the man you just woke up next to is a) a fictional character, b) far too familiar for this to bode anything well and c) kind of a villain. As in, he’s the head of a fictional crime syndicate in a fictional universe that is not real. No one is that good-looking and perfect in real life. This is truly it. I’ve really lost my marbles now, haven’t I?

Perhaps you were driven to the brink of insanity because of that horrid nine-to-five (well, nine-to-eight, really—yay for overtime!) you finally got a break from, even if for only a very short while, and the mistreatment of your coworkers. 

Suddenly, you have the urge to laugh. Gosh, this is just so ridiculous. Me, waking up in bed with some Love & Deepspace character? Please! That’s when you grin a little, pinch yourself, hard, and expect to awaken in the real world, in your bed, in your apartment, not here.

But you don’t. It leaves nothing more than a mark on your skin from your nails. All over again, panic washes through you. You physically feel yourself blanching. God, no. Please, no, it can’t be.

Deciding against wasting any more time, you quietly and carefully, and with great self-consciousness, peel off the covers, and swing your legs over the side of the bed, dearly wishing his back was to you. But he’s asleep, so it’s not like he’ll see anything, anyway. You just need to leave.

You’re almost standing when an arm winds itself around your waist.

With a yelp, you’re tugged back into the sheets, back pressed up against a wide, muscled chest, clutched to him tightly in a firm, but tender, embrace, quite inescapable. There’s a chuckle—and, by god, in any other situation, you would’ve loved to have heard that laugh spill right into your ear—and then he’s sleepily nuzzling his face into your neck. “That eager to leave, are you, my dear?”

You have no idea what the hell to say, or do. Completely frozen, you’re too stunned to do anything else other than just let him press kisses to your jaw and squeeze you close. He’s…very affectionate? You’d revel in it, too, if it was meant for you, that is.

“Um…” you croak out, grimacing at the crack of your voice. What the hell do I say to get him off me? “I just…needed to go to the bathroom.”

He’s now nibbling on your ear, and you try not to cringe away. “Ah. Considering how all sneaky you were being, I was starting to fear you were trying to run off.”

You rest one of your hands over his, its wide expanse splayed over your hip, shrewdly trying to slip it off you. “Uh—haha, now, why would I do that?”

“You tell me,” he breathes, turning you over so he’s hovering before you, gazing down, and you’re well and truly trapped. That face you’d only ever admired from in front of a phone screen, so flawless and roguishly handsome and smug, looms above you; a pair of eyes, almandine in this lighting, are staring with an intensity you find too hard to hold. The man tilts his head playfully, full lips curling up at the corners—not into a smirk, but into a soft smile replete with devotion. The sight shocks you. “It was this time yesterday evening when you were insisting that I was strictly off-limits for you, apparently.”

As subtly as you can, you tug the sheets up and over your chest, forcing a smile and averting your gaze. Yeah, what the hell is he talking about? “Oh, well…that was…yesterday.”

“Oh? You’re saying that you’ve had a change of heart now?”

Your eyes snap back to him at his words, stunned—and you’re only further astounded by his expression. Something you can only describe as hope lightens the shadows of his face, and then he dips back down to push his face into your collar and the crook of your neck, practically purring. “That almost hurts me, beloved. It’s like you only care now that you’ve gotten a taste.”

“I…” You really, really want to go home now. You want to get away from this guy, get away from whatever this whole mess is, and return to your usual mundane routine that does not involve waking up next to a man that only exists in an idiotic dating sim.

“No matter. We’ve got this whole place to ourselves, remember? I think I’ve got plenty of time to convince you to stay.”

“Er…” If you’re acting out-of-character, he doesn’t seem to notice; he’s currently too busy snuggling up to you like some overly-smoochy housecat that’s starved for affection, and it only serves to further solidify the fact that you’re definitely in the wrong place, with the wrong person, and probably in the wrong body.

The very thought makes your stomach drop and swoop in dread. Knowing this man, what will he do if he finds out? Sooner or later, he and his annoying astuteness will figure out that you’re missing a lot of your memories—in fact, you don’t have any at all—and that you are currently very uncomfortable with having some guy invade your space so closely, apparently unable to keep his mouth off the skin of your throat for more than thirty seconds.

But the thing is—he isn’t just some guy. This is Sylus, one of the six love interests of Love & Deepspace, and you are not supposed to be in bed with him right now.

It’s starting to dawn on you now. There is no way. It’s supposed to be fiction!

“Are you sore?” he suddenly asks, finally emerging from your nape, silver fringe falling low over his carnelian eyes. They’re a deeper red, and far more striking, than depicted through 3D graphics and semi-realism. You were expecting him to move to continue the obvious…deeds of the previous evening you don’t have any recollection of, but then you remember what kind of man he is. That relaxes you a little.

“Uh, not too much,” you lie, because you’re suddenly conscious of your lower region. Your face flares with heat. What a joke. I apparently spend the night with a man any woman would kill to fall into the arms of, and I can’t even remember it? Again, it only serves to reaffirm the point of how you’re not supposed to be here.

“I’ll clean you up,” Sylus says, shifting to rise—but you’re instantly flinching upright, covers held firm to your front, shaking your head vehemently. “No! No, that’s alright. I’ll have a shower and worry about myself. You—uh, don’t have to be concerned. I, um, need to go to the bathroom, anyway.”

Sylus is staring at you with lifted brows, probably a bit surprised over your small outburst, his eyes wandering over your face. It’s then that you realise he’s risen up to knees, leaning back against his heels, looming over you in all his glory. All his glory. You don’t even give yourself time to steal an admiring glance before you snap your eyes away, entire frame now burning white-hot with embarrassment. 

“Hm,” is all the man lets out, voice rumbling low. He remains there, as if considering you, before he fully moves off the bed to stand—and promptly leans over you to hike you up into his arms. “If I knew you’d be so shy, I would’ve gone easier.”

“What the—!” With a yelp, you flail a bit and lose your balance, leaving you no other option apart from tightly grasping his neck, as Sylus wastes no time in making his way for the ensuite, presumably. “I—I don’t think this is necessary! It’s not like I can’t walk!” “And how do you know that?” he quips. “Want me to put you down and let you have a try?” “Yes!” So I can get my clothes on and bolt, thank you very much! “Just—let me shower and brush my teeth and make myself presentable, so I can leave.”

“Leave?” Instantly, Sylus halts in his tracks. You can feel his eyes on your face. “You…want to leave?” “Yes,” you say again, shaking your head and refusing to meet his eyes. You’re too frazzled to be polite and act as you probably should. “Look, it’s probably best if I’m blunt about this, Sylus. That was all—everything last night was—I…I don’t know. I don’t think either of us were in our right minds. This is harsh of me, I know, but—I really don’t—it’s not…”

You trail off, helpless, unable to find the right words. This is certainly one hell of a mess you’ve been dumped into. How in the world are you going to explain yourself to him? Your current behaviour is probably extremely peculiar to him—especially if, as you fear, you’re inhabiting the original MC’s body.

Somehow, you don’t think so, which is even worse. If you’ve just been shoved right between them, where the story dictates his love for her, you’re in deep shit. You’re an anomaly, and you need to leave.

“Perhaps I was…” he suddenly begins, after a good long, torturous stretch of silence, “hasty.”

“I—I think we both were.” Am I getting through to him? He’s more yielding than I thought he’d be. Good. You’re still in a panic—and when you’re in a panic, you’re far less genial. “Let me down now. I’ll clean myself up on my own.”

Sylus immediately protests, “But I want to take care of y—”

“No,” is your testy answer. Then you shut your eyes tight in regret, seeking to control yourself. So you force a smile. “…Sorry, I didn’t mean to snap at you. Just…Just please put me down, Sylus.”

You aren’t fond of his expression. It’s a mixture of confusion, dismay, and hurt. Why? You don’t have a clue, and you’re not interested in finding out. The fact is, you know too little about your current situation to stay relaxed and rational about this, to the point where you can calmly humour this man and his (weirdly affectionate) whims, and you don’t want him figuring out what, to him, would be a very strange bout of amnesia.

With visible reluctance, Sylus finally complies and sets you down on the ground. Then you instruct him to turn around as you find something to cover yourself with.

The smirk he gives is a clear attempt at concealing how awkward he’s probably feeling inwardly. “I’ve already seen everything, sweethea—”

You grasp his shoulders to physically turn him around. “Doesn’t matter. Look away.”

You’d never possess the strength to force him away yourself, so he allows himself to be rotated with a shake of his head. You can just sense his bewilderment. You feel sorry. None of this is his fault, really. It’s whatever ended you up here, and you’re still about eighty-percent sure you’re having some absurd dream.

“I’ll shower and call a cab,” you remark, snatching up a nearby robe—his, unfortunately—and hurriedly wrap it around yourself. As expected, it’s far too big to fit on you properly, but you, too out of sorts to care, deal with it. “I’m sorry for the inconvenience. This is probably one big mess for y—”

“No cab will come out here, sweetie.” Sweetie. You jump at his use of that pet name and half-snap your neck to look up at him from over your shoulder. Sylus is facing you again, arms now crossed, not a trace of amusement on his face. A glaring contrast to the sarcastic lilt of his voice. “Too far.”

Your stomach drops, and you try to ignore the sensation. So he had to pick one of his safe houses right in the middle of nowhere for a bit of nighttime fun? Are you kidding? “W-Well, I’ll have to make do, then. Could I, uh, trouble one of your men to escort me back into town?”

He gazes at you wordlessly. It’s almost enough to make you forget he’s unashamedly, definitely-not-purposefully, directly in front of you, contentedly sporting his birthday suit right now—with the gall to even jut out a hip. Suddenly, your eyes have this uncontrollable urge to move downwards—but, out of your own, admittedly fragile, fortitude, you manage to keep them on his face, and forbid them from straying any lower. Now is not the time for sightseeing, anyway. You should probably give him his robe back. 

“What if I say no?”

And that immediately shoos those thoughts away, making you straighten, the hackles on the back of your neck standing on end. “Then I’d find a way to leave of my own accord.”

A pause. Sylus’s full lips purse. “May I…ask why you wish to leave so badly?” “Because I shouldn’t really be here,” you reply, sizing him up. No point. The bastard dwarfs you by a good mile. “Last night was—was a mistake.”

It’s not fun having to pull out the classic angsty rom-com line you’ve heard far too many times in books and movies, but you have a point to get across. You manage to refrain from physically cringing, though; he doesn’t. But his grimace is of a different kind—visible dejection. It makes your stomach drop all over again. 

“…I see.” Sylus’s Adam’s apple bobs. “Well, then.”

Your conscience screams at you, especially from the sight of that appallingly crushed expression, but you muster the courage to drive in the final nail. This is so weird. What the hell’s got him so worked up? “Yes. So, uh, may I go now?”

The man isn’t looking at you anymore—he’s cast his stare aside, and you’re further perturbed by the evident conflict and uncharacteristic rue on his face. Seriously, what the hell? I certainly am not the main character, so why’s he making that expression over this? We shouldn’t be in this situation in the first place! Such forlorn eyes are reserved for his soulmate only. Something is definitely wrong here.

“Fine,” is his eventual answer, as he heaves a sigh of obvious defeat. “I’ll…call for a driver.”

“Wonderful.” Pushing those questions aside, you’re heartened by his acquiescence and immediately stoop to snatch up your strewn clothing. “I thank you for your hospitality.”

“You don’t want to stay for breakfast, at least?” That inflection of desperation in his voice weirds you out even more. “I’ll brew your coffee just the way you like it.”

Yes, this certainly is Sylus Qin. So gracious and attentive and loving—too bad you’re the wrong recipient of such affections. And how would he even know the way I take my coffee? “No, thank you. But I appreciate the offer. I’ve already overstayed my welcome, you know? Look at the mess I’ve made here! We really were foolish.”

He elicits something like a scoff at that. It sounds brittle. “…Ha. Suppose we were.”

All that your clothing is are your undergarments, a tossed necklace that glimmers with gems so large, you almost blow your cover and gape at them—and an evening gown. A lovely evening gown. You put a hand to an ear and find an earring, modestly pensile—not heavy enough for you to have previously noticed smacking against your cheek. It likely matches the necklace. Would it be a stretch to presume that these are…gifts from him?

Most likely. You’d never be able to afford such jewellery even if you were making over a hundred-grand a year. You should probably give them back. No strings attached. You need to draw a very clear, bold, and uncrossable line here—for your own safety.

You gingerly take up the necklace and decide to act on your hunch, praying it doesn’t backfire. “…Here, I’ll return this to you. I have no further use for it. Do you still have the box it came in? I’ll need it for these earrings, too.”

Sylus is practically glaring at you now—but those brows aren’t knotted in hate, you find. His eyes pierce with undisguised anguish. “…No.”

“No, what?” you press, wandering into dangerous territory. You’re doing your best to conceal your intimidation with this clueless act. “You won’t give me the boxes?”

“I don’t have the boxes,” he clarifies, jaw set. “They are yours.”

“For one evening,” you continue, shaking your head, struggling with this pretense on the inside. “In what world will I ever need to wear these again? Besides, if anyone found out I had such valuable jewellery in my possession, I’d be set right up to be robbed.”

Sylus doesn’t respond, merely settling to stare at you in what appears to be incredulity. His going nonverbal serves to only disconcert you further; there is far more to all of this than what’s already meeting the eye here, and you’re worried you’re being very stupid right now. Still, you must continue to push the envelope so all ties are cut once you leave. “…Same with the dress. I’ll return that to you as well. And the shoes.”

“You…” he breathes after a long pause, uncrossing his arms. They fall limp at his sides. You manage to stay in place and not take a step back at the look in his eyes. “How… Why?”

Resolve steadily beginning to crumble now, you somehow squeak out, “Wh-Why what?”

“Why would you do this to me?” Sylus approaches you, visibly agonised. “Was it something I did? Said? Tell me.”

You press the items in hand to your chest and back away. “Hey—what? I don’t understand—”

“Why are you leaving? So help me, if this is about the Hunter again—” Pausing in his tracks, he runs a hand down over his face, and then up through his hair, head tilted back, peering down at you. The sight serves to inadvertently erupt your stomach into butterflies, which has you immensely uncomfortable. Oh, lord. This is bad. This is very, very bad. He said ‘Hunter’. That cannot bode well. “Listen. I told you last night of my sentiments for her. It has complicated things immensely, yes, and that was my fault. But, please, you must give me a chance, sweetheart. Please. I promise you, there is nothing more I have to do with her—”

The words are out of your mouth before you know it. “I don’t care about that. It was a fling. Shouldn’t we part ways now?”

Yep. Precisely the wrong thing to say. Well done, you! Now, why don’t you go ahead and sign your death certificate while you still can for us? Because that look on his face right now might just mean an early grave.

Or not. He goes pale, and then he flushes red. What he doesn’t understand, can’t understand, and won’t understand is that, as much as it pains you terribly to treat and speak to him in such a way, laying cutting words on thick so he’ll fold and let you go permanently is crucial at present. You do not want anything to do with a crime lord. You do not want anything to do with any of this. In fact, you’d take your awful nine-to-five and condescending coworkers and verbally abusive clients over all of this any day.

“Is that…truly…?” The poor man can’t even seem to find the words. What have you done? Have you just succeeded in knocking the prideful head of Onychinus down a peg or two? Well, if that’s how it’s going to have to be. Perhaps it’ll do him some good to be humbled—but you don’t want to break his heart.

If it can be broken by you. You almost laugh out loud at the notion. Me? Right, and pigs can fly! “Look, Sylus—I don’t want to, uh, hurt you here, but I really don’t think any of this is very sensible. I, uh, am…aware of your sentiments for the Hunter, and that—”

“I told you, I feel nothing for her.” Now Sylus grasps your upper arms, and you immediately flinch at the unexpected physical contact. Upon seeing you jolt in his hold, though, Sylus’s expression twists and he lets you go, turning away. He runs a hand down his face. “I just—have I not proven myself to you countless times? Why must you—why must you continue to toy with me so?”

You blink in shock. “T-Toy with you?”

“Yes, toy with me.” Never would you have thought you’d see such a wretched expression on this man’s face. And it appears Sylus can barely even look at you, too. Oh, god, I am missing so much context here. “You—You know of my feelings. Was last night not a statement enough? Was baring myself to you completely and taking you to my bed not enough of a physical demonstration of my affections?”

Speechless, you can only gawk at him and try to collect your thoughts—try and make heads or tails of all this. You can hardly even remember to blink. Is he…well, is he confessing his love right now?

For, from the little you can tell, what seems to be the nth time?

Just what kind of person am I in the shoes of now? What in the world has been going on here? Why is the original storyline not being followed?

“I…I once said that I wouldn’t care if you never reciprocated my feelings,” Sylus continues, heaving a sigh. “But now…now I am unsure if I can stand this any more. Especially not when you turn around and do—this. To me.”

“…Okay, now, look,” you try, forcing yourself to relax where you stand and take a tentative step forward. How do I ask him to explain all this to me without looking like some blockhead who’s mysteriously lost her memories? “The thing is, Sylus, is that…well…let’s say I’ve had some, you know, second thoughts? You get me? You see, I’m not sure if—”

“And yet you humour me anyway.” The man turns and faces you again, eyes flaring. “You let me take you out for dinner and wear all the dresses I pick out for you and attend the various events I ask you to be my plus-one for. Can’t you see? Don’t you understand? You’re…You are being so cruel.”

“…Cruel?” you echo, voice small and pathetically puzzled.

But he doesn’t seem to notice. “Yes, cruel. You are leading me on, despite knowing of my desire to enter into a relationship with you. And last night—when you kissed me back, and—”

Sylus cuts himself off and turns away again, back fully to you now, both hands rising to his face. Those wide shoulders lift and sag with a heavy exhale, and then, after a moment of onerous silence, he shakes his head. “…I couldn’t care less if you’re just using me for my money, but now…now, I’ve begun to dislike being taken advantage of—even by you.”

The diamond necklace and dress in your hold right now suddenly feel terribly burdensome; you’re left at a complete loss because you have no idea what to do or say to rectify this. To rectify this mess you’ve somehow gotten yourself into that, frankly, has absolutely nothing to do with you.

The woman he seems to love is not me, you think, squeezing your eyes shut. And it doesn’t appear to be the MC either. Seriously, what kind of freak show is this? What am I going to do?

“…Do you truly feel nothing?” You start at the sound of his low voice, as Sylus half-turns to peer at you side-long, from over a shoulder. His expression spears you through. “Will you not even give me a chance? Even after—after everything?”

What do I say? How do you reply? This abrupt, unforeseen situation has not gone the way you expected it to at all. First, it began with sheer panic on your end and warm affection on his, and then the first obstacle of just wanting to get away—and then this, some bizarre escalation into a love confession, of all things.

What is this, seriously? Pride & Prejudice? Only, Elizabeth Bennet had her memories—you do not, and you haven’t been given even five minutes to think about all this and figure it out and ascertain a way to go home. That’s part of the reason why you wanted to use the bathroom—so you could sit on the toilet seat and have your panic attack in there, in peace.

So how are you supposed to reply to this? How, other than disappointing him again—at least, what appears to be ‘again’? Perhaps it would all work out for the better, though. It really looks like that…with whatever’s been going on here, he might need closure. 

And if he has to get it from you, a woman he has no idea is a stranger inhabiting (what you can only rationalise to be) another woman’s body, then so be it. Wouldn’t it be a win-win, either way? Then, you could perhaps have the assurance that he won’t be bothering you after this.

You still feel awful though, even though none of this is your fault. It really does look like he’s got some serious, er, sentiments for ‘you’ here, which he should really only have for the MC—and how it all started in the first place, you don’t think you really want to know. It sounds very messy. And melodramatic. And probably eye-roll-and-yawn-worthy, if that makes sense. 

This is a love interest from a dating sim, remember. What else could one expect from such an individual and, well, world, other than silly theatrics?

“Well…” Falteringly, you try again to get the right words out, and deliver them best and as kindly as you can. I really, really don’t know what to say here. “I can see now that I’ve…hurt you, Sylus, and I should—apologise for that. I’m, uh, sorry. It’s clear I’ve been careless with—your feelings, despite being knowledgeable about them, and…essentially, er, cashing in on them, so to speak.” You wince; ‘cashing in on them’? Are you serious? Are you trying to rub salt in his apparent wounds here? “It was…terribly wrong and, as you said, cruel of me. So, well, it’s largely because of that, guilt has been eating at me, and…after last night…after, you know, um, having relations, I think I’ve—taken this too far.” Clutching the items in hand to your chest closely has a weak way of self-encouragement and shielding, you smile up at him feebly. Then you promptly avert your eyes at the look in his. Oh, lord. “…I really am sorry. I was selfish. It was unfair to you and, well, inexcusable.”

Left with nothing much else to add, you fall silent, hoping your ‘apology’ came across sincere enough. You’ve never been much of an actress. And this man, for all your familiarity with his character in-game, was never an easy one to fool—and certainly not one to suffer them.

“…I see,” Sylus finally utters, after a long, long moment of silence. His hands are on his hips and he’s still only half-facing you. He’s also, unfortunately, still quite unclothed. Not that he’s no sight for sore eyes, you ponder appreciatively, before wrenching yourself back to the present, scolding yourself. Idiot! Focus on the issue at hand, not his—assets!

“So that’s why…” you begin once more, just as haltingly, “it would be better if we went our separate ways, you know…?”

Again, nothing. He makes no reply. You stare down at your bare feet and wonder at how this is all going to end—how you’re going to get back to your world. Is there even a way back? Will I ever find out just what’s going on here? Like, why the hell I’m in the realm of Love & Deepspace?

With your other hand, you clutch at the robe around you, half-considering slipping it off and giving it back to him—after changing in the bathroom, of course. What a weird dream, whatever this is. Or way to wake up, I don’t know. I really haven’t the faintest idea what’s going on here. I’m in way over my head, aren’t I?

“Then, you don’t love me?” Sylus’s voice is quiet, but it makes you jump a bit again, nonetheless. Your head snaps up to stare at him, at his disconsolate, yet strangely resigned, expression. “You feel nothing?”

If you were in any other situation, in any other context? Sure. But right now? Not in the slightest. Being thrown into such a compromising—and dangerous, if he were any other man—position as this out of nowhere has effectively erased any and all feelings you may have initially had for what you believed to be nothing more than a bunch of pixels, of code and programming, on a screen. Objectively, he’s a total dreamboat, and even now, you’re actively trying not to stare—but that’s about as deep and far as it goes. Other than that, you feel nothing. Nothing other than dread and a need to flee, that is, even if you’re pretty certain he’d never intentionally hurt you. He may run a crime syndicate, but that doesn’t necessarily mean he’s the type who enjoys inflicting indiscriminate harm upon others.

So, with a contrite, awkward, slow shake of your head, you finally deliver, what you hope is, the softest final blow. “…No, I do not. I’m sorry.”

Again, silence. Penitently, you cautiously set about gathering ‘your’ things from the carpet, far more than eager to finally take your leave. I’d better find those boxes he gave me for this jewellery, so I can return them. Same with this dress—oh, and these shoes—

“Leave it,” comes his voice from above, and you jerk back in fright to peer up at him. And it’s clear Sylus noticed your reaction, too, which you feel immediately sorry for, because his expression just looks even more wounded. “…I’ll summon someone to clean this up for you in a bit. Just…if you need a shower, feel free.”

“Thank you.” Leaping at the chance, you straighten and bob a grateful bow in the meantime. It earns you a flimsy scoff from the man. “I’ll have one now. Er…I apologise for taking your robe, I—wasn’t thinking—”

“It’s fine.” Sylus waves a dismissive hand, still not looking at you. He instead strides for the wardrobe, pulling it open, selecting another robe inside for himself. The room is oppressive with his clear melancholy. I really didn’t mean to hurt him. “There are…plenty of your size in here, if you need one. Also, there are clothes. Take what you need.”

Heart squeezing at the allusion in his words, you beat it down and do your utmost to tell yourself that you have nothing to feel bad for—it’s whoever, well, ‘I’ was before I arrived who’s at fault here! “…You, um, have my thanks. I’ll be quick, and out the door before you even know it! Haha…”

No response, and you shrink in on yourself in shame, inwardly cursing. The man merely dons the robe with his back to you, shoves his feet into his slippers, and barely spares you a glance as he turns to retrieve his phone from the bedside table. “…Your driver will be here in half an hour. There’s no hurry.”

With that, Sylus crosses the room, presses his phone to his ear, pulls open the door, and curtly clicks it shut behind him. Now, you are left completely alone in this vast room, where his clothes from the previous night still lay strewn on the floor, the bedsheets all twisted and haphazard on the expansive mattress, the analog clock on the wall faintly ticking away. It’s getting on to about nine in the morning. Wouldn’t this be Sylus’s bedtime? Well, you suppose that’s not your issue anymore—as if it ever was. Selecting the clothes you will wear from the wardrobe, you step into the ensuite, lock the door behind you, and get into the shower.

Well, what the fuck. It’s not everyday one ends up in a whole other dimension with a whole other life, let alone said dimension being an otome game and ending up in your favourite love interest’s bed. And then having a whole angsty dispute with him that would be quite soap opera worthy. Seriously, I have to be dreaming.

Oh, well. Once you get in the car awaiting you and depart the premises and never lay eyes on that man again, you suppose you’ll be able to adjust somehow to your new environment, and then get to figuring out a way to get back home. If that’s possible. I should hope it is.

all rights reserved © kisstrela 2025. do not copy, repost, redistribute, translate, plagiarise or modify my work(s) in any way on any platform. thank you.

[ladykelsi]

Game, Set, Match

Summary: How many bets does it take until you realize what he's trying to tell you?

Pairing: Caleb Xia x non-mc!reader.

Warnings: Fluff, Smut, Humor, Enemies (sort of) to lovers, College au, not proofread.

Word Count: 3.7k.

Notes: I tried not to go overboard with this one by keeping it short.

To everyone else, he’s an angel sent above.

The popular kid. Voted “Most Handsome” on school forums and has his own personal fan club that isn't entirely connected to him playing basketball. Makes all the girls swoon when he walks by and some have fainted when he smiles and winks. Makes all the boys either burn with admiration or jealousy over the man he is.

To you, he’s that annoying classmate you share one module with despite doing entirely different courses.

Always teasing and lightly poking fun at you just to make you snap at him because “you’re so cute when you’re mad, babe” as he pinches your cheek and oh, you hate that nickname because you're not his babe or his baby or his anything, yet he insists on calling you that for whatever reason.

Always gnawing at your last working nerve just because he can. Always pulling the strap of your backpack to drag you to his side when you attempt to move away. Always stepping in your way when you try to walk away from whatever conversation he entraps you in. Always slugging an arm over your shoulders and still smiling when you shrug him off. Always flirting, blowing kisses and finding ways to step over the very clear lines you've set to keep him as far away from you as possible.

You only endure it because he’s not actively hurting you. It would be an entirely different thing if he pulled your hair or hit you or shoved you and made real insults to your looks and character. Though somehow he is toeing that line, you just don't do much about it because he's just being annoying.

You dread having to sit next to him every thursday morning because the class is almost always full and he saves you a seat every single time so you’re forced to endure that three hour lecture with him quietly nattering in your ear and nudging you when the professor isn’t looking.

Somehow, he weasels his way into your small friend group and practically nests at your best friend’s apartment because he’s best friends with her boyfriend, Gideon, just to get under your skin even more.

As if that wasn’t bad enough, Professor Lucius pairs you and the fucker for an upcoming presentation instead of Zayne and thus, you’re forced to spend even more time with him to prepare for it. Surprisingly, he carries his weight and does his part with all the research, making the power-point and rehearsing what has to be said but he doesn’t miss an opportunity to work on your every last nerve.

“Bet I can beat you.” He holds the controller up.

You’re still peeved that he went through your dorm room while you were getting yourself a glass of juice at the cafeteria. All because your roommate let him in as she was heading out for the night.

“I’m a pro at this game. You’re not beating me.” you attempt to sound as nonchalant as possible as you try to swipe the item off his hands, only for him to quickly lift it up as high as he can so you can’t reach it. “Caleb.”

Then. It comes out of nowhere.

“Best two out of three then.” he grins. “If I win, I get to grope your boobs.”

Scoundrel. Absolute maniac of a human being.

Shock paints your expression before it's replaced by pure rage. “You disgusting pervert. Get out of my room!”

You shove at him to no avail. Standing well over six feet and got a whole lot of muscle to withstand being toppled over, you strength paled in comparison to his. Eventually, when you fail to get him out, you decide on leaving the room. Or trying to anyway.

“C’mooon. You’re already so good at this game.” he cajoles, blocking you when you try to exit the room. “It’s not like I’m gonna win anyway.”

You cross your arms, practically steaming out the ears. “No.”

“If I lose, you get to kick me out right now.” he offers.

“Or you could just leave.” you counter through gritted teeth.

“And I will be obligated to bring any meal you want for the rest of the semester.”

Rolling your eyes, you make the mistake of turning your back on him. “You don’t have that kind of money, dipshit.”

“Yes, I do and you know it.” You hate that he’s right. The fucking bastard circles around in the small dorm to stand in front of you. “Now come on, babe. are you in or out?”

He holds out the controller to you. A challenge. An offer to prove him wrong. An opportunity to finally put him in his place (outside of your own little space). You don’t want to indulge him, but he makes this all too enticing.

You look at your small gaming console. An old PS2. It’s not that you couldn’t afford to save up for the latest ones, you just cling to this one for nostalgia purposes and had it stashed away under your bed for whenever Caleb comes around.

One of your only sources of comfort. Yet now it’s being used against you in this ridiculous bet.

A heavy sigh leaves your breath and you snatch the controller from his hand.

“You better not complain when I tell you to order takeouts in the middle of the night.”

Betrayed by your own hubris, you sit down next to him in front of your monitor and start the game. Worst mistake you’ve made so far and you hadn’t realized it yet.

The first round was easily yours. You cleared him without so much as breaking a sweat in under two minutes.

The second round is where he takes you by surprise. What went from how does this thing work and what does this button do turns into ooh, i get it now and you find your character’s HP being rapidly depleted until it dies.

You stare at the screen in silent shock over how in the fucking hell that could’ve possibly happened. Warmth blooming under your skin when you realize that you’re dangerously close to losing your dignity.

That you’re dangerously close to letting him cross the line.

“Close your mouth, baby. You’re catching flies.” You glare at his cheeky smile. It takes a monumental effort to resist the urge to smack him.

“Round three.” the announcer calls. “Fight!”

You both focus intently. The music plays as you immediately go on the offensive and deploy a rapid succession of attacks, which Caleb barely has time to block.

The atmosphere is tense. You’re both facing off in a deadly final match. Caleb makes his play and chops down your life little by little. He makes little quips and comments, which you counter in barely restrained volatile replies.

You fight back, waiting for the power to build up before you finally get the chance to strike. Beside you, he makes a noise of surprise when you sweep the legs of his character and launch your hypercombo finish. He’s in severe distress when it connects and cuts his HP by less than half.

Then. He goes real quiet. He’s almost dead. HP a mere speck on the top of the screen, a lethal marker of his hubris.

But the fire in his eyes is brighter than ever. Hands gripping the controller, mouth pressed into a firm line as he leans forward in his cross-legged seated position. He’s locked in.

The game rages on. Lights flashing, sounds blaring through the small speakers of your computer. Hit after hit, your life drains even further and he miraculously dodges your oncoming attack which would’ve surely ended him him.

Before you can even comprehend what happens, he catches you in his finisher and you’re as good as gone.

“K.O!”

You stare in debilitating shock as your character goes down for the last and final time that night while Caleb’s stands triumphant.

He... He won.

The moment of silence that follows was deafening. A lapse of complete and utter peace before you glance at your side to find Caleb's awaiting smug face staring back at you.

“Caleb.” you warn.

“We had a deal.”

He’s already on you before you realize it.

Pinned to the carpeted floor before you can take your next breath, you’re struck by the whirlwind that is Caleb’s raw and unbridled desire, along with one singular realization.

He’s been planning this since the very beginning.

You walked right into his trap from the moment you allowed yourself to think that bruising his ego was more important than your pride. And he knew this.

He was banking on this.

And you fell for it.

Hook, line and sinker.

Regardless.

The game is still afoot and you refuse to take this lying down (pun intended).

“Ten seconds.” you grit through your teeth. “That's all you're getting, you piece of shit.”

He grins, wide, bright and proud of all the hard work he put into this rouse. “This is gonna be the best ten seconds of my life.”

It fucking better be, you silently gripe. You never took note of how big his hands are until they’re slowly tracing up your torso to gently grasp each breast over the cloth covering them. Your breath hitches when he does not waste a moment to squeeze.

Time seemingly stops as his gaze drops to your chest. Every ounce of his mirth fading away. He zeros in on this singular moment, this very thing that he fought so hard to achieve.

It takes everything in you not to squirm as he plays with your breasts like they’re his own personal stress balls. But the sharp noise bubbling from your throat gives you away when his thumb and forefinger inch closer to pluck your nipples through the thin fabric.

“This is–”

It’s the furthest thing from dignified. And it’s been more than ten seconds. He took more than what he’s owed.

You push his hands away, breaths heaving. “That’s enough.”

His hard stare never leaves your chest. Adam’s apple bobbing with a thick gulp when he noticed the one defining piece of evidence that you’re not as unaffected by this as you led on.

Your hardened nipples outlined through your tank top.

Immediately, you’re crossing your hands over your chest in defense and just like that, Caleb’s playful demeanour returns as if it had never even disappeared, but the heat in his eyes never leaves. He tilts his head and you hate the way something in your belly burns sharply at that.

“Wanna play another game?”

“No.”

Instantaneous. You’d think the sharp tone of your answer would shut him down.

It doesn’t. Of course it doesn’t.

“Free ice cream and slushies for the rest of the semester if you win.”

The offer is far from enticing after this embarrassing loss. There was no way in hell you’re sacrificing your pride again for the sake of free deserts and bragging rights for however long he’ll allow it.

“And if I lose?” you scoffed, getting up to move as far away from him as possible. “Where else do you want to touch, you pervert?”

He follows on his feet, quicker, his movements more pronounced, more intentional as he backs you up against your small desk, hands caging you on either side.

Your breath catches when he’s close– too close to allow any sort of comfort. Close enough that his nose brushes against yours, that the warmth of his body radiates from the limited distance.

In the enclosed space, there was hardly any place you could escape to and hardly anywhere to hide the thundering in your heart. Any closer and Caleb might just kiss you.

You hate how much that doesn’t seem as unappealing as you want it to be.

“Your pussy.”

That rat bastard– The fucking audacity of this man.

“Absolutely the fuck not.”

“With my fingers.” he continues, completely undeterred by your scowl. “For five minutes.”

“Five min– No!” Absurd. Unthinkable that he would even extend the time so exponentially from ten seconds.

You shove him and scurry over to the door while his voice rings behind you, “I’ll even throw in an orgasm while I’m at it.”

“You’re out of your goddamn mind, Caleb.” you snapped.

He’s still grinning when you an all but throw him out of your room. Gleeful and proud after claiming his victory over you.

“There’s no way in hell I’m agreeing to that!”

And yet somehow, you wind up here.

In his room. On his terms. As he's kneeling in front of you and peeling your leggings off from under your skirt after you’d lost yet another game.

“Get up.” you struggle to maintain your glare. “You’re not eating me out, Caleb.”

“I could.” he offers.

“That wasn’t part of the deal.”

Caleb has a nasty habit of trying to add terms and conditions that were not previously set into whatever bet he’s got going on and it is pissing you off because more often than not, you’ve ended up on the short end of the stick.

His lopsided grin widens, head tilting. “Then I’ll save it for the next game.”

You kiss your teeth. “There is no next game–”

He chooses that exact moment to catch you off guard. Mid sentence, your words catching in your throat when his hand reaches between your thighs to where he wants you the most. His fingers trace your clit and you’ve lost your train of thought.

“You sure about that?” he rasps, nipping your thigh. “With how much you’re already dripping all over my fingers right now?”

As proof, your treacherous cunt leaks all over Caleb’s hand. You have no leg to stand on when a strangled noise forces its way out of your throat when he makes little circles on your bud.

“That’s right, sweetheart.” he kisses the inside of your knee, reverent. “You threw the game on purpose, didn’t you?”

“I did not!” You didn’t– You didn’t. He’s just saying that to rile you up. And you hate how well it works because it only serves to heighten his glee. “You’re just–”

You choke on your next words when his fingers slip into your fluttering pussy. How are you already so close?

“I’m just what? Too good? Gonna make you cum?”

His taunt earns him nails purposefully digging into his shoulders. Painful enough to make him hiss. Serves him right.

“Yeah?” he presses down on your clit. “Go ahead then, baby. Cum for me.”

The high crashes into you before you can try to fight it. It rushes up like a geyser, hot and blistering so much that you tremble in the surge of it. A weak mewl of his name as blood roars in your ears before he leans up and slots his lips onto yours.

It all falls downhill from there. Your resistance against Caleb wavering with the gentle sweep of his tongue and shattering under the nip of his teeth on your lip.

You weakly push at his shoulders while managing a glare. “No kissing.”

He leans in again and presses his mouth on yours anyway, uncaring of your ire, unchanging in his desire, in his need to punish you for whatever his whims command of him.

“That’s a penalty.” you mumbled the words between his lips. "It’s gonna cost you.”

“Worth it.” he moans right back at you before his tongue licks into your mouth.

Unfortunately, Caleb was right. There was a next game.

As promised, he took what he was owed. Buried his head between your thighs and nestled there until both of you were soaked, until his moans mixed alongside the lewd wet noises of the slick pouring out of your cunt.

“Caleb– Caleb–” the tightness in your voice rings through the quiet space of your room.

Each stroke of his tongue more desperate than the last. The noise he makes does nothing to help stave off the heat building in your core. Your fingers grip his hair, trying to pull him off of your throbbing clit to no avail. He won’t let you go. Hands pinning your knees apart, breaths heaving as he inhales your heavy scent. Eyes blown when he gazes upon your wrecked expression.

He’s well past the point of no return. And you’re close behind.

His tongue returns between your fold and your eyes roll back. Back arching into his touch, a noiseless gasp leaving you when he pulls another orgasm out of you.

The next game was worse.

The conditions were far more steep, far more treacherous than a few fingers and stolen kisses. You find your hands shaking when you held the controller, your victory ripped away from you before you had time to compose yourself from the shock of hearing it.

“Just the tip.”

Dangerous. Yet you’re laying back against the bed, listening to the soft clink of his belt cut through the air. Delirious as you watch him loom over you, parting your legs to make space for him, yet hating yourself to have even agreed to this in the first place.

“I hate you.” you whisper, though your eyes were soft and held the furthest thing from disdain.

You both hiss when his cock grazes your cunt. Your skin burns hotly, blistering as he settles between your thighs, notching the blunt tip at the cut of you.

“Don’t hate the player, sweetheart.” he chokes out, eyes shut tight as he plants a hand next to your head. “Hate the game.”

“I hate both.” you manage to counter. “One more than the other.”

“That didn’t seem to be the case when you were coming on my–”

You wrap your hands around his neck and squeeze. “Guess again.”

He moans, hips canting once. In doing so, he slides in a little deeper than intended. Your grip falters and he takes it as an opportunity to pin them above your head.

“Caleb.” you squeak desperately. He rocks his hips again and you’re losing grip on language, your voice spilling more broken mewls than words.

He’s stripping you down to bare bones and pouring all his unbridled lust on what’s left, torturous in his pursuit of making you come undone. And succeeding in doing so.

You can’t bring yourself to recall anyone so determined, so desperate to get under your skin. You watch as Caleb takes his time in his task. His breaths heady, gaze heavy and reverent. So full of something that has long hidden behind playful banter and teasing.

He lets go of your hands, trailing his own down your body. The heat of his palms ignites something in you that feels all too familiar and foreign all at the same time. You’re not stopping him when he takes hold of your hips and thrusts deeper and harder.

“This is–” you keen, head tipping back against the pillow. “more than… more than… fuck…”

You feel so full of him when he finally sinks in at the hilt. You’re clenching so tightly around him, pulsing around his thick shaft.

A shuddering breath leaves him before he grits out, “Is th–that an invitation, sweetheart?”

“Shut up!”

That earns you a kiss to shut you up. You feel his laughter spilling into your mouth as he’s slow with his thrusts, gentle not to hurt you as he’s stretching you open, breaking every rule you’ve set for yourself to not involve yourself with him.

It’s undeniable now.

He’s bending your very will.

You realize this as the moans pour out of your mouth like a waterfall as his pase hastens, now his cock glistening under the light as he pulls your hips back into his punishing thrusts. Enough so that he revels in them, spurred on by the very sound of you unraveling under his touch.

“S’about damn time I made you sound like that, baby.” the weight of his body is on you as he nips your ear. “You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for this.”

“Sounds–” The last consonant trails off into a sharp hiss before you force out the rest of the words, “like you got a crush, Xia.”

He laughs, delighted. You’re struck by how genuine, by how relieved he sounds for you to have come to that conclusion in the midst of all his nonsense.

“Took you long enough to notice.” you barely open your eyes to find how close he is, his nose brushing against yours before he steals a peck. “Why do you think I’ve been desperate to win every bet, huh?”

He’s impossible. Utterly and infinitely impossible.

Before you can decide against it, you’re pulling him closer to slant your lips against his, legs wrapping around his waist and crossing at his back. You don’t have time to regret that decision once you feel grinding against your clit, drawing you too close to edge too quickly before you’re hurled over it.

The effect was devastating enough to have you writhing under him.

“Fuck, you’re coming already?” Kisses trail down your neck in a soft line. “We barely even started, baby.”

It’s moments like this when you’re glad that your dormmate is an extrovert who regularly stays out on weekends. Because you’re not sure if you would’ve been able to look her in the eye if she’d walked in on you getting fucked like a whore in this shared space.

As of now, Caleb lays under you with your head on his chest and his fingers drawing little abstract shapes on your shoulder.

“For our next game…” he starts, breaking the long silence. “I want a date.”

So. That’s what this all was.

You sigh in resignation. Even if your stomach flutters at the thought. To think that he’s been doing all this just to ask you out.

He’s such an idiot. A genius, considering you would’ve said no if he’d outright asked but an idiot nonetheless.

“Or we could just skip the game.”

He looks down to you. “Now where would be the fun in that?”

You roll your eyes, even as a smile stretches across your lips. Of course this would be foreplay to him. The sick bastard enjoyed messing with you as much as he likes fucking you.

And yet, even knowing this, for the first time, you’re glad to have lost. Otherwise, it wouldn’t have led to this being the outcome.

offer a coin to the picklejar

anti ai banner by @/vase-of-lilies

[laurefindele]

── oblivious

ꨄ︎ alpha valko x beta non-mc x alpha mc

ꨄ︎ summary: You always assumed you were just the supportive Beta third wheel to Mei and Valko's inevitable Alpha power-couple romance. Turns out, you were wrong.

ꨄ︎ cw: fem!reader, non-mc reader, a/b/o, college/university au, oblivious reader, beta!reader, alpha!valko, alpha!mc, mc is mei, fluff, possibly ooc valko, alpha/beta relationship, unbeta'd, unedited

ꨄ︎ a/n: guys… i've fallen for the valko propaganda 😭 anyway, please note that his characterization in this fic is purely based on the 3 minute trailer that we got 🥹 also non mc x mc because wth, she's hot and the new fit is 🔥

ꨄ︎ lads masterlist ꨄ︎ AO3

Being a Beta definitely had its perks. 

You didn't have to deal with heats, ruts, or the overwhelming biological urges that governed the lives of Alphas and Omegas. The only downside was that you were practically scent-blind to pheromones, which meant you had to rely strictly on visual cues to realize that your two best friends were hopelessly, undeniably in love with each other.

Yes, that was the only explanation that made sense.

You were currently sprawled on a plush, impossibly expensive velvet sofa in the middle of Valko’s penthouse.

As the sole heir to Eoncore Tech, Valko’s college living situation was less "dorm room" and more "billionaire's high-rise playground," complete with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city and experimental tech prototypes scattered across every surface.

"Okay, but listen, if we overclock the core processors on the new VR rig…whoa!"

Valko, who had been pacing excitedly while rambling about the latest tech he was working on, suddenly tripped over a tangled mess of fiber-optic cables. His arms flailed wildly, his glasses flying off his face as he plummeted toward the glass coffee table.

Before you could even flinch, Mei was there.

The female Alpha moved with terrifying speed, catching Valko by the back of his designer hoodie then hauling his tall, broad frame upright with one hand like he was a stray kitten.

"Careful, idiot," Mei grumbled. She didn't let go of his hoodie right away, eyes locking onto his flushed face.

"Ah... right. Thanks, Mei," Valko chuckled nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. He looked like a massive, clumsy golden retriever who had just bumped into a glass door. He beamed at her, and the raw, unspoken Alpha energy between them felt so thick and intimate that you felt guilty just for watching. 

You sighed fondly, picking up your textbook. 

It was beautiful, really. 

Two incredibly powerful Alphas, one a grounded, protective force of nature, and the other a brilliant, obscenely wealthy, loveable dork. They were a perfect match. You were just lucky they let their token Beta friend hang out in their penthouse to use the ultra-fast Wi-Fi.

Mei finally let go of Valko and walked over to you. She silently placed a plate of perfectly sliced fruit on the table in front of you, a soft, almost imperceptible gentleness softening her features when she looked your way.

"Thanks, Mei," you smiled.

Valko immediately scrambled over, nearly tripping again, to drop a brand-new, unreleased Eoncore smart tablet into your lap. 

"I had the engineering team install that specific reading app you like! The screen adjusts to your retinas so you don't get headaches while studying!"

"Valko, this is worth more than my car," you said, staring at the sleek device.

"It's just a prototype! Consider it... beta testing," he said, winking proudly at his own pun.

You looked between the two of them. They had flanked you again, standing on either side of the sofa, looking down at you with undivided attention. Even without being able to smell their pheromones, the territorial, possessive aura in the room was suffocating. 

They were practically vibrating.

They must be getting ready to court each other, you thought. They’re so tense. I’m totally ruining the mood.

You closed your textbook and carefully placed the ridiculously expensive tablet on the table. 

"You know what, guys? I think I'm gonna head out. I have a lot of reading to do, and I really want to give you two the apartment to yourselves tonight."

Both Alphas froze. 

Valko blinked, his brain clearly struggling to process the statement.

"Give us the apartment?" Mei repeated, eyebrows furrowed. "Why?"

"Well, you know," you gestured between them with an encouraging smile. "You two have been circling each other for months. The whole ‘Alpha power couple’ thing is great, and I fully support it, but you don't have to keep pretending to hang out with me just to spend time together. You should just establish your pack already!"

Silence fell over the penthouse. 

Both Alphas stared at you then, they slowly turned to stare at each other.

"You think..." Valko started, his voice dropping slightly "You think Mei and I want to mate... with each other?"

"Well, yeah! You're always paying for our dinners, and Mei is always physically guarding us in public. You're constantly scenting the furniture around, which I can't smell, by the way, but I'm not blind. I know how Alpha courtships work!"

"We're scenting you," Mei stated bluntly, pinching the bridge of her nose. "We scent everything you touch so no other Alphas come near you. I'm guarding you. Valko is buying things for you."

You paused, your brain short-circuiting. 

"Me? But… but I'm a Beta."

"Yeah, a Beta that we are entirely obsessed with," Valko blurted out, his cheeks burning. He practically threw himself onto the sofa next to you, looking like a panicked billionaire puppy. "We don't want to mate with each other! I mean, Mei is great, but she terrifies me! We want you. We've thought of you as our mate since sophomore year!"

Your mouth fell open. 

"Wait. Both of you? But..."

"Did you really think," Mei said softly, sitting on your other side and boxing you in perfectly between their warm, solid frames, "that the heir to Eoncore Tech and I spend every single day following you around just to get to each other?"

"I thought I was the supportive third wheel!" you defended, your face flushing hot.

"You're the entire vehicle," Valko groaned, dramatically resting his forehead on your shoulder. "Please tell me you don't actually want to leave. Because if you do, I'm going to have to panic-buy the building you live in just so I have an excuse to be your landlord, and the paperwork is a nightmare."

Mei reached out, gently but firmly taking your hand, her thumb brushing over your knuckles. 

"Stay," she murmured, a quiet, possessive plea in her tone. "Study here with your pack."

ꨄ︎ a/n: i also don't remember if i ever wrote a purely fluff fic for other lis...

ꨄ︎ taglist: @seraphineash, @loreleis-world, @tinuvieloflemuria, @thehyperfixationgirly (if i missed someone who requested to be perma-tagged, please lmk and i'm sorry 😭)

likes, reblogs, and comments are greatly appreciated! hope you guys enjoyed reading!

[totallynotashieldagent]

so idk about making it a whole proper fic but i'll do drabbles and little one shots about this specific storyline- Valko and his mate. So- you can ask for specific events with these two as well if you want! <33 love you!

The First Meeting

This was going horribly. You were talking, Valko was nodding, pretending to listen but he was not catching a single word.

You were here. In his office. But so were a handful of other people in this stupid room because this was a meeting and they had an agenda to fix the authentication layer of the new health care app.

He hated how there were so many scents overlapping your smell. He was pretty sure his employees noticed his very grumpy face. But much to his relief, they assumed that he was angry about this mishap. Not the fact that they were all crowded around his mate and talking to her and being in her vicinity- All the things that even he had barely gotten the privilege of!

"Alright." He spoke suddenly, and the room quieted down. "I think we've covered plenty of ground for now. Why don't we follow up the rest on Slack?" He asked. "Someone will add you to the company channel." He said so sweetly to you.

"Uh- Sir- Slack is only for employees-" Someone asked with confusion.

It took everything Valko had in him to not snarl at his employee and throw him out for even implying that you weren't to get access to everything and anything-

Don't these idiots realize they're speaking about my future wife? He glared at them, his back tingling as his tail wanted to be let loose.

"Consider this special circumstances." Since she'll own half of this company soon enough. He said through gritted teeth.

Everyone nodded and started to shuffle out when he asked for you to stay back.

Once the room was empty, and the last person left, leaving just you and him, he took a deep breath. Finally, just your scent. He sighed, then looked at you with a smile.

"I had a proposition for you." He was doing his best to be smooth. "How would you feel about me buying your company? You could be head of cyber security here?" Oh- And I'd get to see you everyday. Work with you all the time.

You stared at him with raised brows. "Excuse me?"

Uh oh- That's not the reaction I wanted. He almost pouted.

"I- Uh-" You gathered your thoughts to articulate yourself as kindly as you possibly could. "I think we've misunderstood one another." You looked at him.

His wolf cowered inside him. No- No- No- Mate is angry. Why is mate angry? Fix it!! Fix! Fix!

"I came to you as a favour to help you secure your app better. I'm not interested in selling or being absorbed into another company." You said firmly and Valko's wolf whined pathetically in his head.

"I'm- I'm sorry- I-" He stammered, a lump already forming in his throat.

You stared at him in confusion. Was this man about to cry because you said no to selling?

"I just- I wanted to-" He tried but what was he supposed to say? That he wanted to make sure you'd never want for anything. He cleared his throat and forced himself to calm down. "I apologize for assuming. Can I make it up to you?" He asked. "Perhaps, a dinner?" Yes- Yes. That was good. Very smooth.

You exhaled a soft laugh, zipping up your bag. "I don't think that would be appropriate. Considering we're working together at the moment."

Valko wanted to sob. "Maybe after we're done with this?"

"Maybe?" You said shyly.

Success!! His wolf jumped around. Valko smiled at you. "Maybe is good. I like maybe."

.

.

.

LADS Drabble Masterlist

[totallynotashieldagent]

Valko's Mate

Valko had grown up being told that when he'd meet his mate, he'd know. He would stay up so many nights, asking his mom to tell the story of how she met his dad, how she knew that his dad was the one. No matter how many times he'd hear the story, he'd never get tired.

Maybe that was why he believed in love stories. Because how could he not? His parents' was the love story for the ages.

However, seeing how old he was now, he was starting to lose hope.

He had travelled the world, met countless people, and never once had he ever met someone that made him pause. That stole his breath, that made his wolf go wild, that pulled him as if they were meant for him.

Sure, there had been relationships, good fucks- some were genuinely nice women. One relationship had even lasted two years because it was so comfortable. But that was all it was. Comfortable. No one ever captured his heart. No one ever made his soul burn. No one ever made his wolf yearn for them.

Not the way his mother had always told that she did for his father.

So he told himself that love could wait. It would have to wait. He just focused more and more on the company. On his career. On everything other than what he wanted to seek out.

Even now, he was sitting at his desk, overseeing some papers when his assistant knocked.

"Sir?" He popped his head in the office. "We have a bit of a situation downstairs."

"What now, Simon?" Valko sighed and looked up.

"Uh.. there's a woman downstairs. In the lobby. Won't leave until she sees you." Simon explained.

"So? Call security or whatever-" Valko waved him away.

"That's the problem part." Simon swallowed. "She's not doing anything. She's just sitting there. Says that she needs 5 minutes only. Says that she'll wait."

"Wait?" Valko's brows furrowed and Simon nodded. He inhaled deeply and paused. "I'll handle it." Valko said slowly and then took another deep breath.

There were the usual smells. Office cedar, air fresheners, stale coffee, and something new. Different. Sweeter.

Valko closed his laptop and took out his nasal blockers. He usually wore them so his sense of smell wouldn't constantly be assaulting and distracting him. He took another deep breath and suddenly felt his wolf pawing at the back of his throat.

That was new. His wolf never did that. Had never done that.

He walked out of his office and the smell grew stronger. He followed it all the way down to the lobby and there you were. His heart stuttered, his wolf practically tried to claw out of his chest. He had to put his nasal blocker back in so to not lose control and show the whole building his tail.

"I heard you were looking for me." He said smoothly with a smile, offering his hand.

"Mr Ao! Hello!" You smiled brightly and his knees almost buckled. "I'm so sorry for showing up like this but I called and no appointments were available until next month and-"

He wasn't listening. He couldn't. You were shaking his hand and that's all that mattered. All this time he'd spent looking- Somehow you'd come to him. Just shown up out of thin air.

"But anyway- I found a backdoor vulnerability in your new healthcare app-" You pulled away from his hand and he almost reached out to grab you again. You didn't notice that. You were too busy opening your laptop to show him what you'd found. "I have a small cyber security start up." You explained. "And I thought that if I'd emailed you about this, it might look like a scam or something -"

You were still talking but all Valko was doing was looking at you. Your hair, your eyes, your smile, the way your mouth moved as you spoke, your hands as they glided over the keys on your laptop. Whereas his wolf was purring because he was just near you. A soft chant churning in his head. Mate. Mate. Mate. Mate.

"See?" You smiled, showing him your laptop screen. "That could lead to potential data leaks." Valko nodded. He had heard absolutely nothing you'd said. "Whoever built the authentication layer probably forgot to tie up the loose ends- It's nothing catastrophic. Yet." You turned to him and he was just... There. Without a single working braincell.

"Right... Can you show me the code again please?" He tried to piece together what you'd said.

You nodded and put your laptop on the receptionist's desk. Valko moved closer to look at your laptop over your shoulder and definitely not to smell you.

The nasal blocker was there but this close, he could still smell you. Like pine after rain. Like a warm beach day. Like midnight after a thick snow. Everything was so crisp and you were showing him a code that looked like hieroglyphics at the moment.

"Mr Ao?" You asked, unsure if he was even listening.

"I'm sorry." He gave an easy smile to cover up the torment inside him. "I'm a little distracted. Work and all-" He lied. Oh god I just lied to my mate what would mother say? He cleared his throat. "If you could give me your number, perhaps we can arrange a proper sit down and discuss this?" And then afterwards I'll throw you over my shoulder and we'll disappear for at least a month.

You smiled again and his wolf preened. You were smiling at him. For him.

"Of course." You handed him your business card.

"I'll take very good care of this." And you. Oh god I'll take such good care of you. He slipped the business card into his pocket.

You nodded, "Well.. um- I should go- I'm sorry for causing a scene and-"

Cause as many scenes as you want. Anything you want. His brain was burning up. This was everything and more than what his mother had told him would feel like.

"Thank you." He breathed out as you put your laptop on your bag. "For finding this." And me. Thank you for finding me. "We would have landed in a lot of trouble and lawsuits if you hadn't."

"It's really no problem. You're doing good work. I didn't want it to stop just because someone made a mistake." You assured him. "Thank you again for your time, Mr Ao."

"Valko. Please, call me Valko." He said softly. You'll be saying it for the rest of life, soon enough.

"Valko." You repeated and his wolf purred in his chest.

He shook your hand again, his other hand coming to cover yours completely. "I hope to see you again soon." And then never let you go.

.

.

.

Drabble Masterlist

[szarina]

conflict of interestּ

it is every player's dream to wake up in the world of their otome game but not you, you're not the mc or the heroine of the game that was supposed to be you. in some twisted joke the universe decided for you — you get to live and survive the ruthless n109 zone where your main love interest resides.

── commissioned by @jamjyro

𓂃 ࣪˖ ִ content warnings. isekaid reader + nonmc + gun violence + depictions of disposing corpses + anxiety + coercion + blood + angst + there will be a part 2.

𓂃 ࣪˖ ִ notes. hey you all, it's been a long time since the last time I've posted. thank you very much for the patience and the support that you had given me through this difficulties of my life. i'm still adjusting and little bit struggling. once again, thank you very much for still sticking in this ghosty blog of mine.

Bang!

Shots are fired. Followed by the familiar deafening sounds of heavy machine guns rolling outside and the screech of wheels. You jolted awake that you almost roll and fall from your makeshift bed. What the hell is happening at this hour and in broad daylight? That was expected cause you live in the N109 Zone but you were still not used of the people here exchanging bullets.

But why? Why here? You want to scream in frustration as you crawled in the floor of the building you decided to be your base, a temporary home after being isekaid in a game that you play every single day. It's almost unhealthy from how you obsessed with it and then when you wanted to quit, you got thrown inside the game. What a stroke of luck. Funny. Ha-ha. The game fucking sent you to the unforgiven land of N109 Zone. How the hell can you survive when you got the survival skill of a hamster.

It was going to be fine if you possessed the body of your MC that you spent hours customizing to look like you or somewhat closer to what you look like and only to stare at a mirror and see your real life reflection cluelessly staring.

You spent the first hour agonizing on how you can survive. Thinking how nice if you have a somewhat useful Evol but you don't. You were fucked. You were clueless in where you are at first when you woke up in the middle of the road at first.

No clue in your surroundings until the gunshots came and the angry shouts. Superfucked. And that’s when you realized you were in the N109 Zone. Ultra duper superfucked. The tall buildings, moldy walls in the dark alleyways and there was some sort of shadows lurking in the walls.

It was hard for your first days. You were cold and hungry. Exhausted and clueless on where to start until you remembered Elysium. The place were information are exchanged and under the protection of Sylus.

Yeah, Sylus. Your main in the game and you didn't know what to feel. Knowing that you're not your MC and realized that MC is probably the custom avatar of the game. A far cry from your supposed MC or you. Technically you were MC when you're playing but this time you are not. You were starting to believe that you are not truly MC which is true.

Enough of that, if you want to survive you better start relying on your own and learn a few tricks to save your ass. You don't want to die in a foreign land, let alone a land in a fictional game that you're currently in.

You were about to embark in a journey when you remember you didn't have a trade. Elysium was for intelligent information, assassination and trade of arms and other illegal stuff and you don't do illegal. You can't even handle a gun or pull a pin on a grenade. Hacking? Not a plausible idea. You were only good at organizing documents in a computer.

You stopped in your tracks. Careful at your surroundings, your shoulders slump as you agonize on what trade you can offer in exchange for some lump sum of money or shelter or food or all of the above. You were good as a dead meat. You badly want to cry until a light bulb appeared in your head.

The game was basically your manual on how to survive the game or how to live in the N109 Zone. Although people like you won't survive long. It's either to rise in the ashes or drown in the murky waters.

You already finished the main story, starting from Sylus first appearance which made your heart go thump-thump and spent money that almost your whole salary in a month. You read the anecdotes, his myth. You knew everything about him. His personal life and his connection with MC and how he rules the N109 Zone. Onychinus was the top of the hierarchy here. You know how the Elysium operates so that's what you're going to do. Exchange some information about the future canon events that is yet to happen.

The problem is — it was suspicious. You can't really crash in Elysium and tell Aislinn, the bartender about it. Knowing she directly reports to Sylus and the reality that you weren't your MC — you were surely going to end up with a gun to your head. A stranger revealing secrets, it wasn't a ideal way but you really want to live and that weighs more than anything than the fear and so, standing in front of the Elysium — you entered with death’s hand at your shoulder.

For the better, it turned out good. You didn't reveal anything, someone beat you to the punch of revealing and opportunity opened up to you. Even the N109 Zone was lawless and chaotic, some gangs and organizations really didn't want to leave trace of the transactions that occurred in the hidden areas or the docks and warehouses that the deals takes place.

One of the patrons were looking for someone who can take care of that and you volunteered without a second thought. Your safety will be compromised with that line of work but they only is to keep your mouth shut and deal with the bloodied mess — you took it without hesitation. It was rare for someone to take that but you really need money to start or provide yourself with some basic needs and thus, you ended up in your current situation.

Bullets are flying everywhere and you're going to end up as a casualty if you don't move. You grabbed the classic Smith and Wesson handgun you keep even you don't know how to use it but only when the times comes you need to protect yourself. You didn't know it will come to this point.

You intentionally picked this place for your base. It was the abandoned place far from the chaos of the main zone and it wasn't really ideal for wars because it was very far and the terrain wasn't that good. Broken concrete roads and it can be really hot in the mornings. The surrounding buildings are covered with moss and the fauna was slowly taking over. It wasn't ideal for you to live in the area but it provides safety except now.

A stray bullet pierced to a glass window near you. The glass shatters as it broke and falls near your feet. Without a second thought you immediately crawl. Grabbing the small bag you keep under your bed when you need to run immediately. You grip it tightly as you stand up and bolted away from where you are. The building was still sturdy but the previous gang wars and the Chronorift Catastrophe left it to be abandoned like the other surrounding buildings.

As you descended from the stairs, you held the gun close to you. Your fingers finds the hammer of the gun and hearing the familiar click, you swallowed hardly. Tapping your varsity jacket pockets to check if you have the extra magazines in case you need to reload if you — you hope not, you have to fire in case of self defense.

God, why must you be transported in such a hostile place. You would accept to wake up in a hospital — preferably Akso Hospital and be declared as someone who had amnesia and is truly clueless of what's happening and maybe you can get a glimpse of Dr. Zayne.

You could have gone to Linkon City but you didn't have an identity with you and getting out of N109 Zone needs a special entrance and exit to be granted in order for a individual to leave. The No Hunting Zones was also a way to leave but there's a reason why it was a no hunting zone. It crawls with Wanderers and as a civilian with no Evol, there's a higher chance of you being butchered or succumb to the Flux Nexus.

You're basically a NPC in this world and that sucks more than anything. Where you isekaid here because your main was Sylus? A deepspace tunnel opened and it brought you here. You didn't want to know. It was really disheartening that you have to be here because your main was Sylus. It wasn't like you were hating him or being disappointed. You were basically thrown in a den of lions.

Somehow you managed to survive on your own by being the lackey or you like to call yourself, a cleaner for some of the powerful organizations. You have learned how to remove bloodstains without a trace. The bodies were taken care of by whoever availed your services to clean. You make sure the scene of the crime were spotless as if nothing happened and it was just the same cold and moldy warehouse or alley.

Anyways if you can't get out of this mess, you can kiss your life goodbye.

A sudden burst of adrenaline pumping in your veins made you maneuver the steep stairs and crumbly walls with such ease. Your palm sweaty as it slides in the cold railing. Your body felt like iron as you bump in the walls at every sharp turn. Not bad, self. You want to pat yourself in the back for being able to do such things at your plump stature. You feel like the main protagonist from the movie you used to watch and was it the reason you were here in the N109 Zone? You got the prowess for combat? Such tall tales and that was later proven wrong.

You were good at evading not fighting. That's what you're currently doing right now and you almost let out a breath of relief as you pushed the door in the ground floor. Stumbling in the process as your two feet became unsynchronized. A bullet flew right by and it almost sent you tumbling backwards. You badly want to cry. You're not really built for this.

It seems that your escape route hasn't been intercepted and they're far away from it. You can just run and go for it. Except when you're about to breakthrough — out of the corner in your eye — you caught the glimpse of him.

Sylus.

You can't be mistaken. It was hard to miss him. His name was spoken in whispers. In harsh words and in contempt because there's nothing more cruel than the one who rules the N109 Zone. The leader of Onychinus.

You avoided Sylus nor get involved with him. A civilian or rather a powerless human being in his world cannot survive and you cannot risk making enemies at the same time. You kept a low profile in the duration of your stay.

But to see your main love interests breathing and fighting his enemies in flesh made your chest bloom with warmth. The screen was your boundary between him and you. It was the closest you can ever have him. Pressing your fingertips in the cold screen of your phone and hope you can feel his warmth and hoped he can feel yours too.

He was so close and yet, out of your reach.

Suddenly, you were glued in the floor. Your body refusing to move despite your mind screaming for you to run off. Your legs are frozen. You cannot get involved with him. MC exists in this world andthey were destined for each other. He's waiting for her and you left that with the game's dynamics.

The sound of heavy rifles being loaded and the static ringing in the area and Sylus, there wasn't even much of a tremble or quiver in his movements. He was precise and calculated as he draws his gun. Easily replacing it with a new magazine. His dark glasses perched on his nose. He slides the rack before the sound of gunshot fills the air.

Wait, it's morning. Sylus should be asleep at this time and was only active in the night. Does this means he was overwhelmed and clearly ambushed? You run towards a nearly dilapidated beam. Assessing the situation and when you got a closer look, you notice the damp part of his dark collared shirt.

It wasn't visible but with the morning light and his movements that sways his leather jacket, you can see it. You remembered that Sylus can heal himself but he still get wounded and to get that wound — it must be deep for him to heal properly and he's currently bleeding under his clothes.

You did say you weren't going to get involved the moment you realized you weren't MC. Such matters would have sucked and in the time of care you deeply felt for him. Love will get you killed. Indifference will save you. That was the reason you survived upon being isekaid in the lawless land of N109 Zone.

Alas the moment you had fallen in love with Sylus that even the tiniest voice concern of why you shouldn't save someone just because they were in danger or rather they were the danger, it didn't matter.

Arriving at a resolution, you raised your gun. Pointing at him with a slight tremor in your arm and your palms sweaty that you might slip as you push the trigger. You can do it. You really can do it. You take a deep breath and with a exhale. You push the trigger and with a loud bang that resonated in the area — you hit your target.

He really can't say he was at his wit's end. He was Sylus. Ruler of the N109 Zone and being defeated at this foolish game of foolish people who wants him gone is a humiliation that will haunt him at his death. There's a rule among the residents of this land. It's to kill or be killed. And Sylus isn't going to get slaughtered like a lamb.

The sun's high and he was in a little pinch. His eyesight is made for the night and not in the light. He gives these men who managed to use their cards against him to corner the Onychinus leader. They were really pooling their meager resources to kill him but it wasn't enough although he can give them credits for getting a little smarter and Sylus isn't the one to back down from a fight.

He can give them a little recognition of such feat for injuring him. It was a stray bullet that found its way on his abdomen. He can heal — sure but being repeatedly injured, it stops. His shirt was soaking his blood and his enemies were closing in and then, in some twist or fate or luck or another person thirsty for his blood scrapes him by the shoulder with a bullet.

A stray bullet, maybe but whoever shot him and hitting the one who's closing him falling at the scorching road with a thud must be an amateur or was just really lucky for wounding him and maybe killing the other.

Before he can turn around to look at this one who's brave enough to take a shot, they grab his hand. Pulling them with force of urgency. They run, evading his enemies and although Sylus isn't the one back down from a fight, he knew he needed respite.

Turn after turn, him returning the rounds of bullets to his aggressors. He takes a look at this mortal who dared to save him. Navigating narrow alleyways and taking every sharp turns without pausing like you know every part of this place.

The gunshots have stopped, deciding that you successfully shaked them off. You take a look at his face. “There’s a nearby exit here. They probably don't know about the area and you will be safely get back in your own. I'll be going now. Goodbye.” You say with such firmness before running in the opposite direction without looking back.

You disappeared quickly in his sight. The black and white vision of you in your varsity jacket, boots clicking in the distance. Sylus was left with a strange feeling.

Who was this stranger who saved him and only to disappear on him?

Someone could have used this as a chance to curry favors from him. A chance to rise in the top cause the Onychinus leader never left being indebted to others and such act of saving him can bring fortune if he deemed you worthy but alas, he was only left in the abandoned street with no signs of life besides him. Reeling in the sensation of the stranger's soft hand that previously held his wrist.

No data found.

The screen of his laptop glares at him. No traces or evidence that stranger existed. He hacked every database around the world and no record are found about your identity. Are you a spy? A ghost? He knows you weren't a figment of his imagination that one morning. You were warm and you spoke to him.

You must have one cause despite being nonexistent to others or how much a person hides their identity — there will always be traces of a past of how a person lived no matter how much they try to bury it. The Onychinus searched for any activities that might have linked to you and why did you hole up in that kind of building.

He went back there. The buildings were riddled with bullets. Blood stains in the walls of what violence had occured in there. Investigating and leaving no spot untouched just to get a trace that you were there and you exist. What else could you have been doing there? Maybe you were running away from something or you just didn't like anything that relates to the ruthlessness of the place.

You were a mystery he wants to solve and any day now, you will appear. In the most of convenient or the most unwanted places but Sylus was sure that he will be meeting this stranger again.

“Boss, the scene's spotless. Kieran and I been searching for hours at that warehouse.” Luke's voice can be heard behind him as he stared at the screen. Sylus raises a brow. There's always a spot that's left untouched and he's been living in the N109 Zone for too long that after a bloody showdown, there's always dead bodies and shell casings littering on the cold floors.

Since when these bunch of nobodies started to clean up after themselves?

Well, this have been a occurrence of lately. Crime scenes are left clean. No bodies and not much left even a tiniest speck of blood. Whoever cleaning up these scenes are a professional. It's also hard to found out of whoever doing these are a group or individual but he can appreciate the cleanliness much it was a hassle for his operations. Everyone's evolving in the N109 Zone and he needs a little bit of an entertainment before the boredom catches up to him.

The district warehouse were huge. Larger than what you usually received from the organizations who avail your cleaning services. It was a mess but nothing you can't handle. Upon setting foot in the damp and cold warehouse with the scent of blood and gunpowder, you assess the mess.

Letting your OTTO fly and survey the scene. Scanning trails of blood that you have to manually clean and hidden dead bodies to be disposed of. Securing that there will be no marks or traces of DNA that will point the instigators of this conflict.

Scan completed.

Your OTTO cheerfully chirps at you and you began to slide the gloves in your hands and securing the shoe covers in your feet to avoid footprints that will link to you. You take the plastic sheet from your crate before rolling it to the moldy floors. This is where you will be putting the dead bodies and put them on the body bags you brought. Individually wrapping them up like spring rolls.

It was tasking for a individual work but doing it for months made your body stronger — strong enough to haul bodies heavier than yours. You began your work, stacking them up like building blocks and rolling them with a huff as you struggled cause why men looks like they're light and only to find out they're heavy with that kind of body. Even in death they were still dead weight.

After hauling the last body, you made your way to the blood trail with your handy cleaning tools along with a special solution. You were quick to learn for your trade of cleaning crime scenes for the organizations that pays you a lump sum of money enough to sustain you and sometimes they will throw an extra to a job well done which you always do.

You can always use the referral for your services. The quietness of the warehouse didn't bother you much. It was once a quiet night to work in and you doubt there will be anyone after such bloodied mess. You only focused on scrubbing the dried blood from the dry floor and sweep the dust to conceal the scent of your special solution. It wasn't that pungent but it didn't hurt to be extra careful. Discretion was your specialty.

The OTTO encircles the area and the humming sound coming from it was the noise you can hear while you busy yourself. Halfway through when it got too quiet and your OTTO was missing. You stopped in your tracks.

You remained crouching with a brush in your hand as you raised your head. Listening to any telltale signs or noise that you're not entirely alone in this warehouse. Perhaps the heavy footsteps or a puff of breath. Anything that may harm you but nothing and you thought that maybe your OTTO malfunctioned since it was really a old model that you managed to salvage cause you can't still manage to upgrade it.

You were about to finish anyway and so scrubbed the floor a little harshly until the blood has separated from the floor before sweeping dust all over it before you walked towards where you hear your OTTO humming.

It was behind the crates, you can see your OTTO was blinking lights and was roughened in the edges with claw marks. The sight of your half destroyed companion send shivers down your spine. It feels like you were surrounded but when you look around there was nothing. You swallowed. Your hands inside the gloves were starting to moist. The pit of your stomach feels like sinking.

Something dangerous is near and you can't really pinpoint where it is. You try to balance it out. The pros and cons of leaving for your safety but your job was still not done. You couldn't really risk losing the source of your living in the N109 Zone and besides you faced fear many times before. What's the harm of risking another?

Deciding that you really can't leave your job, you grabbed your broken OTTO and decided that it really needs a replacement and it's been long and it should rest for being your companion for a long time. Still, seeing it destroyed pains you.

Now you have to manually check that they will be no evidence that you've been here after your OTTO’s broken.

A step and sudden jolt of uneasiness strikes you again. Raising your head, you caught a glimpse of a familiar silhouette in the upper railings. The sound of flapping wings followed by a rather loud caw. Black feather slowly descending towards you and landing in your outstretched palm.

God, any minute now or seconds he will be appearing now.

Snap.

A swirl of black and red mist appears in front of you and just like that — your main love interest, leader of Onychinus and the one who rules the N109 Zone — Sylus stands before you.

Scared? Not really. You were blinking back tears because he was so close and your mind really decided to replay what he had gone through. Dying in the hands of his sorceress and not granting him death unless she allows it. Then, they found each other again. Both immortals dying in each other's arm and again, two children fighting to death and escaping to another planet and only to separate once again and he's here in front of you.

Standing tall and immaculate with the air of authority in his stature. Head held high and you can see the subtle glow of the Aether Core in his right eye. The reds of his eyes glimmer in the dim lit warehouse.

You take a step backwards, cradling your destroyed OTTO closer to you. Not daring to speak a word or look in his eyes.

“Just when I thought these fools has learned to be careful.” He muses. A faint smirk in his lips as he looks at you and the pile of dead bodies you were about to dispose behind.

“Maybe. I'm the only person here though. Cleaning out the mess.” You shrugged. Cradling your destroyed OTTO and walking towards your “cleaning van.” You gently put your companion in a crate before grabbing the brush again to continue cleaning. Wiping the sweat off in your forehead with the back of your arm.

Sylus remains silent. Following your every movement under his gaze about this person who was unintentionally ignoring him and going back to your job. Not even an ounce of fear behind those tired eyes. Were you feigning ignorance of the truth that you saved him? The leader of Onychinus and the feared man of the N109 Zone. That matter didn't seem to bother you.

“Do you know that when people save someone they expect something in return?” He began. Baiting the person in front of him for a favor. “It’s a chance for them to rise in this wasteland.”

“I’m managing.” You pragmatically answered even when your heart is beating fast cause you know secrets in this world and you really don't want to involve yourself with Sylus. You were living quietly and you badly want to get out of this world or maybe ask him to get you a identity to live in Linkon but that would raise suspicions cause why would you ask for a identity. It's either you're a criminal or someone who doesn't belong in this world.

He also didn't belong in this world but wherever MC is, he follows. A flower who still bloomed beautifully in a different soil.

His expensive cologne wafts in the air. His shoes scraping the dust in the floor. His coat swaying every movement and it's enough to intimidate you and you hope you're calm in the outside.

“Oh really.” His voice lowers into a timber and oh, it was really different from his secret times and tender moments, you want to squeal so bad if it wasn't for the implication that he's already smelling your bullshit.

“You want to go home. Why is that?” You swallowed. You cursed the goddamn Aether Core in his eye that can see the desire of someone. It's true. You've been wanting to go home since you got isekaid here.

“I’m not from here. Just a terrible luck.” You confessed under the intensity of his gaze but still withholding the secret you have. You're not easy to crack but Sylus can read you like an open book.

He hums in understanding. Not forcing you to give the details of your life cause he will be the one to know it. “I don't like the feeling of being indebted from someone below me.”

“You’re not indebted to me.” You briefly paused. Daring to steal a glance before focusing the task in your hand.

“My body choose to move that day when I could have run. I have no intention of saving you.” You say in a matter-of-factly. “I don't want to involve myself to someone powerful and if you feel indebted.” Swallowing the imaginary lump in your throat. “There is one thing you can do.”

You look at him straight in the eyes.

“Leave me alone.”

Sylus raises his eyebrows. He can't brush it off why you were so adamant not being involved with him when people got the leverage to do business or something simple as favor they rush but you — you were rushing to get out of his hair.

Leave you alone? There is really something wrong and Sylus sharp instincts knows better than to grant it. To call it quits. You were also calm and composed when facing him aside from the sudden beats of your heart that he can hear.

You didn't also run the moment he made his appearance which people usually do upon meeting him. Maybe is it because you know he can't harm you after saving him that one morning. N109 Zone wasn't really that barbaric and there's sliver of morals that are still practiced.

You can't kill someone unless they're the first to draw blood or unless it was contractual and the killing is ordered. Sylus has disposed people that betrayed him or were hindering his plans.

Besides you look amateur but Sylus isn't someone to really judge based on how you look. It was finding the value of someone and with some pressure you could be a coal turning into a pearl with the right pressure.

You didn't quite grasped how the N109 Zone works and you choose the job to clean the aftermath of every shootouts and doing the dirty work of disposing corpses. You were only surviving base on your skills and Sylus can use some of your talents.

“That would be impossible, dove.”

His eyes narrowing, clearly intrigued cause it was looking into a blank slate but is packed with so much color.

He can see how you freeze for a second. Hands trembling like you were hiding a secret and the next question confirms his suspicion.

“Who are you?” Ruby red eyes stares at you. Waiting for you to crack and this where Sylus would have normally put you in a gun point. Forcing you to reveal yourself but can you really? Will he believe you? That he was only a pixelated character in a game. A otome game that doomed you for loving him? Whereas you were supposed to be the MC, the player but when you saw your reflection you were just you.

Nothing special like the MC. Not a badass hunter. Not someone's childhood friend. Not someone's bride or a princess. Not a knight nor a queen. Not a sorceress who didn't allow her dragon to truly die and be destined together with every lifetime.

You were you. A regular human who didn't possess a extraordinary power. You were someone who was flawed. Trying to survive in a place that won't be merciful to someone weak.

“It’s none of your business.” Closing the doors of your van after hauling the dead bodies to dispose of with a loud thud. If you were somewhat decent you wouldn't have shown Sylus such hostility. You know what he's capable but being cornered by him — yeah — you should be squealing or be flustered cause it was Sylus, you were in no position because you were in a dire situation and your existence doesn't contribute to the storyline of this world, including MC and his.

You also can't really tell him you're from the other world. It might be catastrophic. You don't really want to stray from canon events and the first step is to stay away from Sylus.

You were about to open the door of your van to get away. You were an inch of pulling that handle until thin red and black mists coils around your wrist. Preventing you from moving your hand.

You look at him in disbelief. Scoffing as you try to pry the tendrils of his Evol wrapped around your wrist. “Really?” You take a step forward. “Is this how you treat people who disagrees with you!?”

Sylus remains nonchalant. Although there's a hint of amusement and curiousity behind his eyes. You weren't perturbed at all with his Evol but he can give you the benefit of the doubt. “Not really. Usually they end up dead.” His hand moves manipulating it to pull you.

“Assuring but can you let me go? I really don't want anything from you. Let just call it quits, please?” You pleaded. The sleeves of your varsity jacket crumples as you try again to get out of his grip. “I still have to finish my job.” Biting your lip anxiously as you desperately look at your van. The bodies are going to rot now before you can dispose of them.

“The twins can take care of it.”

“How can Luke—” Your eyes widens, biting your tongue at your slip up. You forgot that no one really knows what the twins names are except Sylus. They were his henchmen after all and a stranger — you was the final nail in the coffin.

“Interesting.” His lips curve into a smirk and you know what it means. “You and I are going to have a long conversation.” Giving you no room to retaliate or defend yourself. It was useless anyways, no one really escapes him and you hope that you can still get out. Alive.

The hallways were dark. The warm light of the wall sconces was the source of the light. You get the idea that Sylus is taking you to the dining room where he once eviscerated someone after a disagreement and finding the other person was trying to take both sides and Sylus does not like traitors.

You were walking behind him. His Evol long deactivated cause he knows you can't run even as you try to look around for possible escape routes and you really can't even you want too. His windows are a no-no. You don't want to plummet to your death from the top floor.

Sylus pushes the door. Inside were the sleek black marble top table with two candles lit in the candelabra. A deep red velvet chairs upholstered. Everything was Sylus's taste that you saw in his bond memories where he and MC stays. Your remember their little banters and how bossy he was.

It brings a smile to your face as you take the surroundings of the room. Luke and Kieran were probably wrecking your van. They were making you jobless in the Zone. You hoped that your van will still be returned in one piece.

“Sit.” He orders you and you complied without hesitation. Sylus can be impatient and being stubborn will probably get your neck choked. Settling in the chair, it was remarkably soft. You can't remember the last time you sat in something plush. Concrete stairs and crates in warehouses were your chair. The cold floor of the temporary base you set up covered with a old mattress was your bed.

Sylus stands behind the counter. Pulling glasses to pour a drink for himself and to you. “Let’s get started with a simple conversation.” The glass clinks as he puts on cubes of ice. “I ask you a question and you will answer me.”

“Okay.” He hears you murmur. Your posture was rigid. Legs bouncing out of nervousness in the chair. Chewing on your lips and your hands were hidden in the sleeves of your jacket like you were put in a straitjacket but he knows you were scratching your skin.

You were guilty as you look. Actions don't lie. Or maybe you were anxious. He got something to ease you up. “Here.” Nudging the glass in front of you. The amber liquid sloshing with the ice. You take it. He's probably making you loosen your tongue which is maybe going to work.

His eyes follows your movement. Bringing the glass of whiskey in your lips and your nose scrunches at the sharp aroma. He watch as you look at him before breaking eye contact and taking a swig of the drink and the reaction was immediate.

Sharp violent coughs shook your whole body. Your eyes watering as the liquid burned down your throat. You used your arm to cover your mouth while you coughed. God, what kind of humiliation the universe is putting you through and in front of Sylus.

“Who are you?” He began to question you and you glare at him. Wiping the corner of your mouth with the sleeve of your jacket. “A stranger.” Coughing up the last bits as you try to draw out the bitter taste.

You really don't want to lie but you were not in your world and you were afraid that you were going to disrupt the timeline of this story. You didn't want to be a huge spoiler or accidentally trigger a effect that will rip the balance of this world.

Sylus looks at you blankly. “What are you doing in the warehouse?”

“Trying to make a living. I can't survive here unless I do something.” Rubbing your knuckles in your eyes.

“Let’s get back to my former question. Who are you?” His voice are dripping with venom and you watch the subtle twitch of his hands and the next thing will be is he's blowing your head off.

“You want to know? I'm just some unfortunate soul who got here.” Pursing your lip in a thin line. Conflicted on how to process your emotions. You were scared, frustrated and angry. You shouldn't have saved him.

“And now you’re going to ask why I knew Luke and Kieran.” You paused for a bit. The confession is going to give you a headache. “You're a pixelated game character on my world.”

And the headache begun. He only raised his brows like you were just messing up with him. “I know how ridiculous it sounds but it's true.”

“You don't believe me? You're Sylus Qin. You're a wanted criminal in Philos and you escaped from Tartarus.” You began to explain. Legs bouncing anxiously with every tick of the clock. Sylus was practically a weapon ready to fire at any moment.

“Want to know more? You manipulated Miss Hunter to kill you when she was a sorceress and you were a dragon. You were ostracized from your own kind. You can't die unless she allows you to. You were also children too. Fighting to death in the arena with the other children and when it's down to both of you — you made the decision to escape and she did too but you two got separated.” ‎You revealed. “Is that enough?”

‎He didn't say anything else as if convinced. ‎“How did you end up here?”

‎“I don't know. I just woke up in the middle of the road.”

‎Sylus didn't press anything more. As far as he knows you're an anomaly.

‎”Can I leave now?” You asked. Thinking this interrogation is done and you really don't want to disrupt this world. Afraid that if you interfere some butterfly effect would activate and all of this world are going to be doomed. The plot was really important and every decision of the characters either make or break.

You waited for his response. Thinking of the van that are being used by the twins. You hoped that they know where to dump the bodies and your van isn't being banged up. The source of your income and means of survival rests on how they treat your van.

“I'm afraid that's not going to happen.”

“W-waa—what? Why!?” Eyes wide in disbelief. Your brows are raised and with the little shot of that alcoholic unnerved you in ways that you didn't know you can.

You look at him like you hit your head (which you already did by thunking your forehead in the top rail of your chair) and find that he's real ugly but he's not. He's hot. Infuriatingly hot. You can't count how many times you fantasize kissing Sylus and moisturize that dry lips of his.

You wanted that when he was on your screen and now, you're not, maybe a little. Get a grip! You tell to yourself but you dread about this — of not being able to leave. You're going to be in the front row and watch the world fuss about MC. The next days are going to be the start of her story with Sylus. Their first meeting.

“You're an anomaly in this world.”

Your heart drops. Of course, you're an anomaly. Sylus must have analyzed you or searched for your identity and to only find nothing.

“You know a lot about of things going around here and I can't have you running around with that kind of information.” He reasons, taking a step towards you.

“I'm basically a NPC in this world. I don't see the relevance of me being here.” You counter. Pressing your forehead in the back of the chair because you really didn't want to be involved with him.

“What if I say, I don't want to?”

“You really don't have a choice here, kitten.”

“Fuck.” You muttered, running our reasons to use. “I have a job around here. I can't have you bossing me around. I won't also ask for a compensation.” Referring to your destroyed OTTO and your van that is going to be thrashed by the twins. You can always start. You survived your first day and managed to live this long.

Sylus can see the reluctance in you. Mixed with the desperation of not wanting to get involved with him. He's a dangerous man. Money isn't really a problem for him and he can get you a nice place to live and a brand new van and the latest OTTO catered to your needs. When in reluctance, give them the assurance.

“Is cleaning up dead bodies and blood that fun?” Your eyes flickers towards him. “Not really but it keeps my stomach full and meets my basic needs. Shelter I have plenty.” Rubbing your arm in an attempt to comfort yourself. Eyes a little droopy and your lips curled into a frown.

Living in the N109 Zone with no means of being the strong was your struggle. It was life or death for you.

“I have a proposal.” When you can't convince someone, you put the stakes higher. Sylus continues as he noticed you tilt your head. Interested at the proposal he was about to make.

“You will be provided everything you need. You shall never starve or work for your food. I will give you shelter. You can hole up in one of the rooms here. I have plenty. You will have a identity you desire. A clean slate for you to start somewhere new.”

“That's preposterous for someone like you, Sylus.” Shaking your head as you try to think about what to do before looking back at him. “I can't be near you. I'm a walking spoiler.” You swallowed as if there's something stuck in your throat.

“If information is what you want of future events, I can't tell you about it. I won't disrupt the natural order of this world.” Pulling your jacket and standing up. Putting back the chair in its right place.

“The only mistake I did was to save you.”

“Is that so?” He hums.

Thinking of what he should do about you. “Such trivial matters don't bother me. You're not really disrupting anything and I won't ask for information.” You can see the brief flicker of light passing through his right eye where the Aether Core is placed.

“Work for me. You'll get more benefits than what you wished for.”

He watched as you hesitate. You will still have a choice with the proposal he suggested. You are free to operate around his area and maybe he'll take you as a secretary. It's unlikely you'll betray him. You're smart for your own good to betray as someone powerful like him.

It didn't take long for a few seconds for you to decide.

“Fine.”

The smirk on his face grew wider.

You gave the arrangement six months.

It shouldn't be too long or less. You wanted Sylus to make it shorter because any time soon or any day, he and MC will cross paths and even you wanted to witness their long-awaited reunion — you just can't.

Because what kind of bullshit of people telling you that you are MC in your world and to find out you were the anomaly in this world even you accepted it that you really can't be MC with the game having her life determined and the routes of the story written. MC may have your face in the game but you can never be her.

It sounds bitter but this was your reality. You're not about to witness their love when you have a life to live. A few months staying under his base is the thing you have to live through. You didn't understand why Sylus has to take you under his wing.

You did say you weren't tell him about the future happenings or any information that will about to happen. Probably he's getting bored and what's a little fun to observe a anomaly for his entertainment.

That's your sentiment but you know Sylus isn't that cruel to treat you as one. He may have his reasons and you will never know any of it.

The least you can do is stay put until there's a change of events. It's a matter of time before the story line of the game will start to happen and when MC has grown curious about the N109 Zone and Sylus.

The Onychinus base was huge. Well, huge is an understatement. It's a whole fricking building and despite that doing nothing means you're penniless. Sylus did tell you that the commodities in the building are free to use but a week after almost exploring the whole base — you found yourself restless.

You've been on the run the moment you were transported in this world. Always thinking for ways to survive. Hustling to get by and earn that money that was essential for your job and puts a food in your table. You were always on the lookout for jobs that needs your specialty. It's pay per transaction and you take pride in your work.

Abandoning your livelihood means abandoning your security. There was no discussion about it between you and Sylus even he did say you will work for him, there was really nothing about the job description and you hate to think you were freeloading to him.

So you did what you know best — accepting a clean up job. The pay was huge. The bigger the money they offer the messier and complicated it was but you didn't care. Money is money. You take the keys of the van Sylus owed you after the twins has trashed it like you expected.

You begin to drive towards your destination after picking up a new stash of cleaning supplies you have hidden in one of your hideouts.

The building wasn't that ruined when stepped out of your van. It changed by the times and the lack of maintenance made it unsuitable for moving.

You began to unload the supplies from your bag. Securing the roll of plastic wraps and duct tapes. A makeshift cart that contains all of your cleaning materials with some strong chemical that's enough to knock someone out when inhaled.

The scene that greeted you were something out of a horror film or some sci-fi you used to watch back in your world.

Bloody was the least you will used to describe the scene. It was beautiful. If you can ignore the lifeless bodies impaled with ice spikes. The paleness of the blues of ice mixes with the red. Creating a almost whimsical look like a blood red moon.

You guessed that you find anything as visceral as this normal after cleaning up places. Murder with the use of Evol wasn't unheard of, you've clean plenty of it and disposed mutilated bodies that was almost beyond recognition. You've also thrown bodies or parts of one in a single trash bag.

Time is the essence and even with the structured ice Evol, it was starting to melt and when ice are thawed — everything's going to be bloody from here and so you began to take your trusty lightsaber-esque equipment that's good for cutting through metal, bones and of course, ice. As long they're solid it gets the job done.

The smell didn't even bother you. It was like meat that you left to defrost and forgot to take it out for cooking and it starts to go bad. It's worse for you the first time but the fear of not being able to survive gets you out of that disgust.

Pressing the button of your tool, it shortly crackles — bursts and emits a bright orange glow and then you start to cut through flesh and bone.

It's good to know that you're still capable.

After that work and clean up, you were done for the day, night. You still didn't regulate your sleeping hours even with the comfortable place Sylus provided for you at the base and paired with restlessness.

Driving back to Onychinus base made you uneasy, sure you move places to places and sometimes settled for months but a month in Sylus's base didn't feels like something you can live with. You were grateful but coming back to the base is still unfamiliar territory for you.

Attachment creates dangerous conflicting feelings and having known danger and how powerful attachment can be — you ignored.

It's the reason why you keep the interaction to Sylus minimal except when it's necessary and you can't avoid him without being too obvious.

You surely can't start catching feelings for him even he's your main love interest in the real world and when he's a game character. But how about when he's real and you're near him? That you can hear his voice, can touch him and talk to him? Can you not really fall in love? And there's MC.

But it's difficult when you're in his world and living in his base where any chance you can bump into him and it happened the moment you were about to retreat in your room. The hallways were big but it connects to everything.

You were about to turn when you almost bump into Sylus. The familiar outfit that he almost dons everyday in your home screen is what he wore. "Hey." You awkwardly greeted him. Gripping the hem of your sweatshirt that reeks with the scent of blood and chemicals for cleaning.

"I thought you might have escaped.”

Liar. He knows where you are and he knows your circumstances. You can't leave him. Not yet.

“As you can see, I can't. I'm powerless.” You murmur.

There's a moment of awkward silence but it might be you until Sylus broke it.

“Care to join me for lunch, dove?”

You didn't know why Sylus started to call you dove but maybe he was referring you to one like the dove MC rescued and was put in his care temporarily in the Nightplumes card. It didn't happen yet but the cards are connected to the future events after their meeting.

You refused. “No, thank you. I'm not really—” Your stomach betrays you, growling like you haven't eaten for days. “— hungry.” You finished to say with your cheeks burning hotly from embarrassment.

Sylus chuckles and you badly want to jump out outside the window and plummet to your death.

“Do you really find me insufferable?” He asks, his eyes narrowing although there's a lilt.

“Insufferable? No. I don't find you like that or anything.” He's many things but insufferable. You mumble, concealing the expressions that might show in your face as your brain panics.

“Good. It would be a bad thing if my guest finds me intolerable.”

Turns out Sylus has already set up the table in the terrace. His chef, you meet him the second day in your stay in Sylus's base and asked you what you wanted to eat. The Onychinus leader told you that you have permission to use the kitchen or ask the chef whatever you felt like eating.

You absolutely remember the terrace it was shown in the kindle of his first myth card where he taught MC on how to improve her combat skills. Knowing the terrace part of the base is where Sylus sometimes took his meals.

If you did suddenly get back home, you have a lot of things to brag as you take your sit across "Boss-man Sylus."

It's not like everyday is an opportunity to share a table with Sylus, the most desired love interest in your world.

“How was your work today?”

“Grotesque but it's nothing that I can't handle.” You shrugged, taking your cutlery and mimicking Sylus's gesture as he began to eat.

You have quite the appetite despite the scene earlier. Your stomach has gotten thick overtime as you took that line of work.

"I assume someone has gone rouge.”

“If you would put it that way.”

He hums. Gently twirling the glass of wine and the red liquid sloshed inside of it. He takes a sip before resuming on his meal. You had done the same and the taste of wine made your taste buds burst into these tiny quantities of flavors you can taste.

Amusement glimmers in Sylus's eyes. Watching you taste something that you're not accustomed to. You told him that back in your world you have a job that covers your expenses and an extra for some indulgence.

Your indulgence was getting all his cards.

“Do you find your room comfortable?” He pries.

“Yes, thank you.” You whispered. Meeting his gaze to show how sincere you are. You missed having a real bed not the make shift beds you have to temporarily sleep with.

“You really didn't need to spend much on me. I'm not staying that long.” Reminding him of your arrangement.

Sylus chuckles. “I'm not the one to forget, dove.” Leaning on his chair and crossing his legs. “You plan to go back in your job?” His eyes narrows at you.

“Maybe. I didn't really asked you about the details when you said that I'm working for you.” You told him. Putting your fork down cause you know where this conversation is being headed.

“How about as my secretary?” He says without a beat. The way he says it was the same as he speaks in the game and you would have accepted it within a heartbeat if it wasn't for the position you are in.

“Me?” You asked, hoping you misheard it or your ears was playing tricks. “Your secretary? You don't even know me that much to be entrusted with that kind of work.”

“I don't need to know what kind of person you are.”

“I know you're not the one to make stupid decisions and I'm not going to doubt your judgement but even I am an anomaly in this world there's a chance that I will betray you.” You say, gripping the table cloth. Well, there's no betrayal that's going to happen but it was an excuse and a reason not to get closer to him.

Sylus smirks. You can see the amusement flickering all over his eyes at what you said. You were getting more interesting as the seconds pass and Sylus likes who he deemed interesting.

“People who plan to betray me don't tell me they're betraying me. You’re selling yourself short, dove.” He pauses, crossing his legs underneath the table while he waits for your response.

He can see that you were still torn and hesitating.

“Take this offer and I'll make sure it will be worthwhile for the both of us.”

Is what he said and now, you're thinking that doomsday is already ahead in the game with you interfering. You hope that Sylus stays canon with MC and the original plot still intact.

May Astra or whatever deity send you back home before you disrupt the world with your existence.

[rambld]

𝐄𝐩 (potential energy) — a sukuna ryomen fic

pairing: nerd!sukuna x reader

overview: an unlikely friendship forms after sukuna lets you copy his answers on the first day of university. now, four years later, you won't leave him alone and while he may act like you're insufferable, he wouldn't have it any other way.

contains: fluff, some crack, profanities, malapropism, rugby player!sukuna, physics, fraternity antics, parties, alcohol and drugs, uncle sukuna and baby yujiiii, kind of grumpy x sunshine, eventual smut(?)

status: ongoing

1. wednesday and worksheets

2. texts and lunches

3. jerseys and malapropisms

4. banishment and babysitting

5. play dates and perturbance

6. new posts and strange feelings

7. flying fists and flirtations

8. workloads and teething

9. car wash and the park

10. twins and tension

11. five men and a baby

12. skiing and snowballs

13. ghosts and constants

note: i can never leave this man alone, i'm sorry y'all </3 inspired by sukufalke's modern!sukuna tweets! art by su2kuna <3

[tteokdoroki]

✩ ꒱ hit it raw — ft. katsuki bakugou .ᐟ

🏁 ꒰ ✩ smut ⋆ mdni ⋆ pro hero bakugou & fem!reader. established relationship, unprotected sex, talk of condoms, subtle size kink, dacryphilia if you squint close enough -> bakugou is a responsible guy. he never forgets a thing. aside from the one time he forgets to buy condoms — no worries, you’ve always wanted him to hit it raw.

“no… fuck. damn it, i swear i —!”

katsuki never forgets condoms, ever. he’s big on safe sex, tested regularly doesn’t want any happy accidents before either of you are ready… but the one time he does forget to buy some, he genuinely nearly breaks down.

“f-fuck. sorry, baby — shit, i think we’re out.” bakugou rasps gruffly into your mouth — upset, begrudging. the bedside draw slams shut with a disappointing creak but it does nothing to dissipate heat in the air.

he’s teary eyed as he pulls back from your kiss swollen lips with the realisation. he hadn’t stocked up before he left for his mission in kuwait and you’d used the last of them that same weekend. the blonde sniffs it off as nonchalantly as he can, the fact that he’s about to cry, because he’s painfully hard against your clothed cunt and he hasn’t been able to properly have you in two weeks. a fist around his pulsing shaft and a memory of you bouncing back on him is barely enough for a man.

now you’re half naked underneath him and wet against his crotch, clothes still in a pathetic pile by the front door of your apartment because you’d welcomed him in with the same unexpected feverishness of a bustling city’s summer heat wave. heated kisses and burning touches that speak more than a week’s worth of yearning. katsuki feels stupid, he doesn’t know why he cries, perhaps it’s because he knows — no condom means no sex. he hates to leave you high and dry, hates to have to go take a cold shower until he can hit the stores tomorrow, but then your fingers curl in ash blonde baby hairs and you pull him back into you as though he’s rope slipping through his fingers. firm. grounding.

“maybe… maybe tonight we can try without?” you suggest because you’re so perfect, so undeniably good to him in ways the blonde isn’t even sure he deserves. your lips are glossy, your eyes are glassy and katsuki can feel your pussy smear over him with a layer of sweet glaze — clenching around nothing just at the thought of taking him raw. “i don’t want you to go. just want to be close to you.” you add, pouty. so pretty.

he should say no. he should insist on going down on you and rubbing one out in the shower later tonight. but there you are, squirming against his thickness that presses into your soft tummy, peering up at katsuki with those captivating, hypnotic eyes that plead for a slither of mercy. “please.” you whisper, the secret lying underneath your tongue next to every form of begging you know possible. you’re prepared to do it, if it means having him sink into you completely free of rubber. just skin on skin and the passion burning in your lungs.

“okay,” pearls of sweat form a halo around his head, sand blonde locks stick to the feverish skin as it drops to your bare shoulder. blood diluted with droplets of sin set a course for south and katsuki’s thick shaft pulses to life against you — as if to lead him into temptation — put it in. “god, fuck, okay. you’re gonna be good though? g-gonna let me pull out?” he manages a choked groan, rooted strongly in his chest like a sturdy oak tree. reverberating through your lush, syrupy cunt with enough bass to make you bend into him.

when you smile this time, it’s relieved and earnest — a beautiful glow that settles against the natural slopes of your features because katsuki strips faster than he ever has in his life. cock rock hard, wet and bare against you, seedy tip lathered in pre cum already married to your aching clit which he taps so lovingly against.

“n-no promises.” you mewl.

it’s so crude, no unlike the two of you, to be messy and raw. the heat of him blooms within you as bakugou lines up with your entrance, shallowly thrusting past the quivering hole with a grateful hiss. because he’s so lucky to be let into the gates of heaven. that you’ll let him fuck you even with the risk.

“can’t play around like that, baby, c-can’t say shit like that,” his breathing stutters, you squeeze around every hot, bare inch he gives to you. “…mmm fuck— ‘m gonna —!” katsuki heaves into your neck, lips on your pulse point to check you’re still with him whilst he bottoms out — pelvis flush against yours, thighs hiked high on his hip, dick dragging along your welcoming walls. “you’re gonna be the fuckin’ death of me.”

end ! likes are appreciated, but just liking doesn’t do much on tumblr! to support and motivate myself and other writers, reply, reblog and comment if you'd like to see more!! — asks are open to thirsts and thoughts! join my taglist ! love you!

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED © TTEOKDOROKI 2020-26. all fanfics & layouts belong to me. do not copy, repost, translate, feed into ai, or recommend elsewhere.

[andypantsx3]

beta reader x alpha character u will always be the funniest dynamic to me. reader just absolutely baffled by all the biological imperative nonsense and alpha character vibrating at a frequency that could shatter glass trying not to sink their teeth into reader without courting them into it all cool and normal first.

[andypantsx3]

an isekai romance but you're the comedic relief side character who was born in the book setting and remains in the book setting. you just want to know what the fuck is up with the main character's sudden + complete 180, and you won't rest until you get to the bottom of it.

and you were handling the investigation just fine on your own! until handsome prince shouto—the main love interest—crouches down behind you in the garden hedge and asks you what you're doing.

[icarusignite]

a tangled mess of knots, i confess (ch.2)

Pairing: Fire Lord Zuko x Earth Nation Envoy Reader

Summary: You're a delegate from the Earth Nation, sent to negotiate treaties and arrange a suitable bride from your homeland for the fire lord. Unbeknownst to you, he already has a bride in mind, and he refuses to make your job easy for you.

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: none. No use of y/n

A/N: Sorry for the delay, I was feeling really burnt out after finals, and then my allergies got bad lmao. Lemme know if you'd prefer this to be more slow-burn drawn out (with more chapters), or quicker wrap up and conclusion :) Also we'll probably get Zuko pov next chapter or something. Comments and reblogs are very appreciated, would love to hear yalls thoughts <33

AO3 | Fic Masterlist | Previous | Next

The council chambers were already full by the time you entered the next morning, their vastness swallowing all sound and scattering it into the low, constant murmur of multiple voices layered over one another and the crackle of braziers burning steadily along the walls. Light poured in through high-set windows, filtered and golden, catching on lacquered pillars and the gleam of armour.

At the far end, elevated above it all, sat the Fire Lord upon his dais, his expression carefully neutral. To anyone else, his distant gaze and the slight downturn of his mouth were simply relics of his patience, worn thin by the endless droning of advisors. 

But you noticed the subtle pinch between his eyes that had not been there yesterday, and his lips were a fraction thinner than usual. It brought you an almost wicked satisfaction to be the only one who knew that he was likely nursing a hangover. 

You silently took your place among the Earth Kingdom delegation at the far end of the chamber, and Zuko immediately sought you out. In fact, you had noticed his gaze stray to you the moment you entered the room, and his lips quirked slightly. 

You had returned the expression politely, but there was nothing gentle in your responding smile. No, you felt rather triumphant, because today would be the day you finally allowed him to let you do your job. 

You had carried him through the corridors of his palace like some overburdened attendant, you had endured his hiccuping indignity, and you had deposited him into his chambers, very nearly compromising your own reputation in the process. If he was willing to rely on you in such a manner and allowed that moment of familiarity to exist at all, then you would use it to corner him. You would make him sit his pretty behind down and finally choose a bride.

Then the Fire Lord's chamberlain began to speak, distracting you from your thoughts, though truly, you could not say that you paid much attention to what he was saying. It was, perhaps, the most remarkable feat of endurance you had witnessed in recent memory, not the content of his speech, which ranged from trade discrepancies to minor disputes between provincial governors, to ceremonial obligations and updates on infrastructure, but the sheer length of it, and he spoke as if every minor inconvenience in the Fire Nation required immediate and exhaustive articulation.

You took notes the entire time, but every now and then, you felt the burning gaze of the Fire Lord on you. Every time his attention drifted, he would seek you out again, though you did not look up. You weren't sure if he was testing you somehow, gauging your reaction or measuring your attentiveness, but you refused to be an easy target. 

If he expected anything other than the utmost professionalism from you today, he would be sorely disappointed.

It was well past the appointed hour for lunch when the Fire Lord finally excused himself. His command to dismiss the council proceedings for a brief reprieve was perfectly composed, but when he rose, it was too quick. You watched him depart and then decided to follow, because if you let him escape fully, you would lose your chance. The rest of the afternoon would vanish into more council matters and more interruptions.

You stopped by your own chambers first, to retrieve the stack of scrolls you'd left there, before making your way toward his private study, where you'd been informed he would take his midday meal. When you knocked at his door, Zuko's voice was exhausted as he bade you to enter. 

You found him slumped over his desk inside, seated with his shoulders hunched, one hand braced against the surface of the desk while the other pressed to his temple, his fingers working slowly to ease his pain. A tray of food sat before him, lavishly prepared dishes still steaming, but untouched. 

You let the door close behind you before assessing the spread set out for him. "Might I suggest a lighter lunch, my lord?" you said mildly. "Something with broth and ginger tea, perhaps... after the night you've had."

Zuko straightened immediately at the sound of your voice, his expression brightening. "Oh, are you here to join me for lunch? We can take it in the gardens, if you like. They're much nicer in the daylight."

You shook your head apologetically. "I am here for work, my lord."

The change in him was almost comical, and the Fire Lord actually groaned. "More work?" he muttered, dragging a hand down his face before letting it fall limply against the arm of the chair. "I have been very hard at work all morning."

"Certainly. But this matter requires your utmost attention." You stepped forward to set the stack of scrolls down on his desk. 

"Those look more tedious than the chamberlain's scrolls," Zuko complained wearily.

"They are more important."

"And what could possibly be more important than everything I have already endured today?"

"You must make your selection of candidate brides, my lord."

Zuko's brow pinched even further. "Now you sound like the chamberlain, too."

You inclined your head. "The old man has a point, even if it takes him a century to make it."

"He's already shown me the lists," Zuko protested. "I needn't see them again."

"My lists are different."

"And if it's just lists of names, why are there ever so many scrolls?"

You rolled your eyes at the Fire Lord's antics and unrolled the topmost one. "They are not merely lists. They are dossiers, compiled with care, and if you would take the time to review them properly, you might find that each of these women is more than a name on a list."

"And you intend to make me do this now?" Zuko asked. 

"Yes."

"You're going to force me to choose a wife."

You glared at him unflinchingly. "I prefer to think of it as ensuring you fulfill your duties, my lord."

His lips twitched at that. "You are rather bold."

"And you are rather behind schedule."

That earned you a reluctant chuckle, though it dissolved quickly into another sigh, less dramatic and more resigned as the Fire lord gestured toward the seat across from him. "Very well, take a seat."

You did not need to be told twice, settling down and spreading out the remainder of the scrolls on his desk. "Each of your candidates is a person, with hopes and wants and desires and aspirations for her life," you said earnestly. "I know most people do not care much about what a potential bride might like, or who she might be aside from a pretty face and a strong lineage to carry on your legacy, but they are people, my lord. And when you make a selection, you must do so with that in mind."

Zuko's demeanour changed when you said that, and the exasperation that had been evident in his posture evaporated, leaving behind something close to awe. 

"Has anyone ever told you that you'd make a great matchmaker?" he asked almost fondly. 

"Yes," you replied flatly. "Now, let us get to work."

"I couldn't stop you if I tried, I think. So go ahead."

"First, there is Lady Ruolan of the Upper Ring." You glanced up briefly to ensure Zuko was at least pretending to pay attention, then continued. "She is the eldest daughter of a well-established noble house. She is exceptionally educated, fluent in three dialects, with a particular interest in botany. She maintains her own gardens, which, from what I have seen, are quite extensive. Perhaps when you meet with her, you might take her on a tour of the gardens. And she would take particular delight in meeting your groundskeeper."

Zuko raised an eyebrow. "My groundskeeper?"

"Yes. And if you wish to gift her something, she would prefer the botanical marvels of your nation over any jewels."

"The chamberlain says that jewels are only an inappropriate gift for a noble lady."

"And that is why the chamberlain remains unmarried yet," you scoffed. "You must trust me."

"But you are also unmarried," Zuko pointed out cheekily. "How am I to take your word for it?"

You ignored his attempt to derail the conversation, pointing to another scroll. "Next, we have Lady Lihua. Daughter of a merchant family recently elevated to nobility. Highly skilled in calligraphy and poetry. She composes her own verses—quite beautiful, from what I've read, and she is known for her sharp wit. She would challenge you."

"And you think I need that?" Zuko asked.

"I think that a Fire Lord surrounded only by agreeable voices is a Fire Lord at risk of becoming insufferable."

"And now you are calling the Fire Lord insufferable."

"I am merely suggesting the possibility of it." You tapped the desk to bring his attention back to the matter at hand. "Now, Lady Jingyi is very sociable and has a fondness for music. She hosts gatherings where she plays the zither. She is rather shy, but enjoys being complimented on her skills. She would make your court feel less... rigid."

"And I am rigid?" Zuko's tone became more amused by the minute. 

"Yes."

"You certainly don't hold back, do you?" he huffed. 

"Politics will never make a liar out of me, my lord," you said evenly. 

"You have an admirable sense of self, then."

You ignored the compliment, unsure how to receive it, and continued like that for some time, moving from one scroll to the next as you outlined each woman's habits, interests, and temperaments. Through it all, Zuko listened intently, his eyes never once straying from yours, that same oddly fond smile gracing his lips all the while. 

Eventually, he leaned back and shook his head in disbelief. "How is it that you know so much about them?"

You shrugged. "It is my duty, my lord."

"When the chamberlain presented his lists, all he told me were their names and their lineages."

"Men rarely pay attention to these sorts of things," you sneered, the words slipping out before you could stop them. "I take my job very seriously."

"But your duty is to merely present them, is it not?"

"No. While my duty may be to help find you a wife and strengthen your alliance with the Earth Kingdom, it is also to ensure that whoever you marry is happy here. That you are a good and attentive husband to her. What better way to do that than to ensure that you know who she is as a person?"

Zuko seemed somewhat offended by that. "You doubt my ability to be a good husband?"

"Being a good husband means more than simply ensuring your bride is provided for in a material sense."

"Is it not? I am the Fire Lord. My wife would want for nothing."

You looked at him as if he were daft, though you dared not say it aloud. "Being the bride to such an important man can be incredibly lonely, and brides are rarely told to make their grievances known. Yours could be withering away right before your eyes, and you'd be none the wiser."

Zuko flinched subtly, his next words coming out wounded. "And you think I'd let that happen?"

"You seem busy," you told him. "Busy men tend to miss important things."

He exhaled sharply, a hint of frustration surfacing now. "Well, that is hardly fair. I assure you, I would do my best to be a good husband."

It seemed very important to him that you take his word for it, so you decided not to be any more argumentative than you'd already been. 

"Very well, my lord," you acquiesced. "I am simply reminding you."

There was an awkward pause before he tapped the scroll in front of you. "Is this a list of every eligible lady from the Earth Nation?"

You nodded. "Of course."

"Are you certain?"

"Yes. Why..." You trailed off as the implication settled, and you could feel the beginning of a smirk break across your face. "Is there someone in particular I am missing? I assure you, I was being most thorough in my gathering of information, but if there is someone, I am certain we can make it happen. The Fire Lord makes a love match. Even if she is not of noble birth, the poets would immortalize you." 

Your teasing had the intended effect, and Zuko's ears turned an endearing shade to match his flame coloured robes. He cleared his throat and avoided your probing gaze as he said, "No, I simply meant... You are of noble birth, are you not? Your name is not on the list."

"You've done your research," you said drily. 

That drew a smirk of his own. "The Fire Lord is always well informed."

"Then surely you already know the answer to your question. Why would I put myself on a list I compiled, my lord?"

Zuko leaned forward, resting an elbow against the desk as his attention narrowed on you. "Well," he drawled, "certainly, if you were being as thorough as you claim, you would have put every single eligible lady on it. Which includes yourself."

"I am hardly eligible," you snickered, waving a dismissive hand in his direction. "Trust that I would make an awful bride, my lord. Besides, I am far too attached to my work."

His gaze lingered on you for a moment longer than necessary. "That makes the two of us."

"Then we shall be the greatest of friends. Now, let us get back to the lists."

You did not know how it had gotten to this point, or what prompted this casual boldness into your words without permission, but when you received no resistance from the Fire Lord himself, you weren't inclined to stop any time soon. There were worse fates in the world than befriending a man like him, and he was rather interesting. 

"Yes," Zuko agreed with a wistful smile. "That we shall."

And that was that, an agreement of camaraderie if you'd ever heard one. 

But then he pushed himself out of his chair and brushed his hands together. "I think I have heard enough," he declared. 

"Find someone you like already?" you jested smugly. "Well, that was fast. I should have cornered you earlier."

He looked at you strangely then, with a strange sort of certainty that hadn't been there before. "Yes."

"Yes?"

"Yes," he repeated. "But I shall not tell you."

You gaped at the infuriating man before you. "My lord, that is the entire purpose of this exercise. For you to tell me who it is that interests you so that I may arrange for the meeting."

Zuko ignored you, tapping his fingers idly against the desk. "It seems that you have taken the time to get to know every single one of these ladies very well."

"Of course I have."

"And how did you do that?"

You frowned at the unnecessary question. "Some of them are acquaintances of my family. Others—well, I got to know them, as anyone gets to know anyone. Over teas, and lunches, and promenades. Conversation and observation, my lord."

The Fire Lord considered your words carefully. "Then does it not seem unfair to you?"

"How so?" You resisted the urge to roll your eyes again at his line of questioning. 

"You have taken so much time to get to know each of my potential brides," Zuko said, leaning a fraction closer to you, "but you have not taken the time to know me."

Now that caught you off guard, because it was indeed true. You knew his policies, his reputation, and the careful image he maintained before his court and your delegation, but about the man himself, you knew almost nothing, and he knew it. 

Nonetheless, you were nothing if not stubborn, and you lifted your chin defiantly, unwilling to concede the point so easily. "Your chamberlain informed us that you require an obedient bride to carry the future of the Fire Nation. Which, I must admit, was rather shallow, but who am I to judge the preferences of the Fire Lord?"

Zuko looked annoyed, though you weren't sure if his ire was directed at you or his chamberlain. "'Who am I to judge,'" he mimicked sarcastically, "she says, after saying something exceedingly judgmental."

You let out a rather unladylike snort. "Now you are simply being difficult. Very well, if the chamberlain was mistaken, you may tell me what you wish for in a bride. I assure you, I will take your preferences into account."

It was a reasonable solution, but he refused to take it. 

"No," he said. "It would not be fair if I simply told you."

"It would be rather unfair if you didn't," you countered. 

"No," he said again, more firmly this time, his jaw set stubbornly. "You must get to know my preferences by getting to know me, just as you have done with my potential brides. It is the only fair way to ensure you are orchestrating an appropriate match."

You burst out laughing at that, unable to help yourself. "Perhaps it is you who should be the matchmaker."

"I shall not pick a bride if it is not done the correct way," the Fire lord protested sullenly, though his eyes glimmered with amusement. 

"Now you simply sound petulant."

His responding grin was unabashed. "What is a little petulance between friends?"

"Oh, spirits," you muttered under your breath, pinching the bridge of your nose. "What have I gotten myself into?"

This was not part of the plan. You had come here to complete a task, not be drawn into whatever plans Zuko was intent on arranging, but even you had to admit, the logic was not entirely unsound.

If you were to ensure that whichever woman you selected would be suited to him, not just politically, but personally, then you would need to understand him beyond the surface. You would need to see what he did not say, and what he might hide without realizing it himself. And, if there were any cruelties lurking beneath that poised exterior, you would find them.

You would not risk sending one of your own into a life of dutiful suffering because you had failed to look closely enough.

"Very well," you agreed reluctantly.

The Fire Lord practically beamed at your acceptance. "Wonderful."

There had better be a big promotion for you back home at the end of this, you thought to yourself, or you'd be very, very annoyed. 

Taglist: @francinethings23 @reivelmin @wandabillywrites @hungrynessforfics @thestarinlove

[ytmkiz]

i actually like the idea of strictly familial caleb and mc (calling her eve here), where she’s about five or six years younger than him. and in this case, she looks up to you, caleb’s girlfriend, whenever you’re around.

it's like those relationships where the little sister gets attached to the brother’s girlfriend? yeah. that’s exactly the dynamic i’m picturing here.

whenever you walk through the door, her eyes sparkle with excitement, already dreaming up what adventures the two of you might share that day.

or when she catches sight of you in the passenger seat as caleb pulls up to the pick up zone, she’s already skipping toward the car, excitement bubbling over as she thinks about the dessert you persuaded her brother to treat her to for acing her biology test.

she gushes to her friends about you, too. telling them how pretty and cool you are.

your heart can’t help but swell at every sweet compliment she throws your way.

and when her first middle school dance rolls around, you make sure to arrive three hours early, arms loaded with your makeup kit and a box of hair curlers. with a beaming smile, you ask her if she’s ready to be the most dazzling sixth grader linkon middle school has ever seen.

it turns out, caleb had offered to help her get ready, but eve politely turned him down, saving the special time for her favorite person in the world—you.

you barely spare your boyfriend a glance from where he sits on the living room couch as you beeline for the kitchen table, already unpacking your supplies with practiced ease.

“well, hello to you too,” you hear him say as he comes up behind you, arms ready to wrap around your waist—but you pay him no mind. not when you're in work mode.

still, you can't help but stifle a giggle when eve chimes in.

“oh no you don’t. not in front of me.”

she tries, and fails, to push caleb away from you and back toward the archway to the living room. within seconds, she's huffing, barely having moved him an inch.

then she turns to you, giving you that look—the one she knows will have him gone in seconds.

you nod.

“i’m sorry, caleb. but this is strictly girls only." you lift your hand to his cheek, and he leans into your touch, those enchanting nebula eyes full of deep purple and gold making him so hard to refuse. “so, i’m going to have to ask you to leave, my love.”

this moment isn't about him at all—it's about your precious eve.

everything goes according to plan when he finally relents, shooting eve a narrowed look and sticking his tongue out at her, while she beams in triumph.

“your girlfriend loves me more than you,” she taunts.

caleb rolls his eyes in. “yeah, yeah. whatever. enjoy her now while you can, cause she’s hanging out with me later.”

that's when you finally let yourself laugh, enjoying their playful banter.

eve tells you everything—she always has. she trusts with secrets about her classmates and all the little dramas of her age. about aiden dating julianna, and what sarai said about carmela. it makes you reminisce about your own memories and your old friends, too.

she comes to you for advice, too.

advice about trying out for the volleyball team and about things she could never bring herself to ask her grandmother, much less caleb.

and once, on a girls' day while shopping for caleb's birthday present, she told you how happy she was that you were in caleb’s life, because without you, she would never have known what it was like to have a wonderful older sister.

your heart tightens at her words, because you feel exactly the same. your eve is such a loving, wonderful girl. she's just so easy to cherish.

later that same day, caleb finds the two of you, sprawled on the living room floor, surrounded by pillows and blankets, hands busy with crafts—measuring wrists with white string and picking out beads to match each others eyes. you're chatting and laughing about who knows what, and caleb can't help but pause at the sight, a genuine smile spreading across his face.

you've always treated his little sister with so much care and affection...

and in that moment, he decides you’re the woman he wants by his side for the rest of his life.

[souliloqui]

ceo!sylus x secretary!reader

summary: you find sylus hiding in his office. for good reason.

cw: y/n-esque!emcee (she is very annoying and no one really likes her in this)

a/n: inspired by that ceo x y/n trend where the ceo is overly protective of sweet, innocent and naive y/n. but the ceo here isn't interested in y/n and is far more interested in YOU. i also want to thank the ever so lovely @sysjuicebox-archive for adding onto this idea with her glorious mind, it was so much!

"Mr. Qin?" You call out as you open one of his large office doors, having knocked a few times already. Each knock received no response, making you wonder if your boss had stepped out for something or the other.

Usually an impromptu lunch meeting or an all too often emergency trip to his twin sons' school.

Whatever it is, he hadn't informed you and you remember that Sylus had given you permission to enter his office at any time for whatever reason.

"I trust you," he had said, a rare genuine smile soften his sharp, handsome features. Your heart had been sent off to the races, winning first place with how fast it had been beating. It had been a...moment between you two that replays consistently in your head when you go to bed at time, like clockwork.

You peer into his office, scanning the familiar surroundings as you step in and close the door behind you.

His huge obsidian desk is neatly organised, sealed envelopes and papers stacked into small piles. The outrageously expensive ergonomic chair he loves leaning back in is facing the fall-to-ceiling windows. He was probably taking in the cityscape, his mind drifting far away to avoid an incoming headache.

You set some paperwork on his desk, skirting around it until you're standing in front of the wide window. You immediately notice your apartment building in the not too far distance. As well as the bakery that's a block down from it and off to the east, you can barely make out Sylus' favourite Mediterranean restaurant.

The view, however familiar, engrosses you so much that you don't notice a hand sneaking out from under his desk.

But you feel it latch onto your ankle and scream loudly in shock, kicking it away to press yourself against the window.

With your heart pounding, you look down at where the hand came from and feel immediate anger.

"Was this your idea of a funny joke?" You ask, having spotted Sylus who's hilariously curled up beneath his desk. The space is big but clearly not big enough to hide a 6'4" broad-shouldered man who's famously feared for his sharp intelligence keen business sense. "I will report you to HR for this."

"Janice in HR loves me so good luck with that," Sylus says smoothly and he isn't wrong. Janice is obsessed with him. "And my intention wasn't to scare you, I simply wanted to grab your attention."

"And you couldn't have just said my name?"

Sylus shakes his head. "She'll hear me otherwise."

You blink. "Who?"

As if on cue, there're three knocks coming from Sylus' door.

"Ooooh Sylus~!" Emcee calls out, her tone sickly sweet.

It makes your stomach churn.

"Oh, her," you deadpan before kneeling on the ground to hide your silhouette from view. "I didn't think you'd be rendered scared by someone half your size and has a quarter of your strength."

"I don't have her time today," Sylus says, now in a low whisper. "She's annoyingly persistent and has been in my office a total of 32 times today."

You check your watch. "But it's only 1 PM."

"I know."

"Goodness gracious."

"Exactly."

There're three more knocks.

"Qinnikins~?" She calls out and you snort, covering your mouth.

"Qinnikins?" You mouth and Sylus shoots you a dreadful look.

Another three knocks.

"I need you to get her away," Sylus murmurs. "She knows I haven't left the building yet because she's—"

"—crazy and a stalker—"

"—right, and I just need her to leave so I can sneak outside."

"Well, isn't this funny?" You say with an amused smile. "Mr. Qin trapped in his own company building by a tiny employee." You move to stand up. "What would your competitors think?"

"That I'm a kind and thoughtful man who doesn't want to hurt said tiny employee's feelings."

You huff a laugh. "Good man."

With a quick pat to his shoulder, you raise up and say, "Hey Emcee, come in."

One of the doors swing open to reveal a pretty woman in a dress that's certainly not HR approved.

"Oh, it's you," Emcee says, immediately disinterested. "I thought Sylus was here. I swear I heard his voice a minute ago."

"I was on call with him," you lie. "Put him on speaker because I was dealing with some paperwork." You gesture to the pile you had brought in. "He's gone out and won't be back until after lunch."

Emcee gives you a look. "And how would you know that?"

You're unbothered by it. "I'm kind of his secretary so it's my job to know."

Emcee bristles; that had hit a sore spot.

"Whatever," she grumbles. "You're not competition anyway so why would I be bothered?"

You wave her off as she slams the door and sigh deeply, bending down to look at Sylus.

"You owe me big time, Qinnikins," you say and Sylus smiles, grateful.

"Then how about I take you out for lunch?" He offers, crawling out of his hiding space to stand at his full height.

How he made that look elegant is beyond you but that doesn't matter because:

"Are you asking me out to lunch?" You aim for playful but your heart's beating a little too fast for you to concentrate.

"Are you saying yes?" Sylus asks and there's a sparkle in those crimson eyes of his.

You swallow deeply.

"...I want pasta," you say and Sylus smirks.

"Anything you want; it's on me."

tags~☆: @blessdunrest @thatweirdomidas

a/n: this will probably become a series, haha! it was fun to write and there's so much more to add. :)

[anonmeansanon]

FINALLY FREE LORD WHY DID PH GOVT HATE TUMBLR

[nana-gumi]

a sin called devotion zayne li

pairings: zayne li x non! mc reader

cw: heavy angst / no comfort (yes..), tragedy, major character death (read to know who 🙀), blood, emotional trauma, class/status discrimination, classism, lots of crying lol (i cried too while writing this ngl), self-deprecation, arranged marriage mentioned, misunderstandings, family neglect, and oh and did i say heavy angst? doesn't follow any storyline of the game. 13.8k words c:

a/n: i'm back guys.. BELATED HAPPY NEW YEAR LOL. i started writing this last dec and finally.. i love zayne so much it hurts hehe anyway! here's my gift for y'all. HAPPY reading :))

now playing 💿: kalapastangan by fitterkarma ( hello to my filo readers :3 )

" i will die with a smile, if you are by my side. i will live with regret, if one day i cannot make you smile. it is a sin not to love you, it is foolishness not to think of you. if the world were to suddenly end, you are the first i would look for. "

it was, by all accounts, a beautiful day.

zayne surveyed the small city as morning settled upon it, sunlight spilling over stone roads and wooden stalls.

despite the early hour, the streets were already alive. merchants calling out, workers hurrying along, doors opening to begin another day.

as he passed, some greeted him with familiarity. others bowed, stiff and respectful.

and a few, upon recognizing him, lowered their gaze and stepped aside, fear plain upon their faces.

rumors painted him as cold and ruthless.

zayne neither denied nor corrected them. he had long since stopped caring for what people chose to believe.

“and the other side?” he asked calmly.

“lord louis is overseeing it.” alfred replied.

“good.” zayne nodded. “then let us return—"

he had just reached the carriage when a sudden commotion broke the air.

voices rose and footsteps hurried as crowd began to gather not far from where they stood.

zayne halted. “what is that?”

“it seems something has occurred,” alfred said.

but before they could move closer, the crowd began to disperse, people leaving one by one, uneasy, and whispering.

“enough,” a clear voice rang out. “leave. all of you.”

zayne’s attention sharpened.

at the center stood a cloaked figure. beneath her, a small child trembled on the ground.

suddenly, a woman knelt hurriedly.

“we beg your forgiveness, your highness. our child did not know what she was doing.” the woman said, kneeling on the ground.

you exhaled softly and rose, brushing the dust from your cloak before helping the child to her feet.

the little girl immediately rushed into her mother’s arms.

“please, stand,” you said gently, guiding the woman up. you then crouched before the child.

from within your sleeve, you drew a piece of gold and pressed it into the child’s hands.

“your highness, you need not —”

“it is fine,” you murmured, cutting the woman off and your gaze softened as you met the child’s eyes. “listen well. taking what is not yours is wrong. if you desire something, you must ask for it. do you understand?”

the child nodded.

“i cannot hear you.”

“yes, princess,” she said quickly.

a faint smile curved your lips. “i am no princess, foolish child.” you gently pinched her nose.

the mother bowed deeply. “i will ensure this never happens again. you have our gratitude, your highness.”

you inclined your head. “you are dismissed.”

you watched them leave, the child laughing, the mother holding her close. your smile lingered, though sadness flickered beneath it.

how fortunate the child is to have a mother like that.

footsteps broke your thoughts as you stiffened. someone was approaching.

without hesitation, you pulled your hood over your head and turned away, retreating in the opposite direction.

zayne froze, his hand lifting instinctively, as though to stop you, and realizing himself, he cleared his throat and straightened.

“who was that, alfred?” he asked.

“that was lady (name),” alfred replied. “the youngest daughter of the (L/N) family.”

“the (L/N) family..” a faint, unreadable smile crossed zayne’s lips. alfred noticed, it was subtle, but unmistakable.

“alfred,” zayne continued, “did we not receive an invitation from them?”

“you already declined it, young master.”

zayne turned toward the carriage. “make the preparations."

alfred sighed quietly and followed. the young master can be quite troublesome.

.

.

.

“is something the matter, young master?”

zayne blinked, alfred’s voice pulling him back from his thoughts.

“…nothing,” he replied, yet his gaze continued to wander, drifting across the hall as though searching for something, or someone.

“i have heard,” alfred added carefully, “that lady (name) does not attend such gatherings.”

zayne’s hand paused mid-motion. without a word, he reached for his napkin, dabbing at his lips before standing.

“why did you not inform me of this sooner?”

alfred inclined his head.

“you never inquired, young master.” zayne exhaled, displeased, though whether with alfred or himself, he could not say.

—

the carriage came into view as they stepped outside.

“young master,” alfred called.

zayne did not respond.

“young master.”

this time, alfred stopped and gestured somewhere ahead as zayne followed his gaze.

there, by the yard of the (L/N) estate, you knelt upon the grass, a small bundle of fur pressed close as you fed a stray cat.

alfred quietly excused himself. zayne hesitated, then carefully, he approached.

he cleared his throat, and the sound made the cat startled and fled.

you stiffened, disappointment flickering across your face as you rose.

“you frightened my cat,” you said flatly, though your words faltered the moment you saw it was him.

“as i recall,” zayne replied, keeping his tone even, “animals are not permitted within the estate grounds.”

your brows knit together. “and who are you to remind me of such rules?”

“zayne,” he said. “of the li family.”

he extended his hand. you stared at it for a brief moment before sighing and accepting, your grip light, fleeting.

“i.. i am (name).” you responded and withdrew your hand at once.

li family.

the name carried weight, authority and power. standing before him, you could not deny the faint unease curling in your chest.

“if there is nothing further,” you said, bowing politely, “i shall take my leave.”

you stepped past him, but then his hand moved before he could stop himself. your wrist was warm beneath his grasp.

you glanced down at where he held you, then slowly raised your gaze.

“is it not improper,” you asked, “to touch a lady without her consent?”

his hand fell away at once.

“my apologies,” he said, clearing his throat.

“if you require something from my family,” you continued, withdrawing your hand, “i will be of little use.” you inclined your head once more. “please excuse me.”

you walked away, leaving him standing alone by the gates.

zayne did not follow. he only watched until you disappeared from sight, and wondered, for reasons he could not yet understand, why the absence felt heavier than the silence.

—

“where were you.” the question was not asked. it was delivered.

your father did not look at you when he spoke, his attention fixed on his plate as the sound of cutlery continued around the table.

“do you understand,” he said calmly, “how many guests specifically requested your presence today?”

“i apologize, father.”

“for what?” he replied. “your apologies have lost all meaning.” the clink of porcelain echoed as he set his spoon down.

“you were instructed to remain available,” he continued. “yet you were nowhere to be found. do you take some satisfaction in embarrassing this family?”

“i—”

“enough,” he said. “i am tired of excuses.”

your brother leaned back in his chair, regarding you with open disdain.

“honestly,” he said, “why do you insist on behaving like this?” you kept your eyes lowered.

“princess aurelia is your age,” he continued. “and yet she understands her role.” his gaze swept over you, slow and assessing. “she attends gatherings without complaint. she displays her evol with pride. the people admire her.”

he paused.

“and then there is you.”

the words were quiet, deliberate.

“you avoid appearances. you hide like a liability. and you possess nothing of value to compensate for it.” your fingers dug into your lap as he continued.

“compared to her,” your brother said flatly, “you are a failure.”

silence followed. not even your mother intervened as you looked at her, just enjoying her meal, probably in her own world right now.

you then rose from your seat.

“father,” you said, voice strained, “may i be excused—”

“sit.” the single word struck harder than any raised voice. you couldn't do anything but obey.

“you will finish your meal,” your father said, finally turning his gaze to you. “you will remain at this table until you remember what obedience looks like.”

your plate trembled beneath your hands.

“you were born into privilege,” he continued. “yet you contribute nothing. if not for blood,” he said, “you would have been discarded long ago.”

your vision swam as you stared at the food you could no longer see.

you had not chosen this body. you had not chosen this absence of power. but they spoke as if you had chosen to be wrong.

you wondered if being born without value meant you had never deserved to be born at all.

and later, when the doors were closed and the estate had fallen silent, you curled into yourself beneath the sheets.

the room felt too large, too empty. for the first time, you did not think of anything.

you only stared into the dark and wondered, quietly, and desperately, if tomorrow would be any different.

.

.

.

“i beg your pardon, your highness,” you said, stopping abruptly. “but are you following me?”

zayne halted. for a brief moment, he glanced around the street, as if only then noticing alfred’s absence.

the space beside him was empty, intentionally so as you crossed your arms.

“and what authority do you have,” he replied, “to assume such a thing?” he said, his tone composed. “i am merely overseeing the capital. a responsibility i shall inherit soon enough.” he said as you scoffed softly and turned away.

“very well. my apologies for assuming such things.” you said. “you may do as you please.” you then pulled the hood of your cloak over your head and began walking in the opposite direction.

“lady (name)—” he called, and you stopped.

“your highness.” you turned back to him, expression carefully blank. “i believe i have already made myself clear. should you require something from my family, you may direct your concerns to my father.”

you muttered something under your breath as you turned away again.

“it is not about your family.” he said, and your steps faltered. against your better judgment, you faced him once more.

he hesitated. “well—” zayne paused, as though weighing his words. his gaze remained fixed on you. “i was wondering whether the lady might care to share a simple dinner with me.”

silence fell. you stared at him, incredulous. then you exhaled, a short, disbelieving laugh.

“your highness,” you said dryly, “did you perhaps strike your head?”

you said, but he did not smile, he did not laugh. his expression remained unchanged, with serious intent.

the realization unsettled you as you cleared your throat.

“and what,” you asked quietly, “could someone of your standing possibly want with me?”

you did not wait for an answer. you only turned away once more.

“there are countless ladies more suitable,” you continued, your voice steady despite the weight in your chest. “women who are admired, powerful, and seen.” your hand tightened around your cloak, not sure if you were still speaking to him or yourself.

“to stand beside you,” you whispered, “would only remind me how small i already am.” you stopped yourself from saying more. “please,” you finished, “excuse me.”

you walked away, and zayne did not stop you.

as your figure disappeared into the crowd, he could only watch.

—

zayne handed his coat to alfred as he entered the estate.

“you are back earlier than expected, young master,” alfred said. “how did it go?”

“i was rejected.” the words left zayne calmly, too calmly.

a brief, unguarded sound escaped alfred before he could stop himself.

zayne glanced and glared at him.

“i apologize,” alfred said quickly, straightening. “that was inappropriate. i simply meant.. it is difficult to believe someone of your standing would be refused by a lady so far beneath you.”

“mind your words, alfred.”

“at once, young master.” he said, clearing his throat, voice more careful this time.

“perhaps the lady was simply considering what is best— for you as well.”

zayne did not respond. he only loosened his gloves, expression unreadable.

alfred hesitated, then continued carelessly.

“there are rumors,” he said, “that lady (name) does not possess an evol.”

zayne paused for a fraction of a second. then he shrugged.

“rumors remain rumors.” he said. “in any case,” zayne added, tone even, “i have no interest in entertaining such talk.”

a brief silence settled between them.

“in matters of alliance,” alfred continued, “someone like princess aurelia would be far more.. suitable. a match that benefits your future, young master.”

“enough,” he said simply.

alfred bowed deeply. “my apologies, young master.”

zayne dismissed him with a wave of his hand and continued down the corridor alone.

he told himself it meant nothing. that he had no reason to believe idle whispers. still, the thought returned, uninvited, of when such rumors had begun at all. they were spoken too easily, as if they had always existed.

the capital required constant oversight, that's why it was only natural that your paths crossed more than once.

he did not question why his gaze shifted before he was aware of it.

sometimes, he noticed you moving through the streets with your hood drawn low.

you never lingered. you walked as though every place was temporary. and it caught his attention. he found himself noticing small things instead.

the way you avoided crowded paths. how you stepped aside before others reached you. how you spoke little, even when addressed.

once, he saw you stop before a shop window, not to browse, but to wait. only after the street cleared did you move again. he frowned at that.

another time, he observed you in a conversation, choosing your words carefully. he told himself he was merely assessing character.

after all, it was prudent to understand those connected to influential families.

yet he began to recognize you without effort. before his mind registered it, his eyes already had.

he noticed when you were absent, he noticed when you appeared. the realization unsettled him, not because of what it meant, but because he had not chosen it.

once, as he turned a corner, he nearly crossed paths with you.

you halted, looked at him, and inclined your head in a brief, respectful bow, then you passed him.

you did not look back, and zayne stood there longer than necessary.

he did not follow. he told himself that what lingered afterward was irritation. that curiosity was harmless. that attention did not imply attachment.

and yet, each time he saw you again, the space you occupied seemed clearer than everything around it.

he did not call it interest, he certainly did not call it affection.

but something was shifting quietly, and zayne, for all his discipline, did not notice the moment observation became affection.

—

zayne did not know how it had come to this.

you were in his arms, your face pressed against his chest as your shoulders shook.

it had yet to sink in, that you were here, trusting him with something so unguarded.

it had been nothing more than a routine night patrol. he had not expected to find you in the darkest part of the city, alone, and crying. he hadn’t even finished calling your name.

the moment his hand brushed your shoulder, you turned and wrapped your arms around him, as if your body had decided before your mind could stop it.

and zayne froze at that. so carefully, he settled a hand against your arm. he did not speak. he only let you cry, a handkerchief already clenched in his other hand as he rubbed slow, grounding circles, as if afraid that any sudden movement might shatter you.

time passed, he wasn’t sure how long, and eventually, your breathing steadied. you pulled away at once, stepping back as if you had crossed a line.

“i’m sorry,” you said quietly. “that was.. improper.”

before he could respond, he was already holding the handkerchief out to you. his name was embroidered neatly along the corner.

you stared at it for a moment. then, without warning, he stepped closer again.

“would you take it,” he said, voice low, “or shall i wipe them myself?”

a soft, disbelieving laugh slipped past you before you accepted it, pressing the cloth to your face.

“what happened?” he asked.

the question made the night fall silent. even your breathing stilled.

what had happened? you searched for an answer and found none. you had been walking, you remembered that much, and then everything had simply become too heavy to carry.

“i don’t know,” you admitted, voice hoarse. “i think.. i think I’ve lost it.” you said, fingers tightened around the handkerchief.

and then the words began to spill, unplanned, as if zayne is just one of the ghosts you had spoke in your mind.

“i just—” you laughed softly, bitterly. “i keep wondering when i’ll finally be enough for someone. you know what i mean?” you said and looked at him, only to look away just as quickly.

of course he wouldn’t. he had grown up complete, and wanted.

"i suppose you wouldn’t,” you murmured and straightened, smoothing your cloak as if nothing had happened.

“i’ll have this returned by morning, your highness.”

“there’s no need to rush,” he replied.

“thank you,” you said, meeting his gaze with a small smile.

you? smiling at him? it caught him completely off guard.

“w—well, i—” he faltered, a hand lifting to the back of his neck as he looked away. “It’s dangerous to be out alone at this hour. allow me to escort you—”

“that won’t be necessary.” your tone shifted politely. “i won’t be going home just yet,” you added under your breath.

“then where are you headed at this time of the night?” he asked, and you avoided his eyes.

“i’m afraid that is none of your concern, your highness.”

because as much as you wanted someone beside you, just for a little longer, you had learned better than to ask. you had always handled things on your own.

you could do it again.

“please,” you said quietly, already stepping back, “excuse me.”

he remained where he stood long after you had disappeared into the dark.

the street was empty again, too empty.

only then did he lower his gaze to his hand, the one that had rested against your arm. his fingers curled slowly, feeling the absence where warmth had been moments ago.

it unsettled him.

he had offered comfort without thought, without reason. zayne exhaled. it meant nothing, he told himself.

and yet, his hand did not unclench for a long while.

.

.

.

“in matters of alliance, someone like princess aurelia would be far more suitable.”

the words surfaced without warning.

zayne’s gaze rested on the documents spread across his desk, though he had stopped reading them long ago.

then a knock came.

he blinked, the present snapping back into place as the door of his study opened.

“apologies, your highness,” louis said as the door opened. “i knocked several times. you did not answer.”

“it’s fine,” zayne replied. “what is it?”

“her grace has arrived,” louis said. “she is requesting your presence.”

-

the balcony was quiet when he arrived. his mother sat at the table, serene as ever. across from her sat princess aurelia’s mother, equally composed.

and across her is aurelia herself.

she looked up as he approached, hands steady around her teacup, her expression calm as ever.

“zayne,” his mother said, gesturing to the empty chair beside Aurelia. “come and sit.”

“it’s good to see you, mother,” he said, bowing before taking his seat.

“i called you here because our guests wished to see you,” she explained as zayne inclined his head toward aurelia and her mother.

“you’ve grown quite handsome,” aurelia’s mother said with a smile. “time has certainly been kind to you.”

his mother smiled as well, though there was something deliberate in it. “time does not wait,” she said. “yiur father is growing old, and soon, the responsibilities he carries will be passed down to you.”

“i’ll be brief,” she said, folding her hands together. zayne listened.

“much of the responsibility will soon fall to you,” she continued. “the estates. the council matters. everything your father has carried until now.” she said. “and with that,” she added, “it is time you begin considering a wife.” the words settled heavily as he shifted uncomfortably

beside him, aurelia remained silent.

“we have spoken at length,” his mother said, nodding toward aurelia’s mother. “and we believe it would be wise to formalize an arrangement between our families.”

an alliance, a continuation, something suitable.

zayne opened his mouth to respond, but then, unbidden, a different image surfaced.

a smile had appeared before his eyes, as if it had slipped out.

your smile.

the thought struck him so suddenly that he faltered, just for a moment.

“what do you think?” his mother asked.

—

“mother.”

zayne’s voice came out quieter than he intended, as if he were a child again, standing before her with scraped knees and unfinished lessons. yet, she did not turn to face him.

“i am disappointed, zayne,” his mother said calmly. “i hope you would reconsider.” she said as he lowered his gaze.

“the truth is—” he began, then stopped.

his fingers curled slowly at his side.

for a brief moment, doubt settled in his chest. he was not ready. not for vows. there were still things he did not know. still conversations left unspoken.

still you.

when his mother finally turned toward him, he lifted his head.

“there is someone i wish to marry,” zayne said at last, not with certainty, but with resolve, and her eyes widened.

she stepped closer at once, surprise quickly giving way to something almost relieved. “is that so?” she asked, a smile threatening to form. “tell me— who is she?”

zayne looked down at his hand his mother was holding. he hesitated for a bit before he finally looked at her.

“the youngest daughter of the (L/N) family.”

the change was immediate.

his mother took a step back, her expression shifting, not to anger, not to refusal, but to something he couldn't explain.

“son..” she murmured.

she reached for him, pulling him into an embrace that lingered longer than usual, as though she were holding onto something slipping through her fingers.

“not yet,” zayne added, his voice barely above a breath. “i am still trying to win her heart.” still trying to understand it himself.

she did not answer right away.

when she finally spoke, her voice was low and careful.

“zayne,” she said, almost regretfully, “i do not wish to say this.” her hands rested against his arms, steady but hesitant.

“but i am afraid that the youngest daughter.. would not be suitable for you.”

the words were gentle, but their meaning was not.

—

“can’t sleep?” zayne’s father murmured when he felt the mattress shift beside him.

his wife exhaled quietly.

“our son.”

he turned his head toward her. “what about him? did he refuse the succession?”

“no,” she said. “it’s.. it's worse.” there was a pause. “he wants to marry her.” and then silence.

“who?” he asked at last.

“the (L/N) family's youngest daughter.”

for a brief moment, zayne’s father looked genuinely surprised. then his shoulders eased as he sighed, staring up at the ceiling.

“our son can choose whoever he wishes to marry,” he said carefully. “that much is beyond our control now.”

“but she has no evol,” his wife whispered. "didn't we already declined the alliance years ago? how come, they still found each other?"

the words sat heavily between them.

"that's something we couldn't control. it's destined to happen." his father said.

she turned to him, searching his face.

“you truly think so?” he nodded slowly.

“i never wanted to force zayne into a marriage he does not want. i was only thinking of the future of our family.”

“and our son?” she asked quietly.

he smiled faintly. “i know him. with or without a wife, he will find his own way.”

you couldn’t quite place it, only that after your first encounter with him, something in you began to ache.

it didn’t demand to be named. it simply lingered, heavy and familiar, settling in your chest every time you saw him from afar.

you watched him often. not intentionally, not in a way that could be called longing. it just.. happened.

across corridors, through open balconies, at gatherings where you stood at the edges and he stood where everyone naturally gravitated toward.

zayne li was easy to notice. you told yourself it meant nothing. that admiration was harmless, especially when kept at a distance. especially when it was never acted upon.

yet every time your eyes found him, there was that same, quiet pull, as if you were remembering something you were never allowed to keep.

you never approached him. you learned early that wanting did not grant permission.

when he invited you to a small dinner, the brief, startled happiness that bloomed in your chest frightened you more than it should have. it was gone just as quickly, replaced by the familiar weight of reality.

standing beside him made you feel small. not because he made you feel that way, but because you remembered how little space you were allowed to take.

you told yourself that if not for the noble blood in your veins, he would have never noticed you at all. that whatever attention he gave you was temporary, circumstantial, easily redirected.

so you stayed where you belonged. at a distance, because watching was safer than hoping.

and that was how it ended with you in a dark alley, the night heavy around you, everything you had been holding in finally spilling over.

you didn’t know when it happened. only that at some point, standing still became too much.

when you felt a hand on your shoulder, you looked up without thinking. as if you had done it before.

you didn’t mean to step closer. you didn’t mean to reach for him. but the moment your eyes met his, restraint failed you. you embraced him.

it was brief. you knew how improper it was, and yet it felt terrifyingly right. his touch was careful, unsure, as if he didn’t want to frighten you away.

and for the first time, you allowed yourself to cry in someone’s presence. not because he asked, but because he stayed.

you felt seen in a way you hadn’t in years, and it scared you enough to pull back the moment you could breathe again.

the whispers returned immediately. you couldn’t stay. you couldn’t let him see too much. if he ever knew what you truly were, you were certain his gaze would change.

everyone did.

so you did what you had always done. you stepped away.

when you left him that night, you didn’t go far.

you hid, watching from the shadows as he stood there for a moment longer than necessary, as if unsure whether he should follow.

you pressed his handkerchief to your chest.

loving him, if that was what this was, had always meant watching from afar, and letting him walk away.

—

what’s wrong?” a voice asked, startling you, heart leaping into your throat. before you could think, you pushed yourself up and ran.

“h–hey!” the boy called, but you didn’t turn back.

you didn’t stop until you reached the garden of your residence. your legs finally gave in, and you sat on the grass, hugging one knee to your chest. the wound stung when you moved it.

you looked down. your knee was scraped, skin broken and red.

you leaned forward, blowing softly over it. it still hurts. maybe more than it should have as tears blurred your vision.

“don’t cry.” the voice was quieter this time.

you looked up, the boy from earlier was standing there, a little out of breath, eyes wide with worry.

before you could tell him to leave, he sat down in front of you, close enough that your knees almost touched.

he reached into his pocket and pulled out a neatly folded white handkerchief.

“don’t!” you shook your head quickly, pressing your palm over the wound. “it’ll get dirty.” you said as he frowned, as if that hadn’t even crossed his mind.

“that’s okay,” he said. “it’s just a handkerchief.” he said and you watched him. “my mother says you have to clean wounds,” he continued gently. “or they get worse.”

carefully— so carefully, he moved your hand aside and you flinched when the cloth touched your skin.

“sorry,” he said right away, panic flickering in his eyes. “did I hurt you?” you nodded, small and embarrassed.

he slowed even more then, wiping around the wound instead of directly over it, blowing softly when you winced, as if that might help.

his brows were furrowed, lips pressed into a thin line, completely serious about it.

when he was done, he wrapped the handkerchief around your knee and tied it.

“there,” he said, relief clear in his voice. “it should feel better now.”

it did. not the wound, but your chest.

he stood and held his hand out to you without thinking twice.

“come on,” he said. “let’s find your nurse, okay?”

you stared at his hand for a moment before placing yours in it, and his hand was warm.

“and— um,” he added, glancing back at you with a shy smile, “i’m zayne, what’s your name?”

.

.

.

you woke up slowly, heart aching for reasons you couldn’t explain.

the feeling lingered as you sat up and crossed the room, opening a drawer you hadn’t touched in years. inside lay an old handkerchief.

you lifted it, fingers brushing over the familiar embroidery.

zayne.

your breath caught. your eyes drifted to the bedside table, where another handkerchief rested, his name stitched the same way.

you held both now.

one from when you were small enough to believe someone could care without reason. and one from last night.

your chest tightened. so he had always been like this.

you smiled, placing the handkerchief close to your chest. and somehow, maybe you were the only one who remembered.

—

"there you two are!" a maid’s cheerful voice broke through the quiet of the garden. she stepped between the two of you, her hands reaching out to catch yours and zayne’s, swinging them playfully.

"they’ve been looking for you both. it’s time for lunch."

as the three of you approached the dining area, the maid let go, bowing low as she retreated into the shadows of the hall.

you and zayne stood there for a moment, blinking at the bright light of the room, confused as you saw his mother gesturing to you with a gentle wave of her hand.

he nodded, a small smile playing on his lips as he took your hand in his, his grip firm and steady as he pulled you toward the table.

"where have you two been? didn’t i tell you not to run off, zayne?" his mother scolded him gently, though the look in her eyes was fond.

zayne simply scratched the back of his head, looking down at his boots.

"i apologize, mother."

"take your seat, the two of you," she said, smoothing the tablecloth.

it wasn't a rare occasion. if you counted correctly, the li family joined yours for a meal at least thrice a week.

back then, you were too young to understand the heavy conversations the adults had over wine and silver platters.

you only heard fragments of words like alliance and future. they were getting to know each other because of a plan, a plan that centered entirely on you and zayne.

in the future, when you both reached the right age, you were expected to step up together.

you didn't know what "stepping up" meant, but zayne seemed to understand.

every time his family visited, you were the first person he looked for. and being two years older, he had always been protective of you, standing a little taller whenever you were around, as if he were already practicing his role as your shield.

you had known him for nearly a year. your lives were woven together. and then, without warning, the visits stopped.

on a random day, the carriage with the li family crest simply didn't appear. and it never came back.

that was when the world turned cold. you never understood why your family started looking at you differently.

your mother, who used to spend every morning carefully tying your hair and humming to you, started dismissing you with a curt wave.

your father, who used to listen to your ramblings, began to ignore your requests, telling you that such things didn't matter anymore.

even your brother, who used to drag you away from zayne just to protect his only sister, changed.

he stopped playing. he stopped laughing. he focused entirely on his studies, looking past you as if you were a shadow on the wall.

it was only when you came of age that the crushing truth finally settled in your bones. you realized why zayne stopped coming. you realized why your family treated you like a guest they were waiting to leave.

you were nothing.

in a world that worshipped the evol, you were a useless child born with no power. you were discarded because you held no praise-worthy strength.

you were weak, and in the eyes of high-society families, the weak were invisible.

so you learned to know your place. you distanced yourself from the family that no longer wanted you, retreating into the estate’s library or your study room.

you stayed there for years, surrounded by dust and ink, teaching yourself everything the world refused to show you.

what else could you do when everyone had deprived you of a life?

and just as you felt you could finally handle the loneliness.. you saw him again.

zayne.

he was a man now, regal and powerful, carrying the weight of his family’s expectations with ease.

perhaps he didn't recognize you, and you told yourself that was fine. you were just kids back then, it was just a memory easily forgotten once you turn adult, once someone stopped caring about the past.

but you were the only one who remembered. you remembered that the alliance was supposed to be about the two of you.

you were supposed to be wedded to him.

but his family had found out you were powerless and decided you weren't the best option for their prodigy.

that is why you feel so small when he stands beside you. because compared to the man who was built to be powerful, you were the one who was built to be forgotten.

zayne stood before the head of the (L/N) household, posture straight, expression composed.

“i have come with a request,” he said.

your father regarded him. “if this concerns alliance or favor, it would be better discussed another time.”

“it does not,” zayne replied.

that alone drew a pause.

“i have heard,” he continued evenly, “that lady (name) is proficient in reading ancestral scripts, particularly those written in older dialects.”

your father’s lips thinned.

“that is hardly a skill worth troubling the li heir with,” he said. “and besides—” his gaze sharpened, “she has no evol.” the words were spoken plainly, casually, as if that settled everything.

but zayne did not react. “that is not what i asked,” he said and silence followed. “i am not requesting her strength,” zayne continued, voice calm, unyielding. “only her knowledge.”

your father scoffed lightly. “you have scholars for such matters.”

“i do,” zayne agreed. “none who have been able to read them.”

another pause, longer this time.

“she will only be assisting,” zayne added. “under supervision, and with your permission.”

your father studied him for a moment, something unreadable crossing his face, before he exhaled sharply.

“if you insist,” he said. “she has little else of use.”

zayne bowed.

“then i thank you,” he simply said and left without ever once denying what had been said.

—

you were summoned without explanation.

when your father finally spoke, it was with the same tone he used for matters that did not concern him personally.

“the li heir has requested your assistance,” he said. “you will accompany him when called.”

for a moment, you didn’t understand.

the words settled slowly, unreal at first. and then, something stirred in your chest, light enough that it startled you.

you hadn’t realized how long it had been since anyone had asked for you.

you felt it then, the faint lift at the corners of your mouth, the barely-there hope you hadn’t guarded fast enough.

and your father noticed as his gaze sharpened.

“do not misunderstand,” he said. “this is not an opportunity.”

the warmth in your chest stilled.

“you are being permitted,” he continued, “nothing more.” he said and you lowered your eyes. “and do not embarrass this family,” he added. “you are already enough of a disappointment as you are.”

the words landed without force. they didn’t need to.

“yes, father,” you responded respectfully.

when you left the room, whatever had sparked inside you was already gone.

—

the carriage was waiting in front of the residence.

zayne stood beside it, posture straight, expression unreadable. he turned when he saw you approach and gave a small nod.

“lady (name),” he greeted.

you returned the gesture and stepped inside without a word.

the ride passed in silence. the sound of the wheels against stone filled the space between you.

you kept your hands folded in your lap, gaze fixed ahead, afraid that if you looked at him, something would give you away.

zayne did not speak. neither did you.

when the carriage finally stopped and you stepped down onto unfamiliar ground, and drew in a quiet breath.

this was not a kindness, it was not a chance. but as you followed him inside, you made yourself a promise anyway.

you would do this properly. you would do this well. if nothing else, you would prove, to him, to them, or perhaps only to yourself, that you were not nothing.

.

.

.

you stayed, longer than you expected.

what was meant to be a temporary arrangement stretched into days, then weeks, until a month had passed.

the work continued steadily, and you learned the rhythm of the place. the hours when the halls were quiet.

and zayne, he never treated your presence as anything but necessary.

until one evening, he called for you.

you found him standing by the desk, an unfamiliar parchment laid open before him, its edges were worn, the ink uneven, as though written in haste.

“i was told you might be able to read this,” he said, stepping aside to let you see.

you leaned closer, and froze. the words were old, it was personal, handwritten, and intimate..

your breath caught.

“what does it say?” zayne asked.

you didn’t answer at once. your fingers hovered over the page, suddenly unsure.

“i—it’s…” your voice faltered. you cleared your throat, trying again. “it’s a love letter, your highness.”

“a love letter?” he echoed, surprised, but not amused. “would you read it for me?”

you hesitated and looked at him.

in the months you had stayed within the cold, silent walls of their estate, the distance between you felt like an ocean.

zayne never once spoke to you, but not entirely. his voice only ever reached you when he required your service, asking you to read through the ancient scripts he found.

and that was alright. you were summoned here for that job alone, and nothing else.

you began softly, carefully, translating the opening lines, how the writer first met their beloved, by chance, in passing. how they spoke briefly. how that briefness lingered longer than it should have.

your voice steadied as you continued.

the letter spoke of distance, of difference. of being told again and again that the beloved was less than others, and your chest tightened as you read on.

whatever you are, the words said, whatever the world insists you lack— know that none of it lessens you in my eyes. if you stand in shadow, then i will stand with you.

your vision blurred. you didn’t realize your voice had begun to shake until the next word broke entirely.

and zayne was beside you in an instant.

“lady (name)?” he said quietly. “are you—”

you shook your head quickly, lifting a hand to your face.

“i’m fine,” you said, though your eyes burned. “i—sorry. i was just.. moved by the letter.”

moved was an understatement. you had read histories of war, records of loss, promises made to nations. but never words like these.

words you had spent your life pretending you did not need.

zayne watched you for a long moment, his expression unreadable.

“it was my grandfather's letter to my grandmother. i did not expect it to be so..” he paused, searching for the word, “..honest.”

you folded the parchment carefully, handing it back to him with hands that trembled only slightly.

“it is,” you said softly.

and you did not say what you were really thinking.

that you had waited your entire life to hear words like those, that even now, you did not believe they could ever be meant for you.

zayne’s eyes lingered on you a moment longer than necessary.

and maybe, you should have stepped back. that was the sensible thing to do after the letter. yet somehow, you didn’t.

he was the first one to reach out, hesitantly, his thumb brushing the tears on your cheek. light and careful, enough to make your pulse stutter.

“are you truly all right?” he asked and you nodded, his breath shallow.

too close. he was too close.

the space between you shrank further, without anyone moving intentionally.

your hand pressed flat against his chest, and his other hand found your waist, firm and grounding, as though anchoring you there.

and everything happened too fast.

the hand at your cheek lingered. his thumb tracing a line you felt everywhere.

neither of you spoke. and then, before either of you realized it, he was leaning in.

your eyes widened, but then you swallowed and shut your lashes.

he felt it, the faintest brush, the ghost of your lips meeting his. just that, nothing more.

until the door burst open, ruining the moment, the sound shattered the moment completely.

you sprang back as if burned, your hand falling from his chest, his grasp loosening instantly.

zayne turned sharply toward the door, expression already composed, but his pulse had not slowed.

and neither of you spoke of how close it had been.

—

it was the same night and yet, you couldn’t sleep.

no matter how you turned, how tightly you shut your eyes, the memory followed, how close he had been, how his breath had brushed yours, how his lips had almost touched yours.

you remembered the way you had fled his study afterward, heat rushing to your face as you nearly collided with louis, who had apparently been knocking the entire time, unaware that neither of you had heard him at all.

even now, standing beneath the cold night breeze on the balcony, your body still feels warm.

only then did you realize you were smiling, and you lightly slapped your cheeks, as if snapping yourself back to reality.

that must have been a mistake, a momentary lapse. certainly not something you deserved.

maybe tomorrow, you would apologize for crossing a line you should never have stepped near.

but tomorrow never came.

because just as you turned to return to your room, a presence behind you made you freeze.

zayne stood at the entrance of the balcony.

your breath caught as he approached slowly, and without realizing it, you stepped back, until your hips met the stone railings.

in an instant, his hands were on you, one firm around your waist, the other catching your arm before you could fall down the balcony.

“look out,” he said, and the closeness stole the air from your lungs.

you pulled away at once, taking a careful step back to the side, lowering your head as you put distance between you, distance that felt necessary, even if it hurt.

“what are you doing?” he asked. then, more firmly, “lift your head at once.”

“i need to apologize,” you said quickly, voice small, and still, you didn’t look up. “for earlier. i— never meant to cross your boundaries, your highness. please forgive me.”

suddenly, it was silent, and it stretched long enough for your chest to tighten.

when you finally dared to look up, zayne wasn’t looking at you. his gaze was fixed on the floor, jaw tight, as if he were weighing something carefully.

“your highness?”

“zayne,” he said and your breath stuttered. “call me by my name.” his voice was low, almost hesitant, as if the words were meant only for you.

“but—”

“don’t you understand?” he cut in.

you shook your head faintly. “i.. i don’t.”

“i adore you.” the words sounded almost fragile as they left him, and it left you speechless. “did you think i asked for your help with those scripts simply because of your skill?” he said, and you stared at him, stunned.

“i couldn’t think of any other way to be close to you,” he continued, voice gaining urgency. “if not for this, you would have kept avoiding me.”

he said and took a step closer to you

“i'm still trying to understand it, but i know that i'm starting to want you, (name).” he said so casually that you didn't know what to say.

“i—” your voice trembled as reality pressed in all at once.

why you? how could it be you?

tears spilled before you could stop them, your hands flew to your face as your shoulders shook.

and zayne didn’t hesitate. he pulled you into his arms, holding you close, his hand rubbing slow circles into your back. he didn’t ask permission, he simply stayed.

and that terrified you.

because would he think if he found out? if he knew what you truly lacked?

you had never spoken of your evol. he had never asked whenever you're with him in his study, and you had been grateful for that silence.

but now— now that silence felt dangerous.

still..

just this once..

would it hurt to be selfish?

“zayne,” you whispered.

he stilled. you felt it, the way his body softened at the sound of his name in your voice.

he pulled back slightly, just enough to see you.

your cheeks were tearstained, your smile gentle, but unsteady.

“i..” you hesitated, fingers tightening around his hand as if grounding yourself. “i want to be with you, zayne.” you whispered, as if it was a secret between you and him.

“look at me,” he said softly, and you did.

“say it again,” he asked, almost pleading, turning his gaze away as if afraid to hope too much.

a quiet laugh escaped you, fragile and unsure.

“i.. want to be with you.”

the words were real, your choice was real, but somewhere beneath it all, fear still lingered.

and zayne, lost in the sound of your confession, never noticed the way your grip trembled in his hand.

you stayed in his arms a little longer than you intended.

the warmth, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your hand, it grounded you, yet stirred something deeper, something you had spent your whole life keeping at bay.

you wanted to say something— anything. but the words caught in your throat.

not about your feelings, they were out, but the truth about yourself. that secret you would guard, for now.

you pulled back just slightly, enough to meet his gaze, the faintest blush still brushed your cheeks.

“i..” your voice barely rose above a whisper.

he tilted his head, a question in his eyes.

but you only shook your head gently, a small, almost imperceptible smile playing on your lips.

“it's nothing,” you murmured.

zayne didn’t press. he didn’t need to.

just being close, just feeling this, was enough for both of you.

and the world seemed to shrink until there was nothing but the space between your bodies.

your hands rested lightly on his chest, heart thrumming so loudly you were sure he could feel it.

his hands were tentative at first, one at your waist, the other cupping your cheek, warm and reassuring.

and then.. slowly, as if the universe itself had leaned in to pause the moment, he lowered his head.

your breath caught, your eyes widened, fluttering shut almost instinctively.

the first brush of his lips was soft, like he didn’t want to scare you away. but it was everything you had waited for.

you melted into it, letting go of the hesitation you had clung to all your life. for just this one moment, you were his, and he was yours.

he lingered, pressing his forehead to yours after, hands still holding you steady, and neither of you spoke or moved.

the silence was not awkward, it was sacred.

you felt the world outside the balcony fade away.

just the two of you remained.

and for the first time, maybe, you believed that it didn’t matter who you were or what the world said.

because here, in his arms, you were enough.

and he would never know, at least not yet, about the other truth you carried.

for now, you stayed there, caught between hesitation and hope, while zayne held you like he had already chosen you.

and didn’t intend to let go.

.

.

.

"zayne?" you called softly. he hummed in response, and almost instantly, his hand found yours in the dim light of the carriage. his grip was warm, a stark contrast to the wintry air outside.

"what is it?" he asked, his voice low and attentive.

you looked at your joined hands, then up at him. You felt a lump in your throat. "can i ask you a favor?"

"of course," he responded, and you took a deep breath.

"can we... can we keep this a secret? for now."

zayne raised his eyebrows, the silent question hanging between you. but, he didn't look angry, just curious.

"it’s not like i—" you struggled to find the words.

how could you tell him that you felt like a thief? that all your life, you had been taught that you didn't deserve to hold onto something precious?

you were afraid that if the world found out you were happy, they would realize their mistake and take it all back.

"if that’s what you want," zayne said. a small, tender smile painted his face, and his thumb reached up to caress your cheek.

he didn't push for reasons, he simply accepted your fear as his own.

"it’s just.. i don't know how to say it to everyone," you mumbled, looking down. "i mean, i am so delighted that you.." you looked back at him with pure, raw adoration, with your voice trembling. "someone as powerful as you.. would choose someone like me. i’m just scared." you let out a soft, nervous laugh. "i hope you’re not mad."

"why would i be?" he responded gently. "i want to make you feel as comfortable as you need to be. we don’t have to rush things, (name). if you want this to be just ours, then it is." he said before reaching into his coat and pulled out a small, box.

slowly, he opened it to reveal a ring, a delicate band with a stone that sparkled like a trapped star.

"zayne..?"

"this is a promise," he whispered, sliding the ring onto your finger. it felt heavy with a weight you weren't sure you could carry, but the warmth of his hand over yours kept you still. "for our future. whether it is a secret or not, it belongs to you."

"woah!" you let out a small gasp as the carriage wheels struck a large stone. the jolt sent your body tilting sideways, and you fell right against him.

zayne didn't let go. instead, he used the momentum to pull you closer, wrapping his arms around you to keep you steady.

"thank you, zayne," you whispered, finally letting out the breath you had been holding. he returned your smile,l.

the carriage eventually came to a halt. zayne stepped down first, his hand extended to help you out with the grace he always carried.

together, you walked into the estate and straight toward your father’s study.

the heavy oak door is opened, revealing your father sitting behind his desk, surrounded by piles of documents.

"we’ve returned, father," you said, stepping into the room.

zayne offered a respectful bow, his voice formal yet steady. "i appreciate you letting us borrow (name) for quite a while.”

your father looked up from his papers. his gaze was usually so sharp, so dismissive, but today, it was different.

"it’s nothing that big," he said, waving a hand. "borrow her as much as you want."

zayne bowed again and turned to leave. you stood there for a moment, waiting for the usual dismissal, but your eyes met your father’s.

you gulped, bowing your head to hide your nervousness, and turned to follow zayne out.

"did you enjoy your stay there?"

the question hit you like a physical weight. you froze, your eyes widening in complete shock. you turned back, searching his face. your father, the man who had ignored you since the day your lack of evol was discovered, was actually asking about you?

"y-yes, father," you responded, your heart hammering against your ribs.

"very well," he said.

it was short, but there was an unexplainable change in his tone that hadn't been there for years.

before you could say anything else, he was already back to his papers, his head bowed.

"thank you, father." you felt a genuine smile break across your face as you stepped out, closing the door gently.

zayne was waiting in the hallway, his presence a comforting weight.

"i’ll take you out," you said, your steps lighter than they had ever been.

at the gates, you stood with zayne one last time before his carriage left.

"i’ll see you again, zayne," you said, reluctant to let the evening end.

zayne remained silent, but he didn't move. he simply stared at you, his gaze so intense it made your skin tingle with nerves.

"what is it?" you asked.

zayne crossed his arms, and to your surprise, a small, playful pout decorated his face. he looked away, but he didn't budge.

you laughed in disbelief, a sound of pure joy. "what is it, zayne?" you repeated.

slowly, his hand came up and he pointed a finger at his own cheek.

you frowned, though your face started burning.

"what if someone sees us!" you whisper-yelled, looking around the empty gardens, but zayne stood there like a statue, unmoving, his expression telling you he wasn't going anywhere until he got his way.

taking a quick, nervous breath, you leaned in.

but before your lips could touch his cheek, he turned to face you. and there, your lips met his.

you were quick to pull away, your hand flying to cover half of your face.

“you—!” you exclaimed and he smiled teasingly.

"goodbye, my love," he said, his voice full of a warmth that made your knees weak.

he smiled one last time before entering the carriage.

my love..

you were sure you looked like a tomato as you bolted back into the house. and as you reached your room, you leaned against the door, your heart racing.

for the first time in your life, you felt like the stars had aligned just for you. it felt like everything was finally in your favor, as if, maybe, you were finally allowed to be happy.

weeks that followed felt like a dream you were afraid to wake up from. the heavy silence of the (L/N) estate was broken not by scolding, but by the quiet scratch of a quill and the rustle of parchment.

your father had started changing. it wasn't a sudden transformation into a doting parent, but it was something perhaps more significant.

he started to rely on you.

one afternoon, he had called you into his study. not to dismiss you, but to point at a stack of ledgers.

"your brother is busy with his martial training and political studies to become the next head," he said, his voice gruff. "but this house.. it needs an eye for detail. someone who can manage the internal affairs, the staff, and the accounts. i think you are capable of it."

it wasn't the role of an heir, but it was a purpose.

you weren't just a powerless daughter anymore, you were the gears that kept the mansion running.

you took the job with a fervor, finally feeling a sliver of the respect you had craved your entire life.

but with your new duties came a price, you could no longer steal away to the capital to see zayne.

letters became your lifeline. they were delivered in secret, tucked away in your apron or hidden beneath your pillow.

in person, zayne was described as a man of cold marble and few words, but in his letters, he was the opposite.

one evening, after a long day of settling disputes, a letter arrived with the li family seal.

you retreated to your room, your heart racing as you broke the wax.

inside, tucked into the folds of the parchment, was a snowflake pendant.

-

to (name) my love,

the capital feels colder without you. the air in my study remains still. i find myself looking toward the gates every hour, expecting to see your carriage cresting the hill, only to be met with the gray, silence of the sky. i miss you. it feels as though a part of my very soul is missing when we are not together.

i have been worried. you haven't been going out like usual, and the city feels empty without the hope of catching a glimpse of you. tell me, how are you? is the work at the estate taxing you too much? i know how diligent you are, but please, do not let your father’s demands drain the light from your eyes.

accept this pendant. wear it always and take it as a piece of me.

whenever the world feels too loud or you feel alone, remember that i am always standing beside you.

this snowflake was designed specifically for you. it is the only one in existence, just as you are the only one for me. i hope to see you soon, for my days are merely a countdown until i can hold you again.

yours always,

zayne li

-

you clutched the letter to your chest, a tear of pure joy escaping.

you sat down at your desk immediately, your own quill flying across the paper.

-

dearest zayne,

please do not worry. my father has asked for my help in managing the household. it is a heavy task, and i am learning everything as i go, which is why i haven't been able to visit.

i am wearing the pendant now. it feels like a piece of you is here with me. i love it more than i can say.

i will finish my work quickly so that i may see you soon. i miss you more than words allow me to write."

-

as you sealed the envelope, you looked at the ring on your finger and the pendant at your neck.

your father was finally seeing your value, and zayne, he made you feel loved.

right now, you felt invincible. you felt like, for once, the world was finally—finally, on your side.

you had no idea that the consequences were already at your door.

you wanted to surprise him. 

the work at the estate had finally eased, and the longing to see zayne was a physical ache in your chest. 

you wore the same cloak you had worn the first time you met him after all those years. the one that hid your identity and made you feel like you could move through the world unseen.

as you strolled through the bustling capital, your eyes searched every corner for that familiar, tall figure. 

you imagined the look on his face when you finally revealed yourself, you imagined the warmth of his embrace.

but as you walked, the air didn't smell like freedom. it smelled like treachery.

the whispers started at the market stalls and followed you like a plague. 

you stopped at a fruit stand, pretending to inspect the apples, your ears ringing as the voices of two noblewomen drifted over to you.

"have you heard? his highness has officially become the head of the li family," one whispered, her voice bubbling with excitement. 

"they say the preparations have already begun."

"the marriage?" the other asked. "who is the lucky lady? 

"i heard it’s princess aurelia. it only makes sense!"

"of course! two powerful people getting married? they would be undefeatable. no one would ever dare stand in their way."

your heart didn't just break, it felt like it was being crushed by an invisible hand. and every word you hear was a needle. 

powerful? undefeatable? none of those words described you.

the snowflake pendant around your neck, suddenly felt like a noose. it grew heavy, and suffocating. 

you tried to continue your stroll, hoping, and praying that you'll find him, to look for answers, but the capital had turned into a nightmare. 

everywhere you looked, people were celebrating a union that meant the end of your world.

zayne here, princess aurelia there. it was killing you.

in the end, you didn't find zayne. you didn't want to anymore. 

you fled back to the estate, the cloak that once offered you comfort now feeling like a shroud.

you burst into your room and slammed the door, and the silence of the walls mocking you. 

was it finally over? had your brief moment of happiness been nothing more than a cruel joke played by the stars?

you thought of the letter you had sent a week ago. the one he never replied to. was that why? 

"i hate this," you sobbed, the sound raw and ugly in the quiet room.

the pain in your chest was too much to bear. in a fit of agonizing despair, you reached for the snowflake necklace. 

you didn't unfasten it. you gripped the silver chain and pulled.

the metal bit into the skin of your neck, a sharp sting of pain, before the link finally snapped. the delicate snowflake, the custom design meant only for you, hit the floor with a clink. 

you collapsed to your knees, staring at the broken jewelry through a blur of tears. 

you knew deep down it wasn't zayne's fault, politics were a monster that consumed everything, but that didn't stop the bleeding. 

you just wished your relationship hadn't gone this far. you wished you had stayed in the library, so that losing him wouldn't feel like losing your very soul.

.

.

.

"your grace."

zayne didn't move at first. he sat in his study, the air around him unnaturally still, his fingers massaging his temples as if he could press away the headache that had been thrumming there for days.

"you’ve received a gift," louis said, standing at the threshold.

"just leave it—" zayne’s said, clearly not interested.

"from lady (name)."

zayne’s hand froze. "from (name)?"

he repeated the name as if it were a spell. 

louis walked in and placed a small, blue-lined box on the desk before bowing and exiting the room. 

zayne stared at the box for a long minute before his trembling fingers finally flipped the lid, and his breath hitched once he opened it.

inside lay a ring and the pendant, ones he gave you. but the pendant was broken. the silver chain was snapped, the snowflake lying lonesome at the bottom of the box.

why?

the question echoed in his mind, and then, like a sudden blizzard, realization hit him. the rumors, the whispers of a marriage to aurelia that had been circulating the capital. 

he had already spent his morning issuing a formal statement, a speech that made it clear the marriage was nothing but a fabrication by the court.

he had done the work, but it was too late. the damage was sitting in a box on his desk.

zayne tried to draw a breath, to calm the storm brewing in his chest, but his emotions were no longer under his control. 

frost began to bloom across the mahogany desk. the windowpanes cracked under the sudden, intense drop in temperature. 

the entire estate grew cold, a physical manifestation of a duke who had finally lost his patience.

-

on the other side of the capital, the (L/N) estate was a hive of activity. the gala, the one your family had arranged, was only a day away, and you had drowned yourself in the preparations. 

you checked the linens, the guest list, and the floral arrangements until your eyes burned.

and every time you returned to your room, the letter was there.

it sat on your vanity, the li family seal mocking you. you had received it a night after returning the box, but you dared not open it. you couldn't. 

your eyes were already puffy and raw from crying all night. you knew that reading his words would only break what little was left of your resolve.

it had been two days since you returned the gifts. 

you told yourself you had to do it. you couldn't keep his vows while the rest of the world was preparing his wedding to a princess.

as you watched the sunset from your window, you couldn't stop the comparisons. 

everyone in town was right. zayne and aurelia.. they were a perfect pair, a union that seemed carved by the gods themselves. 

and what about you?

if zayne was to marry you, what could you possibly offer him? 

aside from a love that had no power to protect him, you had nothing. you were a liability.

"maybe in another life," you whispered to the empty room, your voice cracking.

you forced yourself to believe that this was what was best for him. 

you tried to tell your heart that leaving him was the ultimate act of love, because that was the only way you could survive the thought of him being better off without you.

"why are you just sitting there, (name)? guests are already arriving in the hall." your brother’s voice was like a whip crack through the door.

he knocked once, not a request for entry, but a command to obey.

"i’m not feeling very well, brother. can i—"

"no, you cannot, (name)." he cut you off, his tone icy. "mother and father left this job to us. do not be a baby and get out. now."

you sighed, the sound catching in your throat as you stood up.

you smoothed the heavy silk of your skirt, checking the mirror one last time.

you opened the door to find your brother’s face twisted in irritation. he didn't ask if you were okay, he simply scoffed and turned toward the hall.

you followed him, every step feeling like you were walking towards your death.

it was true that you felt physically ill, but the source wasn't a fever, it was the knowledge that zayne was down there. and you didn't think you could survive seeing him.

the moment you stepped into the blinding light of the grand hall, your breath left you.

the universe was cruel. because out of all the people in that crowded, shimmering hall, the first eyes you met were his.

hazel-green eyes, piercing and intense, staring up at you from the ground floor. zayne stood there, looking as regal as a king, his gaze locking onto yours with a force that made your knees buckle.

you looked away instantly. you couldn't bear the weight of his stare, not when you were convinced he was already slipping through your fingers.

as you descended the stairs, a swarm of noblewomen already circled your brother, chirping like birds.

you moved to the front of the hall, painting a fake smile on your face. you greeted guests, accepted hollow compliments, and played the part of the perfect host, all while your heart was screaming.

as the gala officially began, your brother took the stage. his speech was practiced, announcing his future as the heir, but the moment that broke you was when he congratulated zayne on officially taking the lead of the li family.

suddenly, zayne was being ushered to the front.

he was forced to stand right beside you.

the air between you crackled. you could feel his hand twitching at his side, almost as if he were trying to reach for yours.

but the eyes of the entire kingdom were on you both. you took a subtle step to the side, widening the gap between you.

you didn't look at him, but you could feel his confusion radiating.

the celebration continued and zayne was pulled back into the crowd by elder lords and diplomats, as the choir began to sing.

to your ears, the music was nothing but a dull, discordant blur.

and then, the room went silent.

the doors opened, and she, princess aurelia entered.

she didn't just walk, she seemed to glow, her aura of power catching the light of every chandelier.

and you couldn't help it. you looked at zayne. and just like everyone else in the room, his eyes were already on her.

your heart felt like it had been turned to lead.

you watched her move through the crowd, a goddess among mortals, while you stood on the sidelines.

you closed your eyes, taking a deep, shuddering breath, and when you opened them again, he was now looking at you.

his eyebrows were furrowed, his expression dark and searching. he then took a step toward you. then another.

he was cutting through the crowd, determined to reach you.

you stumbled back, the lump in your throat making it hard to breathe. you didn't want to hear his excuses. you didn't want to hear him say her name.

but zayne was stopped. a group of noblewomen swarmed him, laughing and pulling him back.

at the same time, others were ushering aurelia toward the center of the floor. the crowd began to chant, a low rhythm that grew into a roar: "dance! dance!"

It was a tradition. the two highest-ranking guests were expected to share the first dance. they had to be professional, they had to oblige the crowd’s request.

zayne looked at you one last time, his eyes pleading for you to understand, but what you saw was the perfect pair finally coming together.

of all the expressions you could show him, you only smiled at him.

it wasn't a smile of joy. it was a tragic, beautiful mask, the kind of smile someone gives when they are saying goodbye forever.

he watched as you leaned over to your brother and whispered a few words of dismissal.

you turned and walked toward the small side door of the hall, the one that led into the dark, quiet corridors of the mansion.

hust as you reached the exit, you looked back.

zayne was still standing there, aurelia’s hand in his, but his gaze was still locked on you.

the fake smile vanished, and you let him see it.

the raw, bleeding betrayal in your eyes. you looked at him as if he had pulled the trigger himself.

then, without a word, you slipped into the shadows and left the music behind.

because seeing him hold her was enough to kill you.

.

.

.

the grand hall erupted in a sudden gasp. hundred eyes watched in stunned silence as zayne stood before princess aurelia, his posture rigid.

he offered a deep, formal bow, his voice carrying through the hushed room.

"i must offer my deepest apologies, princess aurelia," he said. "i cannot share this dance with you. for you see.. my heart already belongs to another."

the choir ceased its song mid-note as a storm of whispers took its place.

zayne turned his gaze toward the door where you had vanished, his eyes meeting your brother’s. there was a silent, burning plea in his expression, an unspoken request for passage to follow you.

your brother merely scoffed, averting his gaze as if to wash his hands of the scandal.

"everyone, please continue," your brother announced, clapping his hands to jumpstart the rhythm of the evening.

the guests slowly returned to their business, though their eyes followed zayne as he bowed once more and bolted toward the door.

the hallway was a tunnel of shadows, but as zayne followed the path, it led him to the crisp of the night air.

and there you were, standing upon the stone balcony, staring at the stars. you were silently demanding to know why the fates had chosen to play such a cruel game with your life.

“(name).”

your eyes widened.

you did not need to turn to know the owner of that voice. it was a melody etched into your very soul.

"please.. listen to me—" zayne began, his voice strained.

"what business brings you here?" you interrupted, finally turning to face him. "this wing is prohibited to guests, your grace. your place is in the hall."

as your eyes met his, you felt a sharp sting. your heart felt as if it were being squeezed.

"do not be so cold, my love—"

"please," you cut him off for the second time, your breath hitching. "refrain from calling me that."

zayne did not speak. instead, he closed the distance between you with slow steps.

to your shock, he lowered himself, placing one knee upon the cold stone. he took your hand in his, his touch like fire against your skin, and pressed a lingering kiss to your knuckles.

"please," he pleaded, the word echoing with a raw, desperate weight. "i beg of you.. listen to me."

the dam you had built around your heart finally broke. the tears you had fought so hard to contain began to fall freely.

"stand up," you mumbled, and he obeyed.

"i would have you know that whatever rumors have reached your ears.. they are not the truth, (name)," he said, searching your face for even a glimmer of belief. "it is you that i desire to be with. only you. there is no one else."

"and I am not good for you," you wept, the words tasting like ash. "everyone is right, zayne. a princess like aurelia would be a suitable match for a man of your stature. not me."

"that is not true."

"we both know it is!" you cried, forcing your hand away from his grip and hiding it behind your back. "I have nothing, zayne! mothing! i am powerless…” you exclaimed, voice faltering as you breath heavily. “i was born with no evol. i am nothing without the blood running through my veins, and compared to her, i am—"

"that is enough!" his sudden command startled you into silence. "who told you that k wanted you for your power?" he asked, his voice shaking with an intensity that pinned you in place. "i want you because i love you. can you not understand that? i have known for a long time that you do not possess an evol. and so what if you do not? a am strong enough to protect both of us."

you were speechless. the world seemed to stop spinning. "but.. how?" you whispered, hiding your face in your palms as the sobs racked your frame.

you felt the solid, familiar warmth of his arms as he pulled you into an embrace.

"alfred told me long ago," he mumbled against your hair, his hand caressing your head to soothe the storm. "before we had even truly spoken.. i already knew. and i did not care."

"you will regret this," you whispered into his chest, finally returning his embrace as if it were the last anchor in the world. "you will regret if you choose me. that is why you must make the right decision now, zayne. choose her... and let me go."

you meant those words with all your soul, yet a tiny, selfish part of you was screaming for him to stay.

silence stretched between you for a long, heavy minute before zayne gently pulled away.

he cupped your face in his hands, his thumbs moving in slow circles to wipe away the salt of your tears.

"you are the only one i desire," he vowed, his eyes boring into yours. "if loving you is to be my regret, then i shall carry it with me forever. i will bear it gladly, so long as you are by my side."

you could only hide your face against his chest once more. the words hurt to hear, not because they were cruel, but because they were so beautiful they were agonizing.

"you do not need power to be with me," he murmured. he said, his expression shifting.

"look at me," he commanded, and you did. "no matter what you are, or what they claim you are missing... it does not make you less in my eyes. if you are cast into the dark, then i will simply stand there with you, for eternity if i must.” your breath hitched.

those words.. they were the same ones you had read in the letters of his grandfather. and maybe, it was a vow that ran in his blood.

"you do not understand," you whispered, your voice trembling. "they want a princess for you. i am just.. someone you know."

zayne stepped even closer, resting his forehead against yours. he let out a shaky breath, as if he were feeling every ounce of your pain as his own.

"who cares for what they want?" he mumbled softly. "no one will tell me who i desire, or whom i shall wed. for it is you, (name). It has always been you."

"i will give you more time.. to decide," you whispered.

"i have no need for decisions," he replied instantly. "i choose you. only you."

"will you ever regret it?" you asked, your voice trembling as you looked up at him. "when things get hard, and people start talking.. promise me you won't leave me. promise me you won't realize one day that you made a mistake by choosing me over someone who could give you more."

you couldn't stop the tears from falling, and you gripped his coat tightly, as if you were afraid he would disappear if you let go. you were so used to being the one people gave up on, and the fear of losing him was almost more than you could take.

zayne didn't pull away. instead, he took your hand and pressed it firmly against his chest, right where his heart was beating fast and steady. "i promise you, (name), my love. i promise i’m never going anywhere," he said, his voice soft but very sure. "i do not care about what people say, and i do not care about what you think you can't give me. you are enough for me just as you are. i’m not choosing you because of what you can do for my family, i’m choosing you because i love you. i’ll be right here by your side through everything, and nothing in this world is going to change that. my heart belongs to you, and it always will be."

you finally let out a breath you felt like you’d been holding for years, a small smile appearing through your tears.

zayne leaned down, his hands gently holding your face as he looked at you with so much warmth that it made your heart ache in the best way.

he waited a second, making sure you saw how much he meant it, before he finally leaned in. his lips met yours in a long, sweet kiss that felt like a new beginning.

it was a kiss that made all the pain of the past few days disappear, making you feel safe and loved. you were finally with him, and for that moment, everything felt perfect.

the world had tried to break you, but for a while, it failed.

the news of the marriage had hit the capital like a thunderclap. every noble house whispered about the duke who had chosen a wife without an evol.

they waited for zayne to realize his mistake, for him to grow cold or regretful. but it never happened.

instead, zayne became your protector.

you still remembered the day a high-ranking noble had dared to mock you during a banquet. zayne hadn't just stood up, he had walked to the center of the room.

"let me be very clear," zayne had said, his voice strict. "this woman is my wife, and she is the heart of the li family. if i hear so much as a whisper against her again, i will not hesitate to silence those tongues myself. i do not care for your politics, i only care for her. and i will destroy anyone who dares to make her feel small." he had said.

for a few years, you were happy. you managed the estate, he led with strength, and you finally knew what it felt like to be loved without conditions.

but the peace was temporary. the war came, and with it, a darkness that even zayne’s power couldn't withstand.

and the silence was the worst part.

you sat there in the middle of the ruined room, your dress soaked through with the blood of the only person who ever truly saw you.

you didn't scream anymore, you didn't even sob. you just sat there, cradling zayne’s head in your lap, staring blankly at him.

he was gone, and as you looked down at his pale, still face, you realized that you hadn't just lost a husband or a lover.

you had lost your own life, too.

you were breathing, your heart was beating, but you felt nothing. you were a hollow shell, sitting in a world that had suddenly lost its color.

it felt like you had died right there beside him, and the person left behind was just a ghost waiting for the wind to carry her away.

the sounds of the distant war seemed to fade into a dull, underwater hum.

nothing mattered anymore.

you closed your eyes, pressing your cheek against his cold forehead, wishing the ground would simply open up and take you both.

and then, through the heavy, suffocating silence, you heard it.

it wasn't a human voice. it was a sound that felt like it came from the shadows themselves, a low, rhythmic vibration that seemed to crawl up your spine. it was a whisper, yet it filled the entire room.

"would you like to make a wish?"

your eyes snapped open, but the room was empty.

there was only you, the cold body in your arms, and the darkness that was beginning to swallow the light of the dying candles.

and yet the question hung in the air, heavy with a price you couldn't yet imagine.

a/n: hehe, yes there will be part 2, lmk if u wanna be tagged!

[kamieow]

─ LOVER, YOU SHOULD'VE COME OVER.

FEATURING: caleb/xia yizhou x non!mc female reader

where you get injured during a paired hunter’s association mission with mc. when you realize she’s hurt too, you keep quiet about your own condition and turn all your strength towards getting her to safety, because caleb needs her alive. because she has always been caleb’s first priority. because caleb’s entire life has been tailored around keeping her safe.

because, maybe, in another life, caleb would have chosen you. but in this one, you already know better.

CONTENT: 5.1k words, ANGST (i am warning you), ALLLL hurt VERY LITTLE comfort (this is your second warning), toxic dependency and kind of a savior complex on reader’s end, slight gore and body horror, profanity, blood, injuries, arguments, childhood!bestfriend caleb and non!mc character study, literary themes, mc is your partner in the association

NOTE: this is based on jeff buckley’s heart-wrenching song: lover, you should have come over (go listen as you read 😚) . ALSO if you’ve read a tale of two cities by charles dickens, i was highly inspired by sydney carton and lucie manette when writing reader and caleb’s relationship — so NOTE that reader is the ultimate yearnmaxxer. she has a savior complex and depends on caleb like sydney is towards lucie so their relationship is NOT MEANT TO BE HEALTHY!!!!! plz heed that warning before reading!!!!

masterlist

IT’S NEVER OVER / ALL MY BLOOD FOR THE SWEETNESS OF HER LAUGHTER / IT’S NEVER OVER / SHE IS THE TEAR THAT HANGS INSIDE MY SOUL, FOREVER.

The poet writing out your life taught you very early on that you were never first when it comes to Caleb. 

You can picture the way the elegist holds the pen, etching away and gradually crafting your star-crossed narrative: they’ve scrawled all the words with bloodied ink. Ripped the edges with laughter, left the paper to yellow with age. A Romanticist’s dark fantasy – a traditional ending that belonged in one of Shakespeare’s tragedies, a cruel fate subjected to you, a side character left to eventually rot away beneath the blinking moonlight. 

Unfortunately, you love Caleb. Fortunately, you love Caleb. You love him because he’s Caleb. You hate him because he’s Caleb. You love him the way Sydney Carton loved Lucie Manette, when he clawed out his own pulsating heart from his dying ribs and willingly served it to her on a silver platter. All without asking for a single thing in return, because she saved him from a life of disgrace. He was already withering, and she rekindled him from ashes into a blazing heap of fire, and that salvation was more than enough to grant her his beautiful devotion.

You think that if Caleb asked for your heart, you’d plate it within seconds – savoring whatever he chose to grow in its place. You’d let him plant asiatic apples – his favorite – inside your ribcage, and let him caramelize them and feed them to you without a second thought. If you struggled to breathe and cough up the bloodied seeds, you think that’s even better. Because it’s Caleb, and you hate him, but worst of all, you love him. And they go hand in hand, your love and hatred, so much so that it hurts. 

MC is a real sweetheart. A pretty thing who brought a noble reason for becoming a UNICORNS Hunter to the Association. You tried so hard to loathe her, you really did, but all your efforts came back futile. Because in reality, why would you hate MC? Because of Caleb? It’s not like she forces him to do anything – he willingly dotes on her. Sometimes she even gets upset because he gets a little too overbearing. Everything Caleb does for her is of his own accord. You are never the first person to be called when things go wrong. Never the first to be worried for. Not the first to be protected the second everything goes awry.

That place has always belonged to her, but Caleb granted her that place of his own free will. MC had never meant any malice towards you, because it was hardly her fault that Caleb chose her. Any hint of animosity was all but a carefully constructed illusion in your own head, because there was none. She had been nothing but kind to you. A real sweetheart.

The necklace around Caleb’s throat is proof of her place; a thin chain, dull silver, worn over by years of being grasped at without a second thought. The crystallized red apple and those dog tags that glint under the sunlight: a constant, unintentional reminder of her ownership and everything that you’re not. You’ve watched him reach for it whenever he’s anxious, fingers curled around it when orders from the Fleet are too heavy, and when his fear slips through the cracks of his carefully crafted composure.

Maybe that’s something you can hate her for, because that necklace serves as a painful admonition and a physical manifestation of all your hurt. You were there before that necklace. That damned necklace. Before any ranks. Before MC became your partner in the Association, another mocking reminder of where you stood within your twisted narrative. Before all your obligations grew teeth and knew how to bite, and sooner or later would swallow you whole.

You remember it now. The memory comes to you, unbidden and sharp and warm all at once, a wilted daffodil resting within the depths of your thoughts that refuses to leave.

It was summer that day, late summer. You remember the season because the apples were in full bloom and Caleb had been counting the days down until he could harvest the fruits that one of Josephine’s trees bore. He promised you that he’d make apple pie just like how she makes it, and you just giggled and told him not to set the fire alarm off again. He said that he never recalled doing such a thing.

The sky was blue, and the apples were a perfect shade of red, and you wished they would respectively stay blue and red forever. For those colors to never darken or fade, and hoping that one day, they would merge and settle under Caleb’s eyes. An almost impossible shade of ultraviolet that you constantly yearned for. 

MC wasn’t there. You don’t remember why, and frankly, you don’t care. All that mattered, for once, was that day belonged entirely to you. Out of all the afternoons that you spent as a trio, it had only been the two of you that day. Yes, this was a summer memory that was only yours and his to keep, for you to fondly keep in a locket deep within your ribcage for all eternity. 

That day, you were younger – too young to know how things would end – and sitting cross-legged on the dewy grass of his backyard, the blades damp against your palms. Caleb sits across from you, knees pulled up, and sleeves rolled to his elbows, eagerly waiting. The air smelled like sun-warmed leaves and fruits, like Caleb, and the poets were feeling creative, basking in the cooling wind the summer brought.

You had brought him a gift, you said, and he watched you with an expectant shade of curiosity as you reached into your pocket and pulled out two thin lengths of braided cord, a perfect mix of ivory and crimson. The bracelets were uneven, dyed by your shaky hands, and lightly fraying at the ends. You’d made them the night before, fingers clumsy and hands shaking as you followed the step-by-step tutorial playing on your phone. “Oh? What do you have for me here?”

“They’re matching bracelets. One for you, and one for me,” you mutter sheepishly, like explaining might’ve lessened the embarrassment tinting your cheeks. “I know they’re kind of stupid, but–”

Caleb leans forward at that. “Hey, they’re not stupid.”

You look up at him, surprised. “You promise?”

“Pinky promise,” he grins, and your throat tightens, his words like music to your ears, crescendoing into a harmonious choir the moment that Caleb willingly holds out his wrist for you. The way your heart thumped as your fingers brushed against his skin made you fear that he could hear its erratic beating, and the blood rushing in your eardrums. Maybe he didn’t. Or maybe he did, and chose not to say anything. He’s always been able to read you like an open book.

“There, done.” The bracelet rested just beneath the bone of his right wrist, the color vivid against his skin. When you finished, you leaned back to admire your work, pride blooming and heart full with his words, despite yourself. “Now, when you inevitably forget me in five years when you’re suuuper popular and cool at the DAA, you won’t be able to pretend like you didn’t know me.”

He laughs at that, bright and unguarded, and you wish that this day would never end. That Caleb and his bracelet and everything about him would just settle somewhere deep within your chest, finding shelter within the crevices of your ribcage. Or maybe you can find a home within his own body. You didn’t mind either outcome. “I don’t think that’s possible. Besides, you’re already way cooler than me.”

Then, without another word, he reaches for your hand. “Wait–”

Too late. He fumbles with the second bracelet, your matching half, and knots it around your wrist. It sits a little too tight, and you’re certain you’ll get rope burn once you begin to outgrow it, but you could hardly care less. He puts his palm against your own and intertwines your fingers against his, and your mind sings at the contact. “There. Now we’re even.”

You look down at your hand clasped against his own and mutter, “You’re never taking this off.” 

He smiles, saluting you with his free hand, and your eyes soften. You’ve marked each other with these bracelets. His hand is so, so warm, and Caleb is still so beautiful, like how everything should be. “Copy that.”

That day was an anomaly. 

You were matching bracelets with Caleb. Not him and MC. You and Caleb. He’d let you leave a permanent mark on him in a way that MC hadn’t, even though she ended up giving him that necklace years later. The sky shouldn’t have been such a beautiful shade of blue, and the apples shouldn’t have been so red, but they were. Caleb shouldn’t have been so boyishly pretty that day, looking over your visage so beautifully with those violet eyes, but he was. Everything was so perfectly aligned that day that you sometimes wondered if you had just imagined it all, as if he were but a mere phantasm in the breeze. A trick of the light to convince yourself that he was once yours.

Oh, but that moment was as real as it got. MC’s necklace may have come later, but those bracelets were yours first. Caleb was real, and that moment with him had been the one thing that you could call yours. Undeniably, indisputably yours.

But that was before the explosion. 

Like everything that you once could call your own, Caleb kept true to his word and never took the bracelet off, until it had been cruelly ripped from your grasp by the laughing elegist and the hands of fate. The facts were clearly written: Caleb survived the tragedy, Josephine did not. Caleb was now the Colonel of the Farspace Fleet, and his right arm had been reinforced with a metallic prosthetic. His veins became wires tangled red, green, and blue, and the bracelet was lost with the debris. 

His right arm was no longer yours. A part of Caleb’s heart was no longer yours.

The arm you had fastened the bracelet around could no longer feel. The hand you held that summer afternoon can no longer experience your warmth, now cold with the false promise of permanence. The arm that had worn your mark so easily until it hadn’t, under the blink of an eye. You never said it out loud, because acknowledging the thought felt monstrous, almost sacrilegious, but sometimes, you truly wondered if you cursed him. 

Like the marks you leave on the things you loved most were meant to waste away with time, and eventually vanish.

The sky isn’t blue anymore. It’s a dull shade of grey today, actually. That summer day no longer smells sweet but more like something decaying. The apples are long gone and rotten right to the core, but Caleb’s eyes are still that haunting shade of amethyst and still everything you love. 

Because some things, apparently, endure.

You’re partnered with MC on an Association mission today, but this particular mission has ties with Skyhaven. Skyhaven meant the Farspace Fleet. And of course, the Fleet meant seeing Caleb before the Association sent you to take care of the next bout of wanderers or whatever they were ready to throw at you today. It was rare for Linkon and Skyhaven’s affairs to intertwine, even though they ultimately shared similar end goals. At the end of the day, they were still interconnected pillars that wanted to get rid of wanderers. Hence why you were here.

You feel inside your pocket, making sure the box is intact. The mission briefing ran much longer than it should’ve, and people from the Fleet filed out in pairs and clusters, none of them sparing the members of the Hunters Association a second glance. Boots echo across the floors, and you linger inside the room, looking for the familiar set of violet eyes, a ghost of a smile forming on your face once they meet yours.

Caleb. 

“Hey,” he says, and you know that if you were MC, that greeting would’ve been followed with his endearing nickname for her, ‘pips’. Unfortunately, you weren’t MC, and you weren’t his pipsqueak. What exactly were you to him? You didn’t know. You were just… you. 

Was that enough for him?

“It’s rare seeing you in the Fleet. I wish you weren’t here at all, though. It gets real crazy here sometimes,” He ruffles your hair, and you couldn’t even return the action because of his big, stupid Colonel hat. “D’ya need something before the mission? My good luck charm, maybe?”

“Hmm, I dunno. Is your charm really all that good?” You smile up at him, his pretty eyes gazing into yours, and suddenly, the banter almost makes everything flicker with normalcy. Caleb was here again. You were here with him, and the stars are almost aligning, because the world, inexplicably, hasn’t taken everything from you yet. “I have a gift for you, actually.”

“A gift? What’s the occasion?” He asks as you slowly reach into your pocket, fingers brushing the fabric and metal. It makes you hesitate, like you were sixteen all over again that summer day and were afraid of Caleb’s reaction towards your handmade, woven bracelets. The soft beam on his face this time around made it easier on your nerves, though. “My birthday’s stiiill pretty far away, you know.” 

You exhale slowly, pulling out the box under his watchful gaze. “Something I made,” you murmur, “Again.”

The box opens, and your gift is finally on full display beneath the blinking fluorescent lights of the Fleet. There are two bracelets inside, woven crimson and ivory, just like before. Anyone could still tell that it’s handmade, but the handiwork is neater, and the thread is no longer fraying. You got rid of your matching half after the explosion, vowing to only wear it if Caleb had his part of the pair. The expression on his face is unreadable, and it makes your heart thump with apprehension all over again. 

“I thought–” you continue, staring at the box instead of at him, “that maybe we don’t get to keep things forever, but we can try to, anyway.”

“You made another set, after I lost mine when…” He trails off, and you nod. It’s the closest thing you’ve gotten to talking about the explosion, and Caleb’s jaw tightens. You knew he was no longer sixteen, and you don’t even know if he’s still entirely Caleb, the same one who held your hand that late summer afternoon, but that mark you left on him was still yours. Even as the dog tags beneath his uniform serve as a painful reminder that he will never be truly yours entirely. “Put it on me, again. Just like old times.”

He wordlessly holds out his wrist for you – the left one this time – and he doesn’t miss your painful gaze towards his bionic arm. You fasten it around his left wrist, the only arm that can feel anything anymore, and the mark is seared once again, even though the sky is still gray and the apples are long spoiled.

Despite all that time, Caleb is still beautiful, and that has never changed.

Then, he reaches for you, taking your wrist and gently tying the second bracelet there. If you squint, you could probably still see the marks left behind by the previous one. His fingers brush against your skin in a way that makes your breath hitch, and his tongue is pressed lightly to his teeth, like he’s afraid of making the knot too tight like before. “Do you remember what you said that day? How you predicted that I’d forget you in five years when I’m ‘super popular and cool’ once I was at the DAA?”

You meekly nod as he finishes the knot. It’s a perfect one this time. Not too tight to give you any rope burns, and not too loose that it would fall off. “Well, I think my words still stand. I most certainly never forgot you, you’re still way cooler than me, and definitely way cooler than anyone there.”

With that, his eyes softly whisper against your own. You look at each other – really look at each other this time – and his damned violet eyes catch the light, familiar and unbearable and intoxicating, all at once. You think of all those blue summer skies and Josephine’s red apples and all the ways those colors can merge into something sadder, yet far more alluring. A mixture that rests under Caleb’s eyes.

Your foreheads are nearly touching, and his breath stutters as you take his mechanical hand into your own, caressing the metal that took away your mark and a part of Caleb’s humanity. He pulls you closer with his free hand – the one with your newly made mark – almost like he was luring you in with his Gravity EVOL. But Caleb didn’t need to utilize his EVOL to pull you in; he did it all naturally. Him and his stupid good luck charm.

“You come back to me,” he quietly whispers, his breath hot against your own. If you listened closely enough, you could hear his erratically beating heart. You weren’t Caleb’s pipsqueak, but you could do all of this to him. You had this effect on him. This moment was yours, and you were going to selfishly savor it. Replay this scene until it one day swallows you whole. “You promise.”

For a single moment, the world finally narrows to just the two of you. The Fleet and the Hunter’s Association were just background noise. His gaze flickers to your lips, then back to your eyes. You could feel the heat of your words just before you speak, just before he leans in and finally closes the gap. “I–”

“Caleb!”

MC’s voice cuts through the tension like a carefully positioned blade, and you immediately step back. Caleb withdraws his hand from the back of your neck like it stung, as if it never belonged there in the first place. The bracelet resting against your wrist feels hot to the touch. You wonder if it feels the same for Caleb, or if he’d eventually take it off sooner or later. MC’s looking at you expectantly, eyes bright and unaware of what just happened. “They’re calling us in. Are you ready?”

“Yeah,” you declare weakly, breath still stuck in your throat, something you’re unable to swallow. “I’m coming.”

The realization dawns on you faster than anything when MC offers you a big smile. You were right – from the very beginning, you didn’t hate MC. You never did. She’s kind, sweet, and constantly has your back during missions. No, you were angry at her presence. How it was practically impossible to hang out with just Caleb. It was always you, Caleb, and her. How the duo could never stay as a duo, no matter what. How your moments with Caleb can be so easily ripped from your grasp by MC because she was here first. Of course, it was always her first. 

Caleb needs to keep her safe first. To protect her first. She was his priority first. This was the status quo, and you had no say in changing the rules that were already set in stone a long time ago. Still, as you catch a glimpse of Caleb’s wrist before you leave, you make a silent vow to yourself, to the crimson and ivory resting on your own wrist. 

If you cursed Caleb with your first present, you silently pray that this time around, it will curse you instead of him.

The mission turned into a shitshow faster than you had initially anticipated.

You were so outnumbered from the very beginning that you wondered what the hell the Association was thinking when sending you two on this mission. Was this a fucking death trap specifically designed for you and MC? For everyone else dispatched here? There’s so much blood on the floor you could hardly distinguish your own from any wanderer that you had defeated.

Another wanderer goes down, collapsing onto the debris with a sound that rattles your bones and shoots directly to your ringing eardrums. Your sword is immediately knocked away from your hands by the next target, and it falls onto the ground with a deafening clatter. You need backup, and you need it now. You think about who to call – you would have called Xavier, but your Hunter’s watch is long broken, and he’s probably just as preoccupied as you two. 

The entire situation was so pitiful that you could have laughed if it weren’t for how fucked over you both were.

You look towards MC, and your eyes widen as she stumbles, her breath staggering and legs shaking. You’re already moving, just before she hits the ground. “MC!”

“Hey, hey, stay with me–” you scream out, dropping to your knees beside her. You use all your strength and bring the two of you to a nearby tree, praying that all the shrubs and bushes cover you from the wanderer’s sight. She’s breathing, shallow but steady, eyes unfocused as she tries her hardest to meet your gaze. You prop her against the trunk and cup her face, trying to keep her awake. “Please, fuck–”

She’s injured, but she’s alive. Good. That’s good. You just need to keep her alive long enough to get to a safe zone, or until help comes. Something warm spreads beneath your hunter’s uniform when you shift your weight, but you ignore the excruciating agony in your abdomen and focus on MC. A stab wound in your core. You don’t even know where it came from, and the adrenaline had masked the pain until now. Still, you’ve felt worse. Way worse than this. Right now, you just need to keep her alive, because–

Because of Caleb. Because Caleb needs her alive.

“You come back to me,” His words briefly echo in your ears, and it makes your eyes sting with tears. You don’t know if you can. “You promise.”

You’ve never broken any promises when it comes to Caleb, and he’s never broken any, either. But, technically, this time around, you didn’t promise him anything because MC had interrupted you before you could utter any words out. So, you didn’t exactly owe him anything. Your life was second to hers right now.

Sorry, Caleb.

“We need to move,” you say, hauling her arm over your shoulder. This spot was not going to be safe for long, and you didn’t have your sword. If any wanderer spots you, that’d be the end of your narrative. And you can’t have it end yet, not when MC isn’t safe. “Can you stand?”

She groans, teetering between a fine line of consciousness and unconsciousness. “You’re – you’re bleeding.”

“I’m fine,” you say automatically, even though you’re surprised that she noticed the wet blood staining the abdomen of your uniform. MC is a real sweetheart. Always thinking about other people when she’s equally as fucked over as you. That’s why you never truly hated her. How could you have the heart to do so?

She blinks up at you, trying to focus. “No, you’re not. I can see right through you.”

“We don’t have time for this,” you grit your teeth and force yourself upright despite your core screaming out in a horrid bout of pain. You bite your lip so hard that it draws blood, bringing MC up with you and ignoring her protests. You remember during the mission briefing that a safe zone was about… half a mile up north. Every staggering step sends a sharp reminder throughout your body, but you stubbornly don’t slow. “Caleb needs you out.”

MC shakes her head weakly. “What about you?”

You don’t answer, and she continues, a huff of air almost sounding like a laugh. “He loves you, you know.”

Her words make you freeze, and you turn to look at her. “Cares about you… a lot. Don’t just think about me.”

It’s hard not to, you want to say, but the words never leave your tongue. If Caleb had to choose, in a life-or-death situation, whether to save me or you, I think we all know the answer to that a little too well.

You make it to a clearing in the forest, and her grip on you suddenly tightens, enough to make you stop in your tracks, despite yourself. “Stop,” she says, practically pleading, panic creeping into her voice. “You can’t keep going like this.”

“Oh,” she looks down, really takes a second to see your condition, and her expression crumples, muttering out your name in concern. “You’re hurt. You’re really hurt.”

“I said I’m fine,” you repeat, but your voice cracks, and your composure is breaking. 

She tries to pull away from you. “Put me down, this isn’t worth it–”

“No,” you say sharply. “If we wait–”

“You could pass out,” she says, tears welling in her eyes and fingers digging into your sleeve. “You’re not okay, please, you don’t have to do this–”

You don’t say what you’re thinking, but your answer is already written all over your face. You do have to do this, actually. This was never a question. The bracelet on your wrist feels even warmer than before. MC reaches for you, fumbling with her gear with her remaining strength. Her Hunter’s watch and her gun. The watch’s screen was still lit, and her gun had a few rounds inside.

“Here, use my watch. I can’t… hold on for much longer,” her eyes are glazing over, on the brink of passing out, and you place her gun in your holster and the watch around your wrist, trying to keep the both of you upright. “Call for help, but promise that you… think about yourself, too.” 

You swallow the lump in your throat and meekly nod, taking her watch. Don’t say I promise to her, because you’re certain that you’ll break it. And you don’t make promises that you can’t keep. “Yeah. Sure.”

She smiles at that and goes limp in your arms. You suck in a breath, eyes flitting all over the screen as you thought about who to call. You try Xavier’s line and give up after a few rings. You just hope that he’s alright. Finally, your finger hovers over Caleb’s line. You know damn well that he’d respond, especially since this was MC’s watch, and not yours. The speaker rings once before the line opens. “Caleb, I need evac. Now.”

“Status.” His voice comes back sharp and controlled, and you realize that this wasn’t Caleb right now, but Colonel Caleb. 

“MC’s down, and–” I took a hit, and I’m bleeding out too. You’re unable to force those words out in between your labored breaths. “–she took a hit from a wanderer, and… I’m trying to take us to the nearby safe zone. I’m five minutes out.”

The world tilts as you haul MC’s weight higher against your shoulder. Your vision blurs at the edges, but you lock your jaw and keep moving. “What the hell happened?”

“It’s a shitshow out here, Caleb. I don’t have my sword, and she took a hit when I wasn’t looking–”

“When you weren’t looking?” His voice cuts through the line, tone hardening. You can hear him moving, probably running to his plane. “You’re supposed to cover for her.”

“I was,” you snap, the words tearing out of you like the flesh from your abdomen when the wanderer had stabbed you. “I was there, Caleb, I tried–”

“Then why the hell is she bleeding out?”

This was exactly what you expected. Maybe you shouldn’t have called him at all. His words hit harder than any wound you’ve sustained, and you stagger, barely managing to keep your footing – barely managing to keep MC upright with you. The pain is blooming, sharp and practically blinding, white-hot and so fucking unforgiving, and for a moment, you nearly cry out.

But you don’t. You tighten your grip on her instead.

“Damn it. The safe zone near you – I’m about ten minutes away from it. Can you make it there?”

You can hear it even through the static. The fear in his voice was raw, frantic, and all-consuming. The fear of losing MC eclipses everything else, swallowing whole whatever concern might have been meant for you. If MC was right – and Caleb really did love you – then his love was not enough to overcome the instinct carved into him long before you ever even entered his life.

Because she was here first. And you were not. And that’s just the way things were.

The thought makes something hysterical bubble in your chest. You laugh, or at least try to, but it breaks apart into an ugly cough, and more crimson stains your uniform.

“Yeah,” you manage out. “I think.”

You don’t know how you conjured up the strength to make it to the evac zone, but you do. The world narrows after your call began with Caleb, and the lights blur together into a pale white smear. Her weight grows heavier in your arms as she stirs, like she knew something was wrong with your staggering footsteps.

“You come back to me,”

“Promise that you… think about yourself, too.”

I’m sorry. To both of you.

Everyone finally notices you and MC, and your senses finally dull as your fingers slip from MC’s sleeve, letting someone else take her. Throughout all the clamor, someone begins assisting you, but you can’t feel anything. Trembling, your hand falls against your wrist, and the bracelet is still there. You think of Caleb’s left wrist and how it matched your own, and how that was the greatest salvation you could’ve asked for. You think about his right arm and how he never got to wear that first bracelet again after it got destroyed in the explosion. You wonder, briefly, if he’ll notice that this time, he’s going to be the one without the matching pair.

Caleb never once asks if you were alright.

His voice is still coming through MC’s watch – urgent and relieved that your location says that you’ve made it to the evac zone. Even though someone took her away already, you hear him telling her to hold on, and that he’s just a few minutes away with his plane. You smile faintly at that. Of course he is. He always makes it in time for her.

The poets and elegists from every era are calling out to you as they draft the final line of your narrative, and their hymns and elegies are beautiful. Your vision finally gives in, and the sky above is still a flat, unremarkable gray, nothing like that impossibly blue summer afternoon all those years ago. You suppose that’s fitting. Things were never meant to stay beautiful forever. The apples are no longer red. They’ve rotted a long time ago. Maybe Caleb’s eyes are no longer that same shade of ultraviolet, too. You wish you looked a little longer into his eyes, one last time, just to make sure.

The poet writing out your life taught you very early on that you were never first when it comes to Caleb. Maybe, in another life, Caleb would have chosen you over her. But this was not that life.

And even then, you think, loving him – loving him in the way you did – was still worth it.

Even now.

Especially now.

I FEEL TOO YOUNG TO HOLD ON / AND MUCH TOO OLD TO BREAK FREE AND RUN / TOO DEAF, DUMB AND BLIND TO SEE THE DAMAGE I’VE DONE / SWEET LOVER, YOU SHOULD’VE COME OVER.

end note: i’ve seen a lot of caleb x non!mc reader fics that try and vilify mc or caleb and i just wanna emphasize how that was NEVER my intention with this fic! i tried my best to portray caleb’s turmoil over his entire existence revolving around protecting mc and the way he tries to make room for the reader, too — even though in the end, his innate instinct to save mc was what got the reader killed. his irrational fear of losing mc after years of protecting her was the reason why he overlooked the reader’s condition, but i promiseee that he mostly didn’t do it on purpose (even tho ik he was a bit of a dick in the ending its ok the reader’s ghost haunts him after she dies). his love for non!mc IS requited, but unfortunately was overshadowed by his devotion to mc, which was what ultimately doomed her in the end. so plz lmk ur thoughts on this!! 😵‍💫😵‍💫

@kamieow 2026. reblogs are greatly appreciated ─ thank you so much for reading! <3