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novthirty · 3 months ago

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🐦‍⬛ OUT OF BOUNDS — you get isekai-d into the n109 zone [chapter three]

synopsis — the monotony of your university days is interrupted by a stroke of misfortune, one which lands you in the world of love and deepspace, the game you had been casually playing for the previous months. with no way to return home, sylus offers you the job of being his personal secretary. — a continuation of the one-shot “out of bounds”

pairing — sylus x non-mc! reader

tags — reader is not mc, isekai/transmigration, fluff, angst, mutual pining, slice of life, boss/employee relationship, slow burn

a/n — can i finish this fic by sylus’s birthday? i genuinely don’t know… 😭 but i’m finally on break so i’ll try my best in the next few days! anywho, we’ve finally caught up to where the one shot ended so get ready for the angst 😋

ao3 | masterlist | requests are open! series masterlist | part two | part four

chapter three: countdown— the night softens people in ways that can only be done in the haze of darkness, revealing a vulnerability too fragile for the harsh rays of the sun. you know this could be more, you know this could be everything. but the clock ticks down to what you know is inevitable. wc: 7.9k

A constant chill sweeps through the streets of the N109 Zone, creeping into the compound as you exchange flowy shirts and iced tea for thick sweaters and hot cocoa. It’s on one of these nights just past the first snowfall, towards the end of November, when he finds you in the kitchen minutes after midnight. Sitting alone, lighting a candle atop a puny cupcake.

“Just what do you think you’re doing?” His voice rumbles through the kitchen, startling you and breaking your focus. The lighter slips from your grasp, falling and smudging the frosting. Well, shit. You didn’t exactly prepare a backup.

“Uhm,” You stare guiltily at him like a deer caught in the headlights. There was no way you were getting out of this one, were you? Not when he’s standing with his arms crossed, disappointed, like a parent who’s caught their child red-handed.

He pinches the bridge of his nose in quiet frustration, “Please. Please. Do not tell me that today is what I think it is.”

“Surprise?”

“Surprise? Is that all you have to say for yourself?” His eye twitches. Even on your own birthday, you don’t fail to surprise him at every turn. Here you are, having thrown such lovely and thought-out celebrations for everyone’s birthdays, settling for a cupcake and a lonely celebration on yours. “Why on earth would you decide to keep this information from me?”

“Well, it’s just a birthday. I didn't feel the need to have a lot of celebration this year." The answer is nowhere enough to appease him, judging by his stern gaze.

You knew this world had a lot to offer; you had barely explored the criminal underbelly that was the N109 Zone, barely stepped into the shining beacon that was Linkon city. You were sure there was more than enough to fill in the gaps of your bucket list. But nothing could match the reckless but youthful adventure of getting lost with life-long friends. Nothing could live up to the warmth and solace of being surrounded by family, as you blow the candles on another year.

You try to keep it all buried under the surface– but with a sigh, you decide to cut open old wounds and bare a little more of your heart to him, “There was more to be sad about than to be happy, I guess. I had so many plans, so many people that I—“ You cut yourself off. Those heart strings were too fragile to be tugged at. “Well, now it’s all kind of gone to shit, huh?” You laugh bitterly.

Without missing a beat, Sylus asks, “And what were those plans?”

You reminisce on your old life, splitting the deformed cupcake with him as you recount plans that will never be. It hurts less than you expected it to, to breathe these lost wishes into existence for someone else to hear.

He listens intently, chiming in with similar experiences or places that he’s seen in this world– frankly, it reminds you of when your elders used to go on about their wisdom and their golden years. “Your age is showing, grandpa,” You tease him, and he lightly glares at you. You take the opportunity to ruffle his hair, “Your hair’s already silver, too.”

Eventually, your lunch break comes to an end, and you bid him goodbye as he returns to his office. You sigh as you clean up and throw away the candle you never even got to light. Oh well. There’s always next year.

Later that day you wake up in the afternoon, ready to start your shift— only to be greeted by streamers and balloons lining your path downstairs. “Happy birthday!” The whole house cheers as you enter the living room, decked out in all sorts of party favors. Even Sylus— the most notoriously unfestive man you’ve ever met— is wearing a cone shaped party hat striped with your favorite colors.

What follows is an impromptu day-off for everyone in the compound. (You feel an oncoming migraine thinking of how you’re going to readjust Sylus’s schedule, but that’s a job for future you.) They bring you to Linkon City, driving past the welcome sign as the sunset casts a pink glow over the horizon. It’s your first time visiting for leisure, your previous excursions into the city being solely for Onychinus business.

Sitting beside you at the wheel, Sylus participates in the idle chatter, but inwardly he feels ashamed. He's upset that you kept the date to yourself for so long; but more than that, he’s angry at himself for never having bothered to ask. So, in the final hours of your birthday, he does his best to make up for it.

The four of you drive around the city with Mephisto following from the skies, visiting various spots that were eerily similar to the ones you had described mere hours ago to Sylus. The itinerary matches your original plans to a T, as he drags you to every activity you had desired to partake in, lavishing you with all sorts of presents on the way.

Your last stop is a shopping center, to which you groan, already knowing the fate that awaits you. Sylus is the type to spend more than he needs to as a statement. He insists that you wait for him in the plaza, no doubt going off to the most luxurious store in the mall looking for a hefty price tag. You sit by the fountain, deserted due to the late hour, dangling your feet as you wait for him to return.

You gasp as a cold pair of hands suddenly covers your eyes. “Keep still, sweetheart,” He whispers in your ear, shocking you out of your bored reverie. You keep your eyes forward as he pulls your hair aside, breath hitching as he clasps a necklace around your neck, the cold metal brushing against your skin. It's a thin chain, with a gem of your favorite color set in an intricate frame. You don’t know much about jewelry or gems, but you can’t comprehend how much this must have cost. The way it sparkles and glints under the light makes it clear that it must have cost a fortune.

“Sylus, I can't accept this…” You turn around to face him. Just as when he took you shopping before the auction, it’s far too much. You’re not used to being spoiled, not used to treating yourself without deserving it first, and you tell him as much.

He tips your chin upwards with a feather-light touch, his gaze unreadable as he asks, “And who says my lovely secretary doesn’t deserve the world at her feet?”

The atmosphere shifts, the effortless ease at which you interact with him dissipating into stutters and heated stares. This tension follows you as you reunite with Luke and Kieran, the two having gone their separate ways to buy you their own present— a new set of knitting needles, and a mug with the words “World’s Best Secretary” that they’ve decorated to hell and back with rhinestones in your favorite colors.

The four of you spend the rest of the evening dining in a fancy restaurant, bypassing the queue with Sylus’s name alone. It’s a strictly no-work evening, as you bicker with the twins and coo at Mephisto (You have since learned he cannot digest food. It’s a shame, and you’ve been pestering Sylus to add it as his next upgrade.) You turn to him, casually silent throughout it all. All throughout the night you’ve been hyper aware of his heat pressed against your side, his thigh brushing against yours, even as he seems unaffected himself. He raises an eyebrow upon catching your gaze, “Are you enjoying yourself?”

You nod; a true, content smile on your face. It's not exactly the birthday you envisioned for yourself this year; the absence of your friends and loved ones still acts as a wide, gaping hole in your heart. But nonetheless, you now have a newfound family to spend your special day with— and that’s more than you could have ever expected.

When the cake is brought out— a fancy, two-tiered thing in your favorite color— you make a wish. It’s not about your wistful longing to go home. It’s not about your hopeless desire to wake up from this strange dream. It’s a wish for all your moments to be like this— heart full, and with family by your side.

After dinner, Luke and Kieran have to leave for a mission they couldn’t get out of. “Happy birthday,” They each greet you again with a hug and a disappointed goodbye, “Sorry we can’t continue the celebration back home.” You wave off their worries— there’s always more fun to be had once they come back.

“Boys, take the car,” Sylus tosses over the keys, “I'll be taking Treasure out for a spin. She’s been getting a little dusty, lately.”

The twins glance at each other with a knowing look, subtly looking towards you with a hint of mischief, “Oh, gotcha boss.” They lightly snicker as you two walk them to the parking lot.

“What's so funny?” You narrow your eyes, knowing very well by now that that look means nothing but trouble.

“Nothing to worry about, Ms. Secretary… Nothing to worry about. We’ll see you tomorrow,” Luke grins before rolling up the driver’s window.

About half an hour later, you deeply regret not listening to your instincts as you scream your head off, clung to Sylus's back like a koala as he goes faster than you thought was technologically possible. ”What the fuck— Sylus, slow down!” Your shout fades into a shriek, your screams of terror echoing throughout the empty road as he leans the motor til’ your knees are brushing against the pavement, a shit-eating grin on his face behind the visor of his helmet.

“Her name’s Treasure,” He said, pulling out the beast of a motorcycle from his Linkon safe house, introducing it to you as one of his most prized possessions. You don’t know what you were expecting when he tossed over a helmet and told you to hold tight, but you certainly didn’t expect to have a near-death experience on the day of your birth. He continues to rev up the engine, a hellish speed that shortens a fifteen minute trip out of Linkon to a mere three minutes.

You cling on for dear life, your whole body wound tightly in fear, and eventually he settles into a safer speed, adrenaline fading and allowing you to enjoy the night breeze. “Let’s take a little detour, hm?” You barely hear him over the rumble of the engine, making a turn just past the Linkon City welcome sign and to the opposite direction of the N109 Zone. He drives through the wilderness and the winding roads, bringing you to a rocky cliff side.

You gasp at the sight before you, taking off your helmet to admire it in all its glory. You could see the entirety of Linkon from here, a circuit board of lights and neon colors, casting a dim glow over the city skyline. It's rare to find a clear sky in the winter, giving way to the full moon and the sea of stars.

“Can we take a picture?” You ask hesitantly, fully expecting him to say no.

He nods, “You should have memories of your birthday.” Your jaw drops. There are only a handful of photos of him on record– he rarely ever lets anyone take a picture of him, out of caution on his identity being leaked.

As the one with the longer arms, you gesture for him to take the picture, posing for a selfie with the skyline in the background. But as he hands you the phone, genuinely satisfied with the photo after taking a look– you think, is he messing with you? The photo is blurry, the both of you a little bit out of frame, and his finger blocks the corner of the image.

You laugh in confusion; you genuinely cannot tell whether this is a prank or not. “Let’s take another one, I'll do it this time.”

You don’t know how long you two stay there, with your head laid against his shoulder, a quiet peace settling over you two as you talk about anything and everything. On the ride home, you find yourself flushing despite the winter chill. It’s a comfortable silence, yet your heart is thumping loudly against your chest. Does he hear how he makes you feel? You wonder as your eyes meet in the side mirrors, turning and burrowing your cheek into his warm shoulders. The journey home feels like an adventure coming to a close, street lights blinking against the night sky and quiet rumble of the few cars on the highway at this hour.

Before he retires to his bedroom, you place a soft kiss against his cheek. “Thank you for today.” You whisper before shutting the door behind you.

From then on, the air between you two shifts, becoming significantly more… tense. What were once casual interactions turn meaningful with every brush of your fingers, with every meeting of your eyes across the room. He's always lavished you with the sweetest of pet names; dear, darling, sweet girl. You assume it’s just how he is, given what you had seen of him from the game. But why does it make your heart race every time he refers to you with such terms of endearment? Why does it fuel your delusions of having something more?

—————————————————————

But of course, no matter how much the dynamic shifts and bends between the two of you, it doesn’t change the fact that with winter chill comes holiday tunes and festivities. You were absolutely appalled at their lack of holiday spirit in the previous years, “How can you run an organization like this?!” So, on the week before Christmas, you once again strong-arm Sylus into having your festive way at the Onychinus base.

It begins with you dragging your boss out to the nearest Christmas tree farm. “You’re rich enough to afford a real one,” You decide definitively. He rolls his eyes but drives you there anyway.

You two spend an hour walking through the farm with mugs of hot cocoa, eventually settling on a tree that you have to lug all the way back to base. You huff as you carry the other end of the cart, your breath coming out in clouds of condensed air ever since you two brought it out of the truck. You wheeze in exhaustion, “Are you even lifting?” You helplessly ask Sylus, who looks too nonchalant considering the literal tree you two were carrying.

“Oh? My bad,” Is all he says before swooping in with his evol, red tendrils wrapping around the trunk to carry it the rest of the way. You hold in the urge to scream and cuss at him. This man just loves to test your patience.

Each night on the week before Christmas goes similarly. The moment your work is done for the day, you drag the whole house into some sort of festive activity. Decorating the compound, baking a gingerbread house, making eggnog. Holiday tunes fill the Onychinus base 24/7 and for once, Sylus finds that he doesn’t mind. Not when he sees the way you dance to yourself when you think no one’s looking, the way you know the words by heart and hum them under your breath. But he doesn’t participate much, mostly checking in and making sardonic yet supportive comments before returning to his work.

One evening, he decides to bring his work to the living room while you’re setting up the tree. It was a great source of entertainment to see you struggle on your toes placing the ornaments, hoisting yourself up on whatever nearby surface was available to you. But even he found it a bit too pitiful to watch you struggle to place the star, too vertically challenged to place the finishing touch. Couldn’t you just get a ladder? “Let me help you,” His breath tickles your ear as he grabs your waist, lifting you up with one arm.

You squeal, gripping to him tightly and kicking at the air beneath you, “Sylus, what the fuck! Put me down!”

“Place the star, darling. While I'm still being nice." In the end, you call it a team effort, despite his only contribution being his role as a human ladder.

—————————————————————

Your mood has been nothing but jovial the whole week of Christmas, caught up in nothing but festivities in anticipation of the holiday. And so, it disturbs him when the eve of the 25th arrives and you’re downtrodden. A shell of your typical self. He's never seen you like this before— absentminded and listless, it takes you a whole minute to realize he’s calling your name for the grand Christmas dinner you had insisted upon. “I'm fine, just a bit sleepy,” you explain as he voices his worries. He doesn’t believe you, not one bit, judging by the way his eyes continue to follow you through the rest of the night.

You open presents with everyone at midnight, gathered around the fireplace with the whole Onychinus family. This time, you knitted Sylus a scarf; he wraps it around himself immediately, already knowing it’ll be a staple in his closet for the winter months to come. He looks to his right and sees Mephisto with a matching, tiny version around his neck.

Meanwhile, you were overwhelmed upon unwrapping the large present addressed to you and finding a high-grade coffee machine, one of the fancy ones with a latte art feature. How did he know? You narrow your eyes at him across the room, a satisfied smirk twisting his face. You’ve never said anything about it, only looked at the ads and the site out of boredom and curiosity. (Simple answer: He had Mephisto spy on you when you were scrolling your phone.)

You smile and thank everyone at the right cues, but he can tell your heart’s not in it. Physically, you celebrate and have your childish fun with the twins, dancing to merry tunes and having all-out warfare with the crumpled wrapping paper littering the floor. But mentally, you were far away— your eyes speaking of a grief none of them could begin to comprehend. Once the cookies are nothing but crumbs and the wrapping paper is all cleaned up, he decides to take you to the rooftop to ask what’s wrong.

“Come on, let’s get some fresh air,” He invites you, donning his coat and boots.

You throw him a skeptical look, “In this frigid temperature? Are you insane? I'm already shivering here inside,” You fake-shiver dramatically just to prove your point.

“Well then, isn’t it fortunate you just received a plethora of winter clothes for the holiday?” He gestures to the pile of fancy, designer items you had folded on top of the coffee machine’s box. You’ve long since learned to pick your battles with this man– and it is simply not worth it anymore to argue with how he spends his money.

“Well-played,” You begrudgingly acquiesce, following him up to the rooftop where you sniffle from the cold air biting at your nose.

You’ve spent countless nights here in the warmer months, the only place where you could pretend the N109 Zone wasn’t the bloody death trap it truly was, shining under the glow of the moonlight and the stars littering the sky. Only from the top– from an untouchable position of power– could this wretched, dangerous city look so beautiful.

“What's on your mind?“ Sylus asks, breaking the peaceful quiet. “You haven’t been yourself all evening.” It faintly reminds you of those nights in spring, wind brushing against your cheeks as you slowly began to let down the barriers of your heart, the terror of slumber softened by the comfort of company. A lot has changed since then, you think. But at the same time, there’s a lot that hasn’t.

“I—“ You hesitate, planning on brushing it off like you always do. But then you realize: you trust Sylus, more than anyone else in this world.

And so, you decide to bare your heart to the only person who holds enough of it to break it.

It's a bittersweet Christmas for you, the first you’ve ever spent away from home. For the first time since you were whisked away to this surreal world, you speak of your original life. Your family. Your friends. Your dreams. A fragile boundary that you haven’t touched with anyone here, for it hurts too much to speak of what you left behind. (No, not left behind. Taken away from you.)

You try to string sentences together, try to give justice to the people who brought meaning to your life, to the reckless and stressful and beautiful joy of your old world— but how do you capture all that you’ve lost in mere words? It's too much. You feel your chest cave under the weight of these emotions, far too heavy for one heart to handle. “I miss them so much,” Your voice cracks, small tears streaming down your cheeks— but he offers you a quiet grace and says nothing of it. It’s such a painfully simple sentence to express the torrent that devastates you— and yet, he understands.

The night softens people in ways that can only be done in the haze of darkness, revealing a vulnerability too fragile for the harsh rays of the sun. And thus, it is here beneath snowfall and starry skies, where he sheds his claws and his barriers, telling you of his search for the other half of his soul. He speaks of a similar homesickness, finding kinship with you through loss, as he’s waited what seems like a millennia for the person he calls his home. You already know, of course, that sooner or later he will meet her again. It was inevitable, written into the cards as it was written into code. This world was once your favorite game, and you had shed tears at their loss, at their cursed fate. You stay silent, listening to the tragic tale from the man himself.

His eyes speak of so many more untold truths— of love hidden deep in the crevices of his heart, taking root in his chest for the past millennia and shaping the man he’s become. “I had never known love until I found her.” He speaks of her with such fondness sparkling in his eyes, an adoration reserved for his one and only— his sorceress, his soulmate. It makes you hurt for this man, for the trials he’s endured in the name of true love. But it is also a bitter reminder that you have no place by his side.

Although you stay by his side and offer him words of comfort, deep inside you also want to claw at him. Force his eyes on you so you can feel even a smidgen of that pure adoration for yourself. But you can only feel bitter guilt taking root inside you. After all, who are you to meddle in their tale? Who are you to rival fate itself?

It is winter solstice now, a period marked by a perpetual chill and the longest nights of the year. Your relationship with Sylus is one that has prospered in darkness; taking root in the midnight hours, your most tender and vulnerable moments allowed only under the cover of the night sky. But inevitably it will be overshadowed by the return of summer and with it, his soulmate— the woman who brought sunshine to his darkest days.

—————————————————————

On New Year’s Eve, he doesn’t even give you the chance to feel homesick. The moment the sun rises, he takes you on a joyride to Linkon City. It’s rare for you to see Sylus in the daylight; shrouded in sunshine rather than moonlight, surrounded by crowds rather than deserted streets. “I go here every year,” He boasts as he leads you to the temple fair, determined to make your first New Year’s Eve here memorable.

“Oh?” You’re rather surprised, given that he doesn’t exactly have a penchant for celebrating the holidays. But you smile, walking forward to match his stride, “Well then, I'll trust you to lead the way!”

He takes you around the fair— buying from the various food stalls he says are the best, watching the street performances he’s probably seen countless times before, doing all the festive gimmicks he knows you’ll love, even if it isn’t his cup of tea. He keeps you occupied, making sure you don’t even have a moment to feel sad.

At the front of the temple, you ask him to take a picture of you in front of the pretty backdrop. You pose for a few pictures, guided by his direction until he hands you the phone, “Tell me if you want me to take another.”

What greets you is the blurriest, most unflattering photo of you to exist in both your old and current world. You scroll through the rest of the pictures only to find they all hold the same level of (or rather, lack of) quality. You stare blankly at the screen and sigh, “This is good enough for me.” Everyone has their weaknesses, you suppose.

Although Sylus mentioned that he’s a regular here, you’re still quite surprised to see his words ring true when all of the vendors greet him warmly, recognizing him from years past. “Let the lady choose one! It’s on the house,” A vendor selling fortune bracelets tells him, overjoyed that he finally brought someone along. You scan the numerous pieces on display, your eyes landing on a small beaded bracelet— the tag marking its fortune for “a safe return home.”

Sylus gracefully does not comment on this as the vendor packs the bracelet, bidding you two a jovial goodbye.

The two of you sightsee for a while before finding yourself sitting across from each other at a caricature portrait booth, directed by the artist to, “Look into each other’s eyes! I’ll make sure to capture the lovely couple you are.” Neither of you step in to correct him. But the artist’s light mood quickly fades as he soon realizes the type of client he’s dealing with. “Miss, please stop moving,” He says for the millionth time, absolutely fed up with your silly behavior.

You cannot stop your smile from trembling, your eyes locked on Sylus’s as the two of you went head-to-head in a staring contest– which you promptly lost five seconds in by bursting into giggles. You’re about to keel over, cheeks puffed up from poorly restrained laughter. Meanwhile, Sylus is comically straight-faced, amusedly raising an eyebrow at your antics, “What's so funny? Is there something on my face?”

Afterwards, he stakes his claim on the portrait, “It’s only right, considering what a hard time you gave the artist,” He reasons, snatching the paper from your hands.

You slump and walk past him, grumbling, “I'd like to see him try to stay serious with your ridiculous face.”

But behind you, you don’t see how his eyes are locked on the sight of you captured in charcoal and ink, genuine glee transforming your face. You’ve never looked so beautiful, he thinks. Falling into a fit of uncontrollable giggles, shoulders momentarily free of the burden of all you’ve lost. He carefully stows the paper away, making a mental note to tip the artist extra.

When night falls over the city, he brings you to the tallest building in Linkon for the best view of the fireworks show. Despite the chilly air, his hand is warm in yours, clutching it in a tight grip as he wades through the crowd of people who had the same idea. Fortunately, you find a secluded corner where the two of you sit and sip your milk tea, talking about your new year’s resolutions.

“I don't do resolutions,” He waved a hand, unimpressed. “If I want to change an aspect of my life, I won't wait until the start of a new year to do so.”

“Boo, you’re no fun,” You stick your tongue out at him. He rolls his eyes, but he’s internally pleased with how well he’s distracted you thus far. “My resolutions are always the same. Exercise more, eat healthy, and save money!”

“Dear, there is a private gym back home that you haven’t touched even once,” Your heart flutters at the word home. A word that brings you melancholy on most days, but now fills your heart with domestic bliss.

“Well then, it’s perfect! I'll have no excuse not to start tomorrow.”

He shakes his head in fond exasperation. Your eyes are glued to the magnificent colors soaring through the sky, legs bouncing in time with the countdown. But unbeknownst to you, his gaze is entirely on you.

The world he lives in is a cruel and violent one, where people’s eyes sparkle with greed, envy, and lust. A part of him doesn’t understand how something as superficial as fireworks can bring people such joy, how holidays inspire a brief kindness in their hearts, as if it’ll make up for their sins the rest of the year. But maybe he can understand it, just a little bit now, he thinks. Because if it means seeing this look in your eyes again, so childlike and enchanted by the sight before you (the first time he’s seen happiness override the grief shadowing your eyes), then he would light the sky every night, just for you.

When the clock strikes midnight, you jump to give him a big bear hug. “Happy new year, Sylus!”

He cradles you in his arms, placing a gentle kiss on your forehead, “Happy new year.”

—————————————————————

Even the high-paced criminal world of the N109 Zone slows down on New Year’s Day, people burrowing in their homes to ward off the early January chill sweeping through the city. Work inside the Onychinus compound pauses as the world comes to a frosted standstill, and you spend a lazy morning with Sylus under fuzzy blankets and the warmth of the fireplace.

You don’t know how you ended up in this position. You’d gone straight to bed after returning from Linkon– a mere hour of slumber until you woke up breathless, heart racing from the shadows conjured by your own mind. You crept downstairs, hoping to find solace in the company of others. Of course, Sylus is still awake. “Can’t sleep?” He turns down the volume of the boxing match on the television, so you can settle in peacefully at his side. You stare listlessly at the violent match on the screen, listening to his peaceful humming, until you fall back asleep.

But come morning, you’ve woken up with your legs tangled in his. Wrapped in each other’s arms, his chest rises and falls against yours, your head tucked under his chin as his breath lands right against your ear.

It’s the first time you’ve seen Sylus in a deep slumber. You’ve fallen asleep countless times in his company, often waking up in your bedroom, carried back by him at some point while you were unconscious. Your heart flutters at the trust he’s shown you, but it also aches. It confuses you more as to where you stand. You know his heart still belongs to the hunter— there’s no doubt about it, with the grief that filled his eyes at the mention of her name, as he told you of the tragedy that befell them.

But at the same time, you’ve toed the fragile boundaries of your relationship far too much for you to be called just friends. In moments like these, a part of you foolishly believes that maybe you could occupy his heart, take things further without restraint. But neither of you take a step towards confronting it, just living in this in-between of not just friends, not just coworkers, but not lovers in any sense.

You breathe in his scent and painstakingly pull yourself away, trying your best not to disturb him. You can no longer deny how much you want this, how much you want him. You yearn to wake up everyday pressed against his warmth, arms wrapped around each other with distance being non-existent. But a larger part of you, the one with a sense of self-preservation, also knows this won’t lead to anywhere good. And so, you slip away in the early hours of the morning and decide never to speak of it again. Instead, you ponder over your place in his life— and how long it’ll be yours.

—————————————————————

Almost a year has passed since your arrival, and you’ve grown more accustomed to the harsh edges of your new job. It’s not exactly what you had envisioned for yourself. You had once hoped to start somewhere more in line with your aspiring career, somewhere you could make use of your degree. But as you’ve learned, plans don’t always work out. What you do is unorthodox, but it’s fulfilling and allows you to live in this dangerous world from a safe vantage point, almost like dipping your toes into a ten feet pool.

That doesn’t mean you’re completely sheltered from all the dangers of the job, however. Given the type of clientele you handle, more often than not, you’re faced with threats of being maimed over the phone when you can’t give somebody what they want. Each time, Sylus promptly takes over and matches their energy twicefold with a more heinous, yet very real threat.

The worst days are post-missions, when you have to witness your newfound family return bloody and bruised in the name of defending Onychinus. Anxiety fills your mind on the days of their missions, and you become conditioned to waiting with a first aid kit and a change of clothes for Luke and Kieran, patching up their wounds as soon as they step through the front door. But Sylus— you’d think he was invincible, with how he returns from even the most high-risk operations without a scratch.

That is, until one night when he walks through the front door, leaving a bloody trail in his wake. His evol is working overtime to knit his skin back together, but the blood still pools beneath him on the marble tile.

It's early January, almost a year since your arrival into this world. But you vividly remember the injuries that plagued you those first months, and the struggle to take care of yourself— washing your hair with a broken shoulder, eating your food with a fractured wrist. Most of all, you remember the loneliness of your hospital room. How you secretly sought his company; because despite your fear, his visits were better than the loud silence that filled your days.

Sylus has been in this business for decades, has probably been injured like this far too many times to count. You think to yourself— how often has he had to go to sleep caked in blood, far too tired to care for himself? How many times has he faced the aching loneliness after a mission gone wrong?

So, you resolve to stick by him despite his insistence that he can handle it. You know his injuries will only linger for another day at most, but still, you survey him with a keen eye, spotting the flinch of his shoulders when he tries to reach for the painkillers on his shelf. You clock the injury even if he hasn’t mentioned the pain– and it leads to you sitting by the edge of the tub, washing his hair for him.

“I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself,” He shrugs you off, his words less biting than he intended under the influence of his medication, “This is nothing new to me.”

“I know very well how capable you are, but it doesn’t mean you have to take care of yourself alone.” You pester him some more, and he begrudgingly hands you his shampoo. You squeeze out a dollop and gently run the foam through his hair, thoroughly covering every spot. You hold back a giggle; he looks like a tamed lion, eyes shut in bliss as you massage the sides of his head.

When he comes out of the bathroom, robed and bandaged, he’s just about ready to knock out. You stay by his side through the night as he recovers, listening to hitched breaths and deluded murmurs about a time long past. The whisper of an ever-so-familiar name. The analog clock ticks every second, and it only solidifies the knowledge that your time by his side is limited. Things have been going far too well; but soon enough, your world will be upended again.

You grip his hand in yours throughout the night. But it’s not your hand to hold.

—————————————————————

The prophecy fulfills itself on the tenth day of January, marking a year since you first entered this world. The whole base knows exactly what day it is, and you feel them handling you with more care, treating you like a bomb about to detonate. It bothers you. It’s not as if you’re made out of glass (even if you feel you’re about to shatter at any moment). On your break, you decide to leave for the rooftop for a brief reprieve.

When you return, the phone rings, and it’s as if god has chosen to send a punchline your way.

You wish you didn’t answer the phone. You wish you didn’t speak to the business associate who held the information Sylus was apparently desperate for. You wish you didn’t have to inform him of the cryptic news. You wish you weren’t there in the office when an underling comes to deploy the intel. Because it only confirmed what you knew all along was coming: a hunter with a protocore in her heart.

Her picture is projected in a hologram, and somehow, you automatically know it’s her. It’s uncanny, how alike the two of you look. From the corner of your eye, you even see Sylus do a double-take as the image fully renders. Maybe if the situation was different, you would’ve wondered at the physics of it all. Maybe you would have been more hungry to understand the science behind how you ended up here, to understand the connection between you and the hunter. But your curiosity has been overshadowed by heartbreak.

You know what’s coming. You know the end of your time here is nearing. The past year has lulled you into a false sense of security, one you desperately tried to believe in— but you can’t. You’re no longer the glass half-full kind of person you once were. Life chewed you up and spat you out to fend for yourself in this new world, and you know your hopes will only get crushed. Because seeing the longing and disbelief in his eyes, as he comes to terms with his lover being within reach; it only cements the fact that you have no chance. Never had a chance.

(Already, you can feel a love that was never yours slipping from your grasp.)

You feel the change in the air the next few days, and you’re suffocated by it. You find yourself growing lonelier; this compound never seemed so large and empty before. Luke and Kieran become busier than ever, collecting information on the hunter while going about their usual responsibilities. Even Mephisto is out on the field, with the new task of following (or rather, stalking) his new target.

Sylus has sent the headquarters into a frenzy for this woman— but you? He has you go about as usual. No extra responsibilities, like he wants you to remain untouched by the business of his past love. (It’s far too late for that.) Rather, it seems he’s actively seeking you out. On days where he isn’t spent with the task of balancing his search with his regular Onychinus duties, he seems to gravitate towards you, looking for any excuse to be in your company.

But you? You try desperately to avoid him. You sneak around him like a mouse in a cat’s territory, stepping around glass and limiting your interactions to work, treating him with an amicable professionalism. It's like a cold glass of water has been poured over him. Even when you two were no better than strangers, you had never treated him so clinically. You can tell he’s hurt and confused by your behavior, but you shove down the guilt— because this is what you need to do to protect your heart.

At some point, he eventually manages to catch you, pulling you aside with the ominous words no one wants to hear, “Dear, I think we should talk.”

Your eyes well up in tears but you try your best to blink it away. It’s one thing to know, another to be confronted by it. The knowledge that what you have can’t continue is already ruining you, and you think you might break if he voices into existence. “What's there to talk about? What you’ve always wanted is almost in your hands.”

Sylus flinches at the total defeat in your voice. He can feel that you’re putting up boundaries with him— ones that he should’ve held in place, with how his heart is already taken by another. But little by little you crept into his life, into his heart, carving your place in it. And now, he doesn’t know what to do with the pain of you closing yourself off from him.

But like always, you smile and try to soften the blow, “It’s okay, Sylus. I'm happy for you. I mean it,” You lie through your teeth. Despite how much pain this forced happiness inflicts on you, you will never have it in you to purposefully hurt him.

—————————————————————

Over the span of a year, you had become one of Sylus's closest confidants. He treats you with all the gentleness and care in the world, revealing to you softer sides of him— ones that you knew existed in the game, and ones that you discovered for yourself. You feel honored that he trusts you with these facets of himself, but you also feel a tremendous guilt.

Because what Sylus doesn’t know is that he was your favorite. Facing burnout in your final year of university, you began to cope with a game suggested to you, becoming engrossed with one of its newest characters. He'd drawn you to him with his soft treatment of the main character, juxtaposed with his violent nature and line of work. Your heart had fluttered at every tender moment, each call and text message, each appearance in the main story. You had passingly indulged in the delusions of romance with a fictional man, a small part of your day to cope with the struggles of your reality.

When you landed in this world, there was a cognitive dissonance as you came to terms with the difference between the 2D character that lived on your phone screen and the living, breathing person in front of you. For a long time, you were too focused on your new situation to even think of the implications of your fictional crush being in close, real proximity. He hadn’t trusted you, either. You could feel his suspicion in each interaction, as he contemplated what to make of you.

At the time, you thought that by now, surely you would have woken up from this coma-induced hallucination already. Surely you would have woken back up in your reality. But as you grew to accept that the situation you’re in is as real as the blood that runs through your veins, came to terms with the likelihood that you may be stuck there for the foreseeable future— before you knew it, he had crept into your heart.

You don’t know when it started. All you know is that his presence in your life is more than the surface-level distraction it once was in your reality. No, Sylus— the living person who offered you a place in this world, who indulged you in your lowest moments, who makes your heart race like no other— has you wrapped around his finger. He could ask anything of you, and your heart could do nothing but surrender to his whims.

But in the back of your head, always lurking, is the distant reminder of the main character. The vivacious hunter whose life is tied to his. The other half of his soul. She looms in the background of every moment, a constant reminder of what you cannot have. There’s no chance you could ever come between something destined by the universe itself, so you yield in the face of their cosmic love. You shove away your feelings and resign yourself to finding a way back home, desperately, before this world forces you to lose a love you never even had.

—————————————————————

What you don’t know is that he’s desperately blocking off every potential lead back to your world, not wanting to face a reality where you are not in his life.

He finds himself conflicted, because his soul is tied to her. His sorcerer now reborn as the hunter, his soulmate, the one he has yearned for for what feels like a millenia. But here you are, his lovely secretary, the woman who forces him into mundane festivities and stays by his side for all his highs and all his lows. His love for his soulmate was forged in fire and blood; but this? This new love is bathed under golden light, born out of mutual care and an unexpected connection.

He has tried to keep his thoughts loyal and true to the love he has been seeking for centuries— but he can no longer deny the pull he feels towards you. The two images war in his head; the dragon roaring at how distracted he’s become from searching for his mate, and the man, falling fast and hard for a woman from another world, brought to him by pure fate.

His search for his long-lost love continues, but alongside it are his attempts to tie you down to his world, to keep you in his grasp. Because he cannot, will not, live without you.

He will watch the world burn before he lets it take another love away from him again.

—————————————————————

It all comes to a head when you hear a familiar voice raging through the corridors, wrecking a storm through the compound as she is brought here unwillingly. Sylus and the twins coming back with the hunter— bloody and bruised from her disastrous entry into the N109 Zone. Here it is. Your time is up.

For two people who are often so shamelessly true to themselves, both you and Sylus are the type whose true feelings are never encapsulated by mere words, whose eyes speak more of their soul than sentences ever could. Knowing this, you avoid his eyes. You shield your hurt in forced happiness, as he hides his internal conflict behind a cold veneer.

The two of you continue in this cycle of push and pull, of moving closer but not close enough. You live in a limbo, desperately searching for ways to get home before the main storyline catches up to you. Haunted by the narrative, you two move in and out of each other’s orbit, just out of reach. Just out of bounds.

—————————————————————

for any reveluvs here, i listened to night drive the whole time i was writing the motorcycle scene<33 (for non-reveluvs u should go check it out its an absolute banger) also, SYLUS’S BDAY MEMORY 🥹 his bday scene in the previous chapter is no longer canon-compliant considering the event story… (like UGH ofc this man never told anyone 😩) but i do find it funny how in this story the reader is the one who hides it from him; taste of his own medicine LOL. i headcanon that she remembered his bday from the game and shocked him to his bones when he saw the exact date plotted on their calendar

feel free to dm/comment on the series masterlist if you'd like to be added or removed from the taglist 💕

taglist — @mangooes @mentaltrouble2201 @animegamerfox @crazy-ink-artist @phisen @jeondyy @t4naiis @wifunozomi @munimunni @blessdunrest @rafayelridesfisheatsfish @paintedperidot @mansonofmadness @pillarofsnow @sylususeyourevolonmepls @angelichiaro @mephisto-with-a-knife @crimsonmarabou @hikaru-sama @flamedancer13 @tati-the-fangirl @ameili @poptrim @caramelizedpopcirn @cupid-gene @vvonunie @lunia-likes-pomegranet @iamawkwardandshy @tinyweebsstuff @astolary @vyntheria @theloveofnagiseishiroslife @velourmobius @beaconsxd @hon3yydew @kira-loves0905 @codedove @that-lost-one @colonelcalebs-pipsqueak @kaiii07 @bohoooitsme @everythingistaken00 @rmjace @red-raf-sy @goddexxluv @seris-the-amious @stellisangelicus-world @alhaith4ms @young-adult-summer @junrui

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belli5 · 7 days ago

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Bestfriend's bestfriend .ᐟ ೀMC⁷¹

╰ Synopsis Will’s best friend and his teammate start to fall for each other, during a family dinner, they sneak outside and finally share a kiss they’ve both been waiting for.

Tags/contains Fluff, Macklin Celebrini x fem!reader. Kissing(grow up pls??), light jealousy(implied), cute awkward teens in love.

➺ from Sera, to you 📨. The gif is so funny to me 😭😭. Also could you tell what is my favourite picture of Mack?

masterlist ᥫ᭡ please reblog this fic if you enjoyed it! Please do NOT rewrite/repost my work anywhere else without permission!

You and Will had been best friends since before you could even talk.

Your moms had met at a prenatal yoga class, back when both of them were pregnant, hormonal, and in desperate need of someone who didn’t judge their swollen ankles or chocolate cravings. That friendship bloomed fast and fiercely, so naturally, the moment you and Will were born just weeks apart, you were unofficially adopted into each other’s families.

Birthday parties were always joint, sleepovers were co-ed and entirely normal, and even when puberty made things awkward for about six months, your friendship never cracked. Will was the kind of guy who knew your Starbucks order by memory and sent your mom a Mother’s Day text every year. And you? You knew all his pre-game rituals and had listened to him rant about line changes since peewee hockey.

So when Will was drafted and moved to San Jose, it wasn’t a question of if you’d be visiting, it was how soon and how often.

You showed up with a duffel bag and an iced coffee for him the first weekend after he got settled in.

“You know, my teammates are gonna think we’re dating,” he told you, swinging your bag over his shoulder like it was nothing.

You rolled your eyes. “Let them. Maybe they’ll leave you alone.”

Will snorted. “Doubtful. These guys are vultures.”

He wasn’t wrong. Will had been drafted alongside another top pick, Macklin Celebrini, buzzed about constantly, hyped as the future of hockey, and Will had clicked with him almost instantly. Their friendship wasn’t much different than yours and Will’s, just with more chirping and endless hours of hockey.

Which is exactly why he was so excited to introduce you. “You’re gonna love Mack,” he said as the two of you walked into the team apartment. “He’s like… me if I was more Canadian, and way more obsessed with protein powder.”

You snorted. “Wow. Sounds like the love of my life.”

Will grinned, unlocking the door. “Don’t say that too loud. He might fall in love with you instead.”

You didn’t think much of it. Will always joked like that, teased you about guys at school or the poor souls who tried sliding into your dms. But the moment you walked in, Mack turned around from the kitchen, and suddenly, you understood why Will brought him up so much.

The first thing you noticed? He was stupidly cute. Tall, broad shoulders under a worn out hoodie, with messy hair and soft green eyes that lit up the moment Will said, “This is my best friend I told you about, Y/n.”

Macklin smiled at you like you’d just stepped out of a dream. “Hey.”

You gave a little wave, casual. “Hey.”

Will blinked between you two. “Okay. Weird energy.”

“No?!” you said at the same time Mack said, “Nice to meet you.” You were already fighting a smile and so was he. And from that moment, Mack was done for.

He didn’t mean to fall head over heels for you, but It just happened.

At first, he tried to be chill. You were Will’s best friend, and Mack wasn’t about to step on that. But then you kept showing up, after practice, for movie nights, to hang out on weekends. And every time, Mack found himself watching you a little too closely.

The way you laughed with Will, how you pulled your hair up when you got frustrated, the way you leaned against the kitchen counter with a juice box in your hand like it was the most normal thing in the world.

He was completely wrecked. “Dude,” Will said one night, catching him mid stare.

Mack blinked. “What?”

Will looked at him like he was an idiot. “You’re in love with her.”

“I’m not.”

“You are. You look at her like she hung the moon.”

Mack shrugged, feeling his ears heat. “She’s cool.”

“She’s my best friend,” Will said, mockingly protective.

“I know that.”

Will narrowed his eyes, then leaned back on the couch. “Just don’t be weird about it. And don’t flirt in front of me. I’ll vomit.”

Mack rolled his eyes. “I’m not flirting.” But he totally was.

Little things, asking if you wanted the last slice of pizza (even when he really wanted it), remembering the drink you always grabbed from the gas station, offering to drive you home when it got late. He couldn’t help it, you were magnetic.

And the worst part? You were completely, blissfully unaware.

One night, after a Sharks home game, you came back to the apartment with Will and Mack to crash.

You were in your usual spot, Will’s couch, legs tucked under you, hoodie sleeves bunched around your hands. Mack watched you from the armchair, trying not to look too obvious about it.

“I don’t get how you guys still have energy after skating for hours,” you said, yawning. “I’d be horizontal for three days.”

“You are horizontal,” Will said.

“I meant in bed, idiot.”

Mack smiled, lips twitching. Will grinned, nudging him with his foot. “See? She’s violent. Not girlfriend material.”

You raised a brow. “Good thing I’m not dating you.”

“Ouch.”

Mack just shook his head, pretending not to be hanging on every word. Later, when Will dozed off halfway through a movie, you glanced over at Mack.

“He always does this,” you whispered, nodding to Will’s slumped figure. “I swear, his internal battery just shuts down.”

Mack laughed softly. “At least he’s predictable.”

You smiled at him and Mack felt it in his chest.“You’re really good for him,” you said. “He’s got a lot on his plate, but it’s nice knowing he’s got someone like you around.”

Mack blinked. “Me?”

“Yeah,” you said, voice gentle. “I can tell he trusts you.”

He looked at you for a second too long. “He trusts you more.”

You gave a soft shrug, like it was no big deal. “That’s different. We’ve been through everything together.”

“I wish I knew you back then.”

That surprised you. “What do you mean?”

Mack leaned forward slightly. “I don’t know. Just.. it would’ve been cool to grow up around someone like you.”

You paused, eyes studying him. “Well,” you said, smile tugging at your lips, “you’ve got me now.”

And he was screwed, after that night.

He found excuses to be around more when you visited. He started replying to your Instagram stories, reacting to your TikToks, sending you memes and dumb hockey jokes. Nothing serious, but enough that you started texting him too. Inside jokes formed quickly. You even got in the habit of stealing his hoodie when Will wasn’t looking.

When you both got really, really closer, it was when Will invited Mack to your both family dinner. It was tradition, Smith family dinners were a sacred thing.

At least once a month, your family and Will’s would get together for a big meal. There was always too much food, too many voices talking at once, and at least one heated debate over a card game by the end of the night.

This time, it was Will’s mom who hosted and this time, Will invited Macklin.

“Wait, you’re bringing Macklin to family dinner?” you asked, raising an eyebrow as you helped your mom pack up containers of pasta salad and garlic bread.

“Yeah, why not?” Will said casually. “You guys are obsessed with each other anyway.”

You stopped scooping salad. “We are not.”

He didn’t even look up from his phone. “You literally are.”

“You’re delusional.”

Macklin showed up looking painfully cute, clean hoodie, hair styled like always, a shy little smile when your mom hugged him like she’d known him for years.

He sat next to you at the dinner table. Not across, not near, but right next to you, thigh brushing yours every time either of you moved. And he didn’t move away and you didn’t either.

Everyone was in a good mood, your parents chatting with Will’s, the table loud with laughter and wine and the smell of roasted chicken. Will was busy challenging your dad to a ridiculous trivia game, which left you and Mack to yourselves for a moment, quietly stealing bites of dessert off the same plate.

You had asked Macklin if we wanted to step out with you, because you couldn’t help but seek the feeling of being alone with him.

You slipped away from the table without much fuss, everyone too distracted by dessert and wine refills to notice and the two of you wandered toward the side of the house, where it was quiet and cool and just a little bit dark. The sky was still holding on to the last hints of orange, stars barely starting to show.

You walked in silence for a few seconds until you both stopped at the edge of the driveway, leaning against Will’s dad’s parked truck.

At one point, he leaned over and said quietly, “Kinda feels like I’m crashing a family holiday.”

You smiled, bumping his shoulder with yours. “You’re not. They love you.”

His voice dipped lower. “What about you?”

You sighed, avoiding his question. “It gets kind of crazy in there.”

Mack nodded. “In a good way.”

You looked at him out of the corner of your eye. “You’re quiet tonight.”

“I’m thinking.”

“About?”

He hesitated. “You.”

You turned toward him fully now, heart kicking up just a little. “Oh?”

He shifted on his feet, suddenly bashful in a way you hadn’t seen before. “I was just trying to figure out if I should kiss you or not.”

You blinked. “Why would you even question it?”

Mack let out a breathy laugh, looking down at the space between you. “Because you’re Will’s best friend. And I didn’t want to ruin anything. But honestly?” He glanced up again, eyes soft and searching. “I’ve kinda wanted to kiss you since the day I met you.”

You stepped closer, just enough for your shoes to bump. “Mack,” you whispered, “just kiss me already.”

And he did, slow and gentle, his hands gently moving up to touch your jaw like he was scared to mess it up. But his mouth was warm and careful against yours, like he’d been waiting, like this meant something. And to you, it did.

When you pulled away, it was barely an inch. “I’ve kinda wanted to kiss you too,” you murmured.

Mack grinned, the nervousness falling away. “Okay, good.”

#belli5 #macklin celebrini x reader #macklin celebrini #mc71 #mc71 x reader #sj sharks #hockey #x reader #nhl hockey #nhl players #nhl #nhl imagine #san jose sharks

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writingsoftarnishedsilver · 5 months ago

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I think of mc being very protective of her friends being a orphan and all. someone says the gaunts are all dark wizards? they are in the hospital wing for two weeks under strange circumstances. someone starts a nasty rumor about why Anne really left hogwarts? The worst tripping hex gets everyone who repeats the rumor. someone insults sebastian, you better pray that mc didn't hear about it she's coming for you

The Things We Do for Family | Sebastian Sallow x Reader

oh I loooooved this concept!!!! THANK YOU FOR THE ASK, ANON. I really hope you enjoy reading as much as I enjoyed writing it!! :')

Words: ~5,200

Tags: Reader Insert, Female MC, No Y/N, No Hogwarts House, Humor, Protective MC

There are things that Hogwarts students simply know—unchallenged truths, whispered warnings passed down from year to year.

The Forbidden Forest is dangerous. Peeves is a menace. The best snacks at Honeydukes sell out by Saturday afternoon. Don’t trust the staircases to take you where you actually want to go. Never accept Garreth Weasley’s offer to ‘test something out’.

And, under no circumstances, should anyone fuck with your friends.

It isn’t official, of course. There’s no school decree, no printed rule in the Hogwarts handbook, it's not carved into the walls. It’s just… understood.

It’s not like you’re some fearsome monster or anything.

You’re a model student, by all accounts. Brilliant. Sharp. Precise. A skilled duelist, a quick thinker, someone who turns in their assignments on time, answers when called on, and doesn’t cause disruptions in class.

You don’t start fights. You don’t pick pointless arguments. You don’t openly break the rules—not in ways that can be proven.

You play the part well.

Because that’s what you had to do.

You grew up alone. No parents. No siblings. No one to step in when things got hard, no one to defend you when the world was cruel. When you were small, scared, and helpless.

So you learned.

You learned that no one was coming to save you. You learned that fairness was a lie, that justice only existed when you carved it out with your own hands. You learned that people could be awful for no reason other than that they could get away with it.

But now? Now, you have a family. Not by blood, but by choice.

And when someone speaks against them? Bad things happen.

The Ominis Incident

It started, as most things did, with a careless remark.

A fifth-year Ravenclaw—smart but not particularly bright—thought it would be amusing to make a joke at Ominis Gaunt’s expense. A cruel one. Something about how the Gaunts were all inbred lunatics, how it was only a matter of time before Ominis ended up just like the rest of his family.

The words reached your ears in the library, drifting from a table not far from where you sat.

"You know I hear they torture Muggles for fun—it’s practically a family tradition. Gaunts don’t have hobbies, just a long history of inbreeding and Crucio."

Laughter followed, a few snickers from their table, hushed but not nearly enough. Not nearly enough to keep you from hearing.

Your quill stilled mid-word, ink pooling in place. Across from you, Ominis sat straight-backed, his expression unreadable, but you saw the way his fingers tightened around the book he was holding, knuckles whitening from the force of it.

He wouldn’t say anything.

Ominis had spent years perfecting the art of indifference. Of carefully controlled expressions, of blank politeness that masked far too much. He never reacted to comments like these.

But just because he wouldn’t didn’t mean you wouldn’t.

You exhaled slowly, carefully. Then, without a sound, you closed your book and stood.

Not a word. Not a glare in their direction. Just a smooth, effortless departure, as if you had suddenly decided the library was boring and somewhere else required your attention.

The Ravenclaws barely noticed.

But they would. They absolutely would. Because Potions class was a very dangerous place. Especially for people who talked too much.

The next day, you walked to Potions without a care in the world.

Sebastian and Ominis flanked you, deep in conversation about some essay Sharp had assigned, with Sebastian whining dramatically about how unfairly long it was, while Ominis countered that perhaps he should have started it earlier than the night before it was due.

You weren’t really listening, because you already knew what was coming.

And sure enough—just as you reached the dungeon corridor—

BOOM.

The floor trembled slightly beneath your feet. A deep, echoing explosion, the unmistakable sound of a cauldron detonating mid-brew, followed almost immediately by the frantic shouting of students.

Gasps. Choking coughs. Someone let out a screech of absolute horror.

Sebastian and Ominis startled.

Sebastian’s head snapped up, eyes wide as he looked toward the dungeon doors. “What the hell—”

Ominis twitched beside you, tilting his head, as if straining to listen.

You? Didn’t even blink. You just kept walking, calmly, like nothing was amiss, like you hadn’t been expecting it for the last twenty-four hours.

Sebastian noticed. His gaze sharpened, flicking to you with a knowing squint. “That was—”

He hesitated. Then narrowed his eyes further.

“Okay,” he said slowly, “I know that face.”

You raised a brow. “What face?”

“That’s your I-did-something-but-you’ll-never-prove-it face.”

You tilted your head, feigning confusion. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Sebastian scoffed and Ominis rolled his eyes, deadpan. “Uh-huh.”

Then the dungeon doors burst open.

A thick cloud of green smoke billowed out, sending students stumbling and coughing into the corridor. And in the center of it all, a group of very, very green Ravenclaws.

They clawed at their own skin, staring down at their hands in absolute horror. Their faces were the exact shade of an overripe toadstool, splotchy and uneven, and every time they opened their mouths, their tongues flopped out two inches too long.

Hysteria ensued.

Students gasped, some shrieked, others tried not to laugh. Professor Sharp stormed out after them, looking beyond exhausted, already massaging his temples.

“I told you,” he said, pinching the bridge of his nose, “not to add the peppermint extract.”

“WE DIDN’T!” One Ravenclaw wailed, voice garbled from their too-long tongue. “I—I don’t know what happened! We did everything right!”

Sharp did not look convinced.

Sebastian looked at you, long and slow, a glint of admiration dawning in his eyes.

“Did you—”

“I did nothing.” You walked past him, as if the entire debacle were none of your concern. “I was with you all day, wasn’t I?”

Sebastian’s lips twitched. “Yeah, but—”

“No proof, no crime.” You gave him a cheerful smile before stepping into the classroom.

Sebastian grinned. “Oh, I love you.”

It was offhanded, thoughtless, a casual jest, but it sent a sharp, pleasant warmth down your spine.

You didn’t react, though. Just smirked, settling into your seat. Because the message had been sent.

And Ominis Gaunt would never hear a word against his name again.

The Anne Incident

Rumors at Hogwarts were a force of nature.

They swirled through the halls, slipping between whispered conversations and behind cupped hands, growing more twisted with each retelling.

Some were harmless—who was dating who, which professor had it out for which student, the occasional Did you hear Peeves stole all the ink from the Ravenclaws again? But some? Some were cruel.

And this one... this one was about Anne Sallow.

It started at breakfast, when you overheard a group of Slytherin sixth-years in the Great Hall. You weren’t eavesdropping—not intentionally—but you had a habit of noticing things, of hearing too much when you weren’t meant to.

"Did you hear about Sallow’s sister?"

"Yeah, I heard she went mad."

"Lost it completely. The curse must’ve rotted her brain."

"That’s why she left, isn’t it?"

"Yeah, I heard she tried to hex someone in her sleep—"

Your fork warped in your grasp. A slow, controlled bend beneath your fingers, the metal bending in your grip.

Across from you, Sebastian had gone still.

He didn’t turn. Didn’t react. Didn’t give them the satisfaction.

But you saw the way his jaw clenched. The way his hand curled into a fist against the table. The way his entire body had gone taut, locked in place by sheer force of will.

He wouldn’t do anything.

Not because he didn’t want to. Not because he wasn’t capable of it—because he was.

Sebastian Sallow could be ruthless. You knew that better than anyone. You’d seen it firsthand, the sharp edges of his temper, the way his rage burned hot and all-consuming, leaving nothing but wreckage in its wake. You’d seen what happened when he felt cornered, when he thought he was out of options.

But he wasn’t that boy anymore. Because you and Ominis had dragged him back from the brink. Because you had looked him in the eye, years ago, when the dust had settled and the worst of it was over, and told him:

"You still have a future. Don’t throw it away."

Against all odds, he had listened. And now, this was his last year at Hogwarts and he was going to be an Auror. He was going to start over. Prove that he wasn’t just some reckless, violent delinquent one step away from Azkaban.

So no—he wouldn’t react. He wouldn’t take the bait. Wouldn't defend Anne, no matter how badly he wanted to. Wouldn’t let himself be dragged down into the same pit he’d barely crawled out of.

Sebastian was playing the long game.

But you? You weren’t.

Your revenge on Anne's behalf started small. Almost imperceptible.

The first Slytherin—the one who had started the conversation in the first place—was walking to class when it happened.

A single misstep.

His foot caught on something—thin air, perhaps—and he staggered forward, arms flailing in a desperate attempt to right himself. It didn’t work. His books went flying, parchment scattered across the stone corridor, and a bottle of ink tumbled from his bag, shattering upon impact and staining his robes in an ugly, irreversible mess of black.

A small accident. An unfortunate case of bad luck.

No one thought anything of it—until the second one fell.

In the exact same spot.

And then the third. And the fourth.

By the time lunch rolled around, all four of them had tripped at least half a dozen times each.

It wasn’t just limited to the corridor, either. They stumbled on staircases, barely catching themselves before they could go tumbling down. They walked straight into walls as if the castle itself had turned against them. One even managed to trip over absolutely nothing in the middle of the Great Hall and landed face-first into his own soup.

The snickers started soon after. The sideways glances. The poorly hidden laughter from classmates who found their sudden clumsiness far too entertaining.

It wasn’t enough to be suspicious.

Not yet.

Not until the moving staircase.

The ringleader of the group had spent too much time lingering in the courtyard after lunch, chatting up a group of girls who barely tolerated his presence. He realized too late that he was running behind and bolted toward Charms, racing up the moving staircases with zero grace and even less caution.

And then his foot caught.

There was nothing there. No loose stone or shift in the staircase, nothing at all to explain why he suddenly lost his footing.

But he did.

He stumbled backward, arms flailing wildly, fingers grasping at empty air as the momentum carried him too far—

And he plummeted.

Three flights.

A blur of robes and limbs, a crash of bone against stone, and then a sickening thud as he landed in a groaning, crumpled heap at the bottom.

A hush fell over the corridor.

Then—

Shrieking.

His friends rushed down to him, voices panicked, eyes wide with horrified realization as they took in his bruised, trembling form.

A girl ran to fetch Madam Blainey.

By the time she arrived, he was whimpering, clutching his arm like it might’ve snapped.

Hospital Wing. Immediate bed rest.

No one could explain what happened. No professor could find a cause. Some students claimed the stairs had shifted unexpectedly. Others swore that they saw nothing—no trick step, no loose stones, just an unseen force pulling him down.

It didn’t matter.

The moment he was carried off, you finally allowed yourself to smile.

Not a smirk. Not a grin. Just the smallest, most satisfied twitch of your lips.

Sebastian caught it. Because of course he did. He had been standing beside you the whole time. Silent. Still. Watching from the moment that asshole Slytherin stumbled earlier that morning to the moment he was carted off for medical attention.

And now? Now, he just exhaled, long and slow, shaking his head as his mouth curved into something unreadable.

“You’re dangerous,” he murmured, voice low.

You hummed, tilting your head in faux curiosity. “Am I?”

Sebastian turned fully then, facing you. His gaze searched your face, for guilt perhaps. For remorse. For something that might suggest you hadn’t meant for it to happen.

But there was nothing.

No trace of hesitation. No flicker of shame.

You were calm, collected, an completely unapologetic. Because nobody talked about Anne Sallow like that without consequence.

Sebastian blinked. Then, to your absolute delight, he grinned. Wide. Slow. A sharp, wicked thing.

“Yeah. You're very dangerous” he said, almost in awe.

Your stomach twisted. You ignored it. Instead, you just shrugged, voice as casual as ever.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Sebastian’s grin deepened.

The Poppy Incident

Poppy Sweeting was one of the best people you knew.

Kind-hearted, patient, and too good for the world, really. She spent more time in the company of magical creatures than she did with most people, and honestly? You couldn't blame her.

Because people could be cruel.

You first heard it one afternoon in the courtyard. A group of girls whispering amongst themselves, giggling behind their hands. You hadn’t been paying much attention—until you heard her name.

"Honestly, she’s weird."

"I know, right? It’s like she’d rather date a bloody Hippogriff than an actual person."

"Wouldn’t be surprised if she actually has."

Laughter, sharp and mocking. Like Poppy Sweeting was a joke. Like she was less than because she chose kindness over cruelty, creatures over people who didn’t deserve her time in the first place.

You turned your head and watched as one girl—a Hufflepuff, ironically—rolled her eyes, shaking her head in exaggerated exasperation.

"Beast-lover," she muttered, nose wrinkled like the word itself was distasteful. "It's unnatural, really. No wonder she doesn't have any friends outside of her precious Mooncalves."

Something cold and sharp settled in your chest.

You had no doubt Poppy had heard it. She was standing just a few paces away near the fountain, hands clenched tight at her sides.

She didn’t react. Didn’t turn. Didn’t say anything. She just exhaled, slow and quiet, like she was forcing herself to let it go.

You wouldn’t.

The next morning, that very same Hufflepuff woke up covered in fur.

Not all over, just her face.

A thick, fluffy coat of golden-brown fuzz, soft as a Puffskein, sprouting in wild patches across her forehead, cheeks, and chin.

According to Poppy, the screams started immediately, and the entire girls dormitory had woken up to it.

The girl, who turned out to be a fifth-year, had flown into a hysterical panic, shrieking as she bolted for a mirror, hands frantically scrubbing at her face like she could rub the fur away.

She couldn’t.

It was a very specific hex. One that lasted exactly one week.

Professor Ronen was baffled.

Madam Blainey was thoroughly fascinated.

And Professor Howin, bless her, had cooed over her like she was the most adorable thing she’d ever seen. You had a front row seat to the entire thing during Beasts class.

“This is truly fascinating,” she’d said, holding the girl’s chin and turning her face slightly toward the light. “I don’t believe I’ve ever seen transfiguration manifest quite like this! And so soft—feels just like a Kneazle’s coat, doesn’t it?”

The best part? It wasn’t harmful. It wasn’t painful. Just… humiliating.

You considered it a job well done.

When Howin had dismissed you for lunch, Poppy pulled you aside. She didn't say anything at first. Just stared.

You blinked at her, tilting your head. “Everything alright?”

Poppy squinted. Narrowed her eyes slightly. Huffed.

"You did that, didn’t you?"

You blinked again.

Because Poppy—sweet, gentle, pacifist Poppy—did not accuse people of things. Which meant she was completely certain.

You just smiled, giving her your most innocent expression. “I have no idea what you mean.”

Poppy just sighed, shaking her head. But then—just for a moment—she smiled.

Small. Subtle. Grateful.

Like she knew exactly what you’d done. Like she knew there was no use arguing, no point in telling you not to go to such lengths for her.

And then, without a word, she reached out and squeezed your hand.

The Natsai Incident

You had never liked Callum Thorne.

Seventh-year. Gryffindor. Arrogant. Loud-mouthed. The kind of person who had never been told no in his life and walked through Hogwarts like the world owed him something.

You’d tolerated him for years, mostly because you hadn’t needed to interact with him much. But this? This was different.

You were starting the day with Defense Against the Dark Arts. Professor Hecat had yet to arrive, leaving the class unsupervised and giving Thorne the perfect opportunity to make a scene.

Natty was speaking with Poppy near the front of the room, voice calm as she explained something about the Ministry’s policies on magical creatures in Africa compared to Britain. She wasn’t being loud, wasn’t even arguing, just explaining.

That’s when Thorne scoffed.

“Merlin’s sake, Onai, give it a rest,” he sneered from the back of the room, tossing his quill onto his desk with an exaggerated huff. “Do you ever get tired of standing on that bloody soapbox of yours?”

The room went still.

Natty turned, slow and deliberate, her expression unreadable, regarding him with that same poised, unshaken calm that made her such a force to be reckoned with.

“I was simply having a discussion,” she said smoothly. “No one is forcing you to listen, Thorne.”

“Right,” he drawled. “Except you never shut up about it. Always talking about ‘justice’ and ‘change’ like you think you’re going to fix the whole bloody world.” He smirked. “News flash, Onai—no one cares.”

A few of his friends chuckled.

Your fingernails dug into your palm.

Natty didn’t react—not outwardly, anyway. She just exhaled, slow and measured, and turned back to Poppy like his words had been nothing more than an inconvenience.

You? You were already plotting his downfall, and luckily, Callum Thorne was a creature of habit.

He always stayed out after curfew to flirt with whatever unfortunate girl he had chosen that week, and he always went up to the Astronomy Tower afterwards with his friends to play cards and drink whatever contraband alcohol they’d smuggled into the castle.

Which made him the perfect target.

That night, as the seventh-year tidied up the cards, stretching and yawning, likely already thinking about his warm bed waiting for him—

His legs froze in place. Not a Full Body-Bind. No, this was different.

A soft, subtle hex. A slow, creeping sensation, his feet adhering to the stone beneath him, then his calves, then his thighs.

By the time he realized something was wrong, it was too late.

He tried to step forward—failed. Tried to yank himself free—failed.

And then—with agonizing slowness—his entire body began to lift off the ground. No warning. No control.

He drifted upward, weightless, helpless, arms flailing as the stone ceiling came closer and closer—

And then, with a soft thump, he was stuck. Face-down, body pressed flat against the Astronomy Tower ceiling.

His screaming started immediately.

Loud. Panicked. A complete meltdown.

His friends, who had started their walk down the tower came bolting back up the stairs at the sound of his shouting.

“What the—?” one of them started, eyes wide as they gawked at the ceiling.

“Thorne?” another asked, dumbfounded.

You bit the inside of your cheek, holding back laughter as you hid beneath your disillusionment charm.

“GET ME DOWN!” Thorne bellowed, arms and legs flailing uselessly against the stone. “WHAT THE BLOODY HELL IS THIS?”

His friends stared, uselessly waving their wands, muttering counterspells that only resulted in Thorne spinning in slow circles, howling in distress.

When they realized they were utterly helpless, panic completely set in.

“What do we do?” one of them asked, looking between the others with wild eyes. “Should we get a professor?”

Thorne snarled. “NO! DO NOT—”

But it was too late. Because at that very moment, the Astronomy Tower door swung open once again, and a very tired, very unimpressed Professor Shah stepped inside.

There was a long, painful beat of silence.

Shah took in the scene.

The stack of contraband firewhiskey bottles on the table. The panicked seventh-years, wands still drawn, looking entirely too guilty. And Callum Thorne, still face-down, circling against the ceiling, hissing every curse word known to wizardkind.

She sighed, long and slow, as if she had simply had enough of this entire generation of students. Then, with an effortless flick of her wand, she cast a single spell.

And gravity returned. All at once. Thorne plummeted like a sack of bricks.

The landing was spectacular. A glorious, sprawling heap, limbs tangled, robes askew, one shoe missing entirely. His friends didn’t even try to catch him.

For a moment, there was only silence. Then—

“Hospital Wing,” Shah said simply, rubbing her temples. “Now.”

Thorne was half-carried, half-dragged down the tower steps, groaning the entire way.

And you?

You slept soundly that night.

By morning, half the school had heard the story.

"Did you hear about Thorne? Got stuck to the Astronomy Tower ceiling last night."

"He was crying by the time they got him down."

"Serves him right—bloke’s a complete asshole."

And you? You sat perfectly composed at breakfast, casually stirring your tea, listening as his friends panicked about who could have done it.

Sebastian, of course, knew.

He sat beside you, arms folded, lips pressed together, shaking with the effort not to laugh.

Finally, he exhaled, tilting his head toward you.

“You are actually unhinged,” he murmured, utterly delighted.

You simply sipped your tea. “I have no idea what you mean.”

Across the hall, Natty smiled.

Soft. Knowing.

The Sebastian Incident

You had been careful.

For years, you had woven your revenge into the shadows, never once leaving a trace of your involvement in the strange misfortunes that befell those who dared to insult your friends. You were precise, patient, undetectable.

But everyone has a breaking point. And yours? Yours was Sebastian Sallow.

It happened in the Great Hall when Scorpius Malfoy decided to idiotically open his big fucking mouth.

You hadn’t been paying attention to him at first. Why would you? People like Malfoy had never mattered to you. He was just another spoiled pureblood, another self-important waste of a surname who thought his words carried weight simply because he could afford to say them.

But then his voice cut through the din, and he said Sebastian’s name.

"No family name worth a damn, no money, no influence. Honestly, I don’t even know why the professors still put up with Sallow. And he’s an orphan, isn’t he?"

One of his friends nodded, grinning like this was some kind of joke. Like Sebastian Sallow’s entire life was nothing more than a punchline.

Malfoy snorted. "So he's got dead parents, a dead uncle, and a crippled sister who’ll probably never set foot in the wizarding world again. Wouldn’t be surprised if he ends up rotting in the same gutter he came from."

The words landed like a curse.

Sebastian had been mid-conversation with you, fork in hand, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as he teased you about something inconsequential—some throwaway joke that would have normally earned him an eye roll and a shove.

But now? Now, he wasn’t moving. Not speaking. Not breathing. Just silent.

Rigid.

Like the weight of those words had turned him into stone.

And something inside you snapped.

It was almost funny, in retrospect, how much effort you had spent perfecting the art of subtlety.

Every step you had taken over the years had been measured, every spell carefully woven into the fabric of coincidence, every act of vengeance so meticulously placed that no one had ever been able to definitively trace it back to you. You had built a flawless reputation, balancing on the razor’s edge between brilliance and menace, justice and mystery.

But now? Now, as you rose from your seat, you weren’t careful at all.

You didn’t move like a shadow, didn’t cloak yourself in misdirection or the comfort of silence. No. This time, you wanted them to see you.

And the moment you stood, the Great Hall stilled.

Students stopped eating, stopped talking, stopped moving altogether. The clatter of plates and goblets faded into a thick, suffocating silence, as if even the walls of Hogwarts itself were holding their breath.

Your voice came out low. Cold.

"Say that one more time, Malfoy."

Scorpius turned lazily, like he hadn’t a care in the world. Like he hadn’t just spat on Sebastian’s entire existence for no other reason than because he could.

And he smirked. Merlin, he smirked. Like you were some insignificant thing, an insect buzzing too close to his ear.

“Oh?” he drawled, tilting his head. “Touched a nerve, have I? Which part got to you, I wonder? The fact that Sallow’s got no family? Or the part where I pointed out that he’s got no future either?”

You took a step forward. You could hear Ominis hissing at you to stop, to think about what you were doing before you got yourself deep into shit, gut you couldn't. Not when it came to your friends.

Not when it came to Sebastian.

Especially when he still hadn't moved. Hadn’t reacted. Hadn’t so much as breathed.

Your hand tightened around your wand, the weight of it comforting, grounding, an extension of the fury curling in your chest.

"You should tread carefully, Scorpius," you murmured, your voice smooth, edged with something lethal. "I know you think you're clever—that you can say whatever you like without consequence, just because you were born into the right family."

Your head tilted slightly, gaze sharp, cutting straight through him.

"But you should know something about me by now."

Malfoy’s smirk faltered just slightly. And then, before he could open his mouth again—

You flicked your wand.

Hard. Fast.

Malfoy's goblet exploded.

A concussive blast of magic sent shards flying, the remnants of his beverage splattering across his pristine uniform like spilled blood. A jagged edge of glass sliced across his hand, thin but deep, and he flinched, eyes snapping down to it with genuine shock.

"If you're going to run your mouth about my friends," you said coolly, watching him clutch his bleeding hand, "then you should be prepared to suffer for it."

Your next spell came before he could react. Before anyone could stop you.

A sharp twist of your wrist, and his mouth was gone.

Not silenced. Not muffled. Just… gone. Smooth, unbroken skin where lips should be, like his voice had simply been erased from existence.

The realization hit him immediately.

His hands shot to his face, clawing at his skin, a muffled scream—horrified, panicked—rising in his throat. He lurched backward, knocking into one of his friends, fingers digging at face like he could carve his lips back into place.

But you weren’t done. Not yet.

You needed something that would etch itself into the bones of this castle, into the minds of every single person watching in stunned silence. Something that told the whole goddamn school that if they so much as breathed wrong about Sebastian again, you would ruin them.

A simple hex would be too merciful. A standard jinx—something temporary, something easily countered—wouldn’t send the right message.

No, you needed something else. Something only you could undo.

Your wand rose, fingers tightening around the handle.

A familiar thrumming sensation curled through your bones, crackling at your fingertips, humming beneath your skin like a storm about to break. Ancient magic—the power that had followed you since the day you first stepped foot in Hogwarts, the magic that had made you different. You had never used it publicly. Never allowed yourself to tap into it in a room full of hundreds of witnesses.

Until now.

Malfoy’s body lurched.

Not by his own will, but by yours, by the ancient, crackling force curling through your veins.

The entire room gasped as he was wrenched upward, his robes twisting violently around him as though an invisible hand had grabbed him by the throat and hauled him into the sky.

He thrashed, or tried to, but the moment he moved, the spell struck.

A jolt of electricity tore through his body.

Not enough to kill. Not enough to cause permanent harm, but enough to make him scream. Or at least, he would have screamed—if he still had a mouth.

Instead, a choked, garbled sound tore from his throat, half agony, half suffocated panic, his limbs seizing as the current snapped down his spine, through his arms and legs.

And you let them watch, let the entire Great Hall bear witness as he hung there, suspended like some grotesque marionette.

And the moment he tried to move again, tried to scratch at where his mouth should be or flail his limbs, another arc of lightning danced across his body, snapping against his skin like a promise that any attempt to fight this would only make it worse.

And he knew. They all knew. He wasn’t getting down until you allowed it. But your arm didn’t waver, you held your wand high, like an executioner delivering final judgment.

Because this? This was a declaration. A statement. A message carved into the very bones of Hogwarts itself.

You do not speak against Sebastian Sallow.

You wondered if he realized that you would have done this a thousand times over. That you would have burned the entire goddamn world for him if he asked.

But before you could do anything more—before you could decide how far you were willing to take this—

A thunderous voice shattered the moment.

"THAT IS ENOUGH!"

The spell snapped. Malfoy dropped. His body crashed onto the table below, sending plates and goblets scattering, silverware clattering to the stone floor. He lay there, twitching, gasping, pathetically small as the last of the magic flickered out of his limbs.

And then—

"You."

Phineas Nigellus Black’s voice was pure ice.

You turned to face him—not a shred of regret, not a flicker of guilt in your expression.

But the Headmaster was raging. His hands were clenched at his sides, his teeth bared in fury.

The entire room was still. Waiting. Holding its breath.

"My office." His voice was low, lethal, like the words themselves were a curse. "Now."

A sharp inhale from someone at the Ravenclaw table. A hushed whisper from a terrified first-year.

No detention. No points docked. Just a direct order from the highest authority in the school.

But it was worth it, because now they knew. Every single person in this room knew.

And as you turned on your heel, heart still pounding with the remnants of power buzzing in your veins—

You caught Sebastian’s eyes one last time.

Still watching, still frozen in place, yet looking at you like you were the most devastating, impossible, extraordinary thing he had ever seen.

And then? The slightest smirk. The most faint, devastatingly admiring grin.

Like he had never, ever wanted anyone more.

318 notes · View notes

shaiyasstuff · 3 months ago

Text

after | sylus | sequel(?)

synopsis : You and Sylus have spent years as strangers in an arranged marriage, living separate lives without much thought for each other. But when he unexpectedly shows up at your doorstep, the distance between you starts to blur. content : arranged marriage au, non-cannon!au, sylus x non-mc, artist!reader, fluff, just married life i guess?

When Sylus had said, “Mother wants to have dinner with us,” you’d imagined an evening at home.

A quiet meal, maybe something you’d cooked yourself—intimate, simple, manageable.

Not this.

Not a private jet cutting through clouds, bound for Frankfurt, just to dine with his parents.

You glance across the cabin at him, your fingers curled loosely in your lap. “You know,” you murmur, “we could’ve just said no.”

Your voice carries a hint of nerves, subtle but not lost on him.

He quirks a brow, his lips curling into that infuriatingly smug smirk. “Are you scared of meeting my family?”

You scoff, looking away toward the window.

“Pshh. What? No…”

The lie is flimsy at best.

Because it isn’t his mother you’re worried about. You know her to be warm, even if a little mysterious. She’d called on your wedding day—apologetic, gracious, her voice genuine as she regretted missing the ceremony.

You’d told her not to worry, that it had all been a formality anyway.

But his father… his father is another matter entirely.

There’s something about the man that reminds you of a headmaster from an old boarding school—stern, unreadable, with eyes that seem to find fault even when there’s none to be found.

The kind of man who finds smiling a chore.

Sylus must have caught the tension creeping into your silence, because a moment later, his hand finds yours.

“It’s going to be alright,” he says softly, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “I’m here.”

You turn toward him, caught off guard by the quiet reassurance in his voice. He’s not teasing now. Not posturing.

Just… present.

Your smile comes a little slower this time. “I can do this,” you nod, more to yourself than to him.

His smirk returns, playful again, but there’s a fondness tucked in the corners of it. “Funny. You go toe-to-toe with critics over your art, but my father’s the one who has you rattled?”

You swat lightly at his shoulder. “This is different!”

He chuckles. And you can’t help but join him.

Still, as the laughter fades, you sigh and glance down at your dress. “Why are we dressing up just for dinner anyway?”

He clears his throat. “You know how my father is.”

You hum in acknowledgment. No further questions.

Your gaze drifts back out the window, the lights of distant cities winking below.

It’s been years since you last saw his family—long before the wedding, which had passed in a blur of legalities and practiced smiles.

A formality, you’d both agreed. Something to check off the list.

And yet, here you are.

Sitting beside the man you married, flying across continents to dine with people who barely feel real in your life.

You let out a soft laugh under your breath.

“Something funny?” Sylus asks without looking up.

You shake your head, the smile still tugging at your lips.

“Just thinking how strange life is. We said vows written by someone else, and now we’re here—years later—actually doing the whole family dinner thing.”

He doesn’t respond at first. But when you glance over, you find him watching you with a thoughtful expression.

“Yeah,” he says quietly. “Life’s strange.”

—•

The hallway is long, dimly lit, lined with portraits that seem to follow your steps as you walk beside him.

“Now that I think about it,” you muse, “I’ve never even been here. And we’ve been married for…?”

Sylus casts you a sidelong glance. “Believe me, sweetie, I don’t come here either. Only reason we’re here now is because Mother wouldn’t stop pestering me.”

You snort, your heels clicking softly against the marble. “Still. It’s nice, I guess. I’ve missed seeing her.”

He hums in agreement.

Soon, the two of you come to a stop in front of tall, ornate double doors.

The dining hall.

Sylus glances at you, and for a brief moment, you see it too—his own hesitation.

You offer him your hand again.

And without a word, he takes it.

—•

The doors open with quiet grace, revealing a dining hall bathed in soft golden light.

The long table gleams beneath the chandelier, its place settings pristine, untouched. But it’s not the elegance that draws your attention.

It’s her.

Sylus’s mother rises from her seat as soon as she sees you, her eyes lighting up—not with politeness, but familiarity.

“There you are,” she says, voice warm, rich with a kind of fondness that surprises you. She crosses the room with easy confidence, stopping just in front of you.

You don’t have time to speak before she wraps you into a gentle embrace, arms firm, comforting.

“It’s been too long,” she murmurs. “I’ve missed you, my dear.”

You blink, caught off guard. You hadn’t expected such warmth… not after all this time. Not after how quiet things had been since the wedding.

“I—missed you too,” you say quietly, surprised to realize you mean it.

She pulls back just enough to meet your eyes, studying you with that knowing look only mothers seem to possess. “You’ve grown into yourself beautifully,” she says, brushing a stray hair from your shoulder. “But then, I always knew you would.”

You smile, soft and a little stunned. “You remember?”

Her gaze softens even further. “Of course I do. You were the only child brave enough to look Sylus in the eye and scold him for knocking over your crayons.” Her laugh is delicate, amused. “You were what? Five?.”

Behind you, Sylus sighs. “Must we bring that up?”

His mother waves him off, though her eyes never leave yours. “I remember thinking then—‘That girl will either be his ruin… or the one thing that softens him.’”

You look over at Sylus, who’s watching the exchange in silence, his usual mask of cool amusement tempered by something more reserved. He doesn’t interrupt. He lets her speak.

His father rises slowly at the far end of the table, far less warm in his welcome. “You’re late.”

Sylus’s voice is dry as ever. “Blame the weather. Or the wine. Or her.” He nods toward you.

You roll your eyes, but the tension eases as you both move to take your seats. His mother gestures for you to sit beside her, and it’s only once you’re settled that you notice Sylus has taken the chair on your other side.

Surrounded.

Yet… not uncomfortable.

Dinner begins with small talk—wine is poured, delicate appetizers placed before you. But soon, the conversation finds its way back to you.

“I saw your gallery feature last month,” his mother says lightly, sipping her wine. “That portrait in crimson and ash—you named it Restraint, didn’t you?”

You glance at Sylus, surprised.

She noticed that?

“You saw that?” you ask, turning back to her.

“Of course,” she replies. “I keep up with what matters. And your work always mattered to me.”

Something shifts in your chest. A quiet warmth.

Sylus watches you both with an unreadable expression, wine glass resting loosely in his hand. “And here I thought you two would pretend not to know each other.”

“Oh, please.” His mother rolls her eyes. “She was practically part of the family long before the two of you signed any papers.”

That earns a soft chuckle from you, and even Sylus’s lips twitch with amusement.

His father clears his throat. “The past is the past.”

But his mother just smiles at you like it isn’t. Like it never was.

Dessert is served—an elegant affair of dark chocolate and tart berries—and the conversation shifts again.

“How are you finding marriage, dear?” she asks, tilting her head. “You’ve always struck me as someone who likes her solitude.”

You pause, not quite sure how to answer. But before you can find the words, Sylus speaks for you.

“We’re figuring it out,” he says, his voice calm. “It’s… not what I expected. But maybe that’s a good thing.”

You turn to him, startled by the honesty in his tone. He meets your eyes with a look you can’t quite read.

His mother hums thoughtfully, as though she was waiting to hear something just like that. “You’ve always been terrible at letting people in, Sylus. Maybe she’s the exception.”

The silence that follows isn’t awkward.

It’s thoughtful. Quiet. Full of things neither of you have said yet—but maybe will, in time.

As you leave the dining hall, his mother walks with you to the doors, her hand resting lightly on your arm. “Come back soon,” she says. “Next time, I expect to see your work in my studio. I still keep that sketch you gave me, you know.”

You blink. “You… still have it?”

She smiles. “Of course I do. It was the first time I saw you draw from your heart.”

And with a final squeeze of your hand, she lets you go.

In the hallway, the two of you walk in a comfortable silence.

“You drew a sketch for her? Why didn’t I know this?” he asks after a beat.

“You never asked,” you reply softly.

He glances at you, the corners of his mouth quirking. “She likes you more than she likes me.”

“Who doesn’t?” you tease.

He chuckles under his breath, then shakes his head. “You’re full of surprises.”

You glance sideways at him, a smirk tugging at your lips. “That’s the point, isn’t it?”

For a moment, the tension between you fades into something lighter. Something easier.

And when he reaches for your hand again as you step outside into the night air—you let him.

Not out of obligation.

But because it feels like the first time you’re finally walking forward together.

“So,” you begin, as the two of you make your way back toward the jet, your heels clicking lightly on the tarmac. “Are we really just heading home after that?”

You throw him a look, mischief glittering in your eyes as you arch a brow.

Sylus lifts an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth curving into a lazy smirk. “Did you have something else in mind?”

You tap a finger to your chin in mock thought. “Well… you’re flying back to Madrid in a week, right? Seems like a waste not to make some memories before you go.”

He doesn’t answer immediately. Just watches you with that unreadable look of his, thoughtful and sharp. Then, slowly, a small smile tugs at his lips. “Say the word,” he murmurs. “And we’ll go.”

Your grin breaks across your face before you can help it. “I want dessert,” you declare. “In Italy. That little place in Rome you wouldn’t shut up about.”

He chuckles under his breath. “Ah, that place.”

He gives a casual shrug, as if flying across countries on a whim is the most natural thing in the world. “Italy it is.”

You bounce slightly on your heels and take his hand, pulling him toward the jet. “C’mon then, jet boy. I want gelato.”

—•

Once you’re safely boarded, you sink into the plush leather seat with a sigh of satisfaction, stretching your legs out with a dramatic groan. “This is nice. I think I’ll ask my dad for one of these.”

Sylus casts you a side glance, his tone deceptively nonchalant. “You can just use mine.”

You blink, turning to face him fully. “Seriously? You’d let me?”

He shrugs as if it’s obvious. “Why not? We’re married.”

Something about the way he says it—quiet, simple, unguarded—catches you off guard. The words settle in your chest, heavier than you expect.

Your lips curve into a small smile. “Thanks. And as your very responsible wife, I promise not to fly too often.”

He lets out a soft huff of amusement, shaking his head as he leans back. “There isn’t anything I can’t afford, sweetie,” he drawls, turning toward you slightly. His eyes glint, and the smirk returns—more teasing now. “Feel free to be a little reckless.”

You roll your eyes, reaching out to nudge his shoulder. “You act like we’re not from the same social circle, show-off.”

He chuckles, low and genuine. “True. But I do it better.”

You snort at that, crossing your legs and letting the warmth of the exchange linger. Outside, the sky deepens into a velvet blue, the hum of the engines soft in your ears.

—•

Rome welcomes you under a blanket of moonlight, the city glowing faintly in the distance as you step into the cab.

It’s almost midnight, and the buzz of adrenaline from the spontaneous trip has begun to fade, replaced by a quieter contentment.

Somewhere between the winding streets and the lull of the cab ride, your head finds its way to Sylus’s shoulder.

Sleep claims you gently, your breath evening out as your body leans against his.

He glances down at you, surprised at first. But then… he smiles.

It’s small. Private.

The kind of smile he only ever lets slip when no one’s watching.

He shrugs off his coat and drapes it over you, careful not to wake you, his arm sliding around your shoulders to steady you as the cab hits a bump in the road.

You shift slightly, unconsciously pressing closer to him.

For a long moment, he doesn’t move.

He just watches you—your lashes resting softly against your cheeks, the way your fingers curl slightly in your sleep. His thumb brushes the edge of the coat where it rests against your arm.

Three weeks ago, this would’ve been unthinkable.

But now, with the quiet weight of you against him, the scent of your perfume lingering faintly in the air… he finds himself wondering if this—this softness, this closeness—is something he’ll miss more than he expects.

He glances out the window at the flickering city lights, his fingers still curled gently around your arm.

And for the first time in a long time, Sylus feels at peace.

—•

“What do you mean it’s closed?”

Your voice pitches higher than you’d like, something between a groan and a shriek echoing down the quiet Roman street.

Sylus lifts a brow, amused. “There’s nothing we can do, sweetie,” he drawls, far too entertained by your disappointment.

You let out another groan, slumping slightly as you stare at the shuttered storefront. “I wanted to make cute memories with you,” you mutter, mostly to yourself.

But of course—he hears it.

“Aw,” he coos, that signature smirk sliding into place. “Kitten, are you afraid you’ll miss me when I’m gone?”

You whirl to face him with an exaggerated gasp. “Me? Miss you?” You snort, crossing your arms. “Puh-lease. Keep dreaming.”

Still, your words don’t quite hit with the same bite they used to. Not anymore.

Because deep down, somewhere beneath the playful eye-rolls and dramatic sighs… the truth sits quietly.

You will miss him.

Three weeks isn’t a lot. But it’s been enough.

Enough to soften edges. Enough to blur lines. Enough to make you wish—just a little—that time would slow.

Sylus is still watching you. But this time, there’s something gentler behind his gaze, like he can sense the shift in you. He doesn’t tease again.

He just steps closer, then reaches out and pulls you in by the shoulder.

The gesture is sudden, firm, but not unwelcome.

You blink up at him, startled by the proximity—by the warmth of his body against yours.

“Come on,” he murmurs, voice lower now. “I’ve got an idea.”

You don’t resist.

You let him guide you, slowly easing into the space between you, your shoulder brushing against his chest with every step.

“Where are we going?” you ask, quieter now, your breath visible in the cool night air.

He gestures down the narrow cobblestone street, the lights of the city casting soft golden halos around each lamppost. “I used to come here often for business,” he explains. “There’s a café down the street—tiny place, nothing fancy. But it’s open 24/7.”

He glances down at you, a faint smile curving at the edge of his lips. “No gelato. But I can at least get you cake.”

You let out a soft laugh, the disappointment already fading. “I guess that’ll do.”

And as he walks with you, his arm still casually draped around your shoulders, you realize something.

You might not have gotten your gelato.

But you’re still making memories—with him.

And maybe, that’s more than enough.

The café isn’t much—tucked between a florist shop and a closed boutique, its weathered sign faintly lit by a single flickering lamp. The inside is dim, warm, quiet.

There’s only one other patron, dozing into a cappuccino near the back. A sleepy barista glances up, offering a polite nod as the bell above the door chimes.

Sylus lets you step in first, his hand lingering at the small of your back. The scent of espresso and vanilla hangs in the air, clinging to soft jazz playing from an old radio on the counter.

You shiver slightly from the night air, and without a word, Sylus slips his coat off and drapes it over your shoulders.

“You’re cold,” he says simply.

You glance up at him, lips parting to protest—but the words don’t come. Instead, you pull the coat tighter around yourself, surprised by how natural it feels.

“I could’ve handled it,” you murmur.

“I know,” he replies, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Doesn’t mean I didn’t want to.”

You don’t know what to say to that. So you don’t.

The two of you settle into a booth by the window, city lights spilling through the glass, casting soft shadows across the table. The street outside is quiet.

Time feels slower here, like Rome is holding its breath just for the two of you.

“What’ll it be?” Sylus asks, flipping open a laminated menu.

You eye the dessert case. “Something sweet. Preferably something that makes up for the gelato you promised.”

He chuckles. “High expectations for a midnight snack.”

“You promised me cute memories,” you remind him, lips twitching into a smile. “I’m simply holding you accountable.”

He raises both brows, mock serious. “Understood. One life-altering dessert experience, coming right up.”

You end up with a slice of tiramisu. He gets a black coffee and something called ciambellone—a soft, sponge-like cake dusted in powdered sugar.

You both dig in quietly for a while, the hush between you not uncomfortable at all. Just full of the kind of peace you rarely noticed missing until it shows up.

“This is nice,” you say softly, cutting into your cake. “I can’t remember the last time I just… sat like this. With someone.”

His gaze lifts to meet yours across the table. “You don’t do this often?”

You shrug, eyes dipping to your plate. “It’s easier to be alone when you don’t expect much from anyone.”

A beat.

And then, he speaks—quietly, but without hesitation. “That’s what I thought too.”

You glance up at him, surprised by the honesty in his tone.

“I didn’t think this marriage would become anything,” he says, not looking away. “Didn’t expect to like talking to you. Or listening to you. Or… this.”

He gestures vaguely between you. The silence. The café. The unexpected comfort of your company.

Your chest tightens, warmth spreading slowly under your ribs.

“You could’ve said something,” you whisper.

“I’m saying it now.”

He leans back, sipping his coffee, his expression unreadable. But his eyes—they’re steady, fixed on you like you’re the only thing in the room worth watching.

“You said you wanted memories,” he adds after a moment. “Then let’s make them. Even if there’s not much time left.”

You stare at him for a beat, your fork stilled halfway to your mouth.

“I don’t want a countdown,” you say softly. “I want… something I won’t forget.”

Sylus holds your gaze.

And then, with a small, almost uncharacteristic gentleness, he reaches across the table and brushes a crumb from the corner of your mouth with the pad of his thumb.

“You won’t,” he murmurs.

The world feels quiet. Suspended.

Neither of you says anything after that. You just sit there, eyes lingering longer than they should, hearts a little too loud in the silence.

And for once, it doesn’t feel like a temporary moment.

It feels like the start of something else.

The café door clicks softly behind you as you both step back out into the night.

The streets are nearly empty now—Rome hushed under the weight of stars and streetlamps. The city feels softer like this, quieter.

As if it, too, is learning how to breathe slower.

Sylus walks beside you in silence, one hand tucked into the pocket of his coat, the other brushing against yours with every step. You don’t move away. Neither does he.

It’s not awkward. It’s just… still.

The kind of stillness that says more than words ever could.

You hug his coat a little tighter around your frame. The scent of him—subtle spice and something cooler, more distinct—lingers in the fabric. It feels oddly intimate, having him draped around you like this.

He glances over at you, his expression softer than usual.

“Tired?” he asks, voice low.

You shake your head. “No. Just… content, maybe.”

He nods slowly, his gaze returning to the path ahead. “I never thought I’d see you like this.”

“Like what?”

“Peaceful,” he says after a pause. “Like you belong here. Like this… fits.”

You smile faintly. “Maybe it does.”

Another quiet beat passes.

Then you speak, your voice just above a whisper. “You’ve changed.”

He looks over, surprised by the words. “How so?”

“You’re softer,” you say, not teasing. Just honest. “Not weak. Just… more real.”

He lets the words settle for a moment before responding. “Maybe I was always like this,” he murmurs. “Just didn’t have the right person around to see it.”

You glance at him, startled.

His gaze doesn’t waver. And there’s no smirk this time. No sarcasm. Just Sylus, standing under a dim streetlamp, looking at you like he means every word.

The moment stretches, full of everything neither of you can quite say out loud.

“You’re going back soon,” you say finally, your voice smaller than you mean it to be.

“I am.”

You nod, swallowing. “Right.”

He slows slightly, and so do you. The distance to the cab hail is short now, but neither of you seem in a rush to reach it.

“I don’t want this to feel temporary,” you admit.

He exhales, quiet. “Neither do I.”

You glance down at your shoes, then at the pavement. Anything but his eyes. “Then what do we do?”

He steps in front of you, stopping you gently with a hand at your elbow. You look up, startled to find him watching you so closely.

“We stop pretending it was just convenience,” he says. “And we stop wasting what time we have left.”

His words are steady, but you hear it—the fear beneath them. The vulnerability. He’s not just trying to stay in this moment. He’s trying to hold onto you.

You breathe in slowly, the night air cool in your lungs.

Then, without a word, you reach for his hand.

He laces his fingers through yours without hesitation.

And the two of you keep walking—through Rome’s sleeping streets, side by side. No rush. No finality. Just this quiet, imperfect closeness between you.

A beginning made from something that was never supposed to be more than an arrangement.

And now, it’s something you don’t want to let go of.

—•

“I’m actually going to miss you.”

The words leave your lips softly, without teasing, without sarcasm. Just the quiet truth.

Sylus stands in front of you, suitcase in one hand, his coat folded neatly over his arm. The sunlight from the window pools around him, soft and golden, casting gentle shadows across the room.

His usual smirk is there—of course it is—but today, it’s gentler. Dimmed at the edges by something else.

Fondness.

He doesn’t need to say anything. You see it in his eyes.

You know.

The last week had passed too quickly, slipping through your fingers like sand.

He sat with you in your studio as you edited your music, quiet and focused.

Occasionally, he’d glance over and murmur something about how serious you looked.

“It’s oddly attractive,” he’d said once, earning a swat to his arm and your face burning red as you mumbled a protest.

He’d only chuckled.

There was the baking experiment too—if you could call it that. You doing most of the work while Sylus tried not to set the kitchen on fire.

He claimed victory for “not ruining the eggs.” You claimed victory for not kicking him out halfway through.

Still, the laughter had lingered long after the cookies cooled.

And that last art exhibition.

Not yours this time, but a friend’s.

He wore black—sharp and quiet as always—and stayed close to your side as you spoke passionately about color theory and composition.

He didn’t interrupt. He didn’t even pretend to understand.

He just listened.

And when you turned to him with flushed cheeks, halfway through a rant about symbolism in modern surrealism, he only said, “You light up when you talk about things you love.”

And maybe… he meant more than just art.

Now, standing here in the doorway, you take in the way the light hits his profile.

The way the collar of his coat is slightly crooked, how his fingers tighten briefly around the suitcase handle.

You felt your heart beating a little too fast and your throat feeling a little too tight as you try to find something clever to say.

You don’t.

“So… this is it, huh,” you breathe, more to yourself than to him. Your fingers fidget with the edge of his shirt that he let you keep.

Your voice wavers—not enough to break, but enough for him to notice.

He does.

“You’re not gonna cry, are you?” he says, smirking just a little.

You shoot him a glare through glassy eyes. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

But he steps closer anyway, his free hand reaching out, fingers brushing beneath your eye. “I’ll call,” he says softly. There’s a pause—then, quieter, “Promise.”

You nod, your smile wobbly but real. “You better.”

For a second, neither of you move. The space between you is warm, intimate, alive with things unsaid.

Then, before you can overthink it, you lean up and press a gentle kiss to his cheek.

It lingers longer than it should.

When you pull back, he’s watching you with something unreadable in his eyes. Not distance. Not detachment.

Just… you.

“I’ll be back before you know it,” he murmurs, adjusting the strap of his bag.

You nod again, more certain this time. “I’ll be here.”

He starts to turn, then pauses in the doorway.

“Try not to burn the house down without me.”

You roll your eyes. “I won’t, unless I decide I wanna do a Sylus cosplay.”

“That was just one time,” he retorts.

But his smile lingers. So does yours.

As he walks out the door, the air feels different—not empty, not final. Just… waiting.

Because whatever this is—whatever it’s becoming—it isn’t over.

Not even close.

—•

Week one was surprisingly easy.

He called the moment his plane touched down, his voice a little too casual, like he hadn’t been waiting just as eagerly as you had. But you could hear it anyway—the softness hidden beneath his usual drawl.

“Miss me already?” you teased, resting your chin in your palm as you leaned against your desk.

A low grumble rumbled through the receiver, but it couldn’t hide the faint smile you knew was tugging at his lips.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” he muttered.

You grinned. “Too late.”

The video feed wobbled slightly as he shifted, revealing a sleek, modern apartment behind him—sunlight pouring through tall windows, spilling across dark floors and expensive furniture. The skyline of Madrid glittered faintly behind him.

He turned the camera around briefly, showing you the view. “This is my place,” he said, like it wasn’t a big deal. “I’ll bring you here one day.”

Your breath caught—not because of the apartment, but because of the way he said it.

So effortlessly, so naturally. I’ll bring you.

You only nodded in response, a small, fond smile tugging at your lips. “I’d like that.”

He tilted his head, watching you for a beat too long.

Then, predictably, the moment passed.

“Alright,” he said, smirking. “Business calls. I’ll see you soon.”

“See ya,” you murmured.

He gave you a final look—half fondness, half trouble—before the screen went dark.

The silence in the room felt softer somehow, touched with something that lingered.

You exhale, turning back to your easel.

The canvas waits, colors half-mixed on your palette, brush still resting where you’d left it—abandoned mid-thought when his call came through.

But now, something’s shifted.

Your fingers curl around the brush, and with a soft breath, you begin to move again.

Strokes bloom across the canvas—deliberate, fluid. The paint feels lighter in your hand now, each color falling into place more naturally than before.

There’s a softness to this piece. A gentleness you hadn’t expected.

You don’t think. You just feel.

The quiet hum of the city filters in through your window. The sun has started its descent, casting warm golden light across your studio, just enough to set the edges of your work aglow.

The silence is full, but not lonely.

And as the painting comes together—layer by layer, emotion by emotion—you find yourself smiling. Just a little.

Your thoughts drift back to his voice, that lazy smirk in his tone when he said, “I’ll bring you here one day.” The way he’d said “See you soon” like he meant it.

You glance at the almost-finished piece, head tilted.

It’s not just a swirl of color anymore. It’s something real. Something tender. Something that carries his presence, even when he’s not here.

Your brush pauses at the bottom right corner.

Then, with a quiet breath and steady hand, you sign it in clean, graceful strokes:

Promise.

And this time, you don’t paint to let something go.

You paint to hold something close.

You hang the painting up to dry as you smile, “See you soon, idiot.” You mutter to yourself, heading to get a shower.

—•

Week three. He called again.

You were just leaving an art exhibition downtown, the night air crisp against your skin as you stepped onto the sidewalk.

Streetlights painted golden halos across the pavement, and traffic hummed faintly in the distance.

The call came in right on cue.

“You heading home?” Sylus’s voice was a familiar comfort in your ear, low and smooth with a hint of fatigue.

“Yeah,” you said, adjusting the strap of your bag as you tucked the phone closer. “Long walk though.”

“I’ll stay on the line,” he offered easily, like it was second nature now. “Unless you’d rather be alone with your thoughts.”

You smiled to yourself. “No complaints here.”

You let the silence linger between you—comfortable, not rushed—until your voice broke through again.

“So, how are things over there?”

He let out a dramatic sigh, and you could practically see the smirk on his face. “The usual. Bossing people here, bossing people there, call you, then back to bossing.”

You laughed, shaking your head as your heels clicked down the street. “Tragic.”

“It’s exhausting being brilliant,” he added.

“No one asked you to be dramatic.”

“But I do it so well.”

You were just about to tease him again when a soft sound made you pause—a small, high-pitched mewl.

You stopped mid-step, your eyes drifting down to the sidewalk where a tiny black kitten sat curled near a lamppost. It blinked up at you, red eyes gleaming faintly under the light.

You blinked. “That’s… oddly specific.”

“What is?” Sylus asked.

You crouched, shifting your phone slightly to angle the camera. “This.”

You flipped to the front camera and showed him the kitten. “Tell me this doesn’t look exactly like you.”

There was a beat of silence. Then,

“…Hm,” he muttered. “It does resemble me. But I’m obviously better looking.”

You snorted, rolling your eyes. “Debatable.”

“Careful, kitten,” he warned playfully. “Mocking your husband’s good looks could be grounds for divorce.”

You looked back down at the feline, who was now stretching one paw toward your shoe.

“Hey, little guy,” you murmured, voice softening. “Wanna come home with me?”

On the other end of the line, Sylus’s tone changed—just a little. “You’re not seriously bringing it back?”

You smiled, sensing something beneath his voice. Not judgment. Not disapproval.

Jealousy.

Tiny. Stubborn. Undeniable.

You raised an eyebrow. “Jealous of a kitten?”

“I just think it’s suspicious how fast you’re offering your heart to a stranger,” he said coolly.

You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head as you reached to scoop the kitten up carefully, tucking it against your coat.

“I’m gonna need some company when you’re not around,” you said gently.

There was a pause.

Then, quietly—“You miss me that much?”

You looked ahead, heart tugging at the tenderness hiding beneath his question. “You already know the answer to that.”

He didn’t say anything. But you could hear the smile in his silence.

You glanced down at the kitten, who was already purring against your chest.

“Well,” Sylus finally said, voice warm now, “I guess he’ll have to keep you company until I come home.”

You smiled, eyes softening.

“He’s just temporary,” you whispered. “You’re the one I’m waiting for.”

—•

Week five. You were in your art room.

The scent of paint lingered in the air, and the soft hum of a half-finished playlist played in the background, but your focus was elsewhere—fractured, restless.

You’d been trying to work all evening, paintbrush in hand, canvas in front of you. But every few minutes, your gaze flicked back to your phone on the nearby stool. The screen remained dark.

He’d said he would call.

He always did.

You sighed, brush pausing mid-stroke again as you stared at the unmoving phone.

“He said he’d call… he would, wouldn’t he, Mephisto?”

At your feet, the small black kitten raised his head and let out a soft mewl, tail curling neatly around your ankle as if in answer.

You smiled faintly and leaned down to scratch behind his ear. “That’s what I thought.”

Mephisto blinked up at you with those vivid red eyes—so unnervingly like Sylus’s that sometimes you wondered if the universe was playing a joke on you.

The name had been his suggestion, of course.

“It’s a fitting name for a feline that resembles your husband,” he’d said over the phone with that smug, teasing lilt in his voice.

You’d snorted, called him ridiculous, but named the kitten anyway.

Now, with Mephisto curled at your feet and the evening stretching long, you let out another sigh and dipped your brush into fresh paint.

Tried to return to your canvas. Tried to focus.

But it was no use.

Every shadow felt a little too quiet without his voice in your ear.

Every silence a little heavier than usual.

You weren’t used to waiting—not for people, not for promises. But with him… you found yourself hoping anyway.

Because he always called.

He said he would.

And you wanted to believe that still meant something.

You were still staring at your phone when the doorbell rang.

It startled you—just a little. Mephisto perked up too, tail flicking as he padded after you through the hallway. You weren’t expecting anyone.

Wiping your hands on a cloth, you moved toward the front door, curiosity prickling in your chest.

A small package sat on your doorstep, neatly wrapped, the kind of precision only someone meticulous—and annoyingly confident—would bother with. There was no sender name on the label. Just your name, written in a familiar, slanted scrawl.

Your breath caught.

You didn’t need to open it to know.

Sylus.

You brought the package inside, setting it gently on the coffee table as Mephisto hopped up beside you, immediately attempting to chew the corner.

“Not for you,” you murmured, brushing him away gently.

Inside the box, nestled in folds of dark velvet, was a hardcover sketchbook—leather-bound, the cover etched with delicate, swirling patterns.

Expensive, beautifully made.

The kind of thing you always admired but never thought to buy for yourself.

And tucked between the first two blank pages was a single note, handwritten in his unmistakable style.

“For the nights you can’t sleep, and the moments you’re thinking too much. I figured if I couldn’t be there to distract you in person, I’d give you something that could.” —S.

You stared at the words for a long moment, your fingers brushing lightly over the paper.

It wasn’t just a gift.

It was a presence.

A reminder.

A reassurance.

Your chest tightened—not painfully, but warmly, a soft ache blooming beneath your ribs.

Mephisto meowed beside you, pawing at the edge of the sketchbook like he, too, approved.

You smiled, small and genuine, and sank back into the couch, still holding the note in your hand.

He hadn’t called.

But somehow, this felt louder than a voice on the line.

“Idiot.”

masterlist

#lads #lads x reader #lads sylus #love and deepspace sylus #lnds sylus #love and deepspace #l&ds sylus #sylus x non mc #sylus x y/n #sylus x you #sylus qin #sylus x reader #sylus #lnds x you #lnds x reader #lnds #lads x y/n #lads x you

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megameatymatt · 11 months ago

Note

dad!matt and dad!chris is all i want in life

A Day with Dad - Chris Sturniolo

Summary: Chris is left at home with his two daughters

TW!: none really

Requested?: yes

A/N: feedback, interaction, and requests are appreciated! ( im also very sorry if this sucks i don't read a lot of dad!chris or matt fics😭)

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

You and Chris have finally started building the family you've dreamed of for so long. You have two daughters: Avery who has just turned 4, and Scarlet who is 1 year old. You and Chris couldn't be happier living this life, but Chris noticed you've started to become more tired and tense, so during summer break, when the kids were home. He planned a day out full of activities for you and your friends.

It was 8:30 in the morning and you were leaving the house to get to the Breakfast place Chris put in a reservation for. "I'll see you soon," you say as you grab your house keys. "Have fun baby" Chris says as he grabs your chin and kisses you. "I'm gonna miss my girls," You say thinking of their cute chubby little faces. "They'll be with the fun parent, they won't miss you one bit," Chris says with a sense of pride. You roll you're eyes and laugh. "Whatever, Chris, I love you." "I love you more baby", and with that, you're stepping into the car and driving off. Chris waits outside until the car has fully left his sight before heading back inside.

As soon as he steps inside, he hears crying. "Scarlet" He mutters under his breath before running up the stairs and into the girls' room. He turns on the light and lifts Scarlet out of her crib. As soon as she's in his arms, she quiets down.

"Good morning sunshine, how are you?" Chris' presence wakes up his second daughter Avery. "Daddy!" Avery squeaks, wrapping her arms around Chris's leg. "Hey, bunny. You're pretty happy today!" He says, setting Scarlet back down in her crib. "Ok girls, Mommy went out today so guess what? You're gonna be spending the day with the best dad in the world," He says pointing both his fingers towards him. The girls cheer and Chris laughs. "Let's start by making some chocolate chip pancakes!"

It didn't go as planned. Chris ended up burning the pancakes. So now the 3 of them sit in the Mc. Donald's drive-thru picking out items from the breakfast menu. "I can't believe we are having Mc. Donalds for breakfast, this is the best day ever!" Avery says, waving her arms in the air. "Technically, they're breakfast foods so it's healthy. Also please don't tell your mother" Avery laughs as Chris picks up the food from the window and drives back home.

It's 4:40 in the afternoon. Chris got Scarlet to take her nap, and somehow he ended up sitting in front of Avery while she braids his hair into pigtails. "Done!" she says, grinning ear to ear as she hands Chris a mirror. "Wow sunshine, I look amazing," Chris says holding back a laugh.

"Now tell me, what would you like for dinner?" Chris asks handing her back the mirror. "Pizza, pizza, pizza!" Avery says jumping around. Chris sighs, "You sure you don't want something healthier sweetie?" Chris asks. "Healthy food sucks," Avery says crossing her arms. Chris lets out a chuckle. "How bout' we get pasta instead, huh sweetie. We've had a little too much fast food don't you think?" "with meatballs?" Avery asked. "With as many meatballs as you like princess," Chris says as he tickles Avery. Almost right after, Chris hears Scarlet cry again.

It's 11:30 and Chris and Avery have fallen asleep on the couch. Scarlet is in her crib, and Moana still playing on the TV. Keys jangle at the door before it finally unlocks. You walk into the living room and see Chris and and Avery snuggled up on the couch asleep, you smile and pull out your phone to take a picture. You tap Chris on the shoulder and he jolts up, then falls back down when he realizes it's just you. "hey baby, you're back" he says, flashing you a tired smile. "I am. How'd it go" "Let's just say i'm the favourite now" You laugh before taking a closer look at him. "What the hell happened to your hair?"

#chris sturniolo #chris sturniolo fanfic #chris sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo x you #chris sturniolo x reader #dad!chris #sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo #nick sturniolo #sturn #the sturniolo triplets #christopher sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #matt sturniolo imagine #matt sturniolo smut #matt sturniolo x reader #nicholas sturniolo

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aventurineswife · 7 months ago

Note

can you do under the mistletoe with the side characters too please? maybe with luke as a platonic parent/son one? ty!!!

All I Want for Christmas is You

Tags: Side Characters x Reader [Diavolo x Reader, Barbatos x Reader, Solomon x Reader, Simeon x Reader, Luke x Reader (PLATONIC‼️), Raphael x Reader, Thirteen x Reader, Mephistopheles x Reader], Romantic, Platonic (Luke!), Christmas, Mistletoe, Kisses and Hugs, Winter Special, Affection, Sweet Moments, Playful Interactions.

Diavolo

You and Diavolo are standing by the grand Christmas tree in the Demon Lord’s castle, both admiring the beautiful decorations. The soft glow of the lights flickers, and a mischievous smile crosses his face as he looks up to see the mistletoe hanging just above you both.

“Ah, it looks like we’ve found ourselves in quite the festive situation,” Diavolo says, his voice warm with amusement. He steps closer, his hands gently cupping your face, his golden eyes sparkling with affection. “I can’t resist the chance to share a kiss beneath the mistletoe, not when it’s with someone as wonderful as you.”

He leans in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your lips, savoring the warmth of the moment. “This is the best part of the holidays, don’t you think? Sharing special moments with you.”

Barbatos

Barbatos, ever so graceful and composed, stands beside you in the lavish dining hall. The room is filled with laughter and the sound of cheerful conversations, but your eyes are drawn to the mistletoe above you both.

Barbatos smiles, the faintest glint of playfulness in his eyes. “It seems we’re at a crossroads, my dear. Mistletoe, after all, does have a magical way of bringing people closer.”

He gently takes your hand, guiding you toward him as he leans in. His lips meet yours in a delicate kiss, soft and tender, as though savoring the moment. “Merry Christmas,” he murmurs after the kiss, brushing a strand of hair from your face with the utmost care. "It would be impossible to celebrate without you by my side."

Solomon

The holiday festivities are in full swing at the Purgatory Hall, and as you wander through the halls, you find Solomon waiting under a sprig of mistletoe with a roguish grin on his face.

"Well, well, it looks like fate has decided to intervene," he teases, his eyes twinkling mischievously. “I’d say it’s practically a sign that we should share a kiss, don’t you agree?”

You laugh, shaking your head at his playful attitude. Solomon steps in, closing the space between you, and plants a soft, teasing kiss on your lips. “Consider that a Christmas gift, my dear apprentice. Who knew your teacher could still surprise you?”

Simeon

Simeon watches you with a fond smile as the two of you walk together through the peaceful garden, where Christmas lights twinkle like stars. His expression softens as he notices the mistletoe above you both.

With a gentle chuckle, Simeon holds your gaze. “I suppose we have no choice, do we?”

He steps closer, cupping your cheek with one hand, his thumb brushing across your skin in the most tender of gestures. He presses a sweet, lingering kiss to your lips, his heart warm with love. “Merry Christmas, My Dove. I hope this season brings you all the joy you deserve.”

Luke

You catch sight of Luke, the little angel, near the mistletoe hanging in the hallway, looking up at it curiously. When his eyes meet yours, his face lights up with an innocent smile.

“Hey, MC! There’s mistletoe above us!” he exclaims excitedly. "That means I have to do something, right?"

You chuckle, squatting down to his level, and he hugs you tightly. “I may not be old (physically and mentally) enough to kiss anyone yet, but I can definitely give you a big hug!”

Luke wraps his small arms around you in a warm, sincere hug. “Merry Christmas, MC! You’re like family to me.”

You smile, giving him a gentle pat on the back. “You’re like family to me too, Luke. Merry Christmas.”

Raphael

Raphael is walking through the halls of the Purgatory Hall, lost in thought, when he notices the mistletoe hanging above you both. His brow furrows slightly, but there’s a softness in his gaze as he looks at you.

“Well, this is a bit unexpected, but I won’t complain.” he says with a rare, shy smile.

You can feel the warmth of his touch as he gently takes your hand, guiding you closer. His lips brush yours in a gentle, tender kiss, his eyes closing for a brief moment as he savors the closeness. “Merry Christmas, MC. You’ve made this season truly special for me.”

Thirteen

Thirteen’s chaotic energy fills the room, and you can hardly keep up with her constant bouncing around. As you walk under the mistletoe, she suddenly stops, eyes gleaming mischievously.

“Well, well, well, looks like the mistletoe has spoken, huh?” she grins widely, all teeth and sparkle. “I guess we should make it official then, shouldn’t we?”

Before you can react, she grabs your face and pulls you into a kiss, her energy infusing the moment with a playful spark. When she pulls away, she winks. “Merry Christmas, MC! You’re the best!”

Mephistopheles

Mephistopheles stands by the fireplace, a glass of wine in hand as he watches you approach. His lips curl into a sly grin when he sees the mistletoe.

“Well, this is quite the festive sight, isn’t it?” he says, his voice smooth like velvet.

You raise an eyebrow, but before you can respond, he’s already closing the distance, his fingers grazing your arm as he leans in. His kiss is slow and deliberate, full of a smoldering intensity that leaves you breathless for a moment. When he pulls away, his grin only deepens.

“Merry Christmas, MC. I’ll be sure to make this a holiday you won’t forget.”

Posting this a month before Christmas 🫣🎄

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kusanagihaku · 5 months ago

Text

and i will hold onto you

⭢ haku x mc, 9.6k

n is for new year's day. ˖⁺‧₊⟡ alphabet series | ao3 thinking always about this headcanon; also i know graduation is usually in march but like, artistic license, haha…?

The cheers in Tokyo Dome are deafening.

You watch as families stream down from the corners of the dome to the field, swarming their loved ones in congratulations as graduation caps are knocked to the floor with the force of their hugs.

There is a vague current of wistfulness in the air, amidst the celebratory cheers, as is common in most graduation ceremonies. As you stand alone looking around at all the families, you wonder how much of that wistfulness is your own.

It’s been a little over three years, after all, since you’ve entered Darkwick. Three years since the curse was placed on you and consequently broken, three years since you’ve last seen any of your family. Three years since you’ve found a new one, strange as they are, and two years since they’ve left you, one by one, to take on the world outside Darkwick.

And now it is your turn to leave.

“Honour roll,” comes a familiar voice, from behind you, and you turn, hand on your cap, to see Leo’s smirk and the camera in his hand.

Despite yourself, you laugh. “Leo.”

His smirk melts into something gentle, genuine. “Congratulations. Really. You’re free from this hellhole, once and for all.”

You dip your head at the Vagastrom captain, “Can’t wait for it to be your turn.”

“One year to go, then,” Sho says, appearing behind Leo. He grins, waving a sunflower stalk at you. “One year without our precious senpai coming to bother Vagastrom.”

“You better appreciate that one year.”

“You bet we will,” Leo says, without any real heat, and you share a laugh as Sho presses the sunflower into your hands.

Its stem is wrapped with a stiff yellow ribbon printed with the name of their house. You rub it between your fingers. “Which poor first year did you torture into doing this for you?”

Leo shrugs. “Bunch of ‘em. Said it was for the seniors, and they jumped at the chance.”

“Uh-huh,” you say, unconvinced, but before you can probe further Sho’s eyes flicker somewhere behind you.

A smile unfurls across his face, large and mischievous, and he bobs his chin to your left. “Someone’s waiting for you.”

You turn around, eyebrows furrowed – who is there left in this school who would look for you, Ritsu, Ren? – but then you see him.

He’s holding a small bouquet of sunflowers and white roses, laced with baby’s breath and bells of Ireland. There are whispers from some of the students around you, a gasp of recognition from a Hotarubi student or two as he steps forward. The purple Darkwick tie, never once worn when he was still a student, is loosely tied around his collar, slanting slightly to the right like he has tugged on it more than once under the dark grey suit he has chosen for the occasion.

You don’t notice the pinpricks in the corner of your eyes until he blurs into a mess of green and white and grey. “Oh,” you gasp, and he is there instantly, fingers brushing traitorous tears from your cheeks.

He laughs, palm still cradling your cheek, and even though you knew he was coming, the aw-shucks grin he gives you still puts an all-familiar lump in your throat.

“Congratulations, princess,” Haku says, soft and warm. “Well done.”

December 29 - Darkwick Academy Distance left to destination: 464km

It is eight thirty-four in the morning.

Haku stands, hands on his hips, in the middle of your dorm room. There are two duffle bags by his feet.

For what amounts to two years of living in the cathedral, you have fairly little belongings.

You’ve given most of your items away, of course, in preparation for your move cross-country. All that are left are your clothes, stuffed neatly into a nearly-bursting medium-sized suitcase waiting by the door, and the gifts from various ghouls you’ve accumulated over the years.

“Ready?” Haku asks. He gathers both duffle bags in one hand. In one of them is a notebook, given to you by Zenji before he, too, left.

You turn to survey the bare room. You wonder, for a moment, who the next person to inhabit the room will be like - what they will be cursed with - before you turn back to face Haku.

He is glowing, almost, in the morning light. His grey Hotarubi sweatshirt is rumpled, sleeves pushed halfway up his forearms and creased slightly where his overnight backpack is hung on his left shoulder. He looks at you, head cocked to one side, fond, sleep lines from where he slept on your pull-out sofa the night before etched into the soft of his cheek.

If you haven’t already been planning this road trip for the past two months over text you’d think he came straight out of a dream.

“Ready,” you say. You pick up your winter coat and his, and sling your backpack over your shoulder. The bouquet he gave you the previous day peeks out from the top.

Haku nods. He holds the door open for you as you wheel your suitcase over the threshold of the room. The door clicks closed behind the both of you.

He takes the suitcase from you, then, carrying it easily in one hand down the rickety old staircase. The third step from the bottom creaks beneath his weight like you knew it would.

It creaks beneath your weight, too. You fish the key to the cathedral door out of your pocket as you reach the first floor. You leave it on the side table leading into the kitchen – the worker cats will retrieve it later today – and head towards the front door.

You expect something to change, then, some shift in the air that tells you your time in Darkwick is over, but nothing happens as you emerge out into the watery grey sunlight. You wonder why you expected it to.

Haku’s car is parked, slanted, on the driveway outside the cathedral. The bright yellow permission slip you obtained from Professor Hyde the week before for Haku flaps flimsily in the wind, held back by the wiper on his windshield.

He unlocks the car, loads your belongings into the trunk. The wind brushes his bangs away from his face.

It is eight forty-three in the morning. He looks at you, again, patient, understanding, like he always does.

You exhale. You look back at the cathedral, one last time.

Then you walk over to where Haku whisks you away from Darkwick, as swiftly and as kindly as he did whisking you in.

December 29 - Hakone, Kanagawa Distance left to destination: 365km

It starts snowing a little before Haku pulls into the parking lot.

Being in Darkwick for most of the year means you’ve forgotten what the weather outside is like, sometimes. The powdery snowfall encases the both of you in silence as you shake out your winter coats and trudge up the stone steps, bowing your heads as you pass under the red torii.

The shrine is deserted. Whether it is because of the snow or the time of year you’re not really sure; after all, why come out to a shrine a few days before the end of the year when you’re going to visit again on the first day of the new year?

But it is peaceful and quiet, something you have no complaints about, and before long you’ve made your way up the long stairs and are standing in front of the main hall, heads bowed in respect.

This is the reason why Haku suggested a road trip instead of taking the Shinkansen down to Kyoto – to bring you to all his favourite shrines around the country on the way down. Your stops, carefully mapped out over Wickchat and Google Maps, are few but meaningful to him, planned out so that you’ll move into your new apartment before Subaru’s first performance of the year at Minamiza Theatre.

Haku hasn’t told you the reason for any of the stops, but you can more or less guess his reason for this one; as you descend a different set of stone steps, a tall red torii comes into view, half-submerged in water. Snow drifts into the darkness swirling around the feet of the gates, blurring into the red paint before disappearing on contact with the lake. What lies beyond the gate has been shrouded in mist, a white haze obscured by the oncoming snow.

It looks like some path to the afterlife, almost. Maybe some sort of adventure into the unknown. God knows you’ve had enough adventures to last a lifetime, though.

You hear Haku exhale. “Beautiful, isn’t it?”

You nod. Perhaps it looks like something out of a myth.

He points, off to the side, at a strangely shaped rock a distance away from the main path. “Remember when you asked about the scar on my knee? Scraped it right there, running away from my grandfather.”

You huff a laugh at the image of a little Haku, eyes alight with mischief, dancing out of the grasp of adults. “Didn’t manage to run too far, I guess?”

Haku laughs. He retracts his pointer to rub at his ear. “Not at all. Cried all the way back to the shrine before they bandaged me up.”

You stuff your hands deeper into the pockets of your coat so you will not reach for where his fingertips are turning red with the cold.

“I haven’t been back here in a while,” Haku continues, softer. His eyes are fixed on somewhere beyond the gates. “Not since he passed away.”

You watch as his breath clouds in the cold air. You stay silent.

He glances at you, eventually, small smile tugging on his lips and blinking the snowflakes out of his eyes. “Let’s go?”

After a second of thought you take your hand out of your pocket to loop your arm through his. You feel him shift in surprise, before he presses himself against your warmth. “Yeah.”

December 29 - Shimizu, Shizuoka Distance left to destination: 295km

It stops snowing a little after Haku pulls out of the parking lot.

The rest of the car ride to your next stop is filled with idle chatter and green grape gummies that you picked up from the general store on your way out of Darkwick. Haku keeps his eyes on the lightly frosted road as you feed him, lips barely brushing your pointer and your thumb. You keep your eyes on him.

You just finish telling him about a mission you did with Ritsu before he slows down, turning off the highway into Shimizu.

“We stopping for lunch?” You seal the pack of gummies.

He hums. “Sort of. There’s someone I want you to meet.”

You wince, and finger-comb through your hair. “I’m dressed for a car ride, not for meeting people.”

Haku sneaks a glance at you. “You’re beautiful, princess, don’t worry.”

You flush. “That- you-“

He laughs, light and warm, as he makes a right turn. “Just as easy to tease, after all this time.”

“Shut up,” you say, but his offhand compliment has already burrowed its way under your cheeks and heated them up the same way they always did back at Darkwick. Damn him and his smooth tongue.

You watch as the train stations flash by – Sakurabashi, Kitsunegasaki, Mikadodai – before he slows down next to Kusanagi Station. You glance at him in surprise. Are you heading to the Kusanagi shrine?

Before you can ask, however, he stops next to a nondescript beige building, throwing the car into park.

“We’re here,” he announces, and laughs again when you peek doubtfully at your reflection in the side-view mirror. “You look fine.”

He reaches over to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.

If his fingers linger longer than they should on the shell of your ear, you pretend you do not notice. You pretend your ears do not blush, pretend your breath does not catch.

You exit the car.

There is an old, stooped lady by the restaurant counter when Haku slides the rickety wooden door open, back turned to you as she mops down a wooden table with a bright yellow cloth. All you can see is the checkered bandana resting atop a mop of curly white hair, and a faded red apron sash around her waist, wrapped tight around a stout figure.

“Miyami-san?” Haku calls out. His voice is soft, reverent.

“Ah?” There is obvious shock as she turns around. A startled delight washes over her face the moment her eyes alight on Haku, and she hobbles over immediately, hands outstretched and eyes waned into teary crescents.

“Haku, my dear boy,” she cries. She reaches forward to clasp his hands in her own, wrinkled and gentle. “My, my, you’ve grown taller, haven’t you?”

Haku half-laughs. “I haven’t grown since I last came back.”

The old lady laughs, too. “Perhaps it’s me who has grown smaller. And who’s this?”

“A friend, from Darkwick. I told you about her over the phone, remember?” Haku’s hand is warm on your elbow through your coat.

The old lady turns to you, peering kindly. “Yes, I do remember…”

You wonder briefly what Haku has said about you, but under the scrutiny of the old lady you hurriedly introduce yourself, bowing.

She claps, delightedly. “You both must be hungry, coming down from your school. I’ll whip something up for you real quick, shall I?”

“Anything you make will be delicious,” Haku intones, and he shoots her a charming smile that would have turned half of Hotarubi silly.

It works on her as well, evidently, as she pats his cheek and makes her way to the back of the room.

“I used to come here all the time to hang out with her grandkids,” Haku says, removing his coat. His eyes follow her as she disappears into the kitchen, humming brightly. “They moved away when I was fifteen, though, but I just… kept coming. She’s more like a grandmother to me than my own grandma.”

He sweeps his fringe behind his ear, and rolls up the sleeves of his sweatshirt. His earrings brush the line of his jaw. “I stay here, sometimes, when I don’t want to go back to my family.”

You blink, looking around the restaurant. There are wooden panels lining the room, black ink on rectangle blocks to indicate the menu, but little else by way of decoration. “Here?”

Haku chuckles. He points to an entrance hidden by an egg-white curtain, tucked quietly into a corner by the back. “She has guest rooms, upstairs. She usually lets them out, but there tends to be no guests, at this time of year.”

You both agree on taking your overnight bags out from the car while Miyami-san is cooking, if only to save time. Haku stands, as if to help you, but you swat his hand. “Stay here. If she comes out and finds us both missing, how will that look?”

Haku just laughs, sitting back down in acquiescence, and looks up at you, chin in hand. He looks adorable, like this, adoring, and you are suddenly filled with a desperate wish that you could capture this image, forever. “Like we ran off like a couple of hormonal teenagers?”

You flush, and leave him without a response.

It doesn’t take long for you to gather his backpack and your duffel bag from the car, and as you slide the wooden door closed and toe off your shoes you hear murmuring voices low enough to make you still before the entrance curtain.

“Are you going to show her the shrine, then?”

A pause. “They’re going to be too busy preparing things for the New Year’s ceremony.”

She hums. “That’s true.”

“Miyami-san–” Haku starts, but she hushes him.

“I know, I know,” she says. “I won’t tell them you stopped by.”

Haku laughs, then, something soft and young and grateful. “Thank you. As always.”

There is a beat of silence, and you prepare to move, but her voice sounds again. “Who is she, to you?”

You hear the grin in Haku’s voice. “Why?”

“You know… you’re of age… it’s about time you bring someone home for me to meet.”

There is a rustle as Haku shifts around in his chair. “She’s one of the strongest people I know,” he says, slowly, “but she hasn’t had much control over her past few years. Now that she’s free of all that, I’d like to leave as much up to her as possible.”

You tense. Your heart hammers in your chest, tight and painful, as his words trip over themselves, over and over in your brain. Does he mean–

“–she’s also listening around the corner, so I refuse to say anymore.”

You don’t think your cheeks have experienced this much blood-rush in a while. You poke your head out from behind the curtain. “How did you know!”

“The door isn’t exactly silent,” Haku points out, and the three of you dissolve into laughter.

There is something light and warm, there, born in the small of the room. It expands, a golden sort of feeling that stretches beyond the four wooden walls and settles, stardust-like, in the space between Haku’s hands and yours; it collapses, cools under your tongue into a memory bright and sweet and precious.

If you don’t give it a name, you think, perhaps you can continue pretending that being by Haku’s side does not feel like home.

December 30 - Shimizu, Shizuoka Distance left to destination: 295km

There is a saying – what is a handspan away feels most like a world apart.

Haku sits, two handspans away. He is looking up at the ceiling, squinting against a lightbulb he changed prior to breakfast. It’s a different colour from the rest, a cool white against the warmth of the other, older bulbs in the restaurant, and it washes him in a faint crisp light.

“Well, at least it’s not blinking anymore,” Haku says. His elbows rest against the table.

Miyami-san sighs, forlorn. “I’ll have to write down the model number so I can buy the correct bulb next time. What time are you planning to head out?”

Haku leans over to you, taps the screen of your new phone you both spent an hour setting up last night. It lights up, displaying a blurry photo of Haku trying to take a selfie with you, overlaid by the time in white.

“In about twenty minutes? I’ll wash up before we go,” Haku insists, getting to his feet. “You’ve been more than lovely making us breakfast.”

He sweeps everything up into a pile before she can protest, and disappears, whistling, into the kitchen.

“Haku’s a good boy,” she sighs, as you watch him go. She stretches, and leans backwards. “Before he left for school he always helped me with all the odd jobs around the house. Changed all my lightbulbs for me, too.”

You laugh. “Sounds like Haku.”

She adjusts the strap of her apron. “He’s so smart, too. Made the top of his class whenever he put his mind to it.”

You suppress a smile. If you didn’t know better you’d think she was a grandmother eager to market her bachelor grandson off to the next available singleton.

“And responsible, too,” she continues. “Good thing he is, what with the shrine business.”

She peeks at you, and you quickly school your widening smile into something more presentable. “Has he told you about the shrine?”

You nod. You can hear Haku, more than a few handspans away, soft humming barely audible over the sound of running water in the kitchen. “The Kusanagi shrine.”

She hums. “He’s going to take over from his family one day. He’s going to be a better leader than his father is.”

A silence lapses over the both of you. They’re both true statements, you know, and yet there is something nagging at you about the mention of his father.

“Miyami-san,” you start, carefully. “If I may ask… what’s his family like?”

“His family?” She turns her head thoughtfully to the curtain that hides the kitchen from the restaurant, and is silent for so long you wonder if you’ve overstepped.

You are about to mumble a hasty apology when she turns back to you.

“They expect a lot from him,” she says, softly. “There’s a great many responsibilities that fall your way when you inherit a shrine. His father had to shoulder it, and his father before that, and so on. He may be running away from it now, but eventually it’ll have to be his turn, and I think in the back of their minds they all know it.”

You want to nod, but it feels like the wrong thing to do. Running away… except he isn’t, not really. Everything Haku did at Darkwick, every skill you’ve seen him practise and every responsibility you’ve seen him manage in Hotarubi, felt like he was building himself to take over the shrine – from his artifact to the research for his missions to all the summer festivals he helped manage. Even now, from what you understand of his work, it seems like what he has chosen to do is in preparation for him to take over.

“He’s more prepared than they think,” you say. “He works hard, even though he acts like he doesn’t.”

She looks at you a little more sharply, then. There is a cool appraisal behind her squint, before it melts into something like approval. “He does, doesn’t he.”

Before you can respond, though, Haku emerges from the kitchen, running a hand through his hair. “Talking about me?”

“You wish,” you say, and are rewarded immediately with the sparkle of his laugh.

He pauses next to your seat before picking up his backpack. His hand nearly brushes yours. “Ready to head out?”

You stand. Your hand nearly brushes his, a world apart. “Ready.”

December 30 - Nagakute, Aichi Distance left to destination: 175km

“Hard disagree – we turn left here – you’re only saying that because my name is Haku.”

You squint at the alleyway in front of you dubiously. It’s bathed in the last rays of evening, a dying honey from the setting sun that does nothing to ward off the winter chill, and it seems to lead to yet another street that looks oddly similar to the one you’re about to leave. “Are you sure?”

But Haku is already stepping forward, Google Maps winking into sleep on his phone screen, and so you follow behind. The thrift shop he is searching for is supposed to be a mere ten minute walk from where you left the warmth of the Ghibli Park, but you swear you’ve been wandering around for at least twenty minutes.

“Anyway, no, it’s because he’s a river spirit–“

Haku glances at you, eyebrow raised. “I’m not a river spirit.”

“-and he’s supposed to know a lot about the spirit world.” You huff at him, and he laughs in acquiescence. You reach the end of the alleyway; Haku squints against the reflection of sun on his phone and directs you to turn right.

“And he spent a lot of the movie using that knowledge to protect and save Chihiro, didn’t he?” you continue. You look down at your feet even though the evening light is no longer shining directly into your eyes. The worn grey of the road winks at you as you cross residential street. “Like you did with me.”

Haku is silent for a beat, before he says, lightly, “I think I’m much more like Howl.”

You cannot hold back your snort. “Because how he gets all the girls?”

His responding laugh is startled and bright. “C’mon now, princess. Howl only ever loved Sophie, in the end.”

He looks at you, brows raised, like there is something you are supposed to understand, but after a moment of expectant silence too laden for you to consider you swallow the whiskey-burn of his eyes and turn away.

“Is it nearby?” you ask, instead. You push the ice blocks you used to call hands deeper into your coat pockets, and push your gaze back down to the grey asphalt under your feet.

Haku unlocks his phone in response. “One more block to go. Sorry, you must be tired.”

You shake your head.

“We’ll get dinner after this, then crash out,” he decides, anyway. “We had an early start today, and we’ve done a lot.”

(You stopped earlier in the day at Atsuta Shrine to pay your respects before heading down to Ghibli Park, and briefly heard a guide explain about the great Kusanagi sword supposedly stored in the halls.

“Oh, my Kusanagi sword is great, alright,” Haku snorted under his breath; you smacked him on the shoulder and dragged him, holding back giggles, towards the exit before you got struck down for blasphemy.)

After two more minutes of sleepy residential buildings, you spot the orange signboard of the thrift store, hanging from a black rod above a shuttered flower shop. There is a chalkboard leaned against the side of the flower shop with carefully scrawled yellow letters and arrows directing you to a staircase around the back. Going up the concrete steps leads you to a wooden door with a heavy handle.

Haku tugs the door open, and gestures for you to go inside.

The store is swathed in yellow and orange, thanks to the narrow spot-light beams installed on the ceiling. The wooden shelving look old but well-cared for under carefully stacked clothes, a small contrast to the adjacent metal frames sagging with hangers of coats and jackets. There are mirrors gently leaned on the walls at strategic places throughout the store, reflecting the warm light from the ceiling and making the space look bigger than it actually is.

A man in a beanie looks up from where he is slouched over the cashier, and waves a silent welcome that you both acknowledge.

“One of my seniors told me this place has a good curation of sweaters,” Haku says, turning to study the racks. He picks up a bomber jacket in olive green, inspects it, then sets it down. “You’ll probably need more winter wear too, now that we don’t get climate control. But we’ll also stop at another place when we get to Kyoto, just so you can get some new clothes to wear around Subaru.”

You nod, and dutifully turn your attention to the racks, fingers running across the soft fabrics draped neatly on dark metallic hangers.

You’re looking at a cardigan the colour and texture of dawn clouds when Haku appears again at your elbow. “Look at this one.”

He holds up a sweater in washed out sage. It’s slightly fluffy, sleeves softly melting into a cream. When you reach out to touch it it’s impossibly softer than it looks.

“It’s cute,” you say. Its sloped shoulders are wide; you hold the pale green fabric up to his shoulders. “It looks your size, too.”

Haku hums in agreement. He takes the sweater, gently, from your fingers, and turns it around, lining the edge of its shoulders up with yours.

“I think it looks cuter on you,” he says. The honey of his eyes sparkle with mirth as he nudges you to face the mirror. “Like you’re stealing your boyfriend’s clothes.”

You feel a fire climbing up your cheeks immediately, and you glare at Haku, heatless and helpless, as he bites back a laugh. He shifts away, grinning brightly, and leaves you staring in the mirror with the sweater folded between your hands.

There is barely any evening light left over from golden hour, the last of the sun’s rays having died shortly before you stepped indoors, but the green of Haku’s hair is still dyed a soft copper by the warm lights of the store. He stands, turning glasses frames over in his hands, under a spotlight beam and the drifting strains of jazz, blurred only slightly by the fingerprints in the mirror and the irregular bump of your heart.

The scene is so mundane it feels almost unreal – this Haku, suspended in glass and glow. His long fingers are not wrapped around his flute or dusty research tomes, but between folded jeans; his movements are slow and languorous, no longer bound by the urgency of missions or threat of curfew.

You could stare at him like this forever.

It is suddenly easy, so easy to imagine him elsewhere, you think – sorting through vegetables at a supermarket, folding laundry on the floor of his bedroom, doing anything and everything far and away from the drizzle of Hotarubi.

This Haku has all the time in the world.

So do you. So do you.

You close your eyes and take a deep breath.

“How does this look?”

The heat of his vowels slide across the shell of your ear, and you jump slightly, eyes flying open.

You are vaguely aware of a chunky grey frame, translucent acrylic that slips low on his nose bridge and blobs shadows on his cheeks, but his eyes have locked onto yours in the mirror as he leans down over your shoulder to peer at his reflection, cheek dangerously close to yours, so close that if you just turned, if you just—

It sends your heart crashing, thundering painfully, cruelly, through your throat, a weight and an untethering from the hypnosis of the moment all at once—

“You look stupid,” you say. Or think you do, anyway. You can barely hear yourself over the thunderous rushing in your ears. “Try– try this one.”

Your fingers scrabble for the closest frame on the shelf next to you, and hold them up to the mirror.

Haku laughs, a gentle huff that blows by your cheek as he lifts the frame out of your hand, and straightens back up to slip them on.

It’s gold-rimmed, this time, a thin wire frame that catches the warm spot-lighting of the store and soaks a glow into his skin. The rounded rectangular shape sits well on his cheekbones, faded gold temples disappearing into his messy green hair.

You blink, and there is a fleeting glimpse of sun-spots and crow’s feet, of salt-and-pepper hair melting into green, of laughter creasing itself into deep-set wrinkles in the corners of his smile. He is looking at you, still, in the way he always has, this old-man-mirror-Haku, and something blooms, choking and sweet, in the hollow of your ribs.

Something shifts, then.

Eddies of a future you’ve never thought possible sing like the wind through the holes in your heart; they crash into you, a merciless tangle of relief and frustration and hope that steals the breath from your lungs you didn’t realise you were holding since leaving Darkwick.

The tremble of it’s over and your curse is well and truly over courses through the map of your veins, and winds its way across where your eyes meet Haku’s through the mirror. The words crack themselves in half, split to show you a future so wide and open and yet so certain it threatens to swallow you whole – of you, alive and un-cursed and getting to grow old. Of you-and-Haku, hand-in-hand, getting to growing old together, looking up at the same sky.

“-what do you think?” Haku is saying. His eyes are crinkled up in something you think might be fondness or affection, or something equally hopeful and terrifying.

It looks good on you, your mouth moves on its own accord, you should get it, but that is as far as you get before he blurs together in a sear of tears.

Haku moves immediately, hand on your elbow spinning you around to face him. His eyes search yours in alarm and concern and confusion, but to both your surprise a laugh bubbles out of you, quiet and free.

You raise a hand to brush his bangs away from his forehead, and he leans into your touch, in spite of his bewilderment.

“It looks good,” you say again, and you mean it.

(He buys the glasses, of course, and three sweaters you said you liked. You leave the thrift shop with paper bags in hand, yet somehow feel a lot lighter than you did going in.)

December 31 - Kuwana, Mie Distance left to destination: 99km

The numbers on the dashboard read a glowing ten thirty-eight.

The highway stretches before the windshield, a wide belt that melts into the distance. It is empty, save for the occasional cargo truck Haku passes, and the glare of the noon sun reflecting off its smooth grey surface is enough to turn every travelling vehicle into a mini-oven despite the season.

Haku adjusts his grip on the steering wheel. He reaches, slightly, to wind his window down to let some of the cool winter air in, but his fingers pause before they reach the switch.

He peeks at where you are asleep, head resting on the passenger window and eyelashes brushing the soft of your cheek. He retracts his hand.

He reaches, instead, with his other hand to the air-conditioning controls, and turns the dial towards “COOL”.

The numbers on the dashboard wink into ten thirty-nine.

The packet of strawberry gummies on top of the winter coats folded in your lap crinkles slightly, then slides from where your grip has slackened. It has long since been emptied, with you taking turns to tuck the candies between your lips and his, and its lack of weight slips it neatly between your seat and the centre console.

Ren recommended them, you said, an hour back, holding one up to his lips. They’re good, aren’t they?

Haku smiled, tamped down the familiar knot that swelled with any reminder of the years you spent at Darkwick without him by your side, and nodded. They’re pretty sweet.

You grinned and tapped the large yellow zero printed atop ruby-red strawberries. No sugar, too!

No, he thinks, now – perhaps the sugar had been in the brush of your fingertips against his lips. Perhaps it had been in the glitter of your laugh as you listened to him tell you some work story or another, or in the way the sun had bounced off the dashboard and lit you up all over, all soft glow and contentment as you slipped another gummy between the pink of your lips.

For a moment, he wonders if you will taste like strawberry, if the curve of your smile will be just as sweet as it looks when pressed against his own–

He shakes his head, to clear it.

Haku is a patient man. Ceremony is in his bones; he is good at waiting his turn, good at calculating consequences, good at following the rules.

Except for when he isn’t. Except for when he texted you, midway through your last semester, to ask which branches of the Institute has offered you a job in hopes that he can persuade you to take up some position near his own. When he asked you, two months before graduation, to drive down to Kyoto with him instead of taking the train, just so he gets three days with you by his side after so many days apart.

When he took one look at you, that night on the train from Kisaragi Station, and took your hand and held it all the way to Darkwick.

Maybe it is selfishness, maybe it is impulsivity. Maybe it is irresponsibility, and maybe it is the reason why, try as he may, they will never deem him ready to take over the shrine, but oh, when he looks at you–

He is a patient man. He will be a patient man. He has waited two long, excruciating years without you, and he will continue to wait, for as long as it’ll take until you’re ready.

The numbers on the dashboard wink into ten forty-three.

Haku reaches over, again, to turn the air-conditioning dial further down.

His gaze brushes against the new air freshener you bought him the day before at the gift shop. It smells of “clean” and “fresh”, whatever that’s supposed to mean, and he can barely catch its scent, but you unwrapped it the moment you got into the car and hung it neatly on the rearview mirror, and he cannot help but feel some fondness for something that brings you joy. Even if it’s just a small piece of cardboard with a white dragon and a girl printed on it.

He would have chosen a different one, himself. He would have picked the one with Howl and Sophie - someone who learns how strong she really is, and someone who has waited a lifetime to love her.

You stir in your sleep, shifting slightly so your head is no longer pressed against the passenger window. The numbers on the dashboard wink into ten forty-four.

Haku takes the next exit off the highway, and wonders if you remember that in the movies, Chihiro saves Haku, too.

December 31 - Uji, Kyoto

Distance left to destination: 21km

“Haku!”

The guy that emerges from the shrine’s prayer hall has a smile only one shade dimmer than the sun. He waves energetically at Haku and you, hands padded in red gloves a stark contrast with his navy blue haori, and bounds over to you.

“Thought you weren’t coming back for another two days!” the man says, beaming. “We’re prepping the omikuji right now, like you told us to.”

Haku chuckles, hand coming up to rub the back of his neck. “That’s good. I’m not back for work, though, I’m just here to show my friend around.“

The man looks at you curiously, and he looks so oddly familiar you could have sworn you’ve seen him somewhere before. He tilts his head to one side, like he’s working through the same puzzle you are, before it clicks–

“Honour student!” he exclaims, and claps his hands. “Didn’t expect to see you here!”

Haku laughs, and shifts closer to you. “Darkwick just had their commencement ceremony, so I’m helping her settle into her new apartment soon.”

Koji – the name comes to you in a flash, a vague impression of a Hotarubi general student floating to the top of your mind from when he helped Haku on a mission once – wiggles his eyebrows. “Will it be near to us?”

Haku looks at you, thoughtfully. “The Institute put her in Kyoto, near Subaru, but I suppose…”

Before he can finish the thought, however, a soft holler comes from an open window in the back of the sales hut. “Oi, heartbreaker!”

A man sticks his head out of a back door. He looks pleased to see Haku, and disappears for a few seconds before emerging from the wooden doors, wrapping himself in a warmer coat.

He waves a sheath of papers at Haku as he walks over. “We’re more or less ready for tomorrow, but I need you to sign a couple things–“

Haku moves over immediately, head bent over the documents, and leaves you in company of Koji.

“Heartbreaker?” You murmur, and Koji beams.

He nods his head, fluffy hair bouncing in his enthusiasm. “That’s Haku! Didn’t he tell you? When he first joined, half the local girls who came up to pray during Lunar New Year instantly fell in love and we had to barricade the shrine and defend ourselves with swords so our Haku wouldn’t get overrun–“

“Koji,” the other man says, severely, “stop making things up.”

Koji pouts, and you have to bite your lip to keep from smiling. “Anyway, he’s built up quite a following among the locals. It’s good for business, though.”

“I can imagine,” you say, and you can–

Haku, looking out the sales window next to the shrine, chin in hand and head slightly tilted as people come up to buy omamoris. The way the honey of his eyes will crease, slightly, as he smiles at their approach. The soft of his hands as he counts out their change, and wishes them a good day.

Haku, head bent over a candle box before he reaches in to select an appropriate one. The curl of his long fingers over theirs as he presses the candles into their palm, a blessing, a benediction, conferred with intent. The soothe of his voice as he comforts them, wishes them well, after.

Haku, this Haku that belongs to the people, whose heart swells with their aches and whose words are carefully chosen to quell them. This Haku, who works for the people by day, and works for them still by night.

Haku looks up from where he is flipping through documents, pen in hand, and grins as he meets your eyes. “Maybe we should spread word that my heart already belongs to someone else.”

Your cheeks burn immediately, and you open your mouth to stutter out a reply, but Haku’s senior beats you to the punch.

“Disgusting,” he mutters fondly, barely louder than Koji’s awww, then flips a page for Haku. “Sign here, then get out of my sight. Word from HQ is that you’re on four concurrent missions in January, so make the best of your break.”

Haku groans. “Best go pray for my own damn safety, then.”

His senior rolls up the freshly signed document, then raps him smartly on the head. “No cursing on shrine grounds. Come on, Koji, you’re still not done with the omikujis.”

Haku grins, rubbing his head where he got tapped, then turns to face you as Koji is dragged, mumbling in protest, back to the hidden back doors. “Shall we?”

The rest of the shrine is fairly quiet. Sunlight dances through the bare branches as you cross the courtyard and duck around some gates to the main shrine. There are rabbits printed on cream-coloured lanterns attached to the gates, faded slightly by the elements and swaying in the wind. They look like they are dancing in greeting as you pass them.

The main shrine Haku comes to a stop at is up a set of steep stone stairs. It is covered with wooden slats, painted warm by the noon light. If you didn’t look too closely you’d think the structures inside were glowing by themselves.

Haku fishes out coins from his pocket, and hands one to you. He leans forward to shake the thick rope after you toss your coin into the wooden offering box, then you both bow and clap twice.

You have so many things to wish for that you almost don’t know where to start, but the words flow out of your heart faster than you can think, afloat with intent and hope – for Haku to be safe. For Haku to be happy. For all the ghouls you’ve helped and been helped by to be happy and healthy. For all the anomalies they’ll run into to be a little less fatal, for the anomalies themselves to be safely captured and treated well. For all their futures to be a little less perilous, a little more secure.

For your future to be a little less dangerous, too. For your future to hold warm soup and cosy evenings, for your days to hold laughter and ease and familiarity, for your nights to hold home and sighs and moonlit dances across the kitchen floor with Haku–

Your eyes flutter open, and you bow, quickly.

Best to not hope for too much.

You sneak a glance at Haku. His head is still bowed, hands still pressed together. He is washed in the bright of sunlight unshaded by winter’s branches, and in the silent sun-stirred dance of dust motes around him he looks almost like a painting.

His bracelets shine a radiant translucence as they catch and absorb the sunlight, nearly covering most of a scar underneath. Your heart twinges slightly – you were there when he got injured.

It was to save you, really, some tiny anomaly or another changing directions and hurtling towards you with a vengeance. If Haku didn’t knock it off its trajectory with the back of his hand… you can’t imagine what would have happened.

Instead, you’d brought him home to Hotarubi and carefully cleaned his cuts and wounds, and stayed with the soft glow of his smile and the even softer glow of his words, well into the night. He’d murmured gentle reassurances into the quiet of the night, thigh pressed up against yours as you sat side by side and looked out onto the still Hotarubi gardens; yet the feeling of guilt has never gone away, cementing itself into the cracks of all that you owe him.

I’m sorry, you said, again, for the fiftieth time that night. If it weren’t for me you wouldn’t have gotten injured.

He had laughed before a ghost of pressure landed against your temple, so soft you think to this day you’d imagined it. Anything for you, princess. Stop worrying about it.

It sent your heart racing, back then, his words wild fireworks popping in your throat.

The same way his words send your heart racing, now.

Maybe we should spread word that my heart already belongs to someone else.

You exhale. Haku has never hidden his affection for you, not really – whether it was proclaimed in front of a beaming Zenji or murmured into the drizzle of Hotarubi, the flirtatious comments you once believed were just part of his personality or simply lavished onto everyone you eventually realised were only ever directed to you.

And you understood it, back then, the same way you understand it now. Haku has never been shy about you. How much of it was guilt over bringing you to Darkwick and a burgeoning sense of responsibility for your curse, you will perhaps never know, but this is what you know now, after two years of turning the thought of Haku over and over in your mind:

That you never agreed to start because you were always afraid of the end. That you perhaps wished he would forget about you after his time at Darkwick, if only to make things easier for him after your transformation into the Kyklos; that you wished to forget about him, too, after his time at Darkwick, if only to avoid the real possibility of Haku finding someone else.

But now your last page has been ripped out, a future of a curse torn out by your very own hands and shredded into the wind… now that you’re out and free (albeit still working for the Institute) and ready to rewrite your own ending…

Haku looks up from his hands, and bows. He turns to you, smile fond and sweet, and extends a hand to help you down the steps. “Ready?”

You take his hand, lace his fingers into your own. The word on your tongue turns into a candle turns into a lantern turns into the sun. “Ready.”

December 31 - Uji, Kyoto Distance left to destination: 19km

You cradle your hot cup of tea in your palms.

The cold of the bridge railing beneath your elbows seep past your coat and into your bones. The last of the sun’s rays cast a glow on the trees on the opposing shore, turning them into a sea of reddish-gold, but they do little to warm you as you watch the sun sink below the horizon.

Haku rests, one handspan away, identical cup nestled between his hands.

“This is my favourite place to watch the sunset,” he says. “You can see the train tracks and the Uji Bridge from here.”

A train rumbles by in the distance as he says it, slicing the scene in half. It takes a few seconds before the sky meets the river again.

“I think about bringing you here, all the time,” he says, quietly. He shifts the cup to his other hand. “I come here after work sometimes, and stay until the sky is dark and I can see the stars. Then I wonder about whether you’re looking at the same stars, too, in Darkwick.”

You both watch the sun creep steadily downwards, meeting its wavering counterpart in the water.

Haku exhales. He does not look at you. “I’m glad you’re here.”

His words wrap around you, hushed and gossamer. How much you’ve thought about him, too, looking up at the night skies as you dragged yourself back to the cathedral.

Whenever you walked out from Hotarubi, shutting your one-person umbrella and looking up at the moon, you’d think of him.

The way he’d walk you back, shoulder to shoulder as if you were still sharing an umbrella. The way he’d look at you, moonlight tangled into his eyelashes and the arc of his hands, the way he’d smile like the night was a secret only the two of you shared. The way he’d sit you down on the campus stone benches to talk about your missions with other houses, the way he’d reassure you, again and again, that whatever you were doing was enough. That you were enough.

The memories twist themselves onto your tongue. You do not look at him, either, when you say, “Me too.”

The last sliver of sun slips away, and then it is gone.

The conversation turns to seeing Subaru on stage in two days and what flowers you plan to get him, then to your new Institute-funded apartment, a small place buried near a Galaxy Express station, and the furniture you plan to get.

You wonder out loud how long the Galaxy Express would take to get to Uji if you and Subaru were to come visit, as compared to taking the regular train from Kyoto Station. It’s already a very short distance, you think, but maybe it’d take half the time.

“It takes sixteen minutes from Kyoto’s HQ,” Haku says. He taps the top of his now-empty cup with a long finger. “Or twenty-two, if you count the time it takes to walk back to my apartment.”

“Damn, these cats really know how to run a railway line.”

Haku laughs, quiet and breathless, before he says, “Move in with me, instead.”

You pause, cup halfway lifted to your lips. You lower your hand.

“It’s only a slightly longer commute,” he murmurs, “and you won’t have to buy new furniture.”

He looks at you, eyes full of morning sun. You read in them something that feels a lot like a future.

You won’t have to spend your nights alone in a drafty old room anymore. We will not have to untangle ourselves at the end of the day, and pretend we do not want to stay. Now that I’ve spent three whole days with you I don’t know how I’ve ever managed without; it feels like I’m never going to be able to go back.

You exhale.

This is how it has always been - this is how the two of you are - him building a bridge between you both and reminding you that if you ever want to cross it, if you ever need to cross it, he will always be on the other side, waiting.

He waits, now.

For a moment, you think you are brave.

Ready?

But the moment passes, and the words that have swelled up on your tongue are familiar and terrifying and comforting and too heavy and mean too little and too much, all at once, and you swallow the waves that rise up in your lungs, and you close your eyes, and you pretend you are not in love with him, have not been in love with him since he held your hand in the dark of a train carriage three-odd years ago.

“Imagine the paperwork,” you say, instead, and Haku leaves it at that.

December 31 - Uji, Kyoto Distance left to destination: 16km

Haku’s apartment is small, but homey.

It is much more modern that you expect it to be, and feels infinitely more Haku than any Hotarubi dorm could. The kitchen you step into is tiny but sleek, with just enough space to fit a boiler, a tea set and an induction cooker before ending at a large fridge. The green glow on the microwave tucked onto a shelf a bit higher than eye-level reads eleven forty-two.

He lucked out on the Institute lottery, he tells you, setting his keys in a bowl on the kitchen island and flicking on the kitchen lights – where others only get a studio apartment he at least gets a bedroom attached to the living and dining area. Ghoul perks, perhaps.

Where you expect a kitchen island is instead a mountain of books, shuffled neatly into piles not unlike what you used to be greeted with in his old dorm, bookmarked full with post-its covered in his chicken-scratch writing.

You pick out a barely-used blue post-it pad from a pile of neon-yellow ones, and run your thumb over the winking tanuki in the background. “Is this the one I bought for you, back on that shrine mission?”

Haku peeks over your shoulder. His laugh brushes your ear, soft and warm, before moving away to roll your luggage into the living room. “Yeah. I can’t bear to use it much, though. It feels as though I should treasure it.”

You snort, looking up at him. “I can always buy you another one.”

“I’m not opposed to that.”

(You’d buy him one set everyday for the rest of his days, if he’d let you.)

Haku tucks your suitcase next to a soft grey sofa set opposite a plain white wall, and sets your duffle bag on a small wooden coffee table in between that looks like it hasn’t been dusted in years. “There are fireworks bound to start in about fifteen minutes. Wanna watch those on the balcony?”

You blink – you’ve almost forgotten that today is New Year’s Eve, what with all the sightseeing you’ve packed in today around Uji.

Haku tugs the pale blue curtains apart, revealing glass doors to a small balcony overlooking residential neighbourhood. The night is quiet, still, buzz of the city conspicuously absent from the streets despite the celebratory date and even though most households have their lights on and curtains pulled open in anticipation of the fireworks, you don’t hear much beyond the whistling of the wind when you step outside.

You settle against the railing on his balcony. “It’s so nice, here.”

Haku joins you. “When everyone’s lights are off, at night, you can see the stars.”

You tilt your head up. Haku’s apartment is high up enough the street lamps that you do not have to shield your eyes from their orange glow, and as you peer up at the heavens you see constellations slowly starting to take shape. “Wow.”

Haku shifts, closer. His shoulder is pressed up against yours. “Any New Year’s resolutions yet?”

You laugh. “Other than learning how to survive outside Darkwick?”

“That’s enough,” Haku says, softly. “Sometimes surviving is tough enough, on its own.”

You bite your lip, and look down at the street below. A stray cat dips in and out of the shadows.

“I’m going to be brave this year,” you tell him.

I’m going to be brave enough to face what’s coming. I’m going to be brave enough to decide what I’m going to do with my life, instead of obeying missives from a corrupted Academy and existing at their beck and call. I’m going to be brave enough to tell you what I really want to say, to build my own side of the bridge, to finally meet you on the other side.

Haku tilts his head to look at you, then. He raises a hand from where his arms have been crossed on the railing, long fingers tenderly tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

It sends daylight swirling down your spine, leaves you breathless and August-warm when you catch his gaze.

“I think you’re already plenty brave,” he says, quietly.

Before you can respond, however, the street explodes with noise. Windows are pulled open and chanting spills out onto the street, a clamour of three, two, one–

Tiny lights hang themselves across the sky, a mere flash before tightly packed colours dazzling as the sun explode across its inky canvas. Brilliant reds and blues and yellows and greens burst into bloom over and over again; they paint everything on the street with their glow. The distant booms and whistles of their journey travel through the neighbourhood, wind their way through the festivities and laughter and cheer.

It is at once so extraordinary and normal, this celebration of the Earth making its way around the sun yet again, that you find yourself giddy, smiling, joyful. You turn to look at Haku, tinted a faint red from the vivid glows in the sky, only to find he is already looking at you, gaze warm, fond.

You learnt once, on a mission with Jabberwock, that firecrackers and fireworks set off during New Year were as much meant to scare away the bad things as they were to celebrate the good.

I think you’re already plenty brave.

In the bright of the night his words soak into your skin.

Perhaps you are.

You lean up, and press a small kiss to the corner of his lips. This is me, building my side of the bridge. This is me, ready. “Happy New Year, Haku.”

His palm catches your cheek as you pull away. The spread of his smile, wide and bright and delighted, sends stardust settling into the hollow of your throat, sets its own fireworks off within the hollow of your ribs, pulls a smile onto your own cheeks. The gold of his eyes shine with something more than the pyrotechnics, something full of devotion, full of beginnings.

“Happy New Year,” Haku says, and leans in to kiss you again.

#tokyo debunker #haku kusanagi #tokyo debunker x reader #bangs pots and pans LONGFORM ROAD TRIP FIC IS HERE #SORRY this was meant to be in time for new year's but like #in my usual fashion im late lol #so have this in time for lunar new year #warnings i guess for canon divergence - mc doesn't die from the curse! as u can tell from the blurb asdjlkjsa #also i am AWARE this is my second haku fic in the alphabet series but like . i love haku can u rly blame me #also (lmao i have so many postscripts) this was written specifically with that one line in mind from new year's day #'don't read the last page but i stay when you're lost and i'm scared and you're turning away'#me with my haku lens on: idk i think it's very haku!#lin writes #anyways this is less a relationship pining fic than it is just me expounding on why i love haku #alphabet series

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lyn31 · 3 months ago

Text

Rainy Day

Summar

A rainy day off turns into a glitter-drenched space mission as you and Zayne navigate chaos, cardboard, and the quiet magic of family.

Ao3 link

My Masterlist ✨

Notes

Pairing: Zayne x MC/Reader Family fluff, three kids chaos, rainy day, summer break, day off bonding, banter, silly.

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The rain starts before the sun rises.

It taps gently against the windows, a steady rhythm that wraps around the house like a lullaby. The sky is still dim, grey light just barely filtering through the curtains. Your body’s warm beneath the blankets, curled instinctively toward the colder weight beside you.

Another day off lined up for both of you—but it’s not just your day anymore. It's already been a week since the kids’ summer break started, and your mornings have been less chaotic than the usual school rush. With the twins finally starting first grade this year, the house is a different kind of noisy these days.

Zayne’s breath brushes your neck, cool as ever. His hand rests on your waist—still, but present. He’s awake. You can feel it in the way he shifts just slightly, fingertips flexing like he’s reminding himself you’re here. No rush. No calls. No alarms. Just the two of you, for once.

You shift closer, brushing your nose against his. He hums—quiet and low, like he’s afraid to wake the moment.

His lips meet yours in a slow, unhurried kiss, and it’s soft enough to make your chest ache. Like he’s savoring it. Like he knows how rare this is.

His fingers trail lower, slow and deliberate, slipping beneath the hem of your shirt. You gasp softly against his mouth. He pauses just long enough to breathe your name like a question—but you don’t answer. You don’t need to. The answer’s already in the way you arch into him, the way your hand slips into his hair and pulls.

You just start to lose yourself in the warmth of him when—

CRASH.

A loud thump rattles the ceiling, followed by—

“LUCAS! ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!”

“What? You’re the one who kicked me first!”

“THAT’S BECAUSE YOU TOOK THE BLANKET—”

You both freeze. A beat of ruckus. Then Zayne exhales heavily into your collarbone.

“…I believe the kids are awake.”

You bury your face into the pillow, stifling your laugh. “Quick—maybe if we play dead, they won’t look for us.”

Zayne shifts onto his back, already resigned. “I doubt it. One of them will come in a second. Probably Callum.”

But then—

A new voice. Softer. Calmer.

You can hear Serena saying something from the hallway, her voice quiet but firm in that way she’s mastered. And then you hear the twins muffled answers. A few footsteps.

A pause. Then some grumbling. Then—miraculously—quiet, not fully but with three kids in the house this is the right kind of quiet.

You and Zayne blink up at the ceiling. The quiet... holds.

“…did she just?” you murmur.

“She did,” he says, lips brushing your shoulder. “I think we owe her a raise.”

You roll to face him again, still wrapped in that warm, sleep-soft haze. The tension from before simmers under your skin—changed now, slower, softer. Not urgent, just... close. You tuck your hand beneath his shirt this time, just resting it against his chest where the cold fades faintly beneath your touch.

Zayne kisses your forehead, then trails down to your jaw—like he's mapping the quiet between you. Like he could spend all day doing just this.

You can still hear the rain, thrums faintly against the glass.

Somewhere in the background, you can hear the kids talking again—muffled, indistinct, like a soundtrack you’ve grown used to living with. Paper rustles. Something scrapes. You’re just about to ignore it when—

Silence.

Not the peaceful kind. The plotting kind.

You exchange a look and pause. His brow lifts just slightly.

Without saying another word, both of you get up from your comfortable bed and step out of the room.

The scent of glue hits you before you even reach the hallway.

You step out of your bedroom to find the dining room—and most of the floor—covered in cardboard boxes, glitter tubes, markers with their caps off, rolls of duct tape, kitchen tongs, empty snack bowls, and a suspiciously large bottle of glue someone clearly raided from your craft drawer.

In the middle of it all, Lucas, Callum, and Serena perch around a half-constructed cardboard monstrosity.

It has three uneven wings. A paper plate satellite dish. Stick-on googly eyes. And someone has taped a colander to the front like a control panel.

Serena’s holding a clipboard and looking extremely serious.

Lucas has glue on his cheek.

Callum has glitter in his hair.

And the three of them freeze like deer in headlights when you walk in. Honestly, definitely seen worse from these three.

You raise a brow. “...Is this a construction site?”

Lucas immediately points at Serena. “She said we weren’t allowed to start the body yet!”

Serena doesn’t even blink. “Because the wings aren’t calibrated. If you start the body now, the trajectory goes off-balance.”

Zayne steps in behind you, arms crossed. “I assume this… creation has a name?”

Callum beams. “Box Ship MegaStar Destroyer Castle Dragon XL!”

Serena adjusts her glasses. “Working title.”

You glance outside—the rain still hasn’t let up.

Zayne takes one look at the chaos and hums thoughtfully. “I’ll make breakfast. And tea. Possibly something to counteract glitter exposure. We may need hazmat suits.”

He steps back toward the kitchen, already rolling his sleeves up, and you turn to your little engineers, hands on hips, one brow raised. “Alright, team. Who’s in charge here?”

“Me,” all three say at once.

“Uh-huh,” you say. “And is this… a spaceship?”

“It’s a rocket dragon!” Lucas insists.

“It’s a mecha,” Callum corrects, crossing his arms. “With dragon elements.”

“But it’s supposed to blast off!” Lucas says. “Only rockets do that—mechas just stomp around!”

“They can blast off if they have boosters,” Callum argues.

You hold up both hands before it escalates. “Okay, okay. How about this: Lucas, you’re in charge of the defense systems—lasers, scales, all that. Callum, you handle propulsion. Wings, rockets, anything that makes this baby soar.”

He narrows his eyes, considering it. “Can I add plasma jets?”

“Only if they’re color-coded,” you say, pretending to think about it.

“Deal.”

While they rush back to their stations—Callum grabbing markers and Lucas immediately starting a debate over whether dragons even need lasers—Serena slips off quietly. She returns a minute later with a clipboard and a stack of hand-drawn pages, already organizing the mayhem.

She hands you the manual, flipping to the cover with all the seriousness of a mission commander. Box Ship MegaStar Destroyer Castle Dragon XL – Crew Operations Guide.

“Oh wow,” you breathe, flipping through. “This is… very detailed.”

Zayne reappears with tea, peering over your shoulder. “Mm. Page seven outlines fuel storage and snack rotation schedules.”

“I wrote that part,” Serena says, puffing her chest in pride.

“Of course you did.”

He sets down a tray of toast, scrambled eggs, and warm mugs. The twins break away from their work just long enough to stuff their faces before diving back into the chaos. You manage to snag a bite in between taping paper plates to the wings and untangling glittery streamers from Lucas, who has somehow fused with the structure.

Later, you catch sight of yourself in the hallway mirror—marker streak across one cheek, your shirt dusted with glitter. Zayne notices too. He walks past with a roll of duct tape, knuckles brushing your cheek like he’s inspecting battle damage.

“I liked you clean,” he says, deadpan. “But this suits you too.”

You laugh and swat his arm.

He ends up sitting cross-legged beside you, reading Serena’s manual like it’s a lab thesis while cutting precise box windows with surgeon-like care. “If the structural integrity collapses, it won’t be due to my corner work,” he murmurs.

“Mm. I think Lucas just glued his fingers together.”

“I see. Should I call emergency services?”

“Nope. I think Serena already wrote a protocol for that.”

By midday, the living room is a battlefield of paper scraps and open markers, and your creation—though chaotic—is magnificent. There’s a satellite dish made from aluminum foil, a cardboard dragon tail, and a canopy of old bed sheets giving it a cockpit effect.

You settle onto the floor with a mug of now-lukewarm tea. The mug is smooth against your palms, cooled. It smells faintly of chamomile and honey, soothing even as the tea’s gone tepid.

Zayne crouches behind Callum, helping him rig up a cardboard control panel.

For a moment, you don’t speak. You just watch—Zayne gently brushing glitter from Serena’s sleeve, Callum explaining their latest propulsion upgrades like it’s a matter of galactic life or death, Lucas wearing a colander like a helmet with absolute conviction.

It wasn’t the plan.

But it’s perfect anyway.

By the time the cardboard masterpiece is officially declared “mission-ready,” it’s past four, the rain is still falling, and everyone is glitter-dusted and slightly sticky.

Serena completes the final inspection, nodding once before closing her clipboard. “Construction complete. Crew, please report to decontamination.”

“Translation,” you say, stretching your arms, “shower time.”

The twins groan in unison, flopping dramatically onto the floor like you’ve just canceled launch entirely.

But as soon as Serena disappears to her room, clipboard tucked under one arm, Callum slowly gets up and trudges after her toward the hallway. Lucas lingers a moment longer—then follows, soap bubbles still clinging to his hair from some earlier, entirely unexplainable incident.

The kids trudge off toward their rooms, leaving a trail of sparkles and tape like breadcrumbs.

Zayne waits until the twins are inside their bathroom before slipping off to his own shower. When he comes back, towel slung over his shoulder, he passes you with a quiet, “Your turn,” and presses a kiss to your temple on the way.

The water is warm, the kind of comforting heat that steams the mirror and makes your shoulders finally drop. You take your time. The soft scent of that almond body wash Serena picked out hangs in the steam—warm and sweet.

Dried glue clings stubbornly to your collarbone, catching under your nails no matter how carefully you scrub. You peel the flecks off carefully, relieved when the warm water finally coaxes them free.

You scrub glitter from your neck, marker from your fingers, and when you step out and dry off, the house still hums with soft life—rain against the windows, the low murmur of the kids’ voices, and the faintest sound of Zayne setting the table.

Dinner is calm, easy in the best way. You all crowd around with still-damp hair and mismatched pajamas. Zayne’s made something warm and comforting—rice bowls and grilled vegetables with that sesame sauce the twins love.

You lean into Zayne’s shoulder after the plates are cleared, sipping warm tea while the kids finish their milk. Then, with both hands and all the gravity of a real mission commander, Serena slides the clipboard onto the table like it’s made of glass.

“Mission briefing?” she asks.

You sit up straighter immediately, grinning. “I thought you’d never ask.”

The kids scramble to their ship—Callum diving into the cockpit, Lucas taking up a post at the cardboard tail. Serena slips in with her clipboard, claiming the navigation seat.

You slide in last, ducking beneath a dangling streamer, settling beside Zayne who’s somehow managed to fold his long legs inside the “engineering bay” without knocking over anything, yet.

“Crew ready?” Serena asks, pushing up her glasses.

Lucas salutes. “Captain Dragon ready!”

Callum flips a switch made from a taped-on spoon. “Boosters online!”

“Navigation plotted,” Serena confirms. “Estimated mission time: one hour. Objective: retrieve the Galactic Glitter Core from the Ice Planet and return before bedtime.”

Zayne clears his throat. “Requesting permission to assist engineering and snack divisions.”

“Granted,�� Serena says with a tiny smile.

The lights stay off except for a few string lights twinkling from inside the ship. Rain still patters softly outside, almost in rhythm with the twins’ dramatic sound effects as the ship blasts off. You and Zayne share a look across the cardboard console—soft, amused, and entirely in sync.

Zayne reaches for a crinkled page tucked into the manual, scanning it in the dim glow. He tilts his head slightly.

He squints at the page in the low light, then—without a word—gives Serena a solemn salute. She returns it just as seriously, right before a tiny giggle escapes. She clears her throat and gets back to her position.

Then Lucas yells from the back. “Shields up! Cosmic fire incoming—lasers and lava rocks!”

He dives dramatically to the floor, clutching a cardboard panel like it’s a life raft.

Callum responds with a flurry of sound effects and toggles a duct-taped spoon lever with all the seriousness of a high-stakes mission.

Serena gasps and jerks the steering wheel—a paper plate glued to a shoebox—sending the whole “ship” lurching left. “I’m trying to shake them off!” she cries, bracing both feet against the milk crate.

Zayne exhales a soft laugh, setting the logbook down. But he slowly takes cover anyway.

You squeeze his hand briefly before ducking under a streamer to adjust a googly-eyed “sensor module” that’s come loose.

The mission is messy. Glorious, cardboard-fueled chaos.

Tape sticks to your sleeve. The ship creaks when Lucas shifts weight near the tail, and the scent of chocolate smuggled from the snack cache lingers in the air like stardust.

Tonight, the universe is small.

It fits inside a cardboard ship, warm with voices you’d follow across galaxies.

And outside, the rain and the cloud might’ve keep the stars hidden but not the ones you’ve made together inside.

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

Notes

Less chaotic but just as messy and full of love 😂 Hopefully y'all enjoy it!

I was editing to add the rest of the series part but it was too long ahahaha so here's just the whole list: Parenthood AU Masterlist ✨

Although if you missed the Newlyweds series! Here How it all happen And also the Pregnancy series, starting with Try For Baby

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tsukii0002 · 11 months ago

Note

hi! So I had a little not really little fic that has been on my mind when I got home from school…

Imagine mc and the brothers were working at fall, dressed up as bunny boys again we love em and the manager suddenly put a special ‘fan service’ on the menu, basically if you brought the fan service on the menu you could interact with one of the workers like they will flirt with you, compliment you, kiss on the cheek maybe, etc…but because the brothers were not too comfortable with that except asmo but we don’t talk about him so it is only for the customers to interact with none other the our majesty..MC! mc is the energetic and says risk it for the biscuit type of person when they are taking a risk of getting their soul stolen or whatever, so they literally have no problem taking the place, flirting, kissing the customers cheek and being all affectionate besides, it’s okay right?……right??

I can imagine the brothers being all jelly jelly haha…especially Levi.

it is alright if you’re not interested in it! <3

I love the idea! I hope I can capture it well, again thanks for the suggestion 🤗! Thank you again for your patience and sorry for the grammatical errors.

"It's bunny season and at "The fall" you'll be able to find high quality services"

In this way they announced again the presence of the brothers on the site (this family gets into debt too often), with the novelty of the, never seen before, fan service option. The brothers were not very comfortable with this service but, as always, a fearless soul was ready to solve this problem. Mc entered the room in a costume apparently more provocative than the others, they didn't look as uncomfortable as the demons, they were ready for anything.

‘Don't worry, from this moment on I'll take care of this service’

And with a wink, the human began to work as if nothing had happened.

Lucifer

The customers looked at the avatar of pride with sparkling eyes "Show them the menu in a provocative way" they had asked him. They were really taking advantage of the situation, but, who the hell had made these suggestions?! "That's tough" Mc had appeared behind him, carrying several menus under their arm and that smile he knew so well adorned their face. With an overly sensual step they approached one of the customers and sat on her lap, opening the menu to show her. The demoness began to blush as she searched for the words to speak, Mc chuckled in a charming way as they pointed to the most expensive dessert in the shop "I think something this sweet would be perfect for someone as sweet"

It took him a while to react. Why did this human always have to rush forward without hesitation!?

He felt his pride shaken as he saw how all the customers focused all their attention solely and exclusively on Mc… his Mc.

He is able to do his job perfectly, but he would try to keep Mc busy with other tasks, not approaching the customers. Until the manager caught his eye.

He will be proud to see Mc being the most popular, but this would clash with jealousy, Mc is his and no one should forget that.

Eventually he would relieve Mc, he would rather work with all that nonsense than let his human become a celebrity desired by all.

Mammon

Mammon didn't know where to look, his cheeks were more than flushed when he was asked to "serve the demonus in a naughty way", What the hell did that mean?! The demon opened the bottle hesitantly, this time even the debt wasn't his fault, he didn't want to do that when Mc took it out of his hands, they winked confidently and with unexpected dexterity poured two glasses, splashing their fingers in the process. Nevertheless, they licked them in a very sensual way, as they innocently batted their long, long eyelashes. The breathless customers were even more petrified when Mc sat down between them and held out the glasses with a big smile "We should make a toast, shouldn't we?"

What he had seen was real? Since when Mc have such a naughty and sensual side… and, Why weren't they doing that to him!!?

Not happy with the situation, if he got paid for being jealous he would never worry about debts again.

After that he would not talk to Mc, first for embarrassment and secondly for jealousy, they should only do that with their first…

He'll try to do those jobs so Mc wouldn't have to do them, it's his human, only his. It didn't work out too well.

Unable to work well knowing that Mc does such jobs. Sometimes he would leave his post to tell customers that Mc don't cover that part of the menu.

Levi

He was about to faint. "Do an adorable bunny greeting" How could they ask such a thing to an anti-social otaku?! Surely they wanted to make fun of him and his hobbies. Suddenly he felt a pat on his back, it was Mc with their trusty smile "Leave it to me". Mc quickly adopted a magical girl pose with their hands imitating the ears of a rabbit, and as a deadly attack, they waved them while making an adorable gesture with their cute little face "Kyuu~" x1000 damage. The customers started to clap their hands blushing vigorously. Was Mc so powerful or maybe they were otakus too? They got even redder when Mc sat next to them saying "What can this bunny do for you?"

His face went through five shades of red before he could react. Did Mc just do what they just did?

How had he missed the opportunity to record it?!!! so adorable, so cute…. But other people had seen it!! That gesture was addressed to other people!!!!

His envy took over him completely, he had always dreamed of that kind of service, and on top of everything else Mc?!!!! It was every demon's dream!

He is not able to concentrate, since he only mumbles words of self-deprecation, the clients feel at some point afraid.

He would never be able to do those jobs, so unfortunately he drowning in his envy as he watches his Mc doing things he always dreamed they would do to him.

Satan

Satan was about to explode when he heard about this fan service, and when he was asked to "Shower them of praise and admiration" was the straw that broke the camel's back. He couldn't fake admiration, let alone when his anger was about to take over. He was about to head to the table when Mc took his place, giving him a knowing look. The human put their hands on the customer's shoulder and cupped their chin, looking at the (now paralysed) demon with eyes full of apparent admiration. One praise after another, one compliment followed by another and another, the kind words kept coming accompanied by the most adorable expressions from the human "I really am a lucky bunny to have come across such a magnificent customer"

He can't find the words, he can't describe how it feels to see Mc praising other demons in such a way.

He is full of wrath, but it's not the usual wrath, no, it's jealousy.

I would try to divert the attention of the customers by bringing up topics of conversation, talking about Devildom news and advising them on drinks and desserts from the menu, so they don't notice the fan service option.

Since that doesn't work, he would try to get Mc to quit the job, but they both know that if that happens they would never earn the money they need.

He would try to do the jobs himself, but he would do it in an artificial and dry way, he couldn't let Mc praise people like that, at least not people other than himself.

Asmo

At first he liked the idea, but the customers kept asking for more and more, to the point that when he heard "Feeding them adorably" he felt a shudder. A squeeze on the hand calmed him and Mc with their charming smile stepped forward like an epic hero. Carrying a tray with a large ice cream, they carefully sat down between the two customers who looked at them with wide eyes. Mc took a spoon and filled it, and after putting their hair behind their ear, shyly, they turned to one of the customers "Say ahhhh" The demoness's pupils turned into hearts when she saw Mc's blush with a tender smile, she opened her mouth and took the bite about to faint, while Mc filled the spoon again "Maybe the customers want to feed this little bunny next?"

Omg MC!!! how lovely and spicy, wait… How lovely and spicy with other demons!!!!

Asmo is not usually jealous, but seeing an unknown aspect of Mc makes him jealous, not because of the act itself, but because it was not directed at him.

He knows how sensual Mc can be, but it was the only thing he wasn't willing to share with the world. He tries to keep smiling but is not able to be his usual charming self.

He would follow Mc to every table to make sure they never did that to anyone but him again, and no one would complain, two for one, but in the end he would get scolded.

He would do everything he could to divert the attention of customers, both from the fan service and from Mc. And he is probably the only one who can do it.

Beel

Beel was always willing to do any job if there was food involved but "Holding a pocky in the mouth while the customer bites into it" was too much, he didn't like that sort of thing. However, the box of pocky had disappeared from his hand, Mc was at his side "Don't worry". With agility they sat on the couch under the attentive gaze of the customers, and with a sinuous slowness they took two pockies and bit them forming a V while they looked at a customer with a mocking smile. He didn't know which was redder, the customer who tried to bite it or the demonus spilled from his trembling hands. Mc laughed sweetly as they put the candy in the customer's mouth "Has the bunny got your tongue?"

He didn't know how to act, or exactly what to feel, the only thing that was clear to him was that he didn't like it, he didn't like it at all.

Mc was a kind person, but sharing food was too personal, a thing of the two of them. So he couldn't help but feel jealous…

He felt a sensation in his stomach, which was not hunger, as if it were shrinking. Every time he saw his human smiling at another demon in that way he liked so much, his stomach would shrink even more.

He intimidated the clients by looking at them, even though he was unaware of it. He is so focused on Mc that he is not able to do his job properly.

Although he wanted to do his part to keep Mc away from the clients, he couldn't, and every time he saw a group call out to his human, he felt he had failed to protect them.

Belphie

"Wear a ribbon you get as a present" was a pointless and annoying thing he wasn't willing to do. It could be worse, it could, but that strange service was awkward, yet buying a ribbon was an extra expense so it was impossible to take it off the menu. He lazily walked over to one of the tables when he felt his waist being grabbed, it was Mc. They smiled at him and walked over to the table in his place. Mc sat down and immediately several hands held out different ribbons, the human put on a flirtatious and hesitant expression as they looked at the different ribbons. The customers blushed as Mc slowly and smugly placed the ribbons on their bunny ears, on their neck…. "I think this bunny needs even more bows don't you?"

He didn't have to think long to know that jealousy was eating him up. How dare they even look at his human?

The jealousy showed in his expression, everyone could see it. He was on the verge of kidnapping Mc and hiding the two of them together for a nap.

He tried to make customers lose interest in the human, telling them Mc was unpleasant or clumsy, but when the demons ignored him, they could hear teeth gnashing.

There was no way he could offer anything better than Mc to the clients, so he tried to play the lovable demon card to make Mc not work.

He wouldn't try to do the job, instead, he would just sit there looking at the customers in a bad way, and make it everyone problem.

I've finally been able to come back!! the truth is that I've had so many things together, among them a horrible creative block, a burn out, the thesis... I will try to get into a rhythm little by little and answer everything I have in my mailbox. So if you have come this far, thank you very much🩷.

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themagicafox · 6 months ago

Text

Hogwarts AU: Slytherin Rafayel and Sylus Headcanons

I'm not a professional ficwriter, I’m just having fun

English is not my first language; sorry for the grammar mistakes

Maybe I`ll do part 2 if someone likes it and wants more

@peacedreamer14 I promised drawings but I am busy at uni right now and don't have enough time, but it’ll come!!

I hope someone will like it \ (•◡•) /

Sylus

Smug, calm, and prideful, but never seeks fights with others—he’s too above it. He doesn’t care about the common rivalry between Gryffindor and Slytherin unless it affects him directly. But no one wants to fight him anyway

He is an excellent student. Favorite subject is Defense Against the Dark Arts. He also mastered the Apparition spell at a young age

Sylus can cast spells without a wand

Mephisto as his companion animal that can mimic speech. Sylus takes great pleasure in watching people jump in fear when Mephisto speaks in a devilish voice out of nowhere

Has declined every offer to join the Quidditch team

His favorite activity is annoying Rafayel

“Oh no, your girlfriends ran away,” he said after releasing toads from Rafayel’s terrarium

Once, he changed Rafayel’s hair color to pink by adding a potion to his shampoo in the bathroom

“What? It suits you, charm boy”

He would never admit that Rafayel is his only friend actually

“Friend? I barely remember his name”

Sylus has sensitive eyes. During a duel with Xavier, he almost lost due to a surprisingly strong light spell

“Professor! That’s cheating, oi!”

“Hey, don’t embarrass me”

“You’re the only one embarrassing yourself and Slytherin. Get up and beat him like you know, jerk”

Sylus goes to bed only after everyone else is asleep. He often sneaks into the Restricted Section of the library, which leads to frequent arguments with Ravenclaw prefect Zayne, who always catches him

“I thought I told you not to roam around at night”

“Sincerely sorry, but I don’t believe I’m under your command. Anyway, I was already heading to my room”

Sylus is a mystery. No one knows much about him. Is he pureblood? Who is his family? How rich is he?! (His entire demeanor screams “beyond rich”)

No one gets close to him except for Rafayel and MC

Sylus and Rafayel often fall asleep in class due to their late-night antics

He absolutely hates Zayne and Xavier because they’re too close to MC

“You know, even you don’t annoy me as much as those two,”

“Mutual”

After working together perfectly on pranks or mischiefs, they instantly start fighting again

“That’s enough teamwork for today with a sly half-blood crow”

“Come again, mermaid misunderstanding”

Rafayel

Very popular among students, Rafayel comes from a famous, wealthy pureblood family

Naturally talented in magic, his favorite class is Transfiguration

He despises worn books, cheap clothes, and people who don’t take care of their appearance

His custom wand cost as much as a new brand car, but he insisted on designing it with mermaid hair and black pearls

He helps restore Hogwarts’ old paintings in his free time

Once, Rafayel saved a group of first-years from mermaids in the Black Lake

“Idiots! What were you thinking? Ugh, I think I’m dying. Now you owe me your lives until graduation”

Rafayel spends way too much time in the bathroom, which annoys Sylus, who also likes his showers

There’s endless competition between him and Sylus in everything: academics, wealth, and even MC’s attention

He once bought the entire Slytherin Quidditch team new brooms just to show off in front of Sylus

MC often has to step in to prevent their heated arguments from escalating into full-blown duels in the common room

Rafayel gets visibly irritated whenever MC compliments someone else’s skills

Extremely protective of Slytherin’s honor, he’ll often team up with Sylus (if he is in the mood, of course) to humiliate Gryffindor or Ravenclaw students who insult their house

“Sorry, I didn’t hear you. Give me a minute; I’ll get closer,” Sylus says, lifting a student he’s just transfigured into a rabbit up to his ear. “Still nothing. Rafayel, care to try?” Rafayel approaches with an exaggerated, theatrical expression, nodding and humming as though he understands the rabbit’s trembling squeaks

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace sylus #l&ds sylus #sylus #lads sylus #sylus x mc #lads #rafayel #l&ds rafayel #lads rafayel #rafayel x mc #hogwarts au #slytherin #lads fanfic

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devildomditzy · 7 months ago

Note

Mammon/Asmo would object to a wedding. They might not even know the people, they just like drama

Who's Most Likely to... Object at a Wedding?

That would be Asmo and Mammon

(And oh my god you gave me a great idea)

Link to the masterpost

"I object!"

Gasps resound around the crowd at the shrill voice that erupted from somewhere in the group. Well, one side of the crowd. Namely your side, your relatives and friends all shocked by the scene unfolding in front of them. As for the demon's side - well, groans accompanied by eyerolls fall over the section, all as everyone in the room looks to Asmo, standing from his seat with his hand raised to the sky, puppy dog eyes making direct contact with yours.

"Oh come on!", Mammon yells next to your side, letting go of your hand in favor of facing his brother and pointing accusingly in his direction.

"Whaddya mean you object!"

Asmo glares back with a smirk, hands flying to his hips. "I mean MC should be marrying mwah! Not some scummy idiot with a gambling addiction!". He folds his hands together, bringing them to his face, tilting his head, looking at you as if you were an injured kitten. "Poor thing."

"Hey! Why dontcha say that to my face, ya self-obsessed air head!", Mammon calls back in response, beginning to step off the alter. You give Barbatos, who was officiating the ceremony, your most apologetic smile as you grab Mammon by the back of his collar, preventing his tirade further.

Your family exchanges worried glances, with murmurs of "What's going on?" and "Someone do something!" echoing through the room.

"I already did!', Asmo giggles, smiling as he looks om at his brother. "And so, I object."

"W-Well, I object to your objection!", Mammon yells, still raring to make a run at his little brother.

You swear you hear Lucifer audibly groan among the commotion.

"It's not up to you!", Asmo sing-songs, taunting him.

"It's not up to me? I'm their groom for cryin' out loud!", says Mammon, increasing angry. He shakes loose from your grasp and starts his march towards the fifth born.

"Mammon, don't make me-", you begin before Asmo cuts you off.

"Yeah, Mammon, don't make them choose! Why don't we just swap places? I'm sure they'll be much happier with me!"

"Mammon!", you call after him, but its no use. You can tell when your first man is seeing red.

He makes his way through the aisles, grabbing Asmo by the collar.

"Oh my~", he coos in response.

You've just about had it with this mess, and it seems you're not the only one. Barbatos clears his throat from next to you where he stands at the ready.

"MC, I do believe its time to do 'the thing' that you were mentioning."

You sigh in annoyance, handing him your bouquet momentarily. You face the two pain-in-your-asses causing a ruckus and clear your throat, balling up your firsts at your side.

"STAAAAAYYY!!!!!"

Both boys suddenly fall to the floor. Hard.

In fact, all the brothers fall to the floor.

"Whoops."

There are moans from the seats behind where Mammon and Asmo now sit on the floor.

"Oww", Levi whines.

"What the hell was that for?", complains Belphie, who sits up, rubbing the side of his head.

"No, it was necessary", Lucifer sighs as he stands, brushing off the front of his coat, looking up at you. 'They're all yours."

Everyone's attention now snaps to Mammon and Asmo, who look up at you pathetically from their positions.

"You!", you say, pointing at Mammon, "need to learn to recognize when Asmo is just trying to get under your skin. Seriously, how do you not know by now? You've known him for what now? A gajillion years? And why would you think for a second I'd leave you for anyone else? When I'm literally standing next to you trying to become your lifelong partner!?"

"And you!", you shift yourself, pointing at Asmo now, "know I love you. And I know you love me. But we both know that love is strictly platonic! I get you like to mess with Mammon, but did you have to do it on my wedding day?"

"Sowwy!", Asmo baby talks, knocking himself in the head lightly with his fist. "But this is just the rehearsal, right? I'd never do this during the real thing, silly! But I thought that the mood was so drab that we could use some drama!"

"Are you fuckin' with me right now!?", Mammon stares at his brother in disbelief.

"Not right now, no. I was 'fucking' with you about three minutes ago", Asmo winks., before continuing.

"But, sorry Mammon. I didn't think you'd take it that seriously. I mean, we all know you two were made for each other. Why would I really have a shot with MC anyway? Why would any of us?", Asmo looks sheepish as he crosses his arms, shaking his head.

Mammon blinks heavily and looks back to you as you stick out your arm, helping him to his feet. Asmo smiles as he watches.

"I mean, do you see the way they look at you?", he questions, prompting Mammon to blush deeply as he looks into your eyes.

You smile, walking backwards as you lead Mammon back up to the alter.

"Sorry!", you apologize brightly to your family. "It's always something", you shake your head, laughing.

"Now, may I...", Barbatos asks you, searching both of your faces for acknowledgement to proceed.

"I do!", Mammon blurts out, red as can be.

"Mammon, we already said I do", you giggle, grinning brightly at him.

"R-right. Yea, alright", he says, barely paying attention as he turns to Barbatos. "C'mon, can I kiss them now?", he asks, pointing at you.

Barbatos makes a small sound of defeat as he stops his speech, opting instead to smile. "I don't see why not."

For the first time today, the crowd is filled with cheers instead of startled gasps as Mammon grabs you and - of course - dramatically dips you, sealing your lips with a kiss.

He pulls back and smiles.

"I can't wait to do that to ya again tomorrow."

137 notes · View notes

numinousher · 11 months ago

Text

CHANTAJE! (xxiii)

SUMMARY: being under the watchful eye of the media and your fans, your managers are in desperate need of regaining back your popularity after other influencers who hate you cause mayhem to your life. what best way to do so by having you pretend to be in a relationship with the popular 7 who are known to be intensely wealthy and stoic? will you be able to regain their trust or will they go with their promise of damaging your reputation even more?

WARNING(S) FOR LATER: gore/blood/murder, harassment/bullying, mental health talks (nothing badly triggering), child endangerment (mc was a child actor, again nothing badly triggering. if there is, there will be a warning)

NOTE: if you read this late… you’re stinky

TAGLIST (CLOSED): @parapiop7 @an-ever-angry-bi @softforyoongles @thenaverse @chansatlan @juju-227592 @skyys-universe @carolinexkpop @reallysparklychaos @namjooncrabs @savagemickey03 @drunkzseok @svnbangtansworld @2ne1unni

“I can’t stand this.”

Taehyung grunted out between punches, ignoring Namjoon’s stare on his back due to the fact he beating up a man that had said things to you online and offline.

Now, Taehyung was never one to resort to violence. He was always the calm one alongside Yoongi, but the thought of someone hating on you and threatening to do things to you to “shut you up” was enough for him to see red. So, he here was, having chosen a guy on your comments out of thousands, and beating him up until the skin of his knuckles tore.

“Taehyung, I understand you can’t come to terms with your own feelings, but leave the poor guy alone,” Namjoon said, though he didn’t mean his empathy. He did not care at all. He just didn’t want to cover up another dead body just because Taehyung couldn’t handle his emotions. “Taehyung.”

“I mean, she’s going to be gone in a year once her contract ends,” Taehyung continued to huff out. He stopped for a second to glance at the two men over his shoulder—Yoongi was there, too—before looking at the man hanging. “She’s going to be gone and here I am wanting to kiss her. Is that a bad thing?”

“N-no, sir,” the man stuttered out with blood coming out of his mouth.

Taehyung hummed, though he didn’t waste another second to go back to hitting the man again. “I mean, it’s not fair. What if after the one year contract ends, she leaves and we never see her again? I feel like I won’t be able to handle that, mentally.” Punch. “Am I going fucking crazy?”

“I have never seen him this beat up over something like this,” Yoongi muttered, running a hand over his hair. Namjoon hummed in agreement. “Should we be offended?”

The (still) pink-haired man shook his head. “I can speak for all of us that falling for another person was not in our cards.”

“Were we ever like this with one another?” Yoongi asked, eyeing the way the beat up man stopped fidgeting. His mouth was drooling out blood, face swollen, and nose bleeding. Yoongi knew so many would look at them crazily for not feeling sorry at all, but the man was not only spewing out such hatred words to you that it scared you, he was a dedicated troll online and would comment such absurd things to those of the other gender. “I know we were a bit like that because we didn’t even know much about relationships with more than one person.”

“All I know is that it’s more than just lust with Y/n,” Namjoon breathed out, a frown etched in his face at sharing his thoughts. He wasn’t one to be good with his feelings. He never liked sharing the story about his family, he never liked telling others he had a bad day, so for him to openly talk about you and how he felt about you was a little confusing. “I don’t know. I didn’t intend to fall for her at all. I have to put your guys’ feelings before me so I could step in if her feelings are nothing but a ploy for dragging down our reputation. Now I can’t even think and I can’t even form my own thoughts, my own opinions, without thinking about her.”

Yoongi could hear the slight defeated tone in Namjoon’s voice.

He understood the feeling too well.

Though Yoongi was the quietest of the seven, he loved being able to show his feeling through gestures. It’s a reason why he took care of you the most because he saw something in you that he saw in the 7; to be understood without being questioned.

“Taehyung, stop,” Yoongi demanded with a stern voice, passing him a handkerchief Jin had specifically created to get rid of blood stains. Yoongi glanced at some of his workers there that were specifically aimed to clean up after their mess. “Get rid of the body.”

“Yes, sir.”

The three walked away from the scene, simultaneously thinking about you.

What will happen in a year after the contract ends? They don’t know, but they hope you will still be there with them. If not as a lover, then a friend. You were pleasant to be around.

“Miss, they’re here,” Min-seo announced, opening your bedroom door.

You had been in bed for a while now and you blamed it on Hyung-min who didn’t want to take you downstairs. Jae had told him to do so and even threatened to carry you herself, but he didn’t budge. He was too scared to do anything to you in case he hurt you again (Namjoon scared him).

“Let them in.”

“Yes, miss.”

Namjoon, Yoongi, and Taehyung admired the rest of your house as they went up the stairs. They hadn’t seen much considering they were always in a hurry and were so busy to come bother you, but they loved seeing the decorations you had up. They especially loved the pictures of you as a child holding onto awards, a bright grin plastered on your face, clearly happy and satisfied for getting an award that showed your hard work. You were just a child.

“Really?” You raised a brow once they came into view. “Are these daily visits going to stop once I’m healed?”

“No,” Namjoon answered, voice soft yet stern. He sat on the edge of your bed, his hand going up to run the pad of his thumb over your swollen ankle. His brows furrowed for a second before it vanished in a blink of an eye to look at you. “How are you?”

“Im doing much better,” you said with a small smile.

You glanced at Taehyung and Yoongi, their facial expressions not changing and giving you a clue as to what they were feeling. You slightly puffed out your cheeks before humming.

“What is it?” Yoongi asked, moving from his position beside Taehyung and coming to stand next to you. You waved him off. At noticing some white papers on your nightstand, he grabbed them, and read over the information given to you from your doctor. “You have low Vitamin D?”

“I don’t get enough sun,” you shrugged like it was nothing. “Before you three freak out, as soon as my ankle feels better I’m going on walks.”

“You should go with Jungkook and Namjoon on walks,” Taehyung piped in to suggest. “Jungkook takes his dog out for walks and Namjoon just like smelling the air.”

Namjoon scoffed at Taehyung’s words before turning to you. “It gets tiring being holed up in the office and a bunch of annoying workers just pestering and pestering. I need my walks.”

“I’ll go then,” you agreed, nodding your head. “Though, it’s been a while so if I get tired easily… not my fault. I usually love walks and you know, being able to be in my mind a lot more, but I’ve been feeling a bit lazy.”

“You don’t need to explain yourself,” Namjoon reassured you, maintaining eye contact. You smiled at him and he gave you one, too. He sighed a bit and stood up to let his eyes run over your body to see if you had any more hidden injuries. Once he came to find nothing, he nodded. “Hyung-min called me.”

“Is that why he looked scared when he came to visit me?” You asked, arching a brow. Namjoon looked at the others and softly chuckled, not saying “yes” but not denying it either.

“We talked and he took my words wrong,” Namjoon answered with a shrug. “Not my fault.”

“Mhm, totally not your fault,” you echoed back to him, sarcasm dripping from your words. “But he has apologized. He has apologized to me, he didn’t do it on purpose, and that’s what should matter. Don’t go pestering him, either. He’s Jae’s boyfriend and Jae is my best friend so if you hurt him, you hurt her, and you hurt me. You wouldn’t want to hurt me.”

Yoongi felt the end of his lip curl up. “Oh, you’re good.” You smiled sheepishly at this words. “We won’t hurt him, Y/n. Just tell him that if he does something stupid again we won’t be so nice to him.”

“You mean, like, insulting him to hurt him, right?” No answer. “Right?”

“We’re going to be leaving,” Namjoon said, dodging your question. He stuck out his wrist to glance at this watch. “Yoongi and I have a meeting with some directors to talk about our project.”

“Do you really have to leave?” You breathed out that your words almost sounded like a whine. Namjoon stared at you.

The directors can function not having them there, right? No. They’re a bunch of idiots that just spewed a bunch of bullshit, and Namjoon did not trust them to go over the project he and Yoongi have been desperate to finish.

“As much as we’d love to stay—”

“I can stay,” Taehyung spoke up. He gave you a side glance. “I don’t have anything to do so if you want, I can keep you some company.”

You couldn’t help but smile at his words. “That would be nice, Taehyung.” You turned to look at the two. “Are you going to come tomorrow with Jungkook and Jin? They want to cook something—”

“You do not want Namjoon there,” Yoongi said with a chuckle. Namjoon rolled his eyes. “He might be good at everything, but cooking is where we cross the line.”

“Are you that bad?” You winced at the idea of burnt overcooked and under cooked food.

“I burnt eggs one time and put a lot of salt, and suddenly it’s the end of the world,” Namjoon grumbled under his breath, putting on the blazer he had taken off and placed on his arm. “Anyway, we’ll try to come over tomorrow. But, just enjoy your time with the two. I know Hobi wants to come but he’s been busy with his work.”

“Oh, I know,” you said. “We’ve been texting.”

“You text?” Taehyung asked.

You nodded. “Yeah! He got worried and he apologized for not visiting me a lot, but that he’s busy with work, so we agreed to meet up sometime this week.”

“Yeah, he was looking forward to the dinner,” Namjoon noted, now knowing he can text you. “But, that’s done and you don’t need to worry about that.”

You snorted. “I won’t.”

He and Yoongi leaned over to hug you goodbye, whispering they’ll visit with Jungkook and Jin, but to not get disappointed if they don’t.

As they left, you turned to Taehyung who was quiet. He was always quiet and you wished to see the talkative side that was always on the news.

“What happened to your knuckles?” You softly asked, grabbing onto his hand rather carefully to not weird him out.

Taehyung extended his hand to display his fingers and softly scoffed. “I was boxing with Jungkook. Never again.”

“Thankfully, it doesn’t look too bad,” you mumbled under your breath, inspecting his bruised knuckles while tenderly touching them to see if he would react to that. “You need to ice them.”

Softly chuckling, he shook his head. “I didn’t know that staying here meant that I would get my personal doctor.”

You rolled your eyes, swatting his hand away so he could feel the sting on his wounds. “I’m not helping you anymore then since you’re complaining.” You could hear the small laughs escaping his lips at your dramatics. “No. Go away now.”

“I’m kidding, Y/n,” Taehyung said, wrapping a hand over your bicep to bring you closer. “Act all doctor to me. Wrap my wound and kiss it better.”

You gaped at him after hearing his words. “Where has this Taehyung been? You were so quiet with them.”

“I get nervous talking to you around the others,” he admitted with a shrug. “I enjoy watching you interact, too, so I just love watching instead of butting in.”

“I love the fact that you are much more teasing like this,” you said with admission because you did like seeing this side of him. You had expected Yoongi to be the quietest, but he was very chatty with you and could maintain conversation. Taehyung was the quietest—around you—and you always wished you could see the side he showed to the media. “Also, do you not have boxing gloves? I feel like it could’ve prevented this terrible tear of skin.”

Taehyung blinked. “I just wanted to use my fists more in case I came to a situation where I need to use my bare hands. Either way, it’s not the first time I’ve taken boxing lessons without gloves.”

You stayed silent and he looked at your face to find an answer.

“You’re surprising me today, Taehyung.”

He stayed with you until 2 AM, much to your surprise.

It wasn’t that you begged him to stay, none of that. He just had trouble leaving you alone when you couldn’t even stand on your own two feet without stumbling away. What if someone broke in? He knew you had guards outside your home, working hard, but what if one of them accidentally fell asleep and left you vulnerable? Hell, no.

He couldn’t shake his concerns away even when he made it home.

“Did you beat up someone else?” Yoongi mused as he watched Taehyung walk pass his office.

Taehyung stopped in his footsteps at being talked to and turned to head inside Yoongi’s office. He sat in front of him, a sigh escaping his lips to depict his emotions. Though, Yoongi couldn’t identify what he was truly feeling.

Taehyung wasn’t one to let his feelings be shown very easily.

“We ate together and we watched a movie,” he breathed out in a hushed voice, almost as if talking loud would wake everyone in the house. “We laughed, we talked, I took care of her, and she took care of me.” He felt his throat clog up a bit due to the overwhelming feeling of falling deeper for a person he knew would be gone in a year. “You should’ve seen her, Yoongi. I have never seen her laugh as hard as she did when we were watching her favorite movie and it just… It brought me such happiness at hearing that.”

Yoongi stayed silent and watched him struggle to form his thoughts. He smiled. “You need to process you’re in love with her.”

“But, she’ll be gone.”

“Unless we let her slip away from us that easily,” Yoongi said in hopes to reassure him. “We have enough time with her, either way. We have months—”

“It’s not enough,” Taehyung shook his head.

“Taehyung,” Yoongi started, clasping his hands together to have a serious conversation with the raven-haired boy, “you need to stop letting your past get to you into thinking someone you get close with is going to abandon you. Even if Y/n doesn’t like us then guess what? She’ll be our friend. She’s not the type of person to just leave. Get to know her and when the time comes, then we’ll talk to her about our feelings, okay?”

“Our feelings?” Taehyung frowned with glossy eyes.

Yoongi shrugged and looked down at his phone.

“She won’t leave.”

< before - after >

137 notes · View notes

tongueinatree · 24 days ago

Text

Problem (Zayne Love and Deepspace Fic)

Pairing: Zayne Li x OC

Fandom: Love and Deepspace, lnds, LADS

AU: Non-Hunter MC (with two Evol powers), Zayne is not MC’s primary care physician.

Word Count: 4.2k

Warnings: fluff, tiny bit of angst, no NSFW material (besides making out), heart problems are mentioned, an ECG is done + hospital setting. Profanity is used.

Description: Lena’s always been glad that Zayne isn’t her doctor, especially given how desperate she is to conceal her crush on him. But when Zayne's forced to step in and conduct her latest check-up, two things become clear: it's a lot harder to conceal your feelings face to face and... does Zayne return those feelings?

Author's Note: Main character is afab and uses she/her pronouns. No use of second person ("you") or "Y/N" but the main character's appearance is not described. MC is 5'2, though. “Lena” is the default name for the MC.

Beta read.

I mostly wanted to experiment with concepts that diverge a bit from canon with the MC having a different role in UNICORNS, so this is the result of that. I also wanted to address the weird ethics of Zayne being the MC’s primary care physician (even though we’re probably meant to take that with a pinch of salt in-game).

Comments, likes and reblogs are welcome and appreciated!

All my work, including this fic, is copyright protected. You do not have permission to copy, repost or translate my work!

Problem (Zayne x OC fic)

Lena has a problem. A big problem, the sort that flares up and devours you whole. Which is that she has a crush on her doctor and is wholly terrible at concealing this crush.

Well, sort of. Zayne’s not actually her doctor – that’s Doctor Greyson – except that sometimes he is. She should explain this better. Zayne Lí is a leading cardiac surgeon, chief of surgery, actually, and she just so happens to have a rare heart condition that’s left her riddled with chronic heart palpitations. Zayne is also her once-upon-a-time childhood friend, so he’s not really allowed to serve as her primary care physician. Lena thinks she might have preferred Zayne’s care, but at the same time is eternally grateful that she’s landed with Greyson instead. That said, Greyson does sometimes consult with Zayne on her care, albeit under strict measures. Except for today – Greyson’s had a family emergency at the same time that she’s come in with abnormal breathing – leaving Zayne to conduct her examination.

Lena’s currently on a hospital bed, holding steady as Zayne assesses her breathing with a stethoscope. She can see herself in the mirror opposite the patient’s bed and she looks sallow, somehow. She’s staring so intensely it’s a wonder that the mirror doesn’t crack under the force of her gaze. Zayne, for one, is cool and collected, as always. Still – Lena can’t bring herself to stare into his impossibly handsome face, or at his green-hazel eyes. He has the softest hair she’s ever seen on a man, too, with floppy pitch-coloured bangs. Lena often itches to run her fingers through his hair. Just then, Lena realises she’s actually turned her head from the mirror to ogle Zayne. She jolts upright. Zayne doesn’t react outwardly to the movement, but does tell her off in his cool, detached tone of voice. “Hold still, please.”

Lena forces herself to go still as a statue, and after what feels like forever, Zayne’s done taking in her heartbeat.

Zayne folds up the stethoscope, walks off to his desk and returns it to his drawer. Then he looks at her and says, “Your breathing’s returned to normal, it would appear. Still, I’d like to take a reading with an ECG. So, lie back and let me attach the electrodes.”

Lena groans, “I hate ECGs.”

Zayne quirks an eyebrow at her, “It’s a painless procedure.”

Lena shakes her head as her mouth turns dry under the sudden onslaught of memories. Her, a (then) timid girl, being made to lie on a table, crying in pain, electrodes being placed to her skin, foreign and ice cold to the touch. Yeah. She definitely hates ECGs. Lena grumbles to herself as she lies back, snaps, “Please just make it quick.” Zayne goes about setting up the ECG monitor. When he’s done with that, he comes towards her, to attach the electrodes to just below her exposed collarbone. At the sight of the sticky patches, her throat constricts, and her eyes squeeze shut.

Lena’s staring into the unending dark of her eyelids when Zayne’s voice calls out to her, in a tone far softer than his usual one, “Don’t be afraid. It’ll be over soon, and you’re safe here.”

“Promise?” The words leavy her as a whispery rasp.

Zayne’s tone is firm, “Promise.”

Then – “I’m going to place the electrodes to your chest now. Is that alright?”

She takes a deep breath, “It’s alright.”

He places the electrodes to her skin with nimble fingers, and Lena can’t help but wonder it would be like if he’d told a joke instead of reassuring her, like Doctor Greyson usually does. No, that doesn’t seem like Zayne… Besides, he’s not her childhood friend here. Just her doctor, temporarily.

It’s funny – in here their interaction is so impersonal. You’d never guess that they’ve been going out for the last three months. Well. “Going out.” All they’re really doing is going on lunch and dinner dates, on the agreement that each one recommends good food places to the other. It’s all very tentative though. Their conversations are generally light-hearted, and sometimes she even manages to get Zayne to laugh at her jokes. Other times Zayne recedes into his icy shell. Lena’s desperate to chip away at it and also desperate not to. What if she chips too hard, and her childhood crush takes a hold again? Fuck, never mind that. The fact that she’s got a crush on him now, too, is far more pressing.

She really hopes that a. it’s not solely based on her childhood infatuation and b. that it’ll pass. It’s obvious that Zayne doesn’t see her the way that she sees him, and she just doesn’t want to create a mess for herself. Especially given that she has weekly checkups at this very hospital, and sometimes chances upon Zayne while she’s here, if he’s got a free moment. He usually doesn’t. He’s so very busy…

“Lena.” Zayne’s voice cuts across her reverie, “The test’s complete. You can remove the electrodes and sit up.” Lena does so hastily; a blush starts to warm her cheeks. She’s not sure why she’s blushing, and a flare of annoyance goes off in her chest at it. It’s not as if Zayne can hear her thoughts!

Lena clears her throat, asks, “How’s the scan?”

Zayne regards her with a look she can’t place, and his tone becomes a bit clipped, “All clear. So was the examination with the stethoscope. I’d recommend that you take your medication and continue as usual.”

Lena nods, “Alright, Doctor Zayne.”

Zayne nods back, “You can go.” He heads over to his desk and takes a seat.

Lena sits up, adjusts her shirt collar, and then hops off the bed. She’s halfway out the door when she thinks better of it. Finally, she realises what she’d seen in Zayne’s eyes a moment earlier. It had been difficult given his reserve but now she’s certain – anger.

Lena shuts the door with a click and turns back to Zayne with a frown. Zayne looks up at the sound of the door. Surprise flickers in his eyes at the sight of her still there, but only for the briefest moment. “Yes?”

Lena swallows, comes to take a seat at his desk, opposite him. “Our consult is over, yes?”

Zayne nods, “It is.”

“Okay. So, can I ask you something off the record, as your fri… acquaintance and not a sometimes patient?”

Zayne looks at her for a long moment, “I suppose that’s fine, yes.”

Lena smiles falsely as nerves spike in her stomach, “Are you angry with me?”

Zayne cocks an eyebrow at her, “Angry?”

She nods, “Yeah.”

“It’s hardly professional of me to be incensed with a patient.”

“I’m not asking as your patient, though.”

Zayne takes a while to answer, “I assure you I’m not upset.”

Lena’s smile morphs into a frown, “But… you seem angry.”

He dodges the observation with a question, “How did you find yourself with heart palpitations today? Was it a benign occurrence, as usual, or did you do anything strenuous?”

“You already asked me this. And I told you – I was just doing deskwork.”

Zayne’s reply is cool, “I accept that, as your doctor. But as your fri – acquaintance – I don’t believe you.”

Lena chews her lip. She’s a weapons developer – an engineer – by profession. She works for UNICORNS, the agency responsible for deploying Deepspace Hunters to track down and kill the Wanders that plague their city. Due to her heart palpitations, she’s not cleared for active duty in the field, despite having passed all the exams to become a Hunter and possessing a powerful Evol. Lena’s Evol – her evolutionary, supernatural power – is the ability to resonate with others and amplify their power. She can also cause bursts of lightning that power machinery.

Instead of working to kill Wanderers on missions, Lena works behind the scenes to study Wanderer physiology (she has a double major in biology and engineering) and produce a range of weapons to track and kill Wanderers. Each batch of weaponry that she conceives of is expected to outshine the last. It’s… stressful to say the least, but rarely triggers her palpitations. Instead, her palpitations are more of a routine thing, flaring up without a real pattern to them, usually once every three weeks.

Today is different though. Some Hunters’ equipment needed revamping mid-mission. Lena had offered to go into the field and use her lightning Evol to recharge the weapons. Well, “offered”. She’d jumped at the chance, really.

Lena looks at Zayne guiltily, swallows hard, and decides to just rip off the band-aid. “I went into the field today.”

Icicles suddenly form on Zayne’s fingertips, and then seep onto on the tabletop. Zayne’s own Evol is the ability to conjure and manipulate ice.

Lena winces – Zayne’s restraint is legendary. Is he really that upset? “I’m sorry, Zayne, I –”

He doesn’t disguise his anger as he interrupts her, “No, you’re not.”

Lena deflates and sighs, “No. No, okay, I’m not. My teammates – fellow Hunters – needed assistance. Was I meant to let them die?”

It’s Zayne’s turn to sigh. He does so heavily, like he’s expelling all his anger in a rush of air. The ice on the desk recedes. “Lena. You have a heart condition. Besides, you’re not a Hunter in full, are you?”

She can’t help but bristle at that, “I’m as good as, Zayne. And I won’t back down if someone needs help, and I can help.”

“Your lightning Evol runs through your body. You can kill yourself overusing it.”

“Then I’ll die.” The words leave her before she’s really cognizant of them, but the pain that flashes across Zayne’s face at them is unmistakable. She scrambles, “I mean – I didn’t –”

Zayne’s voice is deadly low, “Lena. Do you value your life so little? Do you really think your death would be a boon for this world?”

She feels suddenly like crying and scrubs at her eyes. I don’t want to be useless. To feel useless, she thinks. And it’s true. She loves, loves her job and inventing things… but she also feels utterly redundant next to her Hunter friends.

Finally, Lena lowers her hands and opens her eyes. Zayne is observing her from behind his usual wall of ice. Her heart aches. He’s never going to look at her like she looks at him, is he? She hates it. But more than that… she hates disappointing him. And she knows that she has.

Lena says, in a timid tone that she can’t help but adopt, no matter how at odds it feels, “I don’t want to fight.”

“We’re hardly arguing,” he returns evenly.

Lena forces herself to perk up, “Well, if that’s true, then can we go and eat out after your shift? I’ll take you to Jackie’s – or that other nearby bakery – and get you however many sweets you want!”

Zayne cocks an eyebrow, even as his face seems to soften at her bequest. “I don’t know if I’m entirely open to this suggestion.”

She pulls a face, “Well, then you are mad at me. And this is my apology for causing you that stress.”

When he hesitates a moment longer, she adopts her best pout. Zayne looks at her for a moment, with his eyebrows still knitted together. Something in her pout must break him, because he smiles grudgingly. “As it turns out, you’re my last patient of the day. I need to finish some paperwork, but it shouldn’t take long. You can head to Jackie’s and I’ll come and find you in a bit.”

She shoots up out of her seat, “Yay! I’ll get you some dessert!”

Zayne shakes his head, “Don’t waste your money on me, Lena.”

She goes back to pouting, “Zayne. This is my treat, okay?”

Another slight smile, “Alright.”

...

Lena places a gargantuan order at Jackie’s, the in-hospital bakery. Two milk tea boba cups, ten macarons, five pan au chocolats, and two ice chocolate creams. Given the size of her order – and the fact that the pan au chocolats are still in the oven – Jackie informs her that she’ll have to wait a bit. Lena takes her order’s ticket (number fifty-five) happily and heads off to find a table for her and Zayne.

Zayne’s a hopeless sweet tooth – she can see no better way of making up for her recklessness than by bribing him with treats. Honestly, she’s surprised he has all his teeth left with how often he buys sweet things. He’s lucky that he’s also a fitness nut, or he’d have a paunch, too. Instead, he has hardened, delectable looking abs. Okay, no, that’s only in her imagination. He’s usually dressed in slacks and a shirt at work, and slacks and T-shirts outside of it. But once, just once, he met up with her after a run, and she could see his obvious muscle definition through his running clothes.

She’s so deep in thought that doesn’t notice someone coming to sit opposite her, or hear their greeting of, “Hey, kid.”

The person repeats themselves more loudly, “Hey, kid!”

Lena jumps, then calms down when she sees it’s her colleague, Mara. Mara’s sipping a green milk tea that assumes is matcha-flavoured; her pale brown hair flashes under the lights. Lena grins at her, “Hey, wise-ass.”

Mara’s a Deepspace Hunter, and Lena’s assigned to make weapons for her team. She’s also one of Lena’s best friends.

“What are you doing here?” Lena asks Mara with a frown, “You’re not injured, are you?” Mara wasn’t one of the Hunters she assisted earlier, so Lena genuinely doesn’t know how her day has been.

Mara waves off the question, “I’m alright. Just got a nasty gash on my arm, but otherwise I’m fine.”

Lena nods, “Good, good.”

Then she smiles wickedly, “It’d be a nightmare to have you be even grumpier than usual for the next few days.”

Mara narrows her eyes as she takes a sip of her tea, “Watch it.”

“Or what? You’ll zap me with the power of your surliness?”

Mara smiles placidly, “No. Just with one of your fancy tasers.”

A low voice interrupts their conversation, “Please don’t.”

Lena’s head swivels in the direction of the voice in record time, “Zayne!”

Zayne smiles politely at them both, “Hello, again. And Mara – nice to see you.”

Mara gives a wave, “Hi, doc.”

Zayne raises an eyebrow at her greeting, but says nothing other than, “Lena, give me your ticket. I’ll join the queue and get our order.”

Lena makes to stand, “Oh no, I can do that.”

Zayne shakes his head in amusement, “No, no, I’ll do it. Then you and Mara can catch up.”

Mara pipes up, “I’ll leave when you get back, doc.”

Zayne just nods, then scoops up the ticket from where Lena’s still got it clasped in her hand.

As he tugs the ticket out her palm their fingers brush together. Lena can’t help it, she blushes yet again, in the same instant that Zayne’s eyes widen a fraction. Lena clears her throat and glances away hurriedly, to look at the overhead display at the counter. “Oh, our order’s up.”

Zayne looks at the display, “So it is. I’ll be back.” Zayne leaves their table; Lena’s eyes follow him longingly all the while.

Mara bursts out cackling, “Oh my god. You’ve got moon eyes!”

Lena blushes harder and shushes Mara, “Lower your voice!”

Mara ignores her, “It’s nothing to be ashamed of, Len. In fact, it’s rather cute.”

Lena glares at her, grabs a napkin from the table’s dispenser, wads it up into a ball, and chucks it at Mara. “Stop it,” Lena whines.

“I must say, you and lover-boy look good together. You’re both so pretty.”

She can’t help but perk up at that, irritation falling away, “Really?”

Mara shrugs, “Yeah, sure. Plus, I think he’s into you, even if he doesn’t show it.”

Lena chokes on air, “What?”

Mara blinks, “He takes you on dates like all the time.”

“They’re not dates. We’re just hanging out.”

Mara ignores her protest, says teasingly, “Who would’ve thought? You and your childhood crush are –”

“Ahem.” Zayne’s back at the table; both she and Mara turn to look at him, unified in horror.

Zayne’s ears are flaming red. He raises the tray of desserts in his hands awkwardly, “I’ve got our order.”

That’s it. Lena wants to die. Mara scrambles to stand up, telegraphs an apology with her eyes, “Well, I’d best get going. Have fun!”

As she waves goodbye, Lena telegraphs back. I’ll get you for this!

Zayne takes the seat Mara’s vacated. Lena’s too mortified to do anything other than clap her hands together with false enthusiasm, “These look great!”

She’s tearing into a pan au chocolat before Zayne can even respond. He takes her cue and digs into the ice cream. For a while they eat in silence, until Zayne says, “How’s the webtoon you’ve been reading?”

Lena startles, scrambles to remember one of her current webtoons. “Oh, I’ll do anything?”

Zayne nods back, “Yes, I think it was that one. The one with the trope where the seemingly unattractive girl becomes pretty overnight, no?”

Lena rolls, “It’s a dumb trope. But I like that Ana makes Leo work for her affection.”

Zayne considers her statement with a hand under his chin; his eyes are thoughtful, “Why?”

Lena shrugs, “Isn’t it obvious? No one wanted to look her way when she was quote unquote ugly, but now that she’s become conventionally attractive, she’s worthy of love? It’s bullshit.”

Zayne hums, “It does sound awfully hypocritical.”

Lena nails him with an intense look, “No. It’s more than that – worse than that. It’s about being underestimated on appearance or devalued because of it. No one gaze a damn about Ana’s mathematical skills before she had, like, a lush pair of tits.”

Zayne laughs, “That’s one way of putting it.”

Lena shrugs, “I can say it like that.”

Zayne’s smile turns mischievous, “And I can’t?”

“Nope. Cause then you’d be a pig.”

Another quiet laugh, “I should read this webtoon.”

Lena can’t resist teasing him, “You? Mister I-have-only-select-hobbies-outside-of-work?”

His smile dimples, “I’ll make time, I assure you.”

Lena drums her fingers to the tabletop, “Cool. It would be nice to discuss together.” Then she promptly crushes her excitement at the thought of Zayne reading I’ll do anything just for her by asking something else. “But anyway – how’s your research article going?”

Zayne lights up. Well, he sits up a bit straighter and she takes that as a good sign, “Very well. We’ve completed our assessment of the control group and the participants of the study. We should have some conclusions about the efficacy of the new bypass treatment soon.”

“And this will help raise the likelihood of a heart bypass’s viability, right?”

Zayne nods, “Ideally.”

She hums again, thinks it over, “I’m glad I’ve never needed one. Seems hectic. But at the same time – I hope this helps someone.”

“Me too.” She’s not sure if he means her not needing a bypass or if he means the other patients, and she can’t bring herself to ponder it.

Zayne snatches up a macaron, and they return to eating in silence for a bit longer. Once the tray’s clear, they dust off their hands and stand. Lena shifts from foot to foot, “I guess this is goodnight. See you soon, Zayne.”

Zayne’s brow furrows ever-so-slightly, “No. I mean, hang on. I’ll give you a lift home.”

Lena shakes her head, “There’s no need.”

“There’s plenty need.”

Lena tilts her head. She knows that he won’t let this go easily.

She nods, “Okay.

...

The car ride is torture. They don’t talk much during it. Every time she looks at Zayne, all she sees is his deepening frown and how tightly he grips the wheel, as if something’s haunting him. She, for one, feels as though she can’t breathe. Mara’s spilling the beans is starting to weigh on her, and without conversation – or treats to eat – she can’t escape the dread sinking into her stomach.

Finally, it gets to the point that she feels lightheaded with frustration and says to Zayne, “Pull over.”

Zayne glances at her briefly. The road they’re taking is relatively deserted and there’s a gas station upcoming. “Are you alright?”

She answers through gritted teeth, “Peachy. I just need some air. It’s not a palpitation, though, just a sugar rush.” That’s half true, she supposes.

Zayne replies smoothly, “Alright. I trust your judgement. I’ll pull over at the gas station’s parking lot.”

Once they reach the parking lot, she rolls down the window and takes some deep breaths. It doesn’t help the dread whatsoever.

Zayne rests a hand on her shoulder, “Lena?”

Lena turns back to face Zayne, “Zayne.”

“Yes?”

“Earlier – what Mara said. She wasn’t just joking. She...”

“Lena, you don’t have to say any –”

“Yes, I do!” She snaps. “I just… it’s embarrassing, alright? What am I meant to say?” Her voice turns nasally, “Oh, Zayne, I’m so sorry, I know you’re my doctor and my friend, but I really, really like you.”

He considers her words in silence. His face is entirely walled off, and that incenses her further. She whisper-shouts, “Or am I meant to say, oh, I’m sorry Zayne. Sorry that I was so in love with you when we were kids that it made me feel sick!”

That last confession breaks him a little; something undefinable flashes in his eyes. Lena looks out the window, at the gas station’s parking lot’s wall. It’s plain vibracrete, and the dullness of it helps calm her. She adds, coolly, “It doesn’t matter. I know you don’t return my feelings. Besides, we were children.”

After a terse moment of silence, Zayne finally replies, “We’re not children now.”

Lena slaps her hand to the window pane, “I know that Zayne. It’s the worst part – I like you as you are now, but I also can’t say my childhood crush has nothing to do with this.”

Zayne hums from behind her; his voice turns impossibly soft, “How do you know I don’t return your feelings?”

Lena whips around to face him. This time, her heart’s really beating straight through her ribcage.

Zayne reaches over, to trace a delicate line into the skin of her wrist with his index finger. She lets him.

His voice is no greater than a hush as he says, “I was scared. Scared…”

Somehow, be it by miracle or curse, her tendency to skewer serious moments returns. She calls out, in tone all skewed with teasing, “Scared of what? Of little old me? I’m barely five-two and I can hardly bite!”

Zayne pins her to her seat with an askant look, as if he can’t believe she’s actually joking, “Your may be short, but you aren’t little by any means.”

She can’t help but cackle, “Isn’t that supposed to be your line, or something?”

Zayne’s eyes narrow; he yanks her towards him by the wrist, so that she ends up leaning over the gear shift. “It seems you can bite plenty, too.”

Lena runs her tongue along the bottom of her top row of her teeth, flashes him her gums, “Why don’t you come and find out?”

When Zayne hesitates for a split second too long, she leans back, tries to mask her disappointment by looking at the windshield.

All too soon, her gaze is tugged away from the window and back towards Zayne by cool fingertips. When her eyes meet his, he’s still cradling her jaw. She smiles, though this smile’s much weaker than the earlier ones. She can feel it in how limply her cheek muscles spasm.

Zayne traces a line into her jaw, “Let me see those fangs, then?”

“Are you sure you want to? Not gonna bolt, are you?”

He shakes his head, “Not this time.”

She’s barely let out a breathy yes before his mouth is on hers. Lena’s sure she won’t be able to tell anyone what’s actually happening, later, because the world falls away at the touch of his lips against her own. Lena kisses Zayne back with the sort of eagerness usually found in adolescents, shoves herself over the gearshift and into his lap.

The kiss turns languid and slow, and when they part, a bit messy. Zayne’s face is softer than she’s ever seen it.

He can’t stop touching her either, from how his thumbs stroke across her cheekbones, across the swell of her cheeks.

“Zayne, I…”

He’s only half listening, she can tell from how absentmindedly he answers, with a non-committal, “Hmm?”

She clamps a hand to his mouth, as if stealing his ability to speak can calm her own nerves, “I don’t want this to end.”

Zayne smiles against her palm, speaks into her fingers, “It won’t.”

Then Zayne tugs her hand free of his mouth. He kisses her palm, “I won’t let it end. I’m not going anywhere. I don’t want to.”

She’s still wondering at his words, letting the adoration in her heart rise to the surface of her skin and turn it a sparkling gold, when he resumes smothering her in kisses.

She releases the affection brewing in her as a trill of delight, and then smothers him right back, with lips and love.

#lads zayne #lnds zayne #li shen #l&ds zayne #loveanddeepspace #zayne x reader #my fic #fanfic #lads #zayne love and deepspace #love and deepspace #love and deepspace zayne x oc

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jerzwriter · 5 months ago

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The Hissing Booth

I found this little guy online, and I knew exactly what needed to be done. I'm forever grateful to @dr-colossal-pita for inspiring me to create Pietro!

Book: Open Heart (Post-Series) Pairing: Tobias x Casey Carrick (F!MC) Featuring: Samantha Carrick (F!OC), Pietro (Original Cat) Words: 418 Rating: General Summary: Samantha has a Valentine's Day activity planned for her and her father, but little Pietro is not excited about it at all!

Participating in @choicesficwriterscreations Valentine's Day event

It took thirty minutes. Just thirty minutes, a stack of construction paper, and two red markers for Tobias and his three-year-old daughter, Samantha, to transform a basic cardboard box into a Valentine's Day “Kissing Booth.”

It was her idea, and little Samantha couldn't have been more excited now that it was completed. Her curls bounced as she clapped her hands, squealing with glee. “Now we need Pietro!”

Pietro, the family cat, jumped up and flicked his tail upon hearing his name. He was a safe distance away at the moment but could sense impending doom.

Tobias chuckled as Samantha waddled toward the feline, her arms open wide. “Uh, Sammy, sweetheart… I don’t think Pietro wants...”

Too late. Pietro took one look at the tiny human running in his direction and bolted.

“PIETRO!” Samantha cried, lunging at him as he retreated under the couch with a hiss.

“Sammy," Tobias said, taking his daughter's hand. "I don't think he's interested in the kissing booth."

Samantha pouted, her little hands landing on her hips, but she wasn't about to be defeated. "I know what to do, Daddy!" she smiled. "Let's make it a hissing booth!”

Tobias chuckled. “A hissing booth?”

“Yeah,” she said, grabbing a marker, and, with Tobias’s help, the K became an H, and within moments, they had what was likely the world's first hissing booth.

"Pietro," Sammy hollered, bending over to peer under the couch. "Come out, Pierto!"

After showing no interest, Pietro suddenly emerged and sauntered over to the hissing booth, stepping inside like he owned the place.

Samantha jumped up and down. “It worked, Daddy! It worked!”

Casey, who had come in from the kitchen, rested her head on Tobias's shoulder as his arm encircled her waist. They laughed together as Pietro stretched out in the box, declaring it his own.

"It's almost like he can read," Casey smirked.

"Yeah," Tobias smiled, kissing the top of his wife's head. "I'm sure it had nothing to do with that piece of salmon you put in the box."

"Tobias!" Casey gasped in mock horror. "I have no idea what you're talking about. But when Sammy takes a nap, why don't we turn that back into a kissing booth?"

"Oh, yeah," he grinned, raising a brow. "How much are you charging? Because I may need to run out to the ATM."

"Oh, baby! It's Valentine's Day! Kisses are free all day!"

"Then I say we get Sammy and Pietro down for a nap... fast."

@openheartfanfics

Tagging others separately.

#open heart #open heart choices #choices open heart #open heart fanfic #tobias carrick #tobias carrick x mc #tobias x case #pietro the cat #choices #choices fanfic #playchoices #playchoices fanfic

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matchavellichor · 2 years ago

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Hi, I hope your day is going well when you read this!! I know you said you were currently taking a slight break from writing due to school, and first of all, I'm wishing you the very best of your studies! But I thought I would send a request just in case you do resume writing fics in the future, but feel free to ignore this! This seems a bit plain, but I was wondering if you could write an ominis x fmc where mc is terribly shy and avoidant to no one but ominis due to her feelings for him? Over time, though, Ominis observes her personality when interacting with other people, becoming fond of her but is left conflicted seeing how nervous she is around him, leaving him to wonder if she hates him or not. Since Ominis can’t see MC staring at him or how her cheeks go red around him, we could perhaps have Sebastian take note of this and act like the typical tease-playing wingman to set Ominis and MC up? It’s a pretty fluffy request, but you can lead it down any road you want, whether it turns out suggestively or not.

A/N: hi!!! tysm for the kindness <3 uni is still kind of hectic at the moment unfort, but i LOVED this idea sm so i decided to write a lil something anyway. ty for the request, hope you enjoy!

Great Expectations

Ominis x f!MC - Fluff - 3k words

Summary: Urged on by Sebastian's insistence that the reason for MC's evasiveness is that she harbors a secret crush, Ominis decides to take Sebastian's advice and find this out for himself.

Tags: Miscommunication, Wingman Sebastian, Clueless Ominis, Friends to Lovers, Fluff, Banter, First Kiss

"Some light reading?"

Ominis can sense the way she startles, nearly dropping the tall stack of books balanced carefully in her arms.

“Oh, uh…hello, Ominis,” she greets as she rights herself, voice oddly tight. “I hadn’t realized you were here.”

“Always am. The library’s practically my second home at this point,” he smiles warmly, making some attempt at small talk.

There’s an awkward pause before he clears his throat to break the silence. “I uh, I hadn’t realized you were such an avid reader yourself,” he tilts his head, waving his wand over the topmost title in her pile. “Ah, and you have taste! Dickens is brilliant. I’d love to pick your brain sometime about—”

“I apologize, if—you’ll um, if you’ll excuse me,” she suddenly interrupts, eyes trained at her feet, before she’s brushing past him in the tight corridor of shelves and exiting towards one of the more populated corners of the library.

Ominis frowns, brows knitting together in confusion and what’s beginning to morph into genuine offense at this point.

“Was it something I said?” he mutters under his breath, rubbing the back of his neck.

Ever since they had become acquaintances, any attempts at amicability on his part had been met with brisk dismissals, curt replies, and her avoiding him like the plague. At first he thought her simply timid, but after observing her behavior with the likes of Sebastian or Garreth or any of her other friends, Ominis had been seriously considering some innate character flaw of his own.

He had thought he had made some progress in their relationship at the last gathering they had frequented, a weekend get-together in the Slytherin common room, but it was quickly becoming apparent that he’d been sorely mistaken.

Was he really so unapproachable? Dreadfully unlikeable? Did she simply have no interest in befriending him?

Ominis tries to pretend his ego isn't bruised by this notion, but fails miserably when his brain wanders to more woeful reasons as to why she would want nothing to do with him. His family’s notoriety and the rumors surrounding his person that are frequently pedaled around the castle undoubtedly have already reached her ears.

Filled with a strange sense of defeat, Ominis abandons any of his original plans of reading in favor of sulking in the common room alone. Less than two steps towards the library exit, however, and he’s bombarded by Sebastian.

“Ominis, you sly dog, don’t think I didn’t see you two warming up in the back shelves,” he grins, poking his friend in the ribs and waggling his brows.

Ominis frowns, swatting at the brunette’s hand. “Warming up is certainly not the term I would use. She despises me.”

“Despises you? Are you blind?”

“...Yes?”

“I refuse to believe you’re that blind,” Sebastian amends, scoffing. “Don’t tell me you really haven’t noticed.”

“Noticed what? The way she can’t bear to spend longer than a minute around me?” Ominis grumbles. “Trust me, I’m well aware.”

“Oh Gods, you’re just as hopeless as she is,” Sebastian groans, deeply pained. “She doesn’t despise you, she’s head over heels, Ominis,” he leans in with an all-too smug tone. “Take it from a man who knows the ladies.”

Ominis turns his head over his shoulder as if in search. “And, pray tell, where is this man?”

He receives an indignant smack on the arm. “I’m serious! Trust me, it’s obvious to anyone with eyes. I mean, why do you think she’s always so nervous around you?”

“She probably thinks I’m going to curse her or something,” Ominis mutters. “My reputation isn’t exactly the nicest, Sebastian. Are you forgetting who my family is?”

Sebastian barks out a laugh. “I’m sorry, Ominis, but anyone who takes even a second out of their day to speak to you will know you’re incapable of harming a lacewing fly. Trust me on this, she likes you.”

Ominis pauses for a moment, considering the possibility that had never before crossed his mind before. An involuntary warmth spreads over his skin, surfacing all kinds of unbidden feelings he doesn’t have much experience in handling. Noticing his contemplative silence, Sebastian peeks at the blonde.

“Oh, Salazar, you’re blushing,” he gasps, no small amount of delight seeping through his tone. “You know, for a while I was half-convinced you were incapable of it. Me and Garreth actually had a bet that were half-vamp—”

Ominis scowls, pushing Sebastian’s fingers away from where they were currently trying to prod at his flushed cheeks. “I am not blushing. Look, this whole notion is ridiculous, even for you, Sebastian. She can barely tolerate me, much less harbor some crush on me.”

“Fine,” Sebastian shrugs, feigning acquiescence. “Then flirt with her. See what happens, and if she truly despises you as you say, then no harm, no foul.”

Ominis sputters. “I will not flirt with her, don’t be absurd.”

“Why not? If you already believe she hates you, what do you have to lose?”

“My dignity? My already maimed ego? You’ve seen her in Defence against the Dark Arts, if we’re being realistic I’m probably in risk of breaking a couple bones as well—”

“Ominis, just try,” Sebastian groans, looking ready to rip his hair out. “If you don’t, I’m marching right back into that library and flirting with her for you.”

Immediately, memories of Sebastian’s past trysts with women and the sheer amount of crudeness in even his most tame chat-up lines come to mind. Ominis panics. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Oh, we both know I would,” Sebastian grins, stopping in his tracks and turning back towards the library doors. “Remember that one boiling cauldron line Garreth taught me? I’ll go up and tell her you begged me to use it for you—”

“Stop, stop, alright,” Ominis grits, fisting a hand in the back of Sebastian’s robes to pull him back. He sighs. “I’ll….I’ll speak to her, alright?”

Sebastian claps a hand over his shoulder, pleased. “That’s the spirit.”

As much as Ominis would have liked to postpone the inevitable as much as possible, fate was not on his side. He had the misfortune of running into her while on his way to the Great Hall for dinner, and with Sebastian by his side, he would have no chance of escape.

After urging his friend on with not so friendly threats, Sebastian made himself scarce, though undoubtedly somewhere within earshot so he could listen to disaster unfold.

“Just the person I was looking for,” he greets with as much warmth as he can manage, though his nerves are broiling a storm in his gut. “Have you gotten in any good reading today?”

Once again, she seems startled by his presence. “You were…looking for me?”

“Well, yes. I was wondering if I might accompany you to dinner?” he smiles. “Would give me a chance to bore you with my fascination with muggle literature.”

“Oh,” her eyes widen, looking almost excited before it’s washed over with anxiety. “I’m sorry, I uh, I wasn’t…going to dinner.��

“Oh,” Ominis frowns, noting how close they were to the Great Hall. “Where were you heading then?”

“The library,” she blurts out and Ominis tilts his head in confusion.

“But the library’s in the opposite direction,” he nods over his shoulder. “And haven’t you just come back from there?”

“I–I have to go,” she says, suddenly swiveling in the other direction and brushing past him. “Apologies.”

Once again, Ominis is left perplexed, and increasingly hurt. The only thing the interaction has done is given him a bigger headache, her behavior irrational in the face of Sebastian’s theory. Ominis finds himself even more convinced she hates his guts.

As if on cue, Sebastian ducks out from behind a tapestry shielding an alcove, an almost pained sort of grimace on his face.

“That was…bad.”

“Understatement of the year,” Ominis groans. “Do you see what I mean? She clearly doesn’t like me, Sebastian. All I’ve done is made a bigger fool of myself.”

“She’s nervous, Ominis. She was blushing the entire interaction. Look, maybe try being more direct? Girls like confidence! Tell her you will spend time with her and that you won’t take no for an answer.”

Ominis blinks at him. “Are you trying to get my bollocks hexed off?”

“While that would be deeply amusing, no,” Sebastian assures. “Look, she’s clearly just too shy to let herself spend time with you, that’s why she runs away. You can’t give her a way out, hell, incarcerous her if you have to.”

Ominis looks genuinely concerned for any women that have had the terrible misfortune of being the objects of Sebastian’s romantic interest. “How you’ve not found yourself in Azkaban yet amazes me.”

“Oh, shush,” he scowls before suddenly snapping his fingers, metaphorical lightbulb lighting up his face. “I’ve got it! Remember how Sharp gave her detention this weekend for sneaking ingredients for Garreth? Just muck something up tomorrow in Potions, and done! She’ll be forced to spend a whole evening with you.”

“That’s a terrible idea.”

“It’s brilliant,” Sebastian grins, far too proud of himself. “Everyone knows detention is the best place to snog.”

Ominis chokes. “There will be no snogging—”

“Oh, got bigger plans in mind, have you? Ominis, you dirty little devil—”

The tips of his ears burning bright-red, Ominis pushes through the entrance doors to the Great Hall before Sebastian can get another word in, thanking Merlin she’d foregone dinner tonight.

While sprinkling some erumpent horn powder in Sharp’s cauldron during a practical demonstration was easier than he’d thought, actually having to go to detention the upcoming Saturday evening was not.

Pacing his dorm room anxiously while he counts down the hours until he has to make his way down to the Potions classroom, Ominis can’t help but be besmirched by his own stupidity at how he inevitably let Sebastian talk him into this.

Like the devil, Sebastian pokes his head through the door, not even bothering to knock. He plops himself down on one of the beds, eyeing the blonde with poorly-concealed bewilderment. “What are you so strung up for?”

“Not helping,” he glowers. “What if she runs away again?”

“Relax, would you?” Sebastian rolls his eyes, standing to walk over and muss the blonde’s hair. Ominis scowls and swats at his friend, but Sebastian is nothing if not stubborn, pulling at Ominis’ neatly folded uniform tie until it drapes messily around his neck.

“Perfect,” he grins, standing back to examine his work.

Ominis frowns, attempting with great futility to smooth his hair back into place. “I look like a delinquent.”

“How would you know?” Sebastian raises a brow. “You look great. Girls like a bit of a bad boy, you know. And after your stunt in Sharp’s class you’re certainly starting to build a reputation.”

“You were the one who told me to do it!”

“I told you to get yourself detention, not cause a minor explosion.”

Waving a wand over his wristwatch to check the time, Ominis’ pulse doubles when he realizes he has to be in Sharp’s classroom in a few minutes.

Before he can talk himself out of it, Sebastian is dragging him out the door, blabbering terrible advice as if he’s sending his friend off to a first date and not detention with a grouchy Potions master.

“—And most importantly of all, compliment her, Ominis. I know you’re not very expressive, but for the love of Merlin, tell her she looks nice,” he practically shoves the blonde through the common room door, adding a final, “have fun! Use the contraceptive charm!”

Ominis is promptly left alone in the dimly-lit corridor, a heat involuntarily rising to his cheeks, praying some greater force will strike him down before he has to humiliate himself any further.

The classroom is empty when he finally arrives a few minutes behind schedule, except for where he inevitably finds her scrubbing cauldrons in the back of the room. She tenses when he approaches, but doesn’t startle when he greets her this time. Ominis wonders if he can put it down as progress.

“Sharp asked me to tell you we’re not allowed to use magic,” she nods towards the stack of cauldrons perched on the workspace. “And, um that we’re only to bother him if someone’s bleeding, dying, or dead.”

Ominis nods, pointedly taking the space beside her and dragging one of the soot-covered cauldrons towards him to begin working.

There’s a tension between them that Ominis can’t ignore for the life of him, only the sound of scrubbing to cut through the painstaking silence. After a few unbearable moments, he clears his throat, remembering Sebastian’s advice.

“You look nice tonight,” he attempts, though his voice sounds oddly thick with nerves.

The sound of scrubbing stops. “Sorry?”

“I said you uh, you look very nice,” he attempts with more firmness, though his hands are white-knuckled around the edge of the table to stop himself from bolting from the mortification.

“Is that supposed to be a joke?”

“What?” he asks perplexed, forgetting momentarily a crucial reason as to why the compliment would seem absurd coming from him. “Oh dear Merlin, no, no that’s not how I meant it all.”

“Very funny, Ominis,” she takes in a sharp breath, dropping the brush with a dull clatter into the cauldron before she crosses her arms and faces him, all timidness suddenly replaced by a glaring frustration in her tone. Ominis isn't sure if it's an improvement, but at least she’s talking to him. “Did Sebastian put you up to this?”

“Sebastian? What? Of course not,” he sputters, desperately trying to amend. “I— Look, I’m—I’m sorry. Can I start over? Please?”

She raises an expectant eyebrow.

“You don’t look nice,” he tries, trying to suppress the wince that washes over his features. His only consolance is that Sebastian isn’t here to witness any of it. “I’m sorry, no—that’s not—I meant, I’m sure you do look nice, not that I would…know, but,” he runs a hand over his face, certain that if she didn't hate him before, she certainly does now. “I meant, you smell very nice. That I can tell, you…you smell very lovely, actually.”

There’s a long pause where she simply stares at him before her frustration inevitably only seems to double. “Is this what you find entertaining?”

“I’m sorry?”

“You’re taunting me,” she seethes. “You obviously know what I feel for you and now you’re making fun of me for it, aren’t you? You’ve been doing it all week.”

“What? Salazar, no, that’s not it at all—”

“Truly hilarious,” she scoffs, shaking her head. “Very mature. Maybe try being more subtle—”

“That’s not what I’m—”

“You can stop pretending you want to hang out with me all the time now—”

“Will you listen? I’m not—”

“Next time, if you don’t feel the same way, then simply—hmpph!”

Despite the blaring alarm bells that should be going off in Ominis’ head for doing something so painfully impulsive to someone who could hex his entire bloodline in the time it takes her to take out her wand, his mind blanks out into a puddle of warmth as he crashes his lips to hers.

She freezes, mouth unmoving against his in the time it takes awareness to seep into her brain and for her to realize he’s kissing her.

To his relief, when the realization does set in, she kisses him back.

She seems to melt just as much as Ominis, her body instinctively leaning into his, hands going slack at her sides before they instinctively come to hold at his forearms where he’s cradling her face so she can’t pull away.

Ominis pulls him towards her, and then, urged on by some coiling heat inside of him he’s admittedly not too familiar with, he crowds her against the workspace. He nearly topples over several cauldrons in his franticness to deepen the kiss, muttering sheepish apologies through heavy breaths, but he’s far too consumed to feel embarrassed.

His lips on hers are clumsy and impatient, and maybe far too hungry for a first kiss, but she doesn’t seem to mind. Her hands come up to thread through his hair, to drag down his scalp, and Ominis couldn’t stop the groan that leaves him if he had all the composure in the world.

He’s so far gone he doesn’t even care about all the soot they’re getting on each other, too preoccupied with trying to keep his knees from buckling, to press his body even more against hers as if it’s the greatest offense known to history that they’re not physically molded to one another. When he slots a thigh between her legs and she lets out a little noise against his mouth, he thinks he might just collapse.

Ominis skin feels hot to the touch, nerves prickling with want, with the urge to touch and taste and grind until he goes numb. She finally breaks the kiss, panting heavily against his mouth, eyes glazed over with just as much raw need. Though the loss is almost physically painful, Ominis is grateful for small mercies, because he was a few seconds away from tearing through her uniform top.

“You’re…” she swallows, trying to clear the breathlessness from her voice. “Uh, very committed to the bit, I suppose.”

Ominis can’t help the laugh that escapes him.

His shoulders shake, forehead dropping to meet hers, and when he glances back up he smiles, lips still raw and undoubtedly kiss-bruised. She returns his grin, until he can feel her smile against his mouth when he leans down to press his lips to hers again, because he simply can’t help himself.

They barely register the sound of the door to the professor’s office swinging open. Only when he clears his throat do they finally tear apart, and Ominis wonders if it’s possible to drop dead from sheer mortification.

Sharp lets out a long-suffering sigh, as if he’s accustomed to walking in on much, much worse by now and his hardly fazed.

“Just get the cauldrons clean,” he grumbles, grabbing a few texts on one of the adjacent tables. He hobbles back to the door, shaking his head and muttering under his breath. “Bloody teenagers and hormones, don’t get paid enough for this shit…”

He ducks his head out before closing the door, pointing a stern finger in their direction. “And not on my tables.”

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