I had the intention of coming back to fanfiction with Valko's addition.
But the recent news made me sad, confused and angry. I feel turned off from playing the game and writing.
At first, I thought how can a company allow itself to be bullied to this extend? Then, I heard just how far those fans went, attacking workers and breaking into the building. (according to some people, I didn't confirm this) It is so NOT OKAY. I'm ashamed that I am in the same fandom as those people.
But I am not going to return to writing, they completely killed my inspirations.
I would love to hear all of your thoughts on this as well.
I'm here to announce that this blog will be going on hiatus starting today for the foreseeable future.
I had so many ideas and stories I wanted to share, but for now, those plans are being put on hold.
I want to make one thing clear, I have never used AI to write any of my work. Every piece I’ve posted has come from my own imagination, inspired by books I’ve read and talented writers on this platform. I took those inspirations and combined them with my own ideas to create something new.
But, I’ve grown tired of the constant accusations, anonymous “AI slop” messages, and passive-aggressive comments left on my posts. I’ve tried ignoring them, but there’s only so much negativity I can take before it starts affecting me.
What disappoints me most is that it feels like some people can no longer enjoy fanfiction without immediately assuming it was generated by AI. Writing has always been something I did for fun, and lately that fun has been overshadowed by accusations.
At the end of the day, I value my mental health more than maintaining a blog that was meant to be a hobby. This wasn’t an easy decision, but it’s the right one for me.
I won’t be deleting the blog, and all of my stories will remain available for anyone who wants to revisit them.
Thank you to everyone who supported my work, left kind comments, and enjoyed the stories I shared.
Warm laughter in the kitchen. Arms around your waist while you are trying to do something. Stolen kisses. Teasing. Comfort. The kind of love that feels easy even when life is difficult.
Caleb loves loudly compared to the others.
Not necessarily with grand gestures all the time, but with openness. With presence. With the constant reminder that you are loved every single day.
Marriage with him feels like:
coming home and immediately being happier because he is there.
He Absolutely Adores Calling You “My Wife”
This man abuses the privilege immediately.
Constantly.
“That is my wife.”
“Have you met my wife?”
“My wife made this.”
“My wife is prettier than all of you, actually.”
Completely shameless.
And every single time he says it, he sounds proud.
Husband Caleb Is Extremely Affectionate
There is no such thing as personal space anymore.
You are getting:
hugs from behind
random kisses
hand holding
forehead nudges
him flopping dramatically onto you when tired
If you walk past him?
He is touching you somehow.
He Makes Home Feel Warm
With Caleb, home becomes alive.
Music playing.
Food cooking.
His laughter from another room.
You hearing him call your name just because he wants your attention.
Everything feels softer when he is around.
He Loves Domestic Life More Than He Expected
Caleb genuinely enjoys doing mundane things with you.
Especially:
grocery shopping
cooking together
late night snack runs
decorating for holidays
arguing playfully over what to watch
He makes ordinary moments feel important.
He Is Protective But Playful About It
Most of the time, his protectiveness comes out as teasing.
“Careful.”
“You are banned from hurting yourself.”
“Do you know how expensive hospital bills are?”
But when something actually happens to you?
The humour disappears instantly.
And that change is terrifying.
He Worries Constantly
Even if he hides it behind smiles.
texts to make sure you got home
reminders to eat
checking if you slept enough
asking about your day in detail
He notices more than people think.
Especially when it comes to you.
He Loves Physical Closeness While Sleeping
Caleb is absolutely the type to:
pull you against him
wrap himself around you
complain if you get out of bed too early
Half asleep:
“Come back.”
And somehow you always do.
Husband Caleb Is Your Biggest Hype Man
This man supports you aggressively.
You mention a goal once and suddenly he is:
encouraging you constantly
bragging about you to others
reminding you how capable you are
No one believes in you louder than Caleb does.
He Is Surprisingly Soft After Arguments
Arguments hit him harder than he lets on.
He hates distance between you.
Even if he is frustrated, he still:
checks if you ate
asks if you got home safely
hovers nearby
And eventually?
He always comes back softer.
“I do not like fighting with you.”
He Secretly Loves Married Routines
Things he pretends not to care about but absolutely does:
wearing matching rings
shared closets
your things mixed with his
introducing you as his spouse
hearing you call him “husband”
It makes him ridiculously happy.
He Gets Jealous More Easily Than He Admits
Not toxic jealousy.
But visible jealousy.
pouting
clinging more
interrupting conversations to steal your attention
If someone flirts with you too much?
Suddenly his arm is around your shoulders.
“Sorry,” he says casually. “Married.”
The smug smile afterward is unbearable.
He Loves Making You Laugh
One of Caleb’s favourite sounds is your laughter.
He will:
tease you
tell terrible jokes
act dramatic on purpose
Just to hear it.
And if you laugh really hard?
He looks at you like he just won something.
Sick Days With Husband Caleb
He becomes unbearably attentive.
making soup
piling blankets on you
checking your forehead every ten minutes
dramatically accusing you of “betraying your immune system”
But underneath the teasing?
He is genuinely worried.
He stays close the entire time.
Underneath Everything…
Caleb loves with his whole heart.
Openly.
Warmly.
Without hesitation.
Marriage with him feels like:
safety
laughter
loyalty
being adored every day without doubt
The kind of love that fills every corner of your life until you cannot imagine loneliness anymore.
Being married to Xavier feels soft in a way that sneaks up on you.
At first, people might think he is distant because of how calm and sleepy he seems sometimes, but loving Xavier means discovering how deeply attentive he truly is.
He loves quietly and once you become his wife, you realise something very quickly.
Xavier is absolutely devoted to you.
He Becomes Even More Attached After Marriage
Xavier already likes being near you
Marriage somehow makes it worse (or better)
Now he has an actual excuse.
“You are my wife. Of course I am here.”
Follows you around the house
Sits close whenever possible
Finds reasons to touch you casually
He just likes being with you.
He Is Extremely Affectionate in Private
This man is clingy when no one else is around.
Not in an overwhelming way.
But in ways such as...
resting against you
wrapping an arm around your waist
burying his face into your shoulder when tired
pulling you into his lap without warning
Physical affection becomes second nature to him.
He Sleeps Better Beside You
Xavier is someone who carries exhaustion deeply.
But beside you? He rests easier.
Sleeps closer than expected
Subconsciously searches for you in his sleep
Likes holding you or your hand under the blankets
Sometimes you wake up and find him wrapped around you like he moved there unconsciously.
Husband Xavier Is Surprisingly Domestic
He likes peaceful routines with you.
Especially...
grocery shopping together
lazy mornings
cooking (he mostly watches you)
folding laundry while talking quietly
slow dancing in the living room
He enjoys ordinary life because it is with you.
He Loves Calling You “My Wife”
Dangerously loves it.
You notice he says it whenever possible.
“My wife likes this one.”
“My wife is waiting for me.”
“I should ask my wife first.”
Every single time, there is this tiny softness in his expression.
Like he still cannot believe he gets to say it.
And he loves it just as much if not more when you call him husband.
He Is Protective
Xavier is gentle.
Until something threatens you.
Then suddenly he becomes...
more alert
sharper
impossible to move away from your side
He never raises his voice unnecessarily.
But the atmosphere around him changes instantly.
He Memorises Tiny Things
Not just important things.
Tiny things...
your favourite side of the bed
which foods you steal from his plate
what expression means you are upset even when smiling
the exact tone your voice takes when tired
He notices constantly.
Even when he seems half asleep.
Lazy Days With Him Are Dangerous
Because neither of you leave the bed.
At all.
You planned to be productive.
Instead...
tangled blankets
sleepy kisses
soft conversation
him pulling you back every time you try to get up
“Stay a little longer.”
And honestly?
You always do.
He Gets Jealous
Xavier jealousy is subtle but emotional.
But you know immediately.
He becomes...
More clingy afterward
Wants your attention more
Holds your hand tighter
Watches people carefully
His tone gets harsh. Just not with you.
And if someone flirts with you too openly?
He slides beside you and says something devastatingly simple like:
“She is married.”
Very calm. Very effective.
He Loves Taking Care of You
Especially when you are tired or sick.
He becomes incredibly attentive...
brings water
makes food
checks your temperature
stays close without hovering too much
And if you try to insist you are fine?
“You do not have to pretend with me.”
That line destroys you every time.
Xavier Is Softest at Night
Late nights with him feel intimate in a different way.
He gets quieter.
More honest.
Sometimes you catch him just looking at you.
Not saying anything.
Just… appreciating that you are there.
When you ask what he is thinking about, he usually answers,
“You.”
Like it is obvious, because to him, it is.
Arguments With Husband Xavier
He hates hurting you. Truly hates it.
So arguments with him are...
quiet
emotional
honest
If he realises he upset you unintentionally, you can visibly see the guilt settle in.
He always wants to fix things.
Always.
He Is Secretly Very Romantic
Not in a flashy way.
But deeply heartfelt.
Things like...
stargazing dates
sleepy forehead kisses
keeping things you gave him
remembering random comments from months ago
getting you flowers
His love feels gentle and enduring.
Underneath Everything…
Xavier loves like someone terrified of losing time.
So he cherishes...
ordinary moments
closeness
warmth
your presence beside him
Marriage with him feels less like dramatic passion and more like,
Summary: Caleb comes home late to find you already asleep.
The apartment is quiet when he steps inside.
Not empty.
Just… still.
Caleb pauses by the door for a moment after closing it behind him. The weight of the day clings to him. The tension in his shoulders. The faint ache that never really leaves. But then he looks up.
The lights are dim. He can see the bedside lap is on, the door to the bedroom is open slightly. The warm light makes him calm.
Home.
You’re already asleep.
He can tell before he even reaches the doorway. The quiet rhythm of your breathing fills the space, soft and steady. You’re curled under the blankets, one arm tucked under the pillow, the other resting on the bed where he should be sleeping.
He leans against the doorframe for a second, just watching.
There is something about seeing you like this that steadies him more than anything else ever could.
“You waited up again, didn’t you?” he murmurs, though he knows you cannot answer.
His voice is quiet not to wake you.
His jacket comes off first, draped over the chair. Then his boots.
He tries to be as quiet as possible. The last thing he wants is to wake you. You look too comfortable like this. He runs a hand over his face, exhaling softly, and then he goes into the bathroom.
The sound of the shower is helps him fully relax. Steam fills the small space as he stands under the water, letting it wash away the dirt of the day. The noise. The tension. The things he does not bring home with him.
He rests his forehead briefly against the tile, eyes closed, he takes a deep breath, then, he turns the water off.
When he steps back into the bedroom, everything is the same. You haven’t moved much. Just shifted slightly deeper into the blankets, your face is half buried now.
“Still out,” he whispers with a smile on his lips.
He dries his hair with a towel, changes quietly, and finally, lies in bed beside you.
The mattress dips under his weight.
You stir a little. A soft, sleepy sound leaves you, but you don’t wake.
“Sorry,” he murmurs instinctively, even though you are not really awake to hear it.
He settles onto his back, one arm behind his head, staring up at the ceiling for a moment.
Then he turns his head slightly toward you.
There is a pause, and then, softly, he starts talking.
“Long day,” he says under his breath. “Everything that could go wrong kind of did. They had me running all over the place. Didn’t get a break until late. You would have told me to sit down and drink some water.”
His fingers drift over the blanket near you, not quite touching yet.
“I did, by the way. Eventually.”
A small pause.
“I thought about you a lot today. Kept thinking about getting back here. To you.”
As if drawn by the sound of him, you move. Slowly, your body turns toward him, and your hand finds his chest.
He goes still immediately.
“Hey,” he whispers.
You make a quiet sound, something halfway between a sigh and a hum, and then you move closer.
Half asleep. Not fully aware, just reaching for him.
You press your face into his chest, your arm sliding across his torso as you settle there where you belong. His hand hovers for a moment before it comes down gently against your back.
“You’re awake?” he asks softly.
You shake your head slightly against him.
“No,” you mumble, voice thick with sleep.
He lets out the quietest breath of a laugh.
“Yeah. Thought so.”
You nuzzle closer anyway.
He shifts just enough to make it easier for you, his arm sliding more securely around you, pulling you against him. Your breathing evens out again almost immediately. But he keeps talking.
“I missed you,” he admits, barely above a whisper.
His fingers trace slow, absent patterns against your back.
“Everything’s just… easier when you’re here.”
You make another soft sound, your hand curling slightly against his shirt.
“I know you can’t hear half of this,” he murmurs, voice softer still, “but I like saying it anyway.”
He tilts his head, resting it lightly against yours.
“You make it feel like I can come back from anything.”
Silence settles again.
Comfortable. Warm.
Your weight against him is grounding in a way nothing else is.
His eyes grow heavier.
But his hand keeps moving, slow and gentle, like he is afraid to stop.
“Get some sleep,” he whispers, more to himself than to you.
You breathe in softly, your fingers tightening just a little where they rest against him.
And that is enough.
His arm tightens around you just slightly.
Protective. Certain.
Caleb presses his cheek against the top of your head, eyes finally closing as the last of the day slips away from him.
He falls asleep with your weight on his chest.
With your breathing steady against him.
With the quiet certainty that no matter how the day goes, this is where he ends up.
Summary: After being badly injured on a mission, your pain triggers memories of a past life with Sylus.
Pain is familiar. You know how to work through it. Ignore it. Push past it until the job is done.
That is what you are doing now.
“Hold still,” someone says, hands pressing firmly against your side.
“I am fine,” you insist through clenched teeth.
“You are bleeding.”
“I have had worse.”
That is also true.
The mission went wrong near the end. Not disastrous, but enough to leave you sitting on the ground, your team moving around you, patching you up while you try to focus on breathing.
It should just be another injury.
Another job.
But something is… wrong.
The pain does not stay where it should, instead it spreads.
Not through your body, but rather through your chest.
“Hey,” someone says, noticing. “Stay with me.”
“I am,” you reply, but your voice sounds distant. Not quite yours.
The pressure against your wound tightens. And suddenly, everything fractures. It is not this pain.
It is that pain.
Your hands are not pressing against fabric and blood. They are against him.
Warm. Fading.
“No,” you whisper, but it is not here. Not now.
The world around you dissolves, replaced by fire and stone and something far older than memory.
His breathing is uneven.
Too slow.
Too weak.
“You are not leaving,” you say, voice breaking. “You promised me.”
“You will live,” he says.
“I do not want to live without you.”
“You will,” he insists gently.
The pain in your chest gets worse, it is unbearable now.
“That is not enough,” you choke out.
“It has to be.”
“Do not leave me,” you beg.
He leans into your touch, just once more.
“I never leave you.”
And then- you gasp.
The present slams back into you, disorienting.
Your body jerks, breath uneven, hands shaking.
“Hey,” your teammate says sharply. “Hey, look at me.”
You do not. You cannot. Because now you remember.
All of it.
The cave. The sky. The way he looked at you as if you were everything. The way he died in your arms. The way you cursed him after, for leaving you behind. Your chest tightens violently. You almost can't breathe.
“I need to go,” you say suddenly, moving to stand.
“What? You are not going anywhere.”
“I need to go,” you repeat, more urgently now, trying to push yourself up.
“Sit down, you are barely patched up.”
“My dragon,” you whisper, more to yourself than to them.
They freeze.
“What did you just say?”
You do not answer.
Because there is only one thought in your mind now. You have to see him.
Now.
You do not remember how you got there. Only that you do not stop.
Pain is still in your side, it is almost getting worse with every movement, but it is nothing compared to the ache in your chest.
The N109 zone is now ahead of you, and soon you see the building, his place.
You reach it, jumping off your bike. Your hand still shakes as you knock.
The door opens almost instantly. Sylus stands there, composed as ever, eyes already scanning you, taking in the blood, the rushed state, the fact that you should not be here.
“What happened?” he begins.
You do not let him finish. You throw yourself into his arms.
Your arms wrap around him tightly, your fingers gripping his shirt as if you are afraid he will disappear if you let go.
His hands come up, steadying you, holding you.
“You are injured, Sweetie, you should not be out of bed, let alone here.”
You shake your head against him, breath uneven, emotion crashing into you all at once.
“My dragon,” you whisper.
Everything stops.
Completely.
His hands go still against you.
Slowly, almost too slowly, he pulls back just enough to look at you.
“Say that again."
Your eyes are wet, your expression is in a way he has never seen before.
“My dragon. You left me. You said you would not, you said I would find you again, but you still left-” your words break as your tears fall. His eyes sharpen, something deep and ancient surfacing all at once.
“You remember,” he says.
It is not a question, but you nod anyway.
“You died. I- killed you. I could not- I could not do anything.”
His jaw tightens, but his arms come around you properly now, pulling you close.
“I told you, that you would find me again.”
“I did not want to wait,” you whisper.
“I know. But it was not our time.”
You grip him tighter.
“I thought you were gone.”
“I am here. You tied our souls, Sweetie.”
You shake your head, pressing your face into his shoulder.
“It hurt. It still hurts.”
His hand moves to the back of your head, holding you there.
“It will. You lost me.”
“You left me.”
That lands. He does not pull away.
“I did not choose to leave you, the people...” he replies. “But, I came back.”
You pull back just enough to look at him, eyes searching his face.
“I found you,” you say.
“You always did.”
This time, when you hold him, it is not just desperation.
Summary: When the reader returns from a mission badly injured, Zayne finds her and, for once, loses his composure.
Zayne is always calm.
You have seen him in situations where anyone else would panic, and he does not even flinch. His voice stays even. His hands steady. His expression unreadable.
That is why you knew you messed up. You did not mean for it to get this far.
The mission was supposed to be simple. Quick. In and out. You have handled worse before, and you told yourself you would be fine.
You were wrong, very wrong.
By the time you make it back, your vision is blurred, your side aches with every breath you take, and something warm is soaking your clothes. You ignore it. You always do.
You just need to sit down. Just for a second.
The door barely shuts behind you before your knees give out.
Zayne was not supposed to be there when you got back.
He told himself he was only stopping by briefly. He needed to know you were back and nothing more.
That is what he tells himself as he unlocks your door.
Then he sees you. On the floor. Not moving.
Everything in him goes still.
Then his doctor senses come in full force.
He is at your side instantly, checking your pulse, your breathing, the source of the blood. His movements are sharp, efficient, but there is something else.
“What were you thinking?” he asks, voice low but tight in a way you have never heard before. Your eyes open slightly.
“Zayne…?”
“Do not speak. You are losing blood.”
“I am fine,” you mumble weakly.
“You are not fine.”
There is no softness in his voice, only fear. Fear he tries to hide for irritation but fails almost immediately.
He lifts you carefully, carrying you to the couch. His hands are steady, but his jaw is tight, and his eyes... his eyes cannot pretend.
“This was absolutely reckless. You pushed beyond your limit again.”
You wince slightly as he presses against the wound.
“It was handled.”
“That is not the point.”
“It worked.”
“That is not the point,” he repeats, sharper this time.
You go quiet, because you have never heard him like this.
He works quickly, cleaning, stitching, and bandaging with precision. The pain disappears almost entirely under his care, your body slowly giving in to exhaustion.
Then, just for a moment, his fingers stop and he exhales. And something in him finally cracks.
“You could have died,” he says quietly.
The anger is gone. What is left is worse. Pain. So much pain in his voice.
You look at him, and see exactly just that. Pain and fear.
“I did not,” you say softly.
“That is not reassuring.”
“I am here.”
“For now.”
The words land heavier than anything he said before. You move slightly, reaching out to touch his wrist.
He freezes.
“You are angry,” you say.
“Yes.”
“But not really.”
He closes his eyes briefly, like he is deciding something.
“No,” he admits. “Not really.”
“You were worried.”
His eyes meets yours. There it is, all in his beautiful eyes. Worry. The fear of losing you.
“You should not put yourself in situations like that. Not without support. Not without telling me.”
“Telling you?” you repeat gently.
“Yes.”
“You care.”
“That is not new.”
“No, but you do not usually say it.”
“I prefer when it is understood.” He exhales slowly, some of the tension leaving him at last.
“It is, but sometimes it is nice to hear.”
There is a moment of silence before he speaks again.
"Do not do that again.”
“I will try,” you say.
“That is not enough.”
You laugh weakly.
“That is the best you are getting right now.”
His lips twitch, just slightly, almost a smile.
“Rest,” he says, adjusting the blanket around you. “You need it.”
You watch him as he moves, slower now, calmer again. The storm has passed, but something has changed.
You saw it and he knows you did.
“Zayne,” you murmur.
He pauses, glancing back at you.
“Thank you.”
He nods once. Then, after a brief hesitation, he pulls a chair closer and sits.
He does not leave, when you wake up he is there, eyes moving in between you and the screen of his phone.
When you wake up you feel a lot better.
"I cooked." he announces and you suddenly realise, you are indeed very hungry.
You got up and headed to the table with him, he did cook. And it all looked very delicious.
"Thank you for the food." you said as you sat down and began to eat. "Won't you join me?"
"I ate before I got here. This is all for you." he replied but he did sit down in front of you.
"All of it? That's too much!"
"The intention was to have some left overs so you can eat them tomorrow."
You simply nodded before continued eating in silence.
Later that night, when he joined you in bed, you were already asleep. You fell asleep while he showered just as he expected.
But, now all he could do is stare at you, as if he stopped you would stop breathing.
"Don't ever do that again, please. I cannot lose you." he swallowed before fully laying down, he pulled you into his chest.
It was as if a memory wanted to emerge, a very painful memory, but he could only feel the pain and the sadness.
Then, he looked down at you and calmed down.
You were there. You were alive. And most importantly, you were in his arms.
Summary: After a draining mission, you collapse into an unplanned two-day sleep, leaving Sylus increasingly concerned.
You do not notice how tired you are until you stop moving.
The mission ends cleanly. No loose ends, no lingering danger, just the familiar feeling of adrenaline fading from your system as you make your way home.
You go through the motions without thinking. Shoes off. Jacket discarded somewhere near the door. A glass of water you barely touch.
You sit down for a moment.
The next thing you know, everything is gone.
Sylus notices when you do not answer.
At first, he assumes you are resting. You had mentioned the mission. He knows how those go.
He gives you time. Then some more time.
By the end of the first day, his messages go from casual to pointed.
Report in.
You are ignoring me.
Kitten.
No response.
He does not like that.
By the second day, he stops pretending it does not matter. So, he does the only reasonable thing, and goes over to your place.
Your place is quiet when he arrives.
Too quiet.
He steps inside, eyes assessing the space quickly.
Nothing is disturbed. No signs of struggle. No danger.
Just stillness.
He finds you in your bedroom.
Curled into the sheets, breathing slow and deep, completely unmoving.
For a second, something tightens in his chest.
He crosses the room quickly, sitting on the edge of the bed, fingers brushing against your wrist. Checking.
Your pulse is steady.
He exhales, a weight falls off him.
“Unbelievable. You sleep for two days and expect me not to notice.”
You do not stir, his voice is low.
Sylus studies you for a moment longer. Your body slacks with a kind of exhaustion that goes beyond simple tiredness.
He knows this look, because he has done this many times.
You pushed too far.
His thumb brushes lightly over your wrist, calming himself that you are there, alive. You are just tired.
“Reckless,” he adds quietly.
He stands after a moment, adjusting the blanket over you before leaving the room.
The kitchen feels too empty.
He moves through it as if he belongs there, sleeves rolled up, hands steady. He chooses something simple. Something you will actually eat when you wake up. Nothing heavy, nothing complicated.
The quiet is now filled with sounds.
Water running. A pan heating. The rhythm of something being made with care. He hums as he moves through your place.
He checks on you twice.
You do not wake up just yet.
When you finally do wake up, hunger hits first.
You groan softly, pushing yourself upright, head still heavy but clearer than before. The room feels different. Not wrong. Just… occupied.
Then you smell it.
Food.
Real food. And it smells good.
You blink, confused, and force yourself out of bed.
The kitchen light is on and Sylus is sitting at the table, phone in hand, scrolling like he has nowhere else to be.
You stop in the doorway.
“You are in my house.”
He does not even look up.
“You are awake.”
“I could call this breaking and entering.”
“You could try.”
You roll your eyes, stepping further in. Then you see the table.
Plates. Food. Warm. Fresh.
You stare at it, then at him.
“You cooked?”
He finally glances up, expression calm, almost bored.
“Do not sound so surprised.”
“I am surprised.”
“You should eat. Before you pass out again.”
You sit slowly, still processing, and pick up the fork. The first bite is almost embarrassing in its sheer goodness.
“Oh,” you mumble, already reaching for more. “That is unfair.”
“I know what you like.”
“Yes, but you did not have to…”
He cuts you off lightly.
“You were unconscious for two days.”
You freeze mid bite.
“Two days?”
“Yes.”
“That explains a lot.”
“It explains your poor decision-making,” he corrects.
You glance at him, narrowing your eyes slightly.
“You were worried.”
“No.”
“You came over.”
“I was in the area.”
“You cooked.”
“You needed food.”
You smile faintly, shaking your head as you take another bite.
“You were worried.”
He exhales slowly, clearly unimpressed with your persistence.
“You were unavailable. That is inconvenient.”
“Kitten was not answering her messages,” you add sweetly.
“Do not start.”
You grin.
The silence that follows is comfortable.
You eat, and he watches without making it obvious, attention flicking back to his phone every so often like he needs the distraction.
“So,” he says after a moment, “the mission.”
You lean back slightly, sighing.
“Long. Annoying. Too many moving parts.”
“And you decided to handle all of it yourself.”
“I handled it well.”
“You handled it recklessly.”
You tilt your head.
“It worked.”
“That is not the point.”
You study him for a second, softer now.
“You always do this.”
“Do what?”
“Pretend you are annoyed when you are actually worried.”
“I am not worried.”
“You checked my pulse.”
He goes very still for half a second. You raise a brow.
“…Habit,” he says finally.
You laugh quietly, warmth spreading through your chest that has nothing to do with the food.
“Thank you,” you say, more serious now. “For this.”
He looks at you then, properly.
“It is nothing.”
“It is not nothing.”
“It is basic care,” he replies. “You should try it sometime.”
You smile.
“I am trying now.”
That seems to satisfy him.
You finish eating, leaning back with a long sigh.
“I feel human again.”
“You looked worse than human,” he says dryly.
“Charming.”
“I am known for it.”
You watch him for a moment, something gentle in your expression.
“You stayed.”
He does not hesitate.
“Of course.”
You nod slowly.
“Next time,” he adds, standing up and reaching for the plates, “you inform me before you decide to collapse for two days.”
“Yes, sir.”
He pauses, glancing at you with a hint of a smirk.
“Careful.”
You grin.
The kitchen fills with the sound of him cleaning up, and for the first time since the mission ended, everything feels steady again.
And you know, even if he will never say it, he will always come when you need him.
Summary: After an arranged marriage binds you to Commander Castin, both of you struggle to understand the other.
The castle wakes early as usual.
Before the sun fully comes out, servants already move through the corridors, lighting fires, opening shutters, preparing the day for those who rule within these stone walls.
You are awake before most of them.
Old habit.
Your chamber is quiet, the curtains drawn just enough to let the dawn inside. From where you sit near the window, you can see the courtyard slowly fill with movement. Guards change shifts. Stable hands lead horses across the yard.
And further away, near the training grounds, soldiers begin their drills.
That is where Castin is.
It is where he spends most mornings.
You watch for a while before lowering your eyes to the book in your hands. You have been staring at the same page for several minutes now without truly reading it.
Your thoughts drift too easily these days.
Mostly toward the same person.
Castin.
Your husband.
The word still feels strange sometimes, even months after the wedding.
Not unpleasant. Just unfamiliar.
The marriage had been arranged quickly.
Suddenly, you were standing before half the kingdom in ceremonial silks, promising your life to a man you had only met twice before.
You remember the way Castin looked that day.
Tall. Composed. Calm in the way soldiers become when they have spent years learning how to carry responsibility without letting it show.
He had not looked unhappy.
But he had not looked particularly pleased either. The alcohol might have helped that part later during the celebration.
The kiss you shared at the end of the ceremony had been brief, careful, and witnessed by an entire hall.
Proper.
Appropriate.
Nothing more.
That had set the tone for most of your marriage since.
You live together easily.
Your rooms, your attendants, and your responsibilities within the court had all been arranged quickly and efficiently.
He is never unkind.
Never dismissive.
Never cruel.
In fact, if anything, he is perhaps too respectful.
There are evenings when you share dinner in near silence, speaking only when necessary. Sometimes he tells you small pieces of his day. A meeting with the king. A dispute among soldiers. A message from a border lord.
You listen carefully every time.
You always respond politely.
You try not to say too much.
You worry you might say the wrong thing.
Across the castle grounds, Castin finishes the final round of training drills with his men.
The morning air is cool, carrying the scent of damp earth and steel.
A younger soldier nearly loses his footing during a sparring match, and Castin catches the mistake instantly.
“Again,” he orders.
The man groans quietly but resets his stance.
Castin watches carefully as the drill resumes. His voice is firm, but not harsh, correcting posture, adjusting technique. The soldiers respect him too much to argue.
Eventually, he dismisses them with a short nod.
As the men disperse, one of the captains steps beside him.
“You should rest, Commander. You have council in less than an hour.”
Castin exhales slowly.
“Yes. I know.”
He wipes sweat from the back of his neck and glances toward the distant castle towers rising above the training yard walls.
Somewhere inside those walls, you are probably already awake.
You usually are.
You keep a routine that rivals most soldiers.
Quiet.
Predictable.
Castin has spent months trying to understand you.
And he is still not entirely sure that he does.
Later that evening, the two of you sit across from each other at dinner.
The chamber is smaller than the grand hall, used only for private meals. Candlelight fills the space, reflecting against polished silver and dark wood.
You sit with perfect posture.
Castin has noticed that about you.
You always seem composed, no matter the situation.
Sometimes he wonders if you ever relax.
The servants finish setting the final dishes before leaving the room.
The door closes.
Silence settles between you.
It is not uncomfortable, exactly.
But it is… there.
You glance toward him first.
“How was the council meeting today?”
Your voice is calm, gentle. It is usually you who deal with those kinds of things, but Castin was specifically requested this time.
Castin takes a moment before answering.
“Long.”
You nod slightly.
“I expected as much.”
He watches you for a moment.
You are beautiful. That much had been obvious from the beginning.
But beauty is not what confuses him.
It is the distance.
You never laugh at his dry remarks.
You rarely show strong emotion.
You are polite. Respectful. Alert.
But sometimes he feels like he is speaking to a wall made of silk.
He does not know if it is because you dislike him.
Or because this is simply who you are.
You notice his gaze lingering.
Your stomach tightens slightly.
Have you done something wrong?
You quickly search your memory, trying to recall the last thing you said.
Nothing unusual.
Nothing improper.
Still, the worry remains.
You have always been told the same thing growing up.
That you are difficult to read.
Too serious.
Too quiet.
Cold.
The word had followed you often enough that eventually you began to believe it.
And now you fear Castin believes it too.
Which makes trying to change feel almost impossible.
Dinner continues quietly for a while.
Eventually, Castin sets his fork down.
“I was thinking,” he says.
You immediately look up.
“Yes?”
“There is little work for me tomorrow morning. Would you walk with me?”
You blink.
“In the gardens.”
The request is simple.
But your heart begins racing almost instantly.
A walk.
Together.
Just the two of you.
You manage to keep your expression calm.
“Of course, I would like that.”
Castin nods once.
“Good.”
For a moment, he studies your face again, as if searching for something he cannot place. Then he leans back slightly in his chair.
Tomorrow, for the first time in weeks, the two of you will walk through them together.
Neither of you knows that the small moment waiting there will change how you see each other entirely.
---
The next morning is calm.
The castle feels quieter than usual, as if the world itself has decided to give the day a small moment of peace. The sky above the inner courtyard is clear.
You meet Castin at the garden entrance just after the morning bells ring.
He is already there when you arrive.
He stands near the archway that leads into the gardens, one hand resting loosely at his side, the other behind his back. He looks far less formal than usual. No armour today. Only a dark tunic and trousers, the sleeves rolled slightly to his forearms.
For a moment, you simply watch him.
He notices you almost immediately.
“There you are,” he says.
His voice is calm, but warmer than usual.
You step closer, folding your hands together politely.
“I hope I did not keep you waiting.”
“You did not, I arrived early.”
You nod once.
Neither of you quite knows how to begin.
Castin gestures toward the garden path.
“Shall we?”
You fall into step beside him.
The gardens are beautiful this time of year.
Flowerbeds stretch along the winding stone paths, colours layered carefully by the royal gardeners. White blossoms climb along the walls. Bright patches of red and gold bloom beneath neatly trimmed hedges.
The air carries the soft scent of roses and fresh soil.
You notice every single one of them.
Your eyes drift from flower to flower as you walk. A cluster of lilies near the fountain. Lavender growing along the edge of a stone bench. A row of small wildflowers you do not recognise.
You want to stop.
You want to lean closer.
You want to breathe in the scent of them properly.
But you do not.
You keep your hands folded and your steps measured.
Castin walks beside you in silence for a while.
He notices the way your gaze moves through the garden.
“You like them,” he says.
You glance at him.
“The flowers?”
“Yes.”
You nod.
“They are very beautiful.”
“You can stop and look,” he adds.
The offer catches you off guard.
“I would not want to delay you.”
Castin raises an eyebrow slightly.
“We are walking,” he says with a small chuckle. “Not marching.”
You almost smile. Almost.
But the moment passes before the expression fully forms.
The sound of crying breaks the quiet.
Both of you stop.
The noise is small but unmistakable.
Castin turns immediately toward the hedge where the sound came from.
“Stay here a moment,” he says.
He steps forward, moving around the corner of the hedge.
You follow a step behind anyway.
A little boy sits on the ground beside the garden wall.
He cannot be older than five.
His face is red with tears, his small hands rubbing his eyes as he cries.
Castin kneels down beside him.
“Hey Bud,” he says gently. “What happened?”
The boy looks up.
He sees Castin first.
The height. The broad shoulders. The deep voice.
His crying grows louder.
He scrambles backwards, clearly frightened.
“I want my mama!”
Castin raises his hands slightly, trying to calm him.
“It’s alright. We can help you find her.”
But the boy shakes his head quickly, panic overtaking him.
Then his eyes move.
He sees you standing behind Castin.
Without hesitation, he runs toward you.
His small hands clutch tightly at the fabric of your skirt.
“Please help me!”
The change is immediate.
You kneel down without hesitation.
Your hand gently brushes his hair away from his face.
“Hey,” you say softly.
Your voice is different.
Softer. Warmer.
Castin notices instantly.
“It’s alright,” you continue, wiping a tear from the boy’s cheek. “You are not in trouble.”
The boy sniffles.
“I can’t find my mama.”
“Well, that is something we can fix.”
And then you smile.
Not the polite expression Castin is used to.
A real smile.
Warm and comforting.
The boy calms almost immediately.
Castin watches you as if someone has just shown him a different person entirely.
You take the boy’s hand carefully.
“What is your name?” you ask.
“Edrin,” he replies quietly.
“That is a very strong name. Edrin the brave.”
The boy looks slightly less miserable now.
“And what does your mama do here?”
“She cuts the plants,” he says.
Castin chuckles quietly.
“A gardener,” he translates.
You nod.
“Well then, Edrin the brave, we will simply walk until we find her.”
The boy squeezes your hand.
“Okay.”
You begin walking slowly down the path.
The child quickly begins asking questions.
“Why are there so many flowers?”
“Because the gardeners work very hard,” you reply.
“Do knights live here?”
Castin glances down at him.
“Some of them,” he says.
“Are you one?”
Castin smirks slightly.
“Something like that.”
The boy studies him carefully.
“You look scary.”
You hide a small laugh.
Castin sighs dramatically.
“I am wounded.”
The boy giggles.
The sound surprises both of you.
Eventually, you reach one of the larger flowerbeds near the far edge of the garden.
A woman kneels there, trimming roses.
She turns when she hears the boy’s voice.
“Edrin!”
She rushes forward immediately, scooping him into her arms.
“I told you not to wander off!”
Then she sees you.
Her eyes widen.
“My lady!” She quickly lowers her head. “I am so sorry. I should not have brought him today, but he was ill this morning and I could not leave him alone. I only turned away for a moment.”
You shake your head gently.
“It is alright.”
She looks surprised.
“He was simply frightened. Children sometimes wander when they are curious.”
The woman nods nervously.
“I promise it will not happen again.”
You smile slightly.
“Just make sure he avoids the wine cellar and the weapon rooms.”
The gardener blinks.
“Yes, my lady.”
You kneel beside Edrin one more time.
“You were very brave today.”
He beams.
You place a small gold coin into his hand.
“All good boys deserve a treat.”
His eyes widen like you just handed him a treasure.
“Thank you!”
Before running back to his mother, he throws his arms around you in a quick hug.
Castin is still standing a few steps away.
Completely stunned.
You and Castin walk back toward the castle in silence.
He glances at you several times.
Each time you look perfectly composed again.
The warm smile gone. The playful tone gone.
It feels almost impossible that the same person exists in both moments.
That evening, you sit across from each other at dinner again.
The candles flicker gently between you.
For a while, neither of you speaks.
Then Castin sets down his glass.
“I have a question.”
You look up.
“Yes?”
“Why were you different with him?”
“With who?”
“The boy.”
You blink slightly.
“I do not understand.”
Castin leans back in his chair.
“You laughed with him.”
You say nothing.
“You joked. You smiled.”
You lower your gaze.
“You held his hand the entire way through the garden.”
Your fingers tighten slightly around the edge of the table.
Castin watches you carefully.
“You have never done any of those things with me.”
The words are not angry.
Just honest.
You take a quiet breath.
“I could help him.”
Castin frowns slightly.
“And you cannot help me?”
“That is not what I meant.”
“Then explain it to me.”
You lift your eyes again.
Your voice is calm, but there is something fragile in it.
“I could help the boy because he needed reassurance.”
Castin waits.
“But with you, I cannot help how I feel.”
The room becomes very still.
Castin’s brow furrows slightly.
“How do you feel?”
You hesitate only a moment.
“I am afraid.”
He looks genuinely confused.
“Afraid of what?”
“Failing you.”
The answer surprises him enough that he leans forward slightly.
“Failing me?”
“Yes.”
You clasp your hands together.
“My whole life, I have been told that I am a cold person.”
Castin immediately shakes his head.
“I do not think that.”
“But many others have. Often enough that I began to believe them. So when our marriage was arranged, I decided that the best thing I could do was be perfect.”
Castin’s voice softens.
“You do not need to be perfect.”
“I know that now,” you reply.
He studies you.
“You said you are afraid of how you feel,” he says slowly.
You nod.
“Because I care about you.”
The admission hangs in the air.
Castin is silent for a moment.
Then he exhales softly.
“You know,” he says, leaning back slightly, “I spent the last several months convinced that you hated me.”
Your head snaps up.
“Hated you?”
“You barely spoke.”
“I was trying not to bother you.”
“You never laughed.”
“I did not want to seem foolish.”
“You always looked so distant.”
“I was afraid you would regret marrying me.”
Castin stares at you for a moment.
Then he shakes his head slowly.
“We have both been very stupid.”
You cannot help it.
This time, you actually laugh. And Castin looks at you like the sun just rose indoors.
Later that night, you stand together on the balcony overlooking the gardens.
For a while you simply look out at the flowers.
Then Castin speaks quietly.
“I misjudged you.”
You turn slightly.
“I thought you were distant because you did not care.”
You shake your head.
“I was distant because I cared too much.”
Castin steps closer.
“I think, that I care more about you than I allowed myself to admit.”
Your heart beats faster.
“You do?”
He nods once.
“Yes.”
For the first time since your wedding day, he reaches for you without hesitation.
His hand rests gently at your waist.
Your fingers curl into his tunic.
When he kisses you this time, it is nothing like the ceremony months ago.
There are no nobles watching.
No expectations.
Just the two of you under the quiet night sky.
The kiss is warm.
Deep and honest.
And when it ends, Castin rests his forehead against yours.
“I think, that we should walk in the gardens more often.”
You notice it through the window first. Small flakes drifting past the glass, turning the city of Linkon into something gentler, slower. You’re still adjusting your coat when there’s a soft knock at your door.
When you open it, Zayne stands there. Dark coat. Gloves. That familiar calm expression that always looks like he’s holding something deeper under it.
His eyes soften the moment they land on you.
“You’re ready,” he says quietly.
It isn’t a question. He always notices everything.
You nod.
“You’re early.”
“I didn’t want you waiting.”
Of course, he didn’t.
He insists on walking, since the restaurant isn’t far. The snow is beginning to settle, dusting the sidewalks in white. The air is cold enough to make your breath visible, but Zayne walks slightly closer than usual.
Close enough that you feel his warmth through the layers.
After a moment, he reaches for your hand.
He does it carefully.
“You’re cold,” he murmurs.
“I’m fine.”
He gives you that look. The one which says he knows better.
Without another word, he removes one glove and pulls your joined hands into the pocket of his coat. The warmth there is immediate, and so is the subtle beating of his heart.
“You don’t have to pretend with me,” he says softly.
The snow catches in his hair. You brush it away without thinking.
He leans slightly into your touch.
The place he chose is small and quiet, all warm lighting and soft music.
It feels homey and warm.
He pulls your chair out.
"Thank you."
Dinner is slow.
He listens more than he speaks. Watches you like you are the only thing that matters in the room.
At one point, you reach across the table and smooth a crease from between his brows.
“You’re thinking too much.”
He exhales softly.
“I’m thinking about how rarely I allow myself evenings like this.”
“Why?”
His eyes meet yours fully now.
“Because if I get used to this. I won’t want to go back to anything else.”
“You won’t have to,” you whisper and smile at him.
He reaches for your hand again.
This time, he doesn’t hide it.
His thumb brushes over your knuckles in slow, absent circles.
When you step back outside, the world has turned white.
Snow blankets the streets. The city feels hushed.
You shiver.
Zayne notices immediately. He always does.
He removes his scarf and wraps it around your neck himself, fingers brushing your jaw as he adjusts it. His touch lingers just a second longer than necessary.
“You should take better care of yourself,” he murmurs.
“You’re doing that for me.”
“I prefer to be thorough.”
You laugh, and the sound seems to warm him more than the coat ever could.
Halfway back, you stop under a lamp. Snow is still falling around you.
“Zayne,” you say quietly.
You step closer. You pull him in by his jacket and kiss him gently. No urgency. No heat. Just warmth.
For a split second, he freezes in surprise.
Then his hand slides to your waist, pulling you closer.
The kiss deepens only slightly, it is full of something steady and certain.
When you pull away, his forehead rests against yours.
“I don’t say this often. But tonight… I’m glad I chose this.”
“You mean the restaurant?”
He shakes his head once, no.
“You.”
The snow continues to fall, but you don’t feel cold anymore.
Not when you’re standing in the warmest place in winter.
Summary: Sylus has a habit of buying everything you so much as glance at.
It all starts with a necklace.
You don't even stop walking.
The diamond display catches the light as you pass the boutique window, and for half a second, your eyes lingers. It is beautiful, delicate, the kind of thing you admire and then forget.
Or so you think.
The next day, Sylus sets a velvet box on the table in front of you.
You blink at it. “What is it?”
“Open it.”
Inside, nestled in silk, is the necklace.
You stare at him.
“You looked at it,” he says simply.
“I glanced at it. I didn't even remember it.”
“You looked at it.”
“Sylus...”
He leans back in his chair, calm and entirely pleased with himself.
“It suits you.”
You try to argue. You really do.
“I do not need another diamond necklace.”
“I know.”
“Then why did you buy it?”
He reaches across the table, brushing his thumb under your chin, tilting your face toward him gently.
“Because you wanted it.”
“I did not say that.”
“You did not have to.”
That should be the end of it.
It is not. It is the beginning.
A week later, a delivery arrives. You open it to find a pair of shoes you had been scrolling past online, hesitating over the price but never adding it to the basket.
Sylus appears in the doorway like he has been waiting.
“I noticed you looking at those on your phone,” he says casually.
You gape at him.
“You weren't even in the room.”
“I do not need to be.”
“And why are there four boxes?”
He smiles.
“Options.”
Inside are the shoes in multiple shades. Beneath them, neatly folded, are matching outfits.
“You bought entire outfits.”
“Yes.”
“Multiple.”
“Yes.”
“So I could choose,” he says, like this is the most reasonable thing in the world.
You drop onto the sofa, half horrified, half amused.
“You cannot just buy everything I look at.”
His expression shifts slightly, something softer beneath the smugness.
“I can.”
That is the problem.
You test him once, purely by accident.
At a showroom, you pause in front of a car. Not even long. Just long enough to admire the colour. Deep, rich, exactly your taste.
You forget about it by the next day.
He does not.
You wake up to him holding out a set of keys.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“Sylus.”
“You liked it.”
“I looked at it.”
“You looked at it,” he repeats, like that proves his case.
You stare at him, then at the keys, then back at him.
“I do not need these things, I just need you.”
That makes him pause.
For a moment, the teasing arrogance fades. He steps closer, sliding his arms around your waist.
“I know,” he says softly.
“Then stop.”
He brushes his nose against your temple, voice low and fond.
“No.”
You groan into his shoulder.
He laughs quietly against your hair.
“I love you, and I enjoy giving you things. Not because you need them. Because I want to.”
“You are impossible.”
“Yes.”
You pull back, narrowing your eyes.
“You are not allowed to buy everything I look at.”
His lips twitch.
“You will have to stop looking at things.”
You swat his chest.
“Sylus.”
He catches your hand easily, kissing your knuckles with exaggerated reverence.
“Fine, I will try.”
“You are lying.”
“I am.”
You cannot help laughing.
Because the truth is, it is not about the diamonds or the shoes or the car in your favourite colour.
It is the way he notices things.
The way he pays attention to the smallest flicker of interest and treats it like a command.
So you wrap your arms around his neck and sigh dramatically.
