Sylus had made it quite obvious that you two were friends… just friends.
Clearly the flirtation was platonic, the late night calls with husky whispers and soft laughs were casual. Oh, and the gifts? Of course the custom made jewelry was a besties thing. Him buying you your dream motorcycle? Friendly!
You and Sylus were friends. Best friends, even!
He had drilled that into your head more times than you could count. At auctions he was always thanked for his donations, donations he signed with “Mr. Sylus and his friend” as the host would read aloud.
Or perhaps the museum? When he donated a wanderer crystal and signed that off as “Mr. Sylus and his friend” yet again. Oh, and don’t forget the time he introduced himself as “Skye” to your colleagues, proclaiming you two were besties.
Besties. Nothing more, nothing less.
You were fine with that, honestly. You only stared at yourself late at night for maybe a month or two. Post auction, post meet up, wondering why he couldn’t see you as anything more. Maybe you just weren’t his type.
Five months in to being the leader of Onychinus’ “friend” you buried your feelings and tried to put yourself out there.
It wasn’t long before you scored a date, feeling like an excited high schooler who just got asked out by her hallway crush. He was handsome, funny, easy to talk to.
Your date was set for the coming weekend, but you had a pre-planned visit to the N109 Zone the day before.
Maybe now you’d be able to look at Sylus with a little less heartache. Y’know… since friends aren’t supposed to feel that way about each other…
“You look happy, kitten.” Sylus’ stopped chopping, eyes lingering on your blissful smile as you entered the kitchen. Luke and Kieran chirped their hellos while you placed your jacket on the back of one of the chairs.
“I am! It’s finally the weekend and I have some pretty exciting plans.” You plop yourself down, the chatter of the twins behind you creating a comforting atmosphere as Sylus began chopping vegetables again.
“Exciting plans? Do indulge.” He was humming softly as he worked, crimson eyes focused. “Well, you’re not gonna believe it, Sy. But I’m going on a date tomorrow! He’s this really nice guy I met after one of my—“ but you trail off when his head snaps up and the twins go silent.
“…a date?” You’d never seen Sylus look so pale.
“With a man?” Luke adds, as if it’s completely impossible. And as much as you want to whirl around and berate him for the implications, you can’t stop staring at Sylus.
“Yeah… a date…” your words come out slow, hesitant. As if you’re missing something massive and are waiting for him to speak up. Though, maybe you’re just being ridiculous. Maybe you’re just hanging on to a shred of hope because you swear his gaze is saying “what about me?”
“Is that alright with you, bestie?” Maybe you’re a little bitter, but you can’t help but throw that little dig in.
It takes Sylus a long moment to speak, his eyes staring as if he can see through to your very soul. His knife still frozen mid-chop. And, somewhere along the way, the twins found off handed excuses to exit the premises.
“No, actually. It’s not.”
You can’t hold back your laugh, more disbelieving than humorous. “What do you mean?” Again, he's silent, as if physically churning the words in his mind and pushing them to the front.
"Don't tell me you're going to be the type of friend that has to approve of who I date. Don't you think that's a little much?"
Now? He looked like he was about to be sick.
"Kitten, you must be joking." His recovery wasn't as smooth as usual, and, all jokes aside, you were starting to realize this horror-struck reaction of his was actually dead serious.
"Sylus... why would I be joking?" He looks like he's struggling to swallow, licking his lips to wet them before he choked on his own inability to speak. "Have I been imagining our connection?" it's pointed, a little hurt, a little offended. And suddenly, you're the one look at him like you're about to be physically ill all over the counter.
"I.. you... Sylus. You have been calling me your friend, your bestie, for months at this point. Your friend." A beat of silence passes, then two, then three before you manage "I finally decided to move on because I was pretty damn certain you didn't see me as anything but."
Moved on.
The knife clatters on the cutting board, the look on his face has your heart aching in a way you've never felt before. He looked like a kicked puppy, vulnerable and unsure of what he did to deserve this. Though, seeing it from your perspective, he sort of understood...
"You... you've moved on from me?" it sounds as if he had to chew on glass to get those words out, as if they physically pained him.
"No." It spills out before you can stop it. "I was trying to, I've been trying to. I was hoping this date would be the push I needed to finally take that step but..." You wanted to cry and scream, hit him too.
"...I can't move on from something that hasn't even had the chance to really start and... fuck, Sylus. I really thought you didn't feel the same." He had only used that stupid label to make you feel comfortable, he foolishly hadn't realized it had been driving you away. Even worse, making you believe he didn't desire you.
"Don't go on that date, please." A hint of desperation swirls through his tone, because he still finds himself choking up when it comes to saying how he feels. But, it's a step in the right direction.
"Why not?" You circle back, because you've waited to damn long to hear these words. You're not willing to let him back out now.
"Because I adore you, Kitten. And I'm so sorry for making it seem like it was anything less than pure love." Love? Oh. Oh.
A brain warmup before I dive back into the bane of my existence: The rest of my Kinktober prompts… This was a silly brain worm and genuinely a warm up so I apologize if there are errors or weird jumps.
zayne x non mc || angst & hurt || happy ending || mc is kinda pick me || written after sylus's the cure to his curse fic - link in the story masterlist || could be triggering for others so read at your own risk || this is smut - mdni || story masterlist : love and deepspace
next
ONE
The sterile scent of antiseptic and old coffee had been the backdrop to your life for as long as you could remember, intertwined with the sharp, clean scent that always clung to Zayne.
Since college, he had always been your rival, the one you constantly tried to outrun, the unyielding standard by which you measured every success. You were both prodigies, undeniably brilliant, carving parallel paths through undergraduate studies, finishing med school, enduring the brutal gauntlet of residency training, and taking your licenses and oaths side-by-side.
Always side-by-side.
But were you friends?
The question felt like a cruel joke, a dull blade turning in an old wound. You’d known Zayne for what felt like an eternity – his precise quirks, the way his lips would curl into that almost-there "smile" when something genuinely amused him, the minuscule things that could irk him into a silent, simmering fury.
You knew his wins, his rare, almost imperceptible losses. For years, you’d been stuck together, perhaps out of convenience, a silent, unspoken acknowledgment that you simply fit. Or maybe it was habit, codependency, a bizarre gravitational pull you couldn't name. It was weird, you knew.
And no, he was definitely not your friend.
Because to you, Zayne was more than just that.
Others saw you as the pathetic second place, forever trailing in the shadow of the great Dr. Zayne Li.
They never saw the truth: Zayne was your true north.
He was the unwavering star that guided your own relentless pursuit of excellence, pushing you to extract every ounce of potential you possessed.
The road to becoming a surgeon was a hellish descent—weeks bled into months of relentless studying, practical exams that gnawed at your nerves, days and nights fueled by caffeine just to meet the endless, unforgiving deadlines.
You’d survived the traumatic crucible of residency, battling arrogant superiors, grappling with the crushing weight of real lives in your hands, not just dummies.
No, Zayne Li was not your friend.
Not when your entire world spun around him like he was the fucking sun, not when he pulled you toward him with an effortless gravity, not when you were so deeply, irrevocably in love with him.
But did he love you?
The question echoed in the cavern of your chest, hollow and cold. He showed concern, certainly. He knew you, too well, almost annoyingly so, as if he could peel back the layers of your thoughts just by looking at you.
Over the years, you’d been privy to the softest edges of his guarded self – the way he indulged in sweets despite his dentist’s stern warnings, the quiet attempts to pet stray cats that almost always ended in a frightened hiss because his intimidating aura still remained.
You'd seen him wander aimlessly through city streets on a rare day off, searching for a new cake shop, or the almost-there quirk of his lips when a grateful patient thanked him for saving their life. You’d watched him hand lollipops to sick children, a silent gesture to brighten their day.
You thought you were special.
You truly believed it, because he rarely engaged with anyone else the way he did with you. Dr. Greyson’s teasing about you two being the "work husband and wife" of Akso Hospital, the way Zayne seemed to only warm up to you, had felt like a secret validation, a fragile hope.
Then she came – MC.
The delicate, unspoken rhythm between you and Zayne shattered. Time spent together, once a given, became a luxury, then a memory. Meal breaks, the quiet, mundane strolls through the hospital corridors, the shared silence that once spoke volumes – all were clipped, reduced from hours, to days, to weeks of absence.
And one day, you saw them.
At the hospital café, their voices a soft murmur in the background hum. That's when the truth, sharp and agonizing, pierced through you: whatever you and Zayne had was nothing compared to this.
Not the years of shared struggle, not the ambiguous space between friends and something more. None of it mattered when you saw him, for the first time, truly smile – openly, warmly, a genuine curve of his lips that reached his eyes.
And that smile, the one you had yearned for, the one you had never quite managed to coax out, was not for you. It was for her – MC.
And in that moment, your heart didn’t just break; it shattered.
zayne x non mc || angst & hurt || happy ending || mc is kinda pick me || written after sylus's the cure to his curse fic - link in the story masterlist || could be triggering for others so read at your own risk || this is smut - mdni || story masterlist : love and deepspace
previous next
FOUR
Zayne returned to Linkon after a couple of days, while you, consumed by a quiet, nagging anxiety, were stressing over your precious, missing lucky hair tie.
You knew, with a sinking certainty, you must have left it at Zayne’s place, but the thought of contacting him, even after enduring dozens of his voicemails, felt like twisting a knife in your own chest.
You felt pathetic, a fool.
You'd clung to the desperate hope that Zayne truly cared for you, only to learn he had rushed to MC’s aid the very day he'd left those insistent messages.
So, you’d performed your surgeries without your familiar talisman, more meticulously, more carefully this time, whispering silent prayers that nothing would jinx it.
You knew, logically, that surgeons weren’t gods, and despite every grueling effort to save a life, not all could be saved, superstitions or not. Still, it was your ritual, a comfort, and you felt profoundly weird and uneasy without it.
That hair tie. It was a gift from Zayne, back in college.
You'd been struggling through a practical test, your hair stubbornly falling into your eyes as you fumbled with sutures. On the day of the actual exam, he’d simply handed it to you, a quiet gesture, murmuring, "I figured you’d forget a scrunchie again."
He was right. Since that day, it had been your constant companion, your lucky charm. If only it could serve as a lucky charm for your desolate love life.
You checked your phone, hovering over Zayne’s contact, about to send a text. But you couldn’t. A strange paralysis held your fingers still.
It had been days. A cold tendril of worry snaked through you.
What if he lost control of his Evol again? What if he was hurt somewhere, alone?
But then, you forced yourself to remember: he must be with MC, a highly capable and qualified Hunter. There was no way he'd be truly hurt.
You pushed all thoughts of him away, burying yourself in your work.
You focused on your combined research, the new findings Zayne had sent before he left, melding them with your own discoveries. Today, you decided, you would cure MC. You would stabilize her condition.
Maybe, just maybe, this would ease Zayne’s worry, perhaps even make him lean on you more. Or, a darker whisper in your mind, perhaps it would simply push them even closer together.
But then, you reminded yourself, Zayne was never yours to begin with.
All you could do for the person you loved was to stand by him, to support him, to hope for his happiness.
Even if it wasn't with you. Even if it was with MC.
You were deep in the quiet hum of the lab, lost in your research, when Zayne found you.
He simply placed a tall to-go cup of latte on your desk, its warmth a stark contrast to the coolness that had settled between you, and then he stood beside you, a soft, almost imperceptible announcement of his presence.
You acknowledged him with a quiet greeting before immediately peering back into the microscope. He did the same, a familiar rhythm falling between you. Research and work, a space where you and Zayne found a strange, comfortable silence.
It was predictable, a source of peace, regardless of the results.
Zayne broke the silence, his voice low.
"How have you been?"
You kept your answers simple, not distant, but just… concise.
You were jotting down observations from a new set of samples when Zayne nudged your elbow. In his slender fingers, suspended between them like a forgotten memory, was your lucky hair tie.
Zayne’s eyes widened, just barely, when he saw the sheer wave of relief that washed over your face, morphing into a genuine, unburdened smile.
It was the first time in weeks he had seen it – that pure, sincere curve of your lips.
He felt a sudden ache bloom in his own heart, a warmth he couldn’t quite place. It was affection, yes, and care, a feeling more profound than anything he had felt for you before.
It was a different kind of warmth than he felt for MC, a fragile, terrifying kind, something he knew could easily shatter.
You reached out, your fingers eager to reclaim your talisman, but he pulled his hand back, a slight hint of teasing, probing curiosity in his otherwise indifferent tone.
"Why was this in my unit?"
Your mind raced, scrambling for an answer.
Did he remember that day? A part of you hoped he did, a deeper part dreaded the implications if he did. Just as an excuse formed on your lips, his pager shrilled, flashing a grim 911.
You snatched your hair tie, securing it swiftly onto your wrist, as he rushed out, his composed facade momentarily cracked by urgency.
For the first time, you felt a wave of strange relief that you didn't have to answer him, even as you knew the conversation was only delayed. Moments later, your own pager screamed, echoing his. A 911.
You rushed through the hospital corridors, your feet pounding, your lucky hair tie now a comforting weight on your wrist.
You burst into the lobby to find Zayne beside MC, who lay pale and still on a gurney.
A visceral wave of alarm washed over you. Though you didn't feel particularly fond of MC, as a doctor, the sight of any patient in distress, especially one Zayne clearly cared for, sharpened your focus.
You were by his side in an instant, checking her vitals.
"She's tachycardic," Zayne’s voice was strained, a rare tremble in his usually steady tone. "This isn't good for her heart condition."
Though he maintained his urgent medical composure, you knew.
From years of shared intensity, of silent understanding, you recognized the raw panic beneath his controlled exterior. He was utterly, completely worried.
You pushed everything aside – your own pain, your unrequited love – and became solely the doctor, the one who had sworn an oath to save lives.
You reached out, your hand instinctively finding Zayne’s, giving it a firm, reassuring squeeze.
A silent promise that MC would pull through, that she would be okay.
You ignored the dull ache in your own heart as you felt the fleeting comfort of his hand in yours. Tests were run, rapidly. A catheter ablation was needed, a minimally invasive procedure for now. It was done successfully.
You rushed back to the lab, more determined than ever to figure out how to stabilize MC and her complex condition, knowing full well it wasn't just her heart, but the turbulent aether cores dwelling within her that posed the true threat.
For now, your love life was pushed to the side.
For now, you decided to be Zayne’s steadfast support, his unwavering companion, his friend.
For now, you decided to be a doctor, the one who swore to save lives no matter what.
Zayne and you poured your very souls, your combined expertise, into the research. It was grueling, relentlessly difficult, but there was progress, tangible, agonizingly slow progress.
Zayne would visit MC regularly – explaining the latest developments, checking on her, or simply spending time with her.
Meanwhile, you watched. Not because you wanted to, but because you had to.
You had become an integral part of MC's medical team, a necessary cog in the machine designed to speed up her recovery. And being on the sidelines, a silent observer to their growing connection, hurt far greater than ever before.
Sure, Zayne would still find you, keeping your regular meal times and breaks synced, even more regularly than before.
You reasoned it was probably because MC was close by, making it easier for him to maintain the semblance of your old routine. He likely just wanted to ensure no further delays, that you’d find that breakthrough and fix MC.
'Such joy,' you thought, the sarcasm a bitter taste on your tongue.
Apart from your scheduled surgeries, you spent every waking moment immersed in the research, pouring your heart and expertise into it.
Then, during one of your rounds, Zayne noticed you.
You were removing your lucky hair tie, letting your hair fall in soft waves around your face. You secured the tie on your wrist, a familiar, comforting gesture, before smoothing your hair.
Just as you were about to enter MC’s room, Zayne stopped you, his gaze intent. He brought up the question again, the one that had hung unspoken between you: why was the hair tie in his unit?
You stuttered, caught off guard, your mind scrambling for a plausible, neutral answer.
"It must have fallen out," you managed, "when we had dinner at your place."
Zayne scrutinized your reaction, his eyes piercing, weighing your words. He knew you were hiding something, you could feel it in the air between you. But he decided, for now, that pushing for answers wouldn't yield anything.
So, he nodded, a silent acknowledgment that he would believe you – for now.
You entered MC’s room together.
You maintained a professional smile, checking her charts, nodding approvingly at the nurses' updates – stable. Your heart stung, a sharp, familiar pain, when you saw Zayne’s demeanor soften for her, his eyes losing their clinical edge.
For a fleeting second, you wished you were MC, the recipient of that soft, tender gaze.
You looked away, busying yourself with scanning the charts, then the monitor, meticulously noting any abnormalities, scribbling in her chart as if your life depended on it.
Suddenly, Zayne’s pager shrilled, flashing 911. He excused himself, a swift, precise movement, leaving you and MC alone in the room.
The silence that descended was thick, tense, and impossibly awkward. You dared not move, dared not speak, clinging to the rigid boundaries of professionalism.
Then MC spoke, her voice soft, almost conversational.
"I've noticed," she began, "there are times when I feel Zayne’s Evol surge, as if he's losing control."
Your blood ran cold.
"And sometimes," she continued, "I hear Zayne mumble in his sleep, especially at night. It sounds like he’s having nightmares."
Your brain slammed to a halt.
'Mumble in his sleep.' 'Especially at night.'
The words echoed, a chilling implication.
You didn’t want to know. You didn’t want to find out. You were not prepared for what she was hinting at – a closeness, possibly intimate, a shared space during the vulnerable hours of night.
You fought to maintain your composure, not allowing a single crack to show, not now, not in front of her.
You turned to MC, your voice and face carefully neutral. "Perhaps Dr. Zayne is just feeling stressed sometimes," you offered, your words measured, "with his duties, his research, and everything else." You added, almost too casually, "It’s probably better if you confront Dr. Zayne about it if you feel it's truly concerning."
You saw it then, a brief flash of frustration and disappointment in MC's eyes as she scrutinized your expression.
What was she expecting from you? A reaction? A rise? A crack in your carefully constructed facade? A confrontation? A leak of information?
You had no fucking clue. But you refused to let your guards down.
You reminded yourself, with a desperate, silent mantra, that you were part of MC’s medical team, that you had to be professional. You were not here to wallow in your unrequited love, not now, not in front of anyone.
You informed MC that she was stable, reassuring her that you were working tirelessly to find a permanent solution to stabilize her condition, then excused yourself politely.
You practically fled to the sanctuary of your office, locking the door behind you. You simply sank to the floor, your back pressed against the cold, unyielding wood.
You thought back to MC’s implication, scoffing at your own foolishness.
You were so deeply in love with Zayne that it hurt, an unbearable, tearing pain. How desperately you wished you were her – wished you were MC.
You breathed, in and out, forcing yourself to collect your shattered pieces.
You rose, walked out into the hallway, and continued your rounds, your mind now firmly fixed on work before diving back into your research.
Days passed, and MC continued to torment you, whether intentionally or not.
Whenever Zayne wasn't around, she would recount stories – tales of knowing Zayne since childhood, implying an intimacy that went beyond friendship, of his unguarded moments with her, letting her touch him casually, playing arcade games with her, a relentless parade of anecdotes as if she were shoving their relationship directly in your face.
You powered through it all, maintaining a flawless facade of professionalism.
Then the day came – a breakthrough.
Zayne and you, together, had finally figured out what was wrong with MC, and what was needed to permanently stabilize her condition.
A surgery. It was needed as soon as possible.
Zayne explained everything to MC, his voice low and reassuring. She nodded, understanding.
You stood beside him, a silent sentinel, fighting desperately not to be affected, trying with every fiber of your being not to break at the way Zayne looked at her, the way he held her hand, the profound softness in his demeanor.
'If this isn't cruel enough,' you thought, a bitter laugh caught in your throat.
It didn't take long before you were in the operating room.
The surgery was successful.
Afterwards, you sank onto one of the benches in the operating room, beside Zayne, your masks removed, gowns loose. You were both tired, overwhelmed, but a profound wave of relief washed over you – you had gotten through it.
MC had gotten through it.
You reached out, your hand finding his, giving it a gentle squeeze.
"She's on the road to recovery and stabilization now," you murmured, your voice raspy with exhaustion. "You can somewhat rest easy."
Zayne looked at you, his gaze shifting to your small hand resting atop his.
He wasn’t listening to half of what you were saying. He simply thought of your hand, how pretty it was, how perfectly it seemed to fit on his, how warm and good it felt.
It was as if your hand belonged there – with his.
His brow furrowed almost imperceptibly when you pulled your hand away.
He glanced at you, seeing your genuine, relieved smile. But he noticed something else, too – a flicker of sadness, just a hint, that flashed through your eyes. It was only a fraction of a second, but he couldn't understand why it was there, especially after such a successful surgery.
Somehow, he had a feeling it wasn’t because of the surgery, but because of something else entirely.
You excused yourself, needing to clean up, to rest, to check on your other patients, leaving Zayne lost in his own thoughts.
He was truly relieved, yes, that you had both figured out and fixed MC’s condition.
It was a genuine medical breakthrough, destined for the papers. But that wasn’t why Zayne was so utterly preoccupied.
No.
The entire reason was you – the memory of Sylus, who had the chance to choose the person he loved, not because of destiny, but because of his own free will.
And deep down, Zayne wanted the same.
But could he truly bypass the fragmented memories of MC, the ones that whispered of a destined future, an alternate timeline, or perhaps even this very life?
He didn’t know. The only thing he was sure of was that you were important to him, and he didn't want to see you get hurt because of him.
Meanwhile, you did your rounds, a meticulous tour of your other patients. After updating all the medical charts, you handed them to Yvonne, who offered another congratulatory greeting. You managed a tired smile in return, then headed home, collapsing onto your bed, letting sleep claim your exhausted mind and body.
Days passed, and the surgery on MC proved its worth.
Her condition was truly stable. Zayne no longer had to worry as intensely about her, other than her general safety as a Hunter. She was no longer in constant peril, which visibly eased Zayne’s mind.
You still checked on MC, a lingering duty as part of her medical team and Zayne’s assistant during her surgery.
However, you hadn't realized how persistent she would be, relentlessly probing about Zayne’s past, specifically his Evol surges. You tried, truly tried, to be professional and respectful. But then MC asked the very question that sent everything spiraling.
“Did Zayne really kill his mentor?”
You froze, startled and completely caught off guard.
How did she know? William had been your friend, your mentor, too.
Zayne and you had made a silent, unbreakable pact to never discuss it, never speak of it to anyone else. And somehow, for reasons you couldn’t fathom, MC had found out.
You had no clue how.
You simply stated, politely, that it wasn't your place to say, that she should ask Zayne. But MC pressed, her voice insistent. Zayne wouldn't answer her, she argued, which was why she was asking you.
Then she pressed on, asked more about Mt. Eternal, another piece of information she should absolutely not know. You held your ground, firmly, repeatedly telling her it was better to ask Zayne, not you.
But MC was relentless. She pressed and pressed until your patience, thin as a single thread, snapped. That's when Zayne walked in, his arrival jarring.
He heard only portions of your argument, only your strained voice uttering "Mt. Eternal" and "William."
He didn't realize you were desperately trying to deflect MC, trying to protect the very information he guarded so fiercely.
And Zayne got mad.
He began to scold you, his voice cold, devoid of the earlier warmth, his face a mask of disappointment.
He jumped to conclusions, assuming you had given MC the ideas, that you were the reason she was now asking such dangerous questions.
But the truth was, you had never, ever divulged a single piece of information about Mt. Eternal or William.
Not when it was a painful memory to you, too.
Not when you had been there, had been part of the agonizing decision.
Zayne went on and on, his words cutting deeper than any scalpel. It wasn't your place to answer for him, he stated. MC was still recovering and shouldn't be stressed. You shouldn't cross any boundaries.
And then, the final, crushing blow: he decided to remove you from MC’s case and medical team.
You stared at Zayne, your mind numb, reeling from everything that had just unraveled, from how swiftly he had taken MC’s side without even asking for yours.
And your heart?
It was utterly, irrevocably broken into pieces.
Internally, a bitter, defeated voice whispered, 'This is exactly what I knew would happen.'
Once MC was stable, it would push her and Zayne together. It was happening now, before your very eyes, and you couldn't, wouldn't watch it. Not when it was going to break you completely.
You composed yourself, blinking back the hot tears, masking the raw hurt from your eyes and expression.
You simply looked at Zayne, your voice flat, devoid of emotion.
"Good."
Then, without another word, you turned and left, the sound of your own footsteps echoing the finality of your departure.
synopsis : zayne gets jealous, that’s it
content : Shaiya is my OC, imagine it’s me :D I really just added elements of me irl, comical, FLUFF FLUFF AND MORE FLUFF TAKE IT THIS IS RARE
Zayne is a quiet guy.
And you liked that about him.
He doesn’t say much, but you see it in the way he loves you—in the small gestures, the thoughtful silences, the way his hand always finds yours even in sleep.
His quiet is calming. Safe.
But that same quiet turns infuriating when he’s upset.
Because he won’t talk about it. Not even a word.
He’ll bottle it up, shove it somewhere deep, and pretend everything is fine.
He thinks bringing it up would make him a burden.
And you—bright, relentless, loud in your affection—you’re the sunshine he’s afraid of dimming.
Which is exactly why you’ve been stuck here, two hours and counting, waiting for him to come out of his room.
You tried brushing it off last week.
Maybe it’s work stress?
But even when Zayne’s exhausted, he never ignores you. Never flinches at your touch. Never avoids your eyes.
So now, you’ve taken matters into your own hands.
You’d waited for his day off—his sacred, stay-at-home-and-cuddle-you day.
You’d wait for the perfect moment and then ask him, gently but firmly, to tell you what’s wrong.
Because when you ask, he always listens.
You heard his door open. Footsteps approaching.
You stood, heart ready, words rehearsed.
“Zay—”
“I’m going for lunch with Yvonne.”
You blinked.
Paused.
Your brow lifted. “Why are you telling me that?”
He never announces when he’s going out. He just does. And you’ve never needed him to—you trust him.
But he just stood there, gaze lingering, as if he was waiting for something. Waiting for you to say something.
When you didn’t—because you didn’t know what he wanted—he turned and left. No goodbye. No explanation.
Just gone.
—•
“Shaaaaiyaaa…”
You groan dramatically, slumped across your friend’s couch while she snacks on spiced chips like this is her favorite TV drama.
“She’s finally fallen,” Shaiya teases, poking your knee with her toe. “Trouble in paradise?”
You were currently in your lady hunter friend’s apartment, sulking over your overly distant boyfriend.
“Zayne’s been acting weird,” you grumble, muffling your voice in your hands. “He’s quiet but not like this. This is… ice-age level.”
“Strange,” she muses, tilting her head. “He doesn’t usually act out like that.”
“Exactly!” you say, throwing your arms up. “He’s acting like I ran over his cat or something!”
Shaiya chews thoughtfully, then her eyes light up with the glint of chaos and curiosity.
“What if he’s… jealous?”
You freeze.
And stare at her like she just suggested the moon was made of cheese.
“…Jealous? Zayne?”
She shrugs, smug. “Would explain the whole ‘telling you where he’s going’ thing.”
You open your mouth to argue. Then shut it again.
And suddenly, the past week begins to reorder itself in your head.
The silence. The sidelong glances. The stiff goodnight kisses.
The out-of-nowhere announcement about Yvonne.
Your eyes widen slightly.
“…No way,” you whisper, sitting up straighter. “Could it be…?”
Shaiya doesn’t even let you finish.
She gasps—loud and theatrical—then dramatically clutches her chest like she’s just witnessed a plot twist in a drama.
“She gets it! My work here is done!”
You blink at her as she leans back into the couch like a smug oracle, arms crossed behind her head.
She’s practically glowing with satisfaction.
“Wait—seriously?” you say, staring at her, stunned.
“Zayne? Jealous? Of who?”
She gives you a look. “Oh, I don’t know… maybe every guy who looks at you like you hung the moon?”
You groan and drop your face into your hands again, but this time there’s laughter behind it.
Shaiya wiggles her brows. “So… are we confronting the emotionally constipated boyfriend, or do you need me to text Yvonne first and tell her to back off?”
You peek at her through your fingers. “You’re so dramatic.”
“And always right.”
You blink at her, trying to make sense of it all.
“But I haven’t been close to any—”
You freeze.
A memory flashes behind your eyes.
Last weekend.
That hour-long phone call in the kitchen, you giggling over childhood stories and shared inside jokes.
The way your voice had gone all soft, familiar.
Zayne had walked in, towel slung over his shoulder, and paused in the doorway.
You’d looked up, waved a casual “hey,” mouthed later, and turned back to the call.
You never said who it was.
Your stomach drops.
“…oh…my…god,” you whisper.
Shaiya perks up. “What?”
You turn to her slowly, horror dawning on your face.
“I think he thought I was on the phone with… another guy.”
“Well, were you?” she asks, amused.
You nod. “Yeah.”
“Who?!”
“…my brother.”
Silence.
Utter, deafening silence.
Then.
A snort.
A wheeze.
And Shaiya absolutely loses it.
“YOUR BROTHER?!” she cackles, doubling over, nearly spilling the bowl of chips onto the floor. “Zayne’s out here having a full-blown crisis over your brother?!”
You cringe. “I—I didn’t think I needed to say anything! He’s my brother!”
Through peals of laughter, she gasps, “Does Zayne even know you have a brother?!”
You open your mouth. Close it.
“…I don’t think it’s ever come up.”
That just makes it worse.
Shaiya collapses against the armrest, laughing so hard she’s wiping tears from her eyes.
“Oh my god,” she wheezes.
“You’ve been dating for how long? And you never mentioned you had a brother? He probably thinks you were on the phone with some mystery man calling you baby and roasting your high school haircut.”
You groan, dragging your hands down your face. “No wonder he’s been acting weird. He thinks I’ve been emotionally cheating on him with my sibling.”
Shaiya’s voice is barely a breath. “Zayne’s been in emotional turmoil over sibling rivalry.”
You launch a throw pillow at her. She catches it mid-laugh, wheezing still. “No. Nope. You don’t get to throw things when you’re the villain in this story.”
“I’m going to fix it,” you mutter, standing up and grabbing your phone. “I swear, I’m gonna explain everything, and then—I don’t know—slap him for not just asking.”
“And then kiss him,” Shaiya calls between giggles.
You roll your eyes, already halfway to the door. “Maybe. If he survives this.”
—•
You practically power-walk back to Zayne’s apartment, armed with righteous indignation, mild secondhand embarrassment, and the absurd realization that your emotionally repressed boyfriend has been brooding for days over your brother.
You barely knock before letting yourself in. The place is quiet—dim light filtering through the curtains, the hum of the fridge the only sound.
Then you see him, curled up on the couch like a sad, overworked burrito, wrapped in his favourite sweater, a mug of now-cold tea abandoned on the coffee table.
“Zayne,” you say, stepping into the living room.
He looks up, clearly not expecting you.
His eyes flick over your face, then back down to his lap like he’s preparing for an emotional tax audit.
“I thought you were out with Shaiya,” he mumbles.
“I was. Until I found out you’ve been sulking over my brother.”
His head snaps up with a questioning look.
You cross your arms. “You thought I was flirting with someone on the phone last week, didn’t you?”
He opens his mouth. Closes it. Tries again. “…you were laughing a lot.”
“Because it was Noah. My younger brother. The same one who used to eat crayons and thinks ‘being annoying’ is a valid love language.”
Zayne blinks. “You never said you had a brother.”
You throw your hands up. “I didn’t think I had to! He’s just… there! He’s not even interesting enough to bring up!”
Zayne stares at you like you’ve just told him you own a secret second apartment and a pet raccoon.
“You mean to tell me I’ve been—” He cuts himself off, dragging a hand down his face. “I was jealous of your sibling.”
You sit down beside him on the couch with a groan.
“Zayne. Darling. I thought you were mad at me. I’ve been spiraling.”
“I thought you were falling for someone else.”
“Who calls me princess and makes fun of my baking?”
“I thought maybe it was… a thing you two had.” He says it quietly, like he’s ashamed of the words even as they leave his mouth.
You blink. Then burst out laughing.
Zayne glares. “Don’t laugh. I was genuinely upset.”
“I’m sorry,” you say between chuckles, wiping a tear from your eye. “It’s just—you, the big, stoic surgeon, all moody and tragic… over Noah.”
His hand goes to cover his face as he sighs, “Stop.”
You lean over and kiss his cheek. “Nope. Not when I just realized how cute you are when you’re insecure.”
He turns to you, brow furrowed. “I’m not insecure.”
“You thought I was cheating with a guy who still lives with my mom and unironically wears anime socks.”
Zayne lets out another dramatic sigh. “Okay. A little insecure.”
You grin, snuggling closer. “Next time, just ask me. Before you go full tortured romantic hero on me.”
His arms wrap around you, pulling you into his chest with a warmth that says he’s missed this—missed you.
“Next time,” he says softly, “I’ll ask.”
You chuckle and poke his cheek.
Later that evening, the apartment is washed in the soft amber glow of kitchen lights, and everything feels warmer—easier.
Zayne leans against the counter, sleeves rolled up, the second cup of tea in his hand. You’re perched on the stool near him, legs swinging lazily as you sip yours.
You watch him for a moment, eyes narrowing.
“You know,” you say, voice casual, “you ditched me today.”
He raises a brow. “I did?”
You nod, exaggeratedly solemn. “You missed our officially unofficial day-off cuddle session. The one you’re so religious about that you once fake-coughed at my phone until I put it down.”
“I was… upset.”
“You were brooding,” you correct. “Like an 18th-century poet with a tragic backstory.”
He gives you a flat look. “I was not—”
“You were. I should’ve walked in and found you writing sad haikus about betrayal and heartbreak.”
He lets out a soft groan and leans forward, bracing his hands on either side of your stool to cage you in. “You’re really not going to let me live this down, are you?”
You grin up at him, smug. “Nope.”
But your voice softens as your fingers slip beneath the hem of his sweater to rest against his warm skin.
“I missed you today,” you admit. “It’s weird when you’re here, but not here.”
Zayne exhales, forehead lowering to rest against yours. “I missed you too. I just—”
“Spiraled quietly in a sweater while drinking cold tea,” you finish for him. “Classic Zayne.”
He chuckles against your mouth just before brushing a soft kiss to it. “You’re insufferable.”
“And yet, you love me,” you hum, looping your arms around his neck.
His eyes close for a second. “I do.”
That quiet confession settles between you like a blanket, soft and sure.
“Still,” you murmur, “you owe me extra cuddles for missing our session.”
Zayne leans in, arms wrapping around your waist as he effortlessly lifts you off the stool and carries you toward the couch.
“Fine,” he says. “All night. No escape.”
You smile into the side of his neck. “Deal.”
—•
The couch cushions are soft beneath you, familiar. Zayne pulls the blanket over both of you, shifting so you’re tucked into his side, your head resting on his chest, fingers idly tracing the lines of his shirt.
His arm wraps around you, protective and warm, and the rise and fall of his breathing begins to sync with yours.
Outside, the city hums quietly.
Inside, the world is still.
“You’re warm,” you mumble, voice already coated in drowsiness.
“I’m always warm,” Zayne replies softly, pressing a kiss to your hair. “You’re the one who’s always cold.”
“That’s because you steal all the blankets.”
“You steal all the pillows.”
You smile against his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt like you’re afraid he might slip away again.
He doesn’t move.
“I thought I upset you,” you whisper.
“I thought you didn’t need me,” he murmurs back.
You lift your head slightly to look at him. His eyes are barely open, lashes soft against his skin.
“Zayne. I need you so much it’s stupid.”
His lips twitch into a small, sleepy smile.
“I know,” he breathes, cupping the back of your head gently. “I just forgot for a second.”
You settle back down against his chest, his heartbeat a slow, steady lullaby beneath your ear.
Silence drapes over the room again—safe, quiet, and filled with everything unsaid.
“…Still mad at me?” he murmurs.
You yawn. “Only a little.”
“I’ll make it up to you.”
“Mm. You’d better. I demand waffles.”
He chuckles, barely a sound, already slipping further into sleep.
He gives a slow nod. “Waffles.”
You smile, drifting.
And just before sleep takes you completely, you hear him whisper, almost inaudibly,
“I love you.”
You don’t answer right away—too tired, too full.
But your fingers tighten slightly in his shirt. And that’s enough.
For now.
Morning arrives in golden streaks across the curtains, soft light spilling over tangled blankets and the quiet rise and fall of Zayne’s chest beneath your cheek.
You blink awake slowly, unwilling to move. He’s still asleep—or so you think—until his fingers start lazily combing through your hair.
“You’re awake,” you mumble, voice scratchy.
“I’ve been awake,” he says quietly. “I just didn’t want to move.”
You smile against him. “Comfortable?”
“Very.”
You tilt your head up.
His glasses are on the side table, and his eyes—clear and soft—are already watching you.
He looks so relaxed, hair a little messy, sweater still on from last night. It’s rare, seeing him like this. Unwound. Home.
“I dreamed you made me waffles,” you say, stretching with a quiet groan.
Zayne hums. “That wasn’t a dream.”
You blink. “Wait, what?”
He nudges you up gently and stands, stretching with a quiet yawn. “I woke up an hour ago. Thought I’d try and keep my promises.”
You trail him into the kitchen like a curious cat, rubbing sleep from your eyes.
And there it is. Actual waffles. A little uneven, one slightly darker than the others, but undeniably real. A bottle of syrup. Sliced fruit in a bowl. Two mugs of coffee—yours already fixed the way you like it.
You stare.
“You cooked.”
“I followed instructions,” he corrects. “From you, technically. I just recalled all the times you yelled at me for flipping too early.”
You blink again, touched and somewhere between impressed and incredibly endeared.
“You made waffles because I teased you about missing our cuddle session?”
Zayne shrugs, placing a plate in front of you. “I like making you happy.”
You sit down, taking a bite—and hum in satisfaction. “They’re actually good.”
“I’m offended by your surprise.”
You give him a sleepy smile. “I just didn’t have ‘Zayne cooking breakfast without setting something on fire’ on my bingo card.”
He quirks a brow as he sits across from you. “Keep talking and next time, you’re getting burnt toast.”
You giggle, and he smiles—not a rare smile, but one of those soft ones he only ever seems to wear around you.
“Thanks,” you say after a beat, sincere now. “For the waffles. And for everything else.”
His foot nudges yours under the table.
“You’re welcome,” he says softly.
And for the first time in a week, there’s no tension. No doubt. Just you, him, warm waffles, and morning sunlight dancing on quiet promises kept.
—•
You had warned Zayne, of course. Gave him the whole speech—He’s annoying, don’t rise to it, yes, he’s going to make fun of you, no, he’s not serious, he just does this to literally everyone.
Zayne, in his usual calm, reserved way, simply nodded. “Got it.”
But now he’s standing by your side at the café table as Noah slides into the booth across from you, wearing a smug smile and an oversized hoodie that says Certified Menace.
Zayne blinks. Noah blinks back.
You blink between them, already regretting everything.
“So,” Noah says slowly, eyes narrowing like he’s inspecting a specimen under a microscope. “You’re the Zayne.”
Zayne gives a small nod. “And you’re the brother I apparently lost sleep over.”
You make a choking noise over your iced coffee.
Noah grins, delighted. “Ohhh, this is going to be fun.”
You bury your face in your hands. “Please don’t start.”
But it’s too late. Noah leans forward, eyes glittering with amusement. “Tell me, Zayne. On a scale from ‘mild panic’ to ‘full emotional breakdown,’ how badly did you spiral thinking I was your competition?”
Zayne, to your absolute horror, doesn’t flinch. “Somewhere between tragic novel protagonist and Shakespearean fool.”
Noah lets out a wheeze, slaps the table, and beams. “Okay, I like you.”
You look between them like you’ve accidentally set the universe on fire. “I hate this. I hate both of you.”
Noah winks at you. “You didn’t tell me he was funny.”
Zayne shrugs, sipping his coffee. “You didn’t tell me he was relentless.”
“I did,” you mutter. “Multiple times.”
Noah leans back, nodding. “Alright. You pass.”
“Pass what?” Zayne asks.
“The vibe check. The ‘Is-He-Good-Enough-For-My-Sister’ test.” He gestures vaguely with his straw. “You’re calm, you’ve got decent taste in coats, and you made her waffles, so… yeah. You’re fine.”
Zayne raises an eyebrow. “Is that all?”
Noah grins. “That, and the fact that she hasn’t stopped smiling since she walked in with you.”
Your breath catches.
Zayne turns to look at you then, expression softening almost immediately.
Noah sighs, pretending to gag. “Ugh. Gross. Okay, I’m leaving before you two start making heart eyes over your muffins.”
You kick him lightly under the table. “You’re the worst.”
He ruffles your hair as he stands. “And yet, you still love me.”
Zayne watches him go, then turns to you, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
“I can’t believe I was jealous of him.”
You lean your head on his shoulder, grinning. “I can. But now you’ve met him, and survived. Proud of you.”
He hums. “Is there a badge for that?”
You reach into your bag and slap a novelty sticker on his chest that says “I survived Noah”—you brought it as a joke.
made this collection for myself and to keep track of everything I've read so far. some are crossposted on tumblr and ao3 so I'll try to add both links (though i might miss some so let me know).
Status: Unedited & No symbols; will make second list soon
Sharing best read! I am looking for a fic wherein the reader is older than the LADs or jjk men for a change of dynamics. If you knowww anyyyy, don’t gatekeep it honey😩😮💨
series summary: you know you will love satoru for the rest of your life, but when you wake with his cursed energy in your navel there is no option but to flee. what future is there for a child of a god? at 18 satoru is without you, and you make off with a piece of him you hoped he'd never meet.
Hi guys, it’s hunting fic hr again🥹. Please help a bitch once again to find that one gojo fic with a hidden child trope. It has multiple parts, the mc and gojo used to be friends, until they fell apart, and while they had no contact the mc had gojo’s child. And they met… and i lost the fic.
Ps: I don’t think this is the one wherein the mc became gojo’s secretary and gojo was married when they met again. With how i remember it, it was also slowburn and both are in a non-relationship. And gojooo was yearning! Groveling for mc! Begginggg to be given a chance, not just as their kids’s father but as the mc’s partner.
p.s. got an idea for the next entry? drop it in my askbox!
☆⌒.*･ entry year : 2006—2009
entry # attraction
➴ to think it started with your crush on his best friend...
entry # rivals... in love?
➴ gojo is in shambles—so suguru might have a crush on you too?
entry # say no! ೀ valentine's special
➴ valentine's is around the corner and word has it that you're going on a date with geto...? no way! gojo is going to make sure that you're saying no! ever wonder how gojo finally gets you to become his? be prepared for a confession of a lifetime!
entry # stupid liar
➴ no way. impossible. you couldn't possibly be jealous of gravure idol gojo likes so much now... or could you?
entry # unconcealable
➴ your boyfriend may not show it, but the six eyes are his burden to bear. you know it firsthand when he falls into your arms for the first time
entry # love wins all (soon!)
➴ haibara's death. geto's defection. nanami's leaving. when everything goes wrong in your third year, the last thing you would expect is your boyfriend breaking up with you. but to gojo, this is a moment of truth—and through this, you'll realize why he chooses to stay with you for good
⭑ — ☁️ side stories
rivals... in love? — extended cut!
hot, hot summer!
☆⌒.*･ entry year : 2010—2017
entry # finally mine 18+ (soon!)
➴ gojo says he’ll make you droll when you have your first time together. you are determined to seduce him to turn the tables!
entry # stay with me (soon!)
➴ comes the biggest conflict in your relationship when you realize that you might be pregnant. this event, for better or worse, will change the trajectory of your relationship forever
entry # wife her up (soon!)
➴ it's a canon event that animals and babies aren't particularly fond of the strongest sorcerer… but you, you’re always going to be his no matter what
entry # insatiable 18+
➴ your boyfriend is hot and wild, and he has one problem: he always finds you too pretty to resist
entry # forever
➴ the three times he asked you to marry him
entry # newlyweds 18+
➴ you and your new husband make out in the most inappropriate place possible
entry # kyoto: the onsen incident 18+
➴ it's your first trip as a married couple and you should be excited—until a shameless woman makes a move on your husband!
entry # to my beloved
➴ bad days don't mean the end of the world, and your husband is making sure you know that
entry # my wife, all mine ೀ valentine's special
➴ years pass, but one thing that's constant is how annoyingly your husband is in love with you. with the new school year comes a fresh batch of first years, and gojo is determined to make you look at his way—he's way better than those youngsters, and he's going to show you just that!
entry # wedding anniversary 18+
➴ seven years of dating, two years of wedded bliss, and gojo is having his greatest existential crisis yet... all because this year, you apparently have forgotten the most important day of your lives
entry # daddy-to-be
➴ in which you're worried about how he'd react to you carrying his baby
entry # sweet felicity
➴ what do you get the man who already has everything for his birthday?
entry # a birthday to remember 18+
➴ what is the so-called grand surprise does your husband prepare for your birthday?
entry # protect
➴ the word “protect” now means so much more to him
⭑ — ☁️ side stories
05.56 P.M — how gojo gets arrested by the police
07.55 A.M — gojo cheated on you last night
12.34 A.M — blindfold play 18+
12.55 P.M — first ultrasound
04.18 A.M — six weeks pregnant with gojo’s baby
08.45 P.M — cockwarming 18+
11.07 P.M — what if you get a divorce?
03.12 A.M — ungodly hour cravings
07.30 P.M — gojo vs your pregnancy hormones
before the dawn — finding out about geto's ultimate betrayal hits you hard
08.25 P.M — at the end of this pregnancy journey, you fall in love with your husband once again
baby pics — photo album of baby satoru
⭑ — extras 💌 pregnancy diaries ❀
☆⌒.*･ entry year : 2018—present
special entry # through megumi’s eyes (soon!)
➴ megumi’s life ends and starts when the strongest sorcerer takes him in. see your love story through his eyes, his hidden feelings, and extended scenes of several love entries!
entry # baby
➴ a domestic life with your husband and baby
entry # heaven's fury
➴ sometimes you forget that your husband has burdens as the strongest sorcerer alive. when he goes back home from a bad day and you're the first person he comes contact to, you're made aware of it once again
entry # wife
➴ in which the new batch of first years are unaware that their eccentric teacher’s wife is the pretty woman roaming the school grounds
entry # sick days
➴ who holds the fort when you fall sick? of course, it's your lovesick husband and baby!
entry # mission: baby steps!
➴ the three times gojo tried to make his baby love him (and how he miserably fails)
entry # the babysitters club
➴ in which yuji, megumi and nobara are tasked with the most important mission ever by their teacher—watching over his baby son!
entry # throughout heaven and earth
➴ a sudden mission. a curse beyond your grade. all hell breaks loose when gojo realizes that there are hidden machinations behind the incident that befalls you
entry # baby to the rescue
➴ in which gojo recruits your baby son to “save” you from a credit card salesman
entry # beach day 18+
➴ in which the three of you (you, your husband and baby) spend the weekend on the beach!
entry # treasure
➴ the strongest sorcerer meets his match in his petulant son, who inherits his six eyes and is having trouble with them
entry # curiosity 18+
➴ when gojo is found out by his own son during your nighttime activities
entry # all of me
➴ you understand that some things in marriage just needs compromise. and he soon understands too, when you're at your most vulnerable and he fails to be by your side when you need him the most
⭑ — ☁️ side stories
09.45 P.M — how scared he is to lose you
11.10 P.M — meeting the newborn for the first time
06.27 A.M — gojo with his baby in the morning
06.20 P.M — baby doesn’t let gojo kiss you
11.52 A.M — gojo will show baby who is here first
10.00 A.M — gojo trying to get his baby say his first word
02.33 P.M — baby going to the aquarium for the first time
Her lips, those sinful lips, were curved in a smile meant only for him. She looked out of place in that rundown dive, a diamond among the coal. The air was probably heavy with the stench of cheap liquor and sweat, a far cry from the perfumed sanctuaries she deserved.
I watched, helpless and helplessly enraged, as his hands touched hers. Hands that had no right, no claim, no ownership over her soft skin. But it was when they took to the dance floor, their bodies pressed close together, that I felt my control snap. His hands moved to her hips, and I saw red.
I had to cut my meeting short, excuses falling from my lips as I brushed past my stunned business partners. Nothing mattered, not the deals that could be made, not the power that could be gained.
Twenty-four calls I made, each one going straight to voicemail as she laughed, danced and forgot about everything.
When they finally left the bar, my heart hammered against my chest, I was ready to follow them, to tear them apart if he so much as hinted at taking her somewhere that wasn't back to the base.
But he didn't, he didn't try to spirit her away to some secret love nest. He brought her straight back home. A small, cruel part of me reveled in the knowledge that he had returned her to my doorstep, a prize delivered back to its rightful owner.
Now, standing outside her door, I could still hear the echo of the door slamming in my face, the harsh sound a brutal punctuation to her words. "I wanted him to"
I could feel her slipping away, like grains of sand slipping through my fingers, impossible to hold onto. Each second that ticked by was a second lost, a second where she was further from my grasp and closer to the arms of another. I could feel my sanity fraying at the edges, unraveling like a spool of thread in the wind.
A few days later Mc strode down the hallway outside the living room, whispers following in her wake like a gossip ridden tide.
I emerged from the living room, drawn by the commotion, to find her flanked by Luke and Kieran. They carried a massive bouquet of flowers, a display of different colors that clashed violently with the decor of the base.
"Oh, Sy," Mc chirped, "I didn't know you were home. I'm just going to Y/N room really fast to drop this off, she couldn't bring it herself so she asked me to do it for her"
As I approached the twins, I snatched the small pink card from the bouquet, my eyes scanning the words on it.
"I had so much fun the other night, can't wait to spend another day together" the card read, signed with a bold, confident flourish - Caleb.
I turned to Mc, my jaw clenched so tightly it ached. "Where is she? We have an auction to attend to"
"Oh, I'm sure you can deal with that by yourself," she taunted "She is currently in Skyhaven, spending the day with my brother. I hope you don't mind"
Then she turned to the twins "Well, boys," she said, her voice taking on a saccharine sweetness that made my stomach churn. "I'm out. I have a date of my own. Please don't let anything damage those flowers, she'll be back later tonight."
Lunch with Caleb was a breath of fresh air, a stark contrast to the suffocating meals with Xavier. He was warm and animated, his laughter echoing through the cafeteria, drawing smiles from passersby. He spoke passionately about his work and unlike Xavier, he never once brought up your own line of work, respecting your privacy and boundaries. You even caught him flustered when he spotted a young woman he had mentioned the other day at the bar, a charming blush coloring his cheeks. It was a side of him you hadn't expected to see, a gentleman through and through. You knew without a doubt, that in Caleb, you had found a true friend, one as loyal and caring as Mc.
Upon your return to the base, the sight of Luke and Kieran outside, looking exhausted and haggard, immediately put you on edge. Those two were always up to something, their mischievous grins a dead giveaway of their latest schemes. As you approached, you noticed scattered flower petals littering the ground, and an overflowing trash bin filled to the brim with different colored flowers.
"Why are there flower petals everywhere? Are those...?" you asked, pointing an accusatory finger at the botanical debris. Before Luke could even say anything, you were already hurrying inside.
The sight that greeted you was nothing short of ridiculous. Roses, hundreds upon hundreds of roses, in every fucking room of the house. They choked the life out of the halls, their scent thick and suffocating. Expensive roses, no doubt, a blatant display of wealth and excess.
"If you wanted flowers, you could have just asked me"
"What the fuck is all this, Sylus?"
"Flowers, for you, only a small amount of what you truly deserve."
A bitter laugh escaped your lips as you shook your head in disbelief. "I don't need your flowers, I don't want them"
"But you do want his? That bastard who thinks he can touch what's mine?"
"What's yours? Please don't make me laugh, Sylus. I'm not your fucking property," you snapped "We work together, that's all. You never did anything to show me you wanted me to be yours, not even a fucking kiss."
He closed the distance between you, backing you up until your back hit the wall with a soft thud. His hands slammed against the wall on either side of your head, caging you in, trapping you in the circle of his arms. You could feel the heat radiating off his body, could see the desperation burning in his eyes.
"If you're telling me all I need to do is kiss you to make you mine, then you have five seconds to stop me"
He started counting, each number falling like a gunshot in the charged atmosphere between you. "One..." His breath was hot against your face, his lips a hairsbreadth away from yours.
"Two..." His gaze dropped to your mouth, watching hungrily as you bit down on your lower lip, a nervous habit you couldn't control.
"Three..." Your eyes met, locking with his, a battle of wills playing out in the space between you.
"Four..." His hand lifted, fingertips grazing the delicate skin of your jawline, a feather light touch "Please..." The word was a whispered plea that spoke volumes of the agony he was in.
You moved and his lips grazed yours in a fleeting, tormenting touch. But you weren't about to give in, not now, not like this.
Your hands flew to his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as you shoved him away with all your might. "Don't you dare touch me ever again" you hissed.
You looked at him, really looked at him, taking in the dark circles under his eyes, the thick stubble that coated his jaw. He looked miserable, utterly wrecked, a far cry from the man you knew, but you couldn't bring yourself to feel sorry for him.
"Find someone else to give flowers to."
"That's not what I want...I want you. All I need is you"
"You'll get over it" you said softly
With that, you turned and walked out of the base, leaving him standing there between his roses and the suffocating weight of his own choices.
You don't ever tell people you are not okay. You never have. It's hard to watch them struggle, to see the concern and helplessness in their eyes as they try to find the right words, the right way to comfort you. It's so hard to witness their discomfort, their own pain at seeing you hurting. So you keep your chin up, put on a brave face, and endure in silence.
Because leaving Sylus behind means leaving behind more than just the man you love. You are losing your first friend, the person who had been by your side through thick and thin, through joy and sorrow, through every trial and tribulation that life had thrown your way. Your friendship was the foundation upon which you had built the best parts of your life. And now, you are tearing it down, brick by painful brick, trying to find your footing in a world that suddenly feels foreign and unfamiliar.
It's not easy, navigating this new world alone, without the comforting presence of the one who once knew me best. Some days, the longing for the past is so intense it steals your breath, and you find yourself yearning to go back, not to change the outcome, but to linger just a little longer in the moments of joy. What would the girl from two years ago think if she could see you now? Would she be proud of the strength you've found, the resilience that has carried you through the darkest of times? Or would she look at you with pity and whisper words of caution, warning you of the pain that lay ahead?
Sylus seemed to be going through the same thing. He was like a crow, a creature of dark beauty and haunting elegance, watching more than he moved, his gaze a constant presence in the shadows.
He circled around you, a silent sentinel, waiting and observing with the patience of a bird of prey. Like a crow, he pretended not to care, feigning indifference to the chaos in his heart. He couldn't stay away, because something unfinished lived there, a phantom of the past that he couldn't lay to rest. It wasn't the pain that drew him, no, it was the memory of what you had once shared, the echoes of laughter and love that lingered in every corner of the base.
His stillness was a defense mechanism, a way to keep the world at bay, to keep the hurt from seeping in too deep. But his eyes told a different story, a tale of a man haunted by the ghosts of his past, a man who couldn't let go of the one he had loved, the one he had lost.
Sometimes, in unguarded moments, you forgot. Forgot the tension between you and Sylus, and in those instances, during heated meetings or lively auctions, you would catch his eye and flash him a cheesy, teethy grin, a remnant of the carefree days when your laughter came easily.
It was a small thing, a flicker of the old you, but it was enough to make Sylus pause, to see the breath leave his lungs in a rush as if punched by an unseen force. It was a sight that was almost pathetic, the way he stood there, momentarily breathless, his eyes widening with longing he couldn't quite hide.
But as quickly as it came, the moment passed, and you were both pulled back into the harsh reality of your fractured relationship.
When you discovered that there was now a bounty on your head in the N109 zone, no doubt the doing of Samuel, Sylus became a constant presence outside your workplace.
And when he couldn't be there himself, he would send Luke and Kieran. They would linger outside, whether you wanted it or not.
Even Mc had to step in and spun a tale for your curious coworkers. "He's a fruit vendor," she would say with a shrug, as if that explained the constant presence of the sleek, black truck parked outside. A few weeks later you found its bed filled to the brim with different glistening fruits.
You kept arguing, kept finding new reasons to clash and clash again, especially after auctions.
"Jesus," he would groan, pinching the bridge of his nose as if praying for patience "What were you thinking, dressing like that?"
"What?" you demanded, your arms crossing over your chest "What are you talking about?"
"Can't you see? Can't you see what you're doing to me?" He stepped closer, body coiled with tension and hands clenched at his sides. "Do you have any idea what you look like right now?"
"I dress for myself, Sylus, not for you." Your words were a reminder, a slap in the face of the boundaries you had drawn between you. Boundaries he seemed determined to ignore, no matter the cost.
That wasn't the only time Sylus had mentioned something about your attire. One night, you found yourself wandering through the darkened halls, your bare feet padding softly against the cool floor. Not bothering to turn on the lights, you made your way to the kitchen, your mind still foggy with sleep. You grabbed a glass from the cabinet, filling it with water from the tap, and took a sip, the cool liquid helping to wake you up.
As you bent over the counter, glass still in hand, you heard a voice cut through the silence, sharp and commanding. "Go back to your room"
You startled, hand flying to your chest as the water glass slipped slightly from your grasp, splashing its contents across the counter. "Fuck, Sylus! You scared me"
"I said, go back to your room," he repeated, his voice dropping an octave. His eyes moved over your body, lingering on the short shorts you wore, a gift from Mc after a particularly successful mission. They were soft, fabric clinging to your curves in a way that made his jaw clench tight.
You opened your mouth to argue that you were perfectly within your right to be in the kitchen at any hour of the night. But the look in his eyes gave you pause "Im barely holding onto my last shred of self control, and you're standing there in front of me in those...those fucking shorts. Go. Back. To. Your. Room."
You swallowed hard and set the glass down on the counter with a soft clink, not bothering to clean up the spill, then turned on your heel and walked out of the kitchen, your bare feet carrying you back to your room.
Things took a turn for the worse when Sylus found out about you dating a colleague from work. At first, it was just a double date with Mc and Zayne, a casual affair that Sylus dismissed as innocent fun. But as the days went by and you continued to see this man, his patience wore thin.
A second date followed, this time Caleb and Mc tagging along. He couldn't ignore the way your face lit up in the presence of another man, the way your eyes sparkled with joy that he once thought was reserved for him alone.
By the third date, Sylus had reached his breaking point. He was waiting for you as you made your way to the front door, his eyes tracking your every move. "You look beautiful," he murmured as he looked you up and down, taking in every detail of your appearance. "Who's the guy?"
You scoffed, rolling your eyes at his feigned ignorance. "Don't play dumb, Sylus, you know exactly who he is. You probably have a file on him, down to his fucking blood type."
You moved to step around him but Sylus was quicker. "If you think for a second that I'm letting you walk out that door, you are mistaken"
"You can't control every aspect of my life. I won't let you decide who I can and can't see." You tried to step around him again, but he matched your movement his body a barrier between you and the door.
"Just let me..."
"No"
"Please don't shut me out anymore, having you so close and not being able to... to have you, to be with you, it's a special kind of hell. The worst kind of torture." He reached out a hand, his fingers brushing lightly against your arm.
You shuddered at the contact, heart pounding wildly in your chest. You couldn't meet his eyes, so you stared at a point just over his shoulder, your jaw clenched tight as you fought the urge to give in, to throw yourself into his arms and forgive everything.
"Get out of my way, Sylus," you whispered. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, and you blinked rapidly, trying to keep them at bay.
But he was not a man to be reasoned with, not when it came to you. He took another step closer, until he was standing right in front of you, his chest nearly brushing against yours. You could smell the scent of his cologne, dark, spicy and uniquely Sylus.
"I can't," he said, his voice rough and ragged, as if each word was a battle to get out. "I can't let you go, not now. Not ever." He reached up with a shaking hand, his fingers cupping your chin, tilting your face up to meet his gaze.
"I lo..."
"Don't say it," you said, voice breaking on the words. "Don't you dare say it."
In a moment that you would have never believed possible, Sylus did the unthinkable. He sank to his knees before you, his pride forgotten, dignity cast aside. He looked up at you, his eyes shimmering with unshed tears, and he begged.
"Please, I love you," his voice came out in a raspy, strained whisper, as if the words were being ripped from the very depths of his soul. He was laying his heart at your feet, a sacrifice on the altar of his love for you.
"I hate you...right now I hate you as much as I love you..." Your voice trailed off, the weight of your admission hanging heavy in the air between you.
But Sylus wasn't hearing the venom in your words anymore, the bitter recrimination that dripped from every syllable. No, he was tuning out the anger and was fixating on something else entirely, something that made his heart soar and his soul sing.
Three words. He heard them echoing in his ears, a distant scream that drowned out his own thoughts, the constant whisper of his own doubts and fears. It was like pouring salt into an open wound, the pain of hearing those words from your lips. But it was a pain he welcomed, a pain he savored, because it meant that you still felt something for him, no matter how much you tried to deny it.
He stumbled to his feet, his movements jerky and uncoordinated as he reached out to grab you. His fingers tangled in your hair, his palm cupping the back of your head as he dragged you against him, crushing your body against his chest. "Don't you see?" he rasped, his breath heavy against your ear. "Don't you understand what you've done to me? What you've reduced me to?"
He was too consumed by his emotions to register the cold, hard metal pressing against his shoulder. But as you spoke, your voice trembling with determination, he felt the unmistakable press of a gun barrel digging into his flesh. "I said get out of my way"
He stumbled back slightly, his eyes widening as the realization of your intent sank in. But even then, he hesitated, unwilling to believe that you would truly go through with it. That is, until the sound of shattering glass pierced the air, and the door behind him exploded in a hail of razor sharp fragments.
You froze, your hand shaking violently as you kept the gun trained on him again, the weight of what you had just done settling heavily upon your shoulders.
"Move"
Sylus moved then, his hand shooting out to grab the gun, his fingers brushing against yours but you were faster, your finger tightening on the trigger, the gun bucking in your hand as another shot rang out. Sylus hissed in pain, his body jerking as the bullet tore into his shoulder, blood blooming across the crisp white fabric of his shirt.
The sight of it made your stomach churn, a wave of nausea rising up from the pit of your belly. You had shot him. You had actually fucking shot him.
Before you could even begin to process what you had done, Sylus had closed the distance between you. His hand was on your chin, fingers digging into the soft flesh, his thumb pressing hard against your bottom lip until you were forced to part your mouth in a gasp of pain. Your noses were touching, his ragged breaths mingling with your own panicked pants, the scent of his cologne and the coppery tang of his blood filling your senses until you were dizzy with it.
You never gave a warning sign (I gave so many signs)
Masterlist
PAIRING: Zayne x Non-MC Reader
SYNOPSIS: An arranged marriage built on silence unravels into a love loud enough to echo—where a repressed heart finally claims what was always his.
NOTES: The one shot I planned to write turned into a full-blown series, who's surprised? The tag list for this fic is CLOSED. the banners belong to @/uzmacchiato
