I Didnt Steal It !

from the gaps

── ♡ BLADE

❝ you'll admire him from this distance, even if he doesn't care. even if he doesn't want you to. ❞

for @prtgasluv ♡

Blade is the only man you know who can sit at a luxurious bar lounge with heavy shoulders and crossed arms.

From where you sat on plush red seats, painted under romantic golden hues, you can see the clench of his jaw and the tenseness of his muscles under his formal suit. This is not your first infiltration mission, having become your area of expertise over the years as a Stellaron Hunter. However, it’s your first time being ordered to bar any disguises. The reasoning behind Elio’s scripts hardly makes sense in the present moment, but they always fall into place later. Hence, you coincide when you were informed to discard your usual espionage tools in favour of fancy dressing and minimal makeup. You were grateful for Blade’s presence, at the very least. In case of events going south, he was your safety net in escape.

It is after observing the party attendees that it dawns on you why Elio didn’t insist on any drastic costumes. It is a small-scale event by sponsors of the IPC’s newest project. Sheltered, adult children of esteemed figures who were clouded in a drunken haze and completely unaware of the infamous faces attached to wanted posters on the streets. The scenario is a goldmine for you.

Beside you, you notice Balde’s vermillion gaze fall on the side of your head, and while the neutral frown on his face doesn’t fall, you know from his hardened stare that he is questioning your inactivity. You lean closer to his side when a pair of businessmen pass by you, and you stretch forward to speak in a hushed tone.

“Sorry,” You say, “I just needed some time to look at what I’m working with.”

The most crucial and taxing part of your line of work is observation. Their behaviours, their clothing, and what drinks they hold in their hand for the night are all essential to the personal profile you build of them. It’s how you’re clued in on what angle to approach them from. As you scan the room, your eyes land on a man. He wore a white suit, flashy and not entirely appropriate in the sea of black and blues. He has a small crowd formed around him, and you don’t find yourself surprised. Despite his… overwhelming confidence, he had a charming face and his smile was kind as he seemingly preached to his mini-entourage. With how animated his movements are, you can gauge that likes the sound of his own voice, and that finalises your decision.

“I’ll be back,” Is all you whisper to Blade, who merely raises a brow in response. You pick at any invisible dust from your outfit, before sauntering over in the direction of the mystery man. He doesn’t notice you at first, which works to your benefit as you manage to fit yourself into the group of people passionately listening to what he says. He seemed to be recounting a recent journey to the Edo Star, describing his experience with dramatic pauses as those listening in “oohed” and “aahed”. It’s a bit obnoxious, but you won’t deny the charm he has. He seemed to be a vivacious and humourful person, a rarity amongst a crowd so used to stifling formalities. Handsome to boot too. Yet, your type seemed to align with the exact opposite.

Unconsciously, your turn to spare a glance at Blade, only to find him missing from where you last were. You feel something uncomfortable swirl in the pits of your stomach, but you force your worry away. Blade is a grown man, who can move around whenever he wants. If you both were in danger, he wouldn’t have left without you. You force your attention back to your target ahead. His story seemed to be reaching its conclusion, and you make sure to make the occasional noise in surprise and amazement, louder than the rest of the crowd. You had to grab his interest before he could continue on another story. He finishes off with flair, sending the audience into chatter and comments. It’s your cue.

“What a time you’ve had. I’ve been to Edo Star as well,” You almost shove your way past the front line of people, hands exaggeratedly clasped together. At your words, bluebell eyes meet yours and a pleased smile dons his face.

“Have you, now? It’s such a beautiful place. I almost regret not being born there,” He takes the bait, inciting conversation and you ignore the stares at your back as you move forward. Limiting the physical distance will make the conversation seem one-on-one, drawing away the attention of prying ears. Over the years of studying human behaviour, one thing that remains factual is that humans power on such instinctive little behaviours. Nobody would even realise what you’re trying to achieve here.

“I feel the same way. Of course, I love my hometown but Edo Star can’t be beat when it comes to its ballads.”

“Absolutely! Have you perhaps heard of the classic Idle Sun?”

You nod enthusiastically to his quips, batting your eyes at him as you watch his ego practically inflate under your attention. It’s not long before the conversation has drifted from Edo Star, and the lounge. You manage to move him to the bar counter, and you bite back your smile when you see his drinks pouring in while he broaches on his line of work. You later learn his name is Bartholomew, and his father runs a global business that functions in close relations with the IPC.

“My father,” His words begin to slur, “Keeps hiding his work from me. Even though I’m the heir to our company, he doesn’t allow me to attend any of the meetings. How can he expect me to take over if I do not know the business!”

You sympathetically nod along, dropping a comment about how unfair the situation is to him. He perks up at your affirmation, continuing as his voice picks up a pitch.

“Well, he doesn’t know that I eavesdropped on his last meeting with the IPC,” His voice drops to a hushed whisper and you have to reel in your excitement as you lean closer to hear, your elbow grazing his. He opens his mouth, but immediately closes it and that’s when you notice that he’s not looking at you, but past your shoulder. Confused, you turn only to find Blade standing a few feet away. His arms are crossed in his usual position, and his jaw is set.

Blade is not a man made to be understood, but you like to believe that your doomed affection for him helps you pick up on his subtle behaviours. While all seems normal, he is missing his usual blank stare. His ruby eyes, normally dulled, have a gleam to them that you can’t decipher. Beside you, the young man purses his lips.

“Do you know him?” He asks you and you aren’t sure who you are more annoyed at; Blade for unabashedly blowing your cover, or your target who is still painfully observant despite the amount of drinks on him. Before you can conjure up an excuse, a melody breaks the tense atmosphere and the room is caught up by the orchestra stationed at centre stage.

“Oh, a dance,” You point out with a weak laugh. There is a pregnant pause before Bartholomew extends his hand. With a second’s worth of apprehension and a distracted glance at Blade, you take his offer and allow yourself to be pulled into the consonance of the music. Maybe after this dance, you can still recover your chances of sleuthing more information from him later. Thus, you tolerate his hand in yours as you disinterestedly sway to his movement. Thankfully, your dance partner hasn’t picked up on your ambivalence, his attention diverting from you to the orchestra and to another pretty lady at the lounge. If this had been a real date, you would have abandoned the ship by now.

There is a sudden shift Bartholomew freezes as if he had been shocked. At his sudden jerk, you almost trip on your feet, but recover only to find Blade behind him, a heavy hand on his shoulder and a look of deep disinterest marring his features.

"I believe it’s my dance,” Simple words are matched with a frosty tone, and you’ve only heard Blade speak like this to his adversaries. Bartholomew’s face goes pale before his cheeks flush a tinge of pink, as if caught in a compromising position.

“M-my apologies,” He stammers, unlike his usual demeanour, “I hadn’t realised you were already courted.”

What?

Before you can recover from your surprise, Bartholomew has already rushed away from the dance floor, successfully making his escape through the sea of bodies. You watch his disappearing back with wide eyes before you sharply turn to Blade who looks on as if he’s completely uninvolved from the scene.

“What the hell was that?” You splutter indignantly, but further complaints die at your throat when he takes your hand, pulling you close to him as his other falls on your lower back. You think you stopped breathing when he leans in close, his nose almost grazing your neck as he harshly mutters in your ear.

“Silence. You are drawing attention,” In this position, an outsider would think it’s a passionate embrace between two lovers. In reality, you feel like ice has been poured on you from the suddenness of it all. What reason would he have interfering with your mission, ones you’ve been doing almost your entire life? A hopeless part of you entertains the idea that perhaps there is a deeper meaning to Blade’s sudden intervention. That his stalking around, that his glare, that his distaste towards Bartholomew could have been jealousy. It felt like a small spark of hope, but your focus landed on the new presence of a guard and commander in the room, wandering around the lounge and speaking to different people. Blade didn’t intervene because he was jealous. He was attempting to warn you. You felt so small and insignificant in his arms.

“We have to get out before they reach here,” You hiss, refusing to meet his eyes in case he notices the tremble of your lower lip. He doesn’t respond and you let the gears in your head turn as you subtly look around the room. You spy an elevator a little ways away, the path leading towards it wide-open. It’d be an effective, temporary escape, but the guards on patrol would notice conspicuous people attempting to leave the lower floor. You survey the mass of people around you, finding that if you manage to sneak behind the orchestra, you’d have enough time to be securely inside the elevator before anyone can make chase of the both of you. You repeat your plan to him in a low voice, and he only grumbles in agreement. Suddenly, Blade drifts you closer to the centre of the floor, and you're caught up in the surprise that he knows how to dance. His movements are fluid, almost like second nature and it serves as another reminder that you don’t really know Blade, and there is an abyss that makes up the distance between the both of you. However, you refuse to let your heart be broken in the middle of a critical moment, and you attempt to follow his speed as he cooly weaves between drunken adults.

Just as you inch closer to your agreed escape point, you are suddenly tripped, and you cannot conceal your yelp when you feel Blade’s hand on your back shift to hug around your waist, your upper half tilted closer to the ground. That’s when you realise Blade dipped you, and you only stare up at him incredulously while he rewards you with blank eyes. The longer strands of his hair graze your face and you think if you could reach up just a little more, lips can touch. It feels so intimate, and you can’t understand the pit in your stomach that wanted you to pull him closer, and shove him away. You banish the thought quickly when he finally lifts you back in your standing position and that’s when you take note of the guard who had been eyeing you suspiciously. He must have found it odd that you and Blade were moving around so much and so quickly. Another near save.

You hadn’t realised you’d been gripping Blade’s arm until he shrugs and you sheepishly let go with a mindless apology, but he pays you no mind. With the guard gone, your exit is wide and clear and that’s all it takes for you both to step over, before breaking into a run. You almost crash into the back wall of the elevator while Blade swiftly presses the doors shut, shunning the yells of “It’s them!” and the shocked gasps of the audience. However, by the time they catch the next cart up, you and he would have long since disappeared into the night.

“Such an annoying night,” You begin, breaking the terse silence of the quiet ride up, “All of that and I didn’t get any valuable intel.”

Blade has his back to you, not a word uttered from him and you wonder if he’s even listening to your complaints until he speaks.

“I found all the needed information,” He states simply and you wonder just how many surprises he has in store for you tonight.

“You… do?” You question, suspect. You try to imagine the sight of him wandering around and socialising with people, merrily.

“There was a girl, and she spoke of it. I was passing by,” He keeps his version of events curt, and you sigh in relief that the mission did go as planned, just at the expense of your wasted effort. Your mind wanders to the dance, and the feeling of his strong arms around you. How for that split second, you could his every eyelash and see the colour of his lips. You hide the shaking of your hand behind your back, releasing a puff of air. The bell chimes and the elevator doors slide open, and you both begin swiftly traversing through the empty floor before security has time to catch up.

“Say,” You begin, huffing through the exertion. “Where did you learn to dance like that?”

He does not lose his momentum, but there is a long pause. You’ve come to realise that Blade is someone who likes to take his time before he speaks, thinking carefully over the sparing words he uses. Now, however, the stretch is too long and you begin to worry you have poached a forbidden subject. The syllables of his name leave your lips in concern and he finally replies shortly.

“From someone, a long time ago,” From where you were, you could see his jaw clench and shoulders tighten. “It is not worth remembering.”

You don’t push the conversation further, silently following after Blade with your matching footsteps echoing through the halls. You watch his skin catch the glint of the moonlight from an open window, and you can’t help but think he almost looks like he’s made of porcelain under the shine of the night. Such an odd descriptor for a hardened man like him, but sometimes you feel as if it were possible. That one day if he’s pushed far enough, he too will break. For now, while he is still intact, you admire his beauty and ignore the wild thumping of your heart. You will take what you can from him, even from this distance.

game au: voicelines

notes: fluff, paralive game au, no content warnings, kinda brainrot

who else remembers when they lied to us about a paralive game? anyway here's some theoretical lines the characters would have about their significant other

༄ kanata yatonokami:

⁀➷ about their lover:

“ha? the fuck does that have to do with you? 

… did they say something about me?”

⁀➷ fleeting memories:

“nayuta and i didn’t have shit growing up as kids, and they were always annoying about it. dropping by snacks, workin’ extra shifts to help us out - not like i asked for anything. i hate owing people though, so - … oi. get that damn smile off your face. they’re the one that wouldn’t leave me alone.”

⁀➷ quality time:

“mhm, i’ll be by later. love you too.”

[phone clicks]

…

“geez, you ever mind your own business? you can turn in that job yourself. i promised them i’d go by their house today and they won’t quit naggin’ me about it. huh? that’s not what i fucking mean! if i didn’t like em, i wouldn’t even be dating them. they just like sitting at home and talking to me. it’s weird but… makes em’ happy, so whatever.”

⁀➷ the future:

“nayuta won’t get off my case about marriage and all that shit ; says i should hurry up and give them a ring. doesn’t he know how old we are?! ‘sides, i don’t need some asshole with a bible to tell me we’re gonna be together forever. it’s either them or nobody, and they know it.”

༄ iori suiseki:

about their lover: 

“i know it’s tempting, but that one over there ain’t one of my hostesses, so try not to stare so hard. my dearest deserves more respect than that, dont’cha think?”

⁀➷ fleeting memories:

“honestly, i thought everything was over after the suiseki massacre. my family helped out a lot, but they were the one to really drag me out of my slump. it’ll be hard as hell for me to ever repay em’ for that, but ‘m still tryin’ to this day.

speaking of, can ya run out and grab em’ for me? it’s been an hour since i’ve seen em, and i’m goin’ through withdrawals.”

⁀➷ safety:

“i’d like to think we’re pretty guarded these days, but i can never be too sure, yanno? honestly, in an ideal world i could just keep em’ in the house forever to make sure nothing can even come close to harming them. hm? is my face that scary?”

⁀➷ the future:

“oi, c’mere for a sec? i want your opinion. the band on this ring is nice, but the diamond cut on here is much more suited to their taste. ahaha, pick up yer jaw! ‘m not proposing anytime soon. just weighin’ out my options for now. i got too many things goin’ on to give em’ the real life they deserve, but one day i’ll be able to make em’ mine forever.”

༄ shion kaida:

⁀➷ about their lover: 

“hmm? sorry to disappoint, but i’m not really doing stuff like that anymore. my angel might kill me if they catch wind of this, so you can go find someone else to please you, right?”

⁀➷ fleeting memories:

“i can’t blame you for wanting to come back - everyone always does. they were the first time i was the one to go back, though. so cold hearted towards me, i couldn’t help but want to see them crack. ah, but i wouldn’t advise you to try the same with them. i’m not a fan of sharing.”

⁀➷ bad habits:

“it’s hard not to fall into old ways, if i’m being honest. they’re understanding enough, given the… unique circumstances of my situation, but have enough of a backbone to put me in my place. 

though, just between us, i do it on purpose sometimes. seeing their angry face gets me all sorts of riled up. i’m falling in love at quite the unhealthy pace, fufu.”

⁀➷ the future:

“stability isn’t exactly my thing - i’m sure you’re not surprised. the two of us haven’t talked about that sort of thing yet, so i’m avoiding it as long as i can. i’d hate to see their disappointment when i tell them marriage isn’t in the cards for me.

… is what i’d like to believe, but they’re so cute i just might find myself caving into their charms. maybe they’re the manipulator between us after all.”

༄ ryu natsume:

⁀➷ about their lover:

“yaho~! have you seen my alien commander? last i saw they were UP IN SPAAAACCCCEEEE - oh! there they are! WAHAHA, ATTACK TIME!”

⁀➷ fleeting memories:

"hm hm hmmmm - aha! that cloud looks like my rice ball! one time they shot me with a HUUUGGGEEE love beam and GAH! i was their slave for the next ten million years! ryu-kun doesn’t mind though - we can rule the whole world together.”

⁀➷ haunting thoughts:

“ryu-kun doesn’t want to be around anyone right now. they’re the only one who can make the monsters go away - but i don’t want them to see me the way i am. i like them so much… it really hurts.”

⁀➷ the future:

“d’you think they’d get mad if i wear a cat suit to our wedding? of course we’re getting married! everyone in japan is invited! we’ll have lots of cheese and takoyaki, shiki-kun will be the maid of honor, and we’ll be carried down the aisle with pigeons!”

༄ toma hikage:

⁀➷ about their lover:

“hey, hey! which selfie is cuter? i like their hair in this one, oh - their smile is so bright here! but they’re irresistible when they’re annoyed at me! and then this is one where they’re sleeping, but this one’s filter is pretty, and this one -”

⁀➷ fleeting memories:

“long before visty was even a thing, they were always by my side. honestly, i doubt i would’ve become an idol without their encouragement. even with that horrible old face of mine, they always talked about how beautiful i was. haaa, i miss them so much! i need to call them right now!”

⁀➷ overbearing fans:

“maybe saying i’m everyone’s idol was a bad idea, haha. they get kinda jealous sometimes when we’re approached too often, but if i’m being real with you, it’s so hot! the way they call me theirs and grip my hand… totally heart pounding!”

⁀➷ the future:

“i hate to think about the day when visty isn’t a group anymore, but the idea of living a normal life with them is kinda nice, you know? waking up late, going grocery shopping, picking up the kids from school, family vacations. not anytime soon, obvs, but i can’t imagine ever wanting it with anyone else.”

whoever starts talking about their dead twin first has to pay the bill

Itoshi Brothers 🫶

— KISSES OR KISSES? : honkai star rail

premise. testing out your new lipstick is no fun (normally), so what better way to make use of it by kissing your lover senseless? not to mention, leaving a little something behind.... (aka, lipstick kisses with them.)

ft. blade, dan heng, boothill, dr. ratio, aventurine !

warnings: feminine reader! reader is ultimately genderless but you may interpret this as fem!reader if you want, reader wears lipstick. nicknames hehe, boothill is his own warning, mid writing tbh, unedited

a/n. the lipstick trend does not escape me at all 😞😞 but this consumed me so now i write about it ijbol

MAIN MASTERLIST || PART 2 (sunday, jing yuan, gallagher, sampo, gepard.)

“what are you doing?”

BLADE ceases all functions. like, immediately.

you'd think he'd even stopped breathing once he'd felt the soft sensation of your lips on his, and the pretty sight of the normally aloof stellaron hunter covered in multiple lipstick kisses all over his face to his neck nearly makes the rest of his other comrades keel over from laughter. his silence is indicative of his rather unusual state of shock, the only indication a menacing furrow of his brows (to an outsider, they'd think he's plotting a murder spree, but you know him too well for that) that twitch and simultaneously react the more you kiss him everywhere on the face.

silverwolf will then relay to you that blade walked around for nearly 5 system hours covered in your... marks of ownership, kafka helpfully supplies, and was only made aware when firefly accidentally bumped into him, face exploding in red when she saw the audacious sight of blade covered in your lipstick. “er, blade.... your face is...”

—

blade has never known mortification quite like today, but the intense feeling of something akin to shame is vivid as he stares at himself in the mirror, glaring.

his face is a mess, to put it simply. trailing a hand on the red stains your lips left on to him leaves him with a smudged countenance, furthering the utter chaos that is his kiss-ridden face.

“...ridiculous girl.” avoiding the uncharacteristic way his fingertips feel hot, blade reckons this is probably why firefly stopped dead in her tracks and gaped, stared, and flustered.

clever as you were, and with your equal penchant for mischief, blade, the ever unsuspecting lover he is (he doesn't normally allow anyone to touch him, but you're not just anyone) had easily become the target of your new tricks.

“pfft, nice get-up, old man. got yourself a good day?”

....so that's what silverwolf meant.

DANHENG immediately scolds you, but not in the serious way he normally does whenever stelle wants to eat an origami bird or dives into trashcans or when march accidentally destroys one of the archive books, but in a way that only dan heng ever shows you. he's red, painfully red, and is struggling to face you because he knows that the smug grin you're holding has to do with the sight he'd glimpsed himself to be in moments prior.

unfortunately for him, for all his ways of trying fervently to remove the lipstick stains plastered all over his face, it only took march one look and a melodramatic gasp before the entire express knew, the conductor included.

—

“dan heng and [name], sitting on a tree-”

“k-i-s-s-i-n-g~”

my friends are all senile, dan heng thinks, rolling his eyes while avoiding himeko's friendly (read: eerie) smile. and he's already given up on trying to meet welt's eyes. (read: concerned but not surprised)

the reason? the rouge tinted matte lipstick generously spread all over dan heng's face, slightly smudged and spanning from his cheeks to his lips, nearing his neck.

he'd never tell, but a part of him—one that was reptilian in nature, a primal need of possessiveness—adored the show of affection you showered upon him. it was only right—he was yours, and you were his.

welt is sheepish, coughing lightly that all five heads of the express members turn to him (pom-pom included) “dan heng, is that your tail wagging?”

“....”

“....”

“....”

(a resounding click! can be heard afrerwards. oh, dan heng is so going to steal march's camera.)

the loud whir of BOOTHILL’s cooling system can't even keep up with how fast he's overheating, because one thing led to another and one look you gave made him weak in the knees and now his body is covered in your kisses, scarlet against the metal gray of his limbs. he no longer has a heart, but the rapid feeling of heat emitted by his body speaks more about his current mental state in more ways than one—he can't even form words because his brain chip is practically glitching itself up into overdrive, because your lips were so warm, soft and gentle and—

“...oothill? boothill? your circuits are—”

a startling sound that sounds just like a mini explosion reverberates somewhere in the tangle of wires near boothill's power source.

oh dear.

( p.s: no warp trotters were harmed, rest assured )

“[name]...” AVENTURINE’s voice falters when you press a soft kiss near his forehead, your lover closing his eyes as he lets out a soft sigh of joy — a bit like a peacock preening... but in any case! he certainly sees no argument being swayed by you, his dignity in shambles, yes, but when you were showering him with affection like this (which, in all honesty, aventurine did not think he deserved) leaves in in a flushed and tattered mess of a man, whose strings are wholly puppeteered by you and you alone.

you are everything; and aventurine certainly can't get enough. (he doubts if enough will even be enough someday) he's the lover who'd proudly want to flaunt such salacious marks everywhere, though his craftily built reputation as a stoneheart—blood sweat and commodity code and all—leaves him to hide your marks on him, as much as he'd like them to stay. (you are a weakness that aventurine keeps like an oath, and an existence that he'd do anything to keep.)

that doesn't, however, stop him from getting you to leave a kiss near his collar, discreet enough to signal his status as irrevocably, undeniably yours.

DR. VERITAS RATIO is actually the most calm and most normal (read: boring) of all the men above when barraged by your kiss attack. letting out a tsk that's more chiding and speeachless than actually annoyed, he casually pulls you away from his face, nevermind his rapidly heating cheeks, which is only made more humorous given his lipstick stained face.

“stop that. you're making too much of a mess of me, fool.” <- is visibly leaning to your face to allow said actions. you're not fooling anyone here, doctor. smh.

however, he does get pretty flustered when a certain blond gambler notes the new addition of a ‘tattoo’ right near his lower lip. “wow, doctor. seems you woke up on the good side of the bed today.”

he spends a whole day scolding you hoarse afterwards, whatever that may entail ;).

(as a way of petty revenge, he will make sure to kiss you senseless right after, until he's sure his own lips are swollen and covered in the warm red of your chosen shade.)

a/n: blog is running on queue as of today, so this post will probably come wayyy overdue lol but hope u enjoy nonetheless!

@ ICEUNHIE: do not repost translate or plagiarize my works.

— PUSH AND PULL : honkai star rail.

premise. as someone who's always believed in the term “try and try again,” (peak delusion, you know) rooting yourself in their heart has always been your goal, no matter the cold rejections and curt declines you receive. however, even you have your limits; perhaps this little push and pull you two have going isn't worth your time after all... but what happens then, if the chaser becomes the chased? (oh, how the turns have tabled.)

...or, when you play hard to get with them.

— ft. sunday, aventurine, jing yuan.

warnings: angst n fluff, messy messy, these boys are in love but are wayyy too chicken to admit they actually adore you, genderless reader.

a/n. inspired by @/xiaowhore's playing hard to get headcanons! my holy trinity 😇 n MY FAVES RAHHH

NEXT : BACK TO MASTERLIST || ASKBOX

SUNDAY is perplexed. very much aware of his qualities which enlists him as one of the finer (finest) bachelors of Penacony (he was the Robin's one and only blood, and was also the head of one of the main guiding forces of the Family, after all), sunday isn't sure he's ever come across someone as.... tenacious as you.

foolish, to be more precise, for he cannot for the life of him comprehend exactly why you are the way you are with... him.

no matter his respectful declines of your invitations to promenade around Penacony (re: going on dates), you really didn't know how to leave him be. though he hasn't exactly said he hated it, sunday was, admittedly, rather... affronted. your gifts, in particular, were your loud declarations of your affection (that make his wings flutter more rapidly than he'd like); but sunday was rather inconvenienced at the whole thing.

nonetheless, he does still accept them. reluctantly, mind you. not because he was fond of your constant shower of affections, which seemed so permanent that he began to look forward to them got used to it. to your credit, your gifts were very much to his tastes. (Robin once gave him a rather soul-searching look when he found himself wearing the gloves you gifted, light blue and white in color. he still uses it, just not when his sister is in the vicinity.)

in fact, perhaps he may have gotten too comfortable. little by little, your constant intrusions on his time have thawed a way to his heart; making sunday look forward to your jovial greetings and grandeur elaborations on your day, and such a thing makes him feel scared sunday needed to nip this in the bud, and fast.

so he confronts you, abruptly one day as you give him his newest gift—a jewelry box for his earrings. (surely, the rapid thumping of his heart was due to his irritation at your constant persistence, right?) “i'm afraid this can no longer continue. i am flattered by your... fancy for me, but i do not wish to enter a relationship in the near future.”

the utter silence that follows is torture to him—but he endures. he tries not to look at the momentary flash of hurt on your face. you seemed to quickly recover, though. giving him a simple smile (it didn't reach your eyes. it shocks him how his chest ached at the realization) and shaking your head when he returns the gift to you.

“i understand, mr. sunday.” the formal usage of his name instead of your chipper ‘sunday!’ makes his face twitch. “but please, keep the gift. think of this as my last declaration. it... would do me a great comfort, just this last time, if you accepted it instead.”

(if he had grabbed your hand at that moment as you left for the door, would he regret it?)

when you leave, sunday thought it would put the conflicting feelings in his mind at ease—but it doesn't. a week and two days counting, true to your word, sunday receives no flagrant gifts, nor little messages on his phone that tell him to take care of himself, to eat, and to make sure to remember to check up on Robin.

instead, contrary to the feeling of ease, regret follows him instead.

it's at two weeks and five days counting when sunday could no longer stand the sight of papers that stacked atop his desk and the image of you leaving for the door replaying in his head far too many times for him to count, that he contacts Robin.

and she, once hearing about the situation, gives him a very, very enlightening talk. (of course, not without giving her brother a lecture of the lifetime. part of him felt shame to know that his sister knew of his... turbulent love life, but she was the only one who he could trust, anyway).

“absence makes the heart grow fonder,” she says. “but in your case, brother, your heart has already decided it's course, right?”

sunday eyes the smooth velvet of the jewelry box you gifted, ruminating. his earrings lie there, carefully pristine and beautiful, gold and silver intertwined. he has worn them without fail, clean and spotless. (of course it was. such a design so intricate was only chosen by you. the thought makes his ears warm).

the next days are agonizing. vigor renewed and epiphanies well-spent, sunday spends the rest of his time after finishing his duties researching and painstakingly finding the best jeweller he can find (even employing the suggestions of a certain gambler, much to his dislike), and spending a god awful amount of time revisiting and rechecking which spots you like, which places you enjoy, to the point it comes up in Penacony's headlines that sunday is interested in someone.

surely, it should've reached your ears by now, yes? sunday panics. your preferences are well-accounted for, and he's sure the Bloodhound family members that report to him have to tell you that the person he had in mind was you. even Robin, who was your closest friend, has probably told you already.

it's embarrassing to admit, but; to hell with it, the day he meets you after three weeks and sees you having a pleasant chat with aventurine, of all people, sunday thinks his heart had shattered into little pieces and stabbed themselves into his body. not so much as sparing him a glance, moreso.

so when, finally at his wits end, sunday chooses to corner you at the dewlight pavilion and spills out how he has royally screwed up in the worst way possible, no one is surprised. at this rate, you would be swept up in the charms of that wretched gambler, and what sunday lacked in, aventurine more than made up for.

“wait, don't go to that gambler just yet.” he's breathless, he's chaotic—and something in his heart squeezes when you finally look at him. “i... i wish to take up your time now, if that's possible.” (he wishes he would take up your time forever, really, but that was still too early).

you eye his getup. all of your gifts, lined on the man you spent so long chasing after—you see the gloves you gifted, the tie with not so much as a single crease, and the earrings that shine more brightly in the light of the pavilion. (it suits him. like you) it was as if sunday had completely surrendered himself to you, had all but decided to proclaim that he was yours, and this was nothing short of a plea for you to hear him.

“please.” he says. almost begs. “i can't bear not seeing you anymore. allow me to correct such a damning mistake.”

and if you were skeptical, the way sunday looks at you would dispel any doubt you could ever have. (his wings, they were fluttering.)

(months later, after a nerve-ending confession, many days of dinners, shared gifts involving matching jewelry and promenading to your wishes, it dawns on sunday he was absolutely dancing to your tune. did he regret it, though?

....no, most certainly not.)

if AVENTURINE were to be honest with himself, he saw you as a useful “friend” rather than a romantic interest. was it bad of him? of a sort. but risk cutting himself open and letting someone he might grow to care for know about all the ugliness that follows his life? no, he's fine as it is, thanks.

the first thing he notices is that you're kind—though he distrusted most of his colleagues and preferred none to get close to him, aventurine, in some morbid moment of curiosity, instead allowed himself to bask in your attention. instead of curtly disparaging you, he flirts back at your compliments (the way your face heated up in return was far too endearing that he can't help but want to kiss you he finds it amusing) and consistently texts you a “did you get home safe” or a “i bought you this because it reminded me of you”; at this point, it was like you two were dating.

was it leading you on? yes, but he supposes it was a win-win; he could send you those tiny bits of validation that was enough for you to stay respectfully at a distance while he probed at your intentions. unlike others who attempt to garner his favor, you're genuine, and you seriously take the time to know him. because you always text back with hearts, always reassure him, tell him to stay safe and wish him luck at every gamble, every high stakes bet he finds himself in. you even complimented his perfume once (and, if he had to be honest, he could not stop thinking about it all day—because that perfume he commissioned exclusively was based off of your own favorite scents and it was extremely embarrassing that he loved hugging you knowing that you loved the way he smelled and that it felt extremely domestic).

(sometimes, he doesn't reply. for months on end. suddenly the golden-haired man you love goes cold and you know then that aventurine ghosts you and then returns when he's in need of a friend—never a lover. it hurts you, but at the very least, you know he cares in his own way.)

and, if aventurine had to be honest, it was killing him from the inside bit by bit. as if to drive the knife deeper, you never danced around what exactly was going on with you two. you never ask why he ghosts you, then sends you a bundle of gifts all of a sudden and then rapidly spends time with you and repeating the cycle. no, you were consistently by his side, so warm and so caring—so unlike him—that aventurine wonders if it's really all right to open his heart to you.

if, by some chance, he actually wanted to be with you, would you treat him even more sweetly than before? aventurine thinks you would—you were beautiful in your entirety, and he was practically undeserving of you. he imagines himself kissing your hand and having you in his arms—and that feels like ice cold water being dumped onto his head, because you could do so much better and yet, why him?

so when aventurine hears about how a certain doctor was visiting you for some unknown reason, his already fragile sense of security in this little will-they, won't they crumbles.

and when he finds out that you were staying over with ratio? something twisted lodges itself in the little brushes of his heart, coiling and coiling—making him feel green. aventurine is aware you and the doctor are good friends, and ratio was the one who even told you to make a move on him! how could he just—suddenly interrupt?!

(was it dramatic? extremely. but knowing his friend and the person he secretly adores might end up together? you can't really blame him.)

he supposes this can be attributed to him. it was an egregious mistake, a blunder aventurine made—he never gave you a clear sight of whether he truly loved you or not and now you're slipping away from him.

so, he does something very unexpected.

at 3:00 AM in the wee early morning hours, aventurine practically barges into one Dr. veritas ratio's home, demanding what the hell was going on between you. and as if he had expected it, his doctor friend merely gives him a shrug in return.

“perhaps they were simply getting fed up by a certain IPC member—who is clearly head over heels in love with them—giving them mixed signals.” ratio's tone is stern, and aventurine definitely knows that the look he gives him is the one he gives only to fools.

you idiot, the doctor seems to say. yeah, yeah, he is; aventurine ignores the clear pinprick at his dignity.

yes, he supposes he is the fool here. “ah.”

“yes, ‘ah,’ indeed. now, let me propose a question.” the purple-haired man says. “will you react in such a way when i tell you that in order for my friend to stop their anguish, i managed to get them to fraternize with one of my colleagues?”

“...what?”

“they will be having a meet-up seven system hours from now.” ratio shrugs. eyes aventurine, who's looking at him like a gaping, stupid fish. “i can only hope that no one would dare to disrupt.”

...it doesn't take him long to be rid of the gambler by then.

(a few hours later, you stop by the Intelligentsia Guild to see one veritas ratio with a smug smile, eyeing the fur coat draped around your shoulders, and the flushed and happy expression written on your face.

“did it work?” he asks.

you laugh, “splendidly.”

indeed, that gambler was a fool, and there's nothing more than dr. ratio loved than to educate such fools to shape.

“that will teach him.”)

as a quote unquote ‘old man’ who knows that he's well up in his years for a relationship, JING YUAN finds you to be quite amusing.

it doesn't take a detailed analysis to know that you were smitten with him, really. you're a complete open book by his standards—if your heated face and slightly airy voice whenever you were even placed in the same vicinity with the Dozing General was anything to come by. while flattering, he also shares the similar mindset of being too old for any love his way—and he could be mara-struck at any given time, and jing yuan does not wish such a life filled with anguish and pain for the one who may steal his heart. but, worry not, brave suitor of the Arbiter General! unlike the other two above, this man has the experience of millenia, and is open-minded and aware that you truly wish to be perceived as a potential lover.

in fact, jing yuan's recent favorite habit is sneaking off the Seat of Divine Foresight purely to freak you out, watching you scramble up your words, seeing the heat crawl up your nape and bloom all across your face. adorable. you certainly knew how to appeal, that's for sure.

(“heh, it seems i've found a new place to stay in so that the Diviner Fu won't grill me alive when she sees me.”

and when he's rewarded with a bashful and speechless look in return, a smile and your, “i'm glad, general.” it surprisingly lightens up his mood by more than he expected.

that, in turn, gives him a frightening 30% energy boost; fu xuan was utterly shocked to see the languid man actually working and looking like he enjoyed it, for once.

“did something good happen today, jing yuan? why so enthusiastic?”

“i just felt like working more than usual, diviner Fu. i seem to have my energy levels at a high.”)

now, jing yuan is considerate and perceptive first and foremost, so there's a high chance that out of all the men here, he is the most open to giving you the chance to pursue him. he does inform you beforehand that he has no plans of accepting your confessions in the future, and that is where the ‘hard to get’ part comes in.

it's like playing a confusing romance visual novel with a fickle love interest—you never really know what you're doing, whether it's something jing yuan would like or not, and you don't know if he even thinks your attempts are moving his heart. (tldr: he friend zones you).

he maintains the same distance no matter his banters with you, no matter how many times you tell him that you'd help yanqing out with sword lessons. it's like he was just... treating you as he would a friend, and that you were basically stuck in the friend-zone forever.

(he keeps it to himself, but something warm stirs in his chest when he sees yanqing sleeping on your shoulder after training practice, with your arm protectively around the boy's side.

your sleeping face didn't make it easy to look away either; it's one of the few moments in which jing yuan shows just the slightest bit of reciprocating your pursuits; he brushes back the stray hairs covering your face, and drapes a blanket over the two of you.

of course, perhaps to tease yanqing, he also takes the calligraphy brush and makes a work out of his face, doodling all over it.

when you wake up, there's a lingering scent of ink and yellowed paper that fills your senses. when you turn to the boy beside you, you almost giggle out loud.)

it's a little disheartening—and while jing yuan did acknowledge that you were slowly, slowly burrowing yourself in his heart, he doesn't act on it fast enough, and instead lets the realization sit in his mind for a while.

it gets to the point where it feels as though he were preparing to distance himself, and even yanqing had asked if he was well. your visits with the Arbiter General also decrease, as he suddenly buried himself in his work even more than before.

he doesn't get to see you all that much afterwards, despite the lingering feeling of missing you filling his heart.

....that's until jing yuan hears word of a recent mara-struck incident involving the Sky-faring Commission; with your name listed among those heavily injured.

when he visits Bailu's clinic after yanqing urges him, jing yuan takes in the sight of you, littered in injuries from head to toe. your life, about to snap. he never even told you that you won; you did manage to steal his heart and for the first time in a long time, jing yuan allows himself to love.

so if, after three weeks later when you're finally healed up and ready to go, jing yuan brings you into his arms and drags you to let him sleep in your lap, you can't really blame him now, can you?

a/n: i love yearner hsr men,,, might do a pt 2 though. thinking of mayb ratio, jiaoqiu and f/heng next time...... sighs dreamily

@ ICEUNHIE: do not repost translate or plagiarize my works.

thoughts on brant trailer??:3

lemons — brant

summary. what kind of sailor gets seasick? fortunately for you, captian brant has all the homemade remedies available.

note. nvuy back for 1 day and then will go on another indefinite hiatus. i got brant. if you can’t tell. i also liked the trailer.

warnings. gets a bit steamy at the end, ur both a bit tipsy, brant has a massive fucking crush on you, he calls you beautiful, mentions of vomit & nausea.

“You’re a riot, y’know?”

You glance up weakly from the edge of the ship with blurred vision. The wind kisses the salt staining your cheeks, and it almost burns your flesh. You make a lousy attempt at scrubbing your eyes, but that only makes them sting even more.

Captain Brant sways unsteadily before he kneels beside you. He’s holding a lemon in one hand, and a towel in the other. It’s soaked with cold water, and he presses it against one of your cheeks to wipe away the filth before you take it gingerly and bury your nose into the cold.

There’s the shifting of feet from somewhere behind. There’s a few of the Troupe singing and laughing, and they dance around a small fire crafted in the centre. They had to watch it carefully less Lario grew frightened, but it seemed the Echo was content for the moment.

There’s brandy and other liquor littering the floor, and the spillages will be a pain to scrub off the decking tomorrow. The Troupe seem to be getting along just fine. Typically, they’re all fighting and arguing, but you suppose they’ve decided to play nice for once.

It also helps that everyone is completely smashed.

You haven’t gotten to that point considering it was making you feel sick, but you most definitely were not thinking straight.

It is Tina’s birthday tonight, after all, and the crew threw together a small surprise party. She’d been upset initially having to be stuck out at sea for her special day, but the crew had made sure to accomodate. Leo and Mosi seem to be arguing over egg and milk pricing.

You know that because you can’t ignore how loud they’re talking.

He whistles along to tune playing in the background while he brandishes a small knife and slowly cuts at the skin of the fruit. He seems distant for a moment, his eyes transfixed on the waves for far to long before he realises his blade is cutting too close to pressing into his palm.

He pulls away from his thoughts with a snicker. “I mean… what kind of sailor gets seasick?”

You pull the towel away from your face and try your best to ignore the churning in your stomach. You hold your breath, though it only provides temporary relief before you instinctively lean over towards the railing again. You breathe through your teeth, sucking in sharp passes of air as you try to steady the pain.

The captain hums worriedly. “It’s not even rocky tonight.” He reaches forward to rest the back of his palm against your forehead. “I’ve told Lario to slow down… We can bank tomorrow morning so you can get some fresh air on solid ground, if you’d like?”

Guilt stirs in your stomachs.

You shake your head. “I can…” You attempt to move away from the railing, and Brant’s hands slide beneath your arms to steady you. “I can do it.”

As soon as you attempt to move, your fingers tense around the bars and you feel saliva filling your mouth. You drop the towel and he catches it before it flies off into the sea. There’s a strike of fear that zips up your spine, and Brant’s hands fly to pull your hair away from your face. He makes sure to brush aside strands that stick to your skin with the cold sweat clinging harshly beneath your clothes.

Lario—poor thing—makes an agitated nose from just ahead. You really don’t want to traumatise the poor creature anymore than you already had. For that, your heart heaves with worry and your eyes fill with tears again.

After a moment of panicked breathing, your stomach settles. Brant presses the cold towel on the nape of your neck. It’s soothing enough for your dizziness, but it does little to quell the nausea in your stomach.

“Uh, no.” He presents you with a thin lemon slice in his palm. “Suck on it.”

You blink at the fruit. Your teeth grit after a moment. The thought of trying to eat anything made you dizzy.

“It’ll help your stomach,” he explains. He then cuts another slice. “Here, I’ll do it, too.” He pops the entire thing, skin and all, into his mouth.

He chews it for a moment and nods. His lips pull to the left as if he’s considering the flavour. “Not bad, actually.”

“Yeah?” you ask weakly.

“Y–” His face scrunches up. He reels back and fans at his lips as if it will solve the problem before he covers his mouth with the back of his palm. His eyes squeeze shut as he struggles for a moment before he draws his hand away and blinks. His mouth opens and he sucks his lips through his teeth.

You sit back away from the railing. “Nice?”

Brant muffles a hiccup and points to the slice he handed to you. “You should try.”

Your stomach turns as you stare down at it. Your bottom lip trembles before you suck in a sharp breath and pop the entire slice into your mouth. You don’t move your tongue for a moment, letting it sit there as it creeps quickly over the tastebuds, and your mouth instantly twists at the sourness that floods your mouth.

Brant laughs when you finally recover and muster the strength to lie back on the deck. Your hands move to clasp over your stomach. He sidles up next to you on his side with his cheek resting on his knuckles.

You’re used to the stars by now. You’ve been out at sea for so long the days blur together in some long winded tale you’ll tell the children when you’re old and senile—if you even make it to that stage.

Captain Brant, however, has consistently kept you awake some nights by knocking at your door incessantly until you begrudgingly join him on the crow’s nest. He’s made it his mission to try and teach you the constellations that recur in a loop, and so far, no luck. You’ve been too tired to bother remembering what he says.

Still, he hasn’t stopped trying.

You’re not sure why.

Nonetheless, if some Tacet Discord doesn't kill you in the next ten years, your lack of sleep will certainly catch up to you.

“So…”

You glance to the side.

“If you’re feeling up to it anytime soon…” he starts smoothly, and his other arm crawls forward to mimic two legs strutting on the wooden flooring. “Would you… want to dance? Maybe?”

“Oh.” There a twinge of a bitter scent on the wind, and your nose twitches. You swallow as best you can. “I don’t, uh…” You glance back up at the night sky. “I don’t dance.”

He sits up. “What?!” The scent is stronger now that he leans over you. He’s practically bouncing up and down with excitement. “Everyone dances!”

“Well, not me,” you try awkwardly.

“Yes, you!”

Oh.

He’s drunk. Bad.

He sways on his feet and giggles as he stares back at the crowd. He pulls himself up onto his knees before his hands clasp yours gently.

And then, he all but tugs you onto your feet. It’s a whip of wind and a curl of your stomach that has you stumbling face first into him. Your nose squashes against his neck and you heave.

Your feet stumble over each other before stamping on his own in an attempt to steady yourself. You make some sort of noise of protest, but it’s quickly covered by your lips snapping shut. Your stomach twists as you straighten up.

“See?”

Your arms grasp shakily at his sleeves and your legs tremble. “I think I’m going to–”

“It’s easy!”

And then he tosses you.

He quite literally twirls you around before launching you towards the circle in the middle. You trample and almost knock the wind out of Rossini who topples over. He giggles stupidly before you’re whisked away quickly by the birthday girl herself.

You let out some embarrassing bleat as she drags your feet.

She’s still beautiful despite the sun being hard on her skin, and the permanent lines around her lips crease as she grins at you. “Havin’ fun?”

“I–” You’re certain your skin must be green. There's a hot flush banking up your neck.

She notices.

“Oh, darling, you don’t look too hot.”

You pull away from her only seconds later. In her drunken stupor, she immediately forgets about you as Leo spins her into the ring with bare feet.

You beeline to the hull where it’s quieter and you can vomit over the edge in peace.

“Oh, no you don’t.”

You are then grabbed by the collar and dragged back. This time, you almost do hurl onto the floor, but you manage to hold back.

It’s Captain Brant. Again.

You are trembling by this point with your fists clutched at your stomach to try and soothe the pain. There are tears prickling your eyelids as you try to fight from his hold.

You skid and trip around his feet for a moment before his grip loosens enough for you to pull away. You frantically shake your head when he tries to pull you back by your shirt.

It’s as if his brain shifts back to normal in that split second, for he lets out a frantic, “oh!” before he escorts you towards the edge of the ship.

“Fuck you,” you slur, leaning over the rail.

Brant doesn’t seem to hear you. His hand pets your hair while the other keeps a firm grip on your shirt less the ship jumps and you flip overboard.

“Sorry, beautiful.”

“Eat shit,” you spit back.

You do forgive him, though.

Your stomach settles after a while. Maybe it's because of the lemon slice.

You think he’s aware of this, because he squishes his cheek next to yours. “How about we take you to bed?”

“But it's Tina’s birthday,” you try.

“I think she’ll understand if you’re not feeling well,” he tells you softly. “C’mon. I’ll carry you.”

“No, thank you.”

Brant has already peeled you away from the edge of the ship and peers left and right to find where the birthday girl is. He ushers you gingerly towards one of the doors leading beneath the hull to the sleeping quarters.

He seems to spot her at some point, for he waves dramatically to catch her attention.

She waves back after spotting him.

He cups his mouth with his hand so she can hear him over the music before he practically yells above the crew.

“I’m taking off!” He holds you tight with one hand to keep you standing while he points at your head. “Gotta get this one to bed.”

She turns with a swish of her skirt and a hand on her hip. Somebody else who picks up on the conversation whistles. “Don’t have too much fun.”

You weakly limp towards the door and do your best to open it. Brant comes from behind to pull it the rest of the way. You mumble your gratitude before slinking through. The hall is tiny; definitely not wide enough for two people to descend the steps together, so Brant keeps a steady hand on your back as you slowly make your way down.

You hold the handrail tight and try to steady your breathing. You stop a few times, both of which you try not to keel over, and Brant keeps a steady hold on your shirt. His other hand moves to your shoulder and instinctively, your fingers search for his.

“Hey, I appreciate it, beautiful,” he whispers close. “But hold onto the rail. I’m still drunk.” You smell the liquor waft behind your ear.

Eventually, you make it down. You make an effort to steer left towards your room, but Brant pulls you right, further away.

You assume he’s taking you to the medical wing to lay down there as it’s typically cooler and has supplies, but you’re guided past the room and towards the Captain’s Quarters.

You make a noise of confusion, as he reaches behind you and opens the door before ushering you inside and shutting it behind him gently.

His quarters are better than the rooms the rest of the crew is provided with, but that’s to be expected. It’s not much bigger in terms of space, but the bed is double the size of yours, and he has a small private bathroom tucked away in the corner.

“I figured it would be easier for you if you had a more accessible toilet,” he murmurs. He’s already leaning over the bed and shucking off his boots. He kicks them into a corner before he sits on the bed and covers his eyes and groans.

You hobble over and sit next to him.

“Thanks,” you mumble.

He hums an acknowledgement before wiping at his face and patting his lap. You offer him a puzzled look before he sighs and sweeps under your ankle and pulls your leg up to rest on his thighs.

Then, sluggishly, he unlaces your boots. You mutter some sort of protest, but it’s garbled and weak. He waves you off before repeating the shaky and slow gesture on your other shoe. You’re too embarrassed to let him slip them off your feet, so you do that yourself. You set them down neatly close to his which are jumbled and upside down.

“I don’t have any clothes that’ll fit you. What a shame! But you’re welcome to sleep naked,” he slurs. There’s a cheeky smile playing at his lips as he stands from the bed. He teeters for a moment as the ship rocks, and your stomach churns.

You lay back on the covers in an attempt to steel your nausea.

Brant drunkenly crawls on top of you and you sigh.

“That wasn’t an invitation,” you tell him while scrubbing at your burning eyes. When he doesn’t answer, you clear your throat. “You… okay?”

“Mhm,” he grins. He’s too busy ogling to elaborate, and his pupils dilate. His head tilts as he teases, “just admiring.”

You blink sluggishly and his grin softens. “You’re drunk.”

“Just a little.”

He leans down and presses his lips to the side of your nose and he lingers there for a moment. Maybe too long, as he feels your face heating up against his, but he’s too wasted to register it. Instead, his mouth drags to your cheekbone, and his top lip brushes against the bottom lid of your eye.

Dizziness surges as he decides sinking his teeth into the side of your neck is the best thing to do. He’s quick to move his head and latch onto your skin with his canines, and you bark out a yelp of his name.

Your neck burns as the blood rushes to your face, and you try your damndest to push him off. His teeth sink, and his lips kiss anywhere they can touch. One, two, three times, four— and it is so quick you are sure if you were standing up you would’ve fallen over on buckled knees.

Do you get it yet?

“Captain,” you warn as he gently unlaces the front of your shirt and inches the cotton down over your left shoulder. You’re not sure if it’s nausea or anxiety that flits in your stomach. Your heart kicks hard against your chest, and he can very well feel it pulsing with his hand beneath your throat.

He hums curiously.

He’s left another mark before his lips wander upwards towards your throat and his tongue presses into your pulse.

Brant leaves a final lingering kiss to your other cheek, and it takes him a long while to finally crawl off you.

There’s a frown on his face despite how pink his skin has tinged. He hunches over for a moment.

You sit up, flustered. Your breathing remains laboured.

“I need to puke,” he buzzes quietly.

“Oh…” Right. You do your best to steady your heart.

“I’ll leave the door unlocked if you need it,” he utters as he stumbles towards the small room. “If you need it…” He lets out a strangled guffaw as he pulls off his top. “We can have a romantic mutual puking session.”

You glance to the left as he bumps into the doorframe. “Gross.”

“You love me,” he reminds before he blows you a kiss and closes the door behind him.

To his credit, you did not hear it lock.

To his credit as well, you also consider taking off your top. He’s already done half of the work for you, anyway.

⭒ 𝑾𝑰𝑻𝑯𝑯𝑶𝑳𝑫𝑰𝑵𝑮 𝑨𝑭𝑭𝑬𝑪𝑻𝑰𝑶𝑵

gn reader x blade, dr ratio + moze ( separate ) ; fluff - sfw. you prank them by withholding affection. i’ve already written a similar drabble for sunday here. stoic men who have become too attached to affection unwillingly. ₊ 𓂃 masterlist.

⭒ BLADE

As much as Blade may not be the type to cling to your side or shower you in kisses— he was the type who got used to it. It wasn’t that he didn’t enjoy your displays of affection, it was actually quite the opposite, it came more from a stoic place than one of distaste.

He’d found himself silently enjoying the farewell kisses you’d give him before a mission— followed by the welcome home ones that would be waiting for him coming back. You were more familiar with the acts that he was, but he’d gotten into a habit of seeking them out as he’d grown used to you and your relationship.

Which is why Blade can’t exactly hide his frown as he rests beside you now— holding his sword in one hand while you bid him farewell, holding onto the other.

You’re wearing the same cute expression as always, but you’re not leaning up to wrap your arms around him like you normally would be right now. Your lips aren’t on his cheek, then on his own and he can’t help but grumble at how much colder his skin feels in the absence. It makes his hand squeeze where it holds yours.

“What’s wrong? Are you nervous about the mission?” You ask innocently, though you know exactly what Blade’s waiting for as you try hard to not let your sly smile show.

“Not at all.” His response sounds as more as huff than anything else, and despite the way you know he’s due to leave in a few minutes, he makes no attempt to leave your side as he stands there silently— staring at you. Though he only seems to last a few extra moments of silence before he’s grumbling again.

“Alright. That’s all then.” Blade groans, yet he remains still besides the way his eyes seem to narrow ever so slightly. The act always makes you smile as you fight hard to resist the temptation to just give him his goodbye kiss— but you want to see when his breaking point is. Even if just out of curiosity.

And he looks quite cute when he frowns.

“Hurry home.” You’re smiling now but the Stellaron Hunter looming over you only seems to find himself sighing despite the bright response. His patience doesn’t appear to last much longer when his next movement is to suddenly lean down beside you, as if to give you a better angle to press the kiss he’s waiting for onto his cheek.

Even when you don’t immediately, Blade just waits there as you gape at him.

Though ultimately you do decide to give in eventually when he seems to make no attempt to stand back up straight again. Seeming quite content to lean over and wait for your lips to press against his skin, and you find yourself giggling when you finally give him just that.

Your arms wrap around his broad shoulders and his arm quite quickly comes to wrap around your waist as he holds you there, feeling you press quick kisses against his features before he’s turning to meet you with the next. It’s deep the way Blade kisses you, pressing his tongue between your teeth as he twists into your mouth, and it makes you feel suddenly unsteady on your feet— though thankfully steadied by his strength as he presses himself into you.

But just as you find yourself melting into him, he pulls away. Leaving you a kiss-drowsy mess as you make a feeble attempt to pull at his jacket. The look he gives you afterwards is quite unreadable as you send him a pout of your own— it seems your positions have switched quite quickly now.

Blade turns to leave you as you feel your cheeks burn,

“I don’t understand your games. But for now there is another matter, so you should consider that a good thing.”

⭒ DR RATIO

It had become a sort of routine for you to come into Ratio’s quarters to find him resting on the couch, flicking through a book most likely on natural theology, mathematics… anything of the sort as he offers you a mere glance in acknowledgment.

Your routine normally consisted of you making your way into his side and he’d make space for you much like he always does as you push your way beneath his arm. He’d grown to enjoy the gentle moments between you both— though he’d never openly admit it (because there was no reason to), it was quite obvious given the way he seemed to be ready for you.

So much like always, your routine begins much the same as your footsteps sound softly along the floorboards and you make your way closer to Ratio. You even watch him adjust himself briefly, as if allowing you a route to push your way into his chest but you seem to stop short of doing just that.

Instead, your figure drops down onto the opposite side of the couch and the next look he gives you seems more of a curious glance than anything. You bring your feet up to rest on the cushions, pulling them into your chest as your back rests against the arm of the couch, and you look at him.

“Something the matter?” Ratio’s voice sounds only a few seconds later, though he doesn’t look at you again when he asks. He says it in such a way where it come across as a mere innocent question rather than an accusation as to why you’re not in your usual spot.

So because of that, and who he is, you decide not to jump the gun thinking it’s a reaction too soon.

“What’re you reading?” You respond innocently, not exactly answering his question but he doesn’t seem to pry any further into that for now. Instead, Ratio seems to readjust himself on his seat again as his bangs seem to fall handsomely— framing his features as his eyes continue to linger on the pages.

“If you’re so curious, you need only come closer to see for yourself.” Though it’s subtle, you do pick up the implication in his words. A means to bring you closer to him, though he’s assuming it would bring you up against his chest rather than just close enough to take a quick look. And maybe he’d be right about that, you’d be acting well within his calculations.

So uncharacteristically, you opt to shrug instead, “Yeah but i’m kind of comfy here.”

“Hm, very well then.” There’s a twitch to Ratio’s features as he responds, though he still doesn’t look at you so it’s quite hard to pick up on otherwise. But you can hear the tighter sort of tone his voice takes, he only lets the silence rest between you both a few more seconds before he asks again.

“And you are certain nothing is bothering you?”

“Is something bothering you?” You tilt your head at Ratio and that seems to garner his attention enough for him to turn his head to meet you. There’s something akin to a frown on his handsome face, and as much as he seems to try his best to mask it when he realises— you still can’t help but find yourself feeling like this may actually be affecting him more than he lets on.

He tuts at you, as if he can read your mind. “Not at all. I’m merely questioning your uncharacteristic choices, as one would. And as much as your little game seems delightfully amusing, we’ll see how much longer you can keep it up.”

Ofcourse Ratio would be able to pick up on the fact that you’re no doubt playing a prank of sorts, but that doesn’t mean that he’s able to go completely unaffected by it. Because as much as he may never admit it, it seems he really has become quite accustomed to your close proximity.

You only appear to follow his statement with a hum, feigning your innocence as you press your back a little harder into the arm of the couch behind you. And the man opposite turns his attention back to his book as he sighs, propping up his head on his fist as his brows narrow back on the pages.

A few more quiet seconds pass before you’re smiling, “Are you pouting?”

And Ratio replies almost too quickly, “How laughable. Ofcourse not.” Actually, he hasn’t even turned his page since you arrived so you know he’s not reading, or taking any of it in atleast. Though he seems to be tapping his finger quite impatiently against the sturdy exterior of his book instead.

His tongue clicks again when he notices the way your lips seem to be unable to hide the playful little curl of your grin, before ultimately he opts to give into your little game— only so he can focus on his reading obviously. “Enough of this nonsense. Just come here then, won’t you?” He grumbles as he sends you another frown, sighing. “Subtlety isn’t exactly a strength of yours.”

Despite your game, you waste no time in making your way closer to Ratio with his invitation. Though, not without teasing him a little as you push yourself beneath the muscle of his bicep as he lifts it for you— squeezing it around your waist as you find yourself pressing up against his chest.

“Grown used to me?” You hum, voice taking more of a whispered quiet tone with how close you both seem now.

Ratio turns to face you as you do, well aware of the closeness of your faces, were he to lean in a few mere inches his lips would be against yours. He’s well aware of that, but still— he keeps his space. “Oh please. I just couldn’t bare to see you in such a state of unrest.” Yet his eyes do trace down to admire them as he blinks, covering it up with a scoff.

“Though, one might argue that you were the one who was so easily swayed, were you not? I need to say no more.” Your fingertips rest gently on the muscles of his chest as you smile at his response. Allowing him to have this despite the way you can still quite clearly see the frown he was wearing only minutes ago.

You feel Ratio’s arm squeeze affectionately around your waist as he moves to finally turn the page of his book.

“Okay then. I’ll admit defeat only because you’re far too comfortable, Veritas.”

⭒ MOZE

Your displays of affection when accompanying Moze around the streets while off-duty were subtle but they were something he held quite dearly. Whether that be holding onto his coat or squishing yourself into his side to make sure you don’t get lost— he had become particularly used to the way your hand felt interlocked tightly with his.

Maybe that is exactly why he feels a little out of sorts as you both walk around now, enjoying the quiet atmosphere together side by side. He’s hyper aware of the way your hand hasn’t reached out to intertwine with his yet, and you’re hyper aware of his realisation considering how often he seems to be casting it glances.

It’s like Moze wants to reach out for it, but doesn’t want to make you feel like he’s forcing you to. He wants you to want to hold his hand too.

So in the meantime, he seems to be getting as close to you as he can with every given opportunity. Even in ways that could seem unnecessary— such as ushering you through groups of people with his hand tightly wrapped around your waist, until you’re squishing into his side and he’s covering it up with a “Careful. Stay close to me.”

But then as soon as you’re both in the clear again, you seem to break away from his side and it’s quite hard for Moze to hide the almost disappointed crease in his brows. It almost makes you feel bad for withholding your affection from him, even if it is a prank. Though you must admit he does look quite handsome when he’s lost in thought like this.

You hum to yourself as you feel the man to your side close the distance ever so slightly, he even goes as far as to brush his hand against yours. But then you’re pulling it back to readjust the fabric of your blouse and it’s almost immediately that you find yourself being lured into a quiet alleyway by your lover.

Moze’s expression looks almost pained and he all but looms over you as soon as you both come to a halt, it seems to make you sway when you look up to meet his gaze. Though he finds himself reaching out to steady you quite quickly, as if by instinct. “If I may ask, is there something on your mind?” He asks earnestly and it makes you pout as you offer him a soft blink.

He continues, “You seem different is all.” His voice seems to have taken a softer sort of tone— like he’s making sure not to upset you further. Be that the case as to why you’re acting this way.

But you only shake your head as he lets his lidded gaze hone in on your features, “I’m fine, I promise.” You smile as you respond and Moze finds himself only wanting to come closer.

So he takes another step. “That’s good.” He hums, though he doesn’t seem quite convinced— he opts not to pry as to not make you uncomfortable. So instead, he reaches out to let his fingers graze along yours again and you don’t pull away this time.

“Then is there any way I can be of help to you?” It’s quite sudden the shift in the atmosphere as Moze asks, and you’re not sure if it’s the longing way that he’s looking at you or the deep growl of his question. But suddenly you want nothing more than to be closer to him, and the realisation makes you shuffle on your feet.

You take a half step, “I don’t think so..” And then you pause like you’re thinking. “Do you want something from me?” You’re smiling when you ask, which is proof enough that you were teasing him but even so— he doesn’t seem to have much to say on that.

Instead, Moze’s hand only seems to reach for yours— finally letting his fingers encompass your own before he’s bringing them up to his face. “Hm,” He murmurs as he lets your fingertips rest against his cheek, and he almost looks content when he lets his eyes rest closed with his next blink, leaning into your touch.

Though it’s only for a second before he’s intertwining your hands together and letting them fall by his side this time. He wouldn’t want to let his guard down when you’re together— anyone or anything could be watching you both. (That’s what he’d say anyway if you were to ask about his own almost affectionate display).

So instead you just smile as Moze gives your intertwined hands a satisfied squeeze. “That feels better.” He admits, almost softly and you can’t help but find yourself moving quickly to take your usual spot pressing up into his side with a giggle.

“You’re so cute, Moze.”

“Is that so? Well, then stay close to me.”

line dividers by @ saradika-graphics

Trafalgar! One piece on the mind…

Jealousy, Jealousy with Sylus

Plot: Reader becomes jealous of Sylus and MC's closeness, distancing herself and seeking comfort in another LI. Sylus notices her growing distance and takes action. Based on this request. Pairing: Sylus x Non MC reader Content Warning: Insecurities, injuries, mention of blood, jealousy, angst, hurt/comfort Note: Reader is not the MC of the game. I think I got quite carried away writing this because I am a sucker for angst.

The faint hum of the air condition echoed through the Onychinus base, its opulent, luxurious atmosphere doing little to distract from the knot twisting in your stomach. You stood across from Luke and Kieran, their crow masks tilted slightly as if to gauge your reaction.

"Boss isn't here today," Luke said casually, his hands tucked into his pockets. "He’s in Linkon, Boss man’s got other things to handle."

Kieran, his mask tilted slightly to the side, gave a confused grunt. "But I thought he was meeting with her...?"

Luke raised a brow, correcting him. "No, no, he was meeting with Miss Hunter."

Miss Hunter.

The words hit you like a sledgehammer, even though they shouldn’t have. You were a hunter too, an informant who had been feeding Sylus critical intel on the association’s movements for two years now. But she was different. Special.

Captain Jenna’s star pupil, with her rare Anhaunsen-class Resonance Evol, was someone Sylus had spent weeks trying to connect with, both literally and emotionally. You weren’t blind to the necessity of it; resonating with her was crucial for his goals, ones he hadn’t entirely shared with you but that you trusted him to pursue.

Trusted him. Loved him.

You forced a tight smile. "Thanks for the update. I'll let you two get back to it."

Luke and Kieran exchanged a glance, but you were already walking away, the echo of your boots swallowed by the hum of the base.

The ride back to Linkon was supposed to clear your mind. It didn’t.

The cool wind whipped against your face, but all it did was sting the tears pooling in your eyes. The road stretched endlessly ahead, yet the pressure in your chest only grew. Sylus hadn’t seen you in two months. Two months of unanswered calls and messages reduced to half-hearted responses when they came at all.

You understood why he was focused on her. She was crucial to his plans. She was everything you weren’t: poised, pretty, powerful, and, most importantly, someone he needed.

But understanding didn’t make it hurt any less.

The world blurred around you as your thoughts spiraled. You had always known your place in Sylus’ life. You were the informant, the quiet insider who helped him stay two steps ahead of the hunters. Somewhere along the way, though, you had fallen for him. For the man who wasn’t as cold and calculated as others believed. It had been two long years since you started working with Sylus. Two years filled with secrecy, lies, and hidden truths. But over those years, you'd found yourself tangled in emotions for him that you couldn’t shake. Sylus, with his cold authority, his dangerous smile, his complex nature… He was all you could think about. He wasn’t as dismissive as people thought. He had a way of looking at you when no one was watching—a fleeting softness that you cherished, even if you couldn’t be certain if it was real.

And now, it felt like you were losing him.

Your bike screeched to a halt near Meow’s Café. You hadn’t planned to stop, but the sight of the familiar storefront tugged at you. Perhaps a coffee and a moment to breathe would help.

The glass windows glinted under the midday sun, and your breath hitched as you looked inside.

Sylus was there. With her.

They sat at a small table, a deck of Kitty cards spread between them. He was leaning back, his smirk in full display as she laughed at something he said. It was the kind of laugh that reached her eyes, the kind of moment you had only ever dreamed of sharing with him.

You froze, your hands tightening on your helmet.

For a fleeting second, you wanted to march inside and demand answers. To ask him why he had time to play cards but couldn’t return your calls. To tell him how his absence had hollowed you out.

But you didn’t.

He looks so happy... you thought bitterly, swallowing the lump in your throat.

The truth gnawed at you. Every interaction, every ignored message, every unread notification on your phone—it was because of her. Because Sylus had more important things to do. She was the one who mattered now. She was the one who he had to resonate with, had to bond with, had to make fall for him.

And you? You were just a pawn, a tool—forgotten. And there you were. Alone. Watching through a window, the warmth of the cafe contrasting the cold, empty feeling in your stomach. He hadn’t even bothered to let you know he was back. He was with her. You couldn’t bear to watch any longer, but you couldn’t look away either. It felt like the world was spinning faster than you could catch up, and you were left stranded, dizzy, and abandoned.

Instead, you turned away, your chest tight and vision blurred. The world felt suffocating, the weight of your unspoken feelings dragging you down as you climbed back onto your bike.

It was for the best, right?

You couldn’t keep doing this. You couldn’t keep waiting for him, couldn’t keep fooling yourself that there was something real between you two. He was busy. He had her. And you.. well, you didn’t even know why you bothered anymore.

The ride back to your apartment was a blur of taillights and muffled engine noise. The city’s glow that usually brought you some sense of comfort felt glaring and alien tonight. By the time you made it inside, the suffocating silence of your small space was overwhelming.

For someone who prided herself on being strong and independent, you barely made it to your couch before the sobs overtook you. Hot, angry tears streamed down your face as you clutched a pillow to your chest, trying in vain to keep your cries muffled. It felt as though something within you had been ripped apart, leaving an aching, hollow void that throbbed with every thought of him.

You replayed the image of him at the café in your mind, over and over, as if some part of you wanted to punish yourself further. His smirk. Her laughter. The ease of their interaction. It contrasted so sharply with the heaviness that now weighed on your heart.

Every chime of your phone made you flinch, hope briefly sparking to life, only to be cruelly snuffed out when the screen lit up with messages from others—work updates, pointless notifications, or friends checking in. Nothing from him. Of course, there wouldn’t be.

You wiped at your face, your chest tightening as you scrolled through the last few conversations you’d had with Sylus. They were short, clipped responses. A "thanks" here, an "I’m busy" there. You’d convinced yourself for weeks that he wasn’t brushing you off, that his focus was just elsewhere. But deep down, you knew. You’d always known.

You weren’t as important to him as he was to you.

That realization settled over you like a heavy blanket, suffocating and final. And yet, you tried to convince yourself it was okay. He doesn’t owe me anything, you told yourself, though the thought only twisted the knife deeper. He’s free to choose who he spends his time with.

But it didn’t stop the tears.

The days that followed were a haze of exhaustion and numbness. You threw yourself into your work, spending long hours tracking and confronting wanderers. The physical exhaustion helped, even if just a little. At least when you were in the middle of a fight, the pain in your chest was drowned out by the adrenaline coursing through your veins.

Still, the nights were the worst. Alone in your apartment, the quiet crept in like a suffocating fog. You tried to distract yourself—reading, cleaning, even organizing old mission reports. Anything to keep your mind from drifting back to him. But it was impossible.

Each time you saw his name in your contacts, you hesitated. Your thumb hovered over the call button more times than you cared to admit, but the fear of hearing his indifferent voice stopped you every time. What would you even say? That you missed him? That you wanted to see him? That you’d fallen for him, even though you knew it would never be mutual?

No. You couldn’t do that to yourself.

You worked harder, pushed yourself further. Every wanderer you fought became a stand-in for your frustrations, your insecurities. You told yourself that if you could just stay busy enough, the ache would go away. But no matter how many missions you completed or how many late nights you spent staring at your phone, the weight in your chest never fully lifted.

By the end of the week, you were exhausted—physically and emotionally. But you were surviving. Barely. The bell above the door jingled softly as you pushed into the chocolatier’s shop, the rich scent of cocoa and vanilla wrapping around you like a warm embrace. The day had been grueling—hours of chasing leads, a narrow escape from a particularly aggressive wanderer, and not a single bite of food since morning. Your stomach growled in protest, a sharp reminder that you’d been running on fumes for too long.

Rows of meticulously crafted chocolates gleamed beneath the glass counter, their perfect swirls and shimmering finishes almost too beautiful to eat. Almost. You leaned forward slightly, scanning the display, your reflection ghosting over the pristine surface.

Dark chocolate truffles. Raspberry ganache. Caramel hazelnut clusters. The options were overwhelming, and your indecision felt heavier than it should’ve. Your chest still ached from the lingering emotions you’d been suppressing all week. The quiet joy of the shop felt alien, like stepping into a world you no longer belonged to.

Just pick something and go, you thought, your fingers tightening on the strap of your bag. But the choices seemed endless, each one whispering promises of sweetness you weren’t sure you deserved.

"If you’re struggling," a soft, measured voice spoke behind you, "the pistachio crème chocolate is an excellent choice."

Startled, you turned, your gaze falling on a man standing a few steps away. Tall and lean, he exuded an understated confidence that was both intimidating and captivating. Dark hair fell in against his forehead, and sharp hazel-green eyes, softened by gold flecks peered at you from behind thin-framed glasses. His white doctor’s coat was open, revealing a simple black shirt beneath, and he held a small paper bag in one hand.

You blinked, caught off guard by both his suggestion and his presence. "Oh, uh… thank you," you stammered, trying not to sound as flustered as you felt. "I’ll… I’ll try that."

The shopkeeper nodded and carefully packed your selection as you stole another glance at the stranger. There was an air of calm authority about him, a quiet assurance that made you feel oddly exposed, like he could see straight through you.

He waited patiently as the shopkeeper handed you your bag, but just as you were about to leave, his voice cut through the quiet again—this time, more direct. "Chocolates shouldn’t be your first meal of the day."

The statement was delivered without malice, his tone stoic and matter-of-fact, yet it hit like a stone to the chest. Your lips parted in shock, the question forming before you could stop it: How does he know? But before you could say anything, he was already moving toward the door. The bells jingled softly as it closed behind him, leaving you standing frozen in place. The stranger’s words lingered, intertwining with the rest of your messy emotions. Your fingers clenched the small bag of chocolates as you tried to process the brief encounter.

A soft gleam on the floor caught your attention, breaking your spiraling thoughts. A wallet, its sleek leather worn but well-kept, lay just inches from where the man had stood. You knelt and picked it up, your heart thudding as you opened it to check for identification.

The name embossed on his hospital ID was like a jolt: Dr. Zayne. Your eyes widened. Doctor Zayne? The name was familiar—a renowned surgeon whose skills and precision were legendary, often described as a miracle worker. You’d imagined someone older, more weathered, not… this.

For a moment, you stared at the ID, piecing together the puzzle of the composed, enigmatic man who had called you out so effortlessly. You tried the number listed on a card tucked into his wallet, but it rang unanswered, the sterile monotone only adding to your frustration.

"Of course, he wouldn’t answer," you muttered under your breath, chewing your lip as you debated your next move. The idea of keeping his wallet overnight felt wrong, and leaving it here in the shop seemed equally careless.

That left one option.

The hospital loomed ahead as you approached, its towering structure illuminated against the evening sky. Anxiety gnawed at your insides, twisting with every step you took through the sterile white halls. You weren’t sure why you felt so on edge—maybe it was the overwhelming sense of inadequacy that had been haunting you lately, or maybe it was the lingering impression of Zayne’s knowing gaze.

At the reception desk, you hesitated, gripping the wallet tightly as you cleared your throat. "Hi, um, I’m here to return something for Dr. Zayne. He… accidentally dropped this."

The receptionist barely looked up, taking the wallet with a polite but indifferent smile. "Dr. Zayne isn’t in right now. I’ll make sure he gets this when he’s back."

"Oh," You nodded, murmuring a quick thanks before retreating back toward the exit. You thought nothing of this interaction as you left. You did what you thought was right and left the hospital back towards your apartment.

The days blurred together in a haze of work and routine. You buried yourself in assignments from the Hunter’s Association, throwing yourself into dangerous missions with a single-minded intensity. Anything to keep your mind occupied.

Sylus messaged you once during that time, his tone professional as he asked for updates regarding a lead he was tracking. You’d responded quickly, sticking strictly to business. No pleasantries, no banter—just the information he needed. He didn’t press, didn’t call you out for your uncharacteristic coldness. Maybe he didn’t notice. Or maybe he did and chose not to say anything.

That night, you jogged through the dimly lit streets, your breath fogging in the cool air as you tried to exorcise the restless energy gnawing at you. The rhythmic slap of your sneakers against the pavement was grounding, steady. Jogging had always been your go-to, a way to clear your head and silence the endless stream of "what-ifs" and "if-onlys" that plagued your mind.

You shook your head, annoyed at yourself. There was no point in dwelling. Sylus wasn’t the kind of person to give you what you wanted, and even if he did, could you trust it? Could you trust him?

But no amount of movement could completely shake Sylus from your thoughts.

His voice, his presence—it clung to you, even now.

Why didn’t he ask how I’ve been? Why didn’t I?

The sound of skidding tires yanked you out of your spiraling thoughts.

“Look out!”

Before you could process the warning, a cyclist veered wildly toward you, their momentum too strong to stop. There wasn’t even time to brace yourself. The impact hit like a freight train, and suddenly, you were on the ground, tangled with the bike and its rider. Pain blossomed sharp and hot in your knees as the asphalt scraped them raw.

For a moment, you just lay there, stunned. The world tilted unsteadily, the city lights smearing together like a watercolor painting.

“Hey, you okay?” The cyclist’s voice snapped you back. They were scrambling off you, helmet slightly askew but otherwise unscathed. You shook your head to clear it, wincing as you sat up. You pushed yourself up, shaking the dizziness from your head, and checked on the cyclist who had crashed into you. They were already scrambling to their feet, looking slightly dazed but otherwise unharmed, their helmet and guards having done their job.

“I’m fine,” you managed, even as your knees throbbed in protest. “Are you?”

“Yeah, thanks to the gear,” they said, pulling off their helmet to inspect a small crack along its surface. “Guess it did its job.”

Relief washed over you. “Good. Let me just—”

“Wait.” A different voice cut in, firm but calm. You stood there, still trying to regain your bearings when a figure appeared beside you, moving with a grace that immediately caught your attention. Your heart skipped a beat when you saw who it was. Dr. Zayne. The same man who had crossed your path in the chocolatier's shop just days ago. His sharp eyes locked onto yours, and for a split second, everything else seemed to vanish. His expression shifted from mild surprise to something more concerned as he took in your state.

Without saying a word, he immediately began assessing you, his gaze narrowing at the blood now staining your knees. You winced, feeling the sting of the cuts that had begun to bloom with a fiery intensity, but you were determined not to show it. You were used to pain—used to the sharp discomfort that came with being a hunter. You didn’t need help. You could handle this on your own. You’d always been able to.

But Dr. Zayne wasn’t having any of it.

His voice, low and steady, broke through the haze of your thoughts. "You’re bleeding. Those need first aid," he said firmly, his frown deepening as he glanced at your scraped knees. "Sit. Wait here. I’ll be back in a minute."

You opened your mouth to protest, to tell him you were fine, but the words caught in your throat. He wasn’t asking. His tone, though gentle, was authoritative—demanding in its own quiet way. There was something about the way he carried himself, that calm, unflinching presence, that made it impossible to argue.

"I’m fine, I am a hunter." you managed to say, your voice rougher than you intended. "I can handle it at home. Really." You tried to force a reassuring smile

“Is this a hunter thing?” he interrupted, one brow arching skeptically. “Are all of you this stubborn about basic care, or is it just you?”

The words should have been biting, but his tone was almost... patient. Like he was accustomed to dealing with difficult people.

You flushed, suddenly hyper-aware of the sting in your knees and the heat of his gaze. “I’m not being stubborn,” you muttered. “I just don’t want to bother anyone over something so small.”

“Small injuries have a way of turning into bigger problems,” he said, folding his arms. “And I’m not bothered. As a doctor, I’m asking you to wait here. I’ll be back in a minute.”

Without waiting for your protest, he turned and strode off, leaving you no room to argue.

You sat stiffly on the bench, gripping the edge as the minutes dragged on. The ache in your knees was nothing compared to the gnawing discomfort blooming in your chest. Anxiety clawed at you, whispering insidious doubts.

He’s wasting his time on you.He probably thinks you’re pathetic and weak.Why couldn’t you have just gotten up and left?

Your fingers curled into fists, the tension radiating through your body.

The sound of footsteps interrupted your spiraling thoughts, and Dr. Zayne was back, carrying a small first aid kit. He knelt in front of you without a word, his hands steady as he cleaned the cuts on your knees. The gentle pressure of his fingers as he worked felt almost surreal. His silence wasn’t uncomfortable—it was just… calm. You found yourself drawn to it, to the quiet that seemed to settle around him.

"You’re lucky," he said, glancing up at you as he bandaged your knees. "That could’ve been a lot worse."

You nodded, the words caught in your throat. There were so many things you wanted to say, things you wanted to ask him, but you didn’t know where to start. So you remained silent, watching as he finished his work, his hands moving with the practiced precision of someone who had seen too many injuries to count.

When he was done, he straightened up and met your gaze. "You should be more careful," he said softly, his voice a little lighter than before, though there was still a note of concern underlying his words. "Next time, don’t run so late at night. You never know what could happen."

You forced a tight smile, the words feeling like they were coming from someone else. "I’ll keep that in mind," you said, your voice quieter now.

Dr. Zayne took a step back after finishing the bandages, his sharp gaze softening ever so slightly as he packed the first aid kit. You glanced at him, your mouth opening to thank him, but before you could get the words out, he said, almost in unison, “Thank you.”

Both of you froze, the simultaneous expressions of gratitude hanging awkwardly in the air. A surprised laugh slipped out of you, breaking the tension.

“You first,” he said, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

You swallowed, trying to ignore the heat creeping up your neck. “I was just going to say thank you for… you know, helping with this.” You gestured vaguely toward your knees, the bandages clinging to your skin. “You didn’t have to.”

The moment stretched between you, awkward yet somehow comforting. Zayne gave a small, almost amused smile at the simultaneous gratitude, but his gaze softened when it landed on you, his concern still present.

"Thank you for returning my wallet," he said, his tone steady but with a hint of appreciation.

His words caught you off guard. “Oh, right! That. It wasn’t a big deal, really.” You fidgeted with the hem of your sleeve, avoiding his gaze. “I found it at the chocolatier shop. I figured it was better to bring it to the hospital than leave it lying around.”

He nodded thoughtfully, his eyes lingering on you for a moment longer than necessary. “I appreciate it. Not many people would go out of their way like that.”

You tried not to let his kindness throw you off, but it wasn’t easy. There was something about Zayne that made you feel... small in a way you didn’t like to feel. He was kind, yes, but that kindness made you wonder if you were deserving of it. Why should you be the one he cared about?

But before you could dwell on that any further, his voice cut through your swirling thoughts.

"Have you eaten today?" His tone was light, but there was an edge of sincerity beneath it, one that made your stomach twist in a way that had nothing to do with hunger. It reminded you of that conversation in the shop, of how he had so effortlessly read through your tiredness.

The sheepish look that crossed your face must’ve been obvious, because Zayne sighed, the sound so deep that it almost felt like a reprimand. He pinched the bridge of his nose in a gesture that was both familiar and surprisingly endearing.

“You’ve got to take care of yourself,” he said, his voice almost too gentle for the weight of his words. “It’s not healthy to go without food, especially if you’re going to keep running around like you hunters do.”

You opened your mouth to protest, to tell him it wasn’t a big deal, but Zayne didn’t give you the chance.

"There’s a diner close by. It’s the least I can do to thank you for returning my wallet."

You shook your head instinctively, trying to backpedal. "It’s really not necessary," you said, but Zayne wasn’t having any of it. His eyes were firm, and there was an undeniable warmth behind them that almost made you feel guilty for refusing.

"Yes, it is," he replied, his tone steady but with a hint of finality. "Now, come on.”

You hesitated for a moment, the unease building in your chest like a brick wall, but the thought of Zayne’s calm, commanding presence made it impossible to say no. So, with a quiet sigh, you relented.

"I’ll pay," you muttered as he led the way, the words almost reflexive. You always felt like you had to pay your way—like it was your responsibility to do so, especially with someone who had helped you, even in the smallest of ways. You were used to standing on your own two feet.

Zayne only gave you a side glance, his lips quirking up in the barest of smiles. "No, you won’t. It’s my thank you, remember?"

The diner wasn’t far from where you had been, a cozy, low-lit place with a soft hum of quiet conversations and the clink of silverware against plates. The familiar scent of warm food—steak, mashed potatoes, and the unmistakable aroma of fresh bread—immediately filled the air as you stepped inside. You followed Zayne to a small booth in the back, the vinyl seats creaking under your weight as you slid in.

You wanted to say something—thank you, maybe—but the words felt stuck, trapped somewhere in the pit of your stomach, along with everything else that had been piling up for weeks. Zayne didn’t seem to notice, his focus already turning to the menu as he gestured for you to pick something.

You wanted to ask him more, to understand him in the same way you understood the empty streets you ran through, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that you’d just end up looking foolish. So, instead, you stared at the menu in front of you, unable to focus on the choices, as your mind churned with questions that had no answers.

Zayne ordered for both of you, his voice low as he made his choices, and when he looked at you, you caught a flicker of something—perhaps curiosity, or was it concern? It was hard to tell.

"You should eat more regularly," he said again, as though the words were a reminder he had to repeat for his own peace of mind. You nodded, letting the silence fill the space between you for a moment.

The food arrived, warm and satisfying, and you took a bite, surprised at how hungry you were despite the earlier denials. Zayne watched you for a moment, his gaze softening as you ate, but you couldn’t bring yourself to meet it. His concern, his care—it felt too much. You weren’t used to people worrying about you.

But as the meal went on, you found yourself starting to relax, the initial tension loosening from your shoulders. Zayne was easy to talk to, his calm, steady presence settling you in a way you hadn’t expected. By the end of the meal, you felt... lighter.

"Call me Zayne," he said when the check came, his voice quiet but sincere.

You blinked, a little caught off guard by the request. "Zayne?" you echoed, testing the name on your tongue.

"Yes," he replied with a small, patient smile. "It’s easier than 'Dr. Zayne,' don’t you think?"

You blinked, taken aback. “Are you sure? I mean, you’ve earned the title—”

“And I’ll still have it in the hospital,” he interrupted, amusement flickering in his eyes. “But here, it’s just Zayne.”

You nodded slowly, testing the name in your mind. It felt strange, almost too personal. But there was something grounding about it, too.

By the time dessert arrived, the knot of anxiety in your chest had loosened considerably. The warmth of the diner, the steady cadence of his voice, and the shared laughter over a poorly made joke had a way of pulling you out of your own head. For the first time in what felt like weeks, you weren’t obsessing over your failures or doubts.

As you finished your meal, Zayne pulled out his phone and slid it across the table. “Here,” he said simply. “Add your number. In case you ever need anything.”

You hesitated, the gesture feeling far more intimate than it probably was. But his expression was patient, expectant, and you found yourself entering your contact information before you could overthink it. When you handed the phone back, his lips twitched into a faint smile.

“Thanks again for returning my wallet,” he said, his tone lighter now. “And for the company.”

You felt your cheeks flush, but this time, it wasn’t entirely unpleasant. “It’s not a problem,” you murmured, a small smile tugging at your lips.

As you stepped out of the diner and into the cool night air, a strange sense of calm settled over you. Zayne walked you to the corner where your paths would diverge, his presence steady and reassuring.

“Take care of yourself,” he said, his voice softer now, almost intimate.

“You too,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper.

The diner’s warmth lingered even as you stepped into the cool night air. For the first time in what felt like weeks, your chest didn’t feel as tight, the oppressive weight that had been bearing down on you now lifting slightly. You still felt the ache of Sylus’ absence—a hollow, gnawing sensation that seemed to creep in whenever you let your guard down, but it wasn’t as suffocating as it had been. Instead, a new sensation fluttered in its place, tentative and fragile: excitement. It was strange to feel this way, to look forward to the possibility of a friendship formed under such unlikely circumstances. Zayne’s calm demeanor, his steady presence, had surprised you.

As you walked, the sound of fluttering wings caught your attention. Instinctively, your heart skipped, your mind jumping to Mephisto. You tilted your head to the dark sky, half-expecting to see the telltale silhouette of his familiar. But it was just a cluster of pigeons, their wings catching the faint glow of the streetlights as they soared away.

Right. Of course. It was unlikely that Sylus was watching you tonight.

You exhaled, a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, and forced your thoughts away from him. Zayne had offered you a rare moment of normalcy, and you weren’t about to let your memories of Sylus overshadow that.

------------------------------------------------------------------

The following weeks were a blur of activity, and before long, you found yourself stationed at an outpost on the outskirts of Linkon. A metaflux surge had disrupted the area, and the temporary makeshift hospital was bustling with injured workers, hunters, and even a few civilians caught in the chaos. The air was thick with tension, the metallic tang of metaflux faint but persistent, a reminder of the unseen dangers that lurked just beyond the safety of the encampment.

Zayne was assigned as the doctor for the outpost, and you often found yourself crossing paths with him. At first, your interactions were brief—a nod here, a shared glance there—but over time, you began to talk. It started with simple pleasantries, discussions about the metaflux readings or the influx of patients, but it wasn’t long before the conversations deepened.

You learned that Zayne had a dry sense of humor, his sharp wit often catching you off guard. He’d tease you about your stubbornness, and you’d retort with a quip about his overly serious nature. Despite his professionalism, there was a warmth to him, a quiet compassion that made him easy to trust. And though you’d never admit it, you found yourself looking forward to those moments of shared laughter, those fleeting glimpses of something lighter amidst the chaos.

But even as your friendship with Zayne grew, Sylus lingered at the edges of your thoughts, a shadow you couldn’t quite shake. The conversations you had with him were sparse and strictly work-related—updates from the Association, bits of intel you passed along to him. It felt transactional, a far cry from the intimacy you once shared. Yet, every time his name appeared on your screen, your heart still raced, betraying the fragile boundaries you’d tried to set.

One evening, a message from Sylus broke the monotony of your routine.

‘Come over tomorrow night, Darling. I have an exquisite wine I’d like you to try—procured it during a recent deal.’

The invitation was simple, almost casual. For a moment, you imagined it—the rich scent of wine filling the air, his sharp yet alluring gaze fixed on you as he poured you a glass. But reality quickly crept in, dragging you back to the present. You couldn’t go. You couldn’t risk it. Not when your heart was still so fragile, still aching in ways you didn’t want to admit.

You stared at the screen for what felt like an eternity, your fingers hovering over the keyboard as your mind raced. The truth was, you wanted to see him. But you knew better. You had to keep your distance—for your own sake, if nothing else.

‘I’m tired..'

You typed, the words feeling hollow as they formed.

'Busy day tomorrow. Maybe another time.’

You hesitated before hitting send, the weight of the message pressing down on you. When his reply came, it was as simple as his invitation.

‘Okay.’

The finality of it hit you like a brick, and for a moment, you felt like your breath had been stolen away. He didn’t push. He didn’t argue. That empty “okay” hung in the air, leaving you with the quiet realization that, once again, you had lost yourself in the haze of someone else’s world.

You tried not to read too much into it, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that he had already moved on. That he didn’t care enough to fight for your attention. Instead, it felt like you were just a passing thought, like an aftertaste that wasn’t worth savoring.

Miss Hunter. The words echoed in your mind. You squeezed your eyes shut, willing the tears to stay behind your eyelids, but they pressed hard, a sting that never seemed to fully fade. You rubbed your forehead, trying to push away the thoughts. But even as you did, you couldn’t escape the suffocating feeling in your chest—the one that always came when you were reminded of how little you meant to him. You felt foolish, but you couldn’t help it. It was like you were always waiting for the other shoe to drop, for him to come back, to pull you back into his orbit with that practiced charm, that voice that made you feel wanted, if only for a little while.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

The dinner with Zayne had been a welcome reprieve. It had been two weeks since you last saw him, the demands of work pulling both of you in different directions. But tonight, seated across from him in a small, cozy bistro, you found solace in the familiar rhythm of your conversations. The mellow lights softened the sharp angles of his face as he recounted a mishap earlier in the week involving a particularly irritable patient.

His dry humor, paired with the subtle lift of his brow, drew a laugh from you—a genuine, light sound that felt foreign after the weight of recent days. For a while, the world outside blurred away. You weren’t Miss Hunter; you weren’t anything other than a person sharing a meal with a friend.

As the meal wound down, Zayne looked at you over the rim of his glass, his expression calm. “You’re doing better than when we first met.” he remarked softly.

You blinked, momentarily caught off guard. “Am I?”

He nodded. His calm demeanor always had a way of grounding you, and tonight was no exception.

The meal wrapped up with the two of you trading small updates and light banter. You paid for your half of the meal, Zayne insisting it wasn’t necessary, but you’d insisted back. There was a sense of normalcy here, something you weren’t willing to let go of easily. When you parted ways outside the diner, the night air was cool and quiet. Zayne’s warm farewell echoed softly in your ears as you waved goodbye and headed back toward your apartment.

As you walked, you felt lighter somehow. The stress of the past few weeks hadn’t vanished, but Zayne’s steady presence had reminded you of something important—moments of peace still existed, even in the chaos.

The faint scent of lavender greeted you as you unlocked your apartment door, a hint of the candle you’d left burning earlier. The lights were off, and the air felt too still—unnaturally so. Your heart skipped, the hairs on the back of your neck standing on end. A lump formed in your throat, panic curling its fingers around your chest.

You flicked the light switch, and the sudden brightness flooded the room, revealing the figure sitting on your couch. Sylus.

You froze. Your body stiffened, caught between fight or flight.

Your yelp of surprise filled the space, your pulse racing as you clutched the doorframe for support. “What—Sylus? What are you doing here?”

He was sitting on your couch, one arm draped casually along the backrest, his other hand resting on his knee. The dim light of the room softened the sharp edges of his face, but his expression was anything but gentle. His eyes, sharp and unyielding, tracked your every movement as if he were dissecting you with just a glance.

“How—what are you doing here?” you stammered, your voice shaky as your pulse raced.

Sylus didn’t respond right away. Instead, he tilted his head slightly, his gaze dragging over you slowly, deliberately. His silence was louder than any words he could have spoken, and it made your skin prickle.

“Darling,” he finally murmured, his voice low and smooth, laced with something you couldn’t quite name. “You look… exhausted.”

You blinked, still standing frozen by the door. His tone was soft, almost tender, but it was the way his jaw tightened, the way his fingers tapped against his knee, that betrayed his underlying tension.

“Y-yeah,” you stammered, your voice wavering as you took a cautious step forward. “It’s been a long day. What are you doing here?”

Sylus leaned back, the leather of the couch creaking faintly under his weight. “A long day,” he echoed, his lips curving into a faint smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Yet you had time for dinner.”

“I…” you faltered, scrambling for a response. “It was just…”

“Just dinner,” he interrupted smoothly, his tone unreadable. “With… someone else.”

The air felt thick, charged with a tension that made your skin prickle. You opened your mouth to respond, but the words stuck in your throat. His eyes narrowed slightly, his expression still calm but his body language telling a different story. The way his fingers drummed against his knee, the slight clench of his jaw, the flicker of something dark in his gaze.

Your heart pounded, your thoughts racing. Why was he here? What did he want? And why did his presence—his very existence in your space—make your chest ache in that familiar, suffocating way?

“I didn’t think…” You stopped yourself, your voice trembling. “You didn’t say you’d be coming by. You can’t just—”

“Can’t just what?” he asked, his voice dangerously soft as he rose from the couch, his movements fluid and deliberate. “Show up to see what’s wrong?”

Your breath hitched as he closed the distance between you, his height and presence suddenly overwhelming. “Nothing’s wrong…”you managed to say, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Is that so?” he murmured, tilting his head slightly, his eyes boring into yours. “Because from where I’m standing, it seems like you’ve been avoiding me, Darling.”

The accusation hung in the air, sharp and unyielding.

“I’ve been busy…” you said weakly, your voice lacking conviction.

“Busy,” he repeated, his gaze flicking over you again, this time with something close to disdain. “Too busy for me, but not too busy for… him.”

Your hands fidgeted at your sides, your breath coming in shallow bursts. You wanted to move, to put distance between you, but your legs felt rooted to the spot. “I didn’t think dinner with a friend would..”

“Friend?” he interrupted, the single word slicing through your sentence. His lips curved into something that might have been a smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

Your heart pounded painfully against your ribs, the anxiety swirling in your chest mixing with something else—something raw and painful that you didn’t want to name. The memories of your last exchange with Sylus came flooding back—the curt messages, the unspoken finality of his “okay.” You had tried to convince yourself that it didn’t matter, that you didn’t need his validation. But standing here now, under the weight of his gaze, you felt every crack in the fragile walls you had built to keep him out.

“I don’t understand what you want from me,” you said finally, the words trembling as they left your lips.

His eyes softened slightly, but the tension in his posture didn’t ease. For a moment, he looked like he wanted to say something, something important, but the moment passed as quickly as it came. Instead, he reached out, his fingers brushing against your cheek in a gesture so gentle it felt almost foreign.

“Don’t make me feel like I’m a stranger to you.” he said quietly, his voice carrying a hint of vulnerability that made your chest ache.

Don’t make me feel like I’m a stranger to you. The words echoed in your mind, repeating, twisting, until all you could hear was the raw edge of betrayal laced in his tone.

You let out a bitter laugh, the sound sharp and bitter, a little too loud in the quiet of your apartment. Your chest tightened, and for a moment, you felt the space around you grow smaller. You couldn’t breathe—couldn’t think. All you could feel was the heat of anger building inside of you, raw and unrefined.

“That’s rich,” you scoffed, finally managing to find your voice. “That’s really rich, coming from you of all people.”

Sylus blinked, a subtle flash of surprise crossing his face, but it quickly masked over. His lips tightened, his brow furrowed ever so slightly, but it wasn’t enough. You had to push, you couldn’t hold back now. The words were tumbling out before you could even stop them. Your breath hitched, a strangled sob lodged somewhere in the back of your throat, but you refused to let it spill. You wouldn’t let him see you break—not like this, not in front of him. You knew the truth. He knew the truth. It hurt, yes, but you weren’t the one to blame.

“You've been treating me like a stranger for months,” you continued, your voice trembling with anger you hadn't fully realized was there. “Barely responding to my messages, not answering my calls, and when I do see you, it’s like you can’t be bothered. You don’t even see me.” You felt the weight of every unreturned message, every unanswered call, every promise left in limbo. “I’ve had to hear from Luke and Kieran that you’re in Linkon. But you couldn’t even make time to see me.”

You felt the ache deep in your chest, that familiar, suffocating knot forming. He didn’t deserve your pain. Not anymore. You wouldn’t let him have that. Not this time.

You took a shaky breath, suddenly feeling raw, exposed. “You don’t have to feel obligated to check on me, Sylus,” you said, your words clipped and cutting through the thick silence between you. “You don’t have to feel pity for me. I know where I stand. I know my place in your life.”

His expression, that unreadable mask, cracked for the briefest of moments. His lips parted, his gaze flicking to your face, then back down to the floor. His jaw clenched. But his eyes… They weren’t the same as they’d been earlier. The hardness was gone, replaced by something far more dangerous, something even more intimate. The storm was gathering, but it wasn’t just in the air—no, it was inside him too.

“You know where you stand?” His voice was quieter now, but there was an edge to it, a slight tightness you hadn’t noticed before. He took a step forward, his body closing the space between you, like a wave of raw energy crashing toward you. His proximity only made your pulse race faster, but you couldn’t back down. Not now.

“I’m just an informant, right?” you bit out, every word feeling like it sliced through the night air, cutting through the tension like a blade. “You don’t have to pretend you care, Sylus. So don’t stand there with that look on your face like I’m some important thing you need to check on.”

The air between you grew heavy, thick with unsaid words and stifled tension. Every inch of your body was telling you to get away, to shut down, to stop this before it tore you apart. But your feet felt heavy, stuck in place. Sylus’s presence was like gravity, pulling you toward him.

"You think that's all you are?" he murmured, his voice dangerously low, like the calm before the thunder. The way he said it made your heart stutter in your chest. It was both a question and an accusation or a challenge.

But there was something else in his voice. Something you couldn’t quite place. His eyes were intense, too intense, and they searched yours like he was looking for the answer. The truth.

“I didn’t want to hurt you,” he continued, his words clipped, as though they were difficult for him to say. “But I couldn’t....couldn’t make sense of it. Of you.”

It was the first time that he seemed genuinely vulnerable, and it left you breathless and confused. You had always wondered if there was more beneath his cold exterior. You had always told yourself that he cared. But you had never dared to confront him.

His hand was close enough now to reach out, his fingers barely brushing the edge of your wrist. The air between you was still thick with everything unsaid, everything unhealed. And yet, despite the words that had been thrown between you, there was something undeniably magnetic in the tension. The ache in your chest, the rawness, the feelings of betrayal—they didn’t wash away just because you said them out loud.

God, you hated him for this.

But part of you yearned for him. That part that still felt tethered to him, despite the distance.

Sylus’s fingers hovered over your wrist, his touch like fire against your skin. For a moment, the storm between you calmed, leaving only the faintest echo of it behind. The weight of his gaze, the force of his presence—it seemed to drown out the rest of the world.

He said nothing for a moment, his lips parting as though he wanted to speak but couldn’t find the words. His eyes darkened further, not with anger now, but with something you couldn’t quite define.

You took a breath, your body suddenly feeling too small beneath his gaze. The storm was still inside. You had to move away. Your heart pounded as if it were trying to escape your chest, desperate to flee from whatever was stirring inside you. You couldn't—no, you wouldn’t—let yourself get caught up in whatever this feeling was. You were not some fool, ready to throw everything away for the temporary pull of his presence. You knew better than that. You had to.

Every instinct screamed at you to retreat, to put some distance between you and the mess of emotions bubbling under your skin. His sharp gaze was enough to make your knees tremble, and it took everything in you not to look back, not to let him see the quiet devastation that flickered inside you.

“You need to leave… Sylus.” You whispered. You staggered back a few steps, your breathing shallow, desperate. Your feet felt like lead, yet you forced yourself to walk away. You turned your back to him, willing your legs to move, hoping to escape before you got sucked into whatever dark vortex of feelings he was drawing you into.

He didn’t move. Instead, you heard the familiar click of his boots against the floor as he took a single, deliberate step forward. “Why?” His voice, low and curious, sent a shiver down your spine. It was almost too intimate, as if he were searching for a piece of you, trying to understand what you couldn’t explain.

You didn’t want to look at him. Didn’t want to see the quiet confusion on his face—the faint flicker of disappointment that stung like salt in an open wound. You couldn’t let him see your weakness, couldn’t let him know how badly it hurt to be around him, how badly it hurt not to be around him.

“Is it so you can run back to your precious ‘friend’?” The words dripped with something unspoken, something that made your stomach twist.

You couldn’t look at him. You couldn’t. Not when his voice—that voice, the one that threaded through the air like silk—was digging into your mind like this. The word echoed in your ears, almost mocking you, and you felt something fragile snap inside you. The weight of the years you’d spent keeping distance, of guarding your heart against him, against whatever he made you feel, started to unravel. But you couldn’t let it.

You took another step away from him. One more step, you told yourself. Just one more. You didn’t need this.

Dark tendrils wrapped around you as you move, pulling you back. He was using his evol to pull you back. You didn’t need him pulling you in again. But then it came. That touch. He pulled you to him, forceful yet intimate, and your breath caught in your throat. You were too close. Too close to the edge of losing yourself, of falling into his presence.

His hands...no, his fingers—snaked around your waist before you even knew what was happening. You gasped, body going stiff in surprise, but his grip tightened, pulling you back into him. You tried to keep moving, tried to pull away, but it was useless. His hold was ironclad, his presence consuming. His grip tightened slightly, but there was an almost comforting pressure there, a subtle reminder that despite the dispute between you, there was something undeniable between the two of you.

“Why are you running?” His voice was a whisper against your ear, the words smooth like silk, but there was something jagged beneath them—something urgent, raw.

You struggled to hold yourself together, but the more you fought it, the more it pulled—this unbearable need to lean into him, to give in to the chaos that his proximity stirred in you. You knew you shouldn’t, but everything in you wanted to. You felt the ache of wanting something you couldn't have, the sting of the distance you had put between you and the thing that was somehow both poison and relief.

His hands tightened slightly, his thumb brushing over your ribs in a movement that sent a jolt through your entire system. The words you wanted to say, the reasons you needed to get away from him, all felt so small and pointless now. How could you possibly explain this? This tension, this pull? How could you say that being near him felt like the most excruciating thing in the world, but also the only thing that made you feel alive?

“You’re not just an informant to me,” he breathed, his words slipping under your skin, curling into the tight spaces of your chest. “I didn’t realize I was hurting you this much. That you’d want to distance yourself from me...” His tone softened at the end, but it only made everything worse. The tenderness in his voice—his tenderness—was like a dagger in your side, making the blood in your veins freeze. You wanted to say something, anything, but all you could hear was the deafening rush of your own heartbeat. You tried to stay composed, but the words were caught in your throat, and your body was still pressed so tightly against his, your breath shallow, your pulse thudding painfully against your ribs.

Why was this so hard? Why couldn’t you just say it—say that you couldn’t let him get close again? That you couldn’t survive another wound, another aching, empty feeling in your chest because of him? But the way his hands tightened, the warmth of his body against yours, made everything you were feeling a little too real.

You could feel his heartbeat against your back, the rhythm in sync with your own, and the pull of him was growing stronger. You could feel your anxiety bubbling up, the gnawing fear at the pit of your stomach. Was this just him toying with you? Was he trying to pull you into his world of darkness and manipulation? Or did he really care?

Your head was spinning. The emotions warred within you—anger, confusion, guilt, and something else. Something that made your heart race faster and your thoughts scatter like leaves in the wind.

“Let me go,” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the storm that raged around you.

But you didn’t pull away. You didn’t push him off.

Sylus' grip on you tightened, his arm like a steel band around your waist, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you. His chest rises and falls against your back as his breath brushes against your ear, warm and heavy. It’s as if he’s afraid, like if he lets go for even a second, he’ll lose you forever. You can feel the tension radiating from him, but also something softer, something desperate.

“No, Darling,” he murmurs, his voice low and thick with emotion, his tone possessive, as though the very idea of you slipping away shatters him. “You’re not going anywhere and neither am I.”

"You’re going to stay," He pulls you even closer, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as he speaks again, quieter this time, but laced with something raw and vulnerable. "...and you’re going to listen to me. I won’t let you walk away from this."

You can hear the flicker of something beneath his words—regret. And then, his lips ghost over the sensitive skin of your neck, lingering just a little longer than necessary. He slowly spins you around, to face him. His voice softens, almost apologetic. “I know I was a dick. I know I didn’t respond to you, and I’m sorry for that. I didn’t know how to handle it… handle us. It confused me, and instead of facing it, I pushed you away.” His breath catches slightly, and you feel his chest tighten against your back.

His hand moves to cup your cheek, tilting your face slightly toward him, his thumb brushing over your skin as though it’s a promise, an apology. The weight of his gaze is intense, but there’s also something tender there, something that wants to pull you back in, closer. “I know you’re still hurting, darling. I see it. And I... I’ll spend a lifetime making up for it, because that’s what I want. A lifetime. With you. Not as some informant or some... thing, but as my beloved. You. By my side. Always.”

He pauses, letting his words hang in the air between you. His voice drops, the quiet sorrow of his confession sending a twinge of guilt through you. "I don’t have the right to ask this of you, I know," Sylus continues, his voice thick with emotion. "But seeing you push me away… It’s harder than I ever thought it would be. Harder than I want to admit." He presses his forehead lightly against your temple, his breath shaky. "I’ve never needed someone the way I need you, and I didn’t know how to tell you that. But I do. I need you."

You can feel him tense slightly, the shift in his demeanor telling you that his thoughts have turned darker. His voice lowers, the jealousy evident in the way he speaks, though it’s wrapped in a softness that almost makes it harder to bear.

"And Dr. Zayne... I can’t stand the thought of him being so close to you," Sylus adds, his voice low and thick with a possessiveness that unsettles you in its intensity. "It kills me, you know? Watching him with you, hearing you laugh like that with him, as if I don’t even exist." His arm tightens again, almost painfully, as if he needs to remind you, remind both of you, where you truly belong. "I know I have no claim on you... but... I can't help but feel like there’s a part of you that wants him in a way that... I can't compete with." His voice hardens, jealousy dripping from every word. "It eats at me, knowing he has a part of you that I’m fighting for."

"Sylus..." Your voice cracked slightly as you repeated his name, your breath hitching, caught in the tension between you. His name felt heavy on your tongue, like it was both a question and an answer. You had never said it so quietly, so vulnerably. The memories of earlier came rushing back—him with her, that delicate smile he gave her, the way she leaned into him just a little too comfortably. It had burned in your chest, the jealousy creeping in with a venomous ache.

The words tumbled out before you could stop them, too fast to gather, too painful to hide. "I felt the same... when I saw you with her," you confessed, swallowing thickly. "I felt so... so useless, Sylus. When I saw you with her, it felt like... like she was everything you needed. Better than me. And that... it broke me, Sylus. I felt like I wasn’t enough, like I wasn’t... worth it.”

The words stung, bitter and unrelenting, but the weight of them was finally lifted as you let them spill out. You felt exposed, naked in your insecurity, but somehow, it was all you could do to stand there and wait for him to respond. You could feel the weight of it, of how small you’d felt in that moment, how unworthy you had become in your own eyes. The self-doubt gnawed at your insides, each thought of her with him twisting like a knife in your gut.

Sylus’s expression softened, his features melting into a tender sadness, as though he were seeing you for the first time, truly seeing you. His hand reached out slowly, almost hesitantly, as if afraid to shatter the fragile space between you. His touch was a gentle comfort, his fingers brushing against your cheek, his voice a low whisper, "Darling, you're none of that... none of it, I swear."

You shook your head, feeling the tears threatening, but you couldn’t let them fall, not yet. His words were kind, but the ache in your chest was still there, an unhealed wound.

He continued, his voice steady but thick with something deeper. "I didn’t know you felt that way... about her, in the same way I feel about Zayne." His gaze met yours, and for the first time tonight, it wasn’t uncertain. It was so gentle, so soft, tender. "But you need to know, you're it for me, Darling…" he murmured, his fingers curling around yours, grounding you in the quiet storm of your emotions. "Yes, I want help from her, but..." He paused, as if weighing his words carefully, "...I need you more." His words were a balm to the wounds that had festered within you, but the tenderness in his eyes was what finally reached you. His hand slid down to your shoulder, his thumb grazing the skin there. His warmth surrounded you, and you let yourself sink into the comfort of his words. The jealousy, the insecurity that had burned so fiercely in you when you saw him with her, melted in the face of the tenderness he was offering now.

You swallowed, trying to steady yourself as your heart raced, the intensity of the moment almost overwhelming. “Zayne… Zayne’s just a friend,” you said, your voice fragile but firm, “someone who helped me... helped me see past the stuff in my head. After everything, I just... needed someone to remind me that I’m not broken.”

Sylus's eyes softened even more, the depth of his gaze sending shivers down your spine. He nodded slowly, his expression filled with understanding. The tension between you didn’t disappear entirely, but it was now laced with something more tender. More real.

“You’re not broken, Darling.” he repeated, and there was a quiet strength in his voice, something that made you believe him more than you ever had before. “You’re everything I’ve ever needed... and more.”

"I... I’m sorry," you whispered, a lump in your throat as you looked up at him. "I never wanted to make you feel like I didn’t care. I just... I was afraid you’d choose her over me."

Sylus’s fingers brushed against the nape of your neck, pulling you closer, his forehead pressing gently against yours. "You never have to apologize for that, Darling." he murmured, his voice warm, his breath mingling with yours. “It was my fault and I accept that.”

The room was quiet, save for the soft sound of your breathing, as Sylus stood before you, his face drawn with intensity. The flickering light from the lamp cast soft shadows across his features, but his gaze... his gaze was sharp, focused entirely on you.

"I love you, Darling" he said, his words lingering in the air as though they were the first time he had allowed himself to say them out loud. "I’m in love with you," he confessed, his voice steady despite the raw emotion that tinged it. "I’ve been in love with you for a while now, and I’ve tried to deny it. Tried to hide it from you and myself, but I can’t anymore. I won’t. I love you, and I need you to know that."

The breath you hadn’t realized you were holding caught in your throat. Everything in you froze, then splintered. The confession, so pure, so vulnerable, hit you with a force you hadn’t been prepared for. You stood there, unable to move, a mix of surprise and relief flooding your chest.

He loves you. Sylus. The one you had longed for, yearned, and hoped for in silence. Your heart stuttered in your chest, the world around you growing impossibly still.

"I…" you whispered, voice trembling, and you had to stop, had to steady yourself before the words could spill from your lips. "I’ve love you too," you said, your voice barely more than a breath, but it carried all the weight of everything you had kept inside. "I’ve loved you, and I never told you because I was afraid. Afraid that I was asking too much. Afraid of the rejection. Afraid that I wasn’t enough."

Sylus’s expression softened, his lips curling into a frown as he stepped forward, closing the space between you. His hands reached for you, but not in the way you had feared or expected. They were gentle, his touch a plea for understanding. "Oh, darling," he whispered, shaking his head slowly. "I’m so sorry. I’m sorry you ever felt like you needed to hide it from me."

He reached up, brushing his thumb along your cheek, and you flinched slightly, your emotions suddenly overwhelming you, raw and untamed. "We’re both idiots," he continued, his voice almost tender with the weight of the admission. "We’ve been skirting around each other, afraid of saying the one thing we both needed to say."

Your laugh came out soft, almost fragile, the tension in your chest breaking for the first time since Sylus had walked into your home. It was a quiet sound, but it was the first time you’d laughed all night, the first time you’d allowed yourself to feel something other than fear or uncertainty in the past few weeks with him involved. But that laugh didn’t last long. As soon as it came, the tears followed, the ones you had been holding back for so long, finally slipping free. The dam you had built up crumbled, and before you could stop them, hot tears streamed down your face. before you could even reach up to brush them away, his hand was there, steady and warm against your cheek.

"Don’t," you whispered, your voice thick with the ache you could no longer hide. "Please, don’t look at me like this. I’m—"

"Stop," Sylus interrupted softly, his hand holding yours gently, his gaze unwavering. "Don’t hide from me. I want to see all of you… everything you’ve been hiding. I know you think I don’t see it, but I do." His eyes locked onto yours with such intensity that you couldn’t look away. "I see it when you think I’m not watching. I see the way you pull back, the way you hide the parts of you that you think I can’t handle. But I am looking. I’ve always been looking. And I don’t want you to hide anymore. Not from me. And I’m here and I want all of you."

His words were a medicine to the parts of you that had been bruised, the parts that had feared being exposed, vulnerable. But in his eyes, there was only love. No judgment. No pity. Just... love. And it was enough. It was more than enough.

The tears that had slipped down your face slowed, but they didn’t stop. You didn’t try to wipe them away this time, allowing yourself to be seen for the first time in ages. The sobs that followed were soft but trembled with relief, with something finally breaking open inside of you.

Sylus’s arms were around you in an instant, pulling you close, holding you in the kind of embrace that made you feel as though you could finally breathe, as though the weight of everything you had been carrying could finally be set down.

"I’m sorry," you whispered, almost broken. "I’ve been so scared, Sylus. Scared of this, of being cast away... of losing you."

"You’ll never lose me, Darling." he murmured, his voice firm and unwavering as he pressed a soft kiss to your forehead.

You tilted your head back slightly, your face still damp with the remnants of the tears that had fallen, and through your wet lashes, you searched his face. Sylus held you close, his arms wrapped around you in a way that made you feel safe, even as the doubts lingered in your heart. You wanted to believe him, but the fear, the uncertainty, was still there, buried deep beneath the surface.

He must have seen it in your eyes, the way you still hesitated, the uncertainty you couldn't quite shake. Sylus made a half-frustrated sound in the back of his throat, his hands tightening around you for a split second, before they slid up to cradle your face. His thumb brushed against your cheek again, a tender, pleading touch, before he leaned in, his lips finding yours in a sudden, urgent kiss.

The kiss was unlike any other. It wasn’t slow, it wasn’t soft. It was intense, filled with desperation, as though he needed you to understand just how deeply he felt for you, just how much you meant to him. His hands cupped your face, holding you as if you were the only thing that mattered in that moment, as if the world had stopped turning just for you. His lips pressed against yours with a kind of fire, but it wasn’t angry, no. It was passionate, desperate in its own way, like he wanted you to feel how important you were to him, how much you had been wanted, loved.

Your hands trembled as they reached up, gripping the collar of his shirt, pulling him closer, wanting to bridge the distance between you, as though the kiss itself could erase every lingering doubt in your heart. Your breath hitched when you felt his pulse quicken under your touch, his heartbeat matching the frantic pace of your own. Each breath you took seemed to echo in the stillness of the room, mingling with the heat of his kiss, our lips moving together with a quiet urgency, the world beyond the two of you fading into a distant blur. You felt everything—every brush of his fingers, every subtle shift of his body against yours, the way his chest rose and fell beneath your palms, how his breath felt against your lips as if he couldn’t get close enough to you.

Your chests rose and fell together, the world spinning around you. You could feel the heat of him, the urgency that still lingered in his touch, the way he kept you close, almost as if he were afraid to let go.

Breathing became an afterthought, both of you gasping for air when the kiss broke, but neither of you pulled far enough away to lose the connection. Sylus’s forehead rested against yours, his breath hot against your lips as he whispered, voice still heavy with emotion. “Every day, from henceforth, I will work to make sure you never feel the need to doubt yourself. Not in my life. Not with me." His words, slow and deliberate, sank deep into your heart like a promise he would keep.

The intensity of the moment hung between you both, the room still, save for the soft sound of your breathing as you both slowly came back to reality. But in his eyes, you saw nothing but certainty—certainty that you were enough. That you always had been.

His hand found yours again, fingers weaving with yours, and he gave it a gentle squeeze, as if the simple touch was a quiet reassurance.

"You are everything to me," he murmured, his voice steady now, grounding you as much as his embrace. "And I’ll make sure you never forget that.”

Your eyes fluttered shut for a moment, absorbing his words, his warmth, his certainty. In his arms, you could feel the truth of his promise, somewhere deep inside, the doubts began to fade.

For the first time in a long time, you believed him. And when he kissed you again, this time softer, it was like the beginning of something new.

AN: reblogs, feedback and opinions are appreciated!