watchful | one.
synopsis. you’ve been transported into love and deepspace, but you’re minding your business. he's also minding your business.
pairing. NONE, maybe suited for rumored sixth li ever guy
content/mdni. fem!reader, non-mc!reader, isekai!au, barista!reader, world building, no romance, no relationships, HORRORISH, PARANOIA, being watched, being stalked, panic attack, ever shenanigans, just me talking shit.
word count. 1.5k
a/n. idk what this is, y’all, i just wanted to put this idea out there. now i’m going back to studying byeee– please tell me your thoughts! feedback and reblogs are deeply appreciated!
next | masterlist
imagine you woke up in your room — except it wasn’t really your room, but a carefully constructed counterpart that materialized in linkon city.
imagine everything was the same: the extremely cluttered bathroom shelves, the overflowing chair with clothes too clean yet too dirty to relocate, the always stained oven… even the mismatched lightbulbs from the living room lamp were there, shining both white and yellow.
but imagine the view of your apartment was entirely different.
imagine the old and shabby town you were living in was replaced by something greater. a city you’ve only seen in still shots, a city you’ve gotten accustomed to through background sketches…
in your favourite otome game, love and deepspace.
“no fucking way.”
imagine you spent the first hour just looking around the apartment, then the rest of the evening was given to the city skyline, watching the ginormous buildings, the futuristic architecture, the holographic billboards for brands you’ve never heard before.
imagine you pieced it together slowly, restoring the life you’ve been given with the help of your phone. you were transported into love and deepspace, but not as emcee; there was no glowing evol, no sign of a hunter career, no trace of the five love interests.
you were just… you. an extra. a background npc with a forgettable face, working as a barista at destiny café.
and that was perfect.
you did not wish to get entangled with the love interests, and you definitely wanted to stay away from emcee — their world was too dangerous, too unpredictable. and no matter how much you knew about the game, how many hours you’ve spent collecting memories and reading the lore of the characters, you couldn’t shape your future steps with certainty.
so you made a quiet pact with yourself: you would not interfere with anyone. you would only play your part, watching the main characters from afar.
that in itself was enough — seeing them all interact, seeing them all be happy.
imagine you saw her for the first time exactly the next day. emcee entered the café with tara sometime during the day, and you tried your best to act natural as you took their orders with shaky hands.
then, gradually, you saw them all.
you observed rafayel and emcee taking a walk along the shore, the sound of the waves chiming in tune with their giggles. you watched zayne pause mid-step to tuck a strand of hair behind emcee’s ear near the hospital area. you saw xavier fall asleep against her shoulder on a park bench, his face soft and content. you even caught a glimpse of sylus’s unmistakable silhouette in a secluded alley, helmet visor raised, and even caleb’s boyish grin as he ruffled emcee’s hair outside a convenience store.
you never spoke to any of them. you didn’t need to. just seeing it all was enough for you.
you were their watchful eye.
but imagine something was off.
imagine you started to notice the scribbles that were woven into the buildings around town, curious graffiti drawings taking over otherwise blank surfaces.
at first, it seemed like random vandalism — sloppy spirals, nonsense symbols, an array of colours that made people stop only for a second. but then… it became strange.
letters and words bloomed on the outer walls, graffiti now taking more eloquent forms.
that was the problem. that was what made you stop dead in your tracks, skin covered in prickling goosebumps.
you saw a word in your native language.
“HELLO.”
you stood frozen, pulse stuttering. people were already scrubbing at it, muttering on and on about vandals, but you just stood there, trying to make sense of the graffiti.
imagine you moved on with your routine, but the messages followed along.
a scribble on the side panel of the garbage chute: “KNOW.” a flash of green paint on a train station pillar: “UNDERSTAND.” an elegant curvature on your favourite convenience store: “SEE”.
each one in your mother tongue, each one making you more and more paranoid.
you told yourself it was a prank, a coincidence, a glitch in your own panicked mind.
it couldn’t be anything else, really.
imagine the messages escalated beyond singular words, becoming phrases that clawed directly into that anxious brain of yours. a week after the first “HELLO”, you saw it on the side of a delivery truck waiting at a red light:
“YOU UNDERSTAND.”
your blood went cold, starting in your thumping chest and creeping down to your fingertips. you stumbled back from the crosswalk, clutching your bag like a shield, terrified by the perfect syntax.
it wasn't the language that scared you; it was the wording. whoever was doing this knew things they absolutely should not know.
they knew you were not from this world, they knew you were an outsider that had no business being here.
imagine you started taking different routes to destiny café, weaving through back alleys and less crowded areas, your head perpetually low.
the city, once a breathtaking panorama of your favorite fictional world, now felt like a cage lined with watchful eyes. the holographic billboards that had once charmed you now seemed to flicker ominously.
you avoided looking at reflective surfaces — shop windows, polished cars, the dark screen of your phone. you were terrified of seeing someone standing right behind you, someone that shouldn’t know you were in linkon city.
imagine the paranoia began to manifest physically. you were sleeping less, picking at your food, flinching at sudden noises. the cheerful chime of the café door sounded like a warning bell.
heck, the friendly chatter of customers felt like a coded message, and you somehow convinced yourself everyone was discussing you.
you were slowly losing your mind.
and imagine you saw emcee that day. she walked up to the counter with her familiar smile, ordering her usual, overly complicated coffee concoction. you focused on her, trying your best to loosen up. make small talk. act normal.
you are a barista. she is a customer. this is a transaction.
nothing bad was going to happen.
she is emcee. she is safe. and so are you.
“rough day?” she asked when she returned at the pick-up station, tilting her head, scanning your face with genuine worry.
you managed a weak laugh, wishing to conceal your uneasiness, hands pushing forward the iced cup of coffee. “just tired. here’s your drink.” you muttered back, holding up her mug for her to take.
but imagine you were wrong.
imagine something bad did happen.
as you looked at emcee, you saw it: the entire wall of the building directly across the street was no longer the muted gray you remembered. it had been transformed overnight into a single, massive mural, clearly visible through the huge window of the café.
it wasn't art.
it was a sentence, painted in dripping, blood-red letters, so large you could read them from behind the counter, from the depths of your own impending doom.
the letters were in your mother tongue.
“I’M WATCHING YOU.”
followed by your actual name.
the coffee cup slipped from your grasp.
the ceramic shattered against the tile floor with a powerful crack, sending a hefty quantity of iced coffee on your apron and the lower half of the counter. the sound was deafening in the cheerful bustle of the café, putting everything on pause.
every conversation halted. every head turned. emcee flinched, her smile dissolving into confusion.
all eyes were on you.
imagine the sudden weight of all those eyes, all focused on you. the words from the graffiti echoed louder and louder in your skull, syncing with each panicked beat of your heart.
watching. they were all watching.
your coworkers, the customers, the old woman by the window, the child tugging at her mother's sleeve. emcee, her hand halfway to her mouth, her brow furrowed in concern.
were they in on it? were they aware you were fake? an outsider?
the walls felt like they were closing in, the cheerful café lighting suddenly harsh and interrogatory. the message wasn't just on the building anymore; it was in the glint of every eye pinned on your trembling form.
i’m watching you. i’m watching you. i’m watching yo–
imagine emcee took a step towards you, her expression shifting into concern. “hey, are you okay? you look really pale–”
you didn't hear the rest of her sentence. you couldn't breathe. you couldn't think. your mind was screaming at you to get away.
get away. they can see you. they know you.
you shoved through the swinging staff door, not stopping until you reached the back door leading outside. you collapsed against the closest wall, sliding down next to the stuffed garbage bins and curling into yourself, pushing your face between your knees and letting it all out.
imagine the sobs came in gasping, ugly cries that you muffled with your stained apron, fear shaking through you.
you were not safe. your decision to keep your distance, your role as a background extra — it was all an illusion.
someone had been tracking you, studying you, learning your secrets.
you were not an observer anymore. you were the observed. you were a target in a story you thought only you watched from outside, but you were proven wrong.
he knows of your existence, but you didn’t know of his.
“bring her to me. quietly.”
©pearlescenthoney 2026. do not copy, translate, or claim any of my writings or works as your own.
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