synopsis. the red string of fate ruins it all... right?
pairing. boyfriend! rafayel qi x non-mc! reader
content. fem!reader, non-mc!reader, established relationship!au, angst, hurt/COMFORT (who is sheee?), soulmate!au, red string of fate, love confession, abandonment issues (raf), happy ending for once
word count. 1.9k
a/n. a happy ending for once! i got this idea after v-day, but shhh. no one has to know! please let me know your thoughts! feedback and reblogs are deeply appreciated!
the air on the beach was cool and salt-tinged, a gentle contrast to the warmth blooming in your chest.
you leaned back against rafayel, his arms wrapped securely around your waist, both of you seated on a large, soft blanket he’d spread over the sand. the sound of the waves was a steady, rhythmic whisper, and above you, a million stars scattered across the velvety sky like diamonds.
tonight had been perfect.
a romantic dinner at that fancy place he loved, the one with the candlelight that made his dual-chrome eyes shimmer like a watery sunset. he’d been unusually quiet, his teasing remarks replaced with soft smiles and lingering touches.
and you knew why. you both knew.
valentine’s day. the one day a year the red string of fate revealed itself for a few minutes.
you’d been together for almost a year, a beautiful relationship with a man who was equal parts infuriatingly dramatic and achingly tender. he was an artist, a man who painted emotions onto canvases, a man who painted you into every corner of his life.
you’d fallen for him, hard and fast, and the thought that tonight might change everything was a knot of both hope and terror in your stomach.
“you’re thinking too loud.” rafayel murmured against your hair, his voice a low, soothing rumble. “i can hear you over the ocean.”
you smiled, tilting your head back to look up at him. his face was half in shadow, covered by the branches of a tree, but you could see the faint, anxious line between his brows.
“just nervous.” you admitted.
he hummed in agreement, his grip on your body tightening for a brief second.
“me too.”
a chilly breeze swept in from the calm waters, and you shivered. rafayel immediately felt it, his own body mirroring the quiver.
“dummy.” he scolded you softly, though his tone was full of affection. “i told you to bring a thicker coat.” he continued his reprimand, pressing a small kiss to your temple. “stay here. i’ll grab you one from inside.”
you nodded shortly, watching as he untangled himself from you and stood up. he looked down at you, a god of the sea in the moonlight, his violet hair ruffled by the breeze.
“don’t go anywhere.” he said, his voice lighter, but his eyes were serious.
a god of the sea reduced to a fragile human.
“never.” you promised, giving him a toothy grin.
he gave you one last, searching look before jogging back towards his secluded beach house, the one that sat alone on this private stretch of coast. you turned back to the ocean, gathering your knees to your chest, your heart hammering against your ribs.
you pulled out your phone.
23:57. three more minutes.
three minutes until you’d know if the universe, with all its ancient magic, agreed with your heart.
you took a deep, shaky breath, watching the bioluminescence in the waves. the seconds ticked by, each one a small eternity.
11:58.
your hands began to sweat, your body temperature spiking from the bundle of anxiety blocked in your throat.
what if you two aren’t soulmates? what if he doesn’t want you anymore?
11:59.
what if–
but then, the world went quiet.
it wasn’t a physical silence, but a cosmic one. the stars seemed to hold their breath as if they knew what was to happen.
you looked down at your left hand, at the pinkie finger where you knew, for this next minutes, a single, luminous red thread would appear.
and it did.
it materialized, glowing with an ethereal light that rivaled even the bioluminescence of the sea.
your breath hitched, a smile already forming on your lips as you turned, expecting to see the string lead you straight to the warm, bright windows of rafayel’s house, to the man who was your sun, moon, and stars.
but it didn’t.
your blood ran cold.
the string, vibrant and undeniable, stretched out not towards the house, but down the beach, curving along the coastline and pointing directly towards the glittering skyline of the distant linkon city.
it was a needle of light pointing away from everything you’d come to hold dear.
no.
the word was a silent scream in your mind. no, no, no. you jumped from the blanket, followed the string with tiny steps, hoping it was a trick, a loop, that it would somehow arch back towards rafayel. but it just stretched on, unwavering, into the urban maze where thousands of other people lived.
your true soulmate. a stranger.
not rafayel.
the ground felt like it was crumbling beneath you. all the fear you’d suppressed, you’d deemed impossible, came crashing down. and it wasn’t about fate, not really.
it was about him. about rafayel. he was sensitive, so deeply feeling. he wore his heart on his sleeve, and underneath all his bravado and playful arrogance, you’d glimpsed a profound fear of being left behind. he’d never said it, but you saw it in the way he’d cling to you a moment longer after a good day, in the way his eyes would search yours for reassurance. and now, you had the cosmic proof that you were, by design, meant to leave him.
meant to be left by him.
tears welled in your eyes, hot and fast, streaking your previously content face. you couldn’t breathe. you were frozen, a statue of despair, staring at the thread that was supposed to be a blessing but felt like a death sentence.
you didn’t hear the soft sound of feet in the sand behind you. you didn’t see him stop, his own gaze following the path of the string from his own hand — a hand that held a soft, warm jacket — out towards the city, and then back to your tormented face.
“cutie?” his voice was a broken whisper, and it shattered the silence.
you spun around on instinct, faster than you could’ve processed. rafayel stood a few feet away, the jacket dropping from his fingers, forgotten. the moonlight was cruel, illuminating the utter devastation on his face. he looked as if you’d already stabbed him through the heart.
he looked at the string, then back at you, his colorful eyes wide and glistening. he took a stumbling step forward, then another. and then, before you could even process it, his knees hit the sand in front of you. he didn’t care about the dampness or the grit.
he fell to his knees and then lurched forward, wrapping his arms tightly around your legs, burying his face against your thighs. you felt his whole body tremble.
“please.” he gasped, his voice thick with unshed tears. “please, don’t.”
you stared down at him, stuck in place by his arms and your own frail heart.
“don’t go.” he suddenly begged, his words muffled against the fabric of your jeans. “i know. i saw it. i know i’m not… i’m not the one. i know you have to go find them, your real soulmate.” he nuzzled more into your pants, continuing. “i know it’s selfish. i know i’m a horrible, selfish person for even asking you to stay.”
his grip on you tightened, as if he could physically prevent you from being pulled away by that glowing red chain.
“but i can’t.” he choked out, a sob finally breaking free. “i can’t let you go. the thought of you leaving… of waking up and you not being here… it’s worse than anything. i’ve spent my whole life waiting for people to leave, and i told myself i was fine, that i didn’t need anyone.”
“raf–”
“and then i met you, and you made me need. you made me need everything.”
he looked up then, his face streaked with tears and sand, his beautiful eyes red-rimmed and full of a terror so raw it stole the air from your lungs.
“i am begging you. be selfish with me. stay. i don’t care about fate. i don’t care about some cosmic plan. i only care about you. i love you. i love you so much it’s destroying me.”
his lips quivered, almost like the words stung him. almost as if voicing it all would only lead to ruin.
as if–
“please, don’t abandon me.”
his fear of abandonment, the one he’d hidden so well, was laid bare before you. and in that moment, the last of your own fear dissolved.
he wasn’t going to push you away. he was clinging to you.
a sob of your own tore from your throat. you dropped to your knees in the sand, your hands immediately cupping his face, your thumbs brushing away his tears even as your own fell freely.
“abandon you?” you whispered, your voice cracking. “rafayel, i was so scared. i was terrified that you would see this string and tell me to go. that you would think this changes how i feel. i was sitting here, frozen, because i thought i was going to lose you.”
he blinked, confusion cutting through his despair. “lose… me?”
“yes, you idiot!” you cried, a watery laugh mixing with your tears. “because you deserve a soulmate! and i was so afraid you’d think i wasn’t good enough because fate says i’m meant for someone else.”
he stared at you, utterly bewildered. as if he’d never thought you’d share his fears. “but… your soulmate… they’re out there…”
you shook your head fiercely, leaning your forehead against his. “i don’t care. i don’t want them. i want you. i only want you.” you kissed his forehead, his closed eyelids, the tip of his nose, each peck a desperate promise. “i was so scared you would send me away.”
a shuddering breath wracked his body. he pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes searching yours, looking for the lie.
but he found only the same raw, terrified love he felt himself.
“you… you were scared i would leave you?” he asked, the absurdity of it dawning on him.
you nodded, a fresh wave of tears spilling over. “i love you, rafayel. i don’t care what some red string says. you are my home.”
he pulled you into him then, a crushing, desperate embrace. he buried his face in your neck, his shoulders shaking with silent sobs of relief. you held him just as tightly, your fingers tangling in his soft hair, the scent of his cologne and the sea anchoring you to this moment.
the red strings on both your hands, still glowing, now lay tangled together in the sand, forgotten.
you stayed like that for a long time, two mismached halves choosing to be whole, kneeling in the cold sand under the vast, indifferent sky.
when he finally pulled back, he looked at you with an expression of such profound, grateful love that it made your heart hammer against your chest. he reached out, his thumb tracing the tear tracks on your cheek.
“no more running.” he whispered, his voice raw but steady. “no matter what any string says. you’re stuck with me.”
you smiled, a real, true smile that reached your very soul. “promise?”
you raised your left hand, pinkie finger extended towards rafayel. with a small, breathless hum of approval, he mirrored your pose, bringing his own pinkie out to link it with yours.
effectively intertwining the red strings together.
“promise.”
the red strings were soon gone, vanished until next year.
but as you laid in his arms on the blanket, wrapped in the jacket he’d finally managed to put on you, watching the night sky sprinkled with shiny stars, you knew.
you didn’t need a string to see what was right in front of you.
tags: @yuunileb, @xyzsbaobei, @loreleis-world, @demonicangelll, @dreamydaredevil, @glitterykingdomangel.if you see this and want to be added to the main taglist, please let me know!
Summary: You learn some new things about your accident, your powers, and Sylus. Not all are good. For defying fate comes at unexpected price.
Ikigai (n.) (Japanese): "A reason for being," the thing that gets you up in the morning.
Content Warnings: spiraling, bit of flirting, mentions of character death, romantic tension
A/N: Largely unedited. I’ll clean things up at a later time (just wanted to get this out for y’all today, Happy Valetine’s, here’s some angst 🥰)
Part 18 | Part 20 | Series Masterlist | LADS Masterlist
Not even official discharge from the hospital gives you independence; something or someone follows you at all times.
The machines, now part of you and the mansion much like the man that brought them. The bandages and aches and pains, which stress further during your physical therapy sessions with a woman whose company you wouldn’t have minded on any other occasion. The stench of death lingers in your cells; your body wars against it, still having a go at pulling you into the embrace of life like you’re on the edge of a cliff.
Everyone around you senses it. Feels it. Hear its whispers, and accepts they alone can keep it at bay. Fight off the cosmic force that threatens you. They show it in unique ways. But, your love and his sister are the most obvious.
Her in her constant hangouts. Her choppy language. Her unstable thread and unsure steps at the mere idea of crossing her younger brother’s path. Her avoidance with touching you with her bare hands (how can one person own so many pairs of gloves?).
Him in his everything. His movements out of the corner of your eye as he refuses to stray too far. His words, blankets of comfort and honey that serve to soothe and cover the cracks in his voice. His infinite paranoia he allows only you to get a look at. It’s what brings the disgusting machines to the base and causes your twin boys to stick to you like glue.
”No can do, Lady Boss!” Luke chirps when you ask him to take the beepers elsewhere.
”Boss-man’s orders,” his brother echoes.
And the one time you confront Sylus about them, ”Allow them to have this piece of mind, Gamayun.”
”Allow me,” his eyes beg as his thread drifts over your shoulders with mountains of burden; his eyes reflect his estranged sister’s.
Same desperate dragon. Same fiend hated by the world for being born. Same irises that captures the strings of fate.
Same eyes that make me want to bend said strings for them. Crush the universe beneath our feet because we deserve better.
You don’t protest anymore. Can’t find the strength to, with everything you’ve ever wanted at your fingertips: the sole affection of your love, a family that loves and holds you when you hurt, and friends who keep you around out of care rather than pity. You’d be a fool to not latch on to it while you can. That, and the soft touches of Sylus prevent you from spiraling on that foolish thought.
You’ve changed destiny once; there’s no proof you can do it again. Should do it again.
Even at this moment, where Sylus checks the machines (for the third time, as that’s the interval he does before the pair of your retire for the night) while you sit on the edge of his bed (he doesn’t allow you to move, to go back to your room or your home, and if you try, you get that familiar energy Evol wrapped around your waist as a treat; not that you mind).
Even as the twins forbid you from walking around the base without assistance. Even as Simurgh pops in to check on your heart monitor when she believes you to be asleep while the three men that hover around you are out on business; she becomes their eyes when they’re not here, reporting to Sylus as he crouches for her to whisper in his ear with the warmest of eyes.
Even as your uselessness becomes more and more apparent. Piles of stones crushing you. They stack higher and higher each night. They tumble inside of you in silence. Cut up your cheeks and tongue as you smile under your family’s love.
Eventually, they’ll spill. What then?
“Drink,” Sylus commands as he hands you one cup and holds another in his hand.
You down your drug concoction and shove aside your emotions. You instead focus on not fighting Sylus when he presses the water to your lips rather than letting you handle it yourself. It’s an uphill battle: heart longing for more, mind praying for less; selfishness and morality duel beside them.
None of this is good for me. None of this leads anywhere but ruin.
As you swallow, Sylus’ carmine eyes in your direct line of sight—enveloping the red of his thread—the chaos of your life comes flooding in. Goosebumps dot your skin in places it recalls the touch of others. People in your life are particular to parts of you.
Helios’ steadying hands on your shoulders during physical therapy (when he’s available for the more intense sessions). Astrid’s awkward clamp on the same muscle group when you have time together in the hospital for your weekly check in. Kai’s new obsession with buying things to protect your neck. Alex and how they lie their head on chest, humming in tempo with your heartbeat.
(Sometimes, you think it’s because they know now. That you’re soulless. That you have no one. Other times, you tell yourself it’s due to remorse. Of being the one to stop that organ. To almost take your life. You can’t decide which idea unsettles you more.)
Miss Hunter’s clings to your hand, recalling how it was what both kept the two of you alive and destroyed her friend. She gazes at your cheek each time you meet, checking with analytical eyes. Checking if you’re falling apart. Checking if your muscles aren’t fraying and your skin isn’t cracking. She checks to be sure your hidden heart doesn’t reflect onto the surface. She checks and checks and checks in on you as her soulmate does.
It’d be endearing if it didn’t make you want to vomit. It’d be funny if you could hear the genuine laughter over that of the future sound of your shattering heart beneath her feet. You take her concern in stride, though. What else can you do?
She does this regardless of who’s around. Neither of you comment on her new habit. Never whisper a word of truth about the nightmares that plague her. You get flickers of them in her many threads: Sylus and her mourning you in the hospital morgue, your body in pieces in the streets she called Sylus from, her trying to get a look at you in your hospital bed only to be chased by Sylus as he hisses at her and murmurs vitriol at her (as he blames her) (those ones were the hardest for you to look at, to see a world where you drive two soulmates apart and rob Sylus of true happiness).
Her worst ones (for her) are the ones where things mirror reality. Except one key detail: you didn’t survive and the “you” she’s been interacting with is a figment of her imagination. A process to help her grieve you. With no one telling her otherwise until she snaps.
Her dreamworld unravels at a snail’s pace, like a bow of ribbons being tugged on by a cautious but curious child. Things don’t add to a complete picture. Little bits tell her what’s before her isn’t real. But, when she wakes, she still has to talk herself out of believing that world was reality and the one she’s in isn’t a dream. Has to force herself to remember which one’s the cruel entrapment of her mind and which one is the beautiful but harsh truth.
Not that you’re surprised.
She was the first to see my ruined body. She lost the only parental figure she’s ever had right in front of her. And then there’s the whole thing with Caleb…
Sylus speaks, as if sensing the shift in your internal monologue, “What’s that cup got about it that’s so… interesting, Gamayun? Because never have I ever seen you stare at something so intently.”
And just like that, you’re in the present. The mattress cradles your body rather than mist of nothingness. The fuzzy socks on your feet glide against your nerves. Cool air flows across your skin and Sylus’ fingers brushes the back of your hand with the tiny pill cup.
Blinking, you take note of a major change: Sylus is closer. Your face burns with realization.
Do my hands shake? How long was I out? Have I been leering at him for several minutes like a creep? Why does he choose to be so near when I’m clearly having some kind of episode?
Your mouth dries, forcing you to wet your lips from a bit of reprieve. Sylus’ eyes follow the motion.
I’ve officially lost whatever semblance of normalcy and composure I had left after everything that’s happened. And he knows it. I’m going to get fired. I’ll need to change my name, move again, pack up everything ahead of schedule and just—
“Shall I guess what has you so entranced?”
His breath washes on your cheeks. Fans your entire face and sets it aflame. A shiver runs its way down your spine. Knots and kneading hands wander across your stomach.
“Go right ahead.” The smirk on Sylus’ face causes dangerous things to float in your mind.
Makes it think of a different—better—future. One where you hold his cheeks in your hands and press your lips to his. One where you remain grounded and aware, never separate from your Morana (whether that be by fate or your demons). One where you can have the same love and happiness as everyone else.
The delusion’s making it’s presence known more and more after you woke in the hospital. Creeps into countless physical therapy sessions where Sylus parades himself around as your husband. Slivers on top of your shoulders to murmur in your ears when he supports you afterwards, or helps you massage out a bit of tension in your body.
Your muscles react in the present from those memories. Gentle but firm fingers working out the sores you like to pretend aren’t there. The low voice of Sylus checking in on you at set intervals. His heat. His cologne. His eyes. Contentment fills your lungs; you think you’re humming.
Fantasies ebb and bob against your brain; both in the current with Sylus before you as a blurry image and in your wellspring of memories that threaten to overtake you. You choose the past when you image a gust of Sylus’ breath on your lips.
Another face from the hospital appears. Miss Hunter’s current work partner, and Helios’ past one: Xavier. And with him comes more observations plus the regret of choosing to sink rather than swim.
I really shouldn’t be alive.
No noise enters your ears. Digging your nails in, you attempt to center yourself. To slow the speed of your racing heart (does Sylus hear it?). No need to make everyone more afraid for you than they already are.
Even strangers give you odd glances these days (and, for once, not because of the imposing man or unique children you travel with). Their looks linger for a second longer. Horror, grief, and sadness flash in the eyes of people who know nothing about you. Sometimes, you’re able to tell yourself that it’s due to your condition. Other times… something else crops up.
A sensation. An instinct. A force your eyes can’t see and your ears can’t hear and your hands can’t touch, but part of your brain (no, your soul) recognizes. Not as a threat. Not as an ally. As a possibility.
It’s driving me crazy.
No one’s immune to the influence. Just as they sway to fate’s whims and the threads, this new factor bends them.
Xavier was the first sign of it, now that you think on it (you’re able to confirm that you’re humming as you ponder on the bed, and the vibration in your skull soothes some of the anxiety that spikes in you). He may have been blasé about describing your state, stoic and empty when speaking to you, but the slight shift in his footwork belied a different story. Discomfort and worry for you were twined in the layers of his soul-link.
(Layers you have no place peeling back. Decades of anger, unresolved conflict. Resentment towards your doctor—one that runs at the speed of a rapid river to carve a canyon for him to bury the useless feeling in. Primal fear towards your new draconic friend. A longing for your Hunter friend. A pit in his soul he doesn’t know how to fill.)
The people in your life are more direct with their worries. The twins and their refusal to let you carry anything heavier than your meds and a pillow:
”Allow us to escort you to Linkon, Lady Boss!” Luke would bow before you with his brother mirroring his action.
”Boss-man says you’re a trouble magnet, so it’s up to us to chase it away as your mischief makers,” Kieran would parrot when you’d protest and say you’re going for a stroll with Astrid and Miss Hunter.
Simurgh and the little things she does for you:
She’ll sneak you some of her favorite candies after you come back from grueling physical therapy. ”For you,” she mutters each time before scurrying to the depths of the base (girl likes to crawl in the air vents sometimes, a habit no one questions).
She’ll crawl into Sylus’ bed with you. Let you play with her hair, humming some innocuous song under her breath as you do. Sometimes she’ll sing to you; other times, she’ll snuggle further and bop her head to your tune.
When either of you drift off alone in the massive base, you take comfort in one another. Her trembles, her terror of adult women, and she turns to you to fight them. Your insecurities, the little girl you once were creeping in during the night, and the trust of one child chases them to the past.
”Sleep, Mama,” you swear you heard her once on the first night it was just you and her in the base (which happened a month after your discharge and days of you reassuring and badgering with your boys).
”Love you,” she whispers into you, too quiet for anyone else to hear, before bed each night.
You cried the first time. Now, in the present, you flush under the display of emotion—tears pricking your eyes, laying sprawled out on the bed, and body quivering. Moving your hands to wipe your face disperses the discomfort.
“Gamayun?” your love’s voice wavers in your nickname.
“I’m quite alright, Sylus,” you reply in an instant, though your mind still sits in a fog.
A result of the meds. Or the stress. Or your new powers. Either way, you’ve been drifting in and out of focus since your accident. One moment here, the next somewhere else.
Sometimes it’s your past: ranging all the way from your childhood before your abilities popped into existence to whatever you did the other day. Sometimes it’s your friends and families’ past: young Astrid eagerly awaiting Sylus’ hatching as a dragon, Kai the first time she met Sylus, Helios and Astrid’s small intimate wedding, and Alex when their family were still good people.
“Then tell me if my first guess was right or wrong.”
While humor crosses Sylus’ face (something you know without moving to look at him as you spread eagle on his bed), his question punches you.
I didn’t hear anything.
“Cease with your incessant smugness.”
When it doubt, stall.
“‘Incessant smugness?” his tone drips with jovial glee, and if it didn’t make a grin stretch on your face, you’d slap him for it.
“Quiet.”
“If I am quiet, how ever will I guess correctly what has taken your mind away from me?”
“You can’t.”
“But I must. I need to know my competition,” he lowers his voice. “Need to know who or what has enraptured my siren when she’s supposed to be the one luring sailors and alike for our benefit rather than theirs.”
You allow another wave of memories to hit you rather than deal with the vulnerability in Sylus’ words. His eyes you don’t see at the moment, those beacons of hope and truth that they are to you, pull you under. Remind you of more how people have fallen apart due to your condition.
Despite not knowing you as long as the others, Helios isn’t exempt to their hovering behavior. The curtain of professionalism slips from his grasp. Fumbles and allows you a window into his brain. A furrow of the brow here, a dimness in his thread there. Trenches and star fields of ancient history and memories you have no place butting your nose in (loving parents, a younger and older sibling, two kids, and a wife from long, long, ago; you’re like his little sister, apparently).
His hands quiver. He stares at your leg that shouldn’t be there. Twin blazing suns bare into you, scan you with an empty expression that brings dread before he snaps out of it.
Does he see his old family? Places a ghost over the present, over the impossibility that my existence is? Does he do that and hope and pray for another miracle? That he’ll have some piece of him returned?
Or is he like me, floating inside his mind and being pulled beneath the waves of reality because of The Way? Because of who and what he is?
Helios is an unknown factor, like yourself. People without soulmates exist. But what you did in the Protofield… that doesn’t.
A sturdy chest against your spine replaces the fluffy mattress. You bite your lips to keep in an undignified squeak of surprise.
“And just what is going on inside that head of yours this time?” you speak with confidence, but the cloak over your brain doesn’t budge.
You’re drowning in that makeshift ocean again. Treading endless water and surrounded by creatures that you can’t tell if they’re friend or foe. Gasping for air each time your Morana rips you to the surface with his presence.
But he can’t hold the tides forever. And he doesn’t notice when you slip. When the water enters your lungs again. The screams you attempt to free from your chest. The blood that arises from you clawing for something to grab onto.
Or maybe he does. Since when you go to dig your nails into your hand, he stops you. Gently. Silently. Without any acknowledgment. He laces your smaller fingers between his.
You breath, deep and slow, as he drags you nearer. More into his lap. More into his space. Closer and closer, trying to fuse the two of you together. On his bed. In his home. In your heart.
Thump, thump, thump, it goes; you think his beats in tandem. Same speed. Same strength. Always with you. Always the same.
He chuckles, air tickling the top of your head as he nuzzles into it, “Nothing you don’t already know. Nothing that that wandering mind of yours hasn’t already been made well aware of.”
An arm snakes around your waist. Its hand takes your other hand, locks your fingers together, and sets a perch on your right hip. Your legs squirm in response.
“Why the sudden affection then?”
He scoffs. You turn your head to face him, and you hope none of your frazzled emotions are on your face. The movement serves to fluster you more, for your nose brushes his jaw. No reaction from him.
“My affection is not sudden, Gamayun. Hasn’t been for quite some time. It’s only sudden because that beautiful mind of yours is running away from me again.”
“It’s not,” you lie.
How will you react when it’s all of me running from you and not just my thoughts? When I leave because you’ve gotten everything you’ve ever wanted or needed from someone else? Will you care? Will you miss me?
Soulmate love is all consuming, after all. Sylus may love you like family, but that’s nothing compared to the love of his sorceress and mage. His other half. His reason for living. The one who made him immortal and gave him his name.
What is a siren to that? Many Gamayun have existed; many more will come after you.
“Ah,” Sylus’ smirk grows; you know despite the fool deciding to speak right next to your ear. “That must mean that your mind is on me, hmmm? That rather than wandering, it’s right on track.”
Thump, thump, thump.
He’s not yours. He doesn’t know what he’s talking about. He’s not yours. He’s not yours. He’s not—
Your world collapses in on itself. Spinning from the love of him and everyone. Alex and their animals. Kai and her gemstones. Astrid and her awkward affection. Helios and healing light. Miss Hunter and her excuses.
But it’s Sylus, your Morana, that overwhelms. Your brain’s turning to mush. Your heart keeps trying to burst from its cage.
His voice haunts your every dream. His eyes linger in every thread. His scent envelopes every article of clothing. His touch brands every inch of your body (including places you merely dream of them being). His heart is the one thing you crave above all else.
It hurts. By the gods and every being in the universe, it hurts.
You don’t know how much more you can take.
Public places are manageable. He’s a background figure there. Your guard dog. Your Cereburus against whatever forces he believes will come in to snatch you. Rather than locking you in the underworld, he aims to keep you out with his presence. Constant. Close enough for to remain in control.
He watches as he lingers. Watches how you cook in the kitchen. Watches how you stumble during rehab. Watches how your smiles droop. How your voice shakes where it shouldn’t. How your mind races and tears at you about everything and everything.
He’s wordless with his support around others. Wordless, but constant. Soft. A perfect balance of care and trust. Always knows when to rescue you and when to back off. When to hold you and when to not.
To the rest of the world, he’s distant. Calm. At peace. Almost cold, given what happened to you. And sometimes, even you buy that to be true.
Everything shifts at home. He touches you without abandon. Lays his fingers on your pulse point. Buries his head into your neck and drinks in your scent with a sigh that can be felt to the tips of your toes. Traces your body, paying special attention to the areas where your worst injuries were—he’s particular to your cheek, cradling it even in public on the rare occasion.
He always, always, falls asleep with his head on your chest. Asks permission each time (in a timid voice that’s so unlike him). And despite what it does to your heart, you let him. The one time you didn’t (your first night home), he got the worst night sleep. Stumbled into walls the next day. Wouldn’t let you leave his side. Caressed your machines with reverence, closing his eyes to count the rhythm of your heart under his breath.
How could you let him go through that again? Enduring a bit of heartbreak can’t compare to the sight of your Morana like that, an empty husk of his larger than life self.
“Gamayun? Seriously, what’s on your mind? What has you becoming so…. lost?” the baritone sound, the deep rumble that never fails to stir your stomach, quieter than usual brushes against the end of your ear.
“Nothing much,” you respond, anchored and compelled by his body heat and voice against the shell of your ear. “Just that it appears no matter where I go, someone’s always there.”
Sylus chuckles, the sound reverberating through your chest and warming you farther. “Because when you’re alone, it’s when you find trouble.”
“I do not find trouble. It finds me,” you change your tone to a more gentle and serious one before squeezing the hand on your hip. “Much like you do.”
Sylus stills. Then, he moves his hand down yours to wrap around the wrist. Your pulse thrums beneath his long fingers. It gets faster as the quiet stretches. You fail to control your breathing, inhaling lungfuls of Sylus.
Vanilla. Gunpowder. Your shampoo. Your laundry detergent. All from him. Did he wash his clothes with your supplies to pretend that you were here with him while you were unconscious? You’ve done the same when a mission had him far from home.
He spins you to press his forehead into the top of your head. The arm around your waist, now behind you, guides his other hand to cradle the back of your head. Cheeks nuzzling your hairline, he sends his next words directly into your skull, “Than I’ll just have to find you faster next time. Outrun the trouble that finds you.”
Blood sings in your ears. Your skin tingles. Breathing labors, caught in your chest due to the force of your heart and it struggles the more of Sylus you smell.
You turn to his thread. The reminder of his love for another will save you. Praying to the forces out there that his connection to Miss Hunter will steady your foolish heart. It doesn’t. It never does.
”I’m sorry for not being there, my Gamayun. I’m so sorry,” notches of it spins. ”I’m sorry for being a burden. I’m sorry for forcing myself into your space, for being so weak and so childish.”
His thread, twinkles with images of him as a young fiend. Crying alone because his family didn’t want him. Suffering in isolation because the one member that did died for him. Screaming when that blade plunged into the first time because he wishes for death, to follow the one dragon that taught him love. Screaming again the second time because, once more, love killed everything inside of him.
It flickers and the current Sylus takes the fierce beast’s place. Still young. Still small. Still mourning the opportunity for a loving home. Still crying because while this family wanted him, they didn’t stay. Couldn’t. Were taken from him just as his sister was.
Tiny versions of Sylus and Astrid sob over their parents’ bodies. Sylus’ small fingers wrap around their wrists, plead for a pulse, for a sign of life. He buries his head into their chests for a moment before some mystery people drag them away.
No comfort comes from his sister. No words of reassurance. No calming touch. No magical fix.
(Though, being from a bird’s eye view, you watch Astrid sink. Dragged by emotions her ancient mind doesn’t understand and her tiny body can’t express. Grief. Guilt.Rage. She falls apart alone as her brother does. Carries the world on her shoulders like he does, the distance between them so massive that it doesn’t let either of them see that they have someone right there to lessen their burden.)
Your heart breaks a piece more. Donates a larger corner to the Qin siblings. It roars in your chest. Snakes of emotion coil there. Pressing and twisting on your ribcage. Sylus’ eyes, though not visible to you, force you to bare your soul to yourself.
And part of you falls for him deeper.
So that’s why he does that with me every night.
You steel yourself, thank the threads, and bring your empty hand to touch Sylus’ inner wrist. He startles, legs curling to pull you into him. He squishes the pair of you together. Your hearts and breaths become one.
“Foolish Morana,” you say.
”I’ll always be here."
And, at the moment, you believe the declaration with your whole heart.
—
Growls from your stomach wake you. You blink with bleary eyes, entangled in the sheets with Sylus’ arms around your waist and his head on your chest. He’s peaceful: no crease in the brow, no twitching behind his eyelids, no shifting or shuffling. Just still and enjoying your presence.
A smile spreads across your lips. Your body glows and buzzes as a hand subconsciously moves to brush back his hair. You move a tad to get a better position. Sylus breaths through it at a steady pace. Dead asleep and dead tired, the man adjusts to laying his ear to your thighs rather than your chest. And it’s only when your hunger decides to make itself known again that you remember why you’re conscious at the moment.
It’s louder; not unlike the draconic yawns you’ve heard from the Qin siblings (Sylus stifles his around Simurgh. Astrid clamps her hand on her mouth and whipping her head around, looking for someone, as of late. You never ask anything). He doesn’t stir.
Does my heartbeat consume all other sounds for him?
As if hearing your thoughts in the land of dreams, Sylus nuzzles into you. Heat blooms in your cheeks.
He’s breathing on my legs. On my stomach. On my—
You need to leave him. Right now.
It’s fucking hard. To pry Sylus’ arms off of you as he makes noises of protest in his sleep. You swear to every god, demon, and the stars above that he straight up whines when you set both his arms to the side and they no longer touch you. He tries to chase you—your warmth, your smell, your everything—with his head and arms. You scurry out before he can take you.
He’s just worried, you recite as you stand on muscles that scream. You’re his family and you almost died. The way he’s treating you is no different than he did when the same occurred with the twins.
A foolish part of your brain, the emotional center that allows you to play pretend, disagrees. Reminds you how Sylus never cuddles with the twins (that’s more your thing. You have walked in on him and Simurgh passed out in the living room many times: her head on his chest as he curls a protective arm around the child who became his first ally after his stint in the Space Time prison).
Never lays his head on their chests nor puts his hand on their lips to be sure they’re still breathing (they hovered above them instead. Or, he’d use his Evol to check).
Never carried them to and from the bathroom with both arms when one would suffice; never rationalized that extra precaution was to be sure he didn’t drop them (again, more of your thing. And both him and the boys do that for the little girl who grew up too fast).
You fight against that voice. That he did cook them easy to digest meals to eat in bed. That he did give constant company to them, and keep you up to date when you were out and you did the same. That he did take care of them like he does you.
The extra steps are due to the mystery that surrounds your condition. Can never be too cautious when he can’t be sure whatever forces that returned you to him will snatch you once more. As you roam the kitchen, your domain and territory at the base, in the dark, you enter a debate with yourself. One side presents evidence of logic, the other of emotion. One tries to save your heart, the other gift wraps it in pretty bows to send to Sylus.
They can both fuck off. The harsher sound of your stomach, one that comes with a bite of pain, silences your brain.
Food. I can have a mental episode at a later time. I have to be quick; mustn’t wake anyone.
Hitting the pantry first, you hand latches onto the knob to twist it open. Your wrist protests, screeches, and your entire arm’s unstable.
Stupid body. Stupid muscles. Can’t even complete a simple task.
Your triceps and biceps vibrate. Strain and stretch while sending jolts of electric pain. It radiates throughout the limb. It ends once you swing the door open, throbbing with remnants when you grab the bag of bread.
Deciding to nudge the door closed with your hip, your arm thanks you. Your hips, while sore, don’t stab you with burning hot needles. Don’t compress and bend and manipulate the nerves inside that part of you so that the rest forgets that peace is an option.
Not that you would be able to focus on that. The crinkle of the bag in your hands—a cautious grip that almost slips multiple times before you can set it on the counter—fade in and out under the beat of your heart.
Please, no one wake. Please, no one come down here.
Luke would fuss. Kieran would talk to you and guide you back to your room with a shaky gait. Sylus would wrap you in his arms, whisper to you in that voice of his you sometimes accredit to him using because he knows you can’t deny him when he talks like that, and bring you to bed.
Simurgh would tattle on you. Not a word out of her mouth. But a disapproving, childish, pout from a girl as stoic as her would be punishment enough. Hurt more than any words. Sting more than any wound. A fragment of your old self lives in her eyes.
That’s not to say you wouldn’t die of embarrassment if your boys came in. If your sons became more of your caretakers than they already are. If you inconvenienced your partner more than you already do.
They can’t know. Can’t find out. So you do what you always do: beg the threads. They respond in kind. Your pain softens. Your stomach’s cries for attention muffles. And then the unexpected occurs once more: a thread appears from you. From your heart. It’s the same red as the all the others. The same glow. The same spin. The same everything.
Is that my… Do I have a… Was I simply not powerful enough to see my own thread? Was I not—
Everything crashes when you read the thread. It’s yours, yes; but not a soulmate thread. Not a destined love. Not a happy ending. Not something that will fix you.
It’s my lifeline. My essence. My being.
Reaching for it, the touch of your fingertips on the strange anomaly invites pressure on your skin. Tingles and some other sensation you can’t name—cold, foreign, as if someone cracked your chest open and let a fan blast air into it before slamming it close—spring to life.
The scent of both your homes fill your lungs. Your mother’s signature brownies. Sylus’ cookie recipe he learned and created for his daughter. Your father’s enchiladas. Luke’s fried chicken he picked up from Deepspace Pilot during a mission. Your uncle’s curry—one of the few dishes from that home you can bring yourself to make without bursting into tears. Simurgh’s attempts at gingerbread during your first year at Onychinus.
All coat your tongue. Burst and trail off to return with greater force. Your knees almost buckle from torrents of the past. Petrichor follows the pitter patter of rain in your ears. You know it’s not reality. You know it’s from a time long lost to you.
But still, you feel it. The brush of an old crush against your shoulders. They try to squeeze next you under your rickety umbrella. Soft laughter and teasing pokes. A bright smile the then 20 year old you forgot she could manage; 2 years from home and security will do that.
They were soulless like you. Lost their other half before they could meet. But, it didn’t hold them down. Their blinding grin rivaled Helios’ Evol. And kissing those plush lips of theirs a few months later made you alive again. Made you hope again.
Bliss was short, but fiery. You’d put the memories behind you. As you both you and that crush weren’t meant for long-term relationships. Them because being soulless at such a young age affected their ability to love with all their heart. You because of the obvious.
And the fragmented memories of their love—a person you know but they will never—made staying impossible.
Smells of spray paint and the melody of rainfall fade as fast as they come. Your mind quiets. You and your thread. Alone in the vast empire your love built for his other half.
It taunts you. Invites you. To what end? Your face scrunches in thought. Twists with the schools of feelings.
You decide to pull at it. A nudge, a tap. And rather than affecting your memories, you change something else. Your pain vanishes. Your eyes clear. Your hearing sharpens.
So you do the same motion elsewhere. And you’re floating. An inch above the ground, and for a mere second. But it happens. Quick enough that you don’t yelp. You mess with something else to steady your rapid heart.
It’s all so odd. So not like the threads you’re used too, and yet, also the same. It’s part of your familiar life, yet, part of your new one. Part of the world you touched when you fought Alex.
Is it like the threads I saw in the Protofield? Is that why I could do what I did?
Not the fabric of love, but life itself. Fate itself. The stars that sing in your ears, the swirls of galaxies you get glimpses at. This thread is your piece of it. Your space in the great cosmos given form.
So I do matter. I have the very proof that I am something, at the very least.
You touch it again. This time, with reverence. Fingers trembling, not from pain but from joy, your face splits with a smile. A real one. A real one for you and not for anyone else.
This is me. My heart. My story. My fate.
Then, something strange happens: memories not of your past, but of another time. Your future, perhaps? Sylus and you at a wedding; not your own, but you dance together nonetheless. You before the twins, and you’re groveling for some reason (you taste the salt of tears and your heart clenches). You, running from Sylus, tears streaming and your throat raw; blood and snot fill your mouth.
But what truly drags you underneath, and affects present you as much as future(?) you is one image through your eyes where Sylus’ thread vanishes. Future(?) you sprints out of the room, and the same sight greets her: Luke, Kieran, and Miss Hunter all have no threads.
As you mold with that you, the world vanishes. Not threads to call upon. No song of the universe to play. Nothing. You’re alone, inside your head, inside your empty heart. Panic sets in for both versions.
Current you jolts her hand from your thread. The mystic force acts in an instant, calming the violent beat of your heart. It doesn’t stop you from taking a few paces back.
You stare at the thread, terror still inside of you. But you can’t help yourself. Curiosity, and the pain of both yous in your heart, beckons you forward.
Can I see where things lead with me and Sylus if I study my own thread? Can I see what I can do to prevent that tragedy from befalling me?
Your thread vanishes. Knitting your eyebrows, you stare at the space it once took. Blinking multiple times does nothing. Nor walking from the place you stood to the other side of the kitchen and back. You give in after the 4th lap. There’s no use in trying. In dwelling on an unknown realm you didn’t mean to open.
Thank you, is what you choose to do before closing that door for now; pain management will be all you take.
Returning to your initial task, you open the fridge. Shredded chicken graces your eyes, and it’s a Pavlovian response. Your mouth waters, and you smack your lips together as you imagine the food on your tongue. The taste enters—juicy and cooked to perfection. You scoop the box with careful hands. Nothing hurts.
A different kind of intensity sweeps your body when you notice a note on the lid and read it: ”For Mom. DO NOT TOUCH. I WILL know if you do, Kieran. Same thing for you boss-man. —Luke.”
The container blurs as tears dot your eyes. You wipe them with precision, curling one index finger to do the job as your other palm lays flat to hold the base of the glass box. You set it near the bag of bread, pick up the tomatoes and lettuce head from the vegetable drawer, and shut the door.
Cutting off the cool air, your body’s aflame again as you grab a cutting board and knife. You move your station to the vicinity of the sink, right next to it. Less distance for when you rinse out your items; items none in the base will notice being used since Sylus has staff that takes care of these things.
The boys stopped doing their menial chores about six months into their stay. Simurgh’s never done it in all your time here; Sylus as well. You used to. When finding your footing and stating your importance to all mattered more than any bond. When Sylus, to you, was a man who could at any point prove himself to be no different than your past employer whom he blew up. When you were just a negotiator to him, and he was just a paycheck to you.
Sneaking around at this time—6 am—transports you to those days. To when all of Onychinus was on edge by you, and you by them. You were constantly plotting your escape, preparing your own food at ungodly hours and chopping at sluggish pace you do now.
Some nights (mornings really), you’d be completely alone. Isolated. With your thoughts as company, and your deepest anxieties the thing that kept you from enjoying your meals. Not that you’d prepare anything fancy; just enough to sustain yourself. Enough that whatever you used didn’t become apparent with its absence. Tiny things. Snacks, really.
Other nights, especially ones that vulnerable night of patching each other up, Sylus would pop in. Lean on the island with crossed arms and a judging eyebrow raise. Steal food right out of your hand with his Evol and arrogant smile while asking the most random of questions—one of which was something about celebrity crushes if you had any. Make little comments about having chefs on call for this. Scoff about your small portions and would push more food onto your plate the next night during lunch.
Others still, were full of Onychinus members. Before the twins, it would vary. Simurgh. An elderly woman Sylus calls Celeste who serves as a munitions expert and consult. Her husband, Ouranos, who works primarily as Sylus’ stylist. Phillip from the workshop.
When the twins came in, it became a sea of them and their chaos. Mid-day snack raids led by Luke. You’d peel them fruit, chop them lettuce for salads like right now with your chicken and tomatoes, when they skipped doing that for too long. The boys took time to get used to the idea of a guaranteed meal that wasn’t spiked or poisoned.
Thinking about them—their smiles that peak out from beneath their masks and the cackles they’d let out after stealing the last pint of ice cream—makes things manageable. Soreness and fear of your evolving power falls under the way side when your heart beats with so much loves. Thumps and spreads a lightness throughout your body.
You’re tingling. Grinning and on cloud nine for the first time since the Protofield incident. Taking that bite of your well-earned meal—a meal you made with your own shaky hands—deepens the joy. It burrows into your gut, stirs around your muscles to the point where you couldn’t force the quirk of your lips down if you tried.
It’s the sloppiest and most satisfying taste of food in your life. The texture of the bread in your mouth, the flood of lettuce and tomatoes, and the juicy tang of the chicken all mend together to perfection. It’s simple. It’s mundane. But you did it yourself.
I feel like a child again. In a good way, for a change.
After weeks of struggling to pick up miniature dumb-bells and being spoon-fed by your loved ones. After all the burning sensations that arced across your limbs to get here. Hours and hours of physical therapy. It was all worth it for this moment. As you swallow down your last bit of sandwich, you spot a box of strawberries and decide to haul some to Sylus’ room.
To share you spoils. To celebrate your victory. To show him and your sons that you’re going to be okay. There’s hope for you yet. Not even your thoughts of not belonging at his side, of returning to your room and sleeping alone, can dull your mood.
You’re proud of yourself. Well and truly happy about an accomplishment. You did it for you, after all. You and you alone. When was the last time that happened?
—
A single glance at Sylus, eyes open but not alert, in his bed returns you to reality. He’s on the edge of the bed. He trembles. His hands hold his head, and his spine arches as he bows.
He looks so small. Almost delicate and breakable.
Your Morana, a large and imposing man, becomes the tiniest thing in the universe. Burrows in on his body to escape from whatever demons riot inside his head. His Evol, wisps of black and red, hovers. Ready to protect him. Trying to shield his physical self since they can’t save his emotional side.
”You did this,” your monsters pipe in. ”You did this to him. You hurt him.”
They don’t have time to voice their opinions for long. For when Sylus, an ever vigilant man, fails to notice your presence, you’re able to cast them aside. More dire matters take precedence.
“Sylus,” you begin, hands moving to the space over his shoulders as you crouch in front of him after setting the bowl of strawberries on his bedside table.
You mirror how he stood before you the night you broke. After you killed Ethan. After everything made you snap. Difference is Sylus suffers because of you. Because of your actions. Because of your stupidity. Because of your selfishness.
You suffered that night due to your actions. Your cruelty. Your inability to get your shit together and have a conversation with someone and put your heart in the hands of another. Sylus spirals—shakes and stutters in his native tongue his sister alone can understand—because you had left him. Because you couldn’t stay and let yourself be loved. Had to be “independent” and “strong” when such words were never yours to own.
Stupid, stupid, foolish idiot.
His eyes, twin circles of mist. Foggy and cloudy. Pools of agony and guilt and a past you can’t be trusted with. He stares through you. You pause at the emptiness in them. Part of you shrivels from the distant glaze in them. A place devoid of life like the abyss he was once sealed in.
Sylus casts his eyes to the floor, as if there’s some part of his mind aware of how you’re reeling. Your stomach twists in knots. You think you’re gagging. The threads and your abilities do nothing to save you.
Instead of drifting, the present presses into you. Sylus’ ragged, wet, breaths. Your machines quiet (you don’t remember switching them off or disconnecting from them). Skin hot and clammy. The world around you shakes.
And you’re seven years old again, lost in a sea of red lines no one else notices. You’re alone. A mirror rather than a person. A soundboard no one listens to. A therapist to adults. A tool for popularity to kids. A mold of clay to all: shaped and beaten into submission to become what others are missing in life.
A child who lost her childhood. An adult still searching for her place in a universe not built for her. A girl who wants the man before her to look at her like she means something for what’s in her soul rather than what her eyes see. Instead, he sees nothing.
Just like everyone else.
Your parents saw who they wanted out of you: a brilliant child who had some social issues in the past, and became perfect except for one flaw; the perfect daughter with a single crack.
Your friends saw who they wanted out of you: a social butterfly who gives the best advice and never fails to know exactly what goes in one’s heart; the perfect friend that lets you vent and doesn’t ask for anything in return.
Your teachers saw who they wanted out of you: a genius in all aspects of life, with loving parents and a friend circle full of supports; the perfect student living the perfect life.
You thought Sylus was different. How foolish. How moronic. To believe that someone, anyone, out there would love you for you. Want you for you. Masks are much more interesting. Easier to discard and easier to replace.
Real, broken, people are hard. A pain. Unnecessary. Unwanted. A new mask? All you gotta do is have the girl with the strings and her needles make another. Sew another identity out of fate. Weave the stars to create a new her.
Become another and another and another until she forgets who she is.
That’s what I need to do now. To save him from himself.
His thread, wild and wrapping loops around his neck as well yours, frees you. Shifts your center of gravity once more. Summons a blackhole to swallow your past and make a new reality. Bursts of guilt and stardust in the shape of unrequited love and compassion pollute your rebirth.
Stupid, stupid, stupid, foolish, idiot. He’s nothing like him. How could I dare to compare the two? How could I dare to put him in the same category as any of them?
For he is Sylus Qin. Your Morana. Your love. Your air. And you’re his partner. His negotiator. His Gamayun.
And you left him to suffocate. For a little bit of food. For a morsel of control when you don’t need it. Not as much as he needs you.
“Sylus,” you speak again, voice stronger despite the watery tone. “Look at me.”
You glide your hands along his shoulders, dipping your thumbs and index fingers into his collarbone. Sparks fly off your finger pads, strong muscles firm under your light touch. Sylus doesn’t raise his head.
“Please,” you beg. “I need to see your eyes. You can trust me with them, can’t you?”
I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to run. I need your red. More than any other red. More than the threads that have kept me intact despite how much I fall apart. More than the red of a soulmate.
Sylus hears the turmoil in your heart and head. He lifts his gaze, and you wish, for a brief second, he didn’t. For his eyes are worse this time around.
Shattered. Endless banks of dread and grief and disbelief. He’s miniscule. Tiny despite his broad shoulders. Fading into the background despite his striking irises, white hair, and tall frame. Disappearing and dying despite his immortality.
“May I hold you? You don’t have to speak if you wish not to. I’ll know the answer from those eyes of yours.”
He blinks at you. Cocks his head to the side. Blinks again. Still not believing you’re here. Still caught in the trap of the dream realm. You gather him close, allow your heat to twine with the cold tundra of his broken heart. To breathe life in his desert. To allow the song of life—your breath—to become an echo chamber in his head.
“Breathe, my Morana. Breathe and listen,” and you place his right ear directly onto your heart.
You count your breaths out loud. Slow and long to calm your racing heart. Sylus begins to match your rhythm after some time. His arms snap to melt you into him, to make the two of you become one. It’s the only way he can be sure you’re really here.
That the past few days haven’t been a dream. That you’re not a dream. That his nightmare wasn’t reality.
Dark thoughts like your insecurities or lost love have no place in this moment. No foothold when Sylus squeezes them out of you with his strength. Blast them into oblivion with his desperate pants that bring goosebumps to life on your chest.
Your clothes are thin. But, they’re also too thick. Too much of a barrier between him and you. The soft fabric becomes itchy. The comfort they provide becomes scorching. And you’re hungrier than ever.
Not for sex. Not for a kiss. But for proximity. To have Sylus as close as possible so that he never gets like this again. To have him cuddle with you, with the only heat being one another’s. Nothing between you two. No blankets for decency and no clothes because who needs them?
You need each other and nothing else. To trace mindless patterns into one another’s flesh. To fall asleep to the beat of one another’s heart, the most beloved melody in the universe to each other’s ears. To comb your fingers through each other’s hair as you share stories. To lie your head on his bare chest. To have his every chuckle vibrate through each inch of your body—in your bones, in your breath, in your chest, in your heart.
You’d become his. Not because he kissed you. Not because he fucked you. But because he’d let you see everything, touch everything. Trust you with most fragile parts of himself as you would him.
But I can’t have that.
He doesn’t trust you with the most fragile parts of himself. You don’t trust him with the most fragile parts of yourself. Ironically, his estranged sister appears to privy to both your secrets. You can never have that fantasy; will never deserve it after lying to him for so long.
And even if I did tell him, would I be worthy of that kind of faith again after hurting him like this? After plotting to leave him and our boys behind because I decided to fall in love?
No. Of course not.
I was a fool to ever think that I would be. That thought I had that night when everything came crashing down was merely a delusion. Another wish that will never come true.
I’ll always be alone in this.
“She said you were dead,” Sylus croaks out, cutting off your spiral.
His speech enters your ears at a crawl. His arms contrast this with how wild they maneuver with precision to snake around your waist. His Evol anchors the two of you together. Destruction and death given vermillion form. It treats you with same gentleness its master does. And it carries the same desperation.
Sylus’ thread joins the mix. Loops around your chest in a circle, the end point facing your heart. The heart he’s still not convinced to be real. It tastes of those same ancient fruits, this time with some added sounds.
He’s crying.
Not in the present. Not yet, at least. But in the past. As a young fiend that helped his sister find her final resting place. Picked flowers to lay upon her corpse. Their first departure, one stained with the blood of one person that mattered and an entire species that rejected him. But you notice something in it: a gift. A gift that’s stayed with him in all his lives.
She gave him his Evol.
His sister. His original protector. The dragon that died for him; the reaper that lives for him. She cut out a piece of the universe not once, but twice, for him. Every enemy his kills, every bullet his disintegrates to save you. Every teasing theft of your jewels, every raid on some of the cesspool of gangs that exist in the N109 Zone. All possible by Astrid’s gift. All possible by a power that he chooses to ignore who it reminds him of.
How does Sylus deal with that? His defining power, the Evol that shakes planets and conquerors nations, a remnant of his family. His past he refuses to speak about. The sister he hid from you.
That train of thought brings another: how did you not know? You shove it, pocketing it as something to ponder when Sylus gets better. When you’re better. When everything is as it should and you’ve fixed things.
“And given our professions,” Sylus has to pause, too much emotion in his throat and his heart too ensnared by his nightmare. “I thought there’d be no way she was mistaken. Logically.”
He laughs. And rather than butterflies, it kindles a familiar pang in your heart.
“But you’ve always been my miracle. Defying the conventions of the world around us. Breaking walls and laws and people’s necks despite your soft heart. You’ve done many a things in the past I thought impossible.”
You flush. Your embarrassment and sizzling skin worsen when Sylus nuzzles into your chest. One of his hands comes to rest on your back; it’s on the same place he first patched up for you all those years ago.
“So I warped to you. And I tried my sweet Gamayun, by the gods, I tried to keep it together. To use this power of mine to save you as I have before.”
Old wounds and broken bones creak under his words. Memories of his Evol—a power you now link to his sister—seeping into your cells. Knitting things together. Stitching and mashing your torn body.
The first time he did it, a bad deal had gone to shit. Gunfire burst your eardrums and someone got a lucky hit in. The bullet calibre was small. Old fashioned, but tiny. So it bounced around in your body as you weaved around the place with Sylus.
He was still simply your boss then. Inching towards friend, and someone you’re getting to know, but not Sylus yet. Not your Morana.
”Allow me. Hold still."
The red energy had slithered through your bloodstream. Just to destroy the bullet, he said. Just for damage control. Phillip drove you two to his workshop where you later learned that Sylus had more or less healed you to completion.
You cooked him his favorite meals as a thank you. And bought him a rare record from a favorite artist of yours as a way of reaching out. But as present day Sylus clings to you, you forget the pain of that day.
The internal bleeding. The sharp bursts of agony from each movement. The iron tang of blood on your tongue and your clenched jaw that struggled to trap your screams. And your hands that dug into the door of the car to steady yourself as you let a foreign power enter your system.
No. You don’t remember that as well as you remember Sylus. The exhaustion that became a second skin for days afterward. He appeared thinner, slower. Sluggish and constantly hungry. Wild, at times; lost to the rivers of time and something you still can’t place a finger on to this day.
Healing you took something out of him. And for that reason, you’ve never let him do such a thing again. Back then, going to those kinds of extremes for a mere subordinate was insanity. Now, you’re worried what that ability of his might find.
He couldn’t see my desires then. What if he finds them now, with my shifting status and changing condition?
You can’t chance it. Not when you haven’t figured out what caused him to deteriorate. Perhaps because of your soulless status (you’ve seen him do the same for other members of Onychinus, and it’s never as taxing)? Or due to the extent of your injuries (you doubt it)? A combination of the two? Were your powers fighting him off and that made him struggle? Some other reason you can’t come up with at the moment?
No matter the case, saving you sapped him of the strength he’s renowned for. Hollowed and broken. Small and a ghost of his usual self. Tired. Weak. And very, very, human.
You squeeze him tighter.
“But, of course, I wasn’t enough. So I gathered up the pieces of you—your flaying skin, your broken bones, and missing limbs, and I took you to meet the man who’s already taken so much from me and many others, knowing he was the only chance you had.”
A chill settles in your stomach. Part of you wants to defend Helios. The other wants to condemn him. And yet another wants to scold Sylus for the clear hatred he holds towards himself. The last, and loudest, wants to bury herself in him and reassure him that none of this was his fault.
”You couldn’t have done anything,” it longs to whisper into his hair. ”Do not blame yourself. I made my decisions. And you’ll always be enough for me.”
All of you loses themselves to Sylus’ next words.
“I prayed for you.”
You’re mind empties.
Sylus? Praying?
A fiend sentenced to death and cursed across lifetimes. A man and leader that spits in the face of fate. Your Morana, born over and over again to be a puppet and toy of cosmic beings who find his suffering to be a good show to watch when their eternal life bores them.
He prayed for you.
I must’ve fallen asleep again.
“I prayed for the first time in my very long existence, Gamayun, when they took you from me,” the crack in his voice tells you you’re not dreaming; not even the darkest parts of your brain could make that up or imagine it. “Prayed to the wretched god my sister married for him to be able to do something to keep you here.”
He holds you tighter, hand on your back lifting you off the bed an inch as his other hand, almost absentmindedly, curls around your cheek. It’s the same gesture as when you were in the hospital. On the same side. In the same desperate manner.
“I don’t recall much after that. Informed the twins at some point. They didn’t want to come. Said you had enough support and someone had to hold things together here. And I, being the fool you always call me, didn’t question them. Couldn’t… not with your blood and viscera still on me.”
Is that why they’re so clingy? Guilt? Distraction? Something else?
You nod, humming as Sylus picks his face out of your chest. He takes his hand from your cheek, lifts you into his lap, and brings one of your hands to rest of his face to nuzzle into. His mouth, warm and panting and all too much, decides to hover over your pulse point. He etches his words into your bloodstream.
“I left her there, you know. I left her there to wonder and panic because I couldn’t bring myself to care about her in that moment. Whether she lived or died was irrelevant. Whether I hurt her or not was the last thing on my mind.”
Your heart betrays you. Thump, thump, thump, it goes despite the situation. Your body—toes and arms and legs and hands—join its side. They tingle with the urge to jump further into Sylus’ embrace. To throw caution and everything and give in.
Because he chose you over her. Chose your comfort, your life, your everything, over his soulmate. That’s a first for you. Tears sting your waterline.
“And when they wouldn’t tell me anything about you, I said you were my wife. Didn’t entirely think it through. Thankfully, all the paperwork and legality of things was already sorted out”
“How’s that?” you speak at last and Sylus smiles; you grin back. It’s his usual one that he gives you: dripping with affection and a touch of humor.
“A gift from those boys of yours. Apparently, they did it a few months ago.”
Your brain short-circuits.
A few months ago. What ever happened during then to cause such a reaction?
It clicks a second later: your major fight with Sylus. When the twins “confronted” you about your distance from your partner and their father figure.
“I expect nothing less from those hooligans of ours.”
“You means yours?”
You raise an eyebrow. Sylus chuckles, and rubs his thumb along the inside of your wrist.
“They’re ours when they’re behaving. Yours when the wreak havoc on my sanity for the sake of your honor.”
His words sting.
Of course, marriage to me would be a cause for insanity.
“Is the notion of marriage to me that terrible?” you don’t mean to verbalize your thoughts, but exhaustion in all its forms rips apart your mental filter.
You try to laugh and make the half joke into a real one.
Sylus’ little bit of humor bleeds out of face immediately and a serious expression takes its place, “No.”
With a pounding heart, you plea for him to got back to his earlier tone.
I can’t run like this. I can’t pretend not to want and love you like this.
Why must Sylus feed you false hope? Continue to push the boundaries of the universe and your own determination?
Maybe I should tell him the truth about myself. Easier for all this to go away.
You can imagine it now: how he would treat you different. Like you were fragile. Breakable. Some silly little girl about to crumble.
Or worse, he’d hate me.
You pause, mentally shaking your head again.
No he won’t.
He loves you (just not the way you want). Your boys love you (more than you deserve). Simurgh loves you (for reasons you cannot comprehend). Miss Hunter, Helios, Astrid, Kai, Alex… you’re loved by all of them (is it genuine or because you’ve molded yourself to be someone they must love; always bending minds and strings in order to grasp onto something that isn’t meant for you).
But still… I thought the same of many others. Besides, I’ll never have to find out. Because he’ll never know the truth. There’s no world where he would.
Studying Sylus face doesn’t bring you any comfort. His eyes, too soft and too kind. His lips, too inviting and too wonderful.
”Stop looking at me with those eyes,” your mouth motions to scream. ”Stop tempting me.”
“Marriage to you would be a privilege. A gift from the heavens and every star that ever has or will exist. The most priceless treasure.”
“I didn’t think such a thing existed for a conqueror such as yourself,” you attempt to save your sanity.
He can’t love me. He can’t. It’s not allowed. It’s not our fate. It’s not my right. He can’t love me. He can’t, he can’t, he can’t—
“I suppose you would’ve been right at some point. After all, almost everything has a price.”
“Almost everything?”
“I would never dare to put a price on the gift of being bound to you. Of forever being your Morana in every sense of the word.”
For a moment—a cursed, fearful, heart-stopping, moment—you believe him. Forget all about soulmates, soulbonds, fate, and everything. It’s you and Sylus against the stars. And for this breath of a second, you trick yourself into having faith that the two of you could win.
Sylus defies authority with every breath he draws. You rewrote you and Alex’s destiny.
Why would loving him be any different?
The threads, as if summoned by your audacity, flicker. Gunpowder and sea salt waft off them.
Sylus, oblivious to your turmoil, continues, “There’s no possible gem, artwork, Protocore, or weapon that could match such a reward. So there simply is no price. For it is unique in the collection it belongs to. A collection I hope you’ll one day give me the key to.”
He gets impossibly closer. Knocks his forehead to yours, entangling your breaths and body heat.
Thump, thump, thump, your hearts pound in sync. They threaten to breach and meet between the pair of you.
“And I intend to do so on our terms, when you finally allow me. Hence, my annoyance at your boys’ interference. When I wed you, it’ll be because I’ve earned the right to. Because you wished it so. Not due to the twins’ righteous anger at me for hurting their mother.”
”My relationship to her is none of your business.”
You cling to those painful words. Words from your Morana, and from many others you thought would defy fate for you. Words that define your place in the universe.
“Maybe the stars are punishing me for that? Threatening to rip away my dear siren if I don’t learn to properly care for her. Crash me into the rocks because I closed my ears and let my careless tongue spit out vitriol instead of the soothing melodies you deserve.”
Oh.
The world clicks into place. Everything makes sense and the world is right again. Astrid said you were meant to die there. Alex focused on you rather than Miss Hunter and her Aether Core.
And what else but the stars can direct and manipulate a Wanderer?
They’re punishing you, those cosmic fireballs Sylus speaks of. For loving another. For continuing to hurt yourself and others by treading the line between what’s yours and someone else’s. It’s why The Way corrupted. It’s why it tried to take you away. It’s why you’re in this state.
I’m not Helios. I’m not Alex. I’m not even Astrid. How could I defy the stars that way? Defy what’s meant to be.
Saving Alex was a fluke. You’re a flaw, a piece cut from the cosmic wheel. Of course you’re able to do strange things. Of course you can cause fate to stray off course on occasion. But you cannot defy it without consequences.
That’s why my body fell apart the way it did. That was my punishment. But what if I go too far? Become too selfish? Will they take Alex back? Kill someone else to balance the scales?
You can’t risk it. For if your body becoming mangled was the price of curing Alex, what would the price be for stealing Sylus from his soulmate? For loving someone who loved another for lifetimes?
It’s different than Astrid and Helios, for he’s only lived one life and she’s loved none but her brother; they’re special in the grand scheme of things. It’s different than Alex and Kai, for one has a dead soulmate and the other is bound to life itself; they’re special.
”You’re nothing,” many voices echo. ”Nothing powerful or important enough for a love deigned by fate to abandoned for.”
No wonder you were so broken after the Protofield incident. You did something arrogant. Foolish. Outside the purview of your abilities and what you were put on this planet to do.
And yet, a small part of you, begs to differ. Calls into question your doubt. That you can defy fate; you merely need practice. That your state was a result of a mortal body taking in god-like powers, not the stars fighting against.
You speak to avoid further contemplation, “Awfully arrogant of you, dear boss. Thinking my miracle and adventure has anything to do with you. Don’t make me call you even more of a fool than I already do.”
Sylus tries to laugh. It’s interrupted by a deep, heart-felt, sob that shakes your world. Quakes your heart. Shatters your soul.
“I’d take you calling me a fool for the rest of time if it meant I got to keep you.”
Your Morana hunches over again. This time, he covers you. Presses you into his sheets. Shields you from the world with his burning body and kindling heart. The sheen of sorrow in his eyes strikes you before he buries them in your collarbone. He’s a cocoon around you.
Surrounds you in warmth as you transform. Protects you as you become something, some_one_, new. As you plan and plot and change into something beautiful to others but ugly to you.
For he says, “Just don’t leave me… please,” and his voice cracks several times; each one leaves a scar on your heart.
Tears fall. From both you and your god of death. And as the pair of you cling to one another, you try to silence the monsters in your head.
—
You wake to Sylus’ head on your chest. He pretends to still be in the arms of the dreamworld when you stir.
“Save that act of yours for one that can believe it,” you scold him, trying to roll out from under the massive man and calm your racing heart.
He’s not mine. And my near death was punishment for me daring to think he ever could be.
You recite the words. Even when Sylus flashes a disappointed smile when you attempt to dash to the bathroom to change. An attempt squandered by your legs giving out from beneath you.
“I thought you were done running from me,” Sylus teases; his voice wavers a tad and his thread curls across your shoulders. It sags like a mopey dog.
“I’m not running from you,” you gesture to your wobbly legs and you have to brace yourself on the side of the bed to not take another tumble. “As you can see, I’m hardly in the shape for simple maneuvers. Running from my boss and favorite conqueror is not in the books for me.”
“And even a healthy me wouldn’t ever run from my god of death. You’re stuck with me and my songs until the end of time,” you add when Sylus furrows his eyebrow a smidge.
He chuckles, the weight of last night and all his worries exhaling with it. “I couldn’t think of a better fate. This one of your famous prophecies?”
Sylus wanders over to you. You don’t have time to back up before one arm of his circles under your knees and lifts you. No squeal leaves your lips like it did the first time he did such a thing (that was so long ago—before the twins, before Sylus’ cruel words, and before your love; feels like a lifetime ago to you. Does it feel like a mere week ago for Sylus, given how long he’s lived for?). You trust and know him far too well to flinch anymore.
Even if you know you shouldn’t indulge him. The current state of things makes your heart swell. Push against your ribs and lungs to rob you of your breath. That, in turn, takes away rational thought. Logic tells you to demand him to set you onto the floor.
Affection swallows it. Forces you to cuddle into Sylus’ chest and bask in his heat. His vanilla scent. His muscles that flex under his shirt. His soft eyes that stare. You lock with that red, entranced and enchanted, for a second. Then you blink. And the fog clears some.
“Set me by the door to the bathroom, would you? I can dress myself.”
No reaction from Sylus, “And what of your clothes?”
You wave him off, more so with your tone rather than any movements, “You choose. I trust you to pick what’s appropriate for our excursion.”
His smile widens. Your Morana leaves you at your desired location and opens the door for you.
“Of course. I’ll lay them next to the sink, so be a dear and don’t lock me out.”
You roll your eyes, “When have I ever since that first night I shared your bed?”
A blush threatens to envelop your cheeks from your phrasing. That, and the devilish grin on Sylus’ face.
“I don’t know, Gamayun. You’ve been full of surprises these days. I don’t know where you stand when it comes to me.”
“I could say the same when it comes to you,” you shut the entrance to the bathroom before he can respond.
—
You take your time when showering, allowing yourself to be lost in the steam and the water against your skin. You don’t notice when Sylus pops in to drop off your clothes. Don’t hear his voice. Don’t see nor taste his thread. It’s you and the shower. You and your own thoughts. But you have to step out eventually; curls of steam remain on your skin, and it’s a bit redder than usual.
You don’t rush when dressing. Too busy imagining Sylus’ hands where yours are, his eyes reflecting in the mirror with a glint a part of you defines as hunger. A part your logical frontal lobe shuts down the instant it tries to make its opinion known.
What you’re quick about is shoving Sylus out of his room to his car (the least flashy one since you’re going to Linkon). You’re fast when you tease him about his driving.
You arrive to the rehab center with tension only on your side. Sylus appears the same as ever: relaxed, at ease with your banter, and doting on you each time you so much look like you’re going to flinch. You welcome the freedom from his side to your trainer’s. Or, at least, you would.
“How are things with you and your husband?” she asks as you draw boxes on the wall with a resistance band on them.
I suppose it’s my own fault for being so chatty normally. People can’t help but converse.
“As well as it can be when he’s so paranoid. I swear, he and my children don’t allow me to carry anything, let alone walk on my own two feet, unless I’m here!”
She giggles, guiding to another part of the open room to some flexes with small dumbbells while sitting.
“Don’t be like. Not all of us can have such a loving spouse.”
You force a chortle, “True.”
It’s true for her and it’s true for you. Her, separating from her abusive second husband (not her soulmate, you note, but a friend of his who served in the military with him), who was never the same after watching his best friend die in front of him and was taught that seeking help was a form of weakness. You, pretending to have everything you could ever want and unable to talk to anyone about it.
Astrid’s not an option, given it’s her brother you’re needing to rant about; that, and she knows what’s going through your mind better than anyone. While you love her blunt nature, right now, you’re not stable enough to hear it. You can’t bring yourself to bother Alex or Kai with such trivial matters. One’s recovering from death, and the other’s emotions are all over the place. Your tragic love affair is minuscule in comparison.
“He reminds me of my late soulmate, you know?”
That gets your attention.
Why speak of him now? And to me, of all people?
Sure, you’re personable. It’s not that strange for people to give you their darkest secrets, deepest desires, within knowing you for only mere moments. But, that’s when you’re trying to dig into them. Trying to search. Trying to learn.
You don’t do that here. Flustered by your weakness and focusing on recovering faster to ease the worries of those around you.
Why trust me with that old wound?
“How so?”
You get glimpses, flashes of bits and pieces of the man fate tied her to and took too soon. Tall. Broad-shoulder. A laugh and voice higher pitched that one would expect from a man with his thick beard and large build. Dark brown hair in locks that gleamed with tinges of red in the sunlight. He’s her ruby, her precious gemstone. She was his everything; the person who got him through his first tour and the last thought he had before his demise.
“Deceiving appearance. He used to scare me, at first. Your husband did too the first time he walked in here those sunglasses of his and expensive suit.”
You snort to relieve the tension in your body, switching the dumbbell to the other hand as you do. That moment when all eyes turned to your partner remains locked inside your head. Blushing single (and unhappily married) women. Men taking a double take. All stopped and froze in place.
But you—monstrous and broken you—being by his side broke the illusion. Everyone went to what they were doing beforehand.
“Zeke was like that. Had the most stoic and unfeeling resting face, but was the type to cry at nature documentaries.”
You hum.
“Terrible with his words. He nearly dropped the engagement ring into the ocean when he proposed on the first beach the two of us cleaned up together. Had to write out his confession to me when we were on the debate team in high school of all things.”
She pauses, scrunching her face in an odd expression. Her eyes clear of a fog you didn’t realize was there. It comes back as soon as you notice.
“Was a man of action rather than words. Did things like Mr. Qin does for you here: adjusting the temperature of the room you stay in here after your sessions, listens attentively whenever we talk about your care and what he can do for you. Even asked me for tips for when you two are at home. Zeke did the same during and after my pregnancy with our twins.”
For once, you can’t tell if your powers or something else draws this all out of your trainer. You’re lost. You can only look forward, searching her face for answers. Nothing comes of it.
What does she see in your eyes when she makes contact with them? Sorrow? Pity? Understanding? Whatever it is, it breaks the spell on her.
“Sorry for unloading this on you all of a sudden. Mr. Qin and an old patient of mine have just reminded me so much of my love,” she pauses, laughing at herself. “Even when they couldn’t look more different in terms of how they present themselves to the world.”
Following her, she to leads you to another place in the open floor plan. Someone’s doing ladders not too far from you. Another taping buttons on some mechanism while attempting to stand on one foot. You cringe at the sight (and recall in vivid detail how you wobbled and stumbled far more than the little girl doing it right now when you first did it).
“Other patient?” you ask, hoping to slow your racing heart and mind.
“Yeah. He was a rather large man. Almost as tall as your husband. Very chatty, though. Liked to ramble about crystals and Protocores.”
Was. Past tense.
“Was?”
Your lips dry. Your throat aches. And your lungs struggle to function.
Something flashes across her face again. Sorrow. Grief. Guilt. And the look in her eyes chills you. You see someone else in those eyes. Someone screaming for help. She’s buried before you can do anything.
“He died. Same day as your accident.”
Your world screeches to a halt. Pits form in your stomach and your vision begins to blur. You’re overwhelmed in every sense of the word.
So I was right.
Never have such words hurt so deeply.
The scales rebalanced. I brought Alex back and lived. And the stars reacted accordingly. My injuries weren’t my body’s reaction, they were a warning. To not meddle anymore.
Then another thought comes in.
Did they take another besides this man to make up for the two lives that continue when they shouldn’t?
Your fingertips, cold like icicles attached to your palms, twitch. Are you shaking? You must be shaking. But, your trainer doesn’t react.
Why do the lights seem so bright? Why are my feet so heavy?
Another punishment from above? Or was it the weight of this unknown life, the weight of the trade you made? For you did not defy fate. You did not save Alex.
You tried to. Pretended to be a god, and got rightfully destroyed for it. You paid some of the prices; did other people die for the rest? And as you finish your session for today, you return to Sylus with muffled ears and a drowning mind while a singular thought echoes:
What would happen if I let myself be with and love my Morana freely? Who would pay for that? Me? The twins? Miss Hunter? Sylus himself?
Smiling at the man in question, you decide, I’ll never know. No one will.
Author’s Note: So sorry for being gone for so long, college is back to kicking my ass 😭!
Hope to be able to focus and write this summer and churn out chapters like it's going out of style (but also, chapter 20, 21, and 22 will hopefully make their appearance beforehand because then we're finally at the midpoint). Next chapter, an old character makes their return, Sylus gets jealous, and Reader makes a new friend/enemy.
"Was I really made with so little in me that all I'm worth is the creation but not the inspiration?"
Synopsis: "She can handle herself" - something you've always heard while growing up as the eldest. Be it academics or life in general, you handled everything alone. But what happens when a certain blue-eyed nerd suddenly enters your life and threatens to ruin the perfect image you've sculpted of yourself? Will he become the reason for your downfall? Or will you finally learn love?
A nerd!satoru gojo x burnedout!reader fic
Content: nerd!satoru, burned-out!reader, angst, comfort, found family, comparisons, academic rivals to lovers trope, readers parents are d!ckheads, petnames (love, darling, etc), reader forgets to eat sometimes, family pressure, reader loves trying new hobbies, reader is thin, skinny shaming, happily ever after.
Author's note: Hey guys! This series marks the beginning of myself as a writer haha! But do ignore any mistakes as english is not my first language and I hope you all enjoy this fic!
Oh, my God, it feels like the first days of the war all over again. Bombing everywhere in Gaza right now. It you scroll past this without sharing, please question your humanity.
I just got a call from my mother while I’m lying in a hospital bed. She was screaming as my younger siblings cried in terror. The bombing was very close, and they survived by a miracle. Please donate to help evacuate my family and keep them alive.
This isn’t how the game was supposed to go.
You're not supposed to be here.
You're an anomaly.
But if you’re already here, then… can’t you just enjoy it for now? Just for a little while? Before the main story begins? Before everything inevitably falls into place?
...Right?
cross-posted on ao3! ٩(ˊᗜˋ*)و ♡
CH. 025 — NECKLACE
SEVEN YEARS BEFORE THE MAIN STORY
Packing feels too final.
Your room at Gran's house is already half-empty. Clothes folded into neat piles. Books stacked in boxes by the door. The drawers of your desk sit ajar, hollowed out. The bed is stripped bare except for the familiar weight of your jacket at the foot of it. The fact that the three of you will all be going separate ways for college after spending all your lives in this world together hasn't quite sank in yet.
You sit cross-legged on the floor, sorting through the last of your things, when Eden wanders in. She flops onto the bed without asking, legs hanging off the edge.
“You done yet?” she asks.
“Almost.”
Caleb’s sitting nearby, leaning against the doorframe. His arms are crossed over his chest, expression calm as he watches you. The light from the window catches in his dark brown hair, turning it warm at the edges. His purple eyes are steady, following your movements without saying anything.
You pretend not to notice.
Eden yawns. “We should get food after this.”
“You always want food,” you say.
“You’re leaving soon,” Eden points out. “Might as well make it a big deal.”
“…I guess.”
Caleb’s gaze sharpens slightly.
You try not to think about it too hard. About how this might be one of the last times you’re all together like this. About how he’s going to Skyhaven, and Eden’s staying in Linkon City, and you—
“Hey,” Eden says suddenly, sitting up. “We should get Caleb something.”
You blink. “What?”
“For the trip,” Eden says. “You know. Like a good luck charm or whatever.”
Caleb raises an eyebrow. “I don’t need a good luck charm.”
“You say that now.” Eden leans toward you, eyes bright. “C’mon, [Name]. You should pick something out for him.”
Your stomach twists.
This isn’t how it’s supposed to go. In the original story, Eden gives him a necklace before he leaves. You remember it vividly—silver chain, a small apple charm, and a simple inscription on the dog tag attached to it: When U Come Back.
It’s a pivotal moment. A sign of affection. A foreshadowing of deeper feelings.
But Eden’s not saying anything.
And now they’re both looking at you.
“I don’t know,” you say slowly. “Wouldn’t that be… weird?”
“Nah.” Eden smirks. “It’s Caleb.”
Caleb tilts his head slightly, gaze soft. He doesn’t look confused. He looks… patient.
“Sure,” you say after a moment. “Okay.”
“Great,” Eden says, hopping off the bed. “We’ll go tomorrow.”
The jewelry shop is small and warm, tucked into a corner of Bloomshore’s shopping district. You trail after Eden through the narrow aisles, your gaze sliding over the glass cases of rings and bracelets and polished pendants. The shopkeeper smiles at you from behind the counter.
“You sure about this?” you ask.
“You already said yes,” Eden reminds you.
“I didn’t mean it.”
Eden grins. “Too late.”
She pulls you toward a display case lined with necklaces. Gold and silver chains, delicate pendants shaped like stars and moons. Your gaze slides over them, heart thudding uncomfortably in your chest.
It’s not supposed to be you.
But Eden’s not doing anything.
You hesitate. Then your gaze catches on a small silver pendant shaped like an apple.
Your breath stutters.
It’s the same one.
Almost identical to the one from the game. The only difference is the dog tag attached to it—currently blank. Waiting to be inscribed.
“Hey,” Eden says. “That’s kinda cute.”
You swallow hard. “Yeah.”
Eden grins. “You should get it.”
It’s not supposed to be me.
But you pick it up anyway. The apple charm is small, the silver polished and cold against your skin. It glints in the light when you turn it over in your palm.
The shopkeeper approaches with a warm smile. “Would you like to add an inscription?”
You freeze.
When U Come Back.
That’s what Eden chose. In the game. A quiet promise for Caleb to return safely.
Your throat tightens.
“…Yes,” you say softly.
“What would you like it to say?”
You hesitate. The chain slides through your fingers, catching on the edge of your palm. Caleb’s face flashes behind your eyes—steady and calm and always there.
You think about the lab. The cold, sterile air. The feeling of his hand wrapped around yours when you were both too young to understand what it meant to survive. The sound of his voice cutting through the haze when you couldn’t tell if you were awake or dreaming.
What did he say to you?
You remember it—half-awake, barely breathing, and the warmth of his hand brushing over your hair.
"I'm here."
“…Inscribe it with ‘I’m here,’” you say.
The shopkeeper nods, jotting it down.
Eden raises an eyebrow. “Interesting choice.”
You don’t explain.
The shopkeeper returns a few minutes later with the finished piece. The words are engraved into the metal of the dog tag, clean and simple. I’m here.
You curl your fingers around the chain.
The day before Caleb leaves, you find him sitting on the back steps of the house. He’s wearing his flying jacket, the collar pushed up around his neck. His purple eyes are turned toward the sky, the sun catching in the dark strands of his hair.
You sit down beside him. The chain in your pocket feels heavier than it should.
Caleb’s gaze flicks toward you.
“Hey,” he says softly.
You hesitate. Then you pull the necklace from your pocket.
“I got you something,” you say.
Caleb’s brows lift slightly. He watches as you set the necklace in his palm.
His thumb brushes over the apple charm. Slowly, he turns it over, reading the inscription on the dog tag.
“…‘I’m here,’” he repeats, voice quiet.
Your heart is thudding painfully.
Caleb smiles, small and private. He lifts the necklace, letting it dangle from his fingers. Then he looks at you.
“Put it on me?”
You freeze. “What?”
Caleb’s smile curves into something warm. “I don’t have hands.”
“…You literally do.”
“I don’t,” he says, completely serious. “In fact, I’m a snake.”
You give him a flat look. “Shut up.”
Caleb grins, leaning slightly toward you. “C’mon,” he says, voice low and coaxing. “You bought it for me, didn’t you?”
“Against my better judgment.”
“Then put it on me.”
You sigh heavily, but your hands are already moving. You slip behind him, brushing his hair away from the back of his neck. The nape of his skin is warm beneath your fingertips.
The clasp clicks shut. The apple charm rests neatly against his collarbone. Caleb’s smile softens. He tilts his head, letting his gaze slide toward you.
★ SYNOPSIS: Lately, Caleb has noticed a change in the MC. Her eyes seem more lifeless, like the soul behind them has been sucked right out, and her movements—mechanical. She feels more shell than human. Pair this with how one of her usual 'entourage' members, the painter, has seemingly withdrawn from her, spending more time with another woman instead, one Caleb has never fully gotten view of, and the Fleet Colonel can't help but feel the need to investigate.
★ TAGS: suggestive themes, romance, kind of dark!LADS boys, self-aware!LADS boys, isekai'd!reader, possessive behaviour, jealousy, like crazy amounts of jealousy sometimes, gaslighting, they want you and they are not afraid to fight for you
Preview: It was always her in his eyes. A girl that nobody could top over. But years past and the feelings he felt towards MC felt like a shadow of someone else's. A void he could not fill till he realised that MC is never the one for him. It has always been you. Now, he stands at The Exit, standing in the same shoes as you once were.
Warnings: Caleb x nonmc!, Heart crushing angst. Story based on reader's and Caleb's POV. This is gonna be a lengthy read. Reader yearns, Caleb yearns, everyone yearns.
Notes: An angst bomb requested by @arahiraaai featuring Caleb! She wanted the song The Exit by Conan Gray to be featured for this piece! Thanks for your request and I realised that I never actually wrote this storyline before although Caleb x MC's dynamic is clearly asking for it. Hope you like this, my lovely!
February brought upon the end of spring season. Winter trees that had blossomed in full bloom throughout the months are starting to wither away, bringing about the start of the a new season. Flowers that lined the brick pathway however, were still standing tall and proud, bearing petals of variable colours and are seemingly not afraid of wilting. Or that was what you chose to believe.
Clad in your high school uniform, you sat cross legged on a wooden bench set within your school's garden ---mostly used for herb gardening for the cafeteria's usage--- as you waited for your classmate's arrival. "Y/N!" A shout of your name got you tilting your head up, catching the sun's gentle rays shining upon the brunette jogging over to you.
Bedraggled hair accompanied with a wide charming smile, that is Caleb alright. He had his bag lazily swung over his one shoulder and his sweater fitted over his broad shoulders. "Why are you sitting out here? It's still cold out!" He exclaimed, eyeing you as if you're an alien. "Here. Take this." Without much thought, he removed his jacket and leaned down, layering it over your shoulders gently. "Don't want you catching a cold now, do we?"
His closeness got you blushing, averting your gaze as you muttered a silent thank you under your breath as he draped his oversized jacket over you. It smelled like him, the waft of muskiness with a blend of apple sweetness to the ends of the note. He was using the deodorant that you had purchased for him afterall. The key giveaway being the apple scented notes. "Caleb!" A familiar voice called out and you turned to face the source.
MC stood in a distance, waving her arms like she is flagging down a plane towards Caleb and you can see the way he reacted to her. Just like how a crush would; eyes widening and teeth showing and tail wagging. He looked more excited to see her than you. She approached, greeting you with a smile too as she casually asked, the question clearly directed to Caleb. "Are you ready to go?"
Your eyes darted in between Caleb and her, in a slight state of shock. Did Caleb not told her about the promises made between the two of you? Where he had promised to walk you home everyday? You could not blame her when she had only moved here. "Y/N, you would not mind right? If she tagged along? She is my neighbour afterall." His question got you even more flabbergasted but how could you say no. So you agreed to it.
A squeal of excitement followed and you stood up, trailing next to Caleb as you hear the both of them chattered away. MC had only moved here a few months back, but you had noticed, the way that they had instantly knocked off, seemingly having endless interesting topics to talk about. Before her, it has only ever been you and Caleb. The inseparable duo that your classmates had claimed. Not that you minded the tag name either.
But now, perspectives had shifted, roles had been turned around and you are like the newcomer now instead of her. Whispers and rumours had started to float around, of Caleb possibly having a crush on MC. It does not take a genius to notice that, how he would always ask her about homework, hang around her during recess times and now, walk her home. All of which were activities that were reserved solely for you.
Your footsteps slowed, a huge contrast towards your heartbeat that was speeding up. Caleb has never seen you the way you had seen him and you were about to slap yourself for how stupid it seemed. All of the activities that he had done with her held meaning while towards you, it is only restricted to 'because that is what friends do for one another'. You released a shaky breath and looked up, watching Caleb walking so closely next to MC, arms dangled by his sides and his laughter that had brightened her atmosphere.
At that moment a sense of inferiority enveloped you and it made you wanted to disappear into his sweater even more as you wrapped it tighter around your small figure. Just like that, you felt like you were just the one tagging along on the journey home.
Now it's November. It has been two years since you had last diminished the hesitation of Caleb liking you. You sat in the cafeteria, staring out at the clouds that hung low outside of the huge panes of windows. The coffee that sat in front of you half-empty, settling within the coolness of the weather. Caleb sat next to you, fiddling with the necklace that MC had purchased for him. "Thanks for staying back with me, y/n."
"It's okay, it's not like I've got anything to do out of the DAA anyways." You lied blatantly, facing him to catch his gaze and you could see it. The reflection of you within his amethyst orbs. His hand dropped the necklace and he stared back, a small smile grazed over his lips. You tore your gaze away out of abashment, but also knowing if you stayed still for a moment more, you may have blurted out your crush to him. "You should get going."
"What about you?" He asked, bending himself lower to get a better look at your face. "What are you going to do when I am back in Linkon?" His tone held genuine concern, but it only resonated as pity towards you. You do not seek for that from him nor do you feel that you are worthy of it. "Y/n, why don't you---"
You pushed yourself off of the metal bench, hands steadying yourself against the table. "Stop worrying about me, Caleb." You sighed, hand coming up to pinch the bridge of your nose. "I am no longer the same girl from high school. I can take care of myself." Your sudden outburst got the man blinking his eyes a couple of times, taken aback.
He only has good intentions afterall, wanting to invite you to join in as a form of gratitude. You remembered the way your heart sank when you found out the reason for his extension was to bring MC around Sky Haven. Given the start of their new relationship, it is no doubt that they are now in a honeymoon phase. Although you had foresee this happening ever since high school, you held onto your emotions, patiently awaiting for him.
Perchance, he may acknowledge that you had always been loving him from the sidelines, supporting him both emotionally and physically. Joining the DAA was the sole decision you made to hopefully get closer to him when you heard that MC was going for the Hunter's Association. But your plan to close the distance had only been ruined by their distance. For the distance is what makes their hearts grew fonder.
You had thought of it, spamming through sleepless nights just watching the ceiling and wondering if you should just tell him about how long you had loved him for. Yet, your results always ended up with a no. Because you could not bear to lose him, especially when you had already lost his affection. Naive you were simply holding onto a chance for a relationship that you could never afford.
A faint beep was heard and footsteps thudded inwards. You already knew she was here judging by how loud the bench screeched across the tiled floor and Caleb anxiously calling out her name. Sitting yourself back down, you flashed his girlfriend a smile ---small enough for it to be passed as being polite--- and sipped onto the remnants of your instant coffee. The taste even bitter than what you had first tasted.
Caleb hurtled back over to you and landed his hand on top of your head, nearly getting you choking onto your coffee. "I know you would not want to be the third wheel, but the least I can do is actually thank you for spending time with me, aite?" He patted your head, ruffling your hair twice in a gentle manner. A gesture like that in front of his girlfriend? He must have been out of his mind. But seeing MC bearing a set of wide eyes, she may have just been mimicking yours.
The gentle touch was all it takes to set you back to square one, your heart blossoming once again like the first spring that came about. Reminding you of the moments when you had first met Caleb. But you could feel the tears welling up in your eyes, once his hand left the top of your head, you watched his figure rejoicing with his girlfriend. "Let's go, pips." He even addressed her with such an odd nickname, how typical of him.
His girlfriend quickly regained composure and smiled delightfully at him. Though she did not take much offense to what Caleb had done as she knew that the both of you had always been good friends long before she came. She slung her arms around his and leaned in to press a light kiss against his shoulder blade. An affectionate move to her but it seemed like a sense of possessiveness to you. Oddly enough, it did not come off to be that much of an eye sore to you already.
As they were walking towards the exit, MC turned, glancing at you for a fragment of a second and she noticed. The tears that pooled at the edge of your eyes and the longing look that you held as Caleb leaves. Your mind was too muddled, not even realising that MC had seen through your facade. Their footsteps receeded out of the cafeteria in sync. Thus, so did your yearning for him, when you found out that you had been stuck loving a version of him that would only be exclusive to your memories. That it is time for you to erase those memories.
After the holidays, Caleb realised that you had not been attending any of your classes. And it took him through the span of two days to notice it before he decides to call you. But it went straight to voicemail. He checked the dorm list to find your name crossed out. Checked the class systems to notice that your name is no longer registered. It was like you had vanished into thin air. Even worse, he does not even know what was the reason behind it.
Asking the others were not fruitful either as you were the last one left behind at the dorms. However, Gideon seemed unfazed when he was asked where you had went. Almost as if he predicted this to happen. "Do you know something I don't?" Caleb plopped himself down onto the bed of his dorm mate's, palms facing up and an inquisitive look hung on his face.
Gideon rotated in his chair and bent down, pulling open a cabinet and fishing out what looked to be an envelope. Pristine white and uncrumpled. "Not as thorough as you searching through the database. Y/N stopped by my house a couple of days ago and asked me to hand you this letter." He eyed it briefly and reached it out towards Caleb. "It seems like there's something else inside too."
Amethyst orbs scanned the letter. The black ink stuck out like a sore thumb against the white envelope. No doubt it was your writing, written in the adorable cursive block-like fonts he used to tease you endlessly about. And the way your E is always written like an inverted 3. He used to call you a mathematics nerd because of that too.
"Did she said anything when she gave you the letter?" He took the letter, weighing it in his huge palms to find something clinking inside of it. You never wrote letters to him, other than the occasional passing post-it-notes across the table in high school to converse with him. He does not have a good feeling about this.
Gideon's eyebrows are closely knitted, ruminating and trying to picture the scenario again in his head. "She asked me to hand it to you and when I asked her about why couldn't she hand it to you herself, she---" He propped his hand against his knuckle and thought about it. But every passing second of his pause makes Caleb's stare turn into a glare. He did not understand a letter handover could agitate him so much.
Maybe it was because you had left without a trace. Maybe it was because he was expecting to see you back in the DAA again once he is back from his holiday so he could share about his experiences during the summer holidays with MC. But why had he expected you to be around, when he already had MC? Something is not adding up to himself. "Spill it Gideon." A borderline command got the cropped hair lad sitting straight in his seat.
"Okay, chill! I was thinking man!" He raised his hands up in defeat and continued. "She just said that some things are better left unsaid...?" Shrugging his shoulders, that was the best his memory could muster. "But, I definitely remember she does not look good."
"Like?" Caleb pressed, leaning forward to hear more of what Gideon has to offer. It boggled Caleb that Gideon was the one to be able to see you for the last time before he could.
Gideon is back to thinking mode. "She just seemed...done I guess." Y/N looking like she was done when she handed the letter to Gideon, which was addressed to Caleb is a sign clear as day. It hung like a question mark at the back of his mind, but with Caleb being his stubborn self, he chose not to entertain it. Not yet. Not now. "Speaking of which, it's been a day or two since I've seen her around. What happened to her anyways? Why did you have to search for her records in the school's system?"
So Gideon was not predicting this to happen, which puts him on the same boat as Caleb and there goes a dead lead. But, the letter in his hand could be the only answer he needs. "I was just looking for her." Optimally, Caleb did not disclose anything to Gideon as he was already subconsciously upset at the fact you left him hanging at a bunch of question marks he could not answer. "Thanks Gideon." Standing up, the brunette sauntered out of the room with what remained of you in his grip.
Back in his room, Caleb laid down onto the bed and instead of tearing open the letter immediately, he pulled out his phone and dialed your number again. In hopes that maybe after a few hours you may finally pick up. The line rang, then a sudden pause. Voicemail directly. He tried it maybe another 10 more times and when it came to no avail, he tossed his phone aside and held the letter up in front of his face.
Caleb had never been afraid of the dark, but shrouded in the darkness of his room now, his thoughts began to wonder and he felt uneasy. The letter in his hand beckoning to his curiosity, speaking in tongues that directly touches the deepest part of his heart. Right when he was about to open up the flap, his phone lit up and deftly turned on his side to pick it up. Only to find that MC had texted him about the cleaning instructions for the necklace.
He had asked for cleaning instructions for the necklace a few hours back ---before he starts going on a manhunt for you--- as he does not want it to be tarnished in rust. Suddenly, he was no longer interested in the cleaning manual that his girlfriend had sent over. He sighed, rolling onto his back again and flipped open the flap of your letter.
A clink and a thud, something metallic fell out of the envelope and hit the ground. He sat up and leaned down to retrieve it off of the floor but his hand hovered mid-air. The necklace that sat on the floor is identical to the one he is proudly wearing now. The gleam of silver refracting the sunlight coming in through the slither of his curtains. It was uncanny, that you had purchased the same necklace as MC did.
Confused, Caleb took out the letter that came inside the envelope, all arranged and labelled neatly with numbers at the bottom right of the pages. One may think that this was typed out on Microsoft Words and printed out. But labelling has always been a y/n's specialty. He eyed the necklace on the ground and picked it up, holding it within his palms and he started to read through the letter.
Hi Caleb,
If you're reading this letter, you might have figured out about my disappearance. Firstly, I would like to apologise. For not telling about this upfront. Do not take this personally as I think that it is time we should both part from one another.
I know you might be wondering why. If you look into the envelope, there will be an identical necklace to the one that you are currently wearing. I bought it for you a few years back, before you and MC became official.
I am sorry again for not being able to give that necklace to you. It is mainly because I could not find the courage to. Not when I watch you by the sidelines all the time, being so happy around MC. I was happy for you but it could only take that long before it starts taking a toll on me.
I remembered you asking me why did I joined the DAA with you and although I mentioned that it is my first choice to be a jet fighter just like you, I lied. I joined the DAA because of you. Because I know you always take pride in being an extrovert, but I know the times you would struggle when you feel like someone does not want to hang out with you. I could not sleep just thinking about you bashing yourself up because maybe a Tom does not like you for your big chunky shoulders.
I joined the DAA because I knew MC was going to join the hunter's association despite you had warned her of the risks for her career path. I remembered the times when you would confide in me whenever you have an argument with her. There are certainly times I wish that I could ask you to call off the relationship as I think you deserve better.
But I could not be a bitch. Not when I see you being so genuinely happy around her. The first time she asked to walk home with us, it was the first time I ever felt the weighing feeling of a longing heart. You talked to her as if you had known her longer than me and it was also the start of my loneliness.
That is why I would always refrain from hanging out with you guys. I know you meant well, but I could not get past how you are around her. It makes me feel weird, a feeling I was too young to comprehend. However, as time passes, I eventually figured out that I was in love with you Caleb.
You were my beginning and I have to genuinely thank you for those times when you had always stayed by my side, made me felt special, made me believe in the idea of us. But if I continued staying by your side, I know that you shall be the end of me. That I will always love you while I am slowly losing myself to jealousy and admiration. That I shall end up being someone I never want to be. And I do not want you to witness that side of me.
So with this letter I am going to wish you for all the best in your relationship with MC. I know that she is probably a keeper for you although I may not agree so at times. But as your long time friend, of course I would wish only the best for you. And I am sure you can do it without me. Although we may not blossom into anything else, I know that you will always hold a special place in my heart.
I hope you will honour my decision and wishes through this letter by living your life well with MC. Do not look for me. Just know that I will be fine by my own and it is the best for me to be by myself for now. I love you Caleb, always did and always will. Goodbye.
From,
Y/N.
Caleb's fists clenched, paper crumpling within his grip. His eyes felt heavy, lids closing and face burning. Till a single droplet rolled down his cheek. He is crying. Caleb is sad. Knowing that he has lost his best friend y/n without even getting the chance to say goodbye to her. It was too late now, for time had left his side, and he has no way to reach out to her and to say goodbye to her.
The next few days were quiescent for Caleb. His phone calls with MC had gotten shorter and he caught himself daydreaming through the calls, imagining MC's voice to be less chirpy. To have a softer and gentler tone, and with a slower pace of talking, just like how you had always do it to him. He would find himself wincing uncontrollably when MC says certain words differently than you. "Leb? You listening?" Her voice prompted in the background, snapping him out of his deep reverie.
"Yeah, yeah I am." He muttered, plucking at the dead skin above his nail to keep his mind occupied. "You were saying?" Caleb was sure that she was talking about an upcoming exam for the end of the semester and how she was stressed about the physical exams. "About the end term exams right?"
"Caleb..." His name got trailed off, disappointment clear on the other end of the call. "I finished that topic 20 minutes ago. Were you even listening to me?" No. But poor Caleb could not admit the truth. "What is wrong with you? You had been so out of it recently... Is there something bothering you Leb?" It is only a matter of time before Caleb can be truthful with her, but not now. Not when his wounds are fresh.
"I was just worried about the aviation exam." He lied through the cracks of his teeth and he hated how seamless it was for him to do so. Lying was never one of his best traits but he would rather shoulder his own feelings for now. "Don't worry about me alright?"
He could hear someone holler in the background and rustling ensued. "I gotta go now Leb, Tara is here and it's girls night out!" She exclaimed excitedly and the line went dead after she shouted a casual line of, "I love you!"
For once, the line was caught at the base of his chest. He never hesitated in returning the line to MC but it felt different now. It sat at the bottom of his chest, like an ebullient flame, burning his heart and throat. For once, Caleb had doubted his feelings for MC and wondered back to the days when it was only the two of you, where favours are exchanged and how he would nonchalantly say that he loves you for shouldering the favour.
The comparison had started even before he could comprehend. The first time he had said those three words to MC was as a form of return of the sentence. She said it first and perhaps during then, Caleb returned it as to not make situations awkward. But with you, it had always came naturally. You did not have to ask for it nor to wish for it. It was more towards unexpected instead. Or at least the blush on your cheeks suggested that.
Then the image turned, fast forwarding to the day MC confessed how much Caleb had meant to her and how she would like to see their relationship bloom towards a more intimate stage. The first thing that popped into his mind was 'what about y/n?' but it was cut off with the seal of her lips on his.
The reveal of their relationship to y/n can be described as underwhelming. The way her eyes widened slightly but was quickly set back to its relaxed position. How she nodded and shielded her face with the use of slanted shadows, muttering a soft congratulations to them before she said that she has to buy a cream puff from the cafeteria. The same dessert that Caleb would get for y/n only when she is down. But then, y/n had never needed to go to the cafeteria by herself. And that day, she went there herself.
Caleb wished that he could slap himself now. The signs had been so obvious and you had been ---time and time again--- so forgiving. He could only feel the dull ache in his chest as he stared blankly at his phone. What he is feeling now is no mistake for the constant hollowness he had felt when he was with MC. A hollow that a naive Caleb thought could be filled if he got a girlfriend in highschool. Blame his raging hormones for that and even now too, he is back to square one.
The silver dangling from his neck caught the seam of light and he glanced over, picking up the rectangular shaped metal in his hand and sighed. He had switched out the necklace for the one you gave him as it is the only thing he had left of you. The necklace constantly echoed the warning from your letter, holding him back from setting off on a manhunt for you. "I'm sorry I did not realise it sooner, y/n." Your name a whisper to him and he kissed the necklace, eyelash fluttering and wishing upon a fallen star.
The winds are stronger today and you pulled your coat closer to your body, your hair batting against your cheeks as a cruel reminder of autumn's touch. Finally settling within an alcove of a building, you turned around to see that it was a coffee shop and decided to seek shelter within it temporarily. The door opened up with a soft jingle and the aroma of coffee beans consumed your nose. Nothing felt warmer than the smell of hot coffee amidst the harsh cold winds.
You quickly pulled out your phone and sent your location, a quick press to your recent and a swoosh sound indicated your sent message. The coffee shop was cosy, as if built with the aesthetic of autumn in mind, it comprises of mostly warm earthy colours with the occasional gold linings for the counters. A female around her mid twenties greeted you, a small gold plaque on the right side of her shirt marks her name 'Braily' in italic.
"Good morning, what can I get for you?" Her smile was kind, pearly whites on full display as she awaited for your response while you briefly scanned through the menu on the ordering table. Seeing your hesitation, she chimed in, pointing at a drink at the menu. "How about an apple latte? It is much more fragrant than the usual cinnamon and also adds a hint of sweetness. It is our autumn special."
You looked up, eyes catching her slate grey orbs. And you smiled in return, relieved that a decision was given to you. "Sure, sounds good." You nodded and returned her smile. A few taps on her screen and a few more pastry recommendations from Braily, you are pretty much set for your order. "Oh yeah, can I perhaps get a cup of strawberry milkshake as well?"
Her fingers paused mid way and she tilted her head over to catch your gaze, a flint of worry caught within her irises but she did not mentioned anything further, perhaps thinking that you are not going to enjoy all of these pastries and drinks alone. "Sure, I will add that in for you miss. That should be a total of 30."
Once the payment was settled, you held onto the small beeper and searched for a seat near the window. So that you can enjoy the sight of the browning trees and the howling winds, causing ruckus for other passerbys. It is a good way to pass time as you await for the arrival of your plus one.
Another soft jingle was heard after a couple of minutes but you paid no mind to it, too engrossed on the game you are playing on your phone. Heavy footsteps clomped behind you, chatters ensued and you heard the employees greeting the newcomer into the coffee shop. "Y/n?" The voice octave is a pitch lower than what you are accustomed to but it ran a cold tingle down the back of your spine.
Clicking your phone off, you snapped your head to your right and you are faced with the guy that you had never wished to meet again. Caleb. He stood in front of you, in a simple tee under his black leather DAA jacket. He held disbelief in his stare, looking down at you with an unexplainable expression. Or maybe you had lost your touch in being able to read him like an open book. "Y/n." He called your name again and you regained your composure, taking in a deep breath.
Caleb knew that you would be too shocked to say anything so he glanced over at the seat opposite you and he invited himself to sit himself down. Facing you directly, he leaned his elbows against the table and tried to talk to you again. But you interrupted. "It's been a while." You gulped, trying your best to steady your voice. "Caleb." The way you pronounced his name was acrid tasting; unpleasant and certainly held no fond memories. "Why are you here?"
"I should ask you that." His eyes narrowed slightly, not able to grasp your thoughts when you lacked expressions for him to read. "Where have you been?"
His questions are almost detestable, it reminded you of the feeling you had when you left the DAA. The fear of parting with him, the nights you would spend doubting about your choices when you moved back to Greensprings and the pain you had to endure when you knew it was the best decision. Yet, on the bright side, it made you less sensitive, more sure of your own needs and wants and it also made you more independent. "As what I had mentioned in my letter, away from you Caleb."
His brows knitted together, your one-worded sentence not what he had expected but again, he was not wishing that he would meet the same girl that was once head over heels for him. But your distance is only suggesting him to view it from another angle. Maybe lesser questions and more explanations would help. "I respected your decision, I did not search for you." He sighed, shoulders slumped as he spoke. "But maybe I shouldn't have believed in that letter and gave up my one chance to make things right with you."
You looked at him, more like through him as you were allowing your mind to bring you through memory lane. "It's not your fault. I chose to leave afterall." Your response was much calmer, there was no edge to your voice and Caleb knew this was the right way to continue.
So he did. "I made a mistake, y/n." Lips barely moving, cosmic irises caught yours immediately. "After that letter, I realised that I was always in love with you but I dated MC to fulfill a twisted vision of my feelings towards you." Perplex raced across your face. "Because I was a coward as I did not want to lose you as a friend too."
You could feel the knot in the deep part of your heart unravelling, a question that was finally answered. Caleb was staring at you, eyes held years of yearning for you, wanting a response that he knew he could never turn to anyone for, nor to distract himself with. It could only be answered by you. Caleb was met with no tears, no sniffles, no sigh of relief, but only silence.
The silence between the both of you got drowned out by the soft chatters and calm lofi music playing in the background. The wind outside had almost slowed down to give you guys more space to exchange whispers. "You had already lost me the day you chose MC."
The pang that hit Caleb was subtle, quiet but impactful. A metaphorical punch straight through the gut of his. Hands clasped on the table, Caleb's gaze dropped, guilt engulfing him normally ramrod straight posture. "I thought you would see me the way you had always seen me." You continued, gaze faltering too, studying the hems of your coat. "Before MC even existed in your life."
He gulped, saliva burning like hot lava down his throat. A few bats of his eyelashes and he tried to connect his eyes back to yours. "I can't let you walk away again, y/n. Not this time." His hand reached out, palm slid across the round table to at least get a hold of you. You flinched backwards. "Y/n." Your name whispered again as his voice cracked at the end.
A jingle of a bell in the background indicated an arrival of another stranger, a forgotten figure between the two. Caleb's eyes still trained on you, your lips now pressed into a thin line, trying to contain your emotions. Footsteps anchored next to your seat and you caught sight of those fancy dress shoes. The owner's voice a melody of comfort to your ears. "Cutie---" Trailed off for a short second and ensued, now questioning. "Is he bothering you?"
You trailed your eyes up, dress pants, white button up and topped with those familiar checkered cardigan. Your beloved boyfriend has finally arrived. His pink-blue orbs was staring daggers into Caleb's nebulic ones. Ready to spit flames if you gave him the green light. "Raf." You were quick to speak, hand subconsciously raised up to hold his hand. Caleb caught your motion and hereby was introduced to the dynamic immediately.
Tension stayed, with Rafayel's eyes narrowed, darting in between your expressions and the guy who felt guilty to be there. "Who is he?" His tone was gentle. As he was never the type to raise his voice towards you. But Rafayel's demeanour; tightened grip and taut chest demanded answers. It's new to you, seeing how worked up your boyfriend could be. But it also meant the world to you. A world where Caleb no longer belongs. A world where you constantly have to doubt if you were ever one's first choice.
"He..." A slight glance towards Caleb, you could tell he was in a mixed state of disbelief and acceptance. His eyes caught yours for a brief moment but you were quick to avert, eyes going back to your boyfriend's worried expressions. "He was an old friend."
The chair's scrape was louder than what Caleb had intended to but he could not bring himself to cringe at his own mistake. Distraught bloomed in his heart. Acceptance catching on quick when he knew that he could no longer be a part in your life. It makes his speech earlier seemingly redundant. He stood up, height towering over Rafayel's but he kept a few steps behind, not wanting to cross the boyfriend who is ready to stick a fork up his chin.
"I used to be in love with y/n." Caleb's voice was clear, expression now rigid as he stared dead straight into Rafayel's eyes. You quietly gasped at Caleb's statement, Rafayel's shoulder slacked. Your boyfriend sighed, relaxed his stance and rubbed his thumb against the back of your hand to soothe you. He too, could see the passion in the other man's eye. But Rafayel is protective, not defensive. "I just wanted to seek for closure with her."
"I can tell from the way you looked at her." Your boyfriend's voice came from the depths of acknowledgement, no sense of threat to be detected. "I always wondered who was the guy she had told me about that left her walking around with half of a soul." Caleb's single brow lifted, requesting for more and your boyfriend provided. "But I think you've gotten your closure." Rafayel looked down at you for confirmation. "Right?"
You refused to lift your head, nodding silently in return and Rafayel snaked his arm around your waist as a gesture to reaffirm you of his presence. "It is time for you to let someone else love her as a whole." A silent establishment of dominance of territory, wrapped in respect and elegance. That was the reason why you had fell for Rafayel. He was never afraid to fight for you, to stand up in what he thinks is best for your interest. You were never second option.
Caleb only watched as you raised from your seat, the necklace around his neck starting to weigh heavier by every ticking second. What Rafayel said was the ultimatum but the lack of response coming from you was the deciding factor for Caleb. If he really loved you, he would let you go. At the same time, he could only watch you through his blurring peripheral vision as you walked past the street, being in your beloved's warm grip, smiling widely as you exit out of Caleb's heart.
This took me forever to write it but I hope that your request is fulfilled! @arahiraaai thanks for the request babes <3
Why Rafayel is a control freak and dominant as fuck!
(he just too good in hiding it)
Using my temper to write this down! Buckle up this is going to be a looong post!
Even before the official release of the game, Rafayel was pictured as a dominant type who prefers to take the initiative in a relationship.
Here is his response in an interview that was introduced before the official release of the game:
This undermines his natural state as a predator, the one who chases what he wants and doesn’t end up as the prey. He is, after all, a Lemurian, the Sea God of his people who is destined to lead and guide his people into the future. Also his persona as an Assassin in his myths. You can’t be stealthy and sneaky without being in control every second or without knowing how to use sudden changes to your advantage.
You only need to read his anecdotes to realize he is in charge far longer than one might expect, from avenging his own people, to keeping an eye on his beloved bride from afar.
No he’s a master of scheming and planning the “long game”. He’s always in control and knows exactly what he’s doing.
Observe the Main Story!
From the very first meeting to his story branch, Rafayel is ALWAYS one step ahead of MC. My dear moot @munnmolads had made an exquisite post on how Rafayel was well prepared for MC's visit to his house, keyword “material log”.
Also, MC's entry to the N109 Zone, suggested subtly to him and guided her to want to go there. Yes, he was worried about her at the same time but also making sure, she’s relying on him for this.
Also his various 4* cards.
He wanted to be the one getting the Artsy Bird for her, so he secretly tried to get it. Also, the way he is hardly convinced to change places at the claw machine? Yes, he wants to stay in charge, in control.
How he saved her from that stalker - Do you really think it was a “coinkidink” that he was there at the right time? 😏
“Hearty Knock” he wanted MC to trust him, to let him in for more of her life, so he planned to give her the key to his house. He took control of the situation and gave her the reassurance she needed.
“Glistening hearts” he came back exactly the moment when MC lost her ground towards some paparazzi. He immediately took control of the situation and shooed those nasty people away.
“Tipsy”: subtle but it’s there in his way to state how he helps her close the zipper if her dress is and that he always is there to help her with such things. How did he guide her to make her admit she will miss him?
“Lost in your eyes”: do I really need to explain? He knew from the very beginning that MC followed him there, he had already planned to bring her along to the auction, as he showed off his powers and sent a warning to his enemies. How he scared away the man who flirted with MC in asserting dominance over him and MC.
Homecoming Sonata: subtle again but he holds her hands as they walk. He doesn’t want her to fall so he takes control to avoid it.
“When Light Falls” even if he couldn’t see a thing, he got a cab to the hospital, asked his way along and only called MC when he wanted her to pick him up. At home he started to prepare dinner, subtly nudging her to help him with the steaks. He isn’t helpless and even if handicapped he does everything to be the one leading.
Radiant Halo: he was prepared for everything! From making MCs make-up to bringing along some sneakers for her to walk in. This man leaves nothing to chance!
Heartfelt Game: he was jealous that MC played so happily with Thomas, so he started to learn Kitty Cards to spend more time with her and make her happy. Also, a form of control, because he felt helpless in that moment.
Rainbow strokes: He takes control in their shared vacation location. He talks to the receptionist, and he drags her along into the room so MC doesn’t argue with him to share that. Do you really believe her lost booking was random? Think again! 😏
Flowery Words: Oh he’s so in control here! He picks her up in surprise, literally pins her to the bed, and makes sure she can recover. First time he’s asserting dominance so openly!
And don’t get me started about the secret times!! He always is the one taking control in the end. Rafayel only endures letting MC play around for a few minutes before setting an end and retaking control.
And all the little moments on phone, video calls, moment posts, and events.
He stalks her location with air tags in her suitcase, always noticing changes in her background, how he over and over demands that she always can ask him directly, coming to him, and so on. All are little details how he can’t stand not knowing what MC is up to, that he needs control over everything around him and her well-being.
There are also so many moments in his 5* cards where we see him leading, deceiving, scheming, and taking the lead.
How he is mostly the one driving, getting motion sickness when MC drives (Intertidal Zone), pinning her in a corner to kiss her (Ignited Echoes), and rescuing a suit and a wedding dress as his house was compromised (Destined Dawntide), and how he pins her wrist so he can keep MC in control. He is most controlling in Extreme Dose. Even if it is an AU, it counts because this is the raw uncurated version of him. Where his edges and predatory nature are emphasized and not hidden in layers of layers of deception for the people around him.
But to name them all would really burst this whole thing, so let me end this post with a strong note, that proves more than everything else, that Rafayels need to stay In control is because of traumas and experiences in the past and also a need to simply survive in a world that hunts his folk for science and entertainment from his third anecdote “addicting pain”:
“He must ensure his absolute safety before doing anything rash.”
Disclaimer: This is all canon material and how it is depicted in-game. This doesn’t affect fanfictions and Headcanons made by others.
Thomas gestures nonmc through the large gates of Rafayel's art studio, leading her along past the front doors and many hallways.
To simply call it an art studio seemed like a disservice to the enormous architecture that made up this mansion of a house. The place was as beautiful as a painting, every inch of it so intricate and elegant.
After scouring a maze of halls and archways, they end up by a white pearlescent door, presumably his bedroom she would have to guess.
Thomas lets out a sigh before finally lifting his hand up to the door, knocking his knuckles against the hard wood. They waited a few seconds, only to be met with silence.
The two share a look, clearly in understanding of Rafayel's insistence in being closed off from the world.
"Rafayel, are in there? It's me, Thomas."
No answer. That left them no choice.
"Nonmc is here with me, she wanted to see how you were doing."
At the mere utterance of nonmc's name, a loud thump and clatter is heard from behind the bedroom door, quick pattering of footsteps approaching.
With a hasty click, the door is swung upon with great force and a disheveled Rafayel is presented. Her eyes widened at his haphazard state, his plush robe falling precariously off of one pale shoulder. Was he in bed this whole time?
"Cutie, you've returned to me--" Rafayel enthusiastically exclaims before clearing his throat and crossing his arms to maintain his petulant attitude, "Oh... is this business related?"
"Lucky for you, it isn't." Thomas states, "I was merely escorting her here."
"Hmph, is that so?"
Rafayel's eyes find hers, a multitude of emotions across them. Annoyance, anger, perhaps longing but she wasn't too sure.
Thomas sighs heavily, turning to take his leave without a word. He knew all too well about Rafayel's sudden changes in mood and if she could somehow fix it, he was more than welcome to leave her to solve it.
Nonmc waits until Thomas's footsteps fade away completely before shifting on her feet idly, her hands at her side squeezing the hem of her sweater.
"It's been a while." She starts, earning a huff and roll of his eyes.
"Really? That's all you have to say to me after not speaking to me for five months?"
"Well, we could at least talk."
"Talk? Talk about what? The weather? How the fishes in the ocean are doing at this time of day? Or is it the seagulls you're worried about? Oh, I know! Maybe you're not even really here to speak with me, you're just worried about those exhibits and showings."
She huffs, crossing his arms to mirror his own defiant demeanor. If he could act that way, so could she.
"I was worried about you!"
That gets him to falter, his pouty expression softening slightly.
"Oh. Well... about what?"
"Everything. I heard you've been on hiatus. And before you say anything about this being business related, it's not. I... I was worried about what happened to..."
A soft sigh leaves her nose before she finally says what's been on her mind all these months.
"To the colorful fish who shared the ocean with me."
"...So you do care about me..." Rafayel mutters quietly to himself, making her narrow her eyes in confusion.
"Huh?"
"Come here! Let me get changed and I'll talk with you all you want."
Nonmc sputters as she's pulled by her wrist inside his bedroom, his other hand closing the door with a resounding thud. He stays in her space for a little while longer, almost taking in every detail of her before finally releasing his hold on her wrist and heading off behind a silk panel divider to change.
She brushes a hand over her hair to calm her nerves, her cheeks warming at seeing those pink and blue eyes up close once again. Even a few seconds of that sight was captivating.
"Do you know how horrible it was to only have Thomas's voice to hear these past few months?" Rafayel mentions aloud, "'Rafayel, paint this. Rafayel paint that. Rafayel, the deadline is tomorrow.'"
She sighs, glancing around the room as he goes about dressing. He has a wonderful home, a cozy lifestyle, and a career she would've dreamed of having. And yet he was acting like nothing's changed, as if he hasn't been radio silent for months with the whole world.
"You realize he has a job, right? Just like you?"
"Yeaaah, but what's the point if I don't feel like it?"
She rolls her eyes, placing her hands over her hips as she glared at his silhouette through the divider.
"Lucky you. So easily you can walk away from the art world even with a career so high above everyone else." She teases, both to poke fun and voice her annoyance at how dismissive he was.
Rafayel finally stepped out from behind the silk screen, situating the lapels of his loose dress shirt and high waisted pants as he raised an eyebrow at her.
"You really think it was easy for me?"
"Wasn't it?"
He approaches her, stopping just a few feet away from her.
"No. It wasn't." He states, his voice more monotone than normal.
That causes her to blink her eyes a bit rapidly in surprise. She had never seen him so serious before, like he was offended at her painting him in that certain light.
"I had no inspiration to continue. I felt... trapped. Lost. Like nothing even mattered anymore. You know that feeling, don't you? Felt it clawing at you before, making you rethink everything about your life."
Nonmc didn't have a retort. It was an artist's curse. To want to share your voice but always second guessing if anyone wants to hear it. Especially hen you don't have a reason, a goal to pull you through, to keep doing it.
"So... what's the reason? What caused this dilemma for you?"
Rafayel huffs an empty laugh through his nose, his darkening eyes becoming more of a dark blue. Murky like the deep ocean.
It was a bit daunting, almost chilling.
"Do you really want to know?"
She knew the answer. And she knew he wanted her to ask. He was backing her into a corner, guiding her line by line. If she answers, she's allowing him back into her life.
"...It was me, wasn't it?"
"Of course. My fishy is so smart, isn't she?"
Nonmc grumbles softly, rolling her eyes once more before taking a step forward. She wasn't going to back down.
"And why does it matter what happens to me, hm?"
His eyes brighten once more, the playful, petulant side of himself making a return. He had her right where he wanted her.
"Why, you ask? It's everything! I mean, how couldn't I when my fishy's cheeks have gotten less round! Look how sunken they've gotten from just ordering take out almost every day!"
She pauses, furrowing her eyebrows.
"Wait, how do you know that?"
"Hm?" He blinks a few times, smiling innocently, "Know what?"
Him clearly brushing off her question was all the answer she needed. This two-faced handsome man! He's playing with her!
"You..! Don't tell me you were pretending to stay away when really you were watching my every step this whole time."
Rafayel chuckles brightly, shrugging with too much glee.
"You're imagining things, cutie!" He stops himself, clearing his throat, "Oh... I guess I shouldn't call you that anymore. huh."
She watches as he downcast his eyes, putting on his best pouty, kicked puppy look she's ever seen. Whether this was real or fake, it doesn't matter. She'll get back at him once he's in her grasp again.
"...It's fine."
"Hm? What was that? I didn't quite hear you."
"Ugh... I said it's fine."
His smiled widened completely, his arms going around her middle and hoisting her up for a few spins despite her noises in protest. He was deceptively strong.
"Oh, cutie, I missed you so much! You're never getting rid of me now!"
"Okay, okay! At least put me down!"
He turns her a couple more times before eventually relenting and getting her back on her own two feet. His hands however were still sneakily joined around her, showing no signs of letting go.
"Now, before I forgive you, we're setting some ground rules." She states, making him frown in displeasure.
"Rules?"
"Yes, rules. As much as I like being in featured exhibitions with you, I want to do ones on my own. Without using you as my reference."
"So cutie wants her own events? I'm all right with that. I'll just visit them all myself anyways."
She groans to herself, knowing he wasn't going to make it easy.
"And, and this is an important and! I want to apply for ones with other artists as well."
He gasped dramatically as if it physically pained him, his eyes rounding in exaggerative fear.
"Cutie, you're killing me!"
"Agree or I'll leave again."
"I wouldn't let you leave anyways but fiiiiine... I want my fishy happy to be here with me."
He then suddenly presses his cheek against hers, rubbing against it like a cat who got its way. As much as she wanted to act annoyed with him, she couldn't help the way her heart felt lighter knowing they've made up.
Wherever this path takes them, she supposed it was better doing it together.
"Also, I have to say... you have a really nice home." She comments idly, which causes him to pull back with eyes shimmering with ideas.
"Oh? Do you like it? Do you want to move in with me?"
She laughs awkwardly, patting at his shoulders to keep him from leaning any closer than he already was.
previous part | ‘F*ck the system’ series | LaDS masterlist
Synopsis: One minute you’re playing LaDS, then next minute you’re in it. The system is giving you a run for your money and fucking you up every second of the day. Just another day in the life of an NPC wannabe.
Pairings: Xavier x Y/n
Content warnings: AU, isekai, reincarnation, angst galoy, NSFW, softdom!Y/n, fingering, masturbating, slight orgasm denial, subby Xavier, overall a pitiful Xavier, ruined orgasms, public exhibition, butt plug, forced orgasms, penis in vagina sex, unprotected-ish sex (she is on birth control), creampies, overstimulation, slight bondage, cum eating instruction, aftercare, jealous Xavier, yandere Xavier, CNC (part 6), coerced P in V, emotional manipulation, dark!Xavier, dom!Xavier — semi-proofread / lemme know if I missed something.
Disclaimer: I don’t own any of the characters from the LaDS universe, except for Y/n.
Part 6 - Option A
You have chosen Option A: Heartbreak. You have chosen Option A: Heartbreak. You have chosen Option A: Option A: Heartbreak. You have choZen… Heartbr3@#($*#’"afcz5263…..
You froze, the words rooting you in place. No, no, no, NO! You didn’t choose anything, the system chose this— this nightmare barreling toward you.
He had you caged against the wall now, one of his large palms splayed next to your head. The coarse grit of the paint was digging into your shoulder blades through the thin fabric of your shirt, as you tried to create distance between you and the heat radiating from his soaked body. Rainwater trickled from his blonde hair, cold rivulets snaking down his temples and jaw, mixing with the salty tracks of tears that carved paths over his cheeks.
His chest heaved with ragged breaths, the scent of wet earth and ozone clung to him. Those eyes—usually so composed and shadowed—now blazed with a wild, unhinged fire, pupils blown wide as he loomed over you, every muscle in his frame coiled like a spring ready to snap.
SYSTEM ERROR: CHARACTER AFFINITY OVERFLOW. CORRUPTION IMMINENT.
Panic clawed up your throat. Affinity overflow?? But how? Hadn’t the affinity dropped down to 0? Your mind spiraled. You blinked hard, willing the interface to give you something, anything, buttons or sliders to get yourself out of this situation. But nothing. Just the prompt hanging there, mocking you.
Corruption? What—
WARNING: YANDERE SHIFT DETECTED. RESET PENDING...
Your heart dropped, but you didn’t time to think. Xavier's free hand shot out, fingers wrapping around your wrist in a grip that bruised, yanking you closer until your chest pressed against his wet shirt. His breath was hot against your face, ragged and uneven.
“I saw the car outside,” he snarled, grasping your chin with his other hand to force you to look at him. “Some asshole picking you up like I'm nothing. After everything—after I waited, after I broke myself holding back for you.” His voice cracked on the last word, but his body didn't falter. He pushed you back into the wall, his knee nudging between your thighs. Trapped.
Rainwater soaked through your clothes, chilling your skin, but his touch burned. Then he let go of your chin in favor of shoving your shirt up over your bra with his rough palm, exposing your stomach and the curve of your breasts to the air. His fingers stroked down your body and dug into your sides, thumb pressing hard enough to leave a red mark, as if claiming territory.
“Xavier, stop—this isn't—” Your words choked off as his mouth crashed down on your neck, teeth grazing the pulse point before biting down, not playful but punishing, drawing a sharp sting that made your body arch involuntarily. He sucked hard, tongue lapping at the spot like he was branding you, his hips grinding forward in a slow, deliberate roll that pressed his hardening cock against your hip through his jeans.
The system flickered again, red warnings scrolling erratically:
It echoed in your skull, a digital scream that drowned out your racing thoughts.
“You think you can just walk away? Date someone else while I'm dying inside?” His voice was a rasp now, laced with sobs he couldn't hold back, tears mixing with the rain on his face as they dripped onto your collarbone. His chest rose and fell fast, breaths coming out in short bursts, and his eyes—usually so steady—were red-rimmed and pleading, locked on yours with raw need.
You snapped out of it and started thrashing under him, hands pushing at his chest, but he caught your wrists, slamming them above your head with one hand, but then he paused. His other hand hovered near your skirt, not grabbing, just trembling there as if afraid to touch.
He swallowed hard, voice cracking when he spoke. “Please... don't push me away. I can't... I love you too much. Don't leave me like this.” The words broke into a sob, his shoulders shaking as he leaned his forehead against yours, hot tears hitting your skin. He released your wrists.
You felt a twist in your gut—pity for this broken man, the one you'd once… well, still very much loved. Your heart softened even as fear lingered, and your body reacted on its own, a warm ache building low despite everything. It hurt, damn it, seeing him like this, so desperate and lost. You nodded slowly. “Okay, Xavier... it's okay. I'm here.” Your voice came out soft, and you pulled him closer, letting his arms wrap around you. You hugged him back.
He sobbed harder then, burying his face in your neck, his body trembling against yours. “I need you. Please, let me... I can't— I can't lose you.” His pleas muffled against your skin, hands sliding down your sides now, tentative at first, waiting for your okay. You whispered it again, guiding his hand under your skirt, and he let out a shaky breath, fingers brushing your panties before pulling them aside gently.
No rush, but the desperation in his touch was there—he slid two fingers through your folds and into your pussy, slow at first, there was barely any wetness. It stung a bit, and he paused, eyes flicking up to yours. “Tell me if it hurts... I just... I need to feel you.” You shook your head against your better judgement, biting your lip as he pushed deeper, twisting them to stretch you out. The burn faded quick, your walls getting slick as he curled his fingers inside, rubbing that spot that made your hips buck.
His thumb found your clit, pressing and circling, building the heat until wetness coated his hand. You whimpered, feeling your folds flutter around him, and he groaned, pulling his fingers out with a wet sound. He fumbled with his belt, zipper down fast, his cock springing free—thick, hard, veins standing out, tip leaking pre-cum. He rubbed it along your slit, coating himself in your juices, the head nudging your clit over and over until you gasped.
“Say you're mine,” he begged, voice rough with tears, leaning in close, lips brushing your ear. “Please, say it.” His words were desperate, but the aggression simmered under them, his grip tightening on your thigh as he lifted it to wrap it around his hip.
The words burned in the back of your throat. How did you get here, in this fucked up situation? Your mind couldn’t even process what was happening properly. The system buzzed loud, making your stomach flip, giving you little time to think of anything else:
He gave a short pained, bitter laugh and didn't wait anymore—thrusting in hard, his cock stretching your pussy wide in one go. You cried out, the fullness hitting deep, walls clamping down as he bottomed out, balls pressed to your ass. It hurt at first, it had been so long since you’d slept together, but the slickness helped, and he held still, panting.
It was like a switch went off in his head. “Fine then, I’ll just pound this pussy so good until the only word you know is my name—until leaving me is the last fucking thing on your mind.” Then he pulled back, slow drag making you feel every inch, before slamming in again, hard enough to jolt you up the wall.
He kept that pace—brutal, hips snapping forward, cock pounding your cunt with wet slaps. Each thrust hit deep, head banging your cervix, making stars burst behind your eyes. “Mine... all mine,” he gasped, hand moving to your throat, squeezing just right to make your head spin, air short but not gone. It amped everything up—the way his thick shaft split you open, ridges catching your walls, his balls smacking against your skin.
“You did this to me,” he growled, the words punctuated by a particularly vicious thrust that angled up, grinding the underside of his cock against that devastating spot inside you. “All those times—breaking me until I couldn’t breathe without you, taking every inch of me until I couldn't function without your touch. And now you think you can just walk away? No. Fuck no.” Rage and sorrow twisted his voice, tears dripping onto your skin as he rutted deeper, his free hand clawing at your hip, nails digging crescents into the flesh to hold you steady for his assault.
Chaos warred within you: revulsion at the system that had engineered this nightmare, and deep sorrow for the man it had fractured—his features contorted in a mask of blissful agony, brows furrowed and lips parted on gasps—and beneath it all, a humiliating surge of arousal, your pussy weeping around him, coating his pistoning length in creamy slickness that eased the burn into throbbing need. He fucked you without restraint, the room filling with the lewd symphony of skin slapping skin, your juices squelching around his invading cock, dripping down to soak your thighs and the floor below.
His lips captured yours in a devouring kiss, crashing together with bruising force, teeth clashing as his tongue plunged into your mouth, fucking it in sync with his hips. He tasted of rain and desperation, salt from his crying and a faint tang of blood where he'd worried his lip raw, the invasion complete as he claimed every part of you. You couldn't breathe properly, couldn't think, as he forced moans from your throat that he swallowed greedily.
“Mine,” he kept repeating like a mantra, tearing his mouth away to bite at your jaw, sucking a mark into the skin that would bruise purple by morning. His hand on your hip maneuvered you higher, fingers hooking under your knee to lift your leg wider, opening you up for deeper penetration.
The new angle let him sink impossibly further, his pubic bone crushing against your clit with every brutal drive, the friction igniting fireworks behind your eyes. Pleasure crested unwanted, your back bowing off the wall, pressing your breasts into his chest as a strangled sob escaped you— as your cunt clenched rhythmically around his shaft in shameful invitation.
Then both of his hands slid down to your ass, palms cupping the cheeks and spreading them apart, thumbs pressing into the cleft for better leverage. He hauled you up slightly, using your body like a toy, fucking into you with renewed frenzy—the pace turning erratic, hips stuttering as sweat beaded on his forehead, mixing with the drying rain. His cock throbbed inside you, swelling thicker with each plunge, the head flaring as it dragged over your g-spot, forcing waves of heat to crash through you.
“Feel how wet you are for me? How your cunt sucks me in?” he choked out, voice hoarse and breaking, burying his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent like a drug. His teeth scraped over your pulse point, nipping hard enough to draw a gasp, then soothing with a lick as he ground his hips in a circle, stirring his cock deep inside, the motion rubbing every inch against your walls. “Your body wants this, wants me—”
The overload built relentlessly, your body teetering on the edge, clit pulsing under the grind of his body, inner muscles rippling around his relentless thrusts. He hammered faster, the slap of his balls against your ass growing louder, wetter, his groans turning to whimpers as he teetered on the brink, the corruption in his eyes promising no end to this possession.
The system errors bombarded your vision like digital shrapnel, refusing to fade.
A piercing static hummed in your ears, like wires fraying under strain, the dim lamp overhead flickering erratically. Reality felt thin, unraveling at the seams, but Xavier didn't notice—his world narrowed to the heat of your body, the place you were joined as one, the tight clasp of your cunt wrapped around his pounding cock.
Sweat poured off both of you, making your skin slick where it pressed together—his chest heaving against your breasts, his stomach sliding over yours in a messy glide. Your thighs trembled from the strain of holding on, muscles burning as he used his grip to spread you wider, angling to hit that bundle of nerves inside you over and over.
“Fuck, baby,” he rasped, one hand sliding up to cup your breast, thumb roughly circling your hardened nipple through the fabric before pinching it hard enough to make you arch. “Your body's just begging for it—clenching on my cock, milking me like a good little slut.” Before his palm snaked between your sweat-soaked bodies, fingers unerringly finding your swollen clit amidst the chaos.
He pressed down his thumb, rubbing in tight, demanding circles that matched the brutal rhythm of his thrusts. The friction ignited fireworks behind your eyelids, your pussy contracting sharply around him, walls squeezing his length in rhythmic pulses that pulled him impossibly deeper.
You bit your lip to stifle a moan, shame flooding you as heat coiled low in your belly. Breaths escaped in short, desperate pants, the air thick with the musky scent of sex and rain.
“Come for me,” he demanded, voice hoarse and cracking, lips brushing your earlobe as he leaned in closer, his breath hot and salty with tears. “I need to feel it—your pussy coming undone on my cock. Show me how much you crave this. How much you need me to fill every inch of you.”
The orgasm crashed over you without mercy, a violent wave of ecstasy tangled with guilt and lust that ripped a choked cry from your throat. Your toes curled, calves flexing as your back bowed off the wall, every muscle seizing in the throes. Your pussy clamped down like a vice, inner walls convulsing around his cock in powerful spasms, juices gushing out to coat his shaft and drip down to where his balls smacked your ass.
He didn't let up—fucking you through the peak with erratic, savage snaps of his hips, prolonging the waves until they bordered on agony, your clit pulsing wildly under his unrelenting fingers.
Xavier shattered right after, his body going rigid as his cock throbbed inside you, swelling thicker for a moment before unleashing thick ropes of cum, hot and viscous, flooding your pussy in forceful spurts. Each pulse painted your walls, the warmth spreading deep as he ground against you, ensuring every drop stayed buried.
It overflowed despite the tight seal, leaking out in creamy rivulets that trickled down your ass crack, cooling against your heated skin and making you shiver. “Yes—take it all,” he whimpered, tears flowing freely now, his face buried in your neck as his hips jerked with aftershocks.
His thrusts didn’t stop, but slowed to deep, rolling grinds, stirring his still-hard cock through the messy mix of cum and arousal, the slick drag over your oversensitive nerves sending sparks of too-intense sensation shooting up your spine. “Not done yet,” he murmured, voice muffled against your skin, his fingers never leaving your clit—now pinching the nub lightly before rubbing faster, building the pressure anew. Your body protested, muscles quivering from exhaustion, but the overstimulation built anyway, a torturous pleasure coiling in your core.
You shook your head weakly, a sob escaping as the pleasure twisted into pain, your pussy fluttering erratically around him, trying to push him out even as it clenched greedily. “Too much—please—” You gasped, but he only tightened his hold, lips trailing wet kisses along your jaw, tasting your tears.
“You can take it for me,” he cooed, the yandere edge sharpening his tone, eyes gleaming with corrupted fervor. “Feel how your cunt's still hungry? It’s squeezing my cock, desperate for more of my cum.” His fingers sped up on your clit, flicking the swollen bud while his hips rocked steadily, the head of his shaft nudging your cervix with each push, forcing his seed deeper.
The second orgasm hit harder—a raw, keening wail ripping from your lips as your vision tunneled to black spots. Your legs locked around him, heels digging into his ass as your pussy spasmed violently, walls rippling in uncontrollable waves that milked his cock dry, drawing out the last weak pulses of his release.
Cum squirted out around his base with each contraction, soaking his balls and your inner thighs in a sticky mess that smeared with every grind. Your body convulsed against the wall, nails scratching down his back in a desperate bid for purchase, tears streaming hot down your face from the brutal overload.
He rode it out with you, groans turning to soft whimpers as his own body trembled, cock twitching inside your fluttering heat. Finally, the frenzy ebbed, his movements slowing to exhausted, shallow rocks, his weight slumping fully against you. He panted into your hair, hands loosening to stroke your sides in shaky caresses, the aggression melting into vulnerable clinginess. “I love you,” he whispered, voice small and broken, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple.
Soft murmurs of 'don’t leave me' dissolved into quiet, broken sobs that rumbled against your collarbone, his breath hot and uneven on your skin. His hands loosened their grip just a fraction, fingers tracing idle patterns over the bruises blooming on your hips, as if soothing the marks he'd made even in his haze.
The errors surged again in a frenzy, hammering in your head like a broken record on repeat.
The words blurred into an endless loop, mocking and insistent, the static swelling to a deafening whine that drowned out even the patter of rain outside.
Then silence.
SYSTEM OVERRIDE FAILED.
Loading…
The screen in your vision— that invisible overlay only you could perceive—flashed a green glow, the progress bar inching forward agonizingly slow.
For one endless second, it felt like time was slowing down. Xavier had gone eerily still and quiet, before his breath hitched.
A chill raced down your spine as the implications sank in—the barriers between code and reality crumbling.
Memory download… 53%.
The percentage ticked up erratically, the static returning in bursts that made your temples throb.
Memory download… 79%.
Xavier eased back just enough to look at you, his face etched with deep confusion, eyes searching yours like he was seeing you for the first time—or perhaps seeing something beyond you. His brows knit together tightly, a furrow forming between them, and his eyes began flickering side to side rapidly, darting back and forth as if he were chasing shadows in his mind, fragments of code unraveling in his thoughts. His lips parted, but no words came—just a soft, bewildered exhale that ghosted over your flushed skin.
Memory download… 91%.
The progress accelerated, the air humming with an electric tension that raised the hairs on your arms.
In that instant, his whole demeanor shifted. The confusion melted away, replaced by something darker, sharper. He gave a wild, unhinged incredulous laugh, his eyes blazing with a manic gleam, pupils blown wide. He whipped his head toward the invisible screen only you could see, his gaze locking onto the empty air.
Horror iced through your veins, freezing you in place. Unwanted pieces clicked into place in your subconscious.
SYSTEM OVERWRITE ACHIEVED.
Xavier's gaze locked on you, his grin widening into something predatory, teeth flashing white in the low light. The text flickered out abruptly, the screen going blank, leaving a void that echoed in your skull.
But then, letter by letter, new words materialized, like they were being typed by fingers you couldn't see—deliberate, unhurried strokes that built the sentence one agonizing character at a time. You stared, heart pounding a frantic rhythm in your chest, breath catching as the cold dread coiled tighter.
This time, it wasn’t in the cold, mechanical system voice echoing in your skull. No, it was Xavier's own—a low, possessive rumble that vibrated right through you, intimate and chilling, as if he were whispering it directly into your ear.
he called you all sorts of nicknames, but never the one you wanted to hear, never the ones that would cross the boundary that ventured beyond the guise of a “close friendship” and into something more.
oftentimes, he kept his secrets locked away – preserved, never to be shared or heard by another living soul. he stayed quiet about his past, though there were moments when his facade slipped, giving you a glimpse beneath the surface.
like the times when he’d have alcohol in his bloodstream from nights out.
or when a fever of 43.9 sent waves of panic through you – enough to have you begging him to let you take him to the hospital.
but he would refuse, saying it was something he could tough out. that it must’ve been the calamari he’d eaten during lunch, or maybe a mild virus.
those were not plausible causes, and his words do nothing to ease your anxiety.
still, you hurry around his kitchen, searching for medication to calm his fever. you fill a bowl with water, wring out a towel, and press it against his skin, hoping to cool him.
when you return, he’s still there, lying on the couch, eyes shut tight. his brow furrowed.
he doesn’t look at peace. he’s in pain. suffering.
and as if sensing your worry, his eyes flutter open–glowing blue, not a hint of the delicate pink hue you’d grown accustomed to.
this wasn’t your rafayel.
yet, something in those eyes calls to you, luring you in. begging you to get closer.
and you do, slowly – cautiously.
he doesn’t pull away, not at first. but the heat radiating off him like a hot iron causes you to halt, reason overcoming that strange pull, that desire.
it brings you back to reality, back to what you came here to do.
you tear your gaze away for a moment, shaking your head to clear your thoughts, dipping the towel in water.
but when your eyes land on him again, your breath hitches.
shining blue scales – ones that weren’t there before – pattern his face and neck.
you had suspected it before tonight. the signs had always been there.
but seeing it now, curious fingers moving before your mind could stop them – reach out, touching the scales near his collarbone, causing a twinge of pain before blood begins dripping from your fingertip the second it makes contact.
confirmation.
an ancient marine race seemingly extinct by the hundred, no. thousands of years.
lemurians. sirens, as your late mother once called them.
dangerous enough to kill you with a simple hum of their melodic voices. scales sharp enough to slice through human flesh.
and yet – despite the warnings, despite the danger he posed, despite your mother’s voice echoing in your mind telling you to run, to save yourself – you stay by his side, unmoving.
his enchanting blue eyes tear themselves away from you and down to the blood that seeps from your finger. you catch a glimpse of something in his eyes –something vulnerable, almost guilty.
“it’s too dangerous for you to be here,” he said quietly, your hand brushing his cheek. the heat radiating off him scared you. it wasn’t normal. it wasn’t human.
“i don’t want to hurt you.”
your thumb slides over his right eye, memorizing the way he instinctively leans deeper into your touch.
“i don’t care,” you whispered.
a beat, then a crashing wave heard from the distance. he tears his gaze from where it rests, looking towards the half-moon through the high windows of his sanctuary.
“rafayel,” you continue, “you could never hurt me.”
deep magenta flickers for just a moment, then it’s gone.
looking back at you, he places his hand on yours, guiding it to his cheek.
despite his high temperature, it seemed as if your human warmth soothed him.
and that night, fully nestled in your arms, he lets you stay.
despite your late mother’s passing, you recall her instilling the knowledge of lemurians in you when you were just a child.
scattered ancient texts scribbled messily onto yellow paper, decades of notebooks with theories, lemurian artifacts inhabiting every corner of your childhood home.
maybe that’s why you found yourself questioning the credibility of an ancient scripture recovered from the lost civilization of romirro off the coast of verona – one stating that the kiss of a lemurian could assist a mere mortal in breathing underwater.
one night, after an exhibition, rafayel leads you towards the highest cliff on whitesand beach.
the summer breeze carries the scent of salt from the sea, caressing itself into the strands of your hair, but it does nothing to calm your nerves of elevated heights when you reach the edge.
you sit together, overlooking the moon’s reflection on the surface, shining – sparkling.
you start off speaking of small things. for the most part, it’s you doing most of the talking, but he listens, head resting lazily on his palm, sunrise eyes never straying from you.
a sudden notification startles you from your rambling, interrupting your train of thought.
a message from your roommate asking where you were, worried that you haven’t mentioned your whereabouts.
the numbers on your screen display 12:22 a.m.
he probably assumed the worst, thinking you might’ve been kidnapped or passed out drunk at a bar.
you chuckle softly, typing a quick reply.
i’m okay. don’t wait up. - 12:24 a.m.
his response comes instantly.
if you need me to pick you up, just call. - 12:25 a.m.
you slip your phone back into your pocket, only to find rafayel’s brows raised in mild curiosity, as if waiting for you to share the joke.
you shake your head, “nothing important.”
minutes blur into hours, and the conversation shifts. rafayel lies on his back, hand outstretched towards the night sky.
he’s asking you questions about your childhood, about your family.
he asks about your human traditions, the ones you celebrate.
of course, he’s not familiar with all of them, but he lets you go into detail, intrigued by the words that you speak.
eventually, the conversation turns to him.
he allows you to ask him questions about his lemurian origin – not that you had pushed in the first place – the opportunity simply arose, like a secret he no longer wanted to keep buried.
so you ask.
he rolled his eyes at the mention of a tail.
and ask.
no, he didn’t have a trove of human items from the surface world when he was younger.
he did.
he answers every single one.
“okay, i have a final one.” he’s sitting upright now, taking your hand in his, absently tracing over every line on your palms, memorizing each ridge of your fingertips, thumb brushing over silver rings.
his cool touch sends shivers down your spine.
he hums in response.
“is it true the kiss of a lemurian allows humans to breathe underwater?”
he stops abruptly, eyes lingering on your palm.
he’s avoiding your gaze.
after a moment, he clears his throat. “i suppose so. why do you ask?”
“oh, nothing.” you mutter, “something i was always curious about.”
right.
another pause. then, softly...
“may i kiss you?”
he whispers it so delicately that the current underneath nearly stole it away – you might’ve missed it.
the question lingers, and your mind short-circuits, not fully registering his words.
but your thoughts subside as you look into his eyes, seeing how desperately they’re searching for something in yours.
you don’t know why you nod yes.
it must’ve been the setting – the romantic undertone of sitting beneath the moonlight, the way the waves meet the cliffside.
the way your heart believes there may be a chance he feels the same way.
a beat. another tide rolling in. a warm breath inching closer.
when his lips meet yours, it’s soft – gentle. it’s not rushed in the slightest.
he lingers for longer than he should, his mouth moving faintly, like he's trying to memorize the shape of your lips, holding on to every trembling second between you.
then, almost reluctantly, he pulls back.
your eyes widen, and you catch the flicker of conflict that flashes briefly. the way his jaw tightens.
the air feels heavier, charged with something neither of you put a name on.
turning your head, you try to stop the color flooding your cheeks, or worse, stop him from seeing it.
you don’t move fast enough, though, and it doesn’t help the way your heartbeat pounds erratically, praying he doesn’t hear it with his enhanced hearing.
but he does – he notices. you can see it in the way the corner of his lips curls. the smile that threatens to show is the proof you need.
“that should do,” he says it almost proudly, satisfied.
the reflection from the moon falls upon him, his otherworldly beauty making your breath hitch.
off the right, you sense the shift at sea is instantly. the tides are coming in more violently and frequently, luring your thoughts astray, forcing you to once again ground yourself.
it’s lethal to fall into him – it’s dangerous – your mother’s voice reminds you.
the rational part of you, the part that knew this would only end in heartbreak, screams at you not to. to not let this lemurian capture your heart.
but you tuck that part of yourself away, forcing it to hide. desire overcoming logic, it’s too late.
tonight, in this moment, you find yourself doing it wholeheartedly.
“now, do you trust me?”
breaking out of your thoughts, he offers you that enchanting smile, the one that throws all your anxieties away.
you nod, taking hold of the hand that’s extended towards you, lifting you to stand next to him, teetering closer to the edge.
and together, you jump straight into the depths below.
the water is freezing, but the heat from his hand – his body – warms you up just as quickly.
you slowly open your eyes, trying to make sense of your surroundings, but it’s too dark. you’re afraid to take a breath, utterly terrified.
what if it didn’t work? what if you were an exception? what if he lied to you?
“don’t be afraid.” his soft voice is barely heard through the waters, muffled. “c’mon, just take one breath.”
you trust him.
a blue fish bursts from his fingertips, creating light from where you are.
so, you finally do so.
the realization hits you at once. it was like breathing on the surface, your lungs inhaling and exhaling like second nature.
and this wasn’t some dream; this was real.
he interlocks your fingers into his own as he drags you farther and farther from the cliffs, telling you there’s someplace he’s always wanted to take you.
you don’t reply, just follow his lead, allowing him to take you where he desires. this was his domain, after all.
from a distance, you see it.
buildings upon buildings of architecture from your mother’s study. except these are destroyed, dulled, and forgotten by the erosion of time.
yet, schools of fish inhabit every corner, there are jellyfish floating aimlessly, and crustaceans hiding beneath the coral reefs.
he solemnly shows you what’s left of lemuria – his true home. not verona, like he once claimed.
at some point, you break away from his grasp, venturing off into the depths of a demolished temple that looked to be once decorated in the most beautiful of sapphires and marble.
swimming through the ruins of the temple, you pause momentarily to study the shattered remains of a woman, pass a throne room with two empty seats, and circle around a candelabra where no flame burned.
rafayel remains uncharacteristically quiet when he follows your eyes to the image in front of you.
a portrait, painted nearly a quincentennial ago, depicting a young girl. she stands on what seems to be the surface of the ocean, hair blowing in the wind. the young man by her side extends a hand to her. the other is kept behind his back.
and off to the side, in the farthest corners of the painting, there’s another figure, not as detailed – almost fading into the background.
she sits by the shore, eyes fixed on the pair at sea, her expression carrying that unmistakable melancholy of an unspoken love.
the girl on the surface, the man beside her, the one watching from the shore – it evokes a feeling of unbearable familiarity.
“beautiful.” you whisper underneath your breath in complete awe.
rafayel looks at you then.
for a split second, his composure falters. his jaw tightens, eyes flickering with something heavy.
the faintest breath leaves him, almost like he’s about to speak, but he doesn’t.
instead, he averts his gaze, taking your hand in his once more, and leads you away, turning you towards the remainder of his ancient city.
more hours pass, your laughter echoing through the deep as he recounts memories of his troublesome youth, sitting atop a building amongst the rubble beneath you.
at such a young age, he developed a curiosity for the surface world, and to keep him from going, his mother would either tuck him in, and remain in his room until sunrise, or a guard would be stationed by his sleeping quarters.
and on nights where his mother lay resting in her own quarters, he’d used the mechanics of his evol to set the guard's hair on fire.
but as much as a demon child rafayel seemed, you can sense the feelings of a man who misses his people. a young boy who misses his mother and father.
he drags you to your final destination, another temple dedicated to lemuria’s god of tides that was once maintained by a dear friend of his.
he takes you around the halls and into a display room where he sets an ancient conch used by the sea god himself into your palms – laughing when you can’t seem to blow it well enough to get any kind of sound out.
he takes you to the library, where he finds the remaining pages of a popular lemurian picture book his late older sister would read to him on nights when he couldn’t sleep.
he finds dials and remedies in the infirmary. every single one of them recovered by an ancient sea witch. he sees the way your fingers twitch, observing each one, trying to read the words of an ancient language lost to time, but you give up and just as your curiosity came, it vanished, moving on to the next room.
after so long, he’s not sure if they still carry her magic, but he subtly pockets them, moving to where you venture next.
when he brings you back to the surface – dawn just barely gracing the horizon with its presence – he holds you, and you are sung to sleep in the arms of this beautiful lemurian.
you dream of a younger you, one that is hastily calling out to a boy with familiar purple hair, tails flailing against the current, sea shells and gifts exchanged underneath a secret hideout just east of the city.
you dream of sitting around a grand table with your family. a celebration held after becoming the god of tides' chosen high priestess. you’re smiling, hugging your mother tightly, vowing you’ll never stray too far from her, never stray too far from home.
you dream of slow dancing above the ocean’s surface, paranoia encapsulating you, afraid that you’ll get caught by the royal guards for straying far from the temple for so long. but he hushes your concerns, eyes softening as you look up to him, and he doesn’t hesitate to leave a gentle kiss atop your forehead.
you dream of a woman in his arms, unconscious, but breathing. he does not spare you a glance when you ask questions, nor when you venture into his quarters at the end of the day, brushing you aside as if you were nothing more than a mere lemurian citizen.
you dream of polishing the statue of a woman you’d have to worship as the sea god’s bride soon.
you dream of kneeling by the shore, forceful sobs tearing from you as you mourn your tail, your scales, your ability to breathe underwater. your connection to your home, to your family, to your memories, are now gone, forever.
you dream of pink and blue tourmaline eyes filled with tears, arms wrapping around you tightly, afraid that if he’d let go, your warmth would turn cold, and your eyes would never flutter open again.
but his love is too late.
despite your newly acquired humanity, you turn into nothing but sea foam.
in your final breath, you curse the ocean, you curse the bond, and most of all, you pray to astra to never meet the sea god ever again.
you dream of all these things.
but they are not from this lifetime.
⏾
a/n: i have been waiting to use back to you for a rafayel. ugh, it's full of so much longing and melancholy, i just think it fits him sm. anyways, i hope you guys enjoy, and ty again for 300!
Ikigai, Part 18: For the Entire World Could Be on Fire, and All I'd See is You
Summary: Recovery is a slippery slope for one like you. Especially when you've changed the fates of many, and earned the ire of a certain god.
Ikigai (n.) (Japanese): "A reason for being," the thing that gets you up in the morning.
Content Warnings: medical inaccuracies, brief panic episode, mentions/allusions to medical trauma, OC is misgendered by their shitty family, lots of crying, but also cuteness and flirting because i have no self control, i'm starting to crank up the sexual tension between these two idiots (but that's mostly in little flashes... for now 😈)
Part 17 | Part 19 | Series Masterlist | LADS Masterlist
You stumble into consciousness and your worst nightmare greets you: a hospital. Blinding lights. A needle in your arm. Beeping machines. Wavering threads of death and terror in the air.
Fog coats your mind. What happened? What can you remember? Why are you here? How did you get here? You attempt to speak, to ask questions. Sudden contact on your skin, and the rush of medicinal scents in your nose with the mist of cruel fate in your eyes brings one question to the surface clear as day:
Am I back at Ever?
A more chilling thought runs through your mind when you become more aware of the needle in your arm and the mystery figure at your bedside. You blink at them; nothing becomes easier to see. And yours limbs won’t cooperate to help you feel them out. They tremble instead. Wobble as you try to make the simplest of movements. Protest and squeal with strain. And another wave of memories of the last time you were in this condition widens the pit in your stomach.
Did I even leave the place? Was everything a dream?
Did you make up Sylus, the twins, Miss Hunter, everything, to cope? Did you fail to escape your family and resorted to conjuring some pitiful love story to busy yourself? Was anything real?
Another figure enters the room. Splotches of dark skin and hair the color of night dot your eyes. The wisp of their thread burns your taste buds, and smoky bark on your tongue at the sight. Strange. You’ve never been able to do that. A result of the power you touched in the Protofield? Or have you never known your ability, trapped in a dream for who knows how long?
Questions for another time. You turn away from the mystery person, not in the headspace to deal with them and the shift in your powers. The outline of a white coat over black scrubs gives you all the information you need.
I need to get out of here.
Chemicals in your lungs. Blaring sounds of shuffling feet and machinery. Blood in your dry mouth, spit and sweat on your lips. Nasal cannula looped around your face, in your way, yet you can do nothing about it. Rough fabric of a hospital gown on your skin, a cage designed to simulate comfort.
I need to get out of here.
You try to rip the needle out. Hands don’t move as they should. They oscillate with the motor skills of a toddler. You would scream in frustration if your throat would at all work to make such a sound. But, of course, you aren’t allowed even that bit of reprieve.
Jaw stuck shut, fingers useless, and body burnt-out, you want to cry.
I want to go home.
But where’s home? You have nothing without the landscape of your imagination. No job. No twins. No friends. No Sylus. No nothing.
I want to go back to my sweet dreams. To somewhere with a glimmer of hope and full of love.
Crimson energy flutters around your wrists to stop you from picking at your IV anymore. It flickers on your skin. Hovers with affection, a feather-like touch on your raw flesh. The lights dim and your eyes adjust. The blur in them dissipates. You take stock of everything around you.
The first thing you register confirms you aren’t at Ever, your life’s real, and you’re safe: Sylus. He’s in a chair next to your hospital bed, bags under those eyes of his that you cherish. His usual demeanor shatters at his feet, disheveled clothes, face gaunt, and lips upturned in a shaky smile rather than arrogance smirk. His thread feeds you—the spice of your signature goat curry with the richness of the hot chocolate he loves to serve you on your hard days with the scent of smores and baked goods (memories of Simurgh’s birthday last year pop to life from the smell).
You’re real. You’re all real.
A sob breaks from your lips and he knows what you want without words. He brings you close, cradles you like you’re something precious. You bask in his fragrance and body heat, throat vibrating and body stiff except for the trembles from your tears.
There’s no shock in him from your display of vulnerability. No judgement. No hesitation to carefully wrap his arms around you as you cry into his shoulder. No admonishment as you stain his body with the salt of your tears. Another reminder that Sylus differs from those from your past.
All sensations fall to the way side. Your god of death becomes the center of existence, of anything and everything. His vanilla undertone. The strong cord of his muscular arms that hold you tight with a caution that treats you as a glass figurine. His Evol—swirls of black and red that have killed so many—plays with your hair and keeps you upright. His voice, you can’t discern, but rumbles in your skull; your brain releases happy drugs and you’re buzzing despite your pain.
Relief engulfs the pair of you. You because he’s your reality; he wasn’t a delusion you made up to survive. Him because you’re alive; you didn’t leave him.
His thread teases you (it tastes of brownies you made for Simurgh after she recovered from a bad cold that left Sylus tending to her day in and day out with panic), dances in the air and brushes your cheek while pulsing with the layers of his heart. Like both him and Miss Hunter want to comfort you from the depths of their souls, and they want you to know it.
Miss Hunter…
Levity churns into waves of embarrassment and guilt. She’s gone. And here you are, having a breakdown like some child. You’re better than this. So you stifle your cries and attempt to detach from Sylus. Your body doesn’t work as it should. But, Sylus gets the message. And while he hesitates, he does assist in you in moving away from him. But he keeps a hand on your lower back, almost lifting you out of the bed as he supports you.
“Where?” it takes forever to croak out.
Your vocal cords are a mess. Raw and sore and screeching out for you to not use them.
“She’s okay, sweetie,” he reads your mind once more. “Perfectly fine. She healed up good as new a few days ago.”
Your Morana crumbles at your bedside. His voice cracks. His shoulders slump with an impossible weight. He leans more out of his chair; his form flickers with his draconic one, tail thrashing and wings curving to envelop your form. His eyes never leave you; panic slips in when he so much as blinks.
”Don’t go,” his red says. ”Please don’t go.”
They cloud with tears. With pain. With an infinite fear no words from you can cure. His hand on your back curves to rest of your hip. Your cheeks flush but you can’t push him away. Not when his arm trembles. Not when his breath stutters each time you face scrunches from the protesting wails of your muscles.
He longs to press his head into your hair. To breathe you in and try to make the two of you one. You’d never leave him that way. Never be far from him again. He’d never be in the position of sitting in some hallway, attempting to keep himself together for the three wards you two share, while you’re in an operating room under the care of a man he trusts with nothing.
His thread tells you all this. As it pokes at your heart. As it tries to enter your chest. As if Sylus and Miss Hunter want you to be on his other end. As if he wants to replace you with what the universe gave him.
The drugs they gave me must’ve been quite potent if I’m having ridiculous notions like these.
“Days?” you ask to distract yourself from Sylus’ condition.
Your Morana pursues his lips and turns to the other person in the room, Helios. The old man’s usual shine dims with the scrubs he crinkles in his hands and eyes that dart around the room. Exhaustion hangs off every cell in his body. Normal for a surgeon, right? It’s what you expect from a man as busy as him. But there’s a shift to this tiredness that makes you give it a second glance.
As always, it leads to his thread. The way it twinkles with life makes you pause. A broke connection whole once more. A soulmate bond cut due to death, mended by the cosmic forces.
Have I gone mad?
“When the Protofield collapsed, all that remained was a party of three: you, your Hunter friend, and another, who was originally not even known to be there when the pair of originally were swallowed by the place.”
Helios’ professional and tranquil voice soothes the burning in your soul. Sylus removes his hand from your hip to your cheek. He strokes it not with affection but with the saddest of eyes. With a grief that sings of him doing this motion over and over again while you were unconscious, grappling onto hope with sharp talons, praying that you’ll come back to him. Whispering wishes to the universe, to the stars and forces beyond him that he’s hated all his many years, that they won’t take you from him.
He stutters on the movement; does the heat of your skin cause that? Were you cold when he did this before, a ghost of a woman? A shell of yourself, closer to that of a corpse than a human? He traces one of the many patches of you that you lost in the fight, and you’re both in awe.
How did it return? Your power feeds you answers once more.
You’re normal. Recovered. Torn flesh and spilled blood and broken bones and ripped tissues weaved back together. Not stitched by doctors. Not fixed by any conventional needs.
It puzzles you. Revulsion twists in your intestines, a new pang of hurt rising in your abdomen. Sickness clogs your neck, tightens and squeezes a garrote around your windpipe. In your line of work and in the place you live, fatal wounds become easy to spot with a glance. The shock of waking in a hospital fades. In its place, another wonder glimmers. One much clearer than any of your previous.
How am I alive?
“The other two were nigh unharmed. Nothing monumentous. You, contrastly—“
You interrupt, “I should be dead.”
Sylus flinches. His eyes whip to fixate on you, terror bleeding into his scarlet and a silky sheen falls onto them. His grip on your cheek tightens. He leans more into your space. And the regret of your words hits you with a force greater than any Wanderer could. You long to hold to him. To bring your Morana close and never let him go.
Do I deserve to?
You made him this way. Put him the worst state of panic and desperation. All because of your callous comment. Was that part of The Way, a sickness that cloaks the primordial essence of reality and gives birth to the worst of tragedies and a god that stalks a certain heart surgeon, still affecting you? Was that power and hunger still clawing at you, twisting you?
Are you even still you?
“He was the only chance you had. So our Hunter friend rushed you here.”
Sylus emphasizes the word friend as his fingers wrap delicately around your face. A different kind of plea, of hope, runs through his eyes. You’re too tired to dissect it. Another thing takes precedence (you’re not ready to face the truth of Sylus and you and his heart).
Helios and Sylus’ relationship. Their dynamic. Something that involves you, but not too much. They’re another brand of love, one that hurts you far less. Two estranged men, family due to their bond with one woman. The sun god by marriage; the fiend by blood. Neither want to be around the other. Both get enraged by the mere sound of the other’s voice.
It’s strange to see such hostility in both of their threads. Uncharacteristic for men who pride themselves on their ability to remain in control of things. But I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised.
For your Morana—a man who owns your heart and loves you as family—had to put your life in the hands of a man he knows nothing about. Put his faith in the husband of the sister he wars with. Trust in someone he views to be on the side of the woman who taught him both love and betrayal. Discomfort and anger were the least of the emotions anyone could expect out of Sylus with those kind of circumstances.
Because regardless of how much you treasure both of them, you know in your heart of hearts that the Qin siblings had a falling out for a reason. They’re both people utterly starved of love. What could be the purpose behind severing their most important connection?
Yet another string of questions for a later time.
“Who was this third person?”
You aim to alleviate the harsh atmosphere with your question. It works to some degree. Helios allows a real smile to cross his lips. It warms your insides with a heat no ray of light or fluffy blanket can compete alongside.
“Alex,” he breathes the name out, and his sun eyes lock with yours at long last.
Every inch of your skin burns. A fog once more passes over you, but this smoke is fuzzy. Soft and welcoming. Your eyes sting. You bite your lips.
That can’t be.
You turn to Sylus before you allow your emotions to hit you. Your Morana wouldn’t lie to you. Not right now. Not right after he almost lost you for good. Not while you’re in this broken state. His lips quirk up, and his index finger moves to brush against your eyelids. It’s all the confirmation you need.
The tears come in with the force of torrential rain. You don’t hold them back. You let go. Not giving any care for how you appear or what what may or may not happen. Even when the rattles they cause make your body ache. Even when your unstable hands tremble as they try to wipe them away. Even when you choke unceremoniously on your spit and your head throbs from the loss of water. Sylus rubs your back while Helios steps out. Neither man makes a sound. They gift this moment to you and you alone.
To embrace the joy of survival. To cuddle with the glee of your dear friend coming back to you. To cherish your ability to be a human fucking being.
I didn’t die, you weep. I didn’t die, and my friend came back.
—
Things settle after an indeterminant amount of time. Your face burns with dried tears and boils of embarrassment; you’re glad Helios left when he did (he’s back now, and still refraining from commenting on your situation). Sylus was spoon feeding you Jell-O not too long ago. Crying and waking from near death made you starved.
The lingering impressions of his palm under your chin stick around. The soft yet rugged hands forcing you to maintain eye contact as he cares for you. The warmth of his touch. The coolness of the spoon that did nothing to quell the insanity inside your skin. How your hospital clothes became more noticeable, clammy and discomforting on your every follicle.
Sylus’ smile. Your own dry lips you’d lick every so often (and you’d imagine him following the motion with a strange glint in his eyes). The imaginary palate that would float on your tongue when you ponder on what your tastes together would create. Would it taste like his thread, blends of spices and floral teas, or something else?
Quit it, you foolish girl.
“Alex was a Wanderer, weren’t they?”
Your choice in topic provides the perfect distraction for all parties. Sylus no longer stares at you. Helios takes comfort in your words, a subject matter that deviates from him, his wife, and the complicated Qin family.
Your doctor nods, “And you brought them back. I believe this to be a first in this world’s history. Quite remarkable of you. Mending and bringing forth an inconceivable miracle and giving hope to those with Protocore Syndrome.”
Layers of emotion sizzle in his eyes and thread. Dread. Apprehension. For you and for Alex. On what your miracle means for the world. On what your ability means for the people of his past.
You don’t dare search any further. “Than I suppose a meeting with my supposed ‘miracle’ wouldn’t too much to ask.”
Fingers bunch into your sheets, and your gaze sharpens. Helios’ grin broadens. Sylus’ soul relaxes. You being your usual self soothes him. He takes one of your hands in his, and rubs the back of it with his thumb. Helios catches the movement with his eyes.
“I’ll grant you that wish after I get a better scope of your current situation. I’m optimistic, for the time being.”
“Such a quick judgement, considering she’s only just awakened,” snark twines with Sylus’ genuine concern; and on any other occasion, you’d smack your partner.
“I’m being hopeful for good news, Mr. Qin. You ought to try being more open-minded.”
Sylus scoffs. Helios wears an empty and professional expression. It drops to the one he had before when he locks eyes with you.
“I’ll be checking you with my Evol primarily. It was what was used to keep you on this mortal coil of ours,” you nod to give your consent and your favorite light runs along the roots of your nerves.
Life hums there. Drives out the sinister parts of The Way, the one that resonates with sorrow and a greedy cosmic entity that’s throwing a temper tantrum (does Helios know them? A tiny frown crosses his lips when his Evol burns that influence out of you). Your old rendition of The Way returns; one that loves you.
One that doesn’t want to change you, corrupt you. One that doesn’t want to devour the universe around you. This Way doesn’t call for you to become a god; it’s content with human you. It adores you because you’re human.
“You’ll need physical therapy. Full mobility of your body isn’t something I believe to be in your near future without it. Thankfully, things don’t appear as intensely as I expected given the state you were in when you first arrived and the amount of force it took to mend you.”
“I sense a ‘but’ in there doctor.”
He chuckles; the sound reminds you of bells and the gentle light of a beautiful garden.
“But, I believe you to be well enough to visit Alex. Their monitoring is more strict than yours, for the present time. So, if you want to see them, it’s best to have someone escort you there. And you’ll be using a wheelchair, since I doubt those legs of yours will be properly working any time soon.”
“So it was a good ‘but’ in there for a change,” you must appear silly, mad, for smiling the amount that you do.
You almost died. Had a panic attack as soon as you awoken. You’re still in the progress of having your heart broken by your boss turned business partner. You’re soulless in a world where it means everything, rejected by the family that should’ve loved you. The mysterious power that’s shaped your entire life threatens to swallow you whole.
Yet, you grin like maniac. Laugh under your breath like you’ve lost what little sanity you have. It’s liberating. Breath-taking. Sylus’ soft carmine gaze, squarely on you, thinks the same. He looks at you like it’s the first time he’s ever seen you. Like it’s his first time seeing true beauty.
And for once, you allow no guilt to ruin the joy of his attention. Allow no pain of the past or rejection or doomed love to taint this second. You flourish under him. Helios’ glow feeds you as well.
And all it took was a little bit of death.
“I like to deliver positive news to my patients whenever possible.”
The old man shrugs, his face passive with rays of light bending over it. He fidgets, though. Glances at the entrance to your room with a shifty glaze over his sunspot eyes. Rubs a hand over his neck, thumb passing over the tendon with a bit of harshness.
You want to cheer him up, “Thank you.”
You don’t know what expression you have on your face right now. Only that Sylus’ grip on your hand tightens and he guides your cheek to rest on his shoulder. A new kind of shine emanates from both him and your doctor.
“You have a small gaggle of visitors if you’d like to see them. One at a time, of course,” Helios pipes up.
His words don’t surprise you. A familiar bundle of threads thrashes outside your door. They sink and bow with debility. One almost as never-ending as Sylus’.
Miss Hunter.
You expect no less from the woman you survived with. The one who saw with her own eyes how your new powers tore you apart. Saw you falter. Saw you break.
A disgusting voice of doubt tries to peek through your defenses to scold you. For being weak in front of her. For letting the woman who stole your love see you stumble so horrifically. For letting her, of all people, get a good look at how flawed you are.
You chase that voice with a better one. One as self-hating, but one with real grounding. One with a better reason to let the guilt come in: you scared her. With your monstrous abilities no one knows anything about. With your near death. With how you changed from something mysterious into something monstrous.
Does my other visitor know?
Astrid’s at your door as well. You latch onto her presence. Has she—someone born soulless and with a command over afterlife—been in your predicament? In your shoes? Had that kind of cosmic energy pulse through her veins and ripped at her flesh? Is that why Helios appears to know something about that corrupt part of The Way? Did he find it through her?
You have to know.
Not today, you tell yourself as you squeeze Sylus’ hand back despite the struggle. Another time. When my Morana isn’t here. When things have settled.
“Of course,” your voice comes out scratchy, and Sylus tips a cup to your lips.
Helios departs. Miss Hunter takes his place. Your body shudders at the dark rings under her eyes and the way they wildly dart around to get a full picture of your body. A small tremble bends her legs. Her nails dig into her palms. The scent of blood stains all her threads; it drowns out the burnt food, sea salt, fried chicken, expensive wine, and other tastes and smells within them.
She approaches you with caution. Fear for your condition and a weight that piles on her the closer she gets to seeing your wounds.
”I did this,” her movements say. ”We should’ve stayed home. And even if we didn’t, I should’ve been stronger. Better. It’s my job to protect others. She’s done so much for me, and I’ve done nothing for her.”
You don’t try hard to raise your hand to call her over. Sylus does it for you.
“Don’t tell me you’re going to flee the scene after many sleepless nights, kitten?”
He doesn’t mask his own worries well. Miss Hunter huffs and feigns annoyance at him.
“Shut up.”
“Feisty,” Sylus smirks. “And here I thought we had bonded with our time spent together here. Become friends.”
“Never,” your friend bites back.
You’re not given much time to unpack the pain their words cause you. The implications of their devotion to you, but also, the deepening of their own relationship. How your suffering pushed them together. How your tragedy linked them.
This is what you wanted.
The huntress moves to the other side your bed. She’s unable to maintain eye contact with you for long. Flighty gaze hovering on your cheeks and legs more often than not. Her left hand jolts at her side. Sometimes, it reaches for you. Other times, it retreats in a rush after she looks at Sylus for a moment.
You make the first move. Or, attempt to. Your triceps and biceps protest against the neurons that direct them. Your arms merely shake pitifully at your sides. So, you use your greatest asset: your voice.
“Did you ever get back those plushies of ours that I won? Because I worked very hard for those prizes. It’d be a shame to lose them.”
Your useless small talk cracks a smile out of Sylus and your friend.
“I brought them home after being discharged. I didn’t… know what else to do.”
She squirms in the seat she pulled up earlier. Still not meeting your eyes. Still acting as if she doesn’t belong here. Still believing you’ll blame her for what happened to you.
“Remind me to thank them,” you pause, and an idea comes to mind. “After we clear out the arcade again on our next adventure.”
Stunning eyes that belong to an equally stunning human lock with yours. They shine with tears, regret, and hope. She nods at your words. A sob then trickles out of her. You want to comfort her, to hold her. To shield her from this world and it’s brutality and your own mess that you bring to the table.
But you can’t. You can’t be the person she needs.
Sylus takes the role like it’s second nature. The two share a silent exchange with their eyes rather than on their skin. With a look rather than the special bond the universe bestowed upon them.
Is that better or worse? That they choose to read each other’s minds rather than show me what they have?
You don’t have time to simmer on things, for your friend hugs you. The way she holds you warms your heart. Gentle but fierce. An attempt to ground herself and reassure you; to be normal even when all in the room know you should be dead.
“Careful,” Sylus reminds the two of you, his voice zephyr-like.
He helps move your hands to hug her back. They vibrate under the strain. But the simple contact—petals of body heat and the curves of her back muscles that expand under her deep breaths—soothe you.
”We survived,” they say. “We lived.”
A damp coldness spreads on your neck. Miss Hunter’s body wobbles. And, if you concentrate, you can hear her cries over the machines. High pitched blips. She cuts them off when her own ears pick them up. Sylus assists you in rubbing her back to balm her emotional scars.
You crane your neck to him for a brief second. You’re not sure why. His eyes are on you. Solely on you. The vermillion of all your hopes and dreams and loves and losses stare back at you. Soft pools you want to dive into. Gems more priceless than anything in this universe and all other combined.
The flush that crawls into your neck and face make it impossible to look at him for long. You’re glad the shake of your arms can be brushed off as the strain in your muscles rather than the truth.
That would be a disaster greater than my current condition, now wouldn’t it? Them finding out what goes inside this poisonous mind of mine.
Maybe they’d wish you stayed dead if such a thing ever occurred.
—
Miss Hunter forces herself back together too soon. Too quick for someone with the chaos in her threads. They knot together in some places. Twine and fight and war with each other. Smell of salt and taste of ash. Ruin spins in her soul.
”Stay,” you almost plea. ”Stay and let me help.”
You don’t, though. It’d be ridiculous for you to call such a thing out. In your weak state. In your pathetic body that can’t move without assistance.
Stop, you admonish the self-depreciation. You’re allowed to struggle. You’re allowed to fall.
I'm allowed to fail.
Your stomach growls, and you’re torn from your thoughts. A new heat wriggles under your skin. Amusement glints in the threads and eyes of your visitors. Your legs, covered in sheets, suddenly appear to be the most interesting thing in the room.
“I’ll get you some food,” Miss Hunter, with great pain, removes herself from your hold.
“Much appreciated,” you thank her; the light in her eyes parts the earlier mist.
Sylus snorts, “And what of me, kitten? Because don’t think it didn’t slip past me; I know I was not a part of your ‘you’.”
“Your taste is too expensive,” she jokes while shoving Sylus’ shoulder as she walks past him; he doesn’t budge.
“You should just come work for us then if a little meal is too much for you,” Sylus turns his head to you, and butterflies flutter in your stomach.
One of your Morana’s hands drifts to your mid back to aid you in sitting up straighter. His large, warm, palm—rough in texture and delicate in touch—snaps you to attention.
Where would it feel in other places?
“Sylus! Enough!”
You snap, a bit louder than you intended. But it helps beat down the nasty thoughts that drift to the surface of your mind. Your logical side takes over; feelings overrun and drowned.
“Now hurry along, my friend. Before my boss here decides to say something else foolish. I’m hungry. And hospital food is dreadful.”
The atmosphere shifts again when Miss Hunter departs. Astrid saunters in after her with no preamble. The undertaker’s usual nonchalance and bravado dissipate the moment her red eyes land on her brother (even though they dash from him to you the second she realizes Sylus notices). Her already pale skin gets lighter. Sylus’ grip on your back tightens. Metaphorical hackles raise when both the siblings meet.
How long has it been since they’ve been faced to face?
Years. Many, many, years. Perhaps even over a decade: not long in comparison to either of their life spans, but long enough for both to forget how to interact with one another.
I suppose I’ll have to play mediator while bed bound.
“I see you in this damn place far too much,” she addresses you and you alone.
Dry tone. Rude words. Astrid clings to her persona, acting like her life depended on it. Like there’s no way either of the people she stands before notice the harsh grip she holds her hands in or the waver in her voice or the slight twitch in her leg that begs to be moving.
The drum of machines and Astrid’s boots scraping against your room’s floor fill your ears; it’s too much, “So it seems.”
She snorts (it sounds identical to the one Sylus makes at Miss Hunter).
“That’s the first thing you fucking say after escaping literal death? You, who sees my own husband more than me?”
The pair of you wince.
“Sorry,” Astrid mumbles. She begins to pick at her cuticles, remaining near the entrance and not taking a step towards you.
There’s no reaction from Sylus.
Or not. I think his pupils are thinner.
Your Morana postures at his sister, who shrinks in on herself for her awkward words. The contrast between them evident in the way they hold themselves to their speech patterns. Similarities dot their characters as much as differences.
“Let’s start this again,” Astrid takes a breath and sets her hands to her sides. “How are you doing?”
You shrug, determined to remain the relaxed one in this room since the brother and sister duo aren’t anywhere near letting their guards down with one another. They’re both a hair away from either fleeing or fighting. More tumultuous than the dynamic between Kai and Sylus. More volatile than any business meeting in the N109 Zone.
Odd. Given that the pair aren’t about to kill each other. Violence doesn’t have its hold on them. Sylus’ thread hisses and snaps with anger and betrayal, tastes of fruits not of this world and smells of morning dew. Astrid’s soul shines and wilts with remorse and longing, but also determination and—strangest of all—satisfaction. Like she’s being proven right about something.
Was it her that caused the rift?
You detest the thought the second it pops into existence. But, you can’t help it. Can’t chase away your own biases for long enough to not consider it.
Unsettling. You wish you could squirm, fidget in any way to release what lies in your bones. But there’s no easing these feelings. The notches in your soul will have to stay.
A response to her question is the best you can do, “Pretty good. Considering how things should’ve gone.”
Maybe it’s Astrid’s influence that makes you blunt. Maybe it’s the lingering effects of everything that happened and the primordial power you had in your grasp. Maybe you just don’t care. No matter the reason, you regret your words. For how harsh and detached they come out. Just as before.
I had hoped I learned my lesson from earlier.
No panic sews its way onto Sylus’ face; his thread does that for him. He maneuvers in his chair, positioning himself between his sister and you. Your eyes widen at the gesture. Astrid’s do as well. But they return to normal in an instant. She casts her gaze down to the ground, an empty smile on her lips.
“Hah! W-what makes you say that?”
She tries. She really tries to keep humor in her voice. Keep it steady. Keep herself together. The bitter sorrow that braids her body calls to you. Reminds you of yourself.
The weight of galaxies sag on the older fiend’s shoulders. The drag of death. The guilt of the gallows. The regret of her own reasonings and reactions towards something. You don’t pry; you can’t. Can’t violate that boundary. Can’t cross the trench.
For whose side will you be on if you know the truth: the love of your life, or the only person in this broken world that can understand you? The person who makes life worth living or the one who teaches you that your life is worth living? The brother or the sister?
I ponder all this while knowing neither would ever force me to pick sides.
Sylus never minds when you leave the base to spend time with his sister. Astrid never pokes or prods about her brother. Both of them are content to have you in their lives and in the others’; as long as they don’t interact more than necessary. You’re thankful. Even when watching them breaks your heart.
“I should be dead, shouldn’t I?”
You don’t mean that as a medical question. All parties present are aware of that. Sylus’ brings you closer—practically in his lap again; his sister takes a step back, and that’s what you watch with close eyes. For Astrid has access to information beyond medicine. Beyond science. Beyond what any human or dragon before her could.
Her soul whispers of it. Of her knowledge over death. That fate deemed you and Alex to meet your end that day.
Does she know because it’s her Evol? Because she’s a fiend and her connection to death is like that of Sylus’ to desire? Or because she has no soulmate like me, and she can taste death on someone’s soul?
”Did you know?” begs to be asked.
She had to know. Has to know. That this should be your death bed. That Alex shouldn’t be human anymore and Miss Hunter alone should’ve left that Protofield.
Astrid has to know the truth about you. Is the only one who can, as she always is. But you won’t ask. Not outright. Just as she never outright questions your abilities and the inquiries you have around her husband at times. Nor does she get on your case on curiosity about her broken relationship with your Morana.
Bitter iron weighs on your tongue. Weighed by your blood, lies, and desperation for the truth. You, Sylus’ Gamayun, and ever the verbose woman, silent in the presence of two people who understand you without words. One you’ve know for years; the other knows you from the burden you both share.
So strange are these fiends. Warping your soul and heart in the best way possible. Invading your senses with their unique scents—vanilla and sandalwood for Sylus, floral and fresh rain of all things for Astrid. Cloaking your eyes in their red. Consuming you with their hunger.
“Don’t dwell on it,” Astrid speaks up, voice quieter than you’ve ever heard but still with the deep scratchiness you adore. “What’s happened has happened. And we should all embrace and thank the gods or the universe itself or luck whatever the fuck you believe in that allowed you to survive.”
Her leg, as bouncy as ever. Her eyes, unable to stand being locked on anything for too long. Awe lies beneath the surface of her mask. She, who’s acquainted with your true nature, but still admires you. Little, broken, you.
You can’t help it; you lips turn up a tad. Sylus speaks and it falls. It’s in a tongue you don’t understand. But malice doesn’t need a translator. You’ve heard him verbally tear enough people apart to recognize the tone.
Astrid blinks for a second. She responds in the same language (you assume), still not looking at her brother. The older woman goes on for a bit, her expression shifting as she speaks.
Your brain doesn’t register what they’re saying as words. The sounds don’t make any logical sense to you. It’s ancient. A lost language. One beyond your capacity to understand.
Sylus drones back to his sister and she scoffs. Worry drags in your stomach when she gestures to you with a sweeping hand. Sylus snaps into action, and he snarls, his hostility on full display, no longer hiding. He flickers: wings spread and protecting you from a glimpse of Astrid. As if he stands before the grim reaper; that Astrid doesn’t command death, but rather, is death herself.
A fist wraps around your heart as you watch. Seeing these two, a family that speaks of one another with fondness but interacts with venom and hate.
Sylus calms as rapidly as he got enraged. His normal self rolls over; you could pretend to be home, making negotiations with how he appears. He’s tranquil with his next words. Despite you not understanding, they carry an inquisitive lilt. Astrid flinches again. Her eyes flutter over to you for a split second before she shakes her head and mutters a response.
The older woman crosses her arms, one hand tapping on top of the other’s elbow. She no longer shifts on her feet; stillness engulfs her lower half and transfers to her upper. Her eyes skim the room at a more aggressive frequency. The beat she drums on herself quickens with every second Sylus scrutinizes her.
Your Morana studies his sister with sick cruelty. Enjoyment comes to him from her discomfort; like a young child burning ants with a magnifying glass. The worse she gets, the darker his red gets. Sylus cackles at her, and even without full context, the puff of air forms a lump in your throat.
Astrid folds in on herself with her brother’s words. A smile wobbles on her face as she whispers her response, and a laugh you’ve heard from yourself far too much tumbles out her mouth. A laugh of derision. Of unfathomable self-loathing.
The siblings bring out the worst in each other: Astrid and her decades of hatred; Sylus and his capability for bottomless sadism. Tears sparkle in Astrid’s eyes. Sylus’ thread coils in on itself, remorse gnawing at it; no such expression crosses his face. His empty hand scrunches into a fist and he bites out something that Astrid nods in agreement to.
“Hope you feel better. Sorry for intruding,” the door swings close with finality before you call back.
The female fiend’s words hang heavy around your neck. A noose of fate. A death sentence of the hope of mending a relationship between two people you care for.
She sounded so hopeless.
For a moment, it’s you that stands where Astrid stood. You before you ran away from home. You having the conversation with your parents instead of Sylus that ends in agony. You rejected by your family.
Part of you rages for Astrid, for the you of the past. Another part rages at them. For the pain they cause so many. Sylus’ thread drifts towards you, parts of it peeling apart and falling into your lap like confetti; they’re ice cold to the touch and smell of daturas. Pieces of Sylus’ soul and ability to love crumble under the titanic strain of his family.
We really are alike, huh, my Morana?
—
Helios pops in to drop off your wheelchair; he keeps his head bowed. He senses the vapor of his wife’s tears in the air, and won’t chance himself with doing something rash to break the professional barrier. He leaves as soon as he completes his task. His thread burns with chlorine gas at his exit.
You can’t blame him. Nor can you blame your love or your friend for their own feelings on the matter. It’s not your place to judge as one who’s been in both roles: the abandoned and the abandoner.
Sylus sits in his chair like a statue, the only proof of him being a living creature coming out in the repetitive motion of one hand tapping on his thigh while the other plays with your fingers. His eyes dart between where his sister once was and you. Fluttering about. Your composed Morana becomes an utter wreck of a person.
Your power attempt to feed you answers. Whispers of dead parents—in both lives—and things unsaid. Of lies that may break them apart and truths that would destroy the foundation where both dragons stand.
A sister protecting the brother she raised the best way she can. A brother who believes his existence to be a blight and burden to the first person to teach him the concept of love, to the family that stuck by him and lost everything as a result. An older sister who rather her brother hate her than know what she does. A brother who can’t stand her hypocrisy.
Stop it. Shut up. Return, you call to the threads. You will the tattered piece’s of Sylus love connection to return from where they came. To leave you. To ignore you. To not tell you anything.
It’s not your place. Your Morana should be allowed his secrets since you keep gigantic ones from him. They fly away, flower petals brushing against your cheeks with a softness not unlike their owner’s touches. They’re delicate, small, despite the universes of agony they carry within them. They smell of him as well.
“Make yourself of use, my dear god, and assist me in leaving this dreary place. We have a vehicle and everything right before us.”
You gesture—with your neck and a flick of the wrist since you now have bits of control over your body—to the wheelchair Helios brought in.
Sylus falls into the usual banter with you, hand on his thigh stilling and eyes brightening, “You know I cannot do that, Gamayun. That we cannot do that. You’re not well enough.”
Dramatically, you huff and let a pout fill your lips. The deep chuckle from Sylus makes any embarrassment worth it. Fuzzy bubbles in your belly spill into your limbs. You’re on top the world. All due to the man you love; a man you’ll continue to love even at his wedding to your dear friend.
“Drive me to our old friend’s room than. Since you’re determined to squash my fun and I deserve time to spread my wings.”
A half-hearted glare on your face, and arms struggling to still as they cross your chest, Sylus raises his own in surrender.
“Relax, my dear siren,” his rich laughs does things to your ruined body, as does the caress he gives your cheek (a touch you want to call loving but refrain from; you escaped death not too long ago, and heartbreak brought upon your own delusions might send you back to the operating room). “I’ll concede to your demands. If your doctors agree.”
“I was already cleared for my request not too long ago.”
Sylus shrugs. “I like to be thorough. Especially when it comes to you.”
“And what ever do you mean by that?” the joking glare you gave earlier hardens.
“You, of all people, have no need to ask me that,” and he buzzes in a nurse before you get another word out.
—
Another doctor comes in to okay your plans.
”Running from me already, brother-in-law?” Sylus comments under his breath when he spots the new person. You pinch his index finger. He rolls his eyes at you.
It does nothing to stall you. The pair of you are out the door, Sylus’ hands on the handlebars of your seat and you rolling through the busy halls, in moments. Dr. Ruben—a young women who shares with Sylus in her animosity towards Helios (she blames him for the death of her soulmate and twin boys)—ushers the two of you on your way as soon as possible. Uses some device calibrated with Helios’ Evol to get an assessment on your condition.
”I’d start moving right now if I were you two. Dr. Rafia’s known to be… flighty. And his wife’s presence makes that all the worse,” she had grumbled in a cheery tone that contrasted the deadness of her brown eyes; the life in there vanished when her love and family did.
“My chauffeur is being awfully grumpy today. Getting too much Vitamin D there?”
You don’t need to have eyes on Sylus to imagine the look he’s giving you: exasperated and wishing he had a hand empty to hold on the bridge of his nose in that dramatic fashion of his. “Oh, I’m so sorry, My Lady. Would you inform this humble servant of yours on how to better serve you?”
Dry voice dripping with sarcasm, you snap back, “First, I’d like you to fix that attitude of yours. That’s no way to address your Lady and Mistress, servant of mine.”
“My apologizes,” his attitude intensifies with those words; you imagine he’d be giving you a pompous bow if he could.
“You shall be forgiven. If you take my advice to heed and I see the changes I seek, than your transgressions will be forgotten.”
That chortle of his, one that never fails to stir butterflies in your stomach and your nerves to stutter and trip over themselves, brushes against the back of your ear, “Thank you for the opportunity, My Lady. What is it you’d like me to do?”
His sass dissipates; your heart palpitates. His breath on your scalp, warm and smelling faintly of mint from connivence store toothpaste. The weight of his red—eyes, Evol, and thread—loop the spinning wheel of your arteries. Your heart pumps to flood them throughout your system. To make you one with all the colors of your Morana. Your god of death; your beloved that you will never have.
I’m okay with that. I have to be.
You’re learning to be happy. To love yourself. To let go of something that can and will never be.
Baby steps.
“I’d like for be more accommodations with your services.”
“Such as?” the smirk and arch of his eyebrow are audible.
“Food. Drink. Entertainment. Simple transport through a hospital is a task even a monkey could accomplish. I need more pizazz. More intrigue as to why I should keep you above any others.”
“Of course, My Lady. My mistake for not thinking ahead of time,” he turns a corner, and it’s far more empty—desolate like you remember the hospitals you wandered in childhood. “Unfortunately, I can do nothing for your food and drink selection.”
Sylus stops for a second. A flash of a moment. But with how he gets closer—puffing air on your burning cheeks while his smooth voice is right next your ear to the point where you imagine the brush of his lush lips on them—it’s an eternity.
“But, depending on your definition of entertainment, I can provide service for that happily if you’d like, My Lady.”
He drags each syllable of your “title”. Runs them across the cartilage of your ears and side of your face. Your cheeks become open flames, scorching and spreading their ashes to the rest of you. The hospital clothing. The remnants of your scars and injuries. Even your powers.
The threads of many spasm in the air. They can’t enter your mind, can’t disrupt the flushed sensation inside of you that Sylus casually stirs with a spoon.
How I long to take you up on that offer.
Lips meeting yours. Hands exploring the landscape of his chest and back while his penetrate lower areas. You’d let Sylus turn your world into a haze: blurry and bleary with him the only solid thing left. His name the only you remember. His touch the one you long for.
His form the only thing you see. Broad shoulders, tapered waist, and eyes that make you love red and love again. You’d be “entertained” surely; the memories of that Protofield and all your struggles gone as you writhe underneath Sylus.
You brain provides you with touches of his on you. Your waist. Your back. Your thighs. Your—
You’re jolted back to reality by someone you never thought you see again after that night at Kai’s gala. Her dark skin, flawless and unmarred, dims with a false shine brought on by make-up products. Her thread snapped, tasting of cheap salmon cooked during late wine nights and smelling of shitty coffee. Her silver eyes sink in her skull. They glimmer with regret and anger rather than her old pompousness and self importance.
Andrea Crimson.
She’s nothing like her father. She shrinks herself to stand beside the man in front of the hospital room you and Sylus aim to get inside. Makes herself appear as small and unassuming as possible. Not to get the jump on her metaphorical prey. Not to prepare for some sort of attack. But to survive. To protect herself.
She’s no longer the treasured and beloved daughter she was. Something made her fall out of favor with the man who’s coddled her for the past 3 decades.
Reminds me of Ethan to a degree.
Andrea’s father differs from what you’ve seen of Ethan’s. His skin sports a much lighter shade than either of his children—not like Sylus or Astrid, but more of a tan you’d expect from someone being at the beach, which can’t be the case given that he lives and operates out of the N109 Zone. With his back to you, you’re unable to discern his eye color.
Red hair with specks of what you believe to be gold lies upon the man’s head. It’s long, like his daughter’s, held together in a tight ponytail. He’s a small build, thin and gangly despite the wealth and power you know him to have at his disposal.
You pause at his thread. And you jump in your seat. It reeks of blood, and carries none of the other scents or undertones that others with bloodstained hands do. None of Sylus’ daturas and vanilla. Or Helios’ perchior and baked goods. Or Alex’s own citrus with freshly-cut grass.
Tragedy fills his story. A wife who died in childbirth, and carries the scent the pot roast she made of their anniversary; now burnt to a crisp. A daughter who became his everything. She once held that same taste of home, that same smell that made life worth living; now she too is ash in his mouth.
A son who once also held that title but now remains his greatest disappointment (his thread doesn’t taste of this child; they’re that insignificant to the man). A failure in human form—though, Andrea’s father wouldn’t describe them as such since he doesn’t see his own child as a living being anymore.
The pieces fall into place for the Crimson’s connection to Alex before either speak, “Mr. Sylus?”
The formal tone from Andrea makes you wince. She clamps a hand over her mouth when what she says registers and her eyes flash to her father. She quivers where she stands by the man. Her father acts as if she isn’t, running his hand across some pop up on the hospital walls and making the window he’s using to peer into his child’s room disappear.
“You must be the woman that my son’s been causing so much trouble to,” Sylus and you internally cringe at the causal misgendering of your friend and his own flesh and blood.
Reptilian smile, plush hands, and cold eyes. The head of the Crimson family disrupts your peace more than any Wanderer. Including the one his eldest once was.
“I apologize, Mr. Skye, for the trouble both my children have caused you and your wife.”
You splutter at your title and the man’s audacity. Flowers of heat bloom on your cheeks. Andrea’s broken thread colors with the scent of burning leaves and the cake her sibling baked for her on her 10th birthday.
“Alex has yet to truly cause me any trouble, Erin,” Sylus steers you into the room of your friend and shuts the door.
Your heart races. For so many differing reasons. How do you respond to all of them? Do you blush? Scream? Curl into a ball and will the floor to swallow you whole? Fight? Snap? Make a mess of things?
Racing thoughts. Sweaty palms. The taste of blood on your tongue and the scent of flowers in your lungs. The world’s a kaleidoscope, a whirlwind of affairs and states of being.
Focus on the flowers. On what they mean and who they belong to.
You raise your head to gaze upon the figure in the bed. The same fancy chairs that litter your room lie here. The same kitchenette, the same numerous machines. The person here is much more vital to the world. Much more important and loved than you’ll ever be.
For someone who came back from the dead, Alex is normal. The smile on their lips the one you remember. Long black hair wild and untamed. Forest green eyes alive with speckles of sunlight. Dark brown skin unmarred and gorgeous.
Your vision blurs. At the healthy radiance of a person you thought gone for good. At the proof that neither Sylus nor Helios lied to you.
They’re back, your mind sings. They’re back and alive and it’s because of me.
Your heart, too full. Your head, too chaotic. Your body, too useless—weighed by the rejection of godhood.
”This is what you wanted,” and this time, the saying brings forth no misery. For what else could you ask for?
“Mind bringing me closer, Sylus?” your voice cracks and neither of the people in the room with you comment.
Alex cocks their head to the side as Sylus fulfills your request.
“I hear you’ve improved your sign since we last met,” Alex’s hands fly through the motions, no wobble to be found.
Am I seriously weaker than the person who was literally a different species of being not too long ago? Am I that pathetic or was I that power-hungry that I wrecked my body to the point when I let that part of The Way in?
The Way. The song of the universe. The sound that drives the swirls of galaxies and clash of atoms. The chime that strikes when time ends. The die that’s cast when a new branch of reality begins.
It exists outside of human rationality and morality. The Way cannot be defined by words like “good” and “bad”; you merely ascribe that to make sense of things. But that greedy god and the song that makes you get out of bed on your worst of nights are of the same clothe. The same frequency. The same vibration. The same orchestra.
And yet, it was that side that reduced me to this. Almost made me run away from everything.
Would that have been so bad? To be a cosmic entity beyond your mortal vessel? To do more than touch and bend the loves and souls of others? To no longer suffer? To no longer need anyone’s love, let alone Sylus’?
Alex, in all their tired glory, answers that for you.
Yes.
It would’ve been that bad. For what god would care to restore a fallen human? What god could shed tears, as you do now, from sheer joy? What god could experience all these things, all these very human emotions, and still want to keep going?
You’re still you, after all.
“I try,” you rasp in response.
You can’t help it. The tears fall and cool your warm cheeks, and your body quakes with the force. Happiness shakes your foundation to a profound degree.
When was the time I was felt this?
Maybe the first time Luke and Kieran trusted you, inhaling your goat curry and strewing the sauce across their bares faces without any care? Or the first time you helped someone—really helped someone—with your powers (you still remember the scent of their fresh cookies and the way the chocolate melted in your mouth)? Or was it when you decided to embrace the love you held for Sylus (a night after you made a terrible mistake and he chose to hold onto you rather than throw you away; it was the night he gave you your treasured name, and you gave him his), disregarding your future pain and clinging onto the now?
Joy is a sparse thing for you. Scarce and prone to fleeing in seconds. A fitting fate for a cursed woman. For a girl with a bland soul and a heart that longs for what belongs to another.
Now’s not the time.
You refuse to let your own thoughts spoil the moment. The touch of Sylus guides you to focus on it, careful hooked index finger of his swiping away your tears. He crouches beside your chair as he does. You can’t look at him for long.
And part of you regrets not doing so, for what Alex signs, “How is it that you two still haven’t gotten you act together?”
You hold a shriek in. Fervor swells in your belly, cheeks, and any exposed skin. Whipping to face Sylus, your state simmers due to the fact nothing about him changes. He can’t understand Alex.
And if he does, he doesn’t care.
How are you supposed to feel about that? Disappointment? Vindicated? Somewhere in between? None of the above?
It’s turmoil like this that keeps you out of Onychinus’ base since that first meeting with Astrid. Keeps you in Helios’ office and on walks with Astrid. The complications of your heart erode into dust when away from Sylus. They rebuild each time you’re in his presence again.
You have to destroy them. Over and over and over. Wreck your heart. Claw out your soul. Isolate your love.
But a simple smile from him has me putting myself back together. Only for him to eradicate my happiness once more to repeat the cycle.
“Why in the world would you say that?” you sign, ignoring the inquisitive stare Sylus gives you.
“I’m sorry, but it’s true. I’m almost certain everyone else in your life can see it. You’re just willfully blind.”
“Or I’m the only one with common sense.”
Soulmates are inevitable. They’re forever. I can’t get in the way of that.
“I think it’s a bit strange for you to say that to me of all people.”
”Me, who chose to ignore that common sense and marry another?” inscribes onto your brain via their thread rather than their hands.
Alex’s green eyes gain a new depth. They stare at you with another purpose, picking you apart and digging into you.
You don’t like it. The oddities that sparkle in them. The pensive look that glosses over their face. Everything.
And as you’re prone to do, you run from it. By embracing Alex. Basking in their scent of marigolds and antiseptic. Tracing their dark brown skin—shades darker than their sister’s—which bares no scars or flaws (unlike your own). Their heat curls around your cheeks; you cry harder. Sylus and Alex comfort you like you’re a little girl again.
Foolish, foolish, girl, you scold yourself; you make no attempts to leave the hug though.
—
You compose yourself and return to your seat soon enough. And you and Sylus catch Alex up on the world. About the arrival of Miss Hunter (the sympathy that pulsates from their threads to the flowers on their bedside table hurts your head). About the political state of the N109 Zone (you avoid the subject of their family as much as possible). About your new friendship to Helios and Astrid (Sylus disappears into the background once their names are brought up). About Kai (which you dread to even speak of, given how little you know).
Her disappearance. Her grieving journey. The funeral Astrid guided her through.
“I had to go before I turned” they sign with unstable hands; you recite it to Sylus with the same hesitation in your voice. “Couldn’t do that to her. Couldn’t let her see me like that.”
”Not after everything’s she been through. I couldn’t give her one more nightmare on top of all the others.”
“She would’ve let me take her life,” you don’t translate that part aloud for Sylus, but he gets the message.
He hold on your chair tightens. His jaw clenches. And his thread weaves between your fingers, as if echoing Alex’s sentiment. You hold his soul, his heart, in your hands. He trusts you with it. Even when he’s unware it. Even when he has no idea what you’re capable of.
How are you supposed to process that? Cope with that? Live with that?
Fortunate for you, there’s no need to figure that out now. Kai comes stumbling into the room, Helios behind her for a split second while Astrid lingers outside. Andrea and her father are gone.
You don’t care. Not with Kai’s state: clothes ruffled, long white hair dirty and frayed and in desperate need of a proper trim. Her crystal blue eyes an endless void, a section of the Mariana Trench cut out and dropped into her irises. Her cheeks, hollow and drained of all color. Pale skin shades lighter than you remember.
She’s a phantom. A memory and shape that used to be a person. How does she walk right now, with those thin legs and feet that wobble like a newborn animal learning for the first time? She stumbles; Astrid comes in from outside before Sylus can react. The siblings ignore each other. This moment isn’t about them.
A cry unlike you’ve ever heard pierces your ears and stabs your heart. Floodgates of memories weave together with that single sound: a little girl begging for her Mama to come back at her grave. That same girl, a few years older, shielding her brother from her father’s drunken rage. That same girl, now a young woman, screams over the body of her first beloved—the person that promised her forever.
”So many people have left me,” that cry says. ”Made many promises, swore they’d stay be my side and never leave. Only you have kept your word.”
Pearls trail down Alex’s body when their wife reaches their bed. Both them and Astrid support Kai, who shakes the fabric of reality with her sobs. The once cold and stoic woman shatters under the weight of her own grief. Her hands claw at the hospital sheets, at the flimsy clothes that keep her from touching the body heat of her beloved.
Rage salts the air. At the abandonment. At Alex for making her feel such things. At the world for teasing her by taking and taking and taking and not allowing her to be safe.
Centuries later, that first departure leaves its mark. That first betrayal scars Kai. For even now, she can’t understand why her mother had to die. Why the universe had to take her, warp her father into a brutish man, and thrust her brother into a living a life with no parental love.
But maybe now, with you, the scales are beginning to balance. Maybe now, she can believe again.
Maybe now, Kai Kerr can hope for her own happy ending. Alex came back to her. She clings to them; they cling right back, tears falling and making silent waves on the bed sheets. Kai buries her head into Alex’s neck. You pick up faint mutters of an ancient language (Lemurian, you presume).
It’s a wonderful and beautiful sight. Heartbreaking in ways that make one believe in love again. Desperate in a way that inspires faith. That makes people want to push forward, survive one more day, in the hopes that they’ll get their miracle. They’ll get their Alex returned to them.
And being the fool that you are, you can’t stop yourself from reaching a hand behind you and squeezing Sylus’ hand. Alex came back from the dead, from being a Wanderer. You did that.
Maybe I can get Sylus to love me?
As if hearing your thoughts, he squeezes back, his expression and thread unreadable. You refuse to confront this. To entangle yourself and your heart into any more emotional strife. There’s enough in this room to go around.
The sudden intensity of Sylus’ cinch snaps you out of your fantasy.
“What’s wrong?” you whisper.
“Nothing you need to concern yourself with.”
And yet, your grip continues to tighten. You continue to hold onto to me tighter and tighter, as if I’ll disappear. As if you know what goes on in my heart of hearts.
Perhaps that added layer of mystery, of Sylus and all his glory, allows for the world to slam into you. The tang of Kai’s tears in the air and in your mouth—tears that have shifted from pearls to Larimar. A sea breeze wafts through the room with them. You bite into your cheek to chase it all away To distance yourself.
This isn’t my grief. This isn’t my pain.
You’ve already cried. Already hugged, reassured, and broken down. There’s nothing else to process. There shouldn’t be anything else in you. Not this guilt over not doing more. Not this embarrassment from seeing such a strong woman break down.
Certainly not this anger. At how all the eldritch beings before you comfort Kai rather than scold her. How they allow a woman, who’s lived long enough to get her shit together, let herself fall with no regrets.
Why am I mad? Why do I clench my fists and grind my teeth?
It’s ridiculous, you making this about you. So you begin to turn yourself to Sylus to have him wheel you out of here, have you escape and put everything behind you (you can’t collapse in this public of a setting; you’ve made a fool of yourself enough today), but a hoarse voice interrupts.
“Thank you,” it’s Kai.
Her accent differs from what you remember—the closest description you can give it would be Jamaican. But that shock fades in favor of another: watery vision.
I’ve already cried it out. I’ve already processed and mourned. Move on.
You’re out of the room and web of threads before any tears can appear to the rest of the world. Hanging your head low as Sylus brings you back to your hospital room, he nor any passerby comments on your sniffles. On your very public display of vulnerability.
I did that. My curse, my power did that.
And for the first time in all your years, your ability can no longer be categorized as a curse. It’s a gift. It’s something you should treasure and cultivate. For once, you don’t scold the threads and hate them for not giving you a soulmate.
For once, you’re thankful to the universe for making you the way you are.
—
Two guests, people you’ve never met, await you in your room.
“You must be,” the woman with short dark hair calls your full name, and you have to concentrate to refrain from physically reacting; the manner she calls to you reminds you too much of getting in trouble with the principal and other authority figures.
Her colleague, you assume, hovers a step behind her. His pristine white uniform reflects the already bright lights into beams to stab your pupils. His eyes, an unfathomable blue of stars. His hair, the silver shade of the moon.
His gaze, on you. Leveling you with a harsh scrutiny that his face shows no signs of. His thread, another connection to Miss Hunter. One of loneliness, duty, and the constant fear of death; whether that be his own or his loved ones.
Helios cycles through his story. Always the same face, same build. Same unknowable power that sparks the same jealousy and other complicated feelings. Same sense of isolation unites them.
“My name is Jenna. This is my subordinate, Xavier. We’re from the Hunters Association. UNICORNS division. I’m it’s Captain. We’re following up with you about the incident you just experienced.”
Sylus scoffs, “Is now really the time for that? My wife just awakened after a several days long coma. And you already got all the information you needed from one of your fellow Hunters that was there.”
Terse and harsh. Biting, and violent with mere words. An injured animal defending its home. The smoky outline of a tail from his previous life curls around you; his thread follows it.
“Her doctor already cleared her. Multiple times.”
Chills cascade down your spine at Xavier’s voice. It contrasts too much with his youthful face and soft eyes. Which farther clashes with the chaos in his thread and the shadows that fall over his eyes when he scans you.
What does he see that you don’t? What do those ancient eyes of his and Helios peek into when they gaze at you? What secrets about you do they know?
Put a pin that for when I’m not freshly out of a coma.
“And we apologize for the inconvenience. But it’s best we get this information now, while it’s still fresh,” the Captain’s much more understanding and diplomatic with her tone; maybe that’s why you’re compelled to listen.
You nod and begin to speak. Shudders run down your back, and your smile wavers. Sylus rubs reassuring circles on your scapula. You talk and talk and talk until your throat becomes sore. Until they’re satisfied with your lies to the point where even you thought it was the truth. And you’re glad.
For you can’t tell them what happened. How could you? Where would you begin? The Way? The evolution of an ability you shouldn’t have? Your existence that mystifies even the most intelligent of beings? The corruption of an unstable god that you almost let consume you?
You hold Sylus’ hand. He returns the gesture in an instant, and a concerned crease appear between his eyebrows and wrinkles his nose.
Remember him, you tell yourself as you grin again, but it’s for him and him alone. Remember him and her and all of them. Remember why you stayed.
Remember why you ran from that part of The Way (from Astra). Why you chose to remain human rather than become a god.
Remember that you are you. Not Moirai. Not Gamayun. Just you.
“Thank you for your time. Your information will be,” Captain Jenna pauses, an emotion flickering across her face before she kills it with precision. “Immeasurably helpful.”
Sylus rolls his shoulders and angles himself to block a bit of your vision. He hides you; doesn’t like the woman’s words anymore than you do.
“And I assume you’ll be keeping in touch? I’d like answers as well to my anomalies.”
“Of course,” her voice crawls over your skin, and your body relaxes a smidge when she turns out the door.
Xavier stays. Levels both you and Sylus with a gaze that pretends to be empty but can fill universes with the amount of questions that float there. A glaze clouds the Hunter’s eyes.
“Problem?” Sylus asks.
He sounds genuine. Would be, if it wasn’t for the twitch in his raised eyebrow and the chaotic whip of his thread that stings with flames and spices. Xavier blinks at Sylus’ voice, as if the man now realizes he’s where he shouldn’t be. He still burns you with his eyes.
“No,” the words come out blunt and uninterested, but Xavier remains on guard against your Morana.
Two men, united by the same soulmate. Different lives tied to hers. Both some of the many love she’s experienced. They repel against one another, to the fabric of their being and the bits of space dust that they are.
Does The Way tell me this? Or my own connection to the threads?
“Then would you mind leaving me and my wife alone? It’s been a long day.”
He plays doting husband well.
Sylus leans into his role. Firm cadence. Stubborn with his subtle movements to block out Xavier. Meanwhile, you’re trying to breathe through the feelings that fire across your skin from that title he gives you with such easy; a title you crave but will never have.
Telling yourself he’s not mine becomes harder the more he claims of you. His negotiator. His diplomat. His friend. His partner and right hand.
His Gamayun.
Now, his wife.
Why must you pull me back in each time I vow to walk away? Why must you build my hope and my love only for the universe and my own eyes to tear it all asunder once more?
The hospital sheets twist under your grip to maintain your narrative. Under the smile that wavers and the way you drift towards your “husband” for protection. You wish to be back in the Protofield. That pain of drowning and war pale in comparison to that of your own delusions.
Xavier becomes your savior from your spiral with his question, “Are you sure you don’t have an Evol?”
“Yes. I believe so. I’ve been tested numerous times.”
You mouth dries and tastes like ash, but you keep your composure. Sylus traces a ”G” into the hand that holds with a death grip. He knows bits and pieces of your past. He knows why you hate hospitals and distrust scientists.
The brush of his blunt nails holds you together. Frayed stitches on an open wound, but it’s something.
“Why do you ask?” you impress yourself with the lack of hesitation in your voice; it’s hoarse, but you can chalk up that to disuse over several days and your current physical state.
Xavier hums, placing a hand under his chin as his stoic facade begins to crack,“Your wounds were knitting themselves back together with red threads when the Protofield collapsed. It’s the only reason you survived.”
Maybe it’s the exhaustion getting to you. Maybe you’ve always been strange, and your life a series of events that you can’t explain. Maybe it’s that sinister part of The Way creeping in again with the voice of a distant god with a grudge against you and your love for humanity. Whatever forces at play here, they numb you to this information.
Things’ll hit you later. Crash into you with the strength of the waves in the Protofield. Drag you beneath emotional tides and tear you apart with creatures made from your own mental struggles. Strangle you with threads you know and stories you don’t.
But, you can’t bring yourself to care, “I don’t know anything about that.”
“Now, if you could leave so that I may some time with my husband. I’m rather exhausted.”
“Of course,” Xavier’s usual tone, devoid of emotion, returns before he too walks out the door like his Captain; he shuts it behind him and you breathe.
”They’re gone. You’re safe,” Sylus’ hands say when words fail the pair of you. It’s not enough. You need a better distraction. Something else to consume your mind.
“I do not recall marrying you, Sylus,” steady words flow out of your mouth despite everything.
“You didn’t,” Sylus returns the energy. “You married Skye. But, if you have objections, I’m more than open to us changing the paper work to have you be mine under my true name. We can do it right now. If you’re amendable.”
You tap your chin in pretend thought, “No. Not at the moment. I need a proper ceremony to be properly given away to you, after all. One where my twins boys walk me down the aisle.”
Unwillingly, you begin to imagine the moment you’d ask Luke and Kieran to be there for you like that in your wedding to the man they admire. The special dinner you’d set out and make from scratch. The tiny shakes in your hands as you lay out plates. Sylus would be out that day, busy doing his own preparations (maybe even asking his sister to be his best woman because in this insane timeline, they’d have made up).
”Relax, Gamayun,” he tells you in this dream. ”It’s just the twins. And when have you ever known anyone, let alone them, to say no to you?”
You’d swat him in the chest, mumble something under your breath as you kiss his cheek goodbye. You’d recall that moment during the meal with your sons.
Luke would be the first to crack. Kieran would figure out what’s up first, but would wait for you to broach the topic. He’d scold his older brother and try to back track.
And that would be the moment all nerves melt from you.
In the present, pain throbs in your heart.
That will never happen. They’ll never walk me down any aisle unless it’s to be with the wedding party as Sylus’ best woman or Miss Hunter’s maid of honor.
Or would your Morana and his bride relegate you to a guest? Toss you aside either because you’re no longer useful, or because they’ve figured you out. You don’t know which one would hurt more.
You start rambling, “I’ll be needing 10,000 dollar flower arrangements. A venue in a unique spacial anomaly none have ever even so much as touched, let alone seen. A dress worth more than all of your properties combined. Wine served to our guests so old that Kai was in diapers when it was made and aged so well people would think their eyes are tricking them. A veil so precious and priceless that its mere design put the Hope Diamond you bought off me all those years ago look tacky. That is the only wedding I’ll accept from you, my Morana.”
It’s ludicrous. Pure nonsense. But Sylus’ smirk lengthens and he presses a long, deep, peck to your hand. Like he’s trying to consume it. Consume you. Imprint your taste onto his tongue for the rest of time. Suck your soul out and make it his. All through a kiss on the back of your hand.
“And here I thought my bride was into frugal living…”
My bride. Another title. Another possession. Electricity burns in your veins. Fire sparks in yours cheeks. Tingling sensations run across your toes as they try to curl under the covers.
You roll your eyes. “I was saving the way I did in order to persuade you into splurging on me for my future wedding. And since it’s to you, you have no excuses not to comply. I’ve been too good to over the years for you not to.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he drops his voice, and his forehead falls to yours as he takes on a more serious tone. “Because you’re right. You’ve been so, so, good to me. My good woman. My lovely and good Gamayun.”
His breath washes over your face. His eyes dim as his thread shines with something. It’s primal. All-consuming. Tastes of spice and sin. Smells of sweets and strawberries.
“And I’ll be so, so, good to you on our wedding night.”
Daydreams and hallucinations flash in your mind’s eyes at what Sylus being “good” to you that night would look like. Feel like. Smell like. Taste like. Your knees weaken. And you’re sore between your legs all of a sudden.
Thump, thump, thump.
You want to be so, so, good for him. In that context, you’d do anything he says. Obey any order. If it meant one more second of pleasure, one more kiss on your neck, or his hand tightening a bit more on your throat as he forces you to make eye contact with him through the mirror in front of the two of you. Your eyes glaze over, both in the delusion and in real life. You nibble on your lip.
A thumb tugs it out, and you’re back. Sylus’ eyes, the darkest red you’ve seen from him. Your legs and arms mush from the blaze within them.
“W-what about the day?” your mouth is parched and your voice almost fails you as Sylus swipes his finger on your bottom lip again.
He hums, the slight vibration a torrent throughout your body, “I’ll be good during the day as well. I’ll be too busy dreaming of what I’ll do to you when the sun sets for me to be anything but,” he laughs, pressing his thumb into your lip rather than fleetingly touching it this time. “Keep that in mind for our future deals, Gamayun. You have all the power you need to get me to behave and dance in the palm of your hand. All you need to do is ask; I won’t make you beg.”
He leans into your space completely. The slightest movement would connect your lips to his. And he puffs out his final words onto your mouth, wetting them, “For now.”
Pools of heat and blood swirl a strange dance in your stomach. Phantom lips press on your own. Bite and take and take and take from you as a tongue enters your mouth. Memorizes your taste. Your habits. Your rhythm. And hands—large, familiar, hands—follow the constellations of the bruises on your body.
You can’t handle this. You pull back a bit. Forehead still on his, but no longer breathing his air.
“W-what do you want at your wedding? Hypothetically speaking?”
Sylus sighs, rolling his shoulders as he removes his forehead and runs a hand over his face for a second, “Hypothetically speaking,” he trails off, coy smile and eyes dangerous. “You. Standing there in a perfect dress unlike what this world or any other has ever seen. Nothing else could ever matter more.”
He squeezes your hands in a clasp of his own, bringing them to his lips to kiss before setting them on his forehead; he looks like he’s praying and you focus on the scrape of your own palms together to ground yourself, “For the entire world could be on fire, and all I’d see is you.”
Author's Note: When I finally get around to writing Sylus' POV, you guys will be seeing the words of the conversation between him and Astrid. And as for why this took so long... all I can say is fuck ochem and I can't wait for winter break.
That's how much time has passed since Sylus last saw you.
He's been counting the days, and he knew he was reaching another week without you. At first, he charged it to you being quite busy with work. It happens. He memorized when the influx came in and when your downtime was. But this was a first for him.
He didn't mind the short messages as he started his day. At least he knew you were still there. Priorities shift every single day. He understands that there are things you need to focus on. While he would love to help with everything you're working on, he also knows you want to handle it. You can handle it. You got this.
This was much different, though. Since the start of this... odd behavior from you, there have been no short messages. No calls being picked up. Not even Mephisto's records have you in it. All he would see are closed blinds on your windows (when typically, you have them slightly open for him).
[18:00] Morning, kitten.
[20:30] Are you busy again? I haven't heard from you.
[21:10] I respect your autonomy and independence, but even I get worried, kitten. Please tell me you are there. Unless the association sent you away?
[21:30] Wherever you are, you know I'll come get you. If you're in trouble, speak. Say the word. I'll be there.
[23:00] If you see this, I'm coming over.
Throwing his phone at the passenger seat of his Cadillac, he shifts gears and guns it. He couldn't take another week without seeing you anymore. He needs to be sure; he needs to see with his own eyes and hear with his own ears that you're alive and breathing.
Hours have passed, and he has finally reached your apartment. Mephisto reappears from the shadows and flies down to his shoulder. He caws softly to his master as he hums.
"So...nothing still?"
The mechanical crow gives another caw, as if he were conveying a sadness deep within his system. Sylus sighs and instructs him to go back home. Mephisto hesitates but eventually obeys, taking off to the night sky.
Meanwhile, his master makes his way through the courtyard and into the building. It was easy to get past the security if he was also part of Onychinus. But of course, he won't tell you that.
As he reached your apartment, instead of keying in the code he knew by heart, he knocked on the door.
"Kitten?"
No response.
He knocks again, a bit louder.
"Kitten, if you're there, please open the door."
Nothing.
Driven by the need, he relents as he keys in the code. The machine beeps and unlocks the door for him. His grip on the doorknob tightens, he takes a deep breath to stop his heart from spiking up again, and he steels himself as he tries not to entertain the worst-case scenarios his mind was generating.
He steps in...and is confused at the darkness and the state of your apartment. You'd think he entered a near-horror house with the amount of empty ramen cups on the coffee table, bundled up tissues, throw pillows in various places, and the multiple cans of energy drinks and coffee littering the floor. He peeks at your kitchen, and there are dishes piled up in the sink.
One thing's for sure, he knows you're in here. That at least eases the tightness in his chest by 2%.
He surveys the area, and he can see the light—albeit a very faint one—peeking through the crevices of your bedroom door. As he walks closer, he can hear the furious clicking of the keyboard and your deep breathing and sighs.
He opens your bedroom door and his heart shatters at seeing you; back hunched, sitting on the floor with your laptop set on a makeshift table made out of books pulled together, and a ton of papers strewn everywhere.
You were clearly focused, as not once did you raise your head to acknowledge his presence.
As silent as he could be, he crouches down next to you and lightly taps your shoulder.
"Sweetie?"
The sudden contact and deep voice definitely made you jump. It rattles your makeshift table, and the laptop moves just a bit away from you. Your eyes widen as you immediately look at the source of your scare.
The 2% tightness in his chest came back in a thousand waves. Underneath the hoodie you were wearing, he sees how stressed you are. You had dry tear marks down your face, eye bags which indicated you haven't slept at all, your right eye involuntarily twitching, and he can see your hair ruffled in different directions; likely from you pulling or rubbing it out of frustration.
"My god, Sylus! What the actual fu—"
"You weren't answering my texts and calls. Mephisto and the twins have been sulking."
You sighed, more in frustration at yourself. Another failure in your books.
"They won't take it against you. They're just worried."
"And you are too?"
"Why wouldn't I be?"
"..."
"Can you tell me what's going on with you? You don't seem like...yourself."
"Yeah, well, corporate won't care if I'm myself or if I'm the sorceress of another world."
You bite back, but he doesn't take it personally. Something is up, and he wants to know. The silence is deafening, and you know he doesn't deserve it. He was just worried. It's all your fault anyway...
"...Sorry."
"You don't need to apologize. Just tell me."
You throw back the hoodie, sigh in exhaustion, and rub the temples of your head to soothe the headache that you have.
"It's just...lately, every single thing I do at work is nothing but either a mistake or a failure. It's like I was struck with a streak of bad luck, and it doesn't feel like it's ever going to stop. The reports I sent in were either incorrect or got lost along the way for some reason, my missions were sub-par, I got yelled at by a superior that I never worked with before on a miscommunication and unclear plan in front of a group of people, someone got injured under my—"
"Wait. Someone yelled at you?"
The sheer audacity to raise a voice to his beloved, when you were and still are one of the best the association has had the pleasure of recruiting. This makes him frown as you shake your head, as if you were dismissing the rude action away.
"I did not anticipate it to be honest, but...I guess I deserved it. I was not clear at all with what I shared with him, and I—"
"It doesn't matter. Whoever that superior is, he should have no reason to yell at you for mistakes that could easily be corrected. You don't deserve it at all."
This stops your rant, but it doesn't really ease the pain in your heart.
"...It already happened, Sylus. There's nothing I can do."
"Is this what's been keeping my kitten hidden away from me? Are they mounting a ton of work on you?"
You stare at him, and he can see the exhaustion.
"I don't have a choice. It's the job. I have to get all of these things corrected, and I'm being expected to learn concepts and gain knowledge quickly before the next wave of missions come in. We're lacking the people right now and no one can take it on."
The anger inside him was boiling like lava overflowing at the way the association was treating you. You did not deserve this at all. You worked so hard, you were dedicated to the work you're doing, and you accomplished every single task with passion.
But this? This was clearly killing you from the inside out. You need to get away. You have to get away.
He says nothing as he pulls out his phone and starts typing away fast.
You've seen this before and this makes you anxious.
"What are you doing?"
He finally stops typing away and pockets his phone. You hear a ding from your laptop; a notification tone that was a 'friend' accompanying you the past 2 weeks.
Good day! Your 2-week leave has been approved. Your work has been turned over to the next available hunter. We wish you a restful break!
Your eyes widen in panic.
"Sylus!!! What did you do?!"
"Congratulations, you're now on vacation."
You were speechless. Then your mind catches up.
"Sylus, you can't do this!"
"I already did, kitten."
"I cannot believe you would do this! I had it all under control! I was going to finish everything and I—"
Before you can vent out your annoyance at him, you feel his hands cupping your face. This surprises you, and he looks straight into your eyes. You see pain, frustration, and worry. For you.
He runs his thumb softly on your cheek, as if he were trying to wipe away the dry tear marks.
"When you didn't answer for 2 weeks, I thought you just needed the space to focus. I know how you cherish your independence, your strength, and your resilience against the difficulties you are facing. I respect that, sweetie. I truly do. However, you must know that even the strongest walls can crumble down due to the fierce elements of nature. But they can be rebuilt again, stronger than ever. Let me be the one to pick up the pieces, sweetie, and build you back up again. You can lean on me, let me help you. I want to help you."
His words pierced something through you, and the tears just escaped. You haven't felt this supported, this cared for, before. He breathes a sigh of relief as he finally wipes away those tears. Your head dips down, afraid of completely breaking down in front of him.
"...I'm so tired."
"I know."
"He didn't have to be so mean."
"I know."
"Sylus..."
Just his name alone carries the weight of what you want to say to him. And he gets it. He wraps his arms around you, and he feels you finally go limp, surrendering to the exhaustion and support he was offering.
"I got you, sweetie. I got you."
A/N: Being vulnerable here for just a bit. I had a horrible October, and some elements here are...let's just say based on my experiences. 🥲 I'd take Sylus' offer to be part of Onychinus in a heartbeat if it means I don't get yelled at again 😭
If you're still reading this, thank you, and I hope you are doing well! 🖤
synopsis. when love begins to bloom beneath bloodied sheets, a visitor’s cruel truth threatens to shatter everything they’ve started to heal.
pairing. rafayel qi x lemurian! non-mc! reader
content. fem!reader, non-mc!reader, lemurian!reader, reincarnation!au, injured!reader, traumatized!reader, sweet!rafayel, shirtless!rafayel, reader has a soul-mark too, reader is in love and more daring, unrequited love (but NO MORE?), forced proximity, ONE BED TROPE, a lot of angst, a bit of FLUFF, almost a KISS, manipulative!emcee, emcee is a bitch, selfish!emcee, shady!emcee, GUILT, use of LEMURIAN, mission and bond explained, reader is called darling because i don't like y/n, TW: (MENTIONS OF) MAIN CHARACTERS' DEATH, TW: implied SA/infringement of consent.
word count. 8k
a/n. HUGE CHAPTER WOOWOWOW! this one is a rollercoaster of emotions, so please read carefully and mind the TWs! i tried my best to explain how i see the bond working in a non-mc!au, as well as lemurian biology, but there are still things left unsaid! i would love to see your theories hehe. please let me know your thoughts for this bit! feedback and reblogs are deeply appreciated!!
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you managed to fall asleep in seconds. despite your thumping heart, battering against your ribs, and your flushed cheeks, exhaustion overcame your entire body and made you go limp against the expensive couch of rafayel’s living room.
after spending weeks floating in that damned fish tank, the softness of the cushions and the warmth they preserved were like a gentle caress swooping over your entire tired frame. your healing scales, now wrapped nicely by zayne’s hands, no longer gripped the materials around, allowing the bruise to heal without being tugged at with every move.
as promised, rafayel watched over you. he lowered himself on the ground, choosing to lean against the lower part of the couch, allowing you to spread on its whole surface comfortably. he thought of moving you to his room, to change the sofa with his bigger, more welcoming bed, but he stopped himself.
he’d seen the way you reacted to sudden, foreign touches.
he did not wish to scare you. especially right now, as you were finally resting.
so he just watched you sleep from a distance — quite small, indeed, as he was still worried about you — admiring your features and saving them in his mind.
curve by curve. line by line.
over and over again, until he was sure he will never forget your face.
so rafayel’s gaze lingered. the rhythm of your breathing — soft, yet uneven from dreams — filled the silence between the soft breeze seeping through the curtains and his heartbeat.
gods, his heart. it was loud. too loud.
each thud reverberated through his ribs like an omen.
he pressed a palm against his chest, right over the red glowing mark. it pulsed, angry, hot — a familiar ache that once felt like devotion. but now… now it burned for an entirely different reason.
the mark had always flared when emcee was near, when her name crossed his thoughts, when he remembered the countless lives he’d spent chasing her shadow. yet this time, the fire under his skin didn’t call her name.
it whispered yours.
but was it longing or warning?
rafayel tilted his head back against the couch, eyes tracing the rise and fall of your chest beneath his shirt. his throat tightened, that burning sensation now clawing at his neck.
he shouldn’t be feeling this. the bond was sacred, eternal — it defined him. to stray from it was to betray every vow his soul had made across lifetimes.
and yet, he couldn’t stop himself.
why did he forget your face before?
he’d seen you countless of times — long ago, in different lives — and still, when he tried to recall, it was as if something had cut the memory out clean.
was it the bond?
did it… erase you?
a quiet, bitter laugh left his lips.
of course it did. the tie had always been possessive. it wanted him loyal. pure. a perfect counterpart to emcee’s heart, even as hers turned elsewhere. it must have sensed the danger you posed — that one glance from you could undo centuries of faith.
did it now pulse as a warning, stirring rafayel away from you?
he didn’t know. so he looked at you again.
the glow of the candle brushed against your skin, warm and golden. the faint shimmer of your scattered scales peeked from under the fabric of your clothes, glistening like glitter. you looked so delicate, so ethereal.
he wanted to reach out. to touch your hair. to confirm you were real, and not a mere figment of his imagination.
but his hand only trembled halfway there before he pulled it back.
you’re not mine. the thought echoed, cruel.
you’re not meant for me.
and yet, the mark seared hotter, as if mocking him — as if it, too, had grown confused.
rafayel let out a slow breath, retracting his hovering hand away from your sleeping body and dropping it against his aching chest. if emcee could let go of the bond — could love someone new — could he not do the same? could he not choose for once, instead of being chosen by fate?
the question poisoned him, easy and slow.
he peered at you again, pupils thinning into slits to see better through darkness. memorizing every small twitch of your fingers, every sigh that escaped your parted lips. he didn’t dare to blink, terrified that if he did, the bond might strip this memory away too.
he whispered, barely audible.
“don’t disappear from me again.”
the mark pulsed once more in answer — not with pain, but with heat that felt dangerously close to yearning.
rafayel closed his eyes, leaning his head against the couch’s edge, his breath shallow. between duty and desire, between history and the present, his heart was being rewritten.
and for the first time in centuries, he wasn’t sure whose name it would carry when the ink dried.
•••
when you woke up, it was already noon.
the sunlight had changed — warmer, quieter, the kind that slipped through sheer curtains and painted everything in gold. for a long moment, you lay there, unsure where you were. the hum of the waves outside, the faint scent of salt and roses, and the weight of the soft blanket over your legs slowly grounded you.
you’re no longer in that lab. you’re at rafayel’s.
turning around, to inspect your surroundings, you saw something that wasn’t there last night.
on the coffee table before you sat a neatly folded stack of clothes — all new, still faintly creased from packaging. a couple of sweaters, soft cotton trousers, undergarments, even a silk camisole that looked far too delicate for you to wear without guilt. there was also a pair of slippers by the couch.
and beside the clothes, a phone box — unopened, gleaming faintly under the sun.
you sat up slowly, wincing as your leg throbbed faintly beneath the bandages. the blanket you’d slept in slipped off your body right on the sofa. tentatively, you reached out, sharp fingers brushing over the hem of the top sweater. the fabric was warm — as if he’d held it before placing it there.
your throat tightened.
he’d gone out. bought all of this while you slept. thought about what you might need, about the sizes, about comfort. rafayel, who once treated everything with a kind of detached precision, had thought of you.
you swallowed hard, trying to ignore the flutter in your chest. but the words he’d spoken last night echoed anyway — “he shouldn’t have touched you.”
you’d told yourself it was just protectiveness. possessiveness, maybe. a byproduct of confusion from zayne and emcee’s relationship. but now, seeing all this — this quiet care laid out like an offering — your heart stuttered in your chest.
“rafayel…” you whispered, the name tasting both foreign and too familiar to your fang-clad mouth.
and as if summoned, the door clicked open.
rafayel entered softly, the sound of his footsteps deliberate, careful. he carried two cups of tea in his hands — steam curling gently above the porcelain. the scent of chamomile wafted through the room, soothing and sweet. he set them down on the coffee table, the faintest clink of porcelain against wood filling the silence.
“you’re awake.” he hummed quietly. his tone was calm, but there was relief buried beneath the words — the kind that came from worry long held. “i thought you’d sleep until evening.”
“i… i almost did.” you said, voice still hoarse from your powerful singing. you averted your eyes and glanced at the clothes again, then at the phone. “you… got these?”
he followed your gaze, then softly nodded once. “you needed something to wear. and a way to contact someone, if you wish.” his throat bobbed at that last part, but he went on anyway. “they’re yours now.”
you touched the edge of the phone box, tracing it as if it were something sacred. “you didn’t have to.”
“i know, darling.” he looked at you then — finally catching your scurrying eyes— and there it was again. that strange, tender tension that hung between you like a held breath. “i wanted to.”
your lips parted, a dozen thoughts fighting to leave at once. you wanted to ask why. why he looked at you like that. why his mark glowed strangely last night. why your own burned in answer, a cruel reminder that maybe — just maybe — the universe had made a mistake.
but you didn’t.
you only asked gently, sitting back down on the couch. “chamomile?”
he smiled, flashing you that boyish smile. “to help your throat. you sung too much yesterday, and…” his voice faltered. “i thought it might calm you.”
you blinked at him, the scent of the tea wrapping around you like warmth itself. “you made this?”
“it’s not difficult.” his voice pitched higher, faux offense coating his words.
the faint flush raising to his cheeks made him look adorable. plus, the way he avoided your eyes betrayed a trace of shyness you’d never imagined he possessed. you smiled faintly and accepted the cup, the heat seeping into your palms. your fingers brushed his — a touch so brief and unintentional, yet it sent a jolt straight through your ribs.
you hid the tremor by bringing the tea to your lips.
he sat beside you — not too close, but close enough that the air between you thickened. his eyes traced the small smile you tried to suppress, then drifted to the sunlight pooling across your knees.
the quiet stretched again, but not uncomfortably. there was something sacred in it, something fragile and alive.
you glanced once more at the folded clothes, the phone, the steaming tea. “you didn’t sleep.”
he shook his head. “i couldn’t.”
“because of your mark?” you asked, voice barely a whisper.
because of her?
his dual-colored eyes flicked toward you, both heavy with something unspoken. “partly.”
“and the other part?”
words slipped out of your tea-stained lips before you could stop them, pressing rafayel for more information. you had no right to know such details, yet a part of you needed to know.
was it really emcee?
rafayel’s lips curved, a ghost of a smile, but his voice was too quiet when he answered. “because you were here.”
oh.
the teacup trembled in your hands. the warmth of the drink spread down your throat, but it couldn’t calm the chaos inside you — the sharp, beautiful ache blooming in your chest, right where your own mark pulsed, hidden beneath fabric and fear.
you lowered your gaze, whispering so softly that you weren’t sure he heard.
“don’t do this to me.”
but he only looked at you — long, steady, unflinching — and for the first time, you realized he was already doing it to himself.
i am going crazy.
so you took another sip — a big one this time. that… was truly a bad move on your part, as the hotness scalded your entire tongue. you tried to swallow it gracefully, but the heat hit the back of your throat like fire, and before you knew it, your eyes were watering, and your nose stung.
“ah–” you wheezed softly, trying not to cough the tea back out. your eyes blinked rapidly, tears threatening to spill and turn to pearls.
rafayel immediately straightened, abandoning his cup to attend to you. “too hot?”
you nodded, clutching the cup carefully. “a bit.” you sniffled once — gods, how embarrassing — and quickly tried to change the subject before your dignity dissolved completely. the tears in your eyes reminded of you of a matter of greater importance than clothes and phones.
“uh– do you, by any chance, have eye drops i could borrow?”
“eye… drops?” his duo-chrome gaze blinked at you, confused. “what for?”
you rubbed at your lashes carefully, trying to blink the sting away.
“my eyes. they’re drying out now that i am out of the water. i don’t have my glasses or my drops with me, and…” you sighed, squinting toward the sunlight filtering through the curtains. “…everything’s a bit too bright.”
he frowned faintly, tilting his head. “you mean your eyes dry?”
“don’t yours?” you asked, genuinely puzzled. “you’re lemurian. you should have the same problem, right?”
rafayel blinked once. then again.
“my problem?” he echoed slowly, as if the idea was new.
“yeah.” you lowered your teacup, studying him, now no longer fazed by the scorching liquid.
“your kind’s eyes aren’t really made for the surface. too much light, too little humidity– it should be painful. and they should get dry easily.”
the confusion on his face deepened, pupils flickering narrow for a moment before returning to their usual wide glow. “you mean… that’s normal?”
“wait, what did you think it was?” you frowned.
he turned his head aside, almost sheepish. “i assumed… it was from working too much. staring at paintings. the air, the studio lights. i thought i strained them.”
a small laugh slipped out of you, soft and incredulous. the sea god getting a lesson about his people — hilarious.
“rafayel, that’s just… biology.”
he blinked, slow, thoughtful. the edges of his lips twitched upward in something that wasn’t quite a smile — more like the quiet bewilderment of someone realizing the world had always been just slightly slanted.
“so.” he murmured. “my eyes have been… suffering because i forgot what i am.”
you tilted your head, watching him process the revelation. he leaned back into the couch, one hand coming up to touch his temple, the other pressing lightly against the bridge of his nose as though everything suddenly made sense — the headaches, the irritation, the way he’d been dimming lights lately without realizing why.
“i also thought…” he said after a long pause. “it was punishment. for neglecting the bond. for not having her.”
your chest tightened at that.
he didn’t have to say her name. you knew it already — the woman written into his soul, branded into his every lifetime. and the fact that he associated his pain with her, wrote it down as a reprimand, and accepted it.
just like you did.
you swallowed hard, voice softer than before. “it wasn’t punishment, rafayel. just… the wrong kind of medium.”
he huffed a quiet breath, gaze flicking toward you again — slow, cautious, strangely fond. “you make it sound so simple.”
“maybe it is.” you replied, offering him a weak smile. “try a humidifier instead of divine atonement.”
that earned you a low laugh, genuine and warm. it slipped from him like a sigh, like a sound that hadn’t been allowed to exist in a very long time.
and gods, that laugh made something flutter deep inside your chest.
rafayel leaned forward slightly, his expression softening. “do your eyes hurt right now?”
“a little.”
he hummed, thoughtful again — that same look artists get when they’re about to fix something they’ve painted wrong. “then i’ll make it darker. you rest them.”
he rose, sweeping his hand toward the curtains. the sunlight dimmed as heavy velvet folded together, shadows pooling across the room. the air felt calmer, cooler — almost like the deep ocean itself.
“better?”
you nodded, blinking once, your lashes still wet from the earlier sting. “much.”
he lingered there a moment longer, staring at you in the half-light. the glow in his eyes — that soft, bioluminescent shimmer — reflected faintly against the dimness, beautiful and haunting.
“you shouldn’t be the one reminding me how to live like a lemurian.” he murmured finally, something like self-mockery in his tone.
you smiled faintly. “maybe you just needed someone to remind you you’re still one.”
his eyes flickered and for a heartbeat, the air between you grew heavy again. you felt the faint hum of your own mark, warmth blooming beneath your collarbone like an ache, and you wondered if his did the same.
“careful.” he said at last, voice low. “you say things like that, my heart might start believing you.”
you looked away quickly, pretending to sip your tea again — though it had long gone lukewarm. “then maybe you should… stop listening.”
he smiled at that, soft and unreadable, and turned back towards the curtains.
but behind your lowered gaze, your mark pulsed again — gentle, hopeful, alive.
“what else should i know?”
“you must know about your weaker legs, no?”
“weaker what?”
“gods, help me.”
•••
night descended quietly.
the ocean outside rafayel’s windows turned into a sheet of black glass, and the waves hummed like a lullaby against the shore. the air carried salt, faint incense, and that subtle electric charge that always came before rain.
you stood on the edge of the bed in rafayel’s room, warm cardigan draped over your camisole-clad body. just breathing in the refreshing night air, taking in the shine of the growing moon. the faint buzz of the bathroom hummed in the background, a continuous lull that was inviting you to lay down and sleep.
rafayel insisted you rest in his bed from now on. you’ve refused his invitation from the get-go, being more than content with the expensive couch of his living room. but he was stubborn, threatening to not sleep if he left you, an injured person, nap anywhere else but his bed.
so, you somehow compromised — ending up sleeping together in his ginormous bed.
…but even that compromise had its complications.
rafayel had agreed too easily — too gently — and that alone made you suspicious. so, as soon as he’d turned his back to fetch towels, you’d quietly gathered his pajamas, folded them neatly, and placed them beside you on your side of the bed.
hostage, in plain sight.
it was childish, maybe. but so was the way he pretended not to care where he slept. if he wanted the couch, he could try to do it naked.
now, as the shower purred behind the closed bathroom door, you finally slipped beneath the soft ocean-blue sheets.
the sheets were cool, the room dim and heavy with the scent of rain. you curled up carefully on one side of the massive bed — far enough that your fingers couldn’t accidentally brush the space beside you. still, the idea of sleeping here, in his room, in the soft silk camisole he’d chosen for you… it made something tighten low in your chest.
“ahh.”
the pillow smelled faintly of him.
you buried your face in it. just for a moment, you told yourself.
just until sleep finds me.
you didn’t notice when your lashes grew heavy, when the sound of the waves blurred into the pulse in your ears. you didn’t notice when your breath evened out and the faint shimmer beneath your collarbone began to glow through the thin silk — a soft blue, pulsing faintly like light filtered through water.
you never saw the door open again.
rafayel stepped inside, towel slung low around his hips, droplets of water tracing the sculpted lines of his shoulders. the faint steam from the bathroom followed him in, curling into the cooler night air. he paused, brushing his damp hair back, expecting to grab his pajamas quietly and retreat to the couch before you woke.
but the bed stopped him.
you stopped him.
his gaze softened instantly — surprise melting into something quieter, deeper.
you were sprawled slightly to one side, one arm tangled in the sheets, hair spilling across his pillow. his cardigan had slipped down your shoulder, revealing the delicate straps of the camisole, the faint shimmer of scales along your collarbone catching the silver light. the rise and fall of your breathing was steady, peaceful, and the faintest smile curved your lips, as though your dreams were kind for once.
rafayel’s heart gave an uncomfortable thud.
he’d seen beauty before — painted it, sculpted it, captured it in every way he knew — but this was different. this wasn’t beauty to be studied or worshipped. this was beauty that hurt.
and then he saw it.
a faint blue glow, flickering gently beneath the thin silk at your chest.
his breath caught.
a mark?
…it couldn’t be.
he knew the color of his own — the deep red of devotion and pain, the hue that bound him across lifetimes. but yours… yours shimmered like the ocean’s heart. blue — pure, luminescent, vibrant.
he took an involuntary step closer, towel forgotten, curiosity and awe overtaking caution. his instincts prickled — lemurian instincts, old and deeply-rooted — whispering that this was something sacred. something dangerous.
“why blue…” he murmured under his breath, voice barely audible.
he climbed carefully onto the bed, movements slow, cautious, not wanting to disturb you. the mattress dipped beneath his weight, and the warmth of your body reached him — faint, intoxicating.
he leaned in, close enough to see the faint pulse of light beneath your skin.
his breath hitched when he realized it was pulsing in rhythm with his own heart.
could it be–
before the thought could finish, you moved.
your body jerked awake, instincts kicking in — that same survival reflex from the lab, from the years of being restrained and cornered. before rafayel could even react, you twisted, eyes snapping open halfway, your hand shooting out to push away the unfamiliar warmth closing in.
“–wait!” he hissed, too late.
you collided with him hard, your smaller frame tackling his bare chest. the world spun for a second, the sheets tangling around you both. rafayel let out a surprised grunt as his back hit the mattress, the breath leaving his lungs in one sharp exhale.
you straddled him — hair messy, eyes wide and unfocused from sleep — your hands pressed against the base of his throat.
the towel barely clung to his hips, and so did your camisole straps.
the blue glow of your mark flared brightly between you both.
and for a heartbeat, neither of you moved.
rafayel stared up at you, stunned, his breath shallow. your fresh scent, the warmth of your body, the faint press of your hands against his damp skin — it all hit him at once.
“...you really didn’t want me on the couch, did you?” he managed, voice low and rough, half amusement, half disbelief.
but you didn’t seem to register what was going on. didn’t seem to register who was pinned beneath you. and rafayel’s worries grew as your hands pressed tighter on his neck.
your nails dug into his skin.
rafayel’s breath hitched — not in pain, but in alarm — as the sharp points grazed deep enough to draw a thin line of red across his throat. your fingers trembled where they clutched him, claws tightening with inhuman strength, eyes half-lidded and glassy.
“hey.” he whispered, voice low and careful. “it’s me. you’re safe.”
you didn’t hear him. your pupils were blown wide, unfocused, your breathing sharp and unsteady. the soft colour of your mark had turned harsh now, the glow shining like a warning beacon through the sheer fabric of your camisole.
“don’t–” you hissed suddenly, your voice warped, lower, almost feral. “dirty… human. don’t touch me–”
rafayel froze. the words weren’t in common tongue anymore. they slipped through your lips in liquid syllables, heavy and ancient — lemurian. his own mother tongue, but twisted by fury and panic.
his heart clenched.
“–die, die, die–” you muttered relentlessly, the sounds muffled, your fangs flashing as your jaw clenched tight.
your hands did too, constricting more of rafayel’s airflow.
your eyes gleamed faintly, the dense darkness of your blown-out pupils reflecting the moonlight filtering through the window. you weren’t awake. not truly. you were trapped somewhere between the now and the memory — a nightmare, maybe, or something deeper.
you weren’t seeing him.
you were seeing your captors. the pain. the chains.
rafayel understood too late.
“–die, die–”
he raised both hands slowly, carefully — palms open, peaceful — as your claws pressed harder against his skin. warm drops of blood beaded beneath your nails, sliding down his collarbone and onto the sheets.
“ah…”
rafayel could’ve thrown you off in a second. his instincts screamed for it, and so did his sea god strength. his body reacted autonomously before he could stop it — fangs slipping free behind his lips, pupils contracting to sharp slits, claws extending slightly in defense.
but he didn’t move to strike. he didn’t allow it.
instead, he whispered your name. once. twice. voice soft as prayer, wishing to release you from your torture.
but you didn’t answer. your grip trembled, growing more desperate, more frightened.
“die–”
so he did the only thing that felt right.
he surrendered.
rafayel’s hands came up not to pry your claws away, but to cradle your face. his touch was gentle, reverent even, sharp thumbs brushing away the tears forming at the corners of your eyes. if he was to die right here, right now, he could at least do so relieved — he caressed your visage, something he’d wanted since he reconnected with you.
“you’re dreaming.” he murmured, his voice a broken whisper, cracking through your tight grasp. “you’re safe now. i promise.”
yet your claws tore another thin line across his throat. the sting burned, but he didn’t flinch. your shuddering skin did not register his touch, unbothered by his warm and gentle hands. all you did was push harder against his neck, lean further down into his body to cage him.
“if this is what i owe you...” he whispered weakly, lips almost brushing yours from the proximity. “then take it.”
his chest ached, not from pain, but guilt. for every moment you’d spent in that tank, screaming underwater where no one listened. for every choice of his that left you behind — broken and afraid.
“i’m sorry.” he said again, voice shaking from the pressure. “gods, you’re so beautiful. even now. even when you hate me.”
your breathing hitched, catching on the edge of a sob.
he kept speaking with his remaining strength — quiet, rhythmic, like waves breaking on sand. his thumbs stroked along your jawline, his bioluminescent eyes dimming to a soft glow. the tension in his body bled out slowly, until he looked more creature than man — something primeval and sorrowful beneath you.
his survival instinct was bringing out the lemurian in him more and more, begging for your removal.
but rafayel? rafayel, always the selfish man, embraced the closeness brought by death. and even now, all he wished was to have his last breath taken by your lips. so there he was, jaw tilted upward towards your face, hoping to at least share a kiss with his darling before his demise.
you blinked once, unfazed by his antics.
but then–
the sight of his fangs — sharp, glinting faintly in the moonlight — cut through the haze like a blade. the monster you thought you were fighting wasn’t human at all. not a researcher. not a captor.
it was him.
your lemurian.
your heart stuttered. the nightmare cracked open. the room rushed back into focus — the salt air, the hum of the ocean, the faint metallic scent of blood.
your hands loosened instantly, leaving behind a thick border of purples and blues. the claws withdrew with a soft scrape as you gasped, realization crashing into you.
“rafayel–”
he caught your wrists before you could pull away, but not in anger. only to stop you from hurting yourself. his eyes, still glowing faintly blue, searched yours.
there was no accusation in them. only relief.
“you’re awake.” he breathed, big gulps of air filling his deprived lungs, the tension in his shoulders finally breaking. “it’s alright, darling.”
but it wasn’t. not for you.
not when you could still feel the warmth of his blood on your fingertips.
you looked down, horrified, at the red lines across his throat, at the bruising necklace you left behind.
“i-i didn’t–”
“i know.” he murmured, cupping the roundness of your face again. “it wasn’t you.”
he brushed his thumb across your cheek, his fangs glinting faintly as he offered you a small, tired smile.
what have you done?
tears dripped down your skin and onto his hands, wetting the surface for a second before dropping heavy as pearls.
“my darling.” he added softly, displeased by your sorrowful state. “i am okay, see?”
but you couldn’t, as tears continued to overflow your eyes and blur your vision. drop after drop, pearl after pearl, your cries and sobs filled the room. guilt and shame eating at your heart from inside.
your throat ached, lungs tight and shuddering as sobs broke free — soft at first, then ragged, uncontrollable. each breath came out trembling, raw and wet, your voice cracking on his name.
“r-rafayel.” you choked, shaking your head, the words tumbling out in fragments. “i didn’t– i thought– gods, i thought you were–”
“shh, i know.” he whispered again, gentler this time. his arms closed around you before the next sob could tear through.
you collapsed against him, the last of your strength giving way. the sound that escaped you was broken, muffled against his bare chest. his warmth surrounded you instantly — steady, solid, grounding — while your tears spilled freely, soaking into his skin. pearls rolling down onto the bedsheets around you two.
he said nothing at first. just held you.
one hand came up to the back of your head, fingers caressing slowly over your hair. the other pressed against the small of your back, tracing slow circles there, soothing the tremors that wrecked your body. his scent — salt, roses, blood — wrapped around you like a tide.
“i’ve got you.” he murmured, voice low and rough. “it’s alright now. you’re here. you’re safe.”
your fingers fisted weakly into his damp skin, holding on as though you might fall apart otherwise. the tears wouldn’t stop; they came in waves — grief, guilt, fear, all mixing together until it hurt just to breathe.
you wept for the nightmare, for the memories you couldn’t wake from, for the way his blood had felt on your hands.
and through it all, he held you tighter. his chin dropped to the top of your head; his lips brushed your temple in a trembling kiss. he didn’t flinch when your sobs turned violent. he only whispered reassuring words again and again, like it was a prayer.
blue and red were glowing together in your embrace.
and at some point, the light began to change.
the soft blue of your mark, still visible beneath your camisole, pulsed faster, brighter, reacting to the closeness — to him. the glow spread like a ripple, washing faint light across his chest where your tears had soaked in.
and then the red appeared.
yet not from his heart this time. from yours.
a slow, spreading crimson shimmer began to bloom beneath your skin — where blue once had been. while on his chest, the color bled away from red to the palest ocean blue.
neither of you saw it.
your face was still pressed against him, breath hitching in uneven bursts, fingers now curled tight in the fabric of the sheets between you. rafayel only felt the warmth of you against him — the slight trembling of your shoulders, the quiet gasp each time he whispered soothing words.
he stroked your back again and again until your crying softened into quiet sniffles. until your trembling slowed.
when he finally spoke, it was almost too soft to hear.
“you don’t have to fight anymore.” he said, lips brushing against your hair. “not with me here.”
you didn’t answer. couldn’t. you just nodded faintly, curling closer, your cheek against the steady beat of his heart.
and in that fragile stillness — where tears, blood, and breath mingled — red and blue pulsed together in the dark. two marks, colors quietly swapped, as though the universe had decided to rewrite the story neither of you dared to believe in yet.
•••
“rafayel, please, let me help.”
you begged again, your unstable body trembling in your crutches as you kept shifting towards a very frantic rafayel. he was moving much faster than you, pacing around the bedroom and his walk-in closet to retrieve garments for a meeting with his manager.
he completely forgot about thomas, too caught up with you and your wellbeing.
“there’s no need, darling! i can do it myself. so just sit there prettily and–”
he repeated once more, still maintaining that sweet and soft tone of his. yet he was agitated in his moves, wrongly buttoning up his white shirt for the third time that day. always skipping a button or entirely messing up the order.
“i was the one that hurt you, so at least let me wrap it in a bandage.”
the words came out gentle but firm — a quiet plea that left no room for argument. rafayel froze mid-motion, his hand hovering uselessly above the next button. the lines of his shoulders slumped, exhaustion finally overtaking pride.
he turned to look at you. the sight of you standing there — worried, trembling slightly as you balanced on your crutches, determination etched into your tired face — undid him more effectively than any wound could.
defeat softened his features.
“…alright.” he sighed at last, exhaling through his nose. “alright, darling. you win.”
you blinked, surprised that he’d yielded so easily. but before you could question it, he had already crossed the room, guiding you gently back toward the bed. his hands ghosted over your arms as he helped you sit. the touch light, cautious — as if he feared you might shatter.
“sit.” he murmured. “if you fall over, i will skip my meeting entirely.”
you smiled faintly at that. “then stop moving so much and let me fix you.”
rafayel chuckled under his breath, low and tired, before sitting beside you on the edge of the bed. the mattress dipped slightly beneath his weight as he joined you. for a brief moment, the two of you simply breathed — the late noon light spilling over both your faces, golden and warm.
you reached for his shirt. “you messed it up again.” you murmured, fingers brushing lightly over the uneven buttons.
he gave a quiet hum of protest. “you try dressing yourself with a bruised neck and a pending lecture from thomas.”
you ignored the tease, focusing on the fabric instead. your fingers worked deftly, undoing the buttons and aligning them properly this time. his chest rose and fell steadily beneath your hands, but every brush of your fingers made his breath falter — just slightly.
you pretended not to notice.
when you finished, you reached for the small roll of bandages on the nightstand.
“now let’s see…”
rafayel hummed in approval, tilting his head to the side to reveal the damage. you sucked in a quiet breath. the bruises wrapped around his throat like a cruel choker — purple fading into green, the faint pattern of your nails still visible. but beneath the damaged skin, faint scales shimmered, small and iridescent, forming a thin, protective layer where the skin had split.
“they started showing up this morning.” he explained softly, as if embarrassed. “instinct, i suppose. they’re… unsightly. i need them covered before i meet thomas.”
you swallowed thickly, slightly offended by his remark.
“they’re not unsightly.” you whispered, smoothing your fingers over the cool ridges before beginning to wrap the bandage carefully around his neck. “they’re beautiful. and they’re healing you.”
he smiled faintly, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “still… i’d rather not explain to my human colleagues why my throat looks like a coral reef.”
you managed a small laugh at that, but your hands trembled slightly as you continued wrapping the bandage — careful, methodical. the closeness of your faces made your pulse quicken, blood rushing to your cheeks; his scent was warm and clean, faintly floral from his morning shower.
after a few minutes of silence, rafayel spoke again. his tone was cautious, gentle.
“w-what happened last night?”
you froze, mid-wrap, not expecting to be questioned on your strange behaviour. fortunately, he didn’t press immediately — he just waited, eyes fixed on you, patient but unbearably kind.
that made it harder.
“i…” you began, voice cracking around the edges. “i thought you were someone else.”
he frowned slightly. “an enemy?”
you nodded, looking away. “a human.”
the silence that followed was thick. you focused on the bandage, tugging it tighter, as if you could anchor yourself to the task.
“i hate this form.” you whispered finally. “i hate how weak it makes me. every time i turn human, it’s like suffocating — only slower.”
rafayel didn’t interrupt. he only shifted closer, his hand hovering near yours in silent reassurance.
“once…” you continued, voice unsteady, the memory alone making you nauseous. “the ocean dried up. completely. i lived an entire life on land — as one of them.” you swallowed hard, your fingers stilling against the white fabric. “there was nowhere to hide. no scales, no tail, no strength.”
“just flesh. soft, breakable flesh.”
you forced a smile that didn’t reach your eyes, somehow trying to downplay the harsh truth.
“humans don’t like what they don’t understand. you know that, don’t you?”
rafayel’s jaw clenched at that. it was true.
“i know.”
“i was at their mercy.” you said, the words trembling now. “they called me a witch. a monster. some tried to… own me. others tried to fix me.” your voice fractured, spit hardening down your throat and making talking difficult.
“and when they couldn’t… they destroyed me. piece by piece.”
the next breath came out ragged, like a powerful sob. “that was the first time i didn’t turn to seafoam when i died. just a body — ugly, empty, rotting. human.”
rafayel’s hand finally found your wrist. his touch was warm, grounding.
“don’t.” he whispered, voice tight. “don’t say that about yourself.”
you shook your head, small tears blurring your vision. “it’s true. every time i’m in this body, it feels like i’m trapped again. like they’ll find me, touch me, hurt me. and i can’t even fight back.”
the bandage in your hands fell slack.
rafayel caught it before it slipped away completely. his other hand cupped your cheek, tilting your face toward him.
“you’re not trapped now.” he said quietly. “not with me.”
you blinked through the tears, his face a blur of pale gold and light.
“i swear to you…” he continued, voice steady now, low with promise. “no one will ever do that again to you. not while i breathe.”
the last of the tears spilled over. you leaned forward before you could stop yourself, forehead pressing against his collarbone. he didn’t move — just exhaled softly, his hand coming up to the back of your head.
he held you like that for a while; quiet, steady, the two of you breathing in rhythm as the sunlight spilled lazily through the window. the golden haze of afternoon shimmered across his skin, softened the edges of his sharp features.
when you finally pulled back, his hand followed, thumb brushing away the damp streaks from your cheeks. the tenderness of the gesture softened you — simple, instinctive, human in the best way.
his touch lingered a moment too long.
“no more tears.” he murmured, though his voice carried no reproach. his eyes — both shades glinting under the sunlight — searched yours as though he could see your soul in them. “you’ve cried enough for lifetimes.”
“i can’t seem to stop.” you gave a shaky laugh, half-broken, half-sincere.
he smiled faintly, the corners of his lips twitching upward. “then i’ll just have to keep wiping them away.”
his fingers traced the line of your jaw, slow and careful, as though afraid to break something sacred. his skin was warm against your own, and you leaned into it without thinking, eyelids fluttering shut.
when you opened them again, he was closer.
so close that you could count the faint gold flecks in his eyes. so close you could feel the faint rise and fall of his chest against your hands resting on his shirt. the faint bruise around his neck had softened, now hidden beneath your neat bandage — white against the pale skin and iridescent scales.
you breathed him in. clean linen. sea salt. expensive cologne.
no more blood.
rafayel’s gaze flicked briefly to your lips, and your pulse jumped. the world outside — the ocean hum, the distant seagulls — fell away, leaving only this fragile, shimmering quiet between you.
his thumb brushed the corner of your mouth. “you’re trembling.” he whispered.
“so are you.” you murmured back.
and then — without meaning to, without a single conscious thought — you both leaned in.
it wasn’t rushed. it wasn’t desperate. it was slow, careful, as though the air itself was pulling you toward each other. you could feel the warmth of his breath against your lips, the faint tremor in his fingers as he cupped your face.
there were no fangs now. no claws. only skin. only breath. only hearts that had somehow found the same rhythm.
you tilted your chin slightly, eyes half-lidded, lips parting, inching in for a kiss–
–and then the phone rang.
the shrill vibration of sound shattered the quiet like a stone through glass.
you both froze.
rafayel’s hand went rigid against your cheek; your breath caught somewhere between your chest and your throat. the phone buzzed insistently on the nightstand — a glowing name across the screen.
thomas.
for a long, stretched moment, neither of you moved.
then rafayel exhaled sharply, his forehead dropping to rest against yours as a low, almost feral groan escaped him.
“of course.” he muttered, voice rough. “of course it’s thomas.”
you couldn’t help it — the laugh slipped out, small and nervous and breathless. he chuckled too, the sound rumbling low in his chest as he finally pulled back just enough to reach for the phone.
“hold that thought.” he said softly, though his eyes never quite left yours — and the longing there made your heart flutter dangerously.
“rafayel?” thomas’s angry voice crackled faintly from the speaker when he answered, oblivious to the hurricane he’d interrupted.
rafayel ran a hand through his hair, glancing at you again — and the faintest, crooked smile tugged at his lips. “yeah, yeah.” he sighed into the phone. “yeah, i’m coming.”
but even as he spoke, his free hand lingered at your face — a silent promise in his touch.
a promise that the moment you’d almost shared wasn’t gone.
only paused.
•••
…why is she here?
“how’s your ankl–”
“rafayel is not home.”
“i know, that’s why i am here. i need to talk to you.”
what?
“i am not interested in what you have to say.”
“really now?”
emcee’s tone dripped with that same confidence you’d heard in her voice every time she entered a room — the kind that didn’t ask for attention but demanded it. she stepped past the threshold before you could stop her, her heels clicking against the marble floor of the sunroom like the slow ticking of a clock.
you straightened slightly on the couch, your crutches leaning against its armrest. scared beyond compare. she let herself in, knowing rafayel wasn’t home — you had no idea what she’s capable of.
“you shouldn’t be here.” you said quietly.
leave me alone, human.
“maybe.” emcee replied, her tone airy. “but rafayel has always been terrible at telling the truth when it hurts, so i thought i’d help him out.”
your fingers tightened in your lap, your pulse quickening at the mention of rafayel.
“what are you talking about?”
emcee’s smile was delicate — cruel in its gentleness. “you really don’t know?” she tilted her head, eyes tracing you like a cat watching a trapped fish. “he doesn’t love you. he can’t.”
the words fell between you like shards of glass.
you swallowed hard, trying to summon calm. she was definitely testing you, teasing you with verbalized aggression.
“he doesn’t have to.” you said, voice steady but soft, holding your ground. “i never asked him to.”
“but you want him to.” emcee’s tone was almost pitying now, and that pity hurt worse than contempt. “you think he looks at you the way he used to look at me — but he doesn’t. what you’re seeing is the bond misfiring. it’s confused. because i belong to someone else now, and rafayel… well.”
she gave a humorless laugh, one that punched at your heart.
“he’s always needed someone to fill the void.”
you didn’t flinch. not at first. because you trusted him. you wanted to trust him.
“you seem awfully confident about what’s in his heart.”
“i am his heart.” the words came fast, sharp, certain; a smug smile was plastered on her glossy lips.
“even incomplete, it still beats for me. he’s been chasing me across lifetimes. do you really think a few days in his home will erase that?”
you stood then, steady despite the weight on your injured leg. what emcee was saying was outrageous. rafayel would never–
“i know what i’ve seen in him.” you said quietly. “and it wasn’t you.”
“you think i haven’t seen that look before? the way he watches someone he can’t have — the way he tries to convince himself he can move on.” her gaze was sharp, almost sympathetic. “he’s been mine for centuries. his soul was shaped for mine. no matter what happens, that bond will always pull him back.”
“and yet.” you murmured, your voice steady even as something fragile inside you trembled. “you’re here. without him.”
that stopped her for a heartbeat — just a flicker of something behind her eyes. then she smiled again, cold and perfect.
“because i chose differently. but he didn’t. he never will.”
she stepped closer, until the faint waft of her intoxicating parfum brushed against your nose. “you’re his second choice, darling. convenient. comforting. a distraction.”
“y-you’re wrong.” you swallowed hard, her words cutting deeper than you wanted to admit.
“no.” emcee said softly. “i’m merciful. because when he finally remembers what we were, when the bond flares again, you’ll understand.” her tone lowered, cruelly gentle.
“you’ll be forgotten again.”
you turned away, refusing to let her see the way your throat tightened, the way your eyes blinked with tears. your voice was hoarse when you spoke again, much too quiet for your liking.
“is that why you’re here? to hurt me?”
“no.” emcee’s voice shifted — less venom, more calculation now. she took a step back, giving you some space.
“i am here to warn you. you’re involved whether you like it or not. zayne treated you because i asked him to. i needed you here, for the hunters’ association. sullivan’s case is still not close, and i–”
“no.”
the word came out sharp, clean, final, spat out like a curse.
emcee blinked. “excuse me?”
“i’m not your pawn.” you said, forcing each word through the ache in your chest, now glaring at her with renewed strength. “you may command zayne, manipulate rafayel, and twist everyone else around you — but not me.”
“you have no idea what’s at stake.” and for the first time, her perfect composure faltered.
“then tell me this.” you said, meeting her gaze head-on. “tell me how you escaped it — your bond with rafayel. how did you flee something eternal?”
a silence settled — heavy, suffocating. emcee’s eyes flickered with something like fear, or maybe confusion.
“…i don’t know.” she admitted finally, her voice cracking the faintest bit. “one day it just… stopped.”
you stared at her — the woman who had lived countless lives tied to rafayel’s soul, who had been the center of his devotion, his curse, his every breath. and yet, as she stood before you now, framed by the mosaic-stained glass of his sunroom, you realized something you hadn’t before.
oh, i see.
the light of the descending sun caught the glass behind her — shards of blue, purple, red, gold, and even orange fractured into a thousand shards. each piece beautiful, but broken, reflecting fragments that would never fit again.
her soul was the same as the glass.
“no.” you whispered, almost to yourself. “the bond didn’t cease. it deviated.”
emcee’s brows furrowed, lips parting to respond — but nothing came out. the bond had no meaning to her — it never had in this life. so she didn’t inquire about your weird mumbles.
“when you’re done playing house with rafayel, call me. the association awaits.”
Here is the link to commissions through my KoFi! it's $10 per thousand words, with discounts for the longer <3
4 spots for 3k ($30)
4 spots for the 6k left ($55)
1 spot left for the 10k wc ($90)
3 spots left for 15k ($120)
3 spots left for 20k wc ($170)
Characters I write -
From JJK - Nanami, Gojo, Geto, Sukuna, Toji, or Choso. I AM open to others like Higuruma, Ino, Shoko etc just let me know!!
From LADS- Sylus, Caleb, Zayne, Rafayel, and Xavier!
From Black Butler - Sebastian Michaelis
From AOT - Levi Ackerman and maybe Eren hehe
I'm down for pairings too, whether it's Jinshi and Mao Mao, Satoru and Suguru or like Satoru/ Utahime etc!
Include in your request what you want 'you' to act like, if you want reader a certain way looks wise (or if you want it ambiguous!) Also please give some idea of a plot you want! If you want like 'mean gojo' / 'psycho Sukuna' or 'nerdy gojo' etc, do you want it hella freaky or sweet lol? that sort of thing. Breed kink or nah aha - I will do Angst, NSFW, fluff, romance, I'm very open! I almost always go over the word count, please don't worry it just happens lmao!
If you feel like you don't know if I'd write something and want to ask first, just reach out into my dms! I will get the smaller commissions done within a week, the bigger ones within two - the 20k may be a little over 2 wks but I'll send you snippets through out :) I will also share the doc with you and let you decide if you want it on here, Patreon, or just for yourself.
I am doing higher wc now and opening again!! (If you want more than 20k you can dm me) added Sebastian to the list since some of yall were feeling that Sebby Gojo 🤭🤭💕 also down to do SatoSugu or even harem style fics 😌
your 1 year anniversary with rafayel, but where is he?
Credits to the artist
You were buzzing in anticipation, waiting for him. Smoothing the non-existent wrinkles on your dress for the umpteenth time – you’d chosen the one he picked out some time ago. Hand in hand skipping through stores on a cobbled street, blue and purple mixing on an iridescent canvas flowing around you like the waves crashing on the shore, glimmering as the sun kissed its surface. Tucking your hair behind your ear and untucking it again, you reached for your phone.
6:37
Are you on your way home?
Nothing.
‘He’s on his way’ , you assure yourself as the chatter of people fades away, the beach empties, he’ll come just in time, it’ll be perfect – just the two of you. You’d planned this and when something is so well organised it’s supposed to last, right?
The table was set, white tablecloth swaying with the gentle breeze, basket with food you’d prepared sitting half open, wildflowers scattered across letters – each one written with tears threatening to ruin the ink, sealed with a kiss and wrapped in your scent. They documented your year together, from the initial shyness as you walked into his gallery, tired and confused, looking for something to distract you from the countless sleepless nights your work had caused, to kissing under the moonlight, clothes half-soaked in the salty water, feet with sand. You wanted to go unnoticed, you hid – he found. He swiftly swooped in your quiet world with his nose upturned at your ‘critique’ , his confident smirk and his hand, ready to take yours and prove you wrong.
Rafayel refused to leave in the months after your first meeting (not that you’d let him), he plagued your thoughts and managed to fish out every insecurity you had about being with someone like him – so refined, well-known, perfect where you were not. Or so you thought.
7:12
Silence.
The food was getting cold, you were actively fighting against the wind, which had replaced the breeze ruffling your hair with the scene of you chasing after falling letters, scattered shells and wilting flowers. It wasn’t anticipation anymore; your stomach twisted with the possibility of being forgotten. Surely, he wouldn’t, everyone forgot you, but not Rafayel, never him. You couldn’t take playing the guessing game anymore, you dialled his number.
Ring ring ring
No answer.
His voice came through on the third call. Third.
Raf, where are you?
At the movies.
At the movies? What……..why?
With Miss Bodyguard, I promised to watch that new movie with her, remember?
Remember. You did, you remembered, but he didn’t. Your feet sunk into the sand, you’d be glad if it could swallow you whole.
He called your name. You were shivering , you didn’t remember it being so cold a minute ago.
Have fun.
Cutie, are you upset? Did I –
You hung up. You felt sick, your head was spinning, and you wanted to throw your guts up, to hell if you ruin the surprise, there wasn’t someone to appreciate it anyway.
You felt ridiculous. Of course he was with HER. The artist and the muse, the sea god and his beloved bride. You knew about his their past, but you still foolishly hoped his future was yours.
He didn’t say he’d choose her; he didn’t leave you, but he pulled away, painted portraits of another while you reached for his empty side of the bed. Dates became fewer and far between with the excuse of exhibitions, work, no time – but she was there, always lingering, always there, while he worked, while he presented, while he was away. Her work as his bodyguard, a poorly constructed attempt to keep her close. You scoffed through the tightness in your throat.
Your lover didn’t shatter your dreams, but you so hoped he would – tell you, you don’t compare to her confidence, vision or mind, that her voice sounded sweeter as she called for him, laced with memory, with years of longing. You wish he didn’t let you believe that you were worthy of his love.
All of these thoughts raced through your head as you were methodically placing everything back in the baskets you had brought it over with. Everything in you was screaming to run, to hide your sorrow, as hot tears were streaming down your face. The makeup you spent hours on was ruined, the wind made a nest of your hair, your nails were digging bloody crescents into your soft skin.
The beach used to calm your nerves, now it only reminded you of him and still you wished to drown. Maybe you’d wake up from this nightmare, or you’d die cradled in what was most dear to him.
Of course this couldn’t make you not love him, couldn’t pull your bewitched heart out of his cruel grasp.
Table falling over, letters buried under the sand like useless cigarette buds and white cloth flying towards the trashing sea. Left it all behind and you hoped and prayed to whatever god would listen, to help you do the same with him.
Being alone was never bothersome until he came in and ruined your isolation, replacing it with his infuriatingly sweet presence, his essence clinging to your very being, his voice drowning out your thoughts. Not now. Now you would be forced to listen as you subject yourself through the harshest of judgments and you would be left to unravel, this time – alone.
This is my first post on here so i would be glad to hear your opinion on it. Feel free to comment what you like and waht i should work on. thank youu for reading my little rain drops, and ....... would you want a part2? :)
Summary: One moment you were in your room, drifting to sleep. The next, you woke up under a red sky — staring down the barrel of a gun. The man holding it knows your face. You know his name. But neither of you knows the full story. Not yet.
content: non!mc reader, angst if you squint, isekai, love triangle (ish) coming! shady raf
masterlist
The door to your bedroom creaks open with its usual groan, offering a half-hearted greeting as you shuffle inside. The ache in your limbs feels deeper than bone — the kind that settles after a week that’s wrung you dry.
You kick off your shoes and drag yourself to the bed, the plush soles of your slippers offering a poor defense against exhaustion. You collapse into the mattress like you’re sinking into quicksand, tension leaking out of your muscles one knot at a time.
Deadlines. Canceled plans. Passive-aggressive emails. Conversations that soured halfway through.
You’re too tired to untangle the knots in your head.
All you want now is quiet. Something comforting. Something familiar.
Burrowing under the covers, you let out a long sigh and reach for your phone. The motion is automatic by now. Your thumb hovers over Sylus’s face before you even register what you’re doing.
Love and Deepspace.
It’s stupid, maybe. Pixelated affection from a virtual man. But who cares? It’s not your fault they gave him a lethal face card and velvety smooth voice that anyone would fold for!
You open the new quality time feature that allows you to sleep next to him, that familiar warmth spilling into your ears.
His breathing.
His low, steady murmurs.
A comfort that melts through the noise still clawing at the corners of your mind.
You shift one last time under the blankets, eyelids drooping, letting the tension slip from your body as your pulse slows.
“Need to hold her… tighter..”
─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──
The first thing you notice is the smell.
Not fresh air. Not home. Not anything from your world.
It’s ash. Smoke laced with something green – wet soil, cut stems, the faint sweetness of dying roses.
Your head throbs in time with your heartbeat. You blink against the harsh red light flooding the rooftop. Skyscrapers like needles claw at the bleeding sky, and everything – everything – feels too real. Too saturated. Like waking up inside someone else’s life.
You crane your head to the side, trying to survey your surroundings. A strong wave of confusion washes over you, you can’t pinpoint anything you recognize. Unfamiliar sirens wail in the distance, almost as a warning.
As you push yourself to your elbows, a harrowing sound stops you in your tracks. ‘Did someone… just cock a gun?’
“Don’t move.”
Your stomach drops.
That voice… that, you recognize. Venom laced in silk, it’s seared into your brain.
Sylus.
Your eyes dart up in the direction of the voice. eyes locking with ruby irises you’ve stared into for hours – eyes that usually bring safety, familiarity. But here, now, they are sharp. Cold. Staring at you like a threat. Piercing your soul.
Sylus is nonchalant. You know this. He carries an unwavering confidence in himself – rightfully so. Letting a crack in his demeanor show is not an option. Even the smallest fault line can be used against him. Despite this, you still catch the slightest glimmer of confusion in his gaze. He’s staring at you like he’s looking for someone he almost recognizes.
“Sylus?”
Your voice betrays you, weak and hesitant. You hate how small it sounds. You hate how afraid you sound.
“Who are you?” His tone is steady, sharp. But you can feel the warning buried beneath it.
Your brain scrambles for an answer. Nothing makes sense. There’s a gun pointed at your head. How the hell did you find yourself in this situation? If it’s a dream, which it has to be, why would your brain make this man hold you at gunpoint? What subconscious would give you Sylus and then immediately turn him into your executioner?
“I asked you a question. I suggest you answer before my patience runs out.”
That snaps you back to the moment.
“Um… I… my name is… [y/n]”
To your shock, he lowers the gun.
But that doesn’t ease the tension.
He steps closer, his gaze sharpening as he closes the distance. He lowers himself slowly to your level, knees brushing the rooftop. You’re afraid to breathe. His eyes rake over you with practiced precision – but there’s hesitation, too. You can’t hold his gaze. He’s too close. Too real.
“Look at me.”
You feel like your heart is going to stop. Knocking at your chest like it’s trying to break through bone and escape this moment. You take a shaky breath and obey, lifting your head to meet his eyes.
He frowns.
“You’re not… her”
The words cut deeper than they should.
You flinch inwardly, unsure how to answer. You’ve spent countless nights imagining what it would be like to be in his world – to stand in front of him like this.
It was never supposed to feel like this.
“Your voice… it’s… different.” He’s no longer hiding his confusion, whether that’s intentional remains a mystery.
“Y-yeah, it is, I guess.” Your words tumble out hollow, fear warping every syllable. Your mind’s still racing, trying to figure out what the hell this is. A dream? A breakdown?
“Who sent you?” His voice hardens, like snapping glass. The change is sudden, jarring. You can feel your throat tighten. You’re praying to anything that will listen to just wake up already.
“Nobody! I just… woke up here. I honestly don’t know how I got here.” Tears prick at your eyes, but you fight them back. If he sees weakness, you’re done. He studies you in silence, and it’s the longest silence you’ve ever endured.
“You don’t believe me” Your mouth moves before your mind does, instantly wishing you could swallow the words. Why would he believe you?
“Forgive me if I have trouble believing your… story. Your likeness to her could have fooled security, allowing you to infiltrate. So tell me, why are you really here?”
Every word slices like a knife. You can hear the steel in his voice. You can feel it in your chest.
Panic rises like bile in your throat. You need to shift this.
“I’m not lying! Use your eye on me if you don’t believe it! I’m just as clueless as you right now!”
That makes him pause.
The surprise is subtle, but you catch it.
“And what do you think my eye is going to solve right now?”
His voice is calm. His stance doesn’t change, but his gaze sharpens like a scalpel, eyes narrowing just slightly as if trying to carve the truth out of you on sight alone.
He tilts his head. Not mocking. Assessing. Curious.
“The core in your eye, you can see the desires of others right? Can’t you check if I'm lying too?”
Sylus is caught off guard, a rare and unwelcome sensation. He doesn’t show it, but curiosity sharpens behind his eyes, quiet and calculating.
“You shouldn’t know that.”
Before you can respond, his fingers wrap firmly around your shoulder. His eye glows.
The throbbing in your head increases tenfold. You want to pull away, but your body won’t move. His gaze pierces straight into you, and the world begins to bleed around the edges.
Voices rise in your mind. Distant. Fragmented.
One cuts through the noise – quiet, but clear.
“He’s yours.”
a/n. hiii. let me know what you think of the first chapter. raf girlies he’s coming i promise!
