What is an adventure, but a story to be told? What is a story, but words to be said? And won't those words fill pages, that will then wait to be read? Just a girl in her 20s using a side blog to share and write!
Summary: When a spike of jealousy drives you from his studio, the dramatic and fiercely devoted Lemurian makes it unapologetically clear that no ancient destiny or fated bond could ever steal his heart from you.
The Lemurian artist’s atelier was usually a sanctuary of controlled chaos, splatters of ultramarine on the hardwood floor, unfinished canvases leaning against the walls, and the scent of sea salt and turpentine heavy in the air.
But today, the air felt suffocatingly crowded.
You sat on the plush velvet sofa in the corner of Rafayel’s studio, a sketchbook open on your lap, though you hadn't drawn a single line in an hour.
Your eyes were fixed on the center of the room.
Rafayel was leaning over a desk, analyzing a set of ancient ruin photos.
Standing right next to him, close enough for their shoulders to brush, was her.
The Deepspace Hunter.
The one everyone in Linkon City talked about.
The girl who shared a mysterious, fated bond with him, who fought Core crises by his side, and who seemed to command his attention effortlessly.
"Look at this layout, Rafayel," she said, pointing to a map. "The flux pattern matches the symbols in your painting."
"Ah, so it does," Rafayel murmured, tilting his head. He flashed that radiant, familiar smile the one that usually made your heart skip a beat.
"You actually noticed? Maybe your eyes are good for something other than shooting wanderers after all."
She laughed, giving him a playful shove. Rafayel caught his balance, his eyes crinkling at the corners.
A sharp, cold knot twisted in your stomach.
It wasn't that you hated her; she was brave, brilliant, and undeniably important.
But watching them together made you feel like an outsider in a world where they spoke a secret language you would never understand.
You were just a normal woman.
You didn't have an Evol that could shatter mountains, and you didn't have a destiny intertwined with the tides.
Quietly, you closed your sketchbook, stood up, and slipped out of the studio door.
You just needed air.
Inside, the playful atmosphere evaporated the moment the heavy oak door clicked shut.
Rafayel’s gaze immediately snapped to the empty sofa.
The warmth in his eyes vanished, replaced by an instant, sharp spike of anxiety.
He looked at the door, then back at the Hunter.
The casual, teasing demeanor he always wore like armor was gone in a flash.
"Rafayel? Are you listening?" she asked, noticing his sudden distraction.
"I need you to leave," Rafayel said, his voice dropping its usual sing-song cadence, becoming suddenly serious, almost fiercely protective.
The Hunter blinked, taken aback. "What? We're right in the middle of analyzing—"
"It can wait," he interrupted, already stepping away from the desk, his fingers anxiously tracing the edge of his paint palette.
"I don't care about the ruins right now. I care about her. Did you see her face? She looked... heartbroken. Because of me."
"She knows we're just working, right?"
"It doesn't matter," Rafayel said, his voice softening, but filled with an intense, unyielding devotion.
"She is my entire world. Every brushstroke I make, every breath I take in this city, it’s all for her. I don't ever want her to feel like she has to compete for my space, or that anyone even a fated bond, even the ocean itself could ever take her place. I love her. Completely, desperately. So please, we're done for today."
Realizing the depth of his emotion, the Hunter raised her hands in defeat, a sympathetic smile on her face. "Alright, alright. Go get your girl, artist."
You were leaning against the stone railing of the balcony, looking out over the glittering Linkon City coastline, when a warm, familiar presence enveloped you from behind.
Before you could turn around, a pair of slender, paint-stained arms wrapped securely around your waist.
A chin rested heavily on your shoulder, and a soft, dramatic sigh brushed against your neck.
"You're cruel," Rafayel whined, his voice a velvety, petulant pout right in your ear.
"Just walking out on me like that? Without a word? Do you know how fragile an artist's heart is? It’s practically shattering into a million pieces right now."
"Rafayel, stop," you whispered, trying to pull away, but his grip only tightened, pulling you flush against his chest.
"I won't," he muttered, his playful tone dropping into something incredibly tender.
He turned his head, pressing a soft kiss to the sensitive skin just beneath your ear. "Why did you leave, hm? Tell me."
"You were busy," you said, looking down at your hands.
"With her. You two have so much to talk about... so much history. I just felt like I was in the way."
Rafayel went completely still.
Then, gently but firmly, he turned you around in his arms so you were forced to look at him.
His violet eyes, usually dancing with mischief, were dark and brimming with an overwhelming sincerity that made your breath catch.
"Look at me," he commanded softly, cupping your face in his warm palms.
His thumbs brushed over your cheeks.
"There is no 'history' in the world that matters more to me than my present with you. Do you really think some ancient destiny could ever compete with how I feel when I look at you?"
"But she's—"
"She is a business partner. A friend. A means to an end," Rafayel insisted, his gaze burning into yours with a fierce, absolute certainty.
"But you... you are my muse. You are the only one who anchors me to this earth. If you walk out of a room, the colors go with you. I don't care about the deep sea, or the stars, or anything else if you aren't by my side. I told her exactly that before I kicked her out."
You blinked, your heart hammering against your ribs. "You kicked her out?"
"Of course I did!" Rafayel huffed, his dramatic flair returning as he puffed out his chest.
"The great Rafayel does not allow anyone to make his favorite person sad. I told her I love you, that you are my entire life, and that she was ruining my atmosphere. She practically fled in terror."
A small, involuntary laugh escaped your lips, the heavy weight in your chest dissolving instantly under his fierce reassurance.
Seeing your smile, Rafayel’s expression shifted.
The intense, desperate lover vanished, replaced instantly by a sly, wicked smirk.
His eyes gleamed with pure, unadulterated mischief.
"Wait a minute..." He leaned in close, his nose brushing against yours, a teasing purr in his voice. "Were you... jealous?"
"I was not," you lied, heating up instantly and trying to push him away.
"Oh, you were!" Rafayel gasped cutely, clapping his hands together as he blocked your escape, trapping you against the railing.
"The fierce, independent girl was actually green with envy over a few silly old papers! Ah, my heart can't take it. You love me that much? You want me all to yourself?"
"Rafayel, shut up," you blushed furiously, hiding your face in your hands.
"No, I don't think I will," he laughed, a melodious, beautiful sound.
He gently pulled your hands away from your face, pinning your wrists loosely beside you, his eyes locked onto your lips.
"If I knew a little jealousy would make you look at me with such fierce passion, I would have invited a whole crowd of hunters over. You're so cute when you're possessive."
"I am going to throw you into the ocean," you threatened, though there was no heat behind it.
"Oh, please do," Rafayel whispered, his voice dropping to a seductive, breathless murmur as he closed the final distance between you.
"As long as you dive in right after me to claim what's yours."
And before you could retort, he captured your lips in a deep, breathless kiss, sealing away every last bit of doubt with the fiery, possessive warmth of his touch.
hello!!! i rlly like ur writing!! can i request jing yuan and mydei with a fem!reader who they’re arranged to get married too who’s distrustful of everyone but slowly falls in love with them? like maybe jing yuan/mydei learn abt the reader’s interests like her fav jewelry and what kind of clothes she likes or her food preferences which she isnt used to being the one receiving affection and is skeptical at first but ends up trusting and falling for them? im a sucker for arranged marriage to lovers ahaha anyway tyy for feeding us so much hsr content im always fed by ur posts
To Be Chosen, Not Commanded
Tags: Mydei x Reader, Jing Yuan x Reader, Female!Reader Arranged Marriage to Lovers, Slow Burn Romance, Reader is Distrustful/Emotionally Guarded, Soft Romance/Emotional Intimacy, Gentle Affection, Mutual Respect, Subtle Flirting, Soft Angst with Comfort, Learning Each Other’s Love Language, Reader Finds Safety in Love, Fluff with Depth.
Warnings: Emotional Guardedness/Trust Issues, Mentions of War/Political Alliances, Implied Past Trauma/Betrayal, Mentions of Death (comrades, past losses), Power Dynamics (though handled with mutual respect and consent), Cultural Displacement/Reader Feeling Like an Outsider, Mild Themes of Isolation.
A/N: God, I love these types of tropes 🙏🙏
The Kremnoan banner never flew at your wedding. That had been your one condition.
You didn't trust Mydei—Mydeimos, as the ancient texts named him. The Last Prince. Guardian of Amphoreus. A legend wrapped in golden armor and red war paint. He was a man burdened by prophecy and war, not fit to share a quiet future with someone like you, let alone a throne.
Yet the alliance between your city and the remnants of Castrum Kremnos depended on this union. So, reluctantly, you said yes.
The first weeks were civil. He never overstepped. He never touched you unless you offered a hand, and even then, his fingers hovered like you were made of ash and might vanish in the wind.
But then you noticed the little things.
At the banquet in Okhema, your favorite drink—appeared quietly beside your plate. Mydei said nothing. But when you looked up, he was already sipping a strange mixture of pomegranate juice with goat’s milk and grated cheese, a flicker of amusement in his golden eyes.
Days later, a gift awaited you in your quarters: a pendant, etched with subtle flame motifs, not gaudy like the Kremnoan jewels you'd always hated, but elegant—crafted in the style of your mother's homeland. A note attached read: "Not all flames burn. Some simply warm."
You found him outside, sparring shirtless beneath the moon, tribal markings alive beneath the sweat of combat. His gaze flicked to you, but he didn’t speak.
You approached. “How did you know about the drink? Or the necklace?”
“I listen,” he said, tone matter-of-fact. “You never speak your trust. So I learned to read the silences.”
That night, when he knelt beside your bed to wrap a protective ward before your journey to Okhema, you touched his shoulder. Just for a moment. A simple press of your palm to armor-worn skin.
“You’re still a stranger,” you whispered.
He nodded, voice low. “Then let me remain one—until you decide to name me something more.”
And you did, slowly.
In firelit war camps, where he combed blood from your hair with patient fingers. In quiet hours when he taught you the names of fallen stars. In the way he never claimed your hand in public, only offering it—every time—with a look that asked, "May I?"
You trusted no one.
Until Mydei proved he was worth trusting—not because of a title, but because he asked for nothing you weren’t willing to give.
When the match was proposed, you thought it a trap.
And when the black tide finally surged, when all of Amphoreus burned behind you, you rode beside him—not as a reluctant bride, but as a queen who had chosen her lion.
Marrying the Divine Foresight? The man whose very title suggested he saw everything—including your vulnerabilities?
You arrived on the Xianzhou Luofu with guarded eyes and a frozen heart. Jing Yuan greeted you with a polite bow, all silver hair and golden eyes too serene to trust.
He didn’t touch you. Didn’t press. He just smiled—the kind of smile that could be a weapon or a kindness, and you couldn't tell which.
He let you keep your own residence. He never summoned you to dinners or ceremonies without a personal message asking for your preference. You hated that.
You were used to men demanding. Kings. Lords. Even supposed suitors. Jing Yuan didn’t demand.
He simply waited.
Until one day, a Cloud Knight appeared at your door with a delicate, custom-embroidered robe. Not in Luofu colors, but stitched with your favorite shade(s) and edged with subtle patterns from your homeland’s flora.
You confronted him.
“Why would you give me this? I never asked for it.”
He was feeding Snowmoon, the rumored lion who immediately curled around your legs, purring.
“I observed you admiring a merchant’s fabric three weeks ago. You ran your fingers over the silk, but didn’t buy it. I asked Tailor Zhen to recreate it.”
You faltered. “Why?”
He didn’t look at you. “You seemed… tired of being unnoticed.”
He was right. And you hated that.
But then it continued.
He stopped your meals from including ginger—you hated ginger, and you hadn’t said a word. He gifted you a hairpin crafted like a quill when he discovered you journaled. He started sending poetry, not romantic, but clever, often teasing, sometimes wistful.
And one night, when you wandered the Luofu gardens and found him asleep against a tree, scrolls scattered and a blade by his side, you sat beside him.
“Why are you so patient with me?”
Jing Yuan opened one eye. “Because I am in no rush to win you—I am only waiting for you to realize you were never alone.”
That night, you stayed. Not out of obligation. Not for the alliance.
But because for the first time, you weren’t being pursued—you were being understood.
And slowly, steadily, you began to fall.
The "Dozing General" never forced you to love him. He simply built a world where you felt safe enough to try.
hello!!! hope you’re doing well!! i’d like to make a request :D
i’d like to request aventurine, jingyaun, phainon and ratio with an S/O who asks for kisses as payment for anything they do for them (ex: “can you grab that box for me?” “that will be 2 kisses!” “aw you made me breakfast?” “yes but you’ll have to pay up 5 kisses to eat it”)
and S/O is an evil capitalist /j so the prices for small tasks keep going up
Interest Rates of the Heart
Tags: Aventurine x Reader, Ratio x Reader, Phainon x Reader, Jing Yuan x Reader, Fluff, Humor, Banter, Established Relationship, Kisses As Currency, Playful Reader, Soft Domestic Moments, Mild Teasing, Light Angst Undertones.
“Hey, sweetheart,” Aventurine’s voice rings out smoothly, as casual as the faint shuffle of cards slipping between his fingers. He’s reclined in one of the lounge chairs, jacket draped lazily over the back, hair a little too perfectly tousled. “Mind grabbing me that folder on the counter? The green one.”
You glance at the folder, not three feet away from him. His smirk deepens as he watches you think.
“That’ll be three kisses,” you say flatly, crossing your arms.
The corner of his lip twitches upward. “Three? For a simple folder?”
“Yes.” You nod solemnly, like you’re running a strict business. “Prices have gone up. Inflation, you know.”
Aventurine chuckles, low and dangerous, like he’s considering whether this game is worth the gamble. “You drive a hard bargain, darling. Are you sure three is the going rate? I’m fairly certain you gave me that same folder for just one kiss yesterday.”
“And yesterday,” you say, walking toward him with mock gravity, “was a sale.”
You snatch the folder and hold it behind your back. “No kisses, no folder.”
Aventurine tilts his head, peacock feather earring swaying. “I could just…take it.” He lunges halfheartedly, but you dodge, clutching the folder tighter. His eyes glint with delight. He loves this — the game, the push and pull, the wager of affection.
“Ah, but then you’d be stealing,” you sing-song. “And thieves pay double.”
He narrows his eyes in mock exasperation. “Five kisses, then? You’re going to bankrupt me.”
You arch a brow. “Oh no, Mr. High-Ranking Executive, whatever will you do? Declare romantic bankruptcy?”
His laugh bursts free, sharp and genuine, before he leans closer, resting his elbow on the arm of the chair. “You’re dangerous,” he says, tone dropping into a conspiratorial whisper. “Almost more dangerous than me.”
“Almost?”
“Almost,” he repeats with a grin.
You finally hand over the folder, and true to his word, he pulls you gently into his lap and kisses you once, twice, thrice… then pauses, lips grazing your cheek. “Hmm. That was three. But you’re still holding out for interest, aren’t you?”
You smirk, triumphant. “Now you’re learning how the system works.”
So he pays the rest, each kiss slow and lingering, until you’ve forgotten the price and he’s long since decided that for once, he doesn’t mind losing a game.
The sun filters lazily through the windows of the general’s office. Scrolls and paperwork pile high, but Jing Yuan is, predictably, leaned back in his chair, golden eyes half-lidded in content drowsiness.
“Could you pour me some tea?” he asks, voice soft as silk.
You lift the teapot, but then pause. “…That will be one kiss.”
One golden eye opens to peer at you, amused. “One kiss for a cup of tea?”
“Two if you want it sweetened,” you say crisply.
He chuckles — that rich, slow laugh that always feels like he has all the time in the world. “Is that so? And how many for breakfast this morning? I noticed the plate waiting for me when I woke.”
“Five,” you reply without missing a beat.
Jing Yuan sits up, resting his chin in his palm, watching you with the indulgent patience of a cat humoring its favorite person. “You drive a steeper bargain than the Commission’s tax collectors.”
“Knowledge of the market is a skill,” you retort, pouring the tea at last. “And I am very skilled.”
He accepts the cup, fingers brushing yours deliberately, and takes a sip. “Mmm. Exquisite. Worth every kiss, I’m sure.”
“Well? Pay up.”
He sets the cup down, stands, and steps into your space with deliberate slowness. “You’ll ruin me, you know. If I pay you in full each time, I’ll never have the energy left to lead the Cloud Knights.”
“That sounds like a you problem,” you murmur, heart quickening as his lips brush your forehead.
“One…” he whispers, moving lower. “Two…” a kiss to your temple. “Three…” a feather-light brush against your cheek.
You’re practically leaning into him by the time he finally claims your lips for the fourth and fifth, slow and lingering. He pulls back, golden eyes warm with amusement. “And there we are. Paid in full.”
You pout. “Interest rates are higher after sundown.”
He chuckles, pulling you into his chest, hand cradling the back of your head. “Then I’ll simply have to stay awake a little longer tonight.”
You’re perched on the stone steps of Okhema’s watchtower, polishing Phainon’s armguard while the warrior himself sharpens his sword nearby. The faint glow of his Coreflame flickers across his features, giving him that almost mythical glow he always carries.
“There,” you sigh, holding up the gleaming metal. “Good as new. That’ll be three kisses.”
Phainon blinks at you, eyes wide with startled amusement. “Three?” he repeats. His voice is soft, almost disbelieving, like the concept of charging him at all is foreign.
“Yes,” you insist. “Polishing armor isn’t free labor, you know. Times are hard.”
A chuckle rumbles deep in his chest. He sets his sword aside and strides toward you, tall frame casting you in shadow. “My dearest… I fear you may one day bleed me dry of affection.”
You smirk, standing your ground. “That’s the plan.”
He kneels before you, reverent as a knight before royalty. “Then who am I to refuse payment?” His lips brush yours once, twice, three times, each one gentle but carrying the unspoken weight of vows and eternity.
When he pulls back, you sigh. “Armor polish used to cost one kiss. You’re lucky I didn’t charge more.”
Phainon tilts his head, smile faint. “And yet, were you to charge me a thousand kisses, I would gladly surrender them.”
That makes your heart stutter. “Careful, I might actually raise the rates.”
“Then raise them.” His voice is steady, sure. “If affection is the currency you demand, then I am already wealthy beyond measure.”
You throw your hands up. “Ugh, stop being so noble about it, you’re ruining my scam.”
He laughs, bright and unrestrained, and gathers you into a crushing hug. “Then allow me this: consider me an eager customer, happy to be swindled.”
Ratio adjusts his spectacles, his hair falling across his eyes as he flips through a stack of notes. His expression is sharp, unimpressed, as always.
“Pass me that book, will you?” he says, not looking up.
You grab the heavy tome, then hold it just out of reach. “That’ll be two kisses.”
He finally looks at you, his eyes narrowing. “Two? For the mere act of handing me a book?”
“Yes.”
He scoffs. “Absurd. Utterly absurd. That’s not even a remotely proportional exchange.”
You shrug. “Supply and demand. You want the book, I demand kisses. Simple economics.”
Ratio pinches the bridge of his nose like you’ve just committed a crime against logic. “You do realize that in this transaction, I hold all the power? I could simply retrieve the book myself.”
“Then you’ll waste valuable research time,” you shoot back. “Efficiency, Doctor. Think of the efficiency.”
His eye twitches. He hates that you’re using his own logic against him. Finally, with a long suffering sigh, he leans forward. “Fine. Two kisses.”
You grin, leaning down to claim your prize. He kisses you quickly, brusque, like he’s trying to get it over with. “There. Happy?”
“Very,” you say sweetly, plopping the book into his hands.
He grumbles, flipping it open. But later, when you fetch him a cup of tea and casually demand five kisses, he doesn’t argue. He just stands, cups your cheek, and kisses you slow enough that you almost forget you’re supposed to be keeping count.
When he pulls away, you whisper, “That was… four.”
His lips curl in a smug half-smile. “Consider it interest. I’ll pay the fifth later.”
“You’re terrible at this.”
“No,” he murmurs, eyes glittering with rare warmth. “I’m simply investing wisely.”
request. ノ anon: helloo if it's right up your alley, could you do a danheng x reader hanahaki au? one where the reader thinks he and someone else have something going on given how caring danheng is through that stoic face of his! but really, danheng is just too kind and you're much too caught up with your own feelings
word count. ノ 3.4k
contains. ノ hanahaki!reader, u and dan heng r both kinda dumb, angst pertaining to the hanahaki trope, you can tell how old this fic is because it's set during the jarilo-vi story quest, some unfounded jealousy of march 7th?, mentions of death and injury and some graphic descriptions of blood and illness
gia's notes. ノ this was the very first request that i ever received on this blog. over a year ago. i drafted this fic and wrote out about 70% of it then let it rot at the bottom of my drafts. anon, you have the patience of a saint if you're still here.
THE MOMENT THAT YOU STEPPED FOOT ONTO THE ASTRAL EXPRESS, you had the sneaking suspicion that you were doomed. Your fate was set in stone as soon as you felt the hard encasing of a seed clutch the walls of your heart in a vice grip when you first laid eyes upon him.
Dan Heng was elusive. The others had been warm in their welcome, but it took the combined efforts of yourself and March 7th to find him hidden in the recesses of the train’s records room. His greeting was a mere nod in your direction before Welt required your presence again, but that’s all you needed.
His eyes were cool, practically piercing through your skin as March 7th ushered you pack to the parlour car, and you felt yourself shiver as his intense stare burned itself into the back of your head.
And while he’s intimidating, sure, that’s not why you stayed away from Dan Heng. He had a cold and callous exterior that you had never seen crack, yet all the same you had felt the start of a crush start to take root.
And this may not have been a problem at all if it weren’t for two details that were like a slap to the face for you.
One, you were fairly certain that Dan Heng had his eyes for March 7th.
And two, if your crush didn’t return your feelings, you would die.
It wasn’t a case of exaggeration, either. You had been aware of the fact that to develop feelings for someone was dangerous, as it had been drilled into you from a young age by your parents. They had gripped your hands, steering you away from other children with little more explanation than that, always chastised you for wanting to forge a human connection, keeping you isolated from the world around you, better safe than sorry.
And you had felt so alone.
Being forced to live a life in confinement was not an easy one, and despite your parents’ wishes, you had told them of your plan to to finally go out into the world, to live a life from experience and not watching it unfold as an impassive reader of a book or on your phone screen, danger be damned.
So it wasn’t really your fault that you had been so quick to develop those feelings that had been so often described in the books you read, as an explosion of butterflies erupted within you upon meeting someone else, another person for the first time.
And yet you found yourself in the same predicament- a watcher from afar. The heart wants what it wants was a bitter mantra that seemed to enjoy your misery as you watched March 7th excitedly chatter with Dan Heng, and you could have sworn the man even cracked the smallest of smiles at whatever she was saying. And really, could you blame him for it? March was kind, bubbly, outgoing- a perfect match for the stoic and seeming immovable Dan Heng.
It was more common sense than pessimism that had you concluding that you didn’t really stand a chance for his affections against someone like her. You doubt that Dan Heng even looked at you more than he had to. You, so secretive and elusive that you gave him a run for his money; and two similar poles never attracted each other. It was a funny hand that fate had dealt you, but you had to play with those cards regardless.
As if to mock you, you ducked away from the outskirts of the room, feeling a coughing fit coming. You had barely made it to your room before you doubled over, feeling your insides run ragged by the prickly thorns of the rose bush that grew inside you.
A single bloodstained petal fell into your palm.
Besides the quickly growing issue that you refused to acknowledge, life on the Astral Express wasn’t awful. You hadn’t yet confided in anyone about your condition, so to speak, and not entirely because you didn’t want to. To be completely honest with yourself, there was much that you didn’t know about it.
And so you timed it well- you waited for the subject of your affliction- for Dan Heng to leave his unofficial bedroom before you slipped through the door into the records room, desperate to find any sort of information that might help you find some sort of cure.
There was a small computer in the corner that you quickly typed your symptoms into- flower. unrequited love. coughing fits. You didn’t know if the single digit of entries was a cause for concern or not, but your brows furrowed as you began to scan through them. The number of obituary entries that were listed on this one document alone was making you shiver. You clicked out of it, about to open the next one before the door sliding open had you starting like a frightened animal.
Dan Heng strolled in, eyebrows shooting up to his hairline as he registered that you were in the room, in his room. He spoke your name, softly, as if trying not to scare you further. You would have said something, honestly, if it weren’t for the sudden explosive coughing fit that came on a lot quicker than usual.
You could barely get a word out before you were bent over from the force of your coughs, tears pricking your eyes from the newfound intensity of the pain coming from inside you. Despite your hands clasped over your mouth, a couple of petals escaped and fluttered down to the floor, some distance between you and the horrified Dan Heng.
He was frozen in place, fingers itching to reach out to you and comfort you, but with the way you practically flinched away from him, he wasn’t sure if his presence was wanted. He barely caught a glimpse of your pained face before you darted around him and back to your own room on the train.
Dan Heng scrubbed a hand over his face in frustration at his inability to act, before his attention diverted once again to the bloody petals on the floor, and the files on the record searcher that you hadn’t completely closed. He cast one last guilty glance back in your direction before heading closer to the screen and beginning to read.
The Trailblazers’ journey must progress, and your heart hammered for another reason other than a sighting of the raven-haired male who you still harboured feelings for. You had ultimately left your home to explore the world, and with the Express finally stopping at the planet Belobog- your promise to yourself was a step closer to being fulfilled. You disembarked alongside Stelle and March, doing your best to avoid Dan Heng like the plague ever since that fated day. You didn’t know how much he exactly knew, but you had no intentions of finding out.
Your plans of peaceful exploration, however, were short lived with the arrival of Silvermane guards to greet you. In the chaos of the smoke, it was not lost on you that Dan Heng had instinctively protected March, practically shielding her with his body. As Stelle dragged you along some backway path in pursuit of some mystery saviour, you felt the excruciating addition of a new thorn in your heart.
The adrenaline of the escape had worn off by now, and you could feel your secret threatening to spill over any second now. You could barely warn Stelle to let you move off to the side before you were keeled over, closer to gagging than coughing as a large ball of petals and dark, dark blood forced its way through your throat. You felt faint, barely registering the panicked calls of your name as you felt your world turn sideways, Stelle’s face and voice being quickly replaced by another deeper one, with fear in their eyes and a certain desperate edge as you felt yourself slip into unconsciousness.
It's a dreamless sleep, yet it isn't restful, judging by how you feel like you've been hit by a bus when you sit up. Every fibre of your being aches, and there's a harsh overhead light that dazzles you as you blink awake.
As your eyes grow accustomed to it, there's a surge of panic as you don't recognise your surroundings. It looks like a clinic of some sorts- and there was the cloying smell of chemicals that invaded your nostrils. You struggled to sit up, until you felt a hand place itself gently against your chest.
A dark-haired woman with a doctor's coat smiles down at you warmly, and you eye her warily.
"Who are you?"
"My name's Natasha, I'm a doctor in the Underworld. Try not to move around too much, dear. You've been unconscious for quite some time and your condition is unstable, you still need rest."
"Where's the people that I was with?"
"They've all awoken a few hours before you." She casts a quick glance at the clipboard in her hands, as if to fact check herself, giving herself a quick satisfactory nod. "Don't worry, you haven't been abandoned. They should be just outside. The young man sat by your bedside while you were unconscious only left a few minutes ago- he got whisked away by one of my... colleagues."
Your mind's racing now, wondering who she could be talking about. Hoping that it was who you thought it was. But she reiterates her request to lie back down, and you comply begrudgingly. You start to settle down, until you catch a glimpse of the mess lying atop your blankets. A visceral combination of blood and crumpled petals rest upon the fabric, and you watch the doctor's expression become grave.
"That is the unstable part of your condition that I wanted to discuss." She pulls up a chair besides you, settling neatly, hands folded in her lap. "How long have these symptoms been ailing you?"
You furrow your brows, recalling how they started a mere month or two ago, after you joined the Astral Express. After you met him.
"A couple of months." Natasha nods, a frown forming on her face again.
"Considering how quickly it has developed, I imagine that your case is rather severe." You shrug, a humourless smile on your face.
"There's not much that I can do about it, Doc."
"I'm sure that you're aware of the risks that come with a confession, but as a bystander rather than a doctor, I think that you should talk to him."
"Who?"
"The man who refused to leave your side for all of these hours."
You hoped that Natasha was right. Deciding to ignore her advice of continued bed rest, you force yourself up, walking out of the clinic in search of him. Welt was no young man, and there wasn't anyone else that came to mind based off of Natasha's description. It couldn't be anyone else than him, right?
You stumble out onto the streets of the Underworld, garnering a few odd looks from passerbys as you wander around, looking for not just Dan Heng but anyone that you recognised.
You round a corner, seeing the back of a head and clothing that looks an awful lot like him. Who you're planning to confess to. You call his name, out loud, voice a little hoarse.
And he turns, beautiful crystalline eyes meeting yours. Call it a trick of the light, but you could have sworn that they shone a tad lighter when he saw you. But your gaze drifted past him, and all bubbling hope was quelled once again in your heart as you recognised the figure of March 7th stood with him.
Of course he would be with her.
If you looked closer at the pair of them, all signs indicated an intimacy to them that made you feel sick. There was a serious look on her face, one of her hands rested against his arm, but she soon recognised you too, her face instantly perking up as she began to ran towards you, calling your name.
"You're finally awake, you're OK!" she calls out in delight, her arms wrapping around you as she practically barrels into you, threatening to knock you off balance. You stumble, returning the hug, the nausea turning to guilt as you remember how the girl has been nothing but good to you. Of course Dan Heng would harbour feelings for her, not you.
The Doctor's order was wrong.
You sigh to yourself in defeat, unwinding your arms and shooting March 7th the best smile that you could muster in the moment.
"I feel better, but I'm still feeling weak so I might go back to the clinic."
March 7th frowns, eyes scanning your figure in concern.
"Are you OK, Y/N?"
"Do you want me to walk you back?" You twitched, not even realising that Dan Heng had caught up to the pair of you. He was also looking at you with concern, and you could feel an onslaught of petals coming.
"No, it's fine, I'll go back on my own." You don't really give either of them the chance to respond, spinning on your heel and trying not to run back from where you came.
You felt... worse. Before, you had at least been able to function, but now you felt so much limper, and weaker. You cursed at yourself for allowing false hope to be instilled, just as the coughing begins. It wracks through you, so hard that you almost dry heave as you keel over, and you watch in horror as you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand and see it come back crimson.
At least the clinic was around the corner.
You barely make it inside, unable to stand up straight by this point. Natasha springs to action, helping you back into a bed, helping you through the worst of the coughing. It's so much more draining than before, and you're quick to fall into a fitful sleep.
Even unconscious, you don't get a reprieve. Even in your dreams, he's all you can think of. There's a spitting image of him stood before you, eyes soft and voice like honey as he calls out to you, hands outstretched. And you try to join him, fingers straining to touch his before you watch them turn into branches and flower before your very eyes. You look down, and it hurts, with brambles wrapping themselves around your middle. And just as fast as they grow, your new floral appendages wilt before your very eyes. Branches drooping, flowers losing their hue, and you feel yourself start to fade, his name one last desperate cry from your lips.
You wake up, tears staining your cheeks and you trembling. For a few panicked seconds, you think you're still dreaming because he is here, sat by your bed, and as he stands up to wipe your tears you shrink back in fear of turning back to branches again.
But his warm palm cups your face, solid against your trembling state, deft thumbs wiping away your tears, an uncharacteristically soft hushing and cooing coming from Dan Heng as he promises you that everything is okay now.
It's easy to believe him, with the way he moves even closer to hold you, cradle your form against his warmth, patting your hair and letting you cry until you can't any more amidst the petals on your bedsheets.
You don't know how long the pair of you stay like this, your face pressed into his chest, his heartbeat leading yours back into the range of one at rest rather than its prior pounding against your ribcage. You would stay there for the rest of time, if you had a choice, but you had to admit that the oxidation of blood and its drying against your skin was making you feel ever so slightly uncomfortable.
You clear your throat, as best as you can in your hoarse state, and Dan Heng picks up on your withdrawal as he all but flinches away from you, returning the distance that usually lies between your two bodies. But his eyes still scour your figure, your face, for any and all signs of discomfort. Like a lover would. The thought melds with the already-bitter taste of blood residing against your tongue, and you frown down at your lap. At the petals. At your pathetic form lying beneath the blanket, obscured from view.
“How long has this been happening for?” Dan Heng sounds so timid, as if he were walking on glass sheets around you. Ever since that fateful day in the records room, it felt like he had done nothing but tiptoe and tread around you, a careful dance of avoidance that you were forced to be his partner in. You sigh deeply, a hand gingerly beginning to gather the gorey sight of such beautiful pink marred by the visceral crimson that remained, not yet dried.
“I’ve had it all my life, apparently, but it only started making itself known once I joined the Astral Express.” Once I met you.
“I, um- I looked into it more. In the records.” His admission made you snap your head up to face him, cautious of his next words, whatever they may be. He looked nervous himself, with eyes that refused to meet yours and fingers that twisted into his clothes, toying with the hem of his jacket.
“I read of many such cases where people were able to make a full recovery.” He sounds so hopeful, even daring to meet your eyes, that you almost feel bad for him. It was like looking back at a past version of yourself, so hopeful for a happy ending that once sparkled in your eyes, now a dull flicker you can see when the lighting is just right.
“It’s not that simple, Dan Heng.”
“What do you mean, it said that there weren’t any later cases of symptoms returning-”
“That’s because it’s not an illness from the body.” You’re snappier than you intend to be, you see it in the way his mouth snaps shut and his throat bobs against his collar, as he sits up straighter, waiting for you to continue. “The only cure is to confess to the person that I love.”
“And why haven’t you?” His voice is barely above a murmur, and even from his place in the seat next to our bed, you hear him just fine.
“Because I’m sure that he has eyes for another.” You’ve collected all the petals in your palm by now, observing them with a dry humour as you notice that they’ve begun to wither, much like yourself. You doubt that you could go on much longer after this conversation. Part of you urges to get it over with, to confess now and let yourself bloom with one last glance upon his face.
Dan Heng must have scoured each and every record, because you didn’t need to offer an explanation of what would happen with such unrequited feelings. He’s silent again, an awkward and palpable tension as you can feel his confliction from here.
He finally manages a lame “you never know” that has you laughing, a brief reprieve before you dissolve into another coughing fit. It’s hardly something to worry about, but Dan Heng is by your side again, palm smoothing over your shoulder blades as you are wracked with coughs. You appreciate it nonetheless.
“What would happen if someone else confesses to you?” You shoot him a sideways glance, confusion written all over your features, urging him to elaborate. “What if you held no feelings for them, but they confessed to you all the same. Would that cure you?” He’s earnest now, hands scooping up your dirtied ones, clasping them in his grasp as he looked at you with stars in his eyes.
Your shrivelled heart begins to beat again.
“What- what do you mean?” Play dumb. Don’t mistake curiosity for what you desire most.
“What if I told you right here and now that I love you?” His eyes are searching yours, pleading with you for an answer that you’ve been screaming at him for so long. One that he does not have to search for, because it’s been laid there at his feet this whole time.
“I would tell you, Dan Heng, that such a confession is not unrequited.” You’re grinning now, the smile on your face growing wider and wider as you watch recognition flood his features.
And then he’s smiling too, laughing, holding you ever closer to him before he pulls away again, just to cup your face now. It’s only natural to close the distance between the two of you, lips touching his for a kiss that quickly becomes searing, welcoming a new season of heat into your body.
The thorns in your heart reside. Spring begins to bloom.
➤ IF YOU LIKED THIS, TRY ... enjoy the silence
roommate!dan heng x reader
➤ alternatively, you can find my hsr masterlist here!
Mini masterlist of Should Have Been Me (Zayne x Twin!Non-MC Reader) and It'll Always Be You (Caleb x Twin!Non-MC Reader)
Back to main masterlist
MDNI! This is my original work. Please do not post to another site or to AI. Thank you and happy reading!
Summary: He always kissed you with someone else in mind. Zayne was a doctor, believing that he was giving you a second chance at life by removing himself from your heart. But, it was Caleb who helped you heal and always made you feel like his first option. He always kisses you like you've never left his mind.
TW/Tags: Implied smut, angst no comfort, miscommunication (no communication), swearing. Fem!Reader (she/her pronouns used, but mostly "you"). Twin!Non-MC Reader. Smut (later in upcoming parts), fluff, bantering, very small bit of angst and comfort, besties-to-lovers, Caleb calls Reader "doll" and "angel", Reader has lip piercings
Should Have Been Me (Zayne x Twin!Non-MC Reader) | Angst, no comfort, memories of a smut, [completed]
Pt. 1
Pt. 2
Final Part
It'll Always Be You (Caleb x Twin!Non-MC Reader) | Fluff, smut, slight hurt/comfort, best friends-to-lovers
“So you hate me.” Xavier huffed, his chest slightly puffing your as his arms were crossed. “Babe, I was just telling Charlie where the post office was.”
You sighed, trying not to laugh at how absurd your usually calm boyfriend can get when he’s jealous. “He should know by now, or use Google Maps, or not pester my girlfriend.” He looked out the window, staring at the unsuspecting neighbour that was still lost despite your directions.
“Xavier, we have to be nice to our neighbours, right?” You cooed, almost mockingly like he was a child. “I’ll be nice, just not to him.” He mutters.
“Y’know when we’re nice, he gives us free bread, isn’t that good?”
“You want free bread? Fine, I’ll make it-“
“NO. I mean.. no that’s not what I meant.” But you could tell Xavier’s expression was fading, and he was tuning out like he always did when he felt upset. And your heart ached. “Baby, I didn’t mean to hurt you with your cooking skills.” “It’s not that.” He whispered, so silent that you almost missed it.
He reached out for your hand, squeezing it. “I just wonder if you think him or lumiere or anyone is better. Or if you’d be nice to me if I wasn’t..me.” You cradled his face, and wiped away a stray tear from his eyes.
“Does it really bother you that much?” You asked softly.
“I really try, star. But you’re the sweetest ever, a literal angel, and I’m here. Just a hunter.”
“Xavier.. I don’t want a man who just makes bread like Charlie, or a man who hides his identity like Lumiere..” you pecked a kiss on his lips.
“I want Xavier who sucks at cooking, the best at cuddling and who is the calm when everything is hell.” He sniffled.
“I want my Xavier who plays video games with me, and who pretends I don’t steal his hoodies. And who treats me like I’m fragile.” His azure eyes glimmered as they slowly looked into yours. “Promise?”
“Forever.”
I dont really write for Xavier but ugh he’s so cute I love him. But this is also a little announcement that my writing for LADS will decrease. I will continue to write for Caleb the most though. But I find myself more focused on JJK now. Who knows, this blog might me jjk centric or not. Buh bye!!
Taglist!! (I found my old taglist before I lost it, please comment if you do not wish to be on this taglist anymore). @stoopywalnut @diorvanrouge @liaiila @loreleis-world @weebausarus @needsumcomfypillowstosleep @jsprien213 @gvillot1ne @gojoswaterbottle @leeny-leens @nm4565natty @sleepinginspace00 @penutbuttervan @pxdovahkiin @sy1us-space @someonestopsoren @leiakitty @raestrawberry @winterinsept @im-just-148cm-midget @whistlingjudge @cielphanthomhivesimp @vinnox @safii7
˚˖𓍢ִ໋🦢˚ — across from you now, the empty seat isn't empty anymore. "i know i messed up," they say, barely meeting your eyes. "i'm so sorry i left you waiting. can you forgive me?"
wc. 5.2k words
⋆˚꩜｡ cast — xavier, rafayel, zayne, sylus, caleb, valko
⋆✮⋆ PART 1 HERE!
🔖 tags — lads x non mc reader! comfort, mentions of blood, guns, injuries, curses thrown everywhere
a/n: please please please listen to "why you wanna fight by bruno mars" lmao it was on loop making this
݁ ˖Ი𐑼˖⋆ XAVIER
You felt the bed dip beside you as you woke up, you flatter your eyes open and see Xavier beside you.
Remembering the events that unfolded last night you immedietly turn away but he caught you before you can turn your back.
"Star, can we talk? please?"
As you got up, you can see his disheveled face. Your eye also caught a tray nearby and you assumed he made you breakfast in bed.
You sighed as you look at him in the eye.
"I'll give you 5 minutes to speak, If what you did last night was forgivable—I might stay."
Relief immediately flashed in his eyes, He grabbed your hands and put in near his chest.
"Star..I'm so sorry for letting you sleep last night with doubts, It was never my intention at all—I swear I had it on my schedule and training just got long and I dozed off, when I realized I overslept I immedietly went to get your gift from MC."
"Gift? what gift?"
"It was supposed to be a surprise when we got here but everything got so late and I'm so sorry for ever hurting you my love, It would never be my intention."
He flashed you a quick smile and as you look on the corner of your room there was a home base setup and a playpen next to it, and the middle of it—was a white bunny wearing a purple tie.
"Xavier…"
"Hmm?"
"Is that a bunny?"
"Yes—"
You immedietly ran to the playpen as you took the small bundle of fluff and took a good look at the animal, you've been begging your boyfriend to adopt a pet. You told him any pet would be okay as long as it resembled him.
As you play with your bunny more, you felt him crouch beside you—you stilled, not quite sure if you forgive him just yet.
"I know I messed up and I promise to make up for it. I cleared the whole week for us two and I planned a vacation to the beach so we can spend time together, and to erase any more doubts you might have in that pretty head of yours—the bunny came from MC."
You look at him one last time, sighing as you take his hand. He smiled and kissed the back of your palm.
"I promise to make it up to you."
"And set alarms?"
"That too."
You both shared a laugh, as you play with the new addition to the family—as Xavier plans your itinerary for the whole week.
𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 RAFAYEL
You threw the last tissue from your tissue holder at the filled trashcan across the room, reaching for the thermometer from the table—the results still stayed the same. The little beep still confirmed that you are— unfortunately still sick.
The ringing of your doorbell made you groan, assuming it would be one of your friends since you messaged—no begged one of them to get you medicine. You bundled up your blankets til you reach the ground still dizzy as you use every doorway, table and chair to get you to your front door.
As you open the door—purple hair greeted.
Fuck, you really should've looked at the intercom.
"Raf I'm not in the mood."
You began to close the door when he blocked it using his arm.
"Cutie please hear me out—you can throw me out once I tell you what happened."
"I don't really wanna hear anything you sa—"
You said as a cough immediately cut you off, Rafayel used this to opportunity to open the door before immediately diving in with his knees as you began to lose your balance.
"Honey, I know what I did was terrible. The sea's would even agree with you."
As he pointed to the non-stop rain that was going outside.
"But I promise I never intended for any of it to happen! And I don't have any excuse for my mistake. I set every calendar and alarms because I know how important it would be to us. If I could do it all over again I would've went to you first thing in the morning. Please believe me on this."
God he looked like he wanted to cry.
You let out a few coughs before Rafayel guided you to the kitchen and grabbed you a glass of water.
"Raf…I can do it myself."
"Love I'm already a bad boyfriend for letting you get sick in the first place, please let me take care of you."
You sighed as you know there was no getting out of this.
"Cutie please just rest, I promise to be here when you sleep up and when you wake up."
The rain hadn't let up by the time he got you settled on the bed, three blankets deep like an eggroll with a cold cloth on your forehead.
"You're staring," you mumbled, eyes half-closed.
"I'm sorry cutie." Rafayel was perched on the edge of the bedside table.
You wanted to stay annoyed at him—you'd earned the right to, after being alone and feverish while he was off spending time with someone else—but the guilt on his face was so plain it was almost funny. Rafayel, who never apologized for anything without turning it into a performance, hadn't cracked a single joke since he walked in.
"You missed the date," you said quietly. Not accusing, just tired.
"I know." His jaw tightened. "And I'll spend the rest of it making up for it, if you let me. Starting with—" he stood, already moving toward your kitchen, "—soup. Do you have soup? You don't have soup. I'm making you soup."
"Raf."
He was already standing up purple hair flowing in all places—un-styled.
"Sleep. I'll be quick."
The door clicked shut behind him. You listened to his footsteps fade down the hall, the rain still hammering the window, and let your eyes fall closed—half annoyed, half something warmer you didn't have the energy to fight tonight, believing that he might deliver to his promise, you closed your eyes.
⎚-⎚ ZAYNE
The lights immediately blinded you as you opened your eyes.
"You're awake!" The nurse said as her eyes widens, she went out and called someone—a doctor you assumed as she asks you questions.
"Okay Miss, I'm going to ask a few questions okay?"
"I already know the drill"
The poor soul looks done with you but she still needs to do her job. After you answered all her questions right, the door immediately opened as you saw the visual of your boyfriend looking extremely disheveled, with his sleeves not looking as neatly as they did always, his hair looks like he ran through it with his hands a hundred times.
He immediately relaxed with the sight of you sitting up and coherent.
"My love, are you doing alright? What happened? Why were you hurt?"
"You should go to your other patients." You said coldly.
"I believe that wasn't my question Y/N."
You ran through your hair as you look at him with frustration—the look on your face says it all, you were upset and he doesn't even know why.
"Look, I get it—I'm not half as important as your patients. I can deal with this myself."
Zayne's face contorted to confusion then hurt all-together.
"What are you saying?"
"What I'm saying is, I got here hurt and bloodied expecting—praying that maybe one of your colleagues would patch me up! I was expecting myself to say sorry for being late because I accidentally hurt myself! but what I got here is you! you weren't even getting ready and I pushed all of it aside then I heard you you'll deal with us later, is that all I am to you? someone you can keep waiting?"
Tears were falling down your eyes as you exploded, this wasn't usual for you but you were so hurt and so dissapointed that you wanted answers, you wanted assurance from your boyfriend.
He immediately held your hand, as you exploded. Using his evol to cool you down while you were sobbing, he laid pecks and kisses throughout your whole palm right down to your wrist.
Zayne pressed another kiss to your wrist before finally lifting his head, his sea-glass eyes meeting yours.
"Let me explain," he said quietly, "Please."
You sniffled, saying nothing as you look at him—taking everything in you not to pull your hand away.
"Twenty minutes before you arrived, a transplant patient—MC was in the ICU…she started rejecting the organ. Sudden hemorrhaging. I was the only cardiothoracic attending on the floor and I was her primary physician as well." His thumb traced slow circles over your knuckles, grounding himself. "The 'I'll deal with it later'—that wasn't about you. Dr. Alvaro asked if we were still doing the case review after rounds. I said it without thinking—I didn't even hear Grayson because I had a phone in my hand, they were paging me non-stop after that my mind was already in that operating room."
Your breath hitched. "Then why didn't you just—"
"Because two minutes after that, someone said your name." His jaw tightened at the memory. "I heard the word 'Unconscious' and 'Y/N' in the same sentence, and I don't remember walking out of that ICU. I don't remember if I even scrubbed out properly. I just remember thinking I couldn't be the one to look at you like a patient — that if I saw you hurt and had to be clinical about it, I might lose my mind."
He finally looked up, and for a man who dealt in life and death every day with a steady hand, he looked almost lost.
"So I sent Nurse Lin in first. I told myself it was so you'd get looked at faster. But really — I think I was scared. Scared that if I walked in and saw you bleeding, I wouldn't be able to hold it together long enough to help you."
"You could've just told me that," You whispered.
"I know." He brought your hand up again, resting his forehead against it this time instead of his lips. "I'm sorry, You have every right to be angry. But please know I would never hurt you."
You let out a shaky breath.
"I thought... I don't know what I thought. That I wasn't a priority. That you'd rather be anywhere else."
"There is nowhere else I would rather be than right here," he said, voice low and certain, the kind of certainty he usually reserved for diagnoses. "You are not someone I keep waiting, Y/N. You are the reason I run."
Zayne rose slightly, pulling her gently into his chest, careful of your bandaged arm, and just held you there.
"I promise to never make you feel that way again my love."
✮ ⋆ ˚｡𓅨 ⋆｡°✩ SYLUS
You didn't go back to your shared quarters that night. Instead, you took the spare room near Luke and Kieran's, ignoring their wide-eyed panic when you dropped your bag by their door and simply said,
"I'm staying here tonight."
"Miss—I don't think you should—Boss is going to kill us," Kieran whispered frantically getting you to sleep at your room with Sylus.
The first text came an hour later.
sylus
Where are you.
You didn't answer.
Then.
sylus
It's not what you think.
You scoffed at that text—Yeah sure.
You didn't answer that one as well.
By morning, there were twenty missed calls and voicemails ranging from sly to irritation to worry. Though you weren't in the mood to parse the difference. You went about Hunt business like normal, but this time you it was apparent you were upset.
As you look at the Wanderers, you didn't bother to clean your mess up. Even though you were always particular with this part of the job.
When Sylus tried to approach you in the briefing room, you addressed Kieran instead, asking him to relay the mission details "since apparently that's how we're doing things now."
You immediately saw how his jaw tightened.
This went on for two days. You redirected his calls to Luke. You sent mission reports through Kieran. You ate meals at different times, timed almost surgically to avoid him — and for someone who ran half of N109 Zone with terrifying efficiency, Sylus looked, for the first time in longer than you could remember, completely out of his depth.
On the third night, you found him waiting outside your door. Not smug. Not composed. Just leaning against the frame like he'd been standing there a while.
"This is childish, even for you kitten." he said, but there was no bite in it.
"So is leaving someone waiting for hours and not saying a word," you replied, arms crossed. "Funny how you only noticed the silence when it was coming from me."
Something in his expression cracked—just slightly.
"I know I messed up Sweetie. I'm asking you to let me explain, not disappear on me for three days."
"You disappeared first."
He sighed, as he suddenly carried you with ease. You took it as a sign to shuffle but his hold on you was incredibly tight, to the point that you can't even use your evol to disarm him.
He took you to his room, Luke and Kieran giving you a smile with sweat beading down their faces when you saw them in the hallway.
As he set you down on the bed you began talking.
"What do you want Sy? I don't want to waste my time."
"I have all the time in the world to keep you here sweetie."
Frustrated you glared at him "You could've explained days ago," you finally said.
"I tried calling. You didn't want to hear it."
"Because you didn't even try before that! You just left me sitting there for hours, and the first thing I see when I finally track you down is you getting cozy with someone else! like I'm some loose end." Your voice cracked slightly on the last word, and you hated that it did.
Sylus's expression shifted — the careful composure he wore like armor slipping for just a moment.
He ran a hand through his hair, something almost like frustration directed at himself. "Miss Hunter needed a cover story to meet with Dimitri near the south checkpoint. It wasn't something I could loop you into safely—not until I knew it wasn't a setup."
"And the pose? The way you touched her?"
"Necessary theater for anyone watching. Nothing more."
He finally closed the distance, close enough that you had to tilt your head up to meet his eyes.
"But you standing there, watching it happen without context — that wasn't necessary. That was me being careless with you, and I know it."
Silence settled between you, softer now than it had been in days.
"Three days, Sylus," you said quietly. "You let this go on for three days before you actually came to talk to me."
"I know." He reached out, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, his touch featherlight, like he wasn't sure you'd let him. "I was giving you space. And also — if I'm honest — I didn't know how to walk up to you without making it worse."
That, at least, sounded like the truth.
You finally let your arms drop, some of the tension bleeding out of your shoulders.
"Next time you have to disappear for the job, you tell me. Even if it's just 'I can't explain right now, trust me.' Don't leave me guessing."
"Deal." His hand slid to rest against your cheek, thumb brushing gently. "I really am sorry. I don't say that often, so take it as the miracle it is."
You huffed a small, reluctant laugh despite yourself. "Don't ruin the moment."
"Wouldn't dream of it." He leaned down, resting his forehead against yours the way he always did when words weren't quite enough. "Come back to our room tonight?"
You paused, just long enough to make him sweat a little more — small payback — before finally nodding. "Fine. But you're explaining everything. All of it."
"Deal." he agreed, pulling you into him at last, the tension of the last three days finally unwinding between you both.
｡‧˚ʚ🍎ɞ˚‧｡⋆ CALEB
You woke up with someone holding your hand as you breathe through an oxygen mask.
As you move your fingers—Caleb immediately met your eyes.
"Baby? are you awake? can you hear me?" Caleb says as he meets your eyes.
Coughing you take the mask off as you let go of his hand. You immediately see how his expression changed and how he reached for your hand again.
"Y/N please."
He said as his eyes got watery.
Your throat feels raw, scraped from the tube they must have had down it. The beeping monitor is too loud, the hospital light too white, and Caleb's hand is too warm against yours—like nothing happened. Like you didn't watch him through a door, pressed close to her, whispering, hiding something in his palm.
"Don't," you rasp, pulling your hand back again, ignoring the way pain flares hot across your chest when you move. "Don't touch me."
Caleb's face crumbles. He's still in the same clothes from that night—blood on the cuffs—like he hasn't let himself change, hasn't let himself sleep.
"Y/N, it's not what you think. I swear to God, it's not what you think—"
"Wait—" Your hand comes up weakly, cutting him off, and your eyes drop to your own chest for the first time—to the bandages peeking out under the hospital gown, to the IV taped into your arm, to his blood-soaked cuffs which you now realize is not his blood at all.
"I got— what happened? Caleb, what happened to me?"
His breath catches like you'd hit him. For a second he just stares at you, like he can't believe you didn't know, like he forgot you'd wake up to a body that doesn't remember the worst part yet.
"You—" he starts, then stops, jaw tight, gathering himself before he says it plain because you deserve plain. "You ran out of the building. After you saw me with her. You weren't looking, there was a car, and someone in it—someone connected to me, to the shit with my enemies—took the shot they'd been waiting to take on me for weeks." His hand hovers near your cheek like he's afraid to actually touch you.
"It hit you instead. Right here." His fingers ghost just above the bandage, not touching, shaking. "Missed your heart by less than an inch, Y/N. Less than an inch."
He continued with shaking breaths.
"They told me—" his voice cracks clean in half, "—they told me if it had been half an inch to the left I wouldn't have gotten to sit here holding your hand at all."
He drags in a breath that shakes on the way in.
"You almost died running from a lie. My lie. Something I let you believe because I was too much of a coward to just tell you what I was planning." His hand finally closes, gentle, careful, over yours. "And now I need you to hear the truth, even if you hate me for how long it took me to say it."
He nods down at the box still open in his other hand, the ring glinting under the harsh light, his whole body braced like he expects you to throw it back at him.
"I wasn't with her the way you think. I was hiding this. I've been planning it for weeks. That night I was asking her if I got everything right by your standards—because I wanted to get it right, I wanted it to be perfect and instead I got you nearly killed by hiding the one thing I've ever wanted to be honest with you about."
His forehead drops against the mattress by your hip, shoulders shaking.
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Just—please. Please let me explain the rest, and then you can hate me if you still want to."
Your chest aches—from the wound, from the words, from all of it tangled together—but you don't pull your hand away this time. You just stare at him, at this man who is normally so composed, so terrifyingly in control, completely unraveled on his knees beside your hospital bed.
"Explain," you whisper. "All of it. Don't leave anything out this time."
He nods, fast, like he's grateful you're even letting him try.
"Three weeks ago I went to your favorite jeweler. The one you pointed at in that shop window in the spring and pretended you weren't looking at." A wet, broken almost-laugh escapes him. "I noticed. I always notice. I had it made, and then I didn't know where to keep it because you go through everything, baby, you organize my socks—everything, so I panicked and I left it in the my office because in this way I can secure it without you accidentally seeing it.
His hand tightens around yours, and when he speaks again his voice is thick with a different kind of guilt. "That night—the night you saw me with her—that was supposed to be it, Y/N. I had the restaurant booked. I had the whole night planned down to the minute. I was supposed to be at that table waiting for you an hour before you even got there, ring in my pocket, and instead I was standing in my office because the gem had come loose and I was panicking, trying to get it fixed before you showed up, asking her what I should say, how I should say it, wanting every single detail to be perfect for once in my life."
His jaw tightens like it costs him something to keep going. "I lost track of time. I didn't answer your texts because I didn't want to lie to you over the phone about where I was. And so you came looking for me instead—on the one night I most needed you to just stay put and trust me—and you found me standing close to another woman with something hidden in my hands, on the exact night I was supposed to be putting a ring on your finger over candlelight. No wonder you ran. No wonder you didn't hear a word I would've said if I'd had the chance to say it."
His hand tightens further around yours, desperate.
"I should've told you months ago what I was planning instead of trying to build some perfect, secret night around it. If I had, you'd have known exactly what you were looking at. You'd have known to wait, to ask, to trust me one more second instead of turning and running into the street. You'd still be sleeping easy in my bed right now instead of—"
He gestures at the machines, the mask, the bandage, and his voice finally gives out completely, shoulders shaking with everything he's been holding since that night.
For a long moment you don't say anything. You just watch him—red-eyed, unshaven, still in the clothes he bled your blood onto—and you feel the anger in your chest finally start to loosen its grip, not because it wasn't justified, but because you can see, plainly, that he's telling the truth. Caleb doesn't cry. Caleb doesn't kneel. Caleb doesn't beg. And he's doing all three.
"You should've told me," you say quietly. "Not about the ring. About the danger. About your enemies. I didn't even know to be scared, Caleb. I didn't know I needed to look both ways."
"I know." His voice is wrecked. "I know, and that's on me too. I wanted to protect you from it, and instead I almost got you killed by keeping you in the dark. I'm done doing that. Whatever happens with us—with this—" he glances at the ring, throat working, "—I'm not hiding anything from you again. Ever. I'd rather you be angry at the truth than nearly die for a lie."
You breathe out slowly, wincing at the pull in your chest, and finally—finally—let your fingers curl properly around his.
"Ask me again," you murmur. "Properly. Not on a hospital floor with me hooked up to a monitor and looking like death."
A stunned, wet laugh breaks out of him, disbelieving and grateful all at once. "Right here. Right now?"
"You already ruined the restaurant plan," you say, the ghost of a smile finally tugging at your mouth despite everything. "Might as well."
He laughs again, shakier this time, and lifts himself up just enough to be eye level with you, ring held between two trembling fingers.
"Y/N," he says, voice low and cracked open in a way you've never heard from him before, "I have never in my life been as scared as I was watching you get wheeled away from me, thinking the last real thing between us was you looking at me like I was a stranger. I don't want to almost lose you again without you knowing, without any doubt in your mind, that you are it for me. All of it. The good, the ugly, the parts of my life I hate that I have to carry. Marry me. Let me spend the rest of it making sure you never have to run from me again."
Your eyes fill despite your best efforts, and this time you let them. "Yes," you whisper, voice cracking on the word. "Yes, you idiot. Yes."
He slides the ring onto your finger with hands that are still shaking, then presses his forehead so gently to yours that it doesn't hurt at all—just warm, and real, and finally, finally honest.
ⵉ߮ 𐄁᠇𐄁 ߮ᜢ VALKO
You woke up when you heard rummaging around your studio.
You went down assuming it was a robber when, the top head with maroon hair greeted you.
Valko arrived six hours late from your scheduled date. You watched him rummage around your studio when he finally stops infront of the trashcan where you threw the metal flower you made him.
You also immediately saw how his face paled in comparison to his hair.
Looking up his eyes found yours, as you try to go upstairs he ran towards you.
"Y/N." His voice cracked on your name.
You flinched, but didn't look his way. "Go home, Valko."
"I found this in the trash." He knelt in front of you, holding the flowers out on his open palm like an offering, like evidence, like his own heart handed over for you to do with as you pleased. His hands, so steady when bending iron to his will, were shaking now.
"You made this for me. You burned yourself making this for me, and I—"
His voice broke completely, and for a man who could reshape steel with a thought, and for a man who was feared, he sounded extremely small.
"I need you to let me explain before you decide I don't deserve to know why you're hurting like this."
"There was a commotion in the lower district," he said quickly, before you could even ask. "A supply cart collided with a stall, cargo everywhere, people trapped under crates—I couldn't just walk past it, Y/N, not when I could bend the metal off them faster than anyone else there. That's why I was late. I wasn't avoiding you. I was trying to get back to you as fast as I could."
You said nothing, just stared at him. Before finally showing him the photo your bestfriend sent you.
Valko's jaw tightened as he saw the photo again on your phone screen when you finally turned it toward him, the accusation clear in the way your hand shook holding it out
"And this—" he gestured helplessly at the picture still glowing on your screen, at his arms wrapped around a woman who wasn't you, "—this is not what it looks like. I swear on every forge I've ever worked. She tripped. There was rubble everywhere, uneven ground, and she stumbled right as I turned around, and I just—caught her. That's all. I didn't even know her name until after."
You let out a short, humorless laugh, shaking your head.
"You expect me to believe that? Valko, she had her arms around you in the second picture."
"Because she was startled and grabbed onto the nearest thing, which happened to be me—"
"Convenient."
"Y/N—"
Your phone buzzed again before he could finish. Another message from your best friend. You looked down, and whatever color remained in your face drained further as you read it.
"Girl. It's literally in the news. Look."
Attached was a link—an article, published only twenty minutes ago, headline blazing across the top: "Good Samaritan Saves Bystanders in Lower District Collapse—Local Woman Injured in Cart Collision Rescued." Below it, a photo nearly identical to the one your friend had sent, except this one had context—rubble, panicked onlookers, a woman clutching her ankle where she'd twisted it in the fall, Valko's arms the only thing that kept her from hitting the ground wrong.
Your hand covering your mouth, phone nearly slipping from your fingers. "Oh my god."
Valko didn't say I told you so. He didn't say anything smug at all. He just watched the guilt crash into you the same way the truth had crashed into him minutes earlier, kneeling in front of a trash bin holding the dented piece of what you'd made him.
"I'm not angry that you doubted it," he said quietly, reaching for your hand—the same calloused, burn-marked hand. "I'm angry that I gave you a reason to doubt at all. I was late. I didn't call. And you were sitting here with something you clearly poured everything into, and instead of feeling loved, you felt like it had all been for nothing."
In his other hand, revealing the flowers still cradled there, dented slightly from where it had hit the bottom of the trash bin.
"You made this for me, and I made you doubt me enough to throw it away. So please—" his voice cracked, raw and honest in a way he rarely allowed, "—let me be the one to make this right. Both things. Me being late, and the fact that you ever thought for one second I could look at someone else the way I look at you."
You looked down at both of your hands, then back up at him—windswept, breathless, still smelling faintly of smoke and iron from a fire he hadn't even started for you.
"Next time," you said, voice thick but steadier now, curling your burned fingers around his, "just answer your phone. I don't care how many carts collapse."
a/n: FAAAAAAAAAAH this was so fun to do! i really liked how i approached caleb's storyline! also xavier could never do u wrong (i stand by it) thanks for all the love! i have so much in store for u guys <3
Synopsis: A collection of angsty Love and Deepspace drabbles exploring the moment they realize the heart they'd been chasing cost them the heart that had always chosen them.
Pairing: all LI separately (including Valko) x reader/non-MC
Trigger Warning : hurt/no comfort, angst, heartbreak, no happy ending (for the LIs), mention of in-game MC, OOC
Author’s note : See what you guys made me do. I literally wrote this in a day. 😅 I hope you enjoy Part 2 from the LI's POV. 🙃 FYI, there will also be a Part 3 (as per a request from a follower 🤫).
Please read part 1 before proceeding
Part 2:
YOUR HEART WAS ONCE MINE
XAVIER (Word count : 553)
When Xavier arrives home, he expects to find you where you usually are - curled up on the couch with a book or out on the balcony with a cup of tea, chatting away to Puffball.
Instead, the apartment is empty.
Maybe you're still at the restaurant.
Or perhaps you stopped by the convenience store on the way home.
He checks his phone.
No missed calls.
No messages.
He tries calling you.
No answer.
A few moments later, a message appears on his screen.
Staying with a friend tonight.
His brows knit together.
It's unlike you to ignore his calls.
Even more unlike you to spend the night elsewhere without saying anything beforehand.
Maybe you'd run into someone while waiting for him and simply lost track of time.
That's the only explanation he can think of.
…
The next day at the Hunters Association, Xavier doesn't see you once.
Normally, that wouldn't mean much. The two of you work in different departments and rarely cross paths during the day.
Still...
He can't shake the feeling that you're avoiding him.
His suspicions are confirmed during a meeting with Captain Jenna.
You don't look at him even once.
When the meeting ends, everyone files out except you.
You stay behind to speak with Captain Jenna in private.
Xavier waits outside, hoping to catch you afterward.
He wants to ask what's wrong.
Before you emerge, he's called away on a mission.
The conversation will have to wait.
…
When he returns home that evening, he never expects to hear the words that leave your lips.
“I can’t do this anymore. It's over, Xavier.”
The words hit him like a blow.
“I can't be with someone who's still haunted by his past,” you say quietly. “Jeremiah told me about MC... a long time ago.”
“I can't compete with a past love you're still hoping to find again.”
Xavier opens his mouth to argue.
To tell you that it isn't like that.
But the words die in his throat.
Because somewhere deep down...
He knows there's truth in what you've said.
…
Two years pass.
At first, Xavier begs you to come back.
He promises he'll do better.
He tells you he misses you.
Each time, you turn him away.
Eventually...
He stops asking.
…
As always, Xavier spends most of his free time asleep.
But ever since you left, sleep has brought him no peace.
Each time he closes his eyes, he dreams of Philo.
Of the queen.
Of MC.
The memories intertwine, yet with every passing night, the differences become clearer.
The queen.
And the MC of this world.
They are not the same person.
They never were.
His thoughts find their way back to you.
His gaze falls to the cream-colored envelope resting on his bedside table.
Jeremiah had long since accepted that he would never return to Philo.
Instead, he'd built a new life on Earth.
Now, he is getting married.
Xavier should be happy for his friend.
He is.
If only the bride weren't you.
His fingers tighten around the wedding invitation.
Your names, written side by side in elegant gold lettering, blur as his vision stings.
Only now does he finally understand.
He spent so long chasing the person he'd lost...
That he failed to see the one who had chosen to stay.
ZAYNE (Word count : 995)
Just as Zayne is gathering his things to leave the hospital and meet you, Yvonne catches him to let him know that MC has arrived.
He immediately calls to cancel your date before hurrying to MC's side. Her injuries are only minor - nothing serious - but with her condition, he'd rather be safe than sorry.
After treating her, the two of them end up talking in his office until her hunter watch sounds with a mission alert.
Seeing how much time has already passed, Zayne decides not to go home after all and instead stays behind to finish some paperwork.
As a result, he returns home much later than expected.
He finds you curled up on the couch.
You must have waited for him until you fell asleep.
He carefully scoops you into his arms to carry you to bed. As he looks down at you, he notices your furrowed brows, the tear tracks staining your cheeks, and the faint shiver that runs through you.
He lays you down gently, pulls the blanket over you, and presses a hand to your forehead.
You don't have a fever.
Perhaps you're simply having a bad dream.
...
The next morning, Zayne wakes to find your side of the bed empty and cold.
He wanders into the kitchen, only to find a note waiting on the counter.
Gone out to run errands.
A small frown crosses his face.
Today is his day off.
You took the day off as well so the two of you could spend it together.
He doesn't dwell on it. Instead, he has breakfast, gets himself ready for the day, and decides he'll cook your favorite meal for lunch to make up for yesterday.
Whatever errands you had to run, surely you'd be home soon.
...
You don't return until evening.
“Where have you been? I was worried sick.”
He keeps his voice calm, careful not to sound accusatory.
You don't answer.
You don't even look at him.
Instead, you keep your gaze fixed on the floor.
He takes a step toward you.
You step back.
“My love... what's wrong?” he asks, concerned.
“Don't call me that,” you whisper.
Without a word, you walk into the kitchen.
Zayne follows, stopping on the opposite side of the island.
Taking a shaky breath, you finally speak.
“We've been together for three years, and I still feel like you've never truly let me in. You keep me at arm's length. You never let me see what you're really feeling.”
“I see,” Zayne replies, adjusting his glasses. “Is this about yesterday?”
“This goes beyond yesterday.”
“You feel neglected,” he observes. “Is this because of how much I've been working lately? We can discuss my schedule.”
“In that case…” Your voice sharpens as you finally meet his eyes. “Why don't we discuss yesterday's emergency?”
“MC looked and sounded perfectly fine to me.”
Zayne blinks.
When did you stop by the hospital?
Before he can respond, you continue.
“Tell me... why does she get to see the warm, gentle side of Zayne while I'm stuck loving an ice sculpture?”
“What are you trying to say?”he asks quietly, already fearing the answer.
“I'm done trying to melt your heart... only to have mine frozen instead in the process.”
“Judging by your words…” Zayne says after a long pause, “...it would seem you wish to end our relationship.”
He states it as a fact.
“Yes,” you whisper.
Another heavy silence settles between you.
“Is that it?” you ask, tears spilling over. “Aren't you going to ask me to stay? Aren't you going to fight for us?”
Zayne walks around the kitchen island, stopping only a few inches away.
His eyes are dark with emotions he refuses to show, yet his expression remains composed.
“If I ask you to stay,” he says, “it would serve only my selfishness... not your well-being.”
...
Several days pass.
As always, when Zayne doesn't know how to deal with his emotions, he buries himself in work.
One evening, he returns to an apartment that no longer feels like home.
Without you, it feels sterile.
Like another wing of the hospital.
Removing his glasses, he reaches to place them on the coffee table.
He misses.
They slip from his fingers and fall to the floor.
As he bends to retrieve them, something catches his eye beneath the couch.
...
Zayne doesn't know where you've gone after leaving him.
Still, he has a feeling you've returned to your parents' house.
Before long, he's standing outside their front door.
Only after knocking does he realize how late it is.
Perhaps everyone has already gone to bed.
The door opens.
Your eyes widen ever so slightly when you see him standing there.
Before you can close the door, he raises the sonogram he'd found beneath the couch.
“When were you planning to tell me?”
You take the sonogram from his hand.
Without hesitation, you tear it in half.
“This no longer concerns you,” you say firmly.
“You are carrying my child. Of course it concerns me.”
“There is no child.”
You shake your head.
“Not anymore.”
“I had an abortion.”
Your words strike him harder than any physical blow ever could.
He simply stares.
You wouldn't...
But the look in your eyes leaves no room for doubt.
“I wanted every last piece of you out of my life.”
You meet his gaze one final time.
“Goodbye, Zayne.”
The door slams in his face.
...
Years later, a familiar sound catches Zayne's attention as he walks down the street.
A laugh.
One he hasn't heard in years.
He turns.
There you are.
Your smile is bright.
Beside you walks another man, his hand intertwined with yours, looking at you with unmistakable adoration.
The way Zayne should have looked at you.
Your free hand rests protectively over the curve of your pregnant stomach.
A chill crawls up his spine as frost spreads across the back of his neck.
That could have been him.
That should have been him.
RAFAYEL (Word count : 719)
When Thomas stops by Linkon University to deliver Rafayel's forgotten ID badge, he barely says a word. His expression is a strange mix of disappointment and disbelief.
Rafayel doesn't think much of it.
Thomas is always on his case about something - deadlines, interviews, exhibitions, or unfinished paintings.
...
When you don't return to his studio at Whitesand Bay, he doesn't think much of that either.
The two of you don't live together.
You still have your apartment in Linkon City, and since you work there, it's far more convenient for your daily commute. You usually only stay at the studio on weekends.
However, when the weekend comes and goes without you showing up, he begins to find it odd.
What's even stranger is the silence.
Normally, you would call to remind him about his deadlines, text him to stop bullying Thomas, or nag him to take a break and eat something.
This time...
Nothing.
He checks your Moments first.
No new posts.
Then he calls you.
The call doesn't go through.
He sends several messages.
None of them are delivered.
Finally, he calls Thomas.
Thomas swears he hasn't seen or heard from you since the day he returned Rafayel's ID badge.
...
Rafayel punches the passcode into the keypad outside your apartment.
Incorrect password.
His brows knit together.
He tries again.
The same result.
He knocks.
No answer.
The apartment is silent.
Just then, your neighbor steps out of the apartment across the hall, a trash bag in hand.
“I don't think she's home,” he says casually. “Haven't seen her for a few days.”
He walks away toward the elevator, leaving Rafayel standing alone in the hallway.
...
"Breaking news from Linkon City. A massive surge of Metaflux has triggered a high-threat Protofield in the downtown shopping mall."
The reporter's voice crackles through the radio in Rafayel's car.
"We now go live to our Hunter correspondent at the scene."
Rafayel instinctively turns up the volume.
"A high-ranking Wanderer breached the downtown perimeter earlier today. The Hunter Association has secured the area. The Wanderers have been neutralized, and all civilians have been evacuated."
Before the report continues, his phone begins to ring.
Without taking his eyes off the road, he reaches for it on the passenger seat.
Unknown number.
He answers.
“Am I speaking with Mr. Rafayel?”
“Yes. Who—”
“This is Asko Hospital. Your number was listed as the emergency contact for one of our patients, Miss Y/N.”
The color drains from his face.
Without another word, he jerks the steering wheel and speeds toward the hospital.
...
Rafayel all but sprints to the reception desk.
“I'm Rafayel,” he says between breaths. “I received a call about my girlfriend.”
“Your girlfriend was among the civilians caught in today's Wanderer attack,” the nurse explains gently.
Before he can ask another question, he hears a familiar voice.
“Rafayel.”
MC approaches, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder.
“I was one of the Hunters at the scene. I recognized her and rode with her in the ambulance.”
“Is she okay?” he asks immediately.
MC lowers her eyes.
“I... don't know.”
“They took her straight into surgery.”
...
Rafayel and MC wait outside the operating room in complete silence.
Finally, the doors open.
The surgeon steps outside.
“Is my girlfriend okay?”
The doctor's expression says enough.
“Your girlfriend used her own body to shield a child from falling glass after the Wanderers shattered the skylight.” The doctor says.
“I'm sorry.”
“Her injuries were too severe. They caused damage to several vital organs.”
“We couldn't save her.”
Behind him, hurried footsteps echo down the hallway.
Thomas.
“I came as soon as you called,” he says, breathless. “What happened? Is she okay?”
MC silently shakes her head.
Thomas lowers his gaze.
After a long moment, he reaches into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulls out a photograph.
“I found this in my office at Flux Arts.”
Rafayel accepts it with trembling hands.
It's a photograph of the two of you.
Turning it over, he immediately recognizes your handwriting.
I'm sorry I wasn't the one you chose to be your muse. I wish you all the best.
His fingers tighten around the photograph.
His knees give way beneath him.
A single tear slips down his cheek.
Halfway down, it transforms into a pearl before rolling across the hospital floor.
SYLUS (Word count : 711)
Sylus is greeted by the blaring sound of music - if it can even be called music - the moment he steps into the base. It pounds through the halls, loud enough to give him a headache.
“Luke. Kieran. Turn that noise off,” he calls.
“That isn't us, Boss,” the twins reply in unison as they walk up behind him.
“Boss-lady's home,” Kieran says.
“And she's in a really bad mood,” Luke adds.
“That's putting it lightly,” Kieran mutters. “She trashed her bedroom.”
Following the music, Sylus heads toward his room.
He finds you there, rock music blasting from your phone as you practically scream the lyrics while drinking wine straight from the bottle.
Leaning against the doorframe, he crosses his arms.
“Having fun?” he calls over the music, his tone laced with amusement.
You turn to face him.
“Well, well, well…” you slur with a crooked smile. “If it isn't Boss-man.”
His amusement fades at your mocking tone.
Pushing himself off the doorframe, he walks over and switches off your phone.
“How's MC?” you ask.
“Oh... or should I call her Kitten?”
You take another swig of wine.
“Or maybe Sweetie?”
“You're drunk,” Sylus says, reaching for the bottle. “What brought this on?”
You stumble backward before he can take it.
“Sooo…” you drawl, swaying slightly. “What did little Miss Hunter need the big, bad leader of Onychinus for this time?”
Your smirk is sharp.
“She needed help recovering a stolen Protocore,” Sylus replies evenly.
“Riiight…”
You nod exaggeratedly.
“And that was more important than picking your girlfriend up from work? Or at the very least sending someone else in your place?”
Your voice hardens.
Before he can answer, you hurl the wine bottle at him.
Sylus doesn't even bother using his evol.
He simply steps aside.
The bottle smashes against the wall behind him, glass scattering across the floor.
“No more explanations disguised as excuses.”
“No more expensive gifts to make up for your absence.”
“I'm not another deal you can close.”
Your finger jabs toward his chest.
“For your sake…”
“I hope MC is worth it.”
Without waiting for a response, you storm out.
...
EVER has always been a thorn in Sylus's side.
They interfere with Onychinus' operations whenever they can and have made hunting him something of a pastime.
Lately, however, things have changed.
For the past several months, EVER has become unusually aggressive, launching increasingly frequent ambushes against his operations throughout the N109 Zone.
Sylus built his authority by taking control of illegal evol weapon and Protocore trade.
Now, someone is systematically dismantling that control.
Every investigation ends the same way.
Nothing.
Whoever is orchestrating this leaves no trace behind.
So Sylus decides to become the bait.
He stages a fake operation, intending to lure the mastermind into the open.
...
“Aww... you went to all this trouble just for little old me?”
A familiar voice drifts across the rooftop.
“You shouldn't have.”
Sylus turns.
There you stand.
Or rather...
A blurred outline of you.
Black-and-crimson mist coils around your body - his evol - but it never makes contact.
You click your tongue.
“Hello, Mephie.”
You give the mechanical crow a cheerful wave.
“It's nice to see you again.”
“How are the twins?”
Sylus ignores the question.
“So…”
“You're the thorn in my side.”
“What exactly is the game here?”
He takes a slow step forward.
“Was I really such a terrible partner that you joined EVER just to get revenge?”
You shrug.
“You know what they say.”
“Revenge is sweet.”
Tilting your head, you smile.
“Don't you remember the last thing I said before I walked away?”
Sylus's eyes darken.
His evol lashes out toward you.
Once again...
It passes harmlessly through your figure.
From the day you met, Sylus knew you were an Evolver.
He even knew your Evol belonged to both the Simulation and Spatium classes.
But never once had he seen you use it.
Until now.
“You had no problem playing games with my heart.”
Your voice echoes around him.
He can no longer see you.
“It's my turn now.”
The voice comes from directly behind him.
He spins around.
Nothing.
Only silence greets him.
It would seem Sylus has made himself a new enemy.
One far more dangerous than he ever imagined.
S-Rank Evol: Spectrum.
CALEB (Word count : 794)
Caleb has spent several weeks on a mission deep within the Deepspace Tunnels.
The day he returns, the two of you have plans to meet for dinner.
What he doesn't expect is for MC to show up at HQ.
She knew when his mission would end, but he never imagined she'd come to surprise him in person.
He quickly sends you a message, making up an excuse for why he can't make it.
He knows you wouldn't be happy if you found out the real reason.
...
After spending the entire day with MC, Caleb drops her off at the train station before finally heading home.
Your abrupt hang-up from earlier keeps replaying in his mind.
It wasn't like you.
The memory has been nagging at him ever since.
“Baaabe, I'm home.”
Silence.
“Babe?”
Still nothing.
He walks into the bedroom.
The wardrobe door is wide open.
His fingers trail across the hangers.
Empty spaces stare back at him.
Several of your clothes are missing.
A knot forms in his stomach.
He rushes into the bathroom.
All your toiletries are gone.
He calls you.
Once.
Twice.
Again and again.
No answer.
He opens the tracking app on his phone.
Location unavailable.
You turned it off.
He immediately checks your car's GPS.
Disconnected.
He didn't even know you knew he had been tracking your location.
Trying to think clearly, he runs through every place you might have gone.
Then it hits him.
The bar.
The place where the two of you first met after Gideon dragged him out for drinks.
Without another thought, he grabs his keys and leaves.
...
Sure enough, your car is parked outside.
Caleb makes his way through the crowded bar until he finally spots you sitting alone.
He slides into the seat across from you.
You let out a tired sigh.
You should have known this would be the first place he'd look.
“Babe…”
He reaches across the table.
You pull your hands away before he can touch them.
“Don't call me that.”
“I tried to be understanding,” you say with a bitter laugh. “Growing up, the two of you only had each other. Of course you'd be close. Of course you'd want to be the perfect big brother.”
Caleb immediately knows who you're talking about.
“I'm done feeling like the third wheel.”
Your fist slams onto the table.
“I kept trying to convince myself I was imagining things.”
“But even a blind person could see how hopelessly in love with her you are.”
Caleb says nothing.
The words catch in his throat.
For years, he'd buried those feelings.
Longing.
Yearning.
Wanting MC to be more than just the girl who grew up beside him.
Believing those feelings were wrong, he'd convinced himself they would disappear if he moved on.
Then he met you.
He truly cared about you.
But no matter how hard he tried...
He could never love you as deeply as he loved her.
He just never imagined you'd realize it.
A tear slips down your cheek.
“I deserve someone who chooses me first.”
Your voice barely rises above a whisper.
“And that's something you'll never be able to do.”
You stand.
Caleb rises with you, gently catching your wrist.
His grip is loose.
Almost pleading.
“We tried,” you say softly.
“But it's time for me to let you go.”
Standing on your tiptoes, you press one last kiss to his cheek before walking away.
...
Years later, Caleb wanders aimlessly through one of Skyhaven's parks.
You used to come here together all the time.
As he passes a large tree, he notices a little boy staring up into its branches.
Following the child's gaze, Caleb spots a kite tangled high above.
With a flick of his evol, gravity shifts.
The kite drifts gently down into the boy's waiting hands.
“Thank you, mister!”
For a moment, Caleb is struck by how familiar the boy's eyes look.
“Caleb!”
Both he and the boy turn toward the voice.
“Mama's calling!” the boy exclaims, waving happily. “Bye-bye!”
He runs across the grass.
Straight into the waiting arms of a woman.
Caleb recognizes you instantly.
You kneel to hug the little boy, smiling as another man walks over carrying three ice cream cones.
The resemblance between the man and the child is unmistakable.
Caleb watches the three of you walk away together.
A bittersweet smile touches his lips.
Things with MC never worked out.
In the end, she chose Zayne.
And you...
You found the happiness he could never give you.
As the laughter of your family fades into the distance, Caleb is left standing alone.
Exactly where his choices had led him.
He had spent so many years yearning for someone …
… that he ended up losing the woman who truly loved him.
VALKO (Word count : 673)
Valko's ears perk at the sound of a rustle outside his office.
He ends the call and pulls the door open, only to stop when he steps on several chocolate bars scattered across the floor beside a fallen plastic bag.
His eyes widen.
He strides down the hallway, just in time to catch a glimpse of your devastated expression as the elevator doors slide shut.
By the time he reaches the lobby, you're already gone.
He stands there, trying to make sense of what just happened.
Then it clicks.
You must have overheard his phone call.
He drags a hand down his face.
This is bad.
…
Over the next few days, Valko calls and messages you repeatedly, desperate to explain.
You ignore every single one.
He gives you another day, hoping you simply need space and that you'll reach out when you're ready.
You never do.
So he decides to come to you.
You live in the student dormitories on Linkon University's campus.
Avoiding security, he slips onto the grounds and circles around to the side of your building until he reaches your window.
After glancing around, he picks up a few small pebbles and tosses them lightly against the glass.
Finally, the window slides open.
Your eyes widen.
“What are you doing here?” you hiss.
“I didn't have a choice,” he whispers back. “You wouldn't answer me.”
He gestures toward you.
“Move back.”
Taking several steps away from the building, he crouches before launching himself upward.
Using his claws, he catches the windowsill and effortlessly pulls himself inside.
Normally, you'd giggle whenever he did this.
Today...
You don't even smile.
Your arms remain folded across your chest.
The playfulness vanishes from Valko's face, leaving behind only quiet seriousness.
“We need to talk.”
You sit on the edge of your bed.
The dorm room suddenly feels much smaller with Valko standing inside it.
“There isn't anything to talk about,” you reply quietly, refusing to meet his eyes.
“You heard my conversation at the office, didn't you?”
You nod.
His wolf ears immediately droop.
Without another word, he kneels in front of you and rests his head in your lap.
You don't push him away.
Silence stretches between you before he finally speaks.
“I'm sorry.”
His voice barely rises above a whisper.
“I really wanted it to be you.”
He means it.
Your scent had always been uniquely comforting to him, carrying the fresh, earthy fragrance of a forest - the very place wolves instinctively consider home.
He had convinced himself that if he stayed by your side long enough, Perhaps the mating bond would eventually awaken.
But, fate had chosen someone else.
“This doesn't have to be the end,” he says hopefully. “ We can still be friends.”
A sad smile tugs at your lips.
You reach up and gently scratch behind his wolf ears.
…
The two of you tried to stay friends.
But as Valko devoted himself to pursuing his fated mate while you buried yourself in your studies, the gap between you widened until the two of you drifted apart.
Now, the only reminder that either of you still exists comes once a year in form of a simple birthday text.
…
Valko absentmindedly scrolls through your Moments.
After graduating from university, you achieved your dream of becoming a wildlife biologist.
Every new post shows you somewhere different in the world, surrounded by forests, mountains, oceans, and the animals you've always loved.
You look genuinely happy.
As for Valko...
He spent months trying to convince MC to accept the mating bond between them.
She refused.
She told him that, as a human, she would never accept someone simply because fate declared them soulmates.
If she ever loved someone...
It would be because she chose them with her own heart.
Now, staring at your smiling face on his screen, Valko can't help but wonder...
What if he had done the same?
What if he had rejected fate...
...and chosen the woman who never needed an invisible bond to stand by his side.
sick character shivering in bed as they're overcome with a fever. delirious enough to start mumbling panicked words in a foreign language they dont usually speak. the only teammate who can understand them hears it, and replies softly in the same language. repeating gentle reassurance as they stroke their hair.
soooooo do y'all think valko has one spot on his head that makes his leg bounce/shake if you scratch it like a dog?
like imagine you're cuddling with valko, his head is on your chest and you're drawing your fingers though his hair, nails gently scratching at his undercut and scalp and he's practically melting into your touch, wolf ears out, tail resting in the space between both your legs, occasionally twitching.
Then you scratch the spot where his wolf ear meets his scalp and he hums in appreciation.
you scratch the spot again and he leans into your touch, chest rumbling, and you feel his tail slowly swish across your thighs.
A vision from your morning run of a dog at Linkon Park flashes flopped over blissed out, leg thumping in the air as a spot on his head is scratched by his person and a wicked urge settles in.
You settle both hands at the same spots, fingers scratching at the spot over and over until you him whine and feel his tail swishing back and forth over and over again. He shifts slightly and his left leg twitches.
Your face breaks out into a grin and your teeth sink into your lower lip as you try to suppress your delight at this discovery. Your fingers scratch the spots faster and and his leg shakes with mini kicks and you hear a sound escape Valko's throat, somewhere between a groan and a whine, tail furiously swishing about your entangled legs (and his twitching one)
"Sweetheart, you're really - mphh - pushing your luck tonight," he rumbles against your chest. " 'm not a dog, you know." He glares up at you, buuuuut the blush high on his cheeks and more human ears.
"Oh, if not dog, then why the leg shaking, Puppy?"
He hmphs and huffs, but his leg keeps shaking as you keep scratching that one spot.
"If its annoying you so much, " you start and slow you fingers, "I can stop. Is that what you want, Val?"
He snaps to attention, eyes locking with yours and his hands shoot out and capture both your wrists.
"I never said that, Lamb." The look on his face is dead serious and once again you feel the need to bite back your grin.
You start working your fingers against the spot were his wolf eats meet his scalp and the tension in his body instantly fades away. His hands fall away from your wrists and circle your body, hugging you close to him. His nose nuzzles against your clavicle, his leg resumes its shaking, and his tail is back to wagging with a vengeance, the steady thump thump thump of it hitting the back to the couch almost puts you in a trance as it drowns out the sounds of the reality show the two of you were barely watching.
Slowly the two of you fall asleep, exactly where you want to be.
Imagine scolding Ryland for saying 'whoomp there it' is in a meeting (not lore/movie accurate order of events):
Adding on to my last two post, i can’t stop writing :)
part 1 & part 2
After spending a day essentially being a glorified babysitter for the world's smartest diplomats and making sure they didn't start an international incident over a small mistake or an unfortunate choice of wording, you were rewarded with...
Another meeting.
This one was somehow even worse.
Hours of representatives, scientists, and government officials arguing over Astrophage production how to scale it, where to build new facilities, which countries gets to send their best people on this mission.
The same points.
Repeated.
Again.
And again.
You tried to stay focused.
But after sixteen straight hours of putting out fires, the voices slowly blurred together into one endless hum. Your eyelids grew heavier. Your notes stopped making sense halfway down the page.
Just for a second...
You let yourself drift.
You didn't even notice that someone had called on Ryland to explain the latest breakthroughs in Astrophage production.
You only came back to reality when a voice rang through the room.
Loud.
Confident.
"...Whoomp, there it is."
Silence.
Your eyes flew open.
You sat bolt upright so fast that both people beside you jumped.
Across the room, Ryland stood at the front with dozens of diplomats, scientists, military officials, and representatives staring at him in complete disbelief.
He blinked.
"..."
"...I don't know why I said that."
You were already on your feet.
"Excuse us."
Nobody stopped you as you crossed the room, grabbed Ryland lightly by the elbow, and steered him out into the hallway before anyone could recover enough to ask questions.
The conference room doors swung shut behind you.
You pinched the bridge of your nose.
"...Ryland."
"I know."
"No, I don't think you do."
"I really don't."
You let out a slow breath.
"Why would you think that was an appropriate thing to say in front of representatives from half the planet?"
He looked genuinely baffled.
"I blanked."
"You blanked..."
He nodded once.
"And somehow your brain landed on a 90's rap song."
"I didn't choose it..."
"You could've said anything else, like literally anything."
"I know."
"You could've told them you needed another round of testing."
"I know."
"You could've said the data was still being analyzed."
"I know."
"You could've literally coughed."
"I know." Ryland rubbed the back of his neck.
"...In hindsight..."
"In hindsight?"
"...Not my strongest professional moment."
You closed your eyes for a moment.
Then sighed.
"...Give me five minutes."
"For what?"
"To convince every world leader in that room that humanity's best chance of survival didn't just suffer a complete psychological break."
I'm not sure if you take requests or not but uhhhh your clicker-trained Ryland fic did something to me and I need to tell you A Thought
Clicker4clicker trained RylandxReader. Ryland with his attention clicker training and Reader for when they are talking bad about themselves or downplaying achievements. You both are fully aware that you're clicker trained, but so is the other so no one talks about it. Plus it helps keep their leading scientist in his own head and their [whatever job we have] happy and appreciative of the job
yes, I do take request and I ran to write this because I had more thoughts for the original piece I posted.
Imagine Ryland also correcting your bad habits…
Here -> part 1 or part 3
You had this annoying tendency to convince yourself that anything you accomplished either wasn't difficult, wasn't important, or didn't really count because to you "someone else could've done it."
It wasn't exactly difficult for him to notice.
The two of you spent practically every waking hour together.
If you weren't asleep, eating, taking a bathroom break, or trapped in separate meetings, you were usually within a few feet of each other coordinating humanity's last chance at survival.
So went he recognized the pattern of every compliment coming with an rebuttal, every impossible task being labeled as "just part of the job".
He genuinely couldn't understand it.
The world was on a one-way track to end in thirty years if this mission failed.
If humanity survived, history would remember the people in this room as the ones who had saved it.
And if humanity didn't survive...
Well.
You still deserved credit for trying.
So Ryland did what you had done for him months ago. He adapted. Unknowingly.
It happened during the fourteenth hour of a particularly brutal workday.
You'd just finished presenting an updated logistics report, that you spent days reworking to fit your current situation.
"...So with the revised transport schedule, we should save approximately thirty-six hours during equipment relocation."
One of the department heads smiled.
"Excellent work."
You gave an awkward shrug.
"It wasn't really anything special—"
"Ahem."
Ryland cleared his throat.
Not loudly.
Not dramatically.
Just enough.
Your rambling came to a halt.
You blinked.
"..."
Your eyes drifted toward him.
He didn't even look up from the equations covering his notebook.
He simply continued writing, waiting.
You sighed through your nose.
"...It took a while to put together."
A tiny smile tugged at the corner of Ryland's mouth.
Ryland gave a tiny approving nod before returning to the orbital calculations in front of him as if nothing had happened.
And Ryland thought nothing of it until it happened again, about a week later.
"You really did a good job, I don't think we could've coordinated with six international agencies without you're help."
"I just answered emai—"
"Ahem."
"..."
"... thanks, It took a lot of coordination."
And again.
"I got lucky."
"Ahem."
"...But I also worked really hard."
Grace was surprised that all it took was a simple verbal cue to redirect your thoughts before all the negatives dug too deep. So he never stopped, he'd figured that if he gave you even three uninterrupted seconds to downplay yourself...
You'd somehow convince yourself that coordinating half the planet's survival effort was equivalent to remembering to refill the printer paper.
Which, according to you...
"...was honestly harder."
"Ahem."
"..."
"...Okay, maybe not."
Neither of you ever talked about it. There wasn't really anything to discuss. Both of you learned had learned each other's bad habit. Both corrected it. And both of your jobs became easier.
That was enough.
Everyone else, however... Had questions.
Another instance, happened during a security briefing.
One of the generals looked toward you.
"I'd like to officially commend Agent—"
"It really wasn't—"
"Ahem."
You stopped.
Closed your mouth.
Took a slow breath.
"..."
"...Thank you." you said before falling back to your notes as if nothing unusual had happened.
The room fell silent.
The general slowly turned toward Ryland.
"...Did..."
One engineer immediately sat forward.
"Oh my God."
Another pointed between the two of you.
"He's doing it too."
Ryland blinked.
"...Doing what?"
"You keep—"
The engineer awkwardly cleared his own throat.
"Ahem."
Nothing happened.
You kept reading your notes.
He tried again.
*AHEM.*
Still nothing.
You looked up.
"...Do you have something in your throat?"
From that day forward, it was just how things worked. And, no one even thought twice about it.
Meeting running long?
Click.
Ryland looked up.
"What'd I miss?"
You'd spent the last twenty hours coordinating between five continents, trying to keep governments cooperating long enough to focus on the mission instead of each other.
"It wasn't that ba—"
"Ahem."
"..."
"...I'd like coffee."
"I already got you one."
A steaming mug slid across the table without Ryland looking.
You accepted it with a quiet, "Thanks."
Neither of you acknowledged the exchange. This was your normal.
The new intern, on the other hand, had just seen both habits play out over the course of multiple days at this point.
Click.
Ryland immediately stopped staring out the window.
"Sorry. Continue."
Five seconds later—
"I should've caught that mistake earli—"
"Ahem."
"..."
"...I also corrected it before it became a problem."
The intern looked between you.
Then back again.
Then quietly whispered to the nearest engineer,
"...Do they always do that?"
The engineer didn't even look up from his laptop.
"...Basically."
"But why? they're both incredibly good at their jobs."
"Yeah they are, But they're also terrible at managing themselves. Fortunately, they outsourced that responsibility to each other."
As if to prove the point, Ryland silently pushed a cinnamon candy toward you after noticing you'd skipped lunch.
Without thinking, you unwrapped it...
Only for Ryland to steal it off your desk moments later.
You sighed.
"That's mine."
"You weren't eating it."
"I was saving it."
"For when?"
"I don't know."
Ryland popped it into his mouth.
"Waste of good cinnamon candy."
"You keep saying you hate those."
"I do. It's just the best of the bad options."
"You've eaten the entire bag."
"They'd go stale otherwise."
"...That's not even a good excuse."
"And yet," he said around the candy, "you still remembered to buy more."
You rolled your eyes, unable to suppress a smile.
No one in the room questioned it anymore. By now, everyone had accepted one simple truth:
Humanity's greatest scientist and the government agent assigned to keep him functional had, somewhere along the way, figured out how to keep each other functional.
As far as anyone was concerned, it was working remarkably well.
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