Tired and sleep deprived

"don't," he cut you off, his voice raspy, deeper, and rougher than you had ever heard it. he looked up, his dark eyes dilated so wide they looked almost entirely black, a faint, dark flush creeping up his neck and dusting his cheekbones.

he gripped the insides of your knees, his fingers digging into your skin with a possessiveness that made your blood run hot. "shit—do it again."

"w-what? but i—"

"please," he begged, the word slipping out with a desperate, breathless edge that made your stomach flip. his chest was heaving. "squeeze me again. oh fuck—just like that, baby. lock your legs."

the raw hunger in his expression made it impossible to refuse. slowly, hesitantly, you brought your thighs back together, locking him in place once more, applying a firm, steady pressure against his neck.

a low, ragged groan escaped him, vibrating directly against your sensitive bud. he buried his face back into you, his tongue working with a newfound, frantic intensity that completely derailed your thought process. "harder," he mumbled against your pussy, his hands sliding up to your hips, fingers bruisingly tight as he anchored you. "squeeze harder, baby."

you complied, tightening your hold, completely overwhelmed by the blinding intensity of it. you were caught so deeply in the throes of your own approaching climax that the world narrowed down to just the pressure of your legs and the wicked, relentless motion of his mouth.

because of the sensory overload, you didn't notice the subtle, rhythmic motion beneath you at first. you didn't realize that with every tight squeeze of your thighs restricting his airflow, choso was heavily, desperately humping his clothed length straight into the mattress. he was completely losing himself in the friction, his hips rolling in a tight, frantic pattern against the sheets, riding the intoxicating sensation of being choked by you.

your climax hit like a freight train, your walls pulsing violently around his tongue as a loud cry left your lips. you squeezed him tight, your thighs locking like a vice as you rode the wave.

right as you peaked, choso let out a choked, broken sound. his whole body went rigid beneath you. his hips gave one last, hard, desperate shove into the mattress, his fingers digging so deeply into your hips it was almost painful. he trembled violently, his breath catching in a long, shuddering gasp as he buried his face entirely in your thigh, hiding himself away as he spent.

as the sparks in your vision began to fade and your breathing slowed, you gradually loosened the grip of your legs. choso slumped forward, resting his forehead against your stomach, his chest rising and falling in rapid, shallow pants.

it was only then, as the quiet returned to the room, that you noticed the heavy, uneven thumping of his heart against your leg, and the distinct, damp heat pressing through the fabric of his trousers right where he had been pinning himself to the bed.

you blinked down at him, your hand coming up to rest in his dark hair. "cho...?"

he didn't move for a long moment, completely spent, his shoulders still twitching slightly. when he finally looked up, his face was completely flushed, eyes heavy and hooded with a profound, dazed satisfaction. he swallowed hard, a sheepish but utterly dark look in his eyes as he realized you had figured it out. he hadn't even touched himself; he had finished purely from the friction of the bed and the suffocating pressure of your thighs.

to communicate? to instill fear? not even you knew the answer.

“ah, fine. you may go talk to her.” the manager sighed, pushing slightly the door that led towards a restricted area only for staff members. “but please return through the front door when you’re done. we can’t be having customers back there.”

“yes, yes, i understand.” she nodded her head, offering a warm smile. “i will be quic–”

but she couldn’t finish her sentence as her hunter’s watch started to beep uncontrollably around her wrist. a sudden increase in metaflux was registered around the café and, as if on cue, terrified screams echoed from outside as wanderers spawned.

“what the fuck??”

emcee cursed under her breath, taking a step back from the employee-only door. you were pushed back on her priority list as a beam of electricity carved through the concrete right outside the café. pulling her dual pistols out, she rushed outside to evacuate the civilians and fight off the wanderers.

•••

you didn’t register any of it. you didn’t register the screams of the pedestrians as they tried to run away from the monsters; you didn’t register the crash of glass or the strange sound of supernatural prowess. you were caged in your own mind, in that quiet yet unceasingly loud space, where only the rhythm of your own heavy breath and the frantic pounding of your heart echoed.

you pressed your forehead to your knees and squeezed your eyes shut, trying to block the unfamiliar world around you, trying to pull yourself out of existence.

you also didn’t register the van.

it was a dull grey vehicle with tinted windows, blending seamlessly into the adjacent city street, too boring to attract anyone’s attention. it came to a stop near the back entrance, leaving enough space between the two of you to not arouse suspicion. the side door slid open, allowing two men in suits to step outside onto the pavement. they, too, weren’t concerned with the wanderers, seemingly focused on another task.

it was as if they knew the attack was to happen.

it was as if they took advantage of the conundrum up front to approach you.

“the coast is clear.” one of them mumbled as he held down on his earpiece, reporting to his higher up about the surrounding areas.

they saw your pitiful form, your shoulders shaking, your face buried in your arms. they saw the vulnerability, the isolation, the perfect opportunity to snatch you. the man with the device nodded once, and they began to move towards the fenced enclosure, their steps silent on the pavement.

they thought they’d get you easy.

“hey.”

they were wrong.

“h–huh? xavier?”

you didn’t see him appear before you. there was no sound, no clue for you to pick up. he just materialized in front of you. you gasped out his name, finally raising your head from between your knees, finally straightening your curled posture.

you knew who he was from the game, but you’ve never officially introduced one another after transmigrating into this reality.

you’ve noticed your mistake after muttering his name, eyes going wide in fear, upper teeth biting into your lower lip. a new wave of panic surged all over your body, goosebumps blooming all over your skin from the impending failure.  you could talk your way out of your error, maybe blabber some nonsense about remembering his name since he came often with emcee at the café.

but luckily for you, he paid your little slip-up no mind. with a curt smile, he crouched down beside you, extending his hand towards you. only then did you register his sword, grasped by his other hand, shining beautifully with a brewing light.

“we need to evacuate.” was all he said, gripping the hilt of his sword tighter. “there are wanderers close by, i need you to come with me.”

at that moment, you finally locked eyes with him, gazing into his beautiful blue orbs. your own orbs were looking back at him, but they did not mirror the azure calmness of his — terror crawled all over, snagging onto your eyes and pulling them out of your orbits.

“w–what?” you retorted back, voice stuttering in your throat.

the crusted-up tears around your waterline flourished again as your mind struggled to process the danger you were in.

wanderers. the powerful creatures which you’ve only ever seen on screen, always confined to a safe, fictional space of combat, were loose so close to you. they were real and they were here, wreaking havoc and targeting more people, not just emcee and her chosen love interest.

you could barely breathe at the news, chest heaving beneath your barista uniform, as xavier searched your crouched body for your hand. he needed to take you out and move you somewhere safer, and, in doing so, he must disregard the terrifying feeling that swallowed your whole being.

“i won’t let anything hurt you.” he reinforced his position, convincing you to trust in him. “but we need to go. now.”

you knew you could trust xavier, especially when it came to wanderers. so you mustered up all your strength, pushing against the wall and willing your legs to straighten and move from your crying spot. your hand reached out, seeking support, completely breaking your pact to never interact with the love interests.

but this was an emergency, you tried to excuse yourself, clutching his hand tightly as you took a few wobbling steps.

he pulled you closer, effortlessly, looping a hand around your shoulders to stabilize you.

and, as a result, the proximity between the two of you shortened.

your eyes landed on his face once more, but this time at a resolution only a live, authentic experience could offer. he was no longer just pixels on a screen, poorly embodied due to your bad quality device — he was real, a breathing beauty, icy blue eyes and soft blonde hair.

if it weren’t for the chaos two streets down, your heart would’ve most likely swooned.

“hold on to me.”

and with that warning, he plucked you from the concrete floor, jumping away from the back of the café. it was hard to register what was going on, having never been plunged into the air in such an inhumane way. you were scared, so high up in the sky, but you were also fascinated, holding onto xavier’s neck as he lapped from building to building to safety.

you were so enthralled by the view of the city, scanning the premise for the monstruous wanderers, you didn’t register xavier’s gaze traveling away from you and settling on the two suspicious men that were targeting you.

although they stopped in their tracks when they saw you were approached by the hunter, they did not put in the effort to hide — xavier’s expression shifted, and the previous soft concern he had for you hardened into a sharper, more brutal gaze. his blue eyes darkened with unspoken threats, carefully taking in what was supposed to befall you if he didn’t intervene.

his arm on you tightened, but you did not know why, merely assuming he stabilized your posture for the landing. he didn’t explain anything else to you, dropping you closer to another group of civilians, ushering you with a flick of the wrist to join the frightened cluster of people.

they were all crying and trembling in fear, voices a mixture of prayer and alarm.

and as he left the area to join emcee in her fight, you were finally face to face with the terrifiying monsters that inhabited the world of the game.

the small screen of your device did not do them justice.

they were enormous, a convolution of strange forms and patterns that combined in an unfathomable and cruel design. they towered over the smaller buildings, true giants compared to the humans around them, stomping and roaring and attacking everything around them.

balls of energy were thrown around, while beams struck and cut through solid materials with ease.

emcee was moving around them, her evol finally activating now that her partner came to help her. it shined brightly for a few seconds, like a gleaming piece of hope, before dissipating in the air as the blows of her guns and xavier’s blade unleashed onto the wanderers.

but the sheer size of the creatures, the closeness of the danger, the reality of what you were seeing–

the possibility of you falling victim to such a thing.

it was too much.

your previous panic attack resurfaced, now fueled by something more palpable, crashing over you and leaving your breathless. your chest worked overtime, raising and falling to sustain enough oxygen, while your heart adapted to the increasing flow of your blood. but it was all in vain as your vision tunneled, darkness overtaking your surroundings.

the noises of battle blurred as your body gave out, darkness engulfing you fully as you slipped into unconsciousness.

“m–miss? miss, what’s wrong?”

“hey, hey, hey! h–help, someone help!”

“wake up! ahhhh, does someone know what–?”

•••

the next thing you knew was the sterile white of a hospital ceiling and the pungent smell of antiseptic. the fluorescent lights buzzed above you softly, illuminating the small yet technologically-advanced room.

you tried to move, to lift your hand and perch it on your aching temple, but you were met with restrictions.

the iv line, notched into your arm with a securely taped needle, prevented you from sudden, elongating movements. other wires emerged from your chest, little sticky pads stuck to your skin and connected to a monitor that showcased your vitals.

you pushed yourself up slowly, your arms screaming in protest after resting for so long, and you managed to lean against the tilted hospital bed. the room twirled around you for a second, confusing your tired eyes and making that headache of yours even worse. but soon, after your vision stabilized, you were graced with the exact location of the hospital you were taken at — the logo of akso hospital caught the light of the dimming sun.

akso. of all places.

the door opened before we could fully sit up, before you could prepare a plan to escape the hospital pleasantries without being questioned too much.

and as if the universe was working against you, the person opening the door was not a meager nurse or an unnamed and unimportant doctor. the one that greeted you with a slow nod of the head, adorning a white medical gown and a stylish pair of glasses, was none other than zayne.

he stepped into the room attentively, closing the door after him to give you privacy. just like xavier, he too stood before you… too real. his dark hair was neatly combed to the side, his expression composed, his deep green eyes sharp and observing. he had a tablet in his hand, most likely containing your general medical information.

“good evening.” was the first thing he said to you, fingers coming up and pushing his glasses closer to his eyes.

his voice was calm, almost distant, yet there was something that stood out compared to xavier. he was careful, watchful, talking to you but also… assessing you. maybe it was because of his profession, or maybe it was because, unlike the hunter, he somewhat knew your identity because of your medical chart.

maybe.

“i am doctor zayne li, from the cardiology department. i will be overseeing your care. you were brought here after collapsing during a wanderer attack earlier today. you’ve been unconscious for approximately four hours.”

you stared at him, your mind barely taking in his little summary.

he was one of the five love interests, a childhood friend of emcee, turned doctor in order to save the one he loved. he was standing in your hospital room, declaring he was the one in charge of you. but why? why was zayne, such a valuable attire of the hospital, so busy in the cardiology department, assigned to you?

you, unimportant, just a collateral victim of a panic attack.

“cardiology?” you managed to mumble even with your dry throat, almost spitting out the words in disbelief and also… dissatisfaction. “is there any issue with my heart?” you immediately added, wishing to shoo the doctor away and get another one.

someone who had no ties to emcee.

his expression did not change, but his eyes did quiver slightly at your question. as if something just got confirmed.

“i was asked to personally attend to you.” he cleared his throat and explained briefly. “it was a request from the hunter’s association, one that i couldn’t refuse.”

what? the hunter’s association?

you wanted to question him further, lips opening with unspoken words, yet you were interrupted as another person barged into the room.

“ahh, you’re up! how are you, are you okay?”

emcee was quickly standing before you, eyes wide with worry, leaning against the metal bars at the foot of your bed as she scanned your face with urgency. just like in the café, she was genuinely concerned for you.

“i was so worried, i had to check you were fine myself. it is all my fault, after all. i was the one that startled you at the café and–”

and with that, she started to blabber on and on about how your panic attack was linked to her somehow, presenting her concern and also her guilt for what she has done. you did not have a chance to speak up for yourself and explain the situation, to lessen the burden on her shoulders, as she constantly spoke into your ringing ears.

you barely noticed xavier entered the room as well, stopping in the doorway, shoulders pressing against the frame, arms crossed over his chest. he was taking in the entire scene, as so did zayne.

but instead of looking at the both of you, the two pair of eyes were narrowed onto you.

blues and greens, they were both swallowing you whole.

as emcee kept talking, her voice becoming background noise to you, you focused on the two men present in the room. your eyes darted between the two of them, but they didn’t deter, standing in their places and maintaining their gazes.

observing the charade before them.

so you turned back to emcee, cupping her hand to stop her monologue, and asked her for a glass of water. deciding to ignore the love interests.

you would have never guessed why zayne and xavier were so observant, why emcee was so chatty.

you would have never guessed they talked about you while you were unconscious.

xavier dragged the two of them into a reclusive corner after you were assigned a room, describing the two strange men that had their eyes on you and mentioning the awfully perfect timing of the wanderer attack. that information left the other two with a plethora of questions…

questions that were soon to be doubled by zayne searching for your personal data in the medical base.

after you were rushed to the hospital, the doctor gathered every medical file he could find so your treatment could go smoothly. he didn’t expect to run into an issue as he scoured the database — he didn’t expect for all the information, even the photograph that loaded on his computer, to not be yours.

he refreshed, and refreshed, and refreshed, but the same information was plastered on the screen.

the profile that appeared while searching for your identification number was… emcee’s.

every time he introduced the digits you possessed, he was redirected to her page. her history, her records, her existence. it was as if the system could not distinguish between the two of you. as if you had no file of your own.

as if you were not supposed to exist as a standalone.

so when xavier mentioned the strangeness surrounding you, zayne felt the need to add his own thoughts on the matter.

“someone is aware of… this. and they are after her.” emcee concluded after the talk, uniting the two accounts into one.

“they are watching her, they have been watching her for a while.”

they chose to keep quiet for now, only observing you from afar and noting down any kind of clue you might spit out by accident.

“ahem, emcee? you should let the patient rest. she hasn’t had the most pleasant day.”

“ahhh, was i talking too much? i’m so sorry, dear!”

with the doctor’s stern warning, they all flew out of the room, one by one.

and you were alone again, wires still stuck to your chest, iv still dripping into your arm, the monitor still beeping in softly. you stared at the ceiling, your mind churning, your heart racing, the sterile silence pressing in on you from all sides.

someone was watching.

and now, terrifyingly, the main characters were watching too.

©pearlescenthoney 2026. do not copy, translate, or claim any of my writings or works as your own.

imagine the old and shabby town you were living in was replaced by something greater. a city you’ve only seen in still shots, a city you’ve gotten accustomed to through background sketches…

in your favourite otome game, love and deepspace.

“no fucking way.”

imagine you spent the first hour just looking around the apartment, then the rest of the evening was given to the city skyline, watching the ginormous buildings, the futuristic architecture, the holographic billboards for brands you’ve never heard before.

imagine you pieced it together slowly, restoring the life you’ve been given with the help of your phone. you were transported into love and deepspace, but not as emcee; there was no glowing evol, no sign of a hunter career, no trace of the five love interests.

you were just… you. an extra. a background npc with a forgettable face, working as a barista at destiny café.

and that was perfect.

you did not wish to get entangled with the love interests, and you definitely wanted to stay away from emcee — their world was too dangerous, too unpredictable. and no matter how much you knew about the game, how many hours you’ve spent collecting memories and reading the lore of the characters, you couldn’t shape your future steps with certainty.

so you made a quiet pact with yourself: you would not interfere with anyone. you would only play your part, watching the main characters from afar.

that in itself was enough — seeing them all interact, seeing them all be happy.

imagine you saw her for the first time exactly the next day. emcee entered the café with tara sometime during the day, and you tried your best to act natural as you took their orders with shaky hands.

then, gradually, you saw them all.

you observed rafayel and emcee taking a walk along the shore, the sound of the waves chiming in tune with their giggles. you watched zayne pause mid-step to tuck a strand of hair behind emcee’s ear near the hospital area. you saw xavier fall asleep against her shoulder on a park bench, his face soft and content. you even caught a glimpse of sylus’s unmistakable silhouette in a secluded alley, helmet visor raised, and even caleb’s boyish grin as he ruffled emcee’s hair outside a convenience store.

you never spoke to any of them. you didn’t need to. just seeing it all was enough for you.

you were their watchful eye.

but imagine something was off.

imagine you started to notice the scribbles that were woven into the buildings around town, curious graffiti drawings taking over otherwise blank surfaces.

at first, it seemed like random vandalism — sloppy spirals, nonsense symbols, an array of colours that made people stop only for a second. but then… it became strange.

letters and words bloomed on the outer walls, graffiti now taking more eloquent forms.

that was the problem. that was what made you stop dead in your tracks, skin covered in prickling goosebumps.

you saw a word in your native language.

“HELLO.”

you stood frozen, pulse stuttering. people were already scrubbing at it, muttering on and on about vandals, but you just stood there, trying to make sense of the graffiti.

imagine you moved on with your routine, but the messages followed along.

a scribble on the side panel of the garbage chute: “KNOW.” a flash of green paint on a train station pillar: “UNDERSTAND.” an elegant curvature on your favourite convenience store: “SEE”.

each one in your mother tongue, each one making you more and more paranoid.

you told yourself it was a prank, a coincidence, a glitch in your own panicked mind.

it couldn’t be anything else, really.

imagine the messages escalated beyond singular words, becoming phrases that clawed directly into that anxious brain of yours. a week after the first “HELLO”, you saw it on the side of a delivery truck waiting at a red light:

“YOU UNDERSTAND.”

your blood went cold, starting in your thumping chest and creeping down to your fingertips. you stumbled back from the crosswalk, clutching your bag like a shield, terrified by the perfect syntax.

it wasn't the language that scared you; it was the wording. whoever was doing this knew things they absolutely should not know.

they knew you were not from this world, they knew you were an outsider that had no business being here.

imagine you started taking different routes to destiny café, weaving through back alleys and less crowded areas, your head perpetually low.

the city, once a breathtaking panorama of your favorite fictional world, now felt like a cage lined with watchful eyes. the holographic billboards that had once charmed you now seemed to flicker ominously.

you avoided looking at reflective surfaces — shop windows, polished cars, the dark screen of your phone. you were terrified of seeing someone standing right behind you, someone that shouldn’t know you were in linkon city.

imagine the paranoia began to manifest physically. you were sleeping less, picking at your food, flinching at sudden noises. the cheerful chime of the café door sounded like a warning bell.

heck, the friendly chatter of customers felt like a coded message, and you somehow convinced yourself everyone was discussing you.

you were slowly losing your mind.

and imagine you saw emcee that day. she walked up to the counter with her familiar smile, ordering her usual, overly complicated coffee concoction. you focused on her, trying your best to loosen up. make small talk. act normal.

you are a barista. she is a customer. this is a transaction.

nothing bad was going to happen.

she is emcee. she is safe. and so are you.

“rough day?” she asked when she returned at the pick-up station, tilting her head, scanning your face with genuine worry.

you managed a weak laugh, wishing to conceal your uneasiness, hands pushing forward the iced cup of coffee. “just tired. here’s your drink.” you muttered back, holding up her mug for her to take.

but imagine you were wrong.

imagine something bad did happen.

as you looked at emcee, you saw it: the entire wall of the building directly across the street was no longer the muted gray you remembered. it had been transformed overnight into a single, massive mural, clearly visible through the huge window of the café.

it wasn't art.

it was a sentence, painted in dripping, blood-red letters, so large you could read them from behind the counter, from the depths of your own impending doom.

the letters were in your mother tongue.

 “I’M WATCHING YOU.”

followed by your actual name.

the coffee cup slipped from your grasp.

the ceramic shattered against the tile floor with a powerful crack, sending a hefty quantity of iced coffee on your apron and the lower half of the counter. the sound was deafening in the cheerful bustle of the café, putting everything on pause.

every conversation halted. every head turned. emcee flinched, her smile dissolving into confusion.

all eyes were on you.

imagine the sudden weight of all those eyes, all focused on you. the words from the graffiti echoed louder and louder in your skull, syncing with each panicked beat of your heart.

watching. they were all watching.

your coworkers, the customers, the old woman by the window, the child tugging at her mother's sleeve. emcee, her hand halfway to her mouth, her brow furrowed in concern.

were they in on it? were they aware you were fake? an outsider?

the walls felt like they were closing in, the cheerful café lighting suddenly harsh and interrogatory. the message wasn't just on the building anymore; it was in the glint of every eye pinned on your trembling form.

i’m watching you. i’m watching you. i’m watching yo–

imagine emcee took a step towards you, her expression shifting into concern. “hey, are you okay? you look really pale–”

you didn't hear the rest of her sentence. you couldn't breathe. you couldn't think. your mind was screaming at you to get away.

get away. they can see you. they know you.

you shoved through the swinging staff door, not stopping until you reached the back door leading outside. you collapsed against the closest wall, sliding down next to the stuffed garbage bins and curling into yourself, pushing your face between your knees and letting it all out.

imagine the sobs came in gasping, ugly cries that you muffled with your stained apron, fear shaking through you.

you were not safe. your decision to keep your distance, your role as a background extra — it was all an illusion.

someone had been tracking you, studying you, learning your secrets.

you were not an observer anymore. you were the observed. you were a target in a story you thought only you watched from outside, but you were proven wrong.

he knows of your existence, but you didn’t know of his.

“bring her to me. quietly.”

©pearlescenthoney 2026. do not copy, translate, or claim any of my writings or works as your own.

You woke up one day as one of the hundreds of maids and servants employed by the Kingdom of Thralkeld. Originally, you were just a regular waitress and college student, barely scraping by through a system of rarely paid rent and skipped meals. 

Being a broke student was fine, for a while. You found respite through a silly otome game; Sinner's Escape. A dark romance where the MC is a runaway princess from a savage kingdom who seeks refuge in Thralkeld. Your, or rather her, love interests included a poor baker, a knight, the king, and the king's butler. Ultimately, she would end up with the King on most routes, though you personally liked the butler for his calm and responsible demeanor. He held a sinister way of disposing of rivals that was calculated and silent. 

The others were far too messy. Especially the king, Alric, who was an obsessive man, constantly fawning over the MC with lavish gifts and a falsely immature personality. You hated how fake he was. How could a player possibly love a character that makes the MC fall for a fallacy? 

Behind all the cutesy acting and baby talking was a cunning and violent man. 

You lived your life as a maid rather conservatively, however; doing your chores, following orders, and then locking yourself in your shabby room until your shift would begin once again. 

You weren't quite sure when King Alric took notice of you. 

Perhaps it was when you were forced to bring him breakfast in bed when he was 'sick.' A ploy he mustered up to make the MC dote on him. She was here, staying in one of the rooms as an honorary guest - or rather as a very pretty stray he picked up. 

She sat atop his bed, playing with his blonde hair with a sweet smile on her face. His head in her lap, arms wrapped around her waist and piercing blue eyes holding a deceitfully pitiful look. 

"I've brought the master's breakfast, my lady." 

She thanked you politely, and you bowed, glaring at him in passing. 

Had he noticed? Probably. You hoped not. 

At another point, you had gotten in an argument with the infamous butler. 

"You can't just leave all your trash for us to pick up! It isn't fair." You shouted. 

The butler was rather spoiled, something you hadn't caught onto when playing the game. He was just leaving his garbage everywhere! And none of the maids could say anything for fear of retaliation. 

"Your tongue should match your status." 

"Your tongue should match your face. If you were handsome maybe I'd let you scold me, but you're ugly and mean and gross and totally uncool!" You were certain you'd get called a witch for your odd language and uncharacteristic yelling. Maybe even stoned, or at least fired. 

What you hadn't expected was a laugh to sound from behind you. 

The king, with all of his pearly white teeth, was actually laughing, tears forming in the corners of his eyes. When had you been employed into his staff? What a hilarious woman! 

Suddenly, you began noticing the king's presence every time you would utter a grievance (or a cruel opinion). Subconsciously, Alric found himself seeking out your theatrics. Passing by the kitchen, the maid's chambers, or even the back corner of the garden where the laundry is tended to became a habit whenever he needed a good laugh. 

You are rather honest about everything; something he is simply no good at. 

King Alric began requesting your presence for afternoon tea. Your speech and unfiltered conversations were a relief to him, who was so used to pleasantries. He could speak as degenerately as he wished to, and you would simply respond as normal without judgement, unless you wanted to be judgmental. 

Ahh, how wonderful it is to speak with someone who doesn't fear my status. 

"You hate that butler of mine, don't you?" He chuckled, offering you a cup.

You shook your head and politely declined the cup. "I don't hate him. He's just a jerk." 

"Yes, sometimes I wish I could just snap his neck." King Alric closed his eyes, as if truly pondering the scenario. "He speaks far too plainly with my possessions." 

You raised a brow, but spoke anyway. "I wouldn't snap his neck, personally. But one good punch to his face would def set that guy straight." 

"Def," he smiled, "You have such an interesting manner of speaking." 

The MC was gone soon after. You weren't quite sure where she had gone. You were certain she would have followed the king's route, though you supposed she may have been mingling with the others and finally made a different choice. 

Another argument had ensued between the butler and you, this time sparked up by him. 

"You are seducing the king, you filthy rat." He accused, a pointed finger hitting your chest. 

You could only stare in confusion, smacking at his hand and stepping back. 

"The fuck are you talking about?" 

"How could he have possibly fallen for such a foul-mouthed cretin, when that beauty was right at his fingertips." He muttered the last part, almost inaudibly, though you caught it. 

Before you could respond, King Alric's arm slunk around your waist, pulling you into his chest in a warm embrace. You noticed a light smell of vanilla. 

"Are you bothering my favorite maid?" 

You couldn't see his expression, but judging by the one on the butler's, you were certain it couldn't have been good. 

And that was when it hit you; if the MC was no longer his love interest, did that mean he could choose someone else? Was it possible? 

You shuffled out of his arms, a nervous smile painting your lips. "Haha... I'm just gonna... Get back to work." 

The next time you saw him was only a week later, the king's boisterous voice booming as he entered the crowded kitchen. You were boiling ginger when he pulled you against his chest once again, barking at the other maids and cooks to leave. 

The smell of vanilla was gone and replaced with something more metallic, but you couldn't exactly prove it. 

"I have good news, little princess."

You gasped, turning around and pushing him away - which was futile. "Princess? That could get me executed!" 

He sighed. "Since when did you care about how we talk?"

"Since you started giving me nicknames like little princess." 

King Alric dropped his head atop your shoulder. "Well, I have good news, little princess." You grumbled, but let him speak anyway. "It seems my butler has resigned. And I'd like to give his position to you, as my personal maid." You could feel his smile against your ear.

"What? Your personal maid?" You shook involuntarily, gripping at his shirt. Butler positions are for life, no intelligent man would resign such a permanent and high-class job. In the game, the butler was so loyal, he was willing to share the MC with the King if it meant staying under his employment. 

A particular route suddenly came to mind. It was one of the rarer endings, a bad one where the king goes berserk and kills quite literally everyone. 

That was the one and only game ending in which the butler was no longer at Alric's side. 

"He's dead," you whispered, eyes widening with realization.

You hadn't meant to speak your thoughts aloud, truly you hadn't. But the moment came so suddenly. 

Sure, you hated the butler as you had grown to know him, but ultimately, he was your favorite character. He was a pious little shit whose arguing became a steady comfort within the chaos of a new life. 

Before you knew it, tears were brimming against your face, trailing down and wetting his shirt as you clung to him. 

"Shhh." King Alric whispered, holding you tighter. "How'd you know I killed him?" He slowly began trailing kisses against your neck, ending at your jaw with a wet tongue snaking its way across. "You always suspected me, huh? I noticed it. When we first locked eyes."

You mustered a little huh.

"You looked at me with such reverence. As if you knew I was faking for her affection." 

A large hand clasped at your chin, forcing you to look up at King Alric with big, worried eyes. "What happened to her?"

His eyes darkened, his lids lowering as if entranced by your beauty despite his sinister anger. His thumb and pointer finger squeezed harder at your cheek. 

"She and my butler are spending time together. Peacefully." 

Ducking down, King Alric connected your lips, shoving his tongue into your mouth and exploring the wetness. He lowered his hand to your neck, never squeezing, only resting. If you resisted, you wondered if he would do it. 

You didn't want to find out. 

The plushness of your skin against his fingertips sent Alric reeling, a dizzying hotness spreading to his groin and flaring his skin with goosebumps. 

"You're the only one," he muttered in between breaths. "The only one who accepts me - the real me." 

"H-Hold on, Alric. You can't just-" 

The words were shaken out of you when two large hands pushed you back. King Alric was in a frenzy, and the tight squeeze on your shoulders forced a yelp to escape your lips. 

He was shocked.

"My name." Alric's voice was barely above a whisper. 

Despite the absurd situation, you found yourself laughing, an exasperation present that worked up your confidence. "Yeah, your name." 

There was a silence, and all you could do was scrutinize his now unrefined attire until your eyes landed on the growing tent in his pants. It looked almost painful, and a strange pooling in your stomach brought you back to reality. 

"You're not real," you mustered out. "This is a game. It's all pixels. You don't exist, the butler isn't dead, and I'm definitely not about to..." 

Your voice trailed off, the king's head cocking to the side in confusion. 

"I'm not real?" 

"You're not."

"Have you gone mad?" 

"Maybe." 

Alric smirked, encasing your hand beneath his, fingers guiding yours to the swell of his trousers. The softness of the fabric and stiffened bulge a clear indication of his desperate need. 

"Is this not real?" You almost heard a whine in his voice when he asked this of you. 

Your silence was deafening, and as the spoiled brat he is; took it as a confirmation to continue. 

"Turn around." His voice was commanding, authoritative in the way you would expect of a true king. Alric spun you on your heels, pushing your maid's skirt up to situate himself behind you. His hand rubbed smooth circles against your ass cheeks and love handles. "Why don't you feel how real I am?" He whispered into your ear, nibbling at the tip before biting down. 

Alric fumbled with releasing his dick, the appendage slapping at your thigh and the precum dribbling down your leg. 

When you felt the tip go near the crevice of your thighs, you squealed but protested. "Not inside! Anything but inside." 

Alric used his free hand to turn your face to look back at him, a thumb pressed into your bottom lip and cooing. "Anything for my little princess." 

Your maniacal king honored his word, shoving his length between your legs instead of inside your aching pussy. 

Slowly, he moved forward and backward, simply relishing in the feeling of your plush thighs rubbing against his dick oh so perfectly. 

"God, you're amazing."

"You're doing so good for me." 

"Juuust like that, princess." 

The feeling of your clit rubbing against his shaft was nothing short of euphoric, sweet moans the only audible sound from you as you gorged yourself on the king's cock. 

You hiked the front of your skirt over your forearms, a nimble hand reaching for Alric's tip and rubbing small circles. 

Alric's head fell back, his grip on you tightening. "If you do that, I'll..." Your body began moving in sync with his, allowing yourself the stimulation he provided. 

His speed increased; what was once long, dragged out movements became desperate bucks, short and quick and ever so pleasurable. 

"I'm cumming, princess." Alric pressed his front into your backside, his large chest engulfing your frame as he chased his high, you not far behind him. 

"Fuck, fuck fuck fuck..."

The milky white substance leaked from his tip, covering your hands and the inside of your maid's skirt. He continued, however, allowing you to feel the building pressure and release. The sounds of your perfect moans swallowed him whole. 

And you were worried; because the feeling of his warm cum coating your hands and legs made you want to know what it would feel like inside of you. 

Intro:

No matter how many times you washed your white sleeves, they were permanently stained with blood. The air reeked of dust and decay despite how you had thought a hospital would be. Yet you had been shocked of the true conditions of a field hospital with low staff and round-the-clock patients who were near their deathbed. The constant torrent of smoke from artillery fire was your loyal companion outside the cries and groans of the injured men that entered the tents. Each arrived in an endless wave of death and grief.

You had come to aide the front lines after you saw all the posters for you back home, but you failed to understand what exactly the job entailed. And now you had front row seats to the horrors of war.

You did your best not to sob as your hands clasped the only remaining hand of a young man who was no older than eighteen. Most of his limbs were blown off by an artillery shell and he had already lost far too much blood before he had even arrived onto the cot in your tent. His youthful face was a mess of blood, snot, and tears as he cried himself hoarse with what remained of his strength. His hand desperately gripped yours for whatever comfort you could offer him in a tight yet weak squeeze.

“Mom! Mom… please, I want to go home!” His sobs twisted at your chest, his blue eyes wild and glazed from the adrenaline that barely kept him alive. His voice trembled in pure fear, “I don’t want to die, mom. I’m so scared… I don’t want to die.”

You pressed your forehead to his in an attempt to calm him. You couldn’t find it in yourself to promise him he’d make it because he wasn’t going to. You’ve been through this rodeo far too many times before to know how this would play out. Yet that didn’t make your job any easier. You quietly shushed him as you guided him to leave like a mockery of an angel. An angel of death that did their best to comfort the men you did not have the power to save no matter how much you wanted to.

His words of terror repeated over and over like a mantra until the sound of his voice slowly drifted into a whisper and he finally went still. You did your best not to break down at his forever still face. Then you used your palm to close his dull blue eyes into a permanent expression of sleep. You didn’t even know this young man’s name. You never knew their names since the cots were filled as soon as they were empty again. A lot of the patients you had weren’t even old enough to drink, let alone vote. But they were old enough to die.

No one spoke of how this was the most difficult part of your job. No one talked about how horrible it was to witness the death of men who were barely adults yet fought in a war for the cowardly leaders of their countries. The death toll only increased as the war went on and you felt the inescapable feeling of hopelessness choke you. Could you truly make a difference here or have you wasted your time since you decided to come to Europe rather than get married like a normal girl your age?

Yet your patients never let you stew in your sorrow. No. They’d never let their precious nurse fall into darkness alone…

Sergeant Hank Carter (Texas, Rancher)

“Ya did the best ya could, darlin.’ Don’t let it get ya down. Come here, my arms are nice and warm.” Hank’s southern drawl called out to you from his cot in the corner. His tan hands outstretched for you. “Ya can lay yerself on my chest, don’t be shy now.”

Hank was the staff sergeant of the extreme combat division. A reliable and honest man of a tall build with broad shoulders, chestnut brown hair, and warm, honeyed eyes. He was filled with southern charm and a voice that commanded attention, but he was always gentle with you. Especially since you had patched him up so many times over the last two years. And he was still in tact minus his constant run ins with trench foot. He was lucky you always saved his toes from falling off.

“Ya’ve had yer hands on me so many times, I swear yer my wife, darlin’. Not that I’m complainin’ one bit.” He’d always teased. “Maybe after all this, I’ll make ya my wife.”

Hank was a very traditional man who wanted a simple life with you despite your gentle rejections since he was merely just another patient in your eyes no matter how handsome he was.

Hank was rather protective of you when it came to the other patients since he saw the way they looked at you. You’d often hear him reprimanding not only his squad, but the others around him.

“Now y’all know she ain’t a piece of meat, so don’t treat her like one. I’m lookin at ya, private.”

Unlike most of your patients, Hank would willingly die for you without hesitation. He’d always rush to shield you from artillery or gun fire with his own body when the stakes were high in the field hospital. He didn’t think he’d be able to live with himself if you didn’t survive. You were the light in his dark world… the light at the end of the tunnel. A reason to keep fighting in a war that seemed endless.

You often had his warm, strong hands on you whenever you treated his bullet wounds, his honey colored eyes filled with absolute reverence.

“After this ‘ere is over, marry me. I’ll make ya the happiest woman in the world, I swear.” Hank softly told you. “I have a ranch house in Texas that has plenty of space for ya and some kids. I’ll be so good to ya.”

Good luck trying to get him to leave you be, because he’s rather determined to live that idyllic life with you no matter how many Nazis he had to kill. No matter what unspeakable horrors he had to see just to see your face and to feel your gentle touch in him. Hank would do anything to be yours… anything.

Captain Richard Rose (California, Actor)

Richard had been a rather handsome man before he found himself in your care, but the blast from an artillery shell stole his entire life away. He’d no longer be able to be a handsome actor in Hollywood since the right side of his face was now permanently in a scowl. He was a monster. A man with a broken face. The fallen captain of his platoon that had charged into no man’s land without a plan.

Richard would often try to hide his face from you whenever you came to treat him. His blue eyes filled with shame. How could you bear to look at him? The last nurse, one of the newer ones, had fainted at the sight of him. He must be hideous now.

“Don’t look… don’t look.” He’d mutter in a tone you could only describe as utterly defeated. “I’m hideous.”

Yet you’d always reassure him and gently treat his horrific disfigurement. Your soft hands reminded him of kisses of sunshine. Richard was grateful to you. And the more time he spent with you, he fell for you. You were the only one to still treat him like a human being. The only one who didn’t flinch at his face or shy from looking him in his only remaining eye. In his mind, you were his salvation.

As Richard grew more comfortable, he’d rehearse a few lines he used to say in his best works. He was so happy you’d smile and listen to each one. It made him feel more human after he had suffered such a horrible loss of his livelihood. Yet you proceeded to go out of your way to give him hope in his darkest hour and Richard was forever grateful to you.

“There’s a place in Pennsylvania. It’s called Valley Forge General Hospital. I think it is in Phoenixville.” You softly told him as he hung on your every word. You swore Richard looked at you like you hung the moon. “They might be able to repair you, Dick.”

He held your hands as he did his best to kiss them with what was left of his lips. You could feel his visible teeth touching the skin of your knuckles through the gauze you had just wrapped around his head. If you recommended it, he’d go there. He’d fix his face and then he’d return to Hollywood. Maybe he wouldn’t get lead parts anymore, but he could play a villain! Anything to make enough to support you… you’d say yes if he proposed, right? You were always so sweet to him… he’d treat you well!

Richard was also deeply insecure because a lot of the other soldiers also gave you attention. Better looking soldiers. Able bodied ones. Look at him and only him! Richard made more money than all of those scrubs could ever dream of! So choose him! Please.

Private Terrence Jones (Georgia, Dock Worker)

“Ma’am, you don’t have to do so much for me. I’m fine, I swear.” Terrence always tried to brush off his injuries. He was determined to prove he was just as capable as a white man in this time of war. Although he didn’t enjoy your care. It was nice not to be treated like he was lesser than everyone else for once.

Terrence was a handsome African American man from Brunswick, Georgia. He was tall and stocky, as well as an extremely respectful gentleman. More so than any of your other patients.

Terrence wasn’t treated the best at the field hospital due to his ethnicity, so he was shocked you’d actually help him. There were too many injured to all fit into the segregated area so he was overflow into the regular field hospital… so he was often neglected by the white medical staff. So much so that he nearly had his foot amputated from untreated trench foot. Yet you reassured him that he was just as worthy of treatment as the others. He was also a soldier and a patient under your care so you would do your best to make sure he had the same chance of surviving. Plus, there were very few black nurses staffed to properly treat all the injured black soldiers in the field hospital. It was ridiculous how segregation and Jim Crow laws were still present in this time of dire circumstances.

Terrance would always shy away from touch, no matter how much he sought it out. He didn’t want to cause any problems. Nor did he want you to face any discrimination from treating him. Gods he couldn’t bear for you to be called any names that would be along the lines of heinous ones he was designated. Terrence couldn’t bear for you to be treated horribly just for doing your job. He would not forgive himself if you were harmed in any way, even if it was merely verbal abuse. You were one of the few people here that were kind to him. You had saved him from being a cripple, Terrence felt an obligation to protect you in anyway he could.

“I don’t need much. Honest, I swear.” He’d mutter while you bandaged his foot. He was glad his blush wasn’t visible due to how dark his skin was. He’d be so embarrassed if you knew how he truly felt. Of how he loved you despite the societal pressures. “I don’t want to cause you trouble, ma’am.”

“Terrence, I can’t let your feet rot off. You said you were a dock worker and I don’t think they’ll let you work without them.” You sighed while you rewrapped his feet. “So just let me treat you.”

Terrence protects you from any soldiers or nurses who try to make comments about how you treat him and other soldiers of color. Even if it would make him have a harder time in the hospital or out in the field, he still would stand up for you. Terrence would defend your honor!

“You don’t know anything about her! She’s a good nurse and I won’t let you run your mouth about her. Don’t you dare call her that.”

Terrence would sometimes share little tidbits about himself. Like his love of southern jazz music and how he worked at J.A. Jones Construction Company shipyard. He even told you about how he helped construct some of the Liberty ships.

Unlike the others, Terrence knew you’d never be able to have a good life with him no matter how much he wanted to be with you. He would never subject you to ridicule and disrespect for your entire life if you chose him, no matter how much it hurt his heart. Terrence’s love was selfless. He may never be able to have you, but Terrence would do anything for your happiness.

Scout Carmelo Marino (New York, Butcher)

“Ciao, Bella! Did ya come to patch me up? Ya sure know how to make a man weak in what’s left of his knees.” Carmelo was the biggest flirt of all your patients. He’s also the loudest, not just because he’s an Italian American from New York City, but because he is Carmelo Marino.

Carmelo was a field artillery scout so he had the in raid of dangerous job to gather intel and to check terrain for artillery planning. But the young man bit off more than he could chew.

Carmelo had his left leg amputated after he bravely scouted ahead of his squad’s tank for landmines, only to step on a German S-mine or ‘Bouncing Betty.’ He was extremely lucky to only have lost a leg and had some shrapnel lodged into him, but other than that the experience didn’t deter this strong willed flirt.

“I’m glad I lived so I can see your beautiful face here, Bella.” Carmelo winked. “Are ya rationed, sweetheart? I’d like to make a pass at ya if you’re not going steady. I’ll take ya back to New York and show ya my family’s butcher shop on Mulberry street. We got the best meat in Manhattan. Even make our own prosciutto.”

Carmelo sometimes would feign more pain than he actually had just to steal you away from the others. He couldn’t bear to have your heart swayed by another man.

“You’re breaking’ my heart, Bella! I’m in agony over here.” Carmelo held his chest as he put on a show for you. He knew his peers were rolling their eyes at him. “I think a little kiss on the cheek would make it better.”

Carmelo loves to brag so he can make himself more appealing to you, but deep down it’s because he’s terrified you’ll pick one of the other men here. He was only a butcher after all. He didn’t make a lot of money, but he was definitely the only one who always got you to smile. Even though he didn’t know how he’d continue living with only one leg, nor was he sure if he’d ever have the life he once had, Carmelo was determined to not make you worry about him.

“I’ll show ya around downtown Manhattan if ya fly back with me. I’ll show ya all the stops. Just picture it. You. Me. And the swanky stork club.” He winked. “I might fall on my arse, but I used to be a good dancer. Since I don’t have a left foot anymore, I won’t have two left feet.”

Carmelo made it his mission to make you smile and laugh no matter how much his peers rolled their eyes at him, because Carmelo loved you.

He’d often crack jokes or make faces just to see that pretty smile. If he was sent home after this, he will be sending you a fat stack of letters until you reply. Carmelo was determined to make you his!

Sunshine streams through the window as the first rays of dawn kiss soft cheeks. A soft hum fills the air as Johnny wakes first. (Your name)’s dream-filled eyes fluttering when soft lips press against smooth skin. These were kind of kisses that were as soft as romantic as the movies in Hollywood. Yet (your name) couldn’t shake off the feeling that something wasn’t quite right. Her Johnny kissed her a lot, but not nearly this much… but maybe he was just happy to see her after being in France for so long fighting in a war they had no business being in?

He’s only been home for three months yet she couldn’t help the way she felt deep down. She felt like he wasn’t her Johnny. Yet she did hear men didn’t return the same they once were before war… so who truly knew. Maybe she was just overthinking? Yeah… that was it!

“Darling. Oh my beautiful darling.” He chuckled as his calloused hands roam her sides, bringing her back down to reality and free from her anxious thoughts. “I’ve been wanting this for so long…”

“You’re so touchy today, Johnny.” A laugh bubbled out of her as his hands went from gentle touches to tickles. “Johnny!”

He gave her a warm smile, his blue eyes warmth and full of utter reverence. “There it is. That pretty laugh. My whole day is made now.”

They rose up to get ready for the day, but Johnny’s attention was drawn to the bird nest outside. The one (your name) had raved about last week since there were two eggs in there. One blue one and one speckled one. There was only one baby bird that hatched so far, but he couldn’t help but be in awe of what he observed from the bedroom window.

The newly hatched chick began to push out the smaller egg. Its body using its legs and back to toss the little egg out of the nest until it splattered on the ground below. Now there was only one baby bird in the nest as it opened its mouth to loudly chirp for food. He hadn’t realized how much he had in common with a creature of nature… with the parasitic cuckoo bird.

He could recall his twin brother’s desperate face in that dirty trench in France. How he had such terrified eyes as he held his bleeding leg as artillery shells went off a few hundred feet from them. It was only logical to put him out of his misery with a shot to the head point blank. He would have died slowly if he hadn’t been such a good brother. The real Johnny would have likely been a cripple for life and (your name) didn’t deserve such a weak husband… one that would be so careless to get harmed while they fought against the Nazi regime.

It wasn’t hard to switch dog tags or take Johnny’s identification cards and his golden wedding ring that was just half a size too tight. Being an identical twin came with its perks and Joseph Ackers took full advantage of it. How would anyone know he wasn’t really Joseph when there were piles upon piles of dead bodies in that godforsaken war? When he had the same voice and the same face as the ghost of a fallen soldier?

Johnny had always been the favorite child growing up. Johnny was kind and mild-mannered while Joseph was rough around the edges and a hothead. Johnny had good grades and a good job while Joseph had gotten involved with some mobsters at a young age. They couldn’t be more different despite having the same face and voice. Yet they both had been in love with the same woman… and Joseph would never forgive Johnny for marrying (your name) first. It was only fair Joseph took what he fully believed was rightfully his. His beautiful (your name)…

“Johnny? Are you alright?” Johnny was brought back from his musings by the soft melody of (your name)’s voice. He paused before he gave his wife his full attention.

“I’m fine, darling. Sorry, I was caught up with the birds. It really got me thinking…” His smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. An act he was going to play for the rest of his miserable life. So long as he had (your name)’s love, he would commit to wearing the skin of a dead man and forgetting his own identity. So what if Johnny haunted him? So what if he’d never be able to be himself again?

It was worth everything if he was (your name)‘s one and only. Joseph would take this secret to the grave and even to hell.

It's been three months since you've disappeared from his life. Three months since his whole life seemed to have turned upside down. Three months since you seemed to have completely vanished from the face of earth, because the leader of Onychinus has not been able to find you. Every lead led to a dead end.

The day he realized you were gone, he had deluded himself into thinking it was for some mission. He returned a week after your birthday, his mood delirious and spirits lifted high because his mission with Miss Hunter was a total success and they had managed to get their hands on some of the rarest Protocores.

But he had returned to an empty mansion.

Your toothbrush, your makeup, your skincare, the trinkets you had collected, your favorite novels from his library, your pyjamas— everything was gone. But everything he gave you was still here. Weird.

He tried dropping you a text, a call— neither of which went through.

It must be for a mission, he told himself. After all, there were a few times when you were suddenly deployed for an emergency mission at a place with bad cell tower.

He waited for a week.

The dread started settling in around the second month. You had never been gone for even a week, much less a month without any sort of communication. You always, always found time to let him know any sort of update. Were you in some sort of danger? He started combing through cctv feeds, connections and almost everything he could get his hands on to find you. Intel from the Hunters' Association didn't show you being deployed for any mission, no mention of your name in the register of the dead ones (he exhaled heavily in relief after checking that), but no one could find out where you were.

He found nothing. You had just disappeared into thin air.

By the time the third month rolled in, Sylus looked visibly wrecked. He wasn't, by any means, a stupid. But he found himself thinking quite the opposite when it took him so long to figure out that if you were on a mission, it wasn't one assigned by the Hunter's Association, but one you created to disappear from his sight. And in hindsight, he very well knew the reason why. He treated you like a backup plan, his biggest mistake till now.

But he couldn't help himself; he had been waiting for Miss Hunter for years. So when he had finally found her, his soulmate, he went all out to show his appreciation for her. And in the process, he had neglected you— the one who was by his side all along, who helped him in every step of his plan, cheering and loving him throughout. Caught up in all the delirium, he had failed to notice how he lost you bit by bit.

Or maybe he did notice, but he thought you'd understand— after all, you had always been understanding. He thought he'd make up for everything later. He didn't put in any effort to reassure you either.

But later changed to too late, and now you've disappeared. Now, your absence tightens around his neck like a noose.

Sylus internally cursed himself almost every minute of the day. Scouring through every intel like his life depended on it, his eyes constantly went back to his phone, hoping for a text that would never come. Hoping that you'd come back. Hoping he still has a chance to right all of this.

So when Luke and Kieran came back with the discovery of your actual location amidst a meeting, he disappeared into thin tendrils of black and red like a ghost within an instant— he had to explain himself to you.

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

Adjusting to Chansia City hadn't been much difficult, and the air here was cleaner than Linkon. You had thrown yorself into a diligent clockwork routine of eating, fighting Wanderers, submitting reports and sleeping. Your had worked yourself to the bones in the first few weeks to avoid spiralling into a heartbreak. The nights were the loneliest— your hands subconsciously reaching out for a certain someone, you woke up at ungodly hours, crying and unable to go back to sleep. The first month was especially hell.

But things soon started taking a turn for the better. You made new friends, and got close with a certain famous golden-green eyed doctor. You were determined to not let your heartbreak tie you down from enjoying the other things of life. Especially, your friendship with Zayne Li was a fresh change of air— he listened to your rambling, supplying cracked dry humor at the right spots. Trying out new cafes and pastries with him and laughing at his absolute distaste for carrots almost made you forget your heartbreak.

Almost.

Because even then, Sylus lingered at the back of your mind. Small things that would've been otherwise insignificant reminded you of him— a stupid crow plushie, a vinyl record, boxing gloves, even reading glasses. At times, you'd lose thoughts of your surroundings and daydream what it'd have been like if all this never happened. Or if he cares at all. Does he think of you? Probably not, you think, bitterly; he has his soulmate now.

Which is why when you first see a familiar figure with a shock of white hair and carmine eyes staring at you from the other side of the road after you part ways with Zayne (you both met for a small coffee break at a cafe), you slightly freeze and wonder if you've finally lost it.

But you haven't, since the figure approaches. Sylus exhales heavily as he stops in front of you, and for the first time in a while, you notice that he sees you. Like really sees you; it's been a while since you received that gaze from him. A sound between a heavy exhale and a scoff leaves your lips when he draws a little closer, looking visibly confused about how to go on— it was certainly a rare sight. You had half a mind to turn around and bolt when his voice stopped your thoughts.

"I am sorry, sweetie...please".

So he does know what he did. You didn't know if that was better or worse.

You simply stare at him, your hands in your pocket and that unnerves him even more; you look so unreachable while being within a foot's distance. Is this how you felt everytime you saw him with her?

He continues anyway, almost babbling— again, a rare sight, "Please give me a chance to clear up this misunderstanding. I know whatever I did was horrible but I promise it's not what it looks like—"

Your soft but firm voice cuts through, freezing him. "I am afraid there is no misunderstanding here, Sylus".

"What do you mean?"

"The misunderstanding ended the moment I left."

His eyebrows scrunch together in confusion. "What?"

"It ended the moment I realized I wasn't the one for you. I was simply standing in the way of fate".

His face blanches. "Kitten, that's not—"

But you were done holding your heartbreak in. While your looked calmed, your insides felt like shattered glass as words finally tumbled out of you, "You two are destined to be together. She is literally your other half, Sylus— you both are soul bound. I was simply a thorn in between you two, and you certainly made that crystal clear with the way you behaved after you found her. You—"

He has the audacity to cut you off in-between. "No kitten—"

"Do NOT call me by the pet names you've used for her."

Sylus is momentarily speechless, but he is desperate as he continues after a pause, "Okay, but please let me explain. Please." You don't say anything, so he takes it as a chance to continue, "Yes she is my soulmate, and we were together, but that was in another lifetime. Not this one. I just need her for my plans".

"Does she not hold the other half of your soul? 10.5 grams, the red string of fate...whatever they call it. The menu at the Elysium told me everything I needed to know. Everything is for her, Sylus. She is literally the centre of your universe. Why did you never tell me that?" Your voice breaks at the last word as tears threaten to escape your eyes, but you blink them in— he doesn't deserve your tears.

Sylus shakes his head as he steps forward, "That means nothing. Not in this life. I know my actions misled you, but please trust me—"

"I don't trust you, Sylus", you interject, your lips quivering with the effort of not breaking down. "Not after I know what it's like to be treated as your afterthought." A broken laugh escapes you, and the sound shatters Sylus. "I saw your connection with her firsthand. I know you'd choose her over me in a heartbeat, and you're drawn to her like...the universe was made for you two to be together. I am willing to take the brunt on behalf of both of us, Sylus. I am giving you an out— go back, walk away. Why are you fighting what's predestined?"

Desperation laces his crimson eyes as Sylus scrunches them close and opens them, seemingly trying to grasp at whatever straws he could. His voice comes out hoarse as he speaks. "I'll make us work, please. Can we not go back to how we used to be? Please?"

You shake your head as you step away from Sylus, and his face pales. "No Sylus, we're done. It's over."

He catches your wrist by surprise, panic clear in his actions. "No, no please. Don't do this to us. Please. I'll make it work. I promise."

Your voice is soft, broken when it comes out. "When was the last time there was an "us", Sylus?" He swallows thickly as you continue, "Go away. There's no us anymore."

He almost begs. "Please... How do I prove to you that you are indeed the only one I want? Tell me. I'll do anything and everything you say."

But you shake your head as you gently move his hand off of yours. You felt really bad when you looked at Sylus from up close— he looked hollow. His eyes looked empty. But you also remember that this man looks at Miss Hunter like she hung all the stars in the sky. And why wouldn't he? He was destined to be with her. You were just a blip in the process, an insignificant variable. Exhaling loudly, you put a few steps between you both as you speak. "Tell me, when exactly did you think of this? Of bothering to give me any explanation or reassurance?"

Sylus remained silent, his eyes silently simmering in a plea because he knew the answer to this question very well.

"Exactly", you point out, exhaling heavily through the nose. This was beginning to tire you out. "You'd have never bothered if I didn't walk away."

Sylus clenches and relaxes his jaw in defeat as you continue, a finality in your tone as you speak. "You and I both know where you're supposed to be, and it's certainly not here. Take care of her." Because as much as you hate whatever happened between you and Sylus, you could never hate Miss Hunter. She had been nothing but warm and kind to you, always greeting you with stars in her eyes whenever you had engaged with her. Whether she is aware that she was a part of the reason that you were heartbroken, you don't know and don't wish to know either. Because that's all she was really, a part of the reason.

The reason being if your man gets swayed easily by someone else despite making promises to you, he isn't worth your time.

And Sylus and her were destined to be each others' anyways. There was no fighting it.

So you turn around and walk away, leaving a small part of yours with him forever while Sylus stands there utterly wretched, his breaths hitching and heavy as he sees your figure disappear.

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

Sylus wasn't handling the break-up well.

Not that he had handled when you went missing well either, but his grip on himself back then was far better than whatever he is facing right now.

"Never knew boss could be so... affected by her absence." Kieran whispers to Luke as they both pick up the shards of yet another glass that Sylus has managed to crush in his bare hands while checking Mephisto's feed. He had ordered Mephisto to tail you in a long while, since earlier he was a little too preoccupied with Miss Hunter's safety. Mephisto had left with an indignant squawk, as if he was mocking him for his poor actions.

The results had Sylus clenching his teeth in agony.

In a long while, you looked like you were whole again. You were smiling, glowing in a way he hadn't seen you glow after Miss Hunter came into the scene. You seemed at peace, and it gnawed at Sylus that he wasn't the reason behind it.

That, and your close proximity with Zayne, who also happened to be Miss Hunter's childhood friend.

He could only watch you from afar, and it felt like his heart was being wrung dry and battered. You had become the notes of a song he couldn't recognize the tune of. And because of his own actions, someone else was filling the gaps in your songs. Someone that wasn't him.

Perhaps this was universe's way at getting back at him for mistreating you, he thought bitterly. Chewing on glass would be better than this.

It didn't help that Sylus couldn't help but watch you through Mephisto, as if losing the sight of you meant losing you forever. Yet maybe, in an ironical twist of fate, he had lost you way before you had walked away— when you were right in front of his eyes. And now, he has to witness you becoming close to a man who bickers with you about sweets and human anatomy.

Oh how the tables have turned. If this is how you felt everytime watching him and Miss Hunter together, Sylus was ready to rip his heart out.

"Well, he had it coming." Luke shrugs as he whispers back, dumping the glass shards in the bin. "He was always with Miss Hunter..." Luke trails off as Kieran nudges him quietly, and they both scamper out of the living room. Right beside it, Sylus was in his study sitting with another glass of wine. He could perfectly hear the twins, and their words twist the knife lodged in his gut. The glass in his hands shatters quietly this time, blood dripping on the surface of the desk. His eyes reflect on the shards— they were empty rubies, the lustre within them gone.

He couldn't care less about his empire or Miss Hunter; everything of him and around him was in a complete disarray. His reflection in the mirror haunts him with illusions of you both brushing together while giggling. The second-hand coffee machine in his kitchen that you had thrifted with him makes him want to hurl out his guts. The dresses that you left behind, the one you had personally modelled for him when he simply pulled you into his arms and showered you with kisses, now blind him with their shine. You left and took his soul with you. Ironic, because he seems to only notice it now.

Too late. Too fucking late.

He has lost the light of his life forever.

_____________________________________

Epilogue:

You rub the sleep out of your eyes as you pick up the package on your doorstep. It's fucking 4 in the morning, for fuck's sake. You tear open the package which reveals a small black bracelet with an animal which has the head of a dragon and the body of a... bird? Crow?The clutch was wired in the shape of a tiny datura. Along with it is a letter in an elegant handwriting, one you knew by heart.

My love,

I can only hope my last attempt at apologizing will be accepted by you. I am not worthy of your forgiveness, but then again, I wasn't worthy of your grace either. For everything you've blessed me with, I'll be born carved with love and regret, penanced to be doomed– and I curse myself to burden this henceforth till doomsday.

A part of me is always yours forever, regardless. And that makes everything bearable.

Yours forever,

Sylus.

You clutch the box to your chest, a sob escaping your lips as you look around. The sun is yet to rise, and there's a faint scent of daturas in the air as you finally break down.

_______________________________

Eight recognized the creature immediately, and you witnessed more emotion than you had seen before, with his eyes widening and mouth parting. He closed his notebook shut and tentatively reached to brush his small fingers against the drawing, and you pushed it closer to him encouragingly. 

“Have you ever seen one like this? You know, there are the round ones and-”

“The ones that are skinny with long hats.” Before you could finish your sentence, Eight interrupted you. It was like a switch had been turned on.

“And then there are some with flowers on their heads-”

“And the ones with leaves on top.” It looked like he really was an expert on Aranara facts.

“You know a lot, don’t you?” You beamed at him with interest, and suddenly the child felt a bit shy. It was rare anyone took interest in him or anything he liked, but at the same time, knowing a lot had once gotten him in trouble a long time ago.

“I didn’t expect you could… be so detailed,” Eight said, changing the topic as he brought your doodle close to his face, examining the detail as his nose almost brushed it, in true childlike wonder that he always kept hidden.

“Well, in the Akademiya, you’re usually asked to sketch out your observations like wildlife or architecture, even potential machines and inventions, so I know a bit.” He only continued gazing at the messy Aranara. “You can keep it, if you like.” Eight glanced at you, slowly nodding as he finally set the paper down. He looked a bit more relaxed now.

“Now… would you mind if I see your drawings?” You pressed the tips of your fingers together, brightening with hope. Eight already guessed you had been itching to ask him that for a while. At first, he would have rejected you, but now he felt a bit more… comfortable.

The child Segment didn’t need to answer, only opening his notebook to the first page and leaving it there for you. You clasped your hands together with a resonant ‘thank you’ as you pulled a chair to sit next to him at his desk. 

“Some Aranara have hats of different shapes and colors. Some of their hats cover their faces. Others have leaves drooping down instead of hats,” you read aloud from the journal. Each description was accompanied by a drawing. “Some also have bowties or carry around weapons. They’ve also picked up habits from humans, such as cooking or living in houses.”

For someone who didn’t seem to feel much, Eight watched you intently as you examined his notes. Maybe he subconsciously looked for approval. At the very least, you looked to be absorbed in his words, allowing him to feel a bit proud of himself.

“This is some really good research. Thank you for trusting me with it,” you said softly, hand reaching out to hold his, until you stopped midway and drew back. Perhaps it was best not to push things so quickly. “Though… I do think some of these sketches could use some color.”

“I would,” the boy nodded in agreement, “but I don’t have anything to color them with.” A spark of sadness flickered in your heart, knowing that he was chained to the mindset of a child and was not even allowed to indulge in it.

“Well, why don’t I get us some colored pencils and we can fill them in together? Adding a bit of color is sure to add some life, hmm?” 

And so a few days later, you were once again sitting near Eight with his notebook open. You had made sure to order the most high-quality coloring supplies for little Eight. Even he could not hold back his excitement, observing them up close one by one and picking out the ones he’d use for the Aranaras. In all honesty, he was more focused on coloring than you, and seemed very intent on making sure everything was accurate… But you didn’t mind. You only gave some pointers here and there and answered his questions on whether the color he chose was good or not.

“Thank you,” Eight said eventually. He couldn’t remember the last time he expressed gratitude for something, because the only thing other people ever did was hurt him.

“Anything for you, sweet one.” He didn’t respond to the pet name, and you quickly worried you had overstepped, before Eight nodded and went back to coloring.

Perhaps if he had just had someone who supported him when he was young and took interest in him, things could have turned out differently.

—

One day, you had called Eight to the kitchen, and he was immediately greeted with a delicious smell.

“Oh, you’re right on time!” You called for him and ushered him closer. He took in the mess of the kitchen before he noticed what was making his mouth water. A tray of baklava sat there, sliced and ready to be served.

“You all still like to eat, don’t you? I thought I’d make something for all of your hard work.” You were busy cleaning with your back turned. “I invited you to have the first bite. Help yourself.”

He and the other Segments would go to the Fatui’s cafeteria, and although it was nice, it didn’t really have food from Sumeru. They would never bring up their dissatisfaction, however. But now, one of his favorite treats from his homeland sat in front of him. The older Segments might have lingered around you some more, but him? The child couldn’t help but want to dig in as soon as possible.

“Thank you.” Those words were starting to become familiar to him again. Eight’s fingers pinched a piece of the dessert and took a small bite before immediately devouring the whole thing. It was probably the best thing he’d ever tasted. He glanced at you before taking another piece, and another…

“Do you like them?” You finished cleaning the area and washing the tools as you made your way to the table. “It’s been a while since I made any so-” You paused when you noticed at least a third of the tray was gone, and the child had stuffed cheeks.

Eight blinked at you. You blinked back. You were at a loss for words before you burst out laughing at the sight.

“Y-You don’t need to eat that fast, you know. I can always make some more.” You grabbed a tissue and began wiping around his mouth. You remembered Zandik being a fast eater back in the Akademiya, but you didn’t know he could gobble stuff down this quick. Eight stiffened as you tenderly wiped off the crumbs and fussed over him, and though it felt weird, it wasn’t weird enough for him to push you away.

“Hmm… I guess I’ll portion the rest for the others. We can give Eighteen the least for being a big meanie. Hehe, don’t tell the others, alright?” Your little accomplice nodded, chewing the dessert slower, not only savoring the flavor but… your kindness too.

Eight had started to open himself up to you, slowly but surely.

—

Little Eight had begun to seek you out on his own, cling to your side, to grab onto your sleeve and look up at you with expectant eyes. With that, the boy had become oddly observant of you.

“You don’t look well,” he pointed out.

“Hm? Oh. I’m… I’m fine. Just a bit tired but-” Before you could finish, Eight grasped your clothes and led you over to sit down. Of course, you couldn’t refuse him. “Really, I don’t-” Eight pressed his small hand against your forehead.

“Your face is warm, and you’re sweating a bit. You should stay here. I’ll get one of the others and the medical record.” It was almost jarring to see a kid assess the situation with such calmness. Perhaps he already had experience with this from Regrator, though. Or maybe he just had to grow up quicker than other children.

“But… you don’t need to do all this. I can take care of myself…” He should just be allowed to be a child, you wanted to say. He shouldn’t have to be in this dreary lab with experiments of this nature.

“I want to.” Eight was surprised those words left his lips as easily as they did. He had thought he had become numb to the suffering of others. He knew something was wrong with him for that. But when he looked at you, it made him upset that you were in pain.

“… You’re very sweet. Thank you.” The others had told you that the child Segment had already lost his compassion, but every day, you learned that clearly wasn’t true. 

—

The eight-year-old carried around his notebook like it was a lifeline, clutching it to his chest. If he had to put it down, he’d always make sure it was within his line of sight. You knew that his notes were important to him, but you couldn’t help but feel that there was something else to this behavior.

You found out the answer one day, when you were in Eight’s room. He was searching for his notebook in front of you when he opened his drawer to reveal a few copies of the same black notebook, before grabbing one of them.

All of the notebooks looked the same, so you had no idea he had multiple. But it didn’t strike you as unusual at first. You just assumed he had filled up that many notebooks with his ideas, and naturally, you wanted to see.

“Do you mind if I read these?” You pawed at the covers.

“You can, if you want. But you probably already read most of them.” That made you pause.

“What do you mean?”

“Those notebooks all contain the same content. I just wrote most of the important stuff in all of them.” So… he was making duplicates of the same thing? 

“But why?”

“Sometimes I misplace them. And then sometimes one of the others throws it out.”

“Throw… throw them out?” You repeated, as if you were in disbelief, but Eight seemed to be unaffected.

“It’s mostly Eighteen that does that. But I don’t want to lose my ideas, so I just write them down in multiple places just in case.” Your jaw was left slack as Eight calmly flipped through his current notebook.

“A-And what does he say?”

“That it’s childish. Or a waste of time. Things like that.” He didn’t think about it when you didn’t respond, but before he knew it, you were up and pacing around the room. “What’s wrong?”

“He can’t do that to you!” You had never spoken to him this loudly, which took him off guard, and you recognized that and took a deep breath. “That… is just wrong. I will not let him do it again. I’m- I’m going to speak to him right now!” Eight realized that this was the first time he saw you truly frustrated, and it was on his behalf, too. You almost burst out the door before he called for you.

“Wait,” the child requested. Never one to ignore Eight, you listened. “You don’t need to do that.”

“Yes, I do. If I’m here, no one is doing that to you. Why, I might as well go and throw out his property and see how he likes it!” Eight felt a bit of warmth prick his face at your outspokenness. But he really didn’t want to start a fight with Eighteen, which would probably escalate to the others, with Thirty-Five telling them not to hinder his work, Forty-Five laughing, Sixty-Five being tired, and the original Zandik… what would he do? 

“I’d prefer it if you stayed with me.” You opened your mouth and closed it again, expression softening.

“Well then… I guess me and Forty-Five will do something to get back at him in secret instead then.” You couldn’t help but give in to Eight, especially when he was learning to be so genuine with you. You sat on the edge of the bed with him and rubbed your hand on his back. However, you still looked troubled.

You thought back to the days you spent with the original Zandik back at the Akademiya. Eighteen was the only Segment you had a concrete understanding of, considering he was a replica of the one you knew so deeply when you were young. You had seen his bitterness firsthand, the desire for himself and his ideas to be acknowledged, only for it to never happen, sending him deeper into his resentment for the world. He would grip you, stubborn tears rolling down his face that he silently asked you to ignore. Perhaps if you had remained in the waking world, you could have done something, but…

“You know, um, Eight,” you began, and the Segment gave you his attention. “About Eighteen… I wouldn’t say he hates you. He just…” The child’s eyes bore into you as he watched you fumble for words. “I guess… He might be a little jealous of you.” That seemed to surprise the little boy.

“I don’t understand. There is nothing I have that he doesn’t.” Eight furrowed his brows, carefully thinking, and a part of you was flattered he was taking your opinion so seriously. “Eighteen has his own lab, office, equipment, proposals, funding, experiments… I don’t really have any of that.” Well, there had been proposals he had been drafting for Pantalone, some with your assistance, but he had yet to present any of them… Most of his duties included assisting the others with their tasks instead.

“Well, all of that is true but… Eighteen doesn’t have your mind.” Perhaps deep down, Eighteen wished he too could be a bit “childish.” Although Eight had clearly gone through something rough, he managed to retain something Eighteen could not. Could Eighteen ever find something and pursue it with pure wonder and excitement as a child could? He couldn’t. Instead, the older Segment was only trapped within the harsh reality of this world’s cruel rules and laws. But how could you explain that to a little boy?

“By which I mean, he doesn’t have the proper mind to appreciate your dear Aranara. And it’s a shame, because he wants to, but… can’t.” You tried to word it as best you could. “Of course, what he did is still wrong, but…” You trailed off, really not knowing what to say, but Eight only leaned into your embrace. He could understand that this was your attempt to make him feel better. Honestly, you had already done more than you knew, because Eighteen always seemed to be in a far better mood whenever you were around. And whether he liked it or not, the older Segment still stayed with him for a lot of things.

The original Zandik, the one who was fascinated with you more than any sort of research, had once told him that your warmth could fill an entire room. Obviously, that didn’t make sense in the literal way, so it was metaphorical. But only now did Eight understand what the older man had meant by that. Actually, now he understood why all the other Segments trailed after you, looking for attention.

You were truly a warm person.

His eyes flickered from you to the floor, and back to you again, as if he was making an important choice. Within the span of a few moments, the tiny Segment turned to fully embrace you, arms wrapping around your body, making you softly gasp. Without hesitation, you gently reciprocated and held his smaller body. Eight always did like when you patted the top of his head.

The child really liked you a lot. Maybe you could convince the others to let him take a trip to Sumeru? Or at least get one of his proposals approved? But for some reason, those things didn’t seem as much of a priority now, when compared to spending time with you.

He hoped you’d stay with him forever…