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The words echoed in his mind like a mantra. Tenkyu stood at the edge of a rooftop, the city sprawling beneath him like a tangled web of ants.
Shouldn't I just kill the target and be done with it? It would be faster.
The thought was tempting. Violence was simple.
Do not engage.
It was tedious. It was inefficient.
And yet, here he was.
His fingers drummed against the railing. Perhaps that was why they had sent him on this mission. A test to see if he could be tamed, controlled, leashed like a dog.
He scoffed at the thought.
Below, a cluster of people gathered at a crosswalk, waiting for the light to change. Tenkyu's eye scanned them. They were so small from this height. They laughed and chatted, completely unaware of the predator watching from above, completely ignorant of the chaos that simmered just beneath the surface of their orderly world.
Ignorant. All of them.
His gaze narrowed as he spotted a figure standing apart from the crowd. The target. Or rather, the person who might lead him to the target.
You were... unremarkable at first glance. You blended in seamlessly, a perfect example of the mundane, ordinary existence that Tenkyu found so suffocatingly dull.
And yet, according to his intel, you were the key. A loose thread in a much larger tapestry. Pull you, and everything would unravel.
He had been assigned to observe you for the day. To understand your patterns, your connections, your weaknesses. To find the door that would grant him access to the information he needed.
He could kill you right now. It would be so easy.
But then the thread would snap, and the tapestry would remain intact.
Fine.
The day stretched on, and Tenkyu followed you like a shadow.
You led him through the city with the rhythm of routine. A coffee shop where you ordered the same drink, he noted with mild disdain. A park where you sat on a bench and read a book, occasionally looking up to watch the children play. A small market where you bought groceries, exchanging pleasantries with the vendors who knew you by name.
Friends. Acquaintances. A life full of connections.
Tenkyu observed it all, filing away every detail. He noted the way you laughed with your friends, the way you touched their arms when you spoke, the way your eyes crinkled at the corners when you smiled.
It was almost pathetic. Did you not realize how fragile you were?
He watched you hug a friend goodbye, the gesture so casual, so intimate. A pang of something unfamiliar flickered in his chest. He pushed it aside, his hand instinctively rising to touch the edge of his eye patch.
You'd be dead in seconds if you hugged the wrong person.
And yet, as the day wore on, a strange curiosity began to take root in his mind. You were a puzzle. A collection of contradictions that didn't quite add up.
You had a temper, he discovered. When a man cut in front of you in line, you didn't shrink away or stay silent. You called him out. The man backed down, muttering under his breath, and you turned back to the counter as if nothing had happened.
You were kind to a stray cat that wandered into the alley behind your apartment, crouching down to offer it a piece of the pastry you'd bought earlier. You cooed at it and scratched behind its ears until it purred.
And yet, there was a steeliness to you. A quiet strength that Tenkyu hadn't expected.
He had followed you home, watched you disappear through the front door, and now he lingered, his hands shoved into his pockets.
You were... not what he had expected.
There was something about you that kept him rooted to the spot, something that made him want to know more.
What would it take to break you?
He turned away, a plan already forming in his mind.
The next day, Tenkyu didn't follow you from the shadows.
He stepped into the light.
He knew exactly where you'd be.
But first, he made a small adjustment.
He ran a hand through his hair, messing it up just enough to look effortlessly disheveled. He practiced his smile in the mirror. Satisfied, he walked out of the restroom and made his way to the coffee shop.
He walked through the door, the little bell chiming overhead, and scanned the room until his eyes found you. You were sitting at a table by the window, a book open in front of you.
He approached, his steps measured and confident.
"Excuse me," he said, "I'm sorry to bother you, but I couldn't help noticing you're reading that book. I've been looking for a copy everywhere. Is it any good?"
You looked up, startled by the interruption. Your eyes met his, and then flickered briefly to the patch covering his eye. There was no disgust, no pity. Just a flicker of curiosity, quickly masked by a polite smile.
He held your gaze, his smile never wavering. He had studied you. He knew what you liked, what made you laugh, what made you frown. He knew how to be exactly what you wanted, exactly what you needed.
He would be your ideal type. The perfect stranger.
And then, when you were close enough, when you trusted him completely, he would pull the thread and unravel everything.
----
The days blurred together after that first meeting.
Tenkyu became a chameleon, slipping into whatever version of himself you needed. When you were cheerful, he matched your energy with easy laughter. When you were contemplative, he grew quiet and thoughtful.
He watched the way your friends reacted to you and he copied it all. He laughed when you laughed, frowned when you frowned. He became a mirror, reflecting back everything you wanted to see.
But inside? Nothing.
He didn't understand why you found certain things funny. He didn't understand why you got upset over small inconveniences. He didn't understand why you cared so much about people who would inevitably disappoint you.
It doesn't matter, he told himself. I just need to get close enough.
And he was getting close. Closer than he'd expected.
The first date was his idea.
A movie. The perfect setting to pretend he was normal.
They stood in the line, the smell of butter thick in the air. Tenkyu kept his posture relaxed. You were smiling, excited about the film, rambling about the director's previous work.
He nodded along.
Then the man cut in line.
He was large, broad-shouldered, with the kind of entitled posture that suggested he'd never been told no. He shoved past a couple and stepped directly in front of Tenkyu, reaching for the popcorn bucket and cup of drinks on the counter.
Tenkyu didn't react. He simply waited, his smile still in place, his eye tracking the man's movements with detached disinterest.
And then the man bumped into him.
The popcorn flew everywhere, golden kernels scattering across Tenkyu's dark coat, clinging to the fabric, falling to the floor, same goes for the drinks. The man turned, his face twisted with irritation.
"Watch where you're standing!" he barked, jabbing a finger at Tenkyu's chest. "You're in my way!"
For a moment, the world narrowed to a single point. The man's voice faded into a dull roar, his flailing hands becoming slow and meaningless. Tenkyu's hand twitched at his side, fingers curling slightly.
One strike. Right in front of everyone.
He could do it. He could kill this man before anyone even registered what was happening.
But then, you stepped between them, your hand shooting out to slap the man across the face.
"He was standing in line," you said, "You cut in front of us. Apologize. Now."
The man stumbled back, his cheek reddening, his mouth opening and closing like a fish. Security was already approaching.
Tenkyu stared.
His hand slowly uncurled at his side.
The man was dragged away. The employee behind the counter offered a fresh bucket of popcorn with an apologetic smile.
And you turned to Tenkyu, "Are you okay?"
"It's nothing." he said automatically.
But you were already pulling out a handkerchief, dabbing at the stains on his coat. "It does matter. You didn't deserve that."
Tenkyu watched you. The furrow in your brow. The gentle pressure of your fingers against the fabric. The way you cared about something so trivial.
Why?
"Really," he said, gently catching your wrist. "It's nothing." He gestured vaguely toward the exit. "I'll find a store nearby, be back in a few minutes."
You looked like you wanted to argue, but you nodded. "I'll wait here."
He found a small clothing shop two blocks away, bought a plain black shirt, and changed in the cramped fitting room.
Y/N slapped a man for me. A stranger.
He tilted his head.
Why?
The movie was sold out by the time he returned.
You both sat on a bench outside the theater instead, sharing the popcorn you'd insisted on buying again. The night air was cool. You apologized for the ruined evening, and he told you it was fine and watched the way your shoulders relaxed.
When he walked you home, you paused at your door.
"Thank you," he said, "For... what you did."
You smiled. "Anyone would have done the same."
He watched you disappear inside, and then he stood there for a long moment, staring at the closed door.
No one had ever defended him, protected him, without being asked.
Why would you do that?
The question burned in his chest. He didn't have an answer.
----
The apartment was silent except for the hum of the refrigerator.
Tenkyu sat on the edge of a worn couch, his elbows resting on his knees, his fingers loosely interlaced. The body on the floor had stopped twitching.
Annoying.
He had rambled about protocols, about the importance of eliminating everyone connected to the target.
"The whole bloodline," the man had said, gesturing with his hands like he was explaining something simple to a child. "That's the order."
He didn't feel guilt from killing the informant. He didn't feel satisfaction. He simply felt... nothing.
His phone buzzed on the table.
He picked it up, glancing at the screen. A message from you.
"Hey! My niece has a school festival tomorrow. She's running in a race and her parents can't make it. I promised I'd cheer her on. I know it's last minute, but do you want to come with me? No pressure, but I think you'd like her."
He read the message twice.
The six-year-old. The one the man had mentioned.
Tenkyu's thumb hovered over the screen. He could see it so clearly. The faces of your family, their eyes wide with fear, their mouths opening to scream. He'd done it before. Dozens of times.
He always wondered what they saw in his face before they died. Terror, usually. Sometimes pleading. Once, a woman had smiled at him, like she'd been expecting him all along.
He didn't care. He didn't care about any of it.
What will you look like?
The thought surfaced unbidden. You, standing in the rubble of everything you loved. Your eyes, those warm, curious eyes, filling with shock.
---
The school festival was chaos.
Colorful banners hung from every surface. Children ran wild between stalls. The smell of grilled food and cotton candy hung in the air.
Tenkyu stood at the edge of the crowd, his hands in his pockets, his eye scanning the scene with practiced detachment.
Then he saw you.
You were crouched in front of a small girl with pigtails and a gap-toothed smile. You were adjusting her running shoes.
"You're going to do great, sweetheart. Just run as fast as you can, okay? I'll be right at the finish line, cheering the loudest!"
The girl beamed, hugging you tightly before sprinting off to join the other children at the starting line.
Tenkyu watched you rise, brushing off your knees, and then you spotted him. Your face lit up with a smile that made something shift in his chest.
"You came!" you said, walking over to him. "I wasn't sure if you'd actually show up."
"I said I would."
You grinned, nudging his arm. "Come on. The race is about to start. I want you to see her run. She's been practicing for weeks."
You pulled him toward the track, your hand warm against his sleeve. He let himself be led, his eye fixed on the small figure at the starting line.
The gun went off.
The children sprinted forward. Your niece was in the middle of the pack, her pigtails flying, her face scrunched in concentration.
You were shouting, cheering, jumping up and down like it was the most important race in the world.
He didn't understand why this mattered. It was just a race. Just children running in circles. None of it meant anything. And yet, when your niece crossed the finish line, third place, you screamed like she'd won gold.
She ran over to you, and you scooped her up, spinning her around.
"You were amazing! I'm so proud of you!"
The girl grinned, then turned to look at Tenkyu. Her eyes were wide, curious. She pointed at his eye patch.
"Did you get hurt?"
Tenkyu blinked.
You opened your mouth to intervene, but he spoke first.
"No."
"My grandpa has a patch too. But his is on his leg. He says he got it fighting a dragon."
Tenkyu stared at her.
Your niece stared back.
And then she laughed, grabbed your hand, and pulled you toward the cotton candy stall.
You glanced back at him, apologetic and amused. "Sorry. She's a lot."
Tenkyu shook his head slowly. "It's fine."
He stood there, watching you and the girl disappear into the crowd.
For a long moment, he didn't move.
I have to kill Y/N's family.
The thought surfaced again.
I have to kill the niece.
It doesn't matter.
But as he walked through the crowd, he couldn't shake the image of your face as you cheered for a child who would never see another race if he followed his orders.
He didn't know what to do with that.
The archery booth caught Florence's eye like a magnet.
She stopped dead in her tracks, her small hand tugging at your sleeve. "Look! Look! The bear!"
Tenkyu followed her gaze. Suspended from the top of the booth was an enormous teddy bear, cream-colored, nearly as tall as the girl herself, with a red ribbon tied around its neck. It was the kind of prize that existed solely to tempt people into wasting their money.
You sighed, a fond smile on your face. "Flo, you already have a bear just like that at home."
"But this one is different," she insisted, her voice climbing with urgency. "This one is cream. Mine is brown. They're completely different!"
You opened your mouth to argue, but Tenkyu was already stepping forward.
"I'll get it."
"You don't have to."
"It's fine." He didn't look back at you. "Wait here."
He approached the booth, his eye scanning the setup with precision. The targets were standard, paper circles pinned to hay bales, the bullseye a small red dot at the center. The bow was cheap, the arrows slightly warped.
The arrows are weighted unevenly..
He picked up the bow, testing its draw. The string was loose. The sight was off.
The booth owner gestured at the targets. "Hit the bullseye once, you get a small prize. Hit it three times, you get the big one."
The first shot was decent.
He thinks I'll miss.
Tenkyu notched the second arrow.
He adjusted for the misalignment. He accounted for the uneven weight. He calculated the trajectory, the wind, the angle of the string.
He released.
The arrow flew straight, slicing through the air. But it didn't just stop at the bullseye. It struck the first arrow, splitting it cleanly.
The booth owner's smirk faltered.
Tenkyu notched the third arrow.
The crowd had started to gather. You were watching, your mouth slightly open. Florence was bouncing on her heels, clutching your hand.
This one too.
He released.
The third arrow followed the path of the second, striking the bullseye with impossible precision.
Florence screamed with delight.
"He did it! He got them all!"
The booth owner stared at the target, his face pale. "That's... that's not... I didn't think..."
Tenkyu set down the bow and turned to face him. "The bear."
The man fumbled with the giant teddy, nearly dropping it in his haste. He handed it over without a word.
Tenkyu took it and walked back to you. Florence was already charging toward him, her arms outstretched. She crashed into his legs, wrapping her small arms around his knees.
"Thank you! Thank you, thank you, thank you! You're the best! You're like a superhero!"
He looked down at her. The bear dangled from one hand. The girl clung to him like he'd just saved her life.
He didn't know what to say.
So he simply handed her the bear.
She took it, or rather, it swallowed her, the massive plush engulfing her small frame. She staggered under its weight, laughing breathlessly.
"Careful," you said, steadying her. "Don't fall."
Florence peeked out from behind the bear's head, her grin wide and gap-toothed. "I love it! I'm going to name him... Tenkyu!"
You laughed. "You can't name a teddy bear after him."
"I just did!"
You glanced at Tenkyu. "You didn't have to do that."
He shrugged. "It was nothing."
But as Florence continued to struggle with her new prize, laughing and stumbling, something tugged at the edge of his awareness.
He pushed it aside.
That night, Tenkyu sat in his apartment, the silence pressing in around him.
His phone buzzed on the table.
"Thank you for today. Florence hasn't stopped talking about you. She's sleeping with the bear right now. I don't know how to repay you. You really didn't have to do all that."
He stared at the screen. His thumb hovered over the keyboard.
It was nothing. I didn't do it for you. I did it because it was easy.
But he didn't type that.
Before he could respond, another message came through. This one was different.
"Status update on the mission. The target's family remains uneliminated. The order requires completion within 72 hours."
He read it once. Twice. Three times.
His hand tightened around the phone.
And then, without warning, he dropped the phone.
It hit the floor with a crack, skidding across the tiles. He didn't pick it up.
Annoying.
He leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling.
So annoying.
---
The next day was enough. This had lasted longer than necessary.
Tenkyu moved through your house. The bodyguards fell first, two at the front gate, one patrolling the garden.
Inside, the family was scattered. The parents in the living room. The grandmother in the kitchen. The uncle in the study. Each one met the same fate.
Florence was in her room. She was playing with the bear. She looked up when he entered.
"Uncle Tenkyu! Did you come to play?"
He raised his bow. His hand didn't shake.
It doesn't matter.
The arrow flew. The room went silent.
He didn't look at the body. He walked out, closing the door behind him.
By the time you returned, everything was eerily dark.
The lights should have been turned on by now. The windows were black, the house silent. The front gate stood open. Nothing but the rustle of leaves in the evening wind.
You pushed open the door.
The smell hit you first, then the sight.
Bodies everywhere. They lay in pools of darkness, their eyes open.
And at the center of it all, sitting at the dining table like he was waiting for dinner, was Tenkyu.
Your knees gave out. You hit the floor, your hands pressing against the cold tiles, your breath coming in short, sharp gasps.
He stood up slowly. His bow was in his hand. An arrow was notched, aimed directly at your chest.
"I knew.... I always knew our family business would catch up to us eventually. But I never thought.." You swallowed hard. "I never thought it would be you."
His expression didn't change, just that same smile.
He raised the bow higher. His fingers tightened on the string.
But he didn't release.
The arrow trembled at full draw. His aim was perfect. And yet, he couldn't let go.
Why can't I move? It's what I do. It's all I've ever done.
His fingers trembled. The bowstring cut into his skin.
And still, he didn't shoot.
"Just do it. There's no point to live now. They're all gone.." You looked up at him, and the hatred in your eyes was so sharp it cut through him like a blade. "Just finish what you came here to do."
Tenkyu stared at you.
Those eyes, the same eyes that had looked at him with warmth, now burned with nothing but loathing. It was like looking at a stranger. Or like being seen for exactly what he was for the first time.
A monster.
Something hot slid down his cheek.
He reached up, touching his face. His fingers came away wet.
Is this... crying?
He didn't understand. He'd never understood. Tears were supposed to mean sadness, grief, regret. He felt none of those things. And yet his body was betraying him, water spilling from his eyes like a leak he couldn't stop.
Then he saw it, a red dot, moving slowly across the floor, crawling toward your collapsed form.
His body moved before his mind caught up, launching himself across the room. He crashed into you, shoving you aside. The bullet shattered the tile where you'd been kneeling.
Sniper.
They didn't trust him. Of course they didn't.
He pressed himself against you, shielding you with his body, his eye scanning the broken windows. The shot had come from the east.
A minute passed. Maybe two. The sniper was repositioning.
Tenkyu turned to you, "I have a deal."
You stared at him.
"I'll help you kill my boss. In return-" He paused, the words catching in his throat. "In return, you continue to date me. After it's done, you can decide what happens to me."
"Why would I ever agree to that?"
"Because you've lost everything. Either you lose it all, or they lose everything. I'm giving you a choice."
You were silent for a long moment. The hatred was still there, burning bright. But beneath it, something else flickered.
"Fine." The word came out like a curse. "I agree. But if you betray me-"
"I won't."
Tenkyu leaned in, his hand cupping the side of your face. His thumb brushed over your cheek. He pressed his lips to yours.
It was slow, intimate in a way that felt foreign to him. But that was the point, wasn't it? He was always pretending. And right now, he was pretending to be the man you'd trusted.
His fingers threaded through your hair, tilting your head back, deepening the kiss. He poured everything into it, the confusion, the uncertainty, the strange ache that had taken root in his chest.
When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours.
Then he stood, turning toward the shattered window.
He reached up and removed his eye patch.
The world snapped into focus. He could see everything, the distant building, the glint of a scope, the shape of the sniper hiding in the shadows. Everything was sharp, clear, impossibly detailed.
There.
The distance was nothing to him now. The arrow flew straight, finding its mark with unerring precision. The sniper dropped.
A headache began to pulse behind his eye. He blinked, the clarity fading, the edges of his vision growing fuzzy. He replaced the patch quickly.
"One down."
He crossed to you, pulling a gun from a body nearby and pressing it into your hands. "Keep this. Don't use it unless you have to."
Then he scooped you into his arms, cradling you against his chest. You were trembling.
----
Days blurred together.
Tenkyu moved through it all like a machine. You watched him kill more people than you could count, each death as effortless as the last. An arrow here. A blade there. Sometimes his bare hands.
You never got used to it.
But the news never covered any of it. Whoever his organization was, they had reach. And they covered their tracks well.
The strangest part was how he acted when the killing stopped.
He was clingy. Almost childlike. He followed you from room to room, hovering at your side like he was afraid you'd disappear. He asked questions constantly, probing questions about things that should have been obvious.
"Why did that man beg for his life? He knew he was going to die."
"Why did that woman cry when I killed her partner? She could have just found another."
"Why do people hold funerals? The dead don't care."
You answered him mechanically at first, but he kept asking. And eventually, you found yourself explaining things you'd never thought to explain, love, grief, hope, fear. Things he couldn't seem to grasp.
Like a robot built merely for killing.
It was terrifying. To be his enemy was to be erased from existence without a second thought. He'd proven that with your family.
---
The hotel room was sterile.
The body of the high-rank manager lay crumpled in the corner, a single arrow protruding from his chest. His eyes were still open. You'd stopped looking at them.
Tenkyu was sitting at the other end of the sofa, his elbows resting on his knees. His eye patch was slightly askew from the fight, and there was a cut on his cheek that he hadn't bothered to tend to.
You sat on the edge of the cushion, your hands folded in your lap. Your mind was elsewhere, replaying images you'd rather forget.
"Hey."
His voice cut through the fog. You blinked, turning to look at him.
He was closer now, leaning forward, his eye fixed on your face. His brow was furrowed, his expression caught somewhere between concern and confusion.
"I've been calling your name for a minute," he said. "You didn't hear me."
"Sorry, I was thinking."
He tilted his head. "About what?"
About how I lost everything. About how I'm sitting in a hotel room with the man who took it all from me. About what the hell I'm doing here.
"Nothing important." you said.
He watched you for a moment, searching your face for something you couldn't name. Then he leaned back, his posture relaxing slightly.
"I ordered room service," he said. "We need to regain our energy before the final fight."
"The final fight?"
"I found the location. We can end it tonight."
You should have felt relief. Instead, you felt... hollow. Like there was nothing left inside you to feel.
Tenkyu shifted closer, closing the distance between you. His knee brushed against yours. You flinched slightly, but he didn't pull away.
He was quiet for a moment, his eye studying your face with that unsettling intensity of his. Then he spoke, "You've been distant today."
"Have I?"
"Yes." He reached out, his fingers brushing against your arm. "I don't like it."
He leaned closer, his forehead nearly touching yours. "After every kill, I need... something. A motivation! That's what you said, right? That people need motivation to keep going?"
You'd said that. Days ago, when he'd asked why soldiers kept fighting. Why people endured pain for a goal.
"You could hug me." he said. "Like last time."
You remembered. Now, you had every right to refuse.
But you didn't.
Maybe I'm afraid he'll turn on me if I don't.
He took your silence as permission.
His hands found your waist, pulling you closer. You felt his breath against your neck. Then his lips pressed to your skin.
He kissed a trail up your neck, slow and deliberate, like he was savoring each moment. His fingers tightened on your hips, pulling you against him. And then his mouth found yours.
It was different from the first time. He kissed you like he was trying to understand something he couldn't put into words.
What have I gotten myself into?
You felt his hand cup your jaw, tilting your head back. He deepened the kiss.
Finally, he pulled back. "Soon, it'll be over."
----
This was it. The final stage.
The building was a fortress with guards everywhere, corridors twisting like a maze. You and Tenkyu moved through it like a storm, cutting down everyone in your path.
It was the most brutal fight of all.
You lost count of how many bodies you left behind. He took hits, so did you, but neither of you stopped.
Finally, you reached the inner sanctum.
The boss sat behind a massive desk, his hands were trembling. His right-hand man was already dead on the floor, an arrow through his throat. Tenkyu had dealt with him in the adjacent room while you pushed forward.
Now it was just you. And the man who ordered your family's death.
He was begging.
You raised your gun, spoke some final words, and then you pulled the trigger.
The bullet tore through his skull. He slumped forward, dead before he hit the desk.
Tenkyu appeared in the doorway, his shirt gone, his torso bare and slick with blood. A deep wound in his side seeped crimson, but he stood tall, his eye fixed on you.
"Done."
You turned to face him.
The gun was still in your hand.
He followed your gaze down to the weapon, then back up to your face.
"Finally," he said. "The moment has come."
You raised the gun. Aimed it at his chest.
I can do this. I have to do this. He killed my family. He ruined my life. He deserves this.
But your finger wouldn't move.
He took a step closer. Then another. His arms opened wide, inviting the bullet.
"I won't stop you," he said. "If this is what you want, do it."
Your vision blurred. Tears streamed down your face.
Why can't I do it?
His arms wrapped around you, pulling you into a tight embrace. The blood from his wound soaked into your clothes, warm and wet against your skin.
Your hand was still on the gun. It pressed against his back now, the barrel aimed at him, and through him, at you.
Maybe we should go together.
You pulled the trigger.
The bullet tore through his back, through his chest, and into yours. You felt the impact. Your knees buckled.
He caught you, shifting at the last moment, angling your body so your head hit something before you lost consciousness.
To think you could kill him with one bullet was naive.
You woke up in a hospital bed.
You tried to sit up, but a wave of dizziness forced you back down.
"Don't move."
You turned your head and saw a man sat in the chair next to your bed.
"Who are you?"
His smile didn't waver. "I'm your boyfriend. My name is Tenkyu."
"I... I don't remember having a boyfriend."
"That's okay." He reached out, taking your hand in his. "You suffered a head injury, but youâre safe now."
Your brow furrowed. "What happened?"
"Nothing you need to worry about." He squeezed your hand gently. "From now on, I'll take care of you."
"Okay," you whispered, too tired to argue. "Okay..."
He leaned down, pressing a kiss to your forehead.
"Rest now," he murmured. "I'll be here when you wake up."
Can I request please � Modern & Collage Au Mydeimos that have been dating with reader & he is down bad. Only when after graduation, reader told him that it's all a bet.
Playing the Long Game
Modern AU | Yandere!Mydei x Reader
The gymnasium smelled of sweat. The bleachers were packed, students waving handmade banners and chanting in rhythm.
You lifted your camera and zoomed in on the court.
Through the viewfinder, you watched Phainon - captain, the one whose face graced half the campus promotional material. He passed to the player on his left, who drove toward the basket, and the entire gym held its breath.
Swish.
The crowd erupted.
The photo captured the exact moment the ball sailed through the net, the shooter's arm still extended, the expression of pure focus frozen in time. Behind him, you could see the opposing team's shoulders slump, their coach shouting something lost in the noise.
You lowered the camera and exhaled. That was probably the shot the school paper would want for the front page. The photographer on duty, Ayato, had asked you to cover this match because his grandmother was in the hospital. You'd said yes without hesitation, you owed him for covering your shift last month when you'd come down with a fever.
You'd done enough event coverage: festivals, guest lectures, the occasional club fair, that your face was familiar to both students and teachers.
"Nice shot, Y/N." A voice appeared at your elbow, and you didn't need to turn to know it was Himari, your best friend.
"Thanks." you said, keeping your eyes on the court as the opposing team called a timeout.
"Uh-huh." Himari leaned against the railing, her gaze fixed on you with an expression you'd learned to recognize, the one that meant she was plotting something. "You know, I've been watching you watch them."
"I'm taking photos. It's literally my job right now."
"I'm not talking about the game." She grinned and gestured broadly toward the court, where the players were returning to position, and one figure in particular stood a head taller than the rest. "Fyi, that's Mydei." She paused, searching for the right word. "You looked at him through your lens like he was a tree. A very tall, very attractive tree."
"He's a player." you said flatly. "I'm a photographer. He's the subject. That's the extent of it."
"Exactly." She clapped her hands together. "That's the problem."
You sighed. "Is there a point to this, Himari? Because the game's about to restart, and I need to be ready."
The timeout ended. The teams returned to the court, tension coiling in the air like a spring about to snap.
Mydei got the ball. He faked left, spun right, and rose for the shot.
The gym went silent.
Swish.
The crowd exploded into chaos. Students leapt to their feet, banners waving, voices merging into an indistinguishable roar of triumph.
"Great.." Himari murmured. She wasn't looking at the court. She was looking at you. "You know, Y/N, I've been thinking. We've been friends for... what, three years? And in all that time, I've never seen you crush on anyone. You're nice, people like you. But you've never dated. You've never even expressed interest."
"Not interested." you said.
"That's the problem!" She jabbed a finger at your chest. "Everyone needs someone, Y/N. Even if it's just a little excitement. A little adventure. Something to break the monotony of taking photos of people you don't even look at twice."
You were about to respond when a sudden hush fell over the gymnasium. The opposing team was huddled together. The coach was talking rapidly, but his players were shaking their heads. It was over. Everyone could feel it.
And Himari's eyes lit up with a terrible glint.
"Let's make a bet."
"What?"
"Here's the deal." She crossed her arms, the picture of confidence. "After the game, you go down there. You find Mydei and you confess to him. Tell him you want to date him."
You stared at her. "You're insane."
"Maybe. But listen to the rest." She leaned in. "If you can make the relationship last until graduation, I'll give you anything you want. Anything within reason, obviously. But I'll make it happen. That trip to the mountains you've been wanting to take? Done. That camera lens you've been eyeing? Yours. Whatever it is, I'll make sure you get it."
"You're betting that I can't date someone."
"I'm betting that you won't. Because you're comfortable. You're safe. And the thought of putting yourself out there terrifies you." She tilted her head. "Am I wrong?"
The buzzer sounded.
The game was over.
Students poured onto the court, swarming the players. The Kremnos team was a sea of ecstatic faces, jerseys being pulled off, teammates hugging, the coach getting drenched with a water cooler. It was beautiful chaos, the kind of moment that made your photographer's heart sing.
And there, slightly apart from the center of the chaos, was Mydei. He was smiling and clapping his teammates on the back.
Himari was watching you. "Well?"
You looked at her. Then you looked at your camera. Then you looked back at the court, where the team was gathering for a group photo.
"I need to go down anyway." you said, "Ayato asked me to get a group shot for the paper. And the after-game interviews."
"Of course you do." Himari's grin was infuriatingly knowing. "And while you're down there..."
"I'm not agreeing to anything."
"You didn't say no."
You didn't answer. Instead, you lifted your camera and began making your way down the bleachers, weaving through celebrating students and parents, your heart beating a little faster than it had any right to.
Getting the group shot was easy. The team was still riding the high of victory, and they lined up with minimal complaint. Phainon stood in the center, predictably, his arm around the coach.
Mydei stood on the left end, his arms crossed, his expression more reserved. But when you lowered your camera after taking the shot, his eyes met yours for a brief moment, and you saw something flicker there. Curiosity, maybe.
The gym was slowly emptying, students trickling toward the exits.
You kept your camera raised, hiding behind the lens, watching.
The team dispersed. Some headed for the locker room. Others stayed to talk to friends or family who'd come down from the bleachers. Phainon was surrounded by admirers, as usual.
And Mydei was alone.
He was at the bench, one of the long ones that lined the court, shoving his gear into a duffel bag. His jersey was off, draped over his shoulder, leaving him in a sleeveless shirt that revealed the defined muscles of his arms and chest. His hair was damp with sweat, sticking to his forehead in a way that should have looked messy but somehow didn't.
He was packing up methodically. Like he had nowhere else to be.
You lowered your camera.
Your feet moved before your brain could stop them.
You walked across the court, past the lingering clusters of students, past the cheerleaders taking photos with the mascot, past everything. Your heart was hammering, but your face was calm.
Mydei looked up as you approached. He was already half-turned toward you, his duffel bag zipped and slung over one shoulder. For a moment, he just looked at you.
"Hey."
"Hey." His tone was neutral. He was probably used to people approaching him after games.
But then his gaze flicked past you, toward where Phainon was still surrounded by people, and something in his expression shifted. A resigned sort of understanding, like he thought he knew exactly what was coming.
"Let me guess," he said, "You want me to pass a message to Phainon? Or maybe you want a photo with him, and I can take it for you?"
"I.. no." you said.
His eyebrows rose slightly.
"No." you repeated, firmer this time. You took a breath. This was insane. This was the most insane thing you'd ever done.
But you were already here.
"I came down here to talk to you."
His suspicion didn't lessen. "About what?"
"About-" You paused. The words were right there. You'd rehearsed them in your head a hundred times on the walk over. But now, looking at him, they felt different.
You swallowed. "I've been taking photos of the team all season. And I've watched you play. Not just today. And I think you're incredible."
"I'm not here to ask you to pass a message to Phainon," you continued, "I'm here to ask you if you'd maybe want to go out with me sometime."
The gym was still buzzing around you, but in the small bubble you occupied, there was nothing but the sound of your own heartbeat.
Mydei stared at you.
"You're serious." he said. It wasn't a question.
"Dead serious."
He looked at you like he was trying to determine if this was some elaborate prank, if someone was about to jump out with a camera and shout "gotcha."
But no one did.
And slowly, the suspicion in his eyes began to fade.
"That's not what I was expecting."
"I figured."
"You came all the way down here. Walked right past that guy." He shook his head, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "You really meant me."
"I really meant you."
There was a beat of silence. Then he reached into his duffel bag and pulled out his phone, extending it toward you.
"Then you should probably put your number in here." he said. "Since you're asking me out and all."
You stared at the phone for half a second before taking it, your fingers brushing his. You typed in your number, added your name, and handed it back.
"I'll text you."
"Okay," you said.
And then he was gone.
You stood there for a long moment, the noise of the gym washing over you.
Then, from the bleachers, you heard a high-pitched squeal.
You looked up. Himari was waving frantically, her face alight with triumph.
You shook your head, but you couldn't stop the smile that spread across your face.
This was insane.
----
The week that followed your confession passed in a blur of text.
You didn't see him face to face.
Your classes were on opposite ends of campus. The timing never aligned. You'd be walking to your afternoon lecture just as he was heading to practice. He'd be grabbing lunch during your only free period. It was as if the universe was testing you, seeing if this thing between you could survive on words alone.
It could.
The first night, after he'd texted you, the conversation had started tentatively.
Mydei:Â So. What's your major?
You:Â Secret, lol :)). And you?
Mydei:Â Sports science. Shocking, I know.
You:Â I never would have guessed (ÂŹ_ÂŹ).
You'd smiled at your phone, curled up in your bed. The blue light had illuminated your face as you typed back.
By the third day, the tentative politeness had melted away.
You discovered that he was a morning person, he discovered that you were absolutely not, your ideal wake-up time being somewhere around "whenever the sun decides to be reasonable."
Mydei:Â 5am is reasonable.
You:Â 5am is an abomination.
Mydei:Â You're an abomination.
You:Â Rude.
He sent a photo of his coffee. You sent a photo of your own, a caramel monstrosity with whipped cream and drizzle.
Mydei: That's dessert.
You:Â And? Your point?
Mydei:Â No point.
You learned that he'd started playing basketball because his father had pushed him into it, but had fallen in love with the game somewhere along the way. You learned that he hated horror movies but would never admit it out loud.
"I just don't see the point." he'd typed, defensively. "Why would I pay money to be scared?"
You learned that he was funny. Dry, sarcastic, with a wit that caught you off guard and made you laugh out loud in the middle of the library, earning you a harsh shush from the librarian.
He learned that you took photos of everything, not just for work, but because you saw beauty in the mundane. The way light fell across a staircase. The pattern of raindrops on a window. The tired, content expression on a barista's face at the end of their shift.
He learned that you were a little bit shy, but warm once you opened up. That you had a dry sense of humor that matched his own.
By the fifth day, you felt like you'd known him for years.
And that terrified you.
You planned to meet him at a cafĂŠ near campus, a small place tucked between a bookstore and a secondhand shop.
You:Â Almost there. Sorry!
Mydei:Â No rush. I saved you a seat.
You pushed open the door, the little bell above it chiming, and scanned the room.
You found him immediately.
He was at a table near the window, his head bowed over his phone, the afternoon light spilling across his features. He hadn't seen you yet. He was wearing a white button-up shirt, the sleeves rolled to his elbows, paired with a sleeveless V-neck knit sweater vest. It was a distinctly preppy look, but on him, it was different. The fabric was fitted enough to hint at the broadness of his shoulders, the lean strength of his build.
His hair was slightly damp, like he'd just showered. A few strands fell across his forehead, and he pushed them back absently as he scrolled through his phone.
You lifted your phone and snapped a picture of him, the light catching the sharp line of his jaw, the soft curve of his mouth. The way his fingers curled around his phone.
You sent it to him.
His phone buzzed. He looked down at it, and you watched his expression shift from confusion, then recognition, then a slow, spreading smile.
He looked up, then he stood immediately, pulling out the chair across from him. "You're indeed late."
"Bus," you said, sliding into the seat. "Sorry."
"Don't be." He gestured to the table, where a drink was already waiting for you. "I ordered for you. I hope that's okay."
You looked at the cup. It was a caramel latte with whipped cream and a drizzle of syrup. A tiny heart drawn in the foam.
You looked up at him, something warm spreading through your chest. "You remembered."
"Of course I remembered." He sat back down, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "I pay attention."
You wrapped your hands around the cup, the warmth seeping into your palms.
"So. How was your week?"
"Busy," you admitted. "I had three shoots for the school paper, and Ayato keeps asking me to cover more events."
"Ayato?"
"The one I was covering for last week." You took a sip of your latte. It was perfect. "He's grateful, but also he's got a habit of pushing his work onto me whenever he can."
"You should tell him no."
"I should," you agreed. "But I'm not very good at that."
Mydei studied you for a moment. "I'm noticing that about you. You're too nice."
"Or maybe you just bring it out in me."
His lips twitched. "Smooth."
You laughed, and the tension you hadn't realized you'd been holding melted away. The conversation flowed like it had been doing all week, jumping from topic to topic with the ease of old friends.
"I saw there's a new movie showing," he said, after you'd finished your drinks and moved on to a second. "I know I said I hate horror, but-" He shrugged, a hint of vulnerability in the gesture. "I thought maybe we could watch it together. If you're interested."
"You want to watch a horror movie? Even though you hate them?"
"I want to watch one with you." He said it simply, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "So I'm willing to make an exception."
"That'sâ" You paused, searching for the right words. "That's really sweet."
"I'm not sweet," he said, almost immediately. "I'm cool and mysterious."
"You literally just admitted to being scared of horror movies."
"I admitted to disliking them. There's a difference."
"Sure there is."
The movie will be on next weekend. You spent the rest of the day checking your phone every few minutes even though there was nothing new to see. Himari caught you at it and smirked.
"Look at you," she said, flopping onto your bed. "All lovesick."
"I'm not lovesick," you said, shoving your phone under your pillow. "I'm just... curious."
"Curious about what? Whether he'll hold your hand? Whether he'll kiss you?" She wiggled her eyebrows. "Whether he's a good kisser?"
"Himari!"
"What? It's a valid question!"
You threw a pillow at her. She caught it and laughed.
But later that night, lying in the dark, you couldn't stop thinking about her words. About the bet. About the fact that this was supposed to be a game, and yet-
And yet you actually liked him. Not in the way you'd expected.
This was exactly the kind of thing you'd tried to avoid your whole life. The kind of thing that could get messy.
But you weren't doing anything wrong, you reminded yourself. You'd confessed honestly. And if you eventually had to explain the bet- which you absolutely would, someday, when you were ready- you'd explain it.
That was the plan.
You just had to stick to it.
---
Monday came, and with it, a new rhythm.
You'd barely sat down in your morning class when your phone buzzed.
Mydei:Â Look up.
You looked up, confused. There was nothing at the front of the room, just the professor preparing the slides. You scanned the window, and there he was.
He was standing outside the classroom, his practice bag slung over one shoulder, a carton of milk in his hand. He lifted it in a small wave when he caught your eye, then mouthed something you couldn't quite read.
You stepped out of the classroom, and he pressed the milk carton into your hands.
"You need to drink more calcium," he said, completely serious. "You're a photographer. You need to be healthy."
"Is that your excuse?"
"It's a valid one." He smiled. "I'll see you at practice?"
"Same time?"
"Same time."
He was gone before you could say anything else.
You stared at the milk carton in your hands.
This was ridiculous. This was the most ridiculous thing anyone had ever done for you.
You couldn't stop smiling for the rest of the day.
His practice sessions became part of your routine.
You'd finish your last class, grab your camera, and head to the gym. He'd be there, running drills with the team, and you'd find a seat in the bleachers and take photos. Not for the paper, just for yourself.
You caught him laughing at something Phainon said. You caught him glancing up at you, a soft smile on his face, before he turned back to the court.
You kept those photos on your phone.
You didn't know he had one too.
The first time you noticed, it was a Wednesday. You were helping him pack up his bag after practice, and his phone was on the bench. You glimpsed the screen as it lit up.
It was you.
You'd been looking away, mid-laugh. It was a candid shot.
"You take photos of me?"
There was a moment of hesitation in his eyes before he shrugged, the motion deliberately casual.
"Only when you're not looking."
You blinked. "That's..."
"Creepy?"
"Endearing."
He stared at you. "You think it's endearing?"
"I think it's cute that you're a secret photographer." You picked up his phone, scrolling through his gallery. There were dozens of photos of you. In the library, your nose buried in a book. At the cafĂŠ, laughing at something he'd said. On the bleachers, your camera raised to your eye.
"These are good," you said, genuinely impressed. "You have a good eye."
"I have a good subject." he said, and your cheeks flushed.
"You should post these," you said, handing the phone back. "On your story or something."
"No." He shook his head immediately.
"Why not?"
He looked at you for a long moment, something unreadable in his eyes. "Because I want to keep you to myself." he said. "The photos. The memories. They're mine."
"You're.." you started, but the words wouldn't come.
"I know." He smiled "I'm not great with sharing."
"You're an only child, aren't you?"
"Shut up."
You laughed, and he laughed too, and the moment was easy and warm and perfect.
But even as you laughed, a small voice whispered in the back of your mind.
You haven't told him about the bet.
You will. Eventually.
You just needed to figure out how.
----
Sunday arrived grey and cool, the kind of day that made you want to bundle up in layers and hold a warm drink between your palms. You'd spent the morning nervously picking out an outfit, changing three times before finally settling on something comfortable but presentable.
Mydei had texted you that morning.
Mydei:Â Wear something warm. I'm picking you up.
You:Â Picking me up? Where's the movie?
Mydei:Â It's a surprise. Just be ready at 6.
At exactly 6, your phone buzzed.
Mydei:Â I'm outside.
You headed out.
He was leaning against a sleek black motorcycle, helmet tucked under his arm.
He looked like he'd stepped out of a magazine.
Black leather jacket, worn and fitted, zipped just enough to hint at the white shirt beneath. His hair was slightly windswept, and when he saw you, a slow smile spread across his face.
"You look nice."
"You look like you're about to star in a bad boy drama."
His smile widened. "Is that a good thing?"
"Debatable."
He laughed and handed you a helmet. "Ready?"
You took it, your fingers brushing his. "Ready."
The ride was exhilarating, wind whipping past you, the city lights blurring into streaks of gold and red. You wrapped your arms around his waist, feeling the solid warmth of him through his jacket, and he leaned back slightly, just enough to press closer to you.
The movie theater was small, the kind of place that showed films no one else was showing. The thriller he'd mentioned was playing in one of the smaller screens, and you settled into your seats with a shared bucket of popcorn.
The marketing had been excellent.
The movie was not.
Thirty minutes in, you leaned over to him, your voice a whisper. "Is it just me, or is this actually terrible?"
He turned to look at you, "It's terrible."
"Oh thank god."
"I thought you liked horrors?"
"I like good horrors. This..." You gestured at the screen, where the protagonist was making yet another inexplicably stupid decision. "This is a tragedy."
"Should we leave?"
"No." You shook your head firmly. "I need to see how it ends. It's a train wreck. I can't look away."
He laughed and leaned closer. "Then tell me what's going to happen next."
So you did.
Every time a character made a poor choice, you leaned over to whisper your commentary. "He's going to go into that basement alone, isn't he? Of course he is. Why would anyone make a smart decision?" Or, "She's definitely the killer. I called it five minutes ago. Watch.."
You were so caught up in your predictions that you didn't notice how closely he was watching you. How his gaze kept drifting from the screen to your face, following the animated expressions as you dissected every plot hole and ridiculous twist.
"Okay," you said, near the end, "if they don't explain the thing with the necklace, I'm going to-"
"You're going to what?" he asked, his voice a low murmur close to your ear.
You turned to look at him.
He was closer than you'd realized. Close enough that you could see the flecks of gold in his eyes even in the dark. The slight smile on his lips. The way his attention was entirely, completely on you.
"I..."
He didn't look away.
On screen, the climax of the movie played out, but neither of you was watching.
The movie ended, predictably, with a twist that made no sense.
"That was terrible." you announced as you walked out of the theater. "I want my two hours back."
"I want your commentary back," he said, bumping your shoulder with his. "That was the best part."
"Oh, so you weren't even watching the movie?"
"I was watching you watch the movie," he admitted. "Much more entertaining."
You felt your cheeks warm.
"Want to grab a drink? I know a place."
"Is it another surprise?"
"You'll have to find out."
He drove you away from the city, away from the lights and noise, to a place you'd never been before. A small park on a hill, overlooking the valley below. The stars were visible here, scattered across the sky like spilled salt, and the only sounds were the rustle of leaves and the distant hum of the city far below.
He parked the motorcycle and led you to a wooden bench, perfectly positioned to watch the night sky.
"Soda?" he offered, pulling two cans from his jacket pocket.
"You just carry soda around with you?"
"Only on special occasions."
You took the can, your fingers brushing his, and sat down beside him. The bench was just big enough for two, and you were close enough that your shoulders touched.
The stars were beautiful.
So was he.
You tried not to think about it.
Couples passed by occasionally. A pair stopped near a tree to kiss. You deliberately looked away, focusing on the sky above.
Don't look. Don't think about it.
"Hey."
You turned.
Mydei was looking at you, his eyes soft in the starlight. His hand came up to cup your jaw.
And then he kissed you.
His lips were warm and firm, tasting faintly of the soda he'd been drinking. His other hand found your back, steadying you, pulling you closer.
You kissed him back, your hand finding his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your palm.
When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breath warm on your lips.
"Wow..." you breathed.
"Wow indeed." he agreed.
And for a moment, everything was perfect.
The ride back to your dorm was quiet. His hand found yours when you stopped at a light, and he gave it a gentle squeeze.
"Same time next week?" he asked when you pulled off your helmet.
"I'd like that." you said. And you meant it.
He smiled. "I'll text you."
You watched him drive away, then headed inside, your heart full and your mind churning.
This was getting out of control.
You'd started this for a bet. For a stupid, childish challenge that Himari had thrown at you.
But now. Now you actually cared about him.
And the thought of graduation, of the bet ending, of having to explain everything- You shook your head, pushing the thoughts away.
You'd figure it out. You had to. You couldn't lose the bet.
Mydei unlocked his apartment door, stepped inside, and locked it behind him.
Then he leaned back against the wood, his hand coming up to his lips.
He'd kissed you.
The memory of it played on loop in his mind, the softness of your lips, the warmth of you in his arms, the way you'd looked at him like he was the only person in the world.
His ears burned.
He slid down the door, sitting on the floor, a stupid grin spreading across his face.
He couldn't wait to see you again.
He couldn't wait to kiss you again.
He couldn't wait.
---
At school, the routine continued.
He brought you milk and snacks during recess, always with a quick smile and a "don't forget to eat." You visited his practices, your camera capturing him in motion, and he'd glance up at you with that soft smile that made your heart flutter.
His friends started noticing.
Phainon cornered him after practice one day, a knowing grin on his face. "About Y/N."
"What?"
"Nothing. Just.. you took a lot of photos of them."
"I like taking photos."
"Hmm.. okay."
You saw the way his friends would glance at you when you arrived at practice.
"Your friends are staring," you said one afternoon, helping him pack his bag.
"They're jealous." He said it simply, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "I get to spend time with you. They don't."
Your cheeks flushed. "You're ridiculous."
"You like it."
He was right. You did.
----
The afternoon sun filtered through the campus trees, casting dappled shadows across the courtyard. Mydei was walking with Phainon, heading toward the humanities building to find you before your next class.
His eyes had found you.
You were standing near the fountain, a cluster of art students around you. A guy with dark hair and round glasses was leaning in close, pointing at something in your hands. Printed photos, from the look of it. You were laughing at something he said, your head tilted back, and the guy's hand brushed yours as he reached for another photo.
Mydei's jaw tightened.
Phainon noticed immediately. He followed Mydei's gaze, and a grin spread across his face.
"Jealous?" he asked, his voice dripping with amusement.
Mydei's expression didn't change. He turned away, nudging Phainon with his elbow. "Hardly."
"You were staring."
"I was looking."
"Same thing."
"It's not." Mydei resumed walking, but his pace was faster now. "They're just friends. They're probably comparing work."
"Uh-huh." Phainon jogged to catch up. "And that's why you look like you want to punch that guy's face in?"
"I don't look like that."
"You absolutely look like that."
Mydei shot him a warning glance, but Phainon was undeterred. He'd known Mydei long enough to recognize when he was unsettled.
Mydei stopped walking. He turned to look at Phainon, "What's your point?"
Phainon held up his hands in surrender. "No point. Just.. be careful, alright? You're not exactly the most expressive person. Y/N might not realize how much you actually care."
Mydei was quiet for a long moment. Then he turned and continued walking.
"I'll keep that in mind."
He didn't make it to your class.
By the time he arrived, you'd already left. He saw you walking across campus with the same group of students, the guy still by your side, and he decided to give you space.
You'd texted him later that night.
You:Â Sorry! Got caught up with a group project.
Mydei:Â It's fine. I saw you anyway.
You:Â Saw me?
Mydei: You looked busy.
You:Â Ah, yeah. Ayato roped me into something. He got me a part-time job opportunity, I can't really turn it down. It's good experience.
Mydei:Â That sounds great. You should take it.
You:Â You sure? I might not be able to come to your practices as often.
Mydei:Â It's fine. Focus on your work.
He typed the words easily enough. But his chest felt tight.
You'd accepted the job Ayato offered, a freelance photography gig for a local magazine, nothing huge but a step toward your career goals. The hours were unpredictable, the deadlines demanding, and by the time you collapsed into bed each night, you barely had energy to text.
Mydei understood.
Or at least, he told himself he did.
He'd send you good morning texts, receive a sleepy reply an hour later. He'd ask about your day, get a brief update between editing sessions. He'd invite you to his practices, but you always had to decline.
You:Â I'm so sorry. Another shoot ran late.
Mydei:Â It's okay. We have a match this weekend. You'll come?
You:Â I'll try. I promise.
He'd stare at that message for too long, reading between lines that might not even exist.
----
His team had fought hard, pushed through exhaustion, and emerged victorious. The gym erupted in cheers. His teammates mobbed him, Phainon clapping him on the back with a grin. It was a good win. A solid win.
But Mydei didn't feel it.
His eyes kept drifting to the bleachers, searching for a familiar figure with a camera. He'd told himself you might not make it. He'd prepared for it.
Still.
The disappointment settled in his chest like a stone.
He checked his phone after the game. A message from you.
You:Â I'm so sorry. I couldn't get away. Good luck, you've got this. I know you'll win.
He typed back quickly.
Mydei:Â We did. Don't worry about it.
He pocketed his phone and walked out of the gym.
It was pouring outside.
The rain came down in sheets, turning the campus into a blur of grey and black. Students dashed between buildings, umbrellas bobbing like scattered flowers. Mydei stood under the awning of the gym, watching the water pool on the pavement.
He'd forgotten his umbrella.
He considered waiting. It could let up. It probably would.
But the weight in his chest was heavier than any rain, and suddenly, he didn't care about getting wet. He stepped out into the downpour, the cold shock of water hitting his skin a welcome distraction.
He was halfway across the courtyard when he felt it.
The rain stopped falling on him.
You were standing there, an umbrella held high above his head, your breath coming in quick gasps. Your clothes were damp, your hair plastered to your face, and you were holding the umbrella with both hands like you'd been running.
"I'm sorry," you said, your voice a little breathless. "I'm so sorry I'm late."
He stared at you.
The rain continued to pour around you, but under the umbrella, there was only you. Your cheeks, flushed from running. Your hand, trembling slightly from the effort of holding the umbrella steady.
"The match. I..." You swallowed. "My shoot ran over and I tried to get here but I couldn't... I was so worried I'd miss youâ"
And then he was pulling you into his arms.
The umbrella slipped from your grip and fell to the ground.
His arms wrapped around you, crushing you against his chest, his face buried in your hair. He turned instinctively, his back to the rain, shielding you from the worst of it.
"You came." he murmured, his voice muffled against you.
"I said I'd try."
He held you tighter.
You were soaking wet. He was soaking wet. The rain soaked through your clothes, cold and relentless, and neither of you moved.
When he finally pulled back, his eyes were bright. "You're going to get sick."
"So are you."
"I don't get sick."
He giggled and bent down to pick up the fallen umbrella. He held it over both of you, his arm coming to rest around your shoulders.
"Your place or mine?"
"Yours is farther," you pointed out. "Mine's just off campus."
"Mine it is."
"I said mine is closer."
"I heard you." He tugged you closer, shielding you from the rain as you started walking.
Your apartment was small but warm.
Mydei stood in the doorway, dripping on the mat.
"Bathroom's through there," you said, pointing. "Towels are in the cabinet. I'll find you something to wear."
He nodded, still looking around. His eyes landed on the photos on the wall, your work, mostly, candid shots of campus life, of friends, of moments that mattered to you.
Later, he emerged from the bathroom, wearing the clothes you gave him. His hair was still damp, curling slightly at the ends.
You'd changed too. The kettle was boiling on the counter, and you were stirring two cups of tea.
You settled on the floor together, the tea warming your hands, and you pulled out an old photo album because he seemed to focus on it.
"These are from my first year."
He leaned in, his shoulder brushing yours.
The photos were a timeline of your life.
He stopped at a page of photos taken at his games.
"You kept these."
"Of course I kept them." You didn't look at him. "They're good photos."
"Not the team. Me."
He pointed at a photo of him mid-shot, the ball leaving his fingers, his face a mask of concentration.
"I mean, I took a lot of photos.."
Then he didn't say anything. He just turned the page.
"These are beautiful." he said quietly.
You opened your mouth to respond, but your phone buzzed. You glanced at it and sighed.
"I'm sorry, I have to send a few emails for work."
"Take your time."
Mydei sat on the floor, surrounded by the pages of your life. The photos.
He picked up the album, flipping back to the page with his photos.
His fingers traced the edge of one. He lifted the album to his face.
And took a long, slow inhale.
It smelled like you.
The same scent that clung to your clothes, your pillows, your skin. He closed his eyes, savoring it.
He wanted to stay here forever. In your room, surrounded by your things, breathing the same air as you.
When you came back, he'd closed the album and was scrolling through his phone.
The rain stopped an hour later.
"Thank you," he said. "For the clothes. For the tea. Forâ"
"Coming to the match?" You smiled. "I said I'd try."
"See you."
He leaned in, just for a moment, just to brush his lips against your forehead, and then he was gone.
---
The afternoon sun cast long shadows across campus as Mydei rounded the corner near the humanities building. He'd been looking for you, wanted to surprise you with coffee when he stopped short.
You were talking to Ayato.
You were laughing at something Ayato said, your head tilted back, that open, warm laugh that Mydei had come to treasure. Ayato was leaning in, his hand brushing your arm.
Mydei couldn't hear the full conversation. Just fragments.
"..this weekend, if you're free..."
"I'd love to, actually"
"...just the two of us."
You turned then, your eyes landing on him, and you startled visibly. A flash of guilt crossed your face, or was that his imagination, before you smiled and waved him over.
"Mydei! Good timing." You stepped toward him, and Ayato followed. "We were just about to come find you. Ayato's working on interview questions for the yearbook, and he wanted some input from a student athlete. I thought you'd be perfect to help."
"Interview questions?"
"Just examples," Ayato said smoothly. "We want to make sure the questions are relevant. You know how it is."
He didn't care.
But he nodded anyway. "I can help."
"Great!" You beamed at him, and the warmth in your eyes eased something in his chest. "We were just about to head to the club room. Come on."
The club room was cluttered with yearbooks, camera equipment, and stacks of papers. You settled into a chair, pulling out a notebook, while Ayato sat across from you. Mydei took the seat beside you, close enough that his knee brushed yours.
"So," Ayato began, flipping through his notes, "we're looking for questions that capture the student experience."
"Like what?" Mydei asked, his voice flat.
"What's the one memory from your time here that you'll never forget?"
You were already writing, your pen moving across the page. "That's a good one. What about the hardest challenge you've faced?"
Mydei answered mechanically, his mind elsewhere. He was watching the way Ayato leaned toward you, the way his eyes lingered on your face. The way you seemed so comfortable with him.
He hated it.
Your pen slipped from your fingers, rolling under the table.
"I'll get it." you said, already bending down.
"I've got it." Ayato said at the same time, reaching under the table.
You both dove for the pen. Mydei saw your heads heading for a collision and his hand moved before he could think.
He covered your head with his palm, shielding you just as Ayato's head bumped into his hand instead.
"Careful." Mydei said. His hand lingered on your head for a moment longer than necessary.
"Thanks."
Ayato straightened, the pen in his hand. He handed it to you, his expression a little sheepish. "Sorry about that."
"It's fine. My fault." You took the pen, your fingers brushing Ayato's, and Mydei's jaw tightened.
He pulled his hand back.
"Let's finish this," he said. "I have practice soon."
You worked through the questions, drafting sample answers, and Mydei contributed when asked. His voice was professional, but his eyes never left you.
When it was done, you thanked him with a smile. "You're a lifesaver. I'll text you later?"
"Sure," he said. "I'll see you around."
He walked out of the club room, his hands shoved in his pockets.
The door clicked shut behind him.
This is no good.
How long had that been going on? How long had you been spending time with Ayato without telling him?
He should ask you. He should just.. ask.
But the thought of hearing the answer made his stomach turn.
So he didn't.
Instead, he made a decision.
The next day, Mydei followed Ayato.
It was late afternoon, the sky beginning to darken. Ayato was walking alone, his attention on his phone. He didn't notice Mydei several paces behind.
Mydei didn't know what he was doing. He didn't have a plan. He just knew that he couldn't let Ayato keep spending time with you.
A car rounded the corner, its headlights cutting through the twilight.
Mydei saw his chance.
----
He'd done what he needed to do. Nothing serious. Just enough to keep Ayato away for a while.
He told himself it was justified.
The next practice, you arrived during his break.
"Hey," you said, handing him a water bottle. "Thought you might need this."
Mydei took it, his fingers brushing yours. "Thanks."
You settled beside him on the bench, watching the rest of his team. The gym was loud with the squeak of sneakers and the thud of the ball.
"How's the interview going?"
"Almost done. Just a few more questions to finalize." You stretched your arms above your head. "Graduation's coming up fast. I have so much to do, handing over my notes to the new club members, the yearbook layout..."
"Busy."
"Always."
His teammates drifted away, heading for the locker room, and suddenly, you were alone.
Mydei set down the water bottle. "Can I ask you something?"
"Sure."
"The other day. With Ayato." He paused, choosing his words carefully. "He asked you somewhere this weekend?"
"Yeah, he did. It's for the yearbook, we're scouting locations for the photos. Why?"
Something loosened in Mydei's chest. "Just the yearbook?"
"Is that what you were worried about?" You laughed, "Mydei, I've been drowning in work. I barely have time to breathe. Whatever Ayato asked me, it was probably work-related. What else would it be?"
He nodded as he reached down to grab a towel that had fallen to the floor, and a sharp pain shot through his side.
He winced.
You noticed immediately.
"Mydei?" You leaned forward, "What's wrong?"
"Nothing."
"You winced."
"It's fine."
You didn't believe him. You reached out, your fingers finding the hem of his shirt. Before he could stop you, you'd lifted it, exposing his torso.
A bruise bloomed near his ribs, spreading across his skin like a storm cloud.
"What happened?"
"It's nothing." he said again, pulling his shirt down. "I fell during practice. It happens."
He looked at you, at the concern etched into your face, the worry in your eyes, and something in him cracked.
"I'll go to the infirmary." he said quietly. "After practice."
"Now."
"After practice."
"Now." you repeated, and your voice left no room for argument.
He sighed. "Fine."
You watched him gather his things, your gaze lingering on him with an intensity that made his chest ache.
"I'll text you later." he said.
"Promise?"
"Promise."
The days that followed were a blur of missed texts and canceled plans.
You were busy, genuinely busy, buried in graduation preparations and club handovers and thesis revisions. Mydei was busy too, with final practices and exams and the chaos of wrapping up his own coursework.
The texts were brief. The calls, even briefer.
----
Graduation day.
The auditorium was packed with students in caps and gowns, families in their best clothes, cameras flashing from every angle. The air hummed with excitement and nostalgia, the bittersweet weight of endings and beginnings.
You sat in the row with your classmates, your cap slightly askew, a smile on your face.
You'd made it.
The ceremony was a blur of speeches and names and applause. You clapped for your friends, cheered for Himari, who blew you a kiss from across the aisle.
And then, when it was over, you spilled out into the sunlight, laughing and crying and hugging everyone in sight.
You searched the crowd for Mydei.
You found him at the edge of the courtyard, surrounded by his teammates.
You made your way toward him, weaving through the crowd.
He met you halfway.
"Congratulations."
"Congratulations to you too."
He pulled you into a hug. His arms wrapped around you, and you buried your face in his shoulder.
"Are you okay?" you asked, your voice muffled against his gown.
"Better now."
You pulled back, meeting his eyes.
"We made it." you said.
You couldn't drag this out any longer.
You glanced over Mydei's shoulder. Himari was watching you from across the courtyard, her arms crossed, her expression expectant. She'd been waiting for this. Waiting for you to finally tell him the truth.
You swallowed hard.
"Mydei," you said, your voice barely audible over the noise. "Can we go somewhere? Just for a minute?"
"Of course."
You led him away from the crowd, past the auditorium, to a quiet corner behind the building. The noise faded to a distant hum. It was just the two of you.
You turned to face him.
"There's something I need to tell you."
He waited.
The guilt was suffocating.
"Remember the day I confessed to you? After the game?" You couldn't meet his eyes. "It wasn't... it wasn't entirely genuine. Himari made a bet with me. She said if I could make a relationship last until graduation, she'd give me anything I wanted."
You forced yourself to look up.
Mydei was frozen.
His eyes were hollow.
"I thought it would be easy. Just pretend for a while, win the bet, and move on. But then I got to know you, and you were soâ" You choked on the words. "You were so wonderful, and I realized I actually cared about you, and I wanted to tell you so many times, but I was scared and I didn't know how-"
"Stop."
You stopped.
He stared at you for a long moment. His jaw was tight, his hands clenched at his sides.
"You used me..?" he said. His voice cracked on the last word. "This whole time?"
"I was... IÂ am.." You reached for him. "I didn't plan for that. It just-"
"Don't. I don't want to hear anything else." He stepped back, out of your reach. "I thought you were different."
A tear slipped down his cheek.
Then another.
He wiped them away with the back of his hand, his expression crumbling.
"Please let me explainâ"
"There's nothing to explain." His voice was flat now. "You made a bet. You won."
He turned and walked away.
You stood there, frozen, watching him disappear around the corner.
And then you sank to the ground, your knees giving out, and you let yourself cry.
You returned to Himari with red-rimmed eyes and a hollow chest.
She took one look at you and her smile faltered. "How did it go?"
"How do you think it went?"
"Shit." She pulled you into a hug. "I'm sorry."
"Just shut up, Himari."
You stood there, wrapped in her arms, and felt nothing.
The rest of the day passed in a blur.
This should have been the happiest day of your life.
Instead, it was the worst.
---
That night, you were curled up in your room, staring at the ceiling, when your phone buzzed.
Your heart lurched.
You grabbed it, hoping that it was Mydei.
It was.
The message was a photo. A picture of a familiar house.
Himari's house.
Mydei:Â I'm sorry. The problem isn't you.
You stared at the message, your hands shaking.
You:Â Mydei. What are you doing?
Mydei:Â I'm going to fix this. She ruined everything.
You:Â Don't do anything stupid.
Mydei:Â After I'm done with her, I'll end myself. Then neither of us will be a problem anymore.
You scrambled to your feet, grabbing your jacket, your keys, anything.
You:Â Don't move. Don't do anything. I'm coming.
You arrived at Himari's house breathless, your lungs burning. The gate was open. The front door was ajar.
And there, in the garden, stood Mydei.
He had a knife in his hand.
"Stop!" you shouted, "Mydei, put that down!"
He turned to look at you. "She's inside."
"Don't do this." You crossed the garden, your hands raised.
"She turned you against me. She made you lie."
"Nobody turned me against you," you said, stepping closer. "I did this. It was my choice. My mistake. Please, please don't blame her for something I did."
He shook his head, tears streaming down his face. "You were the only one. And she took that away."
"She didn't," you said. "I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere."
"You're lying."
"I'm not."
He raised the knife.
"You're lying," he repeated. "Just like before. Just like always."
And then he turned toward the house.
"MYDEI!"
You lunged forward. Your hand closed around his wrist just as he raised the knife, and in the struggle, the blade swung toward your face.
Blood trickled down your cheek, dripping onto your jacket.
The knife clattered to the ground.
He dropped to his knees, his hands reaching for you. His fingers pressed against the cut, trying to stop the bleeding.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to.."
"It's just a scratch. It stings a little, but I'll be fine."
"You're bleeding."
"It's not deep."
His arms wrapped around you, crushing you to his chest, his body shaking with sobs.
"I'm sorry," he gasped, his voice muffled against your shoulder. "I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry."
You held him, patting his back, your own tears mixing with the blood on your cheek.
"No.. I'm sorry." you whispered.
"Please. Please don't leave me. I know I don't deserve you. I know I should let you go. But I can't. I can't, I can'tâ"
"Shh." You pressed your forehead to his.
He clung to you like you were the only thing keeping him tethered to the earth.
The hospital visit was brief. A few stitches, a tetanus shot, and a stern warning about keeping the wound clean.
You sat in the waiting room, Mydei beside you, his hand gripping yours like he was afraid you'd disappear.
"Can I stay with you tonight?"
You looked at himâat the exhaustion etched into his features, the guilt weighing down his shoulders.
"Okay."
Back at your apartment, you laid out a mat on the floor for him. He refused to take the bed, insisted on staying on the floor, close to you.
You climbed into bed, your body aching with exhaustion, and closed your eyes. The last thing you saw was Mydei, sitting up on the floor, his eyes fixed on you.
"Goodnight."
You fell asleep within minutes.
Mydei didn't sleep.
He sat on the floor, his back against the bed, watching you breathe. The rise and fall of your chest. The soft flutter of your eyelids. The bandage on your cheek.
He reached up, his fingers brushing a strand of hair from your face. You stirred slightly, then settled.
He'd do anything to get back into your life.
The moonlight filtered through the curtains, casting silver patterns across your sleeping face.
He did it.
And he'd do far worse if necessary, to make sure you never left again. But lucky for you, you'd done the right thing. You'd come to him. You'd stopped him. You'd promised to stay.
And he was going to make sure you kept that promise.
He pulled out his phone, the screen lighting up his face in the darkness. He opened his hidden album, the one you didn't know about, the one filled with photos of you.
Every single one was a piece of you. And he wanted all of them.
He angled his phone toward you, capturing the soft rise and fall of your chest, the gentle curve of your lips, the bandage on your cheek that marked you as his.
Can't wait to be with you forever.
He tucked his phone away.
He settled back against the bed, his eyes still fixed on you.
You stirred slightly, a soft murmur escaping your lips. He reached up, brushing his fingers through your hair.
You had been running for three days. Three days of cheap motels with stained sheets. Three days of paying in cash.
The moment you found out the adoption papers were signed, the moment your "family" smiled like they had won something and told you that you were going to marry him, you didn't even stop to pack.
You just ran.
God knows why he chose you. Maybe it was a game to him. Some bored, filthy-rich bastard scrolling through country data lists like a shopping catalogue, picking a random name to be his latest toy. Maybe he closed his eyes and pointed. Maybe he threw a dart at a board. You didn't care.
You heard the news on a crackling gas station radio two days ago. "Local family reportedly taken hostage in connection to outstanding debts..." Your name wasn't mentioned, but you knew. Of course you knew. Your "parents" were probably on their knees right now, weeping and begging, offering up your name like a bargaining chip.
"Please, she's the one he wants... take her, just let us go..."
You couldn't care less.
They adopted you for one reason, and it wasn't love. It was labor. A free servant. A pair of hands to clean their house, cook their meals, and fetch their slippers. You were the live-in help they didn't have to pay. The only reason they bothered with the legal papers was so they could control you.
Well, the joke was on them now. They had sold you off to a predator far more dangerous than themselves, and they were reaping exactly what they sowed.
You pulled your worn hoodie tighter around your shoulders and kept walking.
The road stretched ahead, endless and grey, and you had no idea where you were going.
But anywhere was better than there.
----
Back at the estate, the air was thick with the scent of expensive cologne and even more expensive fear.
Pantalone sat in a high-backed leather chair, one leg crossed elegantly over the other, his fingers steepled beneath his chin. He looked utterly bored. The kind of bored that was far more dangerous than anger.
Anger was passionate.
Anger was something you could work with.
Boredom was when he started getting creative.
On the floor before him, two figures knelt. A man and a woman. Middle-aged. Tear-streaked faces. Their hands were bound behind their backs with silk ties, too good for them, really, but Pantalone believed in maintaining a certain aesthetic even during unpleasant business.
"Please," the woman sobbed, "Please, we don't have the money... we told you... but we gave you our daughter-"
"You gave me a daughter." Pantalone corrected smoothly, his voice like honey laced with arsenic. "Whether she's actually yours is... debatable. The adoption records were rather... convenient, weren't they? Almost like you needed someone to take the fall."
The man -her so-called father- opened his mouth to protest, but Pantalone held up a single finger.
"Ah, ah, ah. Let's not waste breath on lies. I despise liars. Almost as much as I despise debtors who think they can simply offer a person in place of currency." He tilted his head, a cold smile curling his lips. "This family owes me a significant sum. Did you think I would simply forget because you handed me a girl?"
"We... we thought..."
"You thought I would be satisfied." Pantalone laughed. It was a soft, melodic sound, utterly devoid of warmth. "My dear, I am never satisfied. Satisfaction is the enemy of ambition."
He rose from his chair, the movement fluid and unhurried, and walked toward the window. The glass reflected his face. He adjusted the cuff of his impeccably tailored sleeve, admiring the way the light caught the silver threading.
"You know," he continued, his back still turned to them, "there are many ways to settle a debt. Cash is the most convenient. Assets are acceptable. Property, jewelry, investments..." He paused, letting the silence stretch. "Organs are surprisingly lucrative on the black market. A healthy kidney, for instance, can fetch quite a price. And you both seem... moderately healthy."
The woman screamed.
The man started shaking, his voice cracking. "Please...no...we'll find her...we'll bring her back to you....just give us time."
"Time?" Pantalone turned, his smile never wavering. "My dear sir, if I wanted her back, do you think I would need your help?"
He walked back to his chair, settling into it with the grace of a king upon his throne. His eyes drifted, not to the weeping couple, but past them. Through them. Somewhere far away.
The memory came unbidden, slipping into his mind like a thief in the night.
The first time he had come to this house - what a shabby little place it was, filled with cheap furniture and cheaper people- he hadn't bothered to look at her. She was just a servant. He had dismissed her with the same casual indifference he showed all servants.
And then she had opened her mouth.
"Is that... fake?"
He had stopped mid-sentence. Turned slowly. His eyes had found her. She was staring at his suit jacket. Specifically, at the lapel pin.
"Excuse me?"Â He had asked, his voice dangerously quiet.
"The pin. Is it fake?" She hadn't even flinched. She had just stood there, tea tray still in her hands, looking at him with this... this disdain. Like she had seen a thousand men like him. Like his wealth meant nothing to her. "I saw the same one at a thrift store last week. Fifty dollars. The clerk said it was a knockoff."
His assistant had turned pale.
But Pantalone had just... stared.
No one spoke to him like that. And yet here was this girl, this nobody, this servant, looking at him like he was just another pretentious rich bastard trying to flex his money.
He had been... amused.
"It's genuine." he had said, his voice softer than he intended. "But I appreciate your... honesty."
She had shrugged and walked away.
And he had watched her go, a strange feeling curling in his chest.
Pantalone blinked, the memory fading. The couple was still kneeling, still begging, still utterly beneath his notice.
He waved a hand dismissively. "Take them to the basement. I'll decide what to do with them later."
As the guards dragged them away, their screams echoing down the hallway, Pantalone pulled out his phone.
A single message lit up the screen.
"Bus station. Eastern route."
His smile widened.
"You can run, my darling," he murmured, tracing a finger over the screen. "But you'll soon learn that I always collect what's mine."
He pocketed the phone and rose from his chair, straightening his jacket.
"Prepare the car," he called out to his assistant. "We're going on a little trip."
-----
The community center was tucked between a laundromat and a pawn shop, its fluorescent lights buzzing like trapped flies. The room smelled faintly of stale coffee and desperation - the kind of place where women came to piece themselves back together after men had shattered them.
You had found it by accident. A crumpled flyer stuck to a telephone pole, rained on and faded:
"Women's Support Group - Every Thursday - All Are Welcome - No Judgment - No Fees."
No fees.
That was the magic word.
You had been sleeping in a bus station for two nights, your money running thin, your legs still aching from running. The group met in a small circle of mismatched chairs, twelve women of varying ages, their faces etched with different shades of pain.
One had been beaten. Another had been cheated on. A third was hiding from a man who had threatened to kill her children. They spoke in low, trembling voices, and you listened, your hands wrapped around a styrofoam cup of lukewarm tea.
Then it was your turn.
"What about you, sweetheart?" the group leader asked gently. "Why are you here?"
You looked up. Twelve pairs of eyes stared back at you. Pitying eyes. The kind of eyes that had seen the worst of men and survived.
You opened your mouth.
"I ran away from my fiancĂŠ."
A murmur of understanding rippled through the group.
You shook your head to all of it. Their expressions grew confused. If not those things, then what?
You took a breath and said the words that had been eating at you for days.
"He's... rich."
Silence.
Then - laughter. Not cruel laughter, but the kind of confused, disbelieving laughter that came from thinking someone was joking. A few women chuckled, shaking their heads.
"Oh, honey, that's not a problem, that's a blessing," one woman said, wiping her eyes. "I'd kill for a rich man to chase after me."
"Seriously, is he single?" another joked.
"I'm not-" you started, your voice faltering. "You don't understand. He's not just rich. He's-"
You didn't get to finish.
A hand landed on your shoulder.
And a voice - that voice, the one you'd been running from- spoke directly into your ear, soft as silk and sharp as a blade.
"There you are, my darling."
Your blood turned to ice.
The women in the circle froze. Their laughter died in their throats. They stared at the man behind you: tall, impeccably dressed, with that chilling smile and those cold, beautiful eyes that saw everything and cared for nothing.
Pantalone.
He leaned down, his lips brushing the shell of your ear.
"I've been looking everywhere for you. You have no idea how worried I was."
Your heart slammed against your ribs like a caged bird, and your hands trembled so hard the tea sloshed over the rim of the cup.
"You.. you can't be here" you choked out.
"Of course I can." His voice was sweet, almost tender. "I'm your fiancĂŠ. It's my duty to take care of you."
He straightened up, addressing the group with that disarming smile of his. "Ladies, I apologize for the interruption. My little runaway seems to have given you the wrong impression." He chuckled, the sound warm and convincing. "We had a small disagreement. A misunderstanding. She gets these... ideas in her head. But I assure you, I only want what's best for her."
The women exchanged glances. Some looked skeptical. Others looked relieved, like they were glad the story had a simple explanation.
"Are you... are you okay with this?" the group leader asked you, her voice uncertain.
Pantalone's hand tightened on your shoulder. Just slightly.
"We'll be just fine." he said smoothly. "Isn't that right, darling?"
Every instinct screamed at you to fight, to run, to do something.
But you had run for three days. You had slept in bus stations and eaten gas station snacks and worn the same clothes until they smelled like fear and sweat.
You were so tired.
So you just nodded.
And let him lead you out of the room.
The car was sleek and black, the kind that cost more than most people's houses. The leather seats were buttery soft, the interior smelled of sandalwood and something expensive, and the windows were tinted so dark you could barely see outside.
You sat as far away from him as possible, pressed against the door, your arms wrapped around yourself.
Pantalone sat across from you, one leg crossed over the other, his fingers tapping lightly on his knee.
Silence.
Heavy, suffocating silence.
He didn't yell. He didn't do any of the things a normal person would do when their runaway fiancĂŠe was finally caught.
He just... watched you. Those eyes never leaving your face, studying you like you were a puzzle he was determined to solve.
"Don't you have anything to say?" you finally asked, your voice hoarse.
He tilted his head. "Should I?"
"You should be angry. I ran away from you. I embarrassed you. I made you look like a fool."
"Did you?" He smiled. "I don't recall feeling foolish. If anything, I was rather... impressed."
"Impressed?"
"You lasted three days. With no money, no connections, no plan." He chuckled softly. "I underestimated you. That doesn't happen often."
You stared at him, utterly baffled. "That's... that's insane. You're insane."
"Perhaps." He shrugged.
You turned away, staring out the tinted window. "This is a mistake. You don't want me. You want someone who fits into your world."
"On the contrary," he said. "I've had plenty of women who know which fork to use. They bored me."
You scoffed. "So you found me... entertaining?"
"More than that." His voice dropped, losing its playful edge. "You looked at me like I was nothing. Like my money meant nothing. Like I was just... a man."
You didn't answer.
The car pulled through an iron gate, you didn't even see it open, it just appeared, sliding open like something out of a spy movie, and then you were driving up a long, winding driveway lined with trees.
And then you saw it.
The house. No, not a house. An estate. A mansion. A sprawling architectural monstrosity of marble and glass, with more windows than a department store and a fountain in the front that looked like it belonged in a museum.
"This is your place?"
"This is one of my places," he corrected. "I have several. But this one is closest to the city. I thought you'd find it comfortable."
The servants descended on you the moment you stepped through the door.
You couldn't count them. There were too many. They took your bag (what little you had), they took your shoes, they took your hoodie and before you could protest, they were guiding you through marble hallways into a bathroom the size of your entire childhood home.
"Please undress" one servant said.
"I can do it myself-"
"We are here to serve you, miss."
You tried to resist. You really did. But they were relentless- polite but firm, like you were a child who didn't know what was good for you. Before you knew it, you were submerged in warm water, scrubbed clean, your hair washed with products that cost more than your entire wardrobe.
You felt like a doll being prepared for display.
---
Dinner was a nightmare.
The dining table was so long you could barely see the other end. Candles flickered in crystal holders. Silverware gleamed. Dishes you couldn't name were arranged in perfect rows, their aromas confusing and exotic.
You sat at one end. Pantalone sat at the other, his face half-hidden in shadow.
"You must be starving."
You stared at the food.
"Which one is... which?"
"You can begin with whatever you want."
"But I don't know what any of this is."
"Then try them all. Consider it an adventure."
You picked up a fork and stabbed at the nearest dish. Something that looked like meat, maybe, in a sauce you couldn't identify. You took a bite.
It was delicious.
"This is wrong," you said suddenly, setting the fork down. "You know this is wrong."
"Wrong?" He raised an eyebrow. "A man feeding his fiancĂŠe is wrong?"
"All of this!" You gestured wildly at the room, the table, the food, the servants. "I don't belong here! Look at me.. I'm a nobody, and you're... you're you. This was a mistake. You should cancel this. Annul it. Whatever rich people do."
He was quiet for a long moment.
Then he set down his own fork, folded his hands on the table, and looked at you with those unreadable eyes.
"Let me tell you something, my dear." His voice was soft. Deadly soft. "I have had many things in my life. Money. Power. Women who threw themselves at me. Men who feared me. I have had everything that money can buy."
He paused.
"But I have never had someone who looked at me the way you did."
"That's... that's not a reason to marry someone."
"It's the only reason I've ever needed."
"But I don't want this!"
"Then why did you get into the car?"
You opened your mouth. Closed it.
Because you were tired. Because you had nowhere else to go. Because the support group had already failed you, and the world was cold and lonely, and even this gilded cage was warmer than the bus station.
"I didn't have a choice."
"Ah." He smiled, and there was something almost sad in it. "But you did, my darling. You always have a choice." He leaned forward, his eyes boring into yours. "You chose to run. That was your choice. And now you can choose to stay. Or you can choose to run again."
"Would you even let me?"
He was quiet for a moment.
Then he said, simply: "No."
"I don't hit you," he continued calmly. "I don't cheat on you. I don't threaten you. I don't control you. I have given you everything you could possibly want- a safe place to sleep, food to eat, servants to care for you. And yet you ran." He tilted his head. "So tell me, my love. What exactly are you afraid of?"
You opened your mouth to say something cutting- something about how he was a spoiled rich bastard who didn't understand what it was like to be trapped by someone's wealth-
But the words died in your throat.
Because he was looking at you with those eyes, patient and calm, and underneath it all, you saw something flicker.
"You don't want this," he repeated, nodding slowly. "But what about me, hmm? If you truly want something to happen, it has to happen on both sides. I accepted you. But it seems you haven't accepted me."
You swallowed the lump in your throat.
"I don't even know you"
A slow smile spread across his face. "Then let's fix that."
He stood up, walked around the table, and held out his hand to you.
"Starting tomorrow, we'll do things properly. I'll tell you about myself. You can tell me about yourself." His smile softened. "And eventually, my dear, you'll realize that I'm not the monster you think I am."
You stared at his hand.
You didn't take it.
But you didn't run, either.
---
You woke before the sun.
It was instinct. Years of waking at dawn to start chores before your "family" stirred, years of being the first one up and the last one to sleep. Your body remembered the rhythm even if your mind was still catching up.
You sat up, disoriented for a moment. Where were you? The unfamiliar ceiling, the ornate furniture. Right. The mansion.
You slipped out of bed, your bare feet padding silently across the cold marble floor. The nightgown the servants had dressed you in was embarrassingly luxurious. It felt wrong on your skin, like wearing someone else's identity.
The hallway was empty. The mansion was enormous, a labyrinth of corridors and doors, and you had no idea where anything was. But you were curious. And curiosity had always been your weakness.
You crept down the grand staircase, your hand trailing along the polished banister.
And then you saw him.
He was on the first floor, standing near a massive window, his back half-turned to you. He was already dressed, immaculate suit, perfectly styled hair, not a single wrinkle in sight. In his hand was a stack of papers, and beside him stood his assistant, Charles, holding a tablet and taking notes.
"...and the quarterly reports from the eastern branch?"
"Ready for your review, sir," Charles replied. "Also, the acquisition in Liyue is proceeding as expected."
"Good. And the..."
You couldn't hear the rest. You were too busy staring.
He worked this early? You had assumed men like him slept in, lounged around, had servants bring them breakfast in bed while they counted their money. But here he was, fully dressed, already deep in business matters.
You hid behind the curved wall of the staircase, pressing yourself into the shadows.
This is your chance, you thought. He's distracted. Find out what you're dealing with.
You slipped away, moving as quietly as you could.
You wandered through the mansion, opening doors at random.
A library with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. A ballroom that could fit your entire hometown. A home theater with seats that looked more comfortable than any bed you'd ever slept in. A gym that rivaled a professional training facility.
And then you found it.
A door at the end of a long, dimly lit corridor. It was unremarkable- plain wood, no fancy carvings or gold trim. But something about it called to you.
Your hand hovered over the handle.
Don't be stupid. This is private. You shouldn't be here.
But you pushed the door open anyway.
The room was small, windowless, lined floor to ceiling with safety deposit boxes. Hundreds of them. Thousands, maybe. Gleaming metal rectangles, each with its own keyhole and number.
You stepped inside, your breath catching in your throat.
You reached out, your fingers brushing against one of the boxes.
"Fascinating, isn't it?"
You spun around.
Pantalone stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed.
"I..I was just.."
"Exploring?" He finished for you, pushing off from the doorframe and walking toward you. His footsteps were silent on the polished floor. "I told you this place was large. I didn't expect you to find this particular room, though." He stopped a few feet away, tilting his head. "Did you find what you were looking for?"
"I wasn't looking for anything," you said quickly. "I was just... curious."
"Curiosity," he repeated, a small smile playing on his lips. "A dangerous trait, my dear. But also an admirable one."
His eyes traveled down your body, not in a lecherous way, but appraising. Taking in the silk nightgown, your bare feet, your sleep-mussed hair.
"You haven't changed."
"I didn't have anything to change into."
"Ah. An oversight on my part." He turned to the doorway, raising his voice slightly. "Charles!"
"Yes, sir?"
"Have a wardrobe delivered to her room. Everything she might need. And I mean everything. Shoes, accessories, casual wear, formal wear. Whatever she wants."
Charles's pen scratched across the screen. "Of course, sir."
"And ensure the servants are aware that she is not to be disturbed unless she requests it."
"Understood."
Pantalone turned back to you. "Consider it a start. Now, shall we have breakfast?"
You sat across from Pantalone, poking at a plate of food you couldn't name. The servants hovered in the background, ready to refill your glass or clear your plate at a moment's notice.
It was suffocating.
"Can I make a rule?" you said abruptly.
Pantalone looked up from his newspaper. "A rule?"
"About... this." You gestured vaguely at the room, the servants, everything. "If I'm going to stay here.. and I'm not saying I am staying-but if I do, I want to do things my way."
He folded his newspaper, giving you his full attention. "I'm listening."
"First: I'll do things to my liking. I don't need servants hovering over me. I can dress myself, feed myself, clean up after myself. If I want something, I'll ask for it. You don't need to assign people to me like I'm a child."
"That's... unconventional."
"I'm unconventional." You met his gaze, refusing to look away. "If you wanted a proper society girl, you should have picked someone else. But you picked me. So this is what you get."
Pantalone then turned to Charles, who was standing nearby. "Make a note of that, Charles."
"Noted, sir."
"That's it? You're just... agreeing?"
"You made a reasonable request." He shrugged, returning to his newspaper. "I see no reason to deny it."
You stared at him, utterly confused.
This isn't how it works, you thought. He's supposed to argue. He's supposed to assert control. He's supposed to be a villain.
But he just sat there, calm and unbothered, like your defiance was nothing more than a minor inconvenience.
It was deeply unsettling.
You made up your mind during breakfast.
If he wanted you to learn about him, then you would. You'd follow him around, see what his life was actually like. And then you'd decide if he was worth staying for.
"I want to come with you today." you announced.
He looked up from his newspaper again. "Excuse me?"
"To work. Wherever you're going. You said you wanted me to know you, right? Well, I can't do that sitting in this mansion all day."
He set down his newspaper. "You want to see my work?"
"I want to see you." You crossed your arms. "What you do. Who you are. All of it."
"Very well. But I must warn you.. it won't be what you expect."
"I didn't expect any of this." you muttered.
He laughed and turned to Charles. "Cancel my appointments for today. We're changing plans."
Charles's face flickered, just for a second, with an expression that screamed seriously?!
But he recovered quickly, bowing his head. "Of course, sir. I'll rearrange your schedule."
----
The car pulled into a neighborhood that made your childhood home look like a palace.
Buildings were crumbling. Windows were boarded up. Trash lined the streets, and the air smelled of rot and despair. People huddled in doorways, their eyes hollow, their clothes ragged.
You stared out the window, your stomach churning. "What is this place?"
"The Slum" Pantalone said casually, as if he were naming a tourist attraction. "It's where the city's forgotten live. The ones who owe debts they can't pay."
He opened the car door, stepping out into the grime like he owned it. His tailored suit, his polished shoes, his expensive cologne, none of it seemed out of place. He was a king walking through his kingdom, even if his kingdom was a slum.
You followed him.
"Normally, he doesn't do this himself," Charles whispered as you walked. He had appeared at your side. "He has people for... collections. This is beneath him."
"Then why are we here?"
Charles glanced at you, then at Pantalone's back. "Because you're here."
A group of children had gathered nearby, dirty faces, torn clothes. They were begging, their hands outstretched, their voices thin and reedy.
"Please, miss.. spare some change.."
Your heart twisted. Without thinking, you reached for your pocket, pulling out a few crumpled bills.
A hand grabbed your wrist.
"Not now. Not here."
"But they're children"
He dragged you away, his pace quick and purposeful. The children's cries faded behind you.
"You'll understand soon."
You wanted to fight, wanted to pull away and run back to those kids, but something in his voice stopped you.
The meeting was in a run-down building, the walls stained and peeling. A man knelt before Pantalone, a middle-aged man, his hands trembling, his face slick with sweat.
"I told you, I don't have it yet.." the man stammered.
"You've had three months." Pantalone's voice was calm. Almost bored. "Three months of extensions. Three months of promises. And yet, here we are."
"I'll get it! I swear! Just give me one more week.."
"One more week, and the interest compounds. Do you understand what that means?"
The man's face went white.
"It means you'll owe me more than your life is worth."
This wasn't the man from breakfast, the one who laughed at your defiance and gave you silk nightgowns. This was something else entirely.
He collected what he came for, papers signed, promises extracted, fear sown like seeds, and then he left.
You followed him back to the car.
The children were still there.
But now, adults had joined them. Brutish men with hard faces, their fists raised. A child was on the ground, sobbing, while another adult raised a whip.
"No!"
You threw yourself in front of the children, your arms spread wide, your eyes shut tight, waiting for the blow.
The whip snapped.
But it didn't hit you.
You opened your eyes. Pantalone stood before you, one arm raised. The whip was wrapped around his forearm, and there was a thin line of red, bleeding slowly onto his pristine white sleeve.
He didn't even flinch.
"That's enough," he said calmly. "Collect your debt elsewhere."
The adults hesitated. They looked at each other, then at him. Something in his eyes made them back down.
They fled.
You turned to him. "Your arm-"
"It's nothing."
"But why?.. "
"You were about to get hit," he said simply. "I don't allow anyone to hit you."
You stared at him, speechless.
He gestured to the children, who were scrambling away. "They pickpocketed you."
You checked your pocket. The bills were gone.
"They beg..They steal from the soft-hearted. Then they give their spoils to the adults who 'protect' them."
"I didn't know-"
"Of course you didn't. But I'll teach you."
He turned away, walking toward the car.
"Wait." You ran after him, grabbing his sleeve. "The children. Can't weâI don't know... help them?"
He stopped. Looked at you.
"They're not worth saving," he said flatly. "They're parasites. They'll take and take and never give back."
"But they're just kids-"
He was quiet for a moment.
Then he said, "Come. We're going somewhere else."
"But-"
"If you want to save them, do it properly. Save them all or save none. Half measures will only make things worse."
He opened the car door, gesturing for you to get in.
You hesitated.
Then, reluctantly, you climbed inside.
He was right. The thought stung.
"Is that what you do?" you asked quietly. "Collect debts from people who can't pay?"
"Among other things." He was examining his wounded arm, dabbing at the blood with a handkerchief. "It's not my favorite task, but it's necessary."
"Necessary?"
"Money makes the world turn, my dear. And I make sure the money keeps turning." He looked at you, "You'll learn. In time."
You didn't answer.
Your mind was still on the children. On the feeling of his arm shielding you from a blow that had been meant for your back.
The car pulled into a cemetery.
It was beautiful, in a haunting sort of way. Rolling green hills dotted with headstones, ancient oak trees casting dappled shadows, flowers blooming in carefully tended plots.
You looked at Pantalone, confused. "Why are we here?"
He didn't answer. He simply opened the door and stepped out.
You followed him, your footsteps soft on the dew-damp grass. He walked with purpose, weaving between headstones until he reached a particular plot.
You hung back, watching.
He knelt down and laid a bouquet of white lilies on the grave.
And then you saw it.
His eyes. They were sad. Deeply, profoundly sad, in a way you hadn't seen before.
You looked at the headstone. A woman's name.
His mother? A sister? A lost love?
You didn't ask.
You just stood there, a respectful distance away, giving him his privacy.
Finally, he rose. His composure was back in place.
He walked back to you without a word.
The drive back was quiet.
You sat across from him, your eyes drifting to his arm. The blood had dried now, a dark stain on the pristine white fabric. You couldn't stop staring at it.
"Your arm. Does it hurt?"
He glanced down at the wound, then back at you, amused. "Just a scratch."
"That's not what I asked."
"No. It doesn't hurt."
Liar.
You bit your lip. "What are you going to do with the shirt?"
"I'll throw it away, obviously. It's ruined." He said it casually, like it was nothing.
"And just... buy a new one?"
"That's typically how it works, yes."
You were quiet for a moment, thinking about his words from earlierâabout the people who threw themselves at him, who would do anything for a piece of him.
"Out of curiosity," you began carefully, "would someone actually pay for that shirt? You know. With your blood on it?"
He stared at you.
Then, unexpectedly, he laughed. His eyes crinkled at the corners.
"Are you implying I should sell it?" he asked, his voice warm with amusement. "You're starting to make money off me, my dear. Literally from my blood."
You felt your cheeks flush. "I'm not- that's not what I meant. I was just curious."
"Relax." He waved a hand, still smiling. "I'm not offended. In fact, I find it refreshing."
"Refreshing?"
"Most people would be fawning over me right now. Asking if I need a doctor, offering to tend to my wounds, trying to earn my gratitude." He tilted his head, studying you. "You're just wondering if my blood has monetary value."
You opened your mouth to argue, then closed it.
Because... yes. That was exactly what you were wondering.
"That was insensitive. I shouldn't have.."
"Don't apologize." His voice was soft. "I'd rather have your curiosity than someone else's false concern. At least yours is genuine."
You didn't know what to say to that.
So you just nodded, put the thoughts aside, and stared out the window as the city rushed by.
That night, you found yourself in his private study.
It wasn't planned. You had been wandering again, old habits die hard, and you'd stumbled upon him, sitting in an armchair by the fire, a glass of amber liquid in his hand.
He looked up as you entered. "Couldn't sleep?"
"Couldn't stay in my room." You gestured vaguely.
"Then sit." He nodded at the chair across from him.
You hesitated. Then, against your better judgment, you sat down.
He poured you a glass. You coughed, and he laughed softly.
"Take it slow," he advised. "It's stronger than it looks."
You took another sip, smaller this time. The warmth spread through your chest, loosening something tight and anxious.
"You know," you said, staring into the amber liquid, "I feel like we could be really good friends. At some point."
He raised an eyebrow. "Friends?"
"Yeah. You know. The kind who have drinks together and talk about... stuff." You gestured vaguely. "Just not husband and wife."
He was quiet for a moment, swirling his glass.
"And why is that?"
"Because... what you're feeling right now.. this fascination, or whatever it is.. it's new, right?"
He didn't answer. But his silence was confirmation enough.
"It'll only last a while. The novelty will wear off, and then you'll realize I'm just... me. Not worth all this." You gestured at the room, the mansion, everything. "Marriage is supposed to last a lifetime. It takes more than a first impression to make it last. More than just... intrigue."
You set down your glass, meeting his gaze.
"I don't want to be someone's experiment. I don't want to be married and divorced in five years because you got bored. I want something that lasts." You took a breath. "So... I really think you should reconsider your other options. Find someone who fits your world. Someone who won't disappoint you."
He stared at you for a long moment.
"You think you'll disappoint me?"
"I think everyone disappoints everyone eventually."
He was quiet again.
"You're wrong about one thing."
"What's that?"
He opened his mouth to answer. But you never heard it.
Because the alcohol hit you all at once, your head dropping to the table with a soft thunk.
You woke briefly to the sensation of being carried.
You murmured something incoherent, your head lolling against his chest.
"Shh," he whispered. "Go back to sleep."
The sheets were cool and soft. A blanket was pulled up to your chin. A hand brushed the hair from your forehead.
Then footsteps faded away, and the door clicked shut.
You sank back into darkness.
---
You woke with a headache that felt like a thousand tiny hammers pounding against your skull.
"Ugh," you groaned, pressing a hand to your forehead. "Never again."
You stumbled out of bed, still in last night's clothes. Your hair was a disaster, and you desperately needed water, coffee, and possibly a new head.
You made your way down the hallway, toward the grand staircase, and stopped.
A woman's voice echoed up from the first floor.
"âI don't care about your 'business' or your 'commitments'! When am I going to get a grandchild?!"
You crept to the edge of the staircase, peeking down.
A woman stood in the foyer, elegantly dressed, silver-haired, with the kind of imperious presence that could only come from a lifetime of being obeyed. She was pointing a finger at Pantalone, who stood calmly before her.
"Mother," he said, "We've discussed this."
"We've discussed nothing! You keep putting it off! First you were too young, then you were too busy, then you said you needed to 'find the right person' well, have you found her or not?!"
Pantalone opened his mouth to respond, and then he looked up. His eyes met yours.
Oh no, you thought. Oh no, no, no.
"Actually," he said smoothly, "I'd like you to meet someone."
You traitor.
You tried to retreat, but it was too late. His mother's head snapped up, her sharp eyes locking onto you like a hawk spotting prey.
"Who is that?" she demanded. "A servant? Why is she dressed like that? And why is she on the second floor?"
"She's my fiancĂŠe" Pantalone said calmly.
Your stomach dropped.
"Your what?!" The woman's voice reached a pitch that could shatter glass. "You never told me about a fiancÊe! Where did she come from?! What family? What name?"
"Her name isâ"
"Don't you dare introduce me!" you hissed down at him. "I'm not part of this!"
But it was too late.
His mother was already marching up the stairs, her heels clicking against the marble. She stopped in front of you, her eyes raking over your disheveled appearance with obvious disdain.
"You're the one? Stand up straight! Look at me when I'm speaking to you! What's wrong with your hair? And why are you wearing that nightgown in the middle of the day? Are you ill? Are you lazy? Explain yourself!"
You looked desperately at Pantalone.
He was standing at the bottom of the stairs, a small, smug smile on his face, clearly enjoying your suffering.
I'm going to kill him, you thought. I'm going to kill him in his sleep.
"I'm not his fiancĂŠe," you said quickly. "I'm just.. I'm a guest."
"Guest?" The woman's eyes narrowed. "A guest who sleeps in a nightgown and sneaks around upstairs? Do you take me for a fool?"
"Iâ"
"She's being modest," Pantalone called up. "We're engaged. It's official. I was going to announce it at the family dinner next week."
"YOU WHAT!??"
"Let's discuss this over tea. She's still tired from last night. She needs her rest."
He was already climbing the stairs, his hand sliding into yours and pulling you away from the woman's wrath.
"We're not done talking!" she shouted after you.
The door to your room shut behind you, muffling her voice.
You rounded on him. "What was that?! Why did you tell her we're engaged?! We're not anything!"
He leaned against the door, rubbing his injured arm absently. "I had to tell her something. She's been pestering me for years."
"And you threw me under the bus?!"
"You were already on the bus, my dear." He smiled. "You just didn't know it yet."
You glared at him.
He smiled back, utterly unrepentant.
"Congratulations," he said. "You've just met the most terrifying woman in my life. And she already approves of you."
"How do you figure that?!"
"She didn't throw anything at you. That's high praise, coming from her."
You wanted to scream.
Instead, you grabbed a pillow and threw it at his face.
He caught it effortlessly, laughing as he left the room.
---
You waited until the mansion was quiet.
Midnight. The time when even the most vigilant servants retreated to their quarters, and the halls fell into darkness.
You had packed light, just the essentials. A change of clothes. Some cash you'd managed to find in a drawer. A small knife for protection. Nothing that would weigh you down.
You crept through the corridors, your footsteps silent on the marble floor. Your heart pounded in your chest, but your mind was clear.
This time, you thought, I'll make it.
The front door was just ahead. .
You reached for the handle.
And a hand clamped down on your wrist.
"Going somewhere?"
You spun around.
Pantalone stood behind you, his eyes gleaming in the dim light.
"How did you-"
"I have cameras everywhere, my dear. And motion sensors. And guards who report to me directly." He smiled, but there was something cold in it. "Did you really think I'd let you run again?"
You tried to pull away, but his grip was like iron.
"Let me go," you hissed. "I don't want to be here. I don't want to be married to you. I don't want any of this!"
"And yet, here you are." He pulled you toward him, his face inches from yours. "Running again. Like a frightened little bird."
"I'm not frightened. I'm sane."
"Sane people don't run from luxury, my dear. Sane people stay put and enjoy the comfort."
"Sane people don't trap other people in marriages they don't want!"
He was quiet for a moment.
Before you could react, he had scooped you up, one arm under your knees, the other around your back, and carried you up the stairs.
"Put me down!" You beat against his chest. "Put me down right now!"
"Shh." His voice was calm, almost soothing. "You'll wake the household."
"I don't care! Put me-"
He kicked open the door to your bedroom and dropped you onto the bed.
You scrambled backward, pressing yourself against the headboard. He loomed over you.
"Stop," you said, your voice trembling. "Just stop. We can talk about this."
"I've done nothing but talk," he said. "I've been patient. I've been kind. I've given you space, given you freedom, given you everything you asked for. And what do you do?" He leaned down, bracing his hands on either side of you. "You run. Again."
You opened your mouth to argue-
"Have you ever considered my thoughts?" he continued, his voice low and intense. "Have you ever considered that I might actually want this? That I'm not just playing a game?"
"I.."
"I've never disagreed about this. Not once. The only one who objects is you."
He reached out, his fingers brushing against your cheek. You flinched, but he didn't pull away.
"If you insist on running," he said softly, "I'll find you. Wherever you go, I'll find you. And I'll bring you back. Every single time."
"Then I'll run again," you whispered. "I'll never stop."
"Then I'll never stop chasing." He leaned closer, his lips inches from yours. "We can do this forever, if you'd like. But eventually, you'll tire. And I'll still be here, waiting."
You tried to push him away, but he caught your wrists, pinning them above your head.
"Let go of me! "
His hand moved down your side. His fingers slipped beneath the hem of your shirt, brushing against your bare skin.
"Stop," you said, your voice cracking. "Pantalone, please-"
"Please what?" His thumb traced a slow circle on your hip. "Please stop? Or please continue?"
"I hate you," you spat. "I hate you so much."
He smiled. "Hate and love are closer than you think, dear."
And then he kissed you.
It wasn't gentle. It was consuming, claiming. Like he was branding you with his lips, marking you as his.
When he pulled back, you were breathless.
"Tell me," he murmured against your ear, "do you know what the rate of pregnancy before marriage is these days?"
You froze. "What?"
"Quite high, actually." His lips brushed against your jaw. "If you'd rather have a baby to keep this marriage together, I'm more than willing to oblige."
"No!"
"Are you sure? Because I think a child would suit you. A little girl with your eyes, my smile. She'd be beautiful. And she'd tie you to me forever."
He reached for his shirt, his fingers working at the buttons.
The door flew open.
"Oh! Oh my!"
You both froze.
His mother stood in the doorway, her hand over her mouth. Her eyes were wide, darting between you and her son.
"I didn't know you took my words so seriously," she said, her voice dripping with amusement. "I apologize for the interruption."
Then she smiled and pulled the door shut.
The lock clicked.
"CARRY ON, YOU TWO!"
You stared at the door in disbelief.
Then you looked at Pantalone.
He was still above you, his shirt half-unbuttoned, his expression a mix of shock and embarrassment.
"Your mother," you said flatly, "just locked us in."
"She did."
"And she's probably going to announce the pregnancy at the next family dinner."
"Most likely." He rubbed the back of his neck. "She's... enthusiastic."
You pushed him off you, sitting up. "This is insane. This whole situation is insane."
He sat beside you, his shoulder brushing against yours. "I don't disagree."
"And you just..you threatened to get me pregnant-"
"Threatened is a strong word. I offered a solution."
"A solution to a problem you created!"
"I meant what I said. I don't want you to run. I want you to stay. And if a child is what it takes to make you stay, then..."
You stared at him. This man, who could have anything, who could have anyone, was willing to go to such extremes.
It was terrifying.
You took a deep breath.
"Fine" you said.
He blinked. "Fine?"
"Fine. I'll marry you. But on one condition."
"Name it."
You turned to him, meeting his gaze. "I want a contract."
"A contract?"
"If you ever divorce me half of your wealth becomes mine. Every last penny. Every property. Every investment. I'll take you for everything you're worth."
He stared at you.
"Are you serious?" he asked.
"Completely. You want to marry me? Then you'd better be sure. Because if you change your mind, if you get bored, if you decide I'm not worth the trouble, I'll ruin you."
"You're more dangerous than I thought." he murmured.
"I learned from the best."
A slow smile spread across his face.
"Fine," he said. "I'll have Charles draw up the papers tomorrow. But I warn you, my dear.. I never lose. And I never back out of a deal."
"Neither do I."
He reached out, taking your hand. "Then we have an agreement."
You shook his hand, your grip firm.
"I should warn you," he added, "that this will only make me more determined. If you think you can escape me now..."
He stood up, walking toward the door. He unlocked it, his mother had left the key in the lock, the meddling woman, and paused at the threshold.
"One more thing" he said, looking back at you.
"What?"
"If you ever do manage to escape, I'll give you a head start. A day, maybe two. To make it interesting."
"You're insane."
"Probably." He smiled. "But I'm your insane fiancĂŠ. You agreed to that, remember?"
He left you alone, standing in the middle of the room, your heart pounding.
The wedding was held three weeks later.
It was a grand affair, flowers, music, hundreds of guests you didn't recognize. You wore a dress that cost more than your adoptive family's house. You walked down the aisle toward the man who had hunted you down like prey.
And you thought, This is it. I agreed to this. I made my choice.
But as you stood before the altar, exchanging vows, you couldn't shake the feeling that you'd been outmaneuvered.
The contract was signed. If he divorced you, you'd be rich. If he stayed married to you, you'd be trapped.
Either way, he won.
Was this all a setup? you wondered. Did he plan this from the beginning?
He had hunted you down twice. He had used his mother's interference to his advantage. He had threatened you with a child, and you had folded.
And now here you were, his wife, standing in front of hundreds of witnesses.
He got what he wanted, you realized. He got exactly what he wanted.
The ring slid onto your finger.
And as he leaned in to kiss you, you heard his mother clapping enthusiastically from the front row.
"FINALLY!" she shouted. "NOW GIVE ME GRANDCHILDREN!"
The guests laughed. You didn't.
Pantalone pulled back, his lips brushing against your ear.
"Don't worry," he whispered. "I'll give you time. We have the rest of our lives to figure this out."
Nothing could go wrong from this point, you told yourself. I have the contract. I'm safe.
But as you walked back down the aisle, your new husband's hand on yours, you couldn't shake the feeling that you had just walked into a trap.
In a world where magic and science exist side by side, the Vanguard Athenaeum is the greatest academy for those chosen to shape the future.
Students belong to one of five prestigious Houses, each with its own ideals, strengths, and traditions. From powerful battle mages to inventors, leaders, and guardians of nature, every House trains its members for a different role in the world.
Friendships, rivalries, hidden secrets, and dangerous ambitions all begin within the walls of the Athenaeum, where every choice can change a person's fate.
"Stay together, everyone! Don't let the architecture distract you just yet!" called out Pela, a third-year from House Aether-Pulse, easily identifiable by the glowing, holographic silver trim on her navy tech-vest. She walked backward, clapping her hands to gather the attention of the fifteen nervous first-years trailing behind her. "I know itâs a lot to take in. But today is just the baseline. You have exactly one week from today to explore the campus, attend the open forums, and choose your House."
All around, the ambient hum of the Vanguard Athenaeum was overwhelming. Hundreds of students crossed the vast courtyard. You kept your head down, adjusting the strap of your bag as you hurried to keep pace with the tour group.
"Is it true that once you pick, you can't change it?" a boy near the front asked.
"Absolutely true." Pela replied. "The Five Houses aren't just clubs, they are lifelong networks. You get seven days to feel out the vibes. Use them wisely."
"I already know I'm pledging Nocturn-Helix" a girl beside you whispered eagerly to her friend, her eyes fixed on a group of upperclassmen standing in the shadow of a pillar. They wore neat, midnight-black uniforms accented by sharp dark violet bows and ties, but each had styled it with a distinct witchy flair. One wore a crisp pleated skirt and long, dangling silver crescent earrings, while another wore a fluid black cape and a pointed dark wool hat. "They have access to the restricted digital archives. Imagine the leverage."
You remained quiet, your eyes tracking the sheer variety of people.
The Aethel (those born with innate magic), the Logician (scholars, technocrats, and alchemists who harness natural laws and forbidden knowledge), and the Mundane (everyday citizens who navigate the infrastructure built by the other two).
"Now, weâre heading into the eastern promenade, which connects the main lecture halls to the elemental archives." Pela announced, turning around to guide the group through a massive, arched threshold. "This area is typically shared with House Jade-Thyrsus, so please keep your voices down. They value their quiet."
The moment the group crossed the threshold, the temperature dropped subtly, carrying the crisp, grounding scent of rain and crushed pine.
"Look, it's him." someone muttered ahead of you.
Walking down the center of the wide corridor was a tall figure. He wore a long, forest-green coat that perfectly fused a sharp modern fit with a high-collared ancient style, fastened neatly with jade closures. Two horns curved gracefully from his hair, and a draconic tail floated slightly behind him.
He didn't slow his pace as the tour group approached, his hands loosely clasped behind his back.
"Good afternoon, Prefect Dan Heng." Pela said quickly, stepping slightly to the side and offering a respectful nod.
"Afternoon, Pela. Keep the group to the right. The lower archives are undergoing a resonance alignment."
"Understood, we'll stay clear."
As he resumed his stride, passing directly by the cluster of freshmen, the group naturally pressed outward to give him space. You stepped back against the wall, but as he drew parallel to you, his gaze shifted.
For a second, his eyes locked onto yours. The cold intensity of his gaze sent a sudden, sharp chill down your spine, pinning you to the spot. And then, just as quickly, he was past.
"Whoa," the boy next to you breathed, rubbing his arms. "He looks like he could kill someone just by looking at them. Is he a Logician or an Aethel?"
"Both." Pela said. "But there's no time to explain. Now, come along, let's get to the Gallery of Lineage."
----
The next morning, the campus felt completely different. The quiet, serious mood of yesterday's orientation was gone. Instead, the school was full of noise and excitement, almost like a festival. Banners from the five factions hung from the balconies, and booths filled the central courtyard, each showing off what made their faction special.
By lunch time, you had ended up with two other first-year students who looked just as lost as you. One was Renzo, a loud and friendly Logician who kept checking techspecs on his clear tablet. The other was Maya, a quiet girl who seemed to be holding back more energy than she knew what to do with.
The three of you spent the morning carrying supplies from the central dispensary before exploring the faction booths. Your arms were full of thick alchemy textbooks and digital storage drives, making the walk across campus even more exhausting. The club activities were supposed to help first-years decide which House suited them best by letting everyone experience each one's style firsthand.
"Come on, we have to watch the Aether-Pulse demo again!" Renzo said, shifting the heavy books in his arms as he hurried toward a pavilion where bright blue sparks were changing lines of code in midair.
"It looks impressive, but it's all show." Maya replied.
You walked between them, balancing a small glowing crystal sphere on top of your stack of books. Every first-year received one to measure their magical resonance. As you listened to your new friends talk so confidently about their choices, a knot of worry formed in your stomach.
You had visited all five exhibitions, but none of them had sparked that instinctual pull. You were completely stuck.
"Hey, look out!" Renzo shouted.
The warning came a second too late.
As the crowd pushed through the eastern promenade, someone slammed into your shoulder. The heavy textbooks slipped from your hands. The glowing crystal sphere rolled off the top and fell toward the hard stone floor.
Your heart sank. Breaking a diagnostic sphere on your second day would be a disaster.
Just before it landed, the sphere stopped in midair. A faint green glow wrapped around it. Then, as if an invisible hand had caught it, it slowly floated back up and settled gently into your waiting hands.
"Watch where you're going, freshman!" a girl snapped from ahead.
You looked up, still clutching the glowing sphere. A few steps away stood an upperclassman from House Jade-Thyrsus.
"March."
"Dan Heng," March murmured, stepping back. "The freshmen weren't watching where they were going. One of them nearly dropped their diagnostic sphere in the middle of the main thoroughfare." She let out a sigh. "Can you imagine if it had shattered? We'd have crystal shards and unstable mana all over the walkway."
"It was an accident." Dan Heng said flatly, his voice carrying a calm weight that brooked no argument. "Return to the archive room. The resonance alignment requires your supervision."
March bit her lip, offered a quick nod, and hurried past your group without another word.
Dan Heng didn't leave right away. Instead, he looked at you for a long moment. Renzo and Maya stood frozen beside you, but he didn't spare them a glance.
"March was only worried someone would get hurt," he said quietly. "She meant no offense. The workload has been... heavy lately."
His eyes lingered on you for another second, as if quietly judging something only he could see. Then he turned and walked back toward the eastern wing.
"Oh my god...." Renzo whispered, finally exhaling. "Did the Head of Jade-Thyrsus just save your grade? And your life?"
"He was looking right at you," Maya remarked, her eyes narrowing slightly in curiosity. "That house barely acknowledges anyone outside their circle."
----
Two days passed in a blur of restless energy.
The initial excitement of the orientation week began to curdle into high stakes pressure as the Friday deadline loomed closer. The grand atrium was now lined with heavy drop-boxes where students were officially casting their House Pledges.
Everyone around you had found their place, anchoring themselves to their chosen paths.
You stood alone near the edge of the courtyard, holding your blank pledge form in your hand. You had exactly forty-eight hours left to decide where you belonged, but every time you tried to picture yourself in one of the houses, your mind kept drifting back to the heavy, antique stillness of the eastern promenade, the scent of crushed pine, and the cold, unyielding weight of a pair of eyes that felt entirely impossible to escape.
----
The next afternoon, the pressure of choosing a House was becoming hard to ignore. Wanting a break from the noisy, crowded courtyard, you slipped into the academy's massive central library.
You wandered through the quiet history section, running your fingers along rows of old books. Curious, you pulled one from the shelf and glanced through the gap it left.
You froze. On the other side of the bookshelf sat Dan Heng.
The soft light from a desk lamp reflected off his horns as he calmly read a thick book. His tail rested loosely on the floor beside him.
As if sensing someone nearby, he stopped turning the page.
He quietly closed the book, lifted his head, and looked straight through the gap in the shelf. Right at you.
Realizing you had been caught staring, you swallowed your nervousness, stepped around the end of the shelf, and approached his desk with a quiet, apologetic step.
"I'm sorry to interrupt..." you murmured, keeping your voice low to respect the library's silence. "I'm... Y/N L/N. I wanted to thank you properly for saving my globe the other day."
"Dan Heng," he replied briefly, "And there is no need to thank me. The globe would have been a hassle to replace."
His eyes drifted down to the book you were still holding tightly against your chest. "A study on ancient spatial wards and elemental flow. An advanced choice for a freshman."
"I was just... looking." you admitted, feeling a bit self-conscious.
"Have you made your decision yet?" Dan Heng asked, "The deadline is tomorrow."
You let out a soft sigh, looking down at the wooden floor. "No. Honestly, I still have none. I don't feel like I fit into any of them."
Dan Heng was silent for a moment. He looked at you, his eyes tracing the subtle, nervous energy radiating from you.
"You should consider House Jade-Thyrsus as a considerable option." He stood up, his tall frame casting a long shadow over the desk. He picked up his book, sliding it back into its precise slot on the shelf. "I watched your resonance alignment when you caught the globe. You have rare potential."
Your heart did a strange, sudden flutter at his words. "I... I will think about it. Thank you."
He offered a single, almost imperceptible nod of acknowledgment. "I will see you around, Y/N."
---
The next morning, the grand atrium was packed to the brim. It was House Picking Day.
You looked down at your pledge slip. The ink was dry, and your name was written clearly at the top. With a steady hand and a sudden, calm certainty, you stepped forward, bypassed the blue, violet, red, and gold boxes, and slipped your paper into the green box.
---
The official semester started with a huge wave of noise. The five houses had a few private classes, but most of them were huge joint lectures where everyone sat together.
The very first class was Introduction to Prophecy. It was a subject that relied completely on natural talent, and you knew right away you weren't good at it. While a few students saw clear visions in their magic mirrors, yours only showed blurry shapes. You didn't mind, you didn't take the class too seriously.
The school was filled with the sound of hundreds of footsteps and loud chatter.
While walking down the central corridor, you saw Prefect Aglaea of House Veritas Lux. Her appearance was really rare, she was always busy with council meetings.
You were totally distracted. That distraction turned out to be a mistake.
As you walked past a transmutation classroom, a loud bang echoed from inside. A neon-pink spell came flying out of the door, bounced off a pillar, and hit you right in the chest.
Everything spun, and the world suddenly shot upward. Your hands turned into furry paws, and a heavy, striped tail thudded against the floor.
You had been turned into a raccoon.
A dozen new students ran out of the classroom, shouting and pointing. Since they were completely untrained, they started frantically throwing more spells to "help." Sparks flew everywhere, and it was scary to think if they would make the situation worse. The professor had completely lost control of the chaotic class.
You scrambled on all fours, dodging a freezing spell that turned the floor to ice. Feet stomped dangerously close, and you shut your eyes, waiting to get stepped on.
Suddenly, a shadow fell over you, shielding your small body from the crowd.
"Whoa, hold on everyone!"
A pair of arms reached down and scooped you up safely. It was March. She held you close, blinking down at you in excitement. "Oh my gosh, look at you! Whose pet is this? Did someone smuggle a raccoon into the spell wing?"
Dan Heng stepped forward, his figure immediately cutting through the crowd. His tail gave a sharp snap against the floor, and the chaotic freshmen instantly froze, dropping their wands.
Dan Heng leaned in, his sharp eyes narrowing as he took just one look at your furry face. He recognized you immediately.
He raised his hand, tracing a smooth line in the air above your head, trying to channel his elemental magic to reverse the spell. A soft glow hummed over you, but after a second, it flickered out. The transmutation was stubborn; a messy, combined stray spell from an untrained student was harder to undo than a standard hex. He couldn't fix you back to human just yet.
"Go to your classrooms" Dan Heng ordered. He looked directly at the student who had fired the spell. "As for the disorder caused today, your house will receive a punishment later for causing trouble in the halls. Dispersed."
The crowd melted away in seconds.
March looked at you, then at Dan Heng. "Uh, Dan Heng? What do we do? We have the Council meeting with Aglaea right now."
Dan Heng didn't hesitate. He reached out and carefully took your small, furry form from March's arms, cradling you securely against his chest. "We take Y/N with us. I will find a counter-spell in the archives afterward."
You sat completely still in his arms the whole time. As he walked down the corridors toward the administrative wing, you buried your small face into the fabric of his coat, listening to the steady, calming beat of his heart.
The meeting was held in a grand hall. When Dan Heng walked in and took his seat, the other house leaders paused. Throughout the entire long discussion, everyone secretly wondered why the notoriously strict, serious Head of Jade-Thyrsus had suddenly got himself a new pet. Aglaea glanced over several times, her expression laced with quiet amusement, while March sat across the table, biting her lip and desperately trying to hold in her laughter.
Through it all, Dan Heng remained perfectly professional. He took notes with one hand, while his other hand gently and absentmindedly stroked the fur along your back.
At the end of the day, after the meeting finally adjourned, Dan Heng brought you straight to the restricted section of the library. It took him about an hour of browsing through ancient texts, but he finally found the exact counter-transmutation ritual.
He placed the book open on the desk and raised his hand. A bright, soothing green light enveloped you. With a soft pop, the heavy fur vanished, and you were suddenly standing on your own two feet again.
"Thank you..." you said quickly, checking your hands. "I'm so sorry for ruining your day."
"You didn't ruin anything." Dan Heng said softly, "Though you skipped some classes for today, don't worry about it. I will be responsible for teaching you and helping you keep up later."
You smiled, feeling a wave of relief. "Thank you, Prefect. I'll see you tomorrow."
Dan Heng stood by the desk, watching your retreating figure until you vanished around the corner. He looked down at his palm, where a few stray pieces of your soft, raccoon fur were still clinging to his skin. He brushed them gently, realizing a strange, quiet emptiness in his chest. He already missed the weight of you, the small size of you resting so vulnerably against his heart, completely dependent on him.
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I wanted to write this with a few alterations to the Arknights: Endfield storyline, so that people who haven't played the game can see just how much potential this character has. Plus, hopefully it convinces you to give the game a shot!
â Ë･âŕ¨âĄŕ§â Ë･â
Ardashir x Endmin!Reader
The scent of the flowers was cloying, a suffocating perfume that seemed to mock the lethargy dragging at your limbs. You were slumped against the earth, the soft petals pressing against your clothes, but you couldn't find the strength to stand.
A shadow fell over you, blotting out the harsh sun. Ardashir stepped into your line of sight. He knelt beside you in the field, his expression a strange, unsettling mixture of pity and predatory fondness.
He reached out, his hand hovering for a heartbeat before his thumb grazed your jawline.
You tried to pull away, straining to tilt your head back, to retreat from his touch, but your limbs remained unresponsive.
You reached for the power within you, pouring every scrap of your remaining vitality into the effort, begging for a surge, a spark to manifest and push him back.
"Don't overwork yourself." He didn't sound like an enemy, his tone dripping with a concern that made your skin crawl. "Your body is already reaching its limit. Why fight a battle that has already been decided?"
He didn't pull his hand away. Instead, he slid his palm against yours, his fingers interlocking firmly with your own.
"Abandon this path," he continued, "The road you are on only leads to oblivion. You have given so much, and for what? Look at what they have left you with."
The gaps in your memory were indeed a constant, aching wound. You knew how much you had lost, how fragile your sense of self had become, but that only made his words more dangerous. You knew enough to know that his "truth" was a weapon, and his "kindness" was merely a cage.
You pulled your hand, though your fingers remained locked with his, unable to break the contact.
"No." you spat out, the word feeling like a blade. Your voice was thin, but it held the weight of iron. "I may be weak right now, but I know who I am, and I know exactly what you are."
You stared him down, refusing to look away even as exhaustion threatened to swallow you whole. "We will definitely stop your plan."
For a fleeting second, his eyes sparked with a dark, quiet amusement. It was a look that didnât just dismiss your word, it looked down on them, treating your fierce defiance as the adorable, futile struggle of a cornered bird.
He let go of your hand, the sudden loss of his warmth leaving a cold ache in your fingers. He stood up, looking down at you with a soft, condescending smile as he began to dismantle your hope, piece by piece.
"Your team," Ardashir murmured, "The little band of idealists you cling so tightly to? They are nothing but fragile obstacles in a grander design. They cannot save you. They cannot even save themselves."
As he spoke, a brief, bitter flash of something raw and ugly crossed his features - a subtle, sharp twist of jealousy. He hated that they held the spaces in your mind that he wanted to claim. He hated that, even in your hollowed-out state, your loyalty belonged to them and not to him.
But the bitterness vanished as quickly as it had appeared, replaced once more by that stifling, gentle mask. He slowly lifted your hand, leaned down and pressed a kiss to the back of your hand.
"Until we meet again.."
And then, he was gone.
The lethargy evaporated. Your limbs grew light, your strength rushing back into your veins in a sudden, overwhelming torrent. You could move.
Instantly, you scrambled backward, lifting your hand and fiercely wiping the back of it against your sleeve.
"Endministrator!"
The panicked voice shattered the silence of the field. Perlica burst through the flowers, the rest of the team close behind her. They rushed to your side, hands hovering over you, checking for wounds. But as they took in your frantic state and the way you were aggressively scrubbing the back of your hand against your clothes, their worried expressions morphed into utter confusion.
"Are you hurt?"
You lowered your arm. "It's nothing." you said, your voice firming up as you stood up on your own two feet, brushing the dirt and petals from your clothes. "We have a mission to do. Let's move."
They still looked highly skeptical, reluctantly, they nodded, falling into formation and focusing back on the task at hand.
As you walked among them, your mind was miles away. You knew, with absolute certainty, that your paths would cross again. He wouldn't stay away, and neither would you. But next time, things would be different.
Until that day came, you would do whatever it took to recover your full power.
Any chance of an Lucky Egg for Ashveil? The man is such a dog/hound coded dork, I love him so much
If not, then still thank you. Love your works and glad to see you back â¤ď¸â¤ď¸â¤ď¸
LUCKY EGG
Yandere!Ashveil x Reader
The steady tapping of your keyboard was the only sound left in the office. As the personal assistant to one of the busiest CEOs in the country, your life revolved around calendars, boarding passes, and meetings scattered across more time zones than you cared to count.
Your boss rarely stayed in one place for long. It wasn't easy, but you had become remarkably good at your job. The company trusted you to keep pace with a man who never seemed to slow down, and despite the demanding workload, you had yet to miss a deadline.
By the time the office had emptied for the night, only one task remained.
With a sigh, you pushed back your chair and made one final round through the executive suite. You straightened the files on your boss's desk, gathered the empty coffee cups that had accumulated throughout the day, and finally reached for the small trash bin tucked neatly beneath the desk. After emptying its contents into a larger garbage bag, you tied the top into a tight knot and headed toward the service hallway.
The building was unusually quiet at this hour. Most of the lights had already been dimmed, leaving only the fluorescent fixtures along the corridor to illuminate your path. The plastic bag rustled softly at your side as you walked toward the disposal room, your mind already drifting to the few hours of sleep waiting for you before tomorrow's schedule began all over again.
Just as you reached the disposal door, one of the overhead lights flickered.
You slowed instinctively, your eyes lifting toward the ceiling before a flicker of movement caught the corner of your vision. A shadow slipped across the hallway with impossible speed, gliding over the polished floor without making so much as a sound. It didn't resemble a person, nor did it seem to belong to anything casting a shadow in the corridor.
Before you could make sense of what you had seen, the shape swept past you, carrying with it a brief gust of cool air. Something heavy rolled across the floor with a dull thud before coming to rest against the toe of your shoe.
A voice drifted through the silence, quiet and strangely layered, as though several whispers had merged into one.
"Take good care of it. It will change your life."
Your head snapped up at once.
"Huh?.. Wait!"
The hallway was empty.
The strange shadow had vanished as suddenly as it had appeared. After waiting several seconds for someone, or something, to reappear, you cautiously lowered your gaze to the object resting against your foot.
It looked like an egg, though it was noticeably large, unlike anything you had ever seen before. When you reached down to touch it, the shell was unexpectedly warm, and lifting it required both hands despite its perfectly smooth shape.
You stood there for another moment, glancing up and down the deserted hallway in the hope that someone would step forward with an explanation. No one came.
With little choice but to take it with you, you carried the strange egg back to your office and carefully placed it in the center of your desk beside your color-coded planner. Surrounded by neatly stacked files and tomorrow's itinerary, the oversized egg looked completely out of place, as though it had wandered in from another world and decided to make itself at home.
You stared at it in silence, hoping that the longer you looked, the more sense it would make.
It didn't.
----
You weren't sure when you had fallen asleep.
The sharp ringing of your phone pulled you from a restless slumber, and with a groan, you reached across the nightstand until your fingers found it. Squinting against the brightness of the screen, you saw your boss's name flashing across the display.
That was enough to wake you up.
You answered the call. "Good morning."
"It is anything but a good morning," your boss replied "Care to explain why I found your resignation letter in my mail first thing today?"
You sat upright, convinced you had misheard him.
"My... resignation letter?"
"Yes."
"I didn't write one."
The words left your mouth before you had time to think.
"You're telling me you didn't submit it."
"I'm telling you I have no idea what you're talking about."
Another pause followed.
"...We'll discuss this tomorrow."
The call ended before you could ask another question.
You lowered the phone and remained seated for a moment, replaying the conversation in your head. A resignation letter? It didn't make any sense.
Almost absentmindedly, your eyes wandered toward your desk.
The egg was gone.
The space where you had carefully placed the strange object only hours earlier sat completely empty.
You searched the office anyway, checking beneath the desk, behind the filing cabinets, and even inside the storage closet despite knowing how ridiculous it was. The egg had simply vanished.
By then, your exhaustion had begun to outweigh your confusion.
There was nothing else you could do, and standing in the middle of an empty office wasn't going to produce any answers. After gathering your belongings, you locked up and made your way home, hoping that a few hours of uninterrupted sleep would make the entire situation seem a little less absurd.
Your apartment greeted you with welcome silence.
You dropped your bag near the entrance, changed into something more comfortable, and let yourself fall backward onto the bed. For once, tomorrow's meetings, revised schedules, and travel itineraries didn't occupy your thoughts. Instead, your mind kept returning to the same unanswered question.
Who could have left that egg?
It was the last thing you remembered thinking before sleep quietly overtook you.
You had no idea how much time had passed when a loud metallic rattle jolted you awake.
For a brief, disoriented moment, you lay still, listening.
The sound came again.
Someone was trying to unlock your front door.
The handle twisted repeatedly, as though whoever stood outside was convinced they had the right key. When the lock refused to give way, the person tried again with more force before slamming a fist against the door hard enough to rattle the frame.
The pounding had only grown louder, and every instinct told you to stay as far away from it as possible. You reached for your phone, already preparing to dial the police, when your hand suddenly stopped.
It simply wouldn't move.
Your fingers remained wrapped around your phone, but your arm refused to lift no matter how hard you tried. It felt as though an invisible hand had settled over yours, gently but firmly holding it in place.
"What...?"
Before panic could fully set in, the deadbolt turned on its own.
And your front door slowly swung inward.
You stared, unable to move as someone stepped inside. Several paper shopping bags rustled as they were set down on your dining table.
Only then did the strange pressure disappear.
Your arm was free again.
You wasted no time marching out of your bedroom, ready to demand an explanation from whoever had just broken into your apartment.
Instead, you found yourself face-to-face with a man who looked as though he'd stepped straight out of a fantasy novel.
He was tall and broad-shouldered, carrying himself with an effortless confidence that somehow made your apartment feel much smaller. Long dark hair fell past his shoulders, his outfit was no less unusual. A white fedora sat neatly atop his head.
The man turned toward you with a smile, completely unfazed by your expression.
"...You don't recognize your savior?" he asked, sounding almost offended. "I went through all the trouble of freeing you from work so you could finally get some proper rest."
"...Excuse me?"
He placed a hand against his chest with exaggerated disappointment.
"And here I thought I'd made quite the memorable first impression."
You continued staring at him.
"Oh, right." He gave a small nod, as though suddenly remembering something important. "Where are my manners? My name is Ashveil."
He offered a polite bow that felt absurdly formal considering he had just let himself into your apartment.
"I'll be in your care from now on."
For a few long seconds, your brain simply refused to process what you'd just heard.
Then you pointed at him.
"...No."
Ashveil tilted his head.
"No?"
"No," you repeated, more firmly this time. "You're a fully grown adult who somehow broke into my apartment. You're not going to be 'in my care.' You're an intruder."
"...That's a rather harsh way to describe your life-changing gift."
"You are literally trespassing."
"I prefer 'unexpected houseguest.'"
"I prefer calling the police."
His smile didn't falter in the slightest. In fact, it somehow widened, as though your response had been exactly what he expected.
He simply folded his arms and smiled, as though this were the most ordinary introduction imaginable.
"I suppose I should explain before you become any more suspicious," he said. "The egg you found yesterday..."
He lightly tapped a finger against his own chest.
"That was me."
You stared at him.
Then you stared a little longer.
"...No."
"It was."
"No," you repeated, shaking your head. "That's not how eggs work."
"It isn't?"
"Eggs hatch into animals. Birds. Reptiles. Maybe something equally strange if you're in a fantasy novel." You gestured vaguely in his direction. "They don't hatch into... this."
"This?"
"A grown man."
Ashveil looked almost offended.
"I'll have you know I hatched very gracefully."
"I don't believe you."
"It happens more often than you'd think."
"I highly doubt that."
The conversation had somehow become even more absurd than the mysterious egg itself, and you were rapidly losing patience.
Without taking your eyes off him, you reached across the kitchen counter and grabbed the nearest thing within reach - a chef's knife resting in the drying rack.
The blade wasn't especially large, but it was enough to make your point.
You held it out between the two of you.
"Don't move."
Ashveil glanced at the knife, then back at you.
"Start talking." Your grip tightened around the handle. "How did you find my apartment?"
"Oh." He blinked once before giving a small shrug. "That was easy."
You frowned.
"Your employee records."
"...My what?"
"The office keeps everyone's personal information," he explained matter-of-factly. "Address, emergency contact, phone number... all neatly organized. It only took a few minutes to find yours."
You lowered the knife for half a second, pinching the bridge of your nose as though that might somehow make this entire conversation disappear.
When you looked up again, Ashveil was still smiling.
"Could you perhaps put the knife down?" he asked. "I was sent here to make your life easier, not to become today's first emergency."
"I have absolutely no reason to believe that."
"You will."
"I won't."
Before either of you could continue arguing, your gaze drifted toward the front entrance.
The door hung crookedly on its hinges.
The wood around the lock had splintered where it had been forced open, and a long crack now ran down one side of the frame.
You slowly turned back toward Ashveil.
"...You broke my door."
He followed your gaze and finally seemed to notice the damage.
"...Ah."
A brief pause.
"I can fix that."
"You better fix that."
"I was planning to."
"You literally broke into my apartment."
"I did say I'd fix it."
"Ugh... I'll handle dinner."
Ashveil looked up from where he was inspecting the damaged front door.
"You don't have to."
"I know." You opened the refrigerator and glanced inside. "But I need to make sure I'm not completely losing my mind, and cooking is about the only normal thing that's happened today."
"Very well."
"Go take a shower. Or... whatever it is you do."
You waved him away before he could say anything else.
The bathroom door clicked shut a moment later, leaving the apartment blissfully quiet again.
You rested both hands on the kitchen counter and let out a slow breath.
This had to be a dream.
Yesterday, your biggest concern had been rearranging your boss's travel schedule. Now there was a mysterious man claiming he'd hatched from an oversized egg, casually helping himself to your apartment after breaking your front door.
None of it made sense.
Shaking the thought aside, you focused on preparing dinner. Chopping vegetables had always been oddly calming, and the familiar rhythm of the knife against the cutting board gave your mind something simple to follow.
Even so, your thoughts refused to settle.
Who or what was Ashveil?
And what had it meant when it said he would change your life?
The questions circled endlessly in your mind until your grip shifted ever so slightly.
The knife slipped.
Instinctively, you braced for the sharp sting across your finger.
Instead... Your hand stopped. Not because you had caught yourself.
That same invisible pressure from earlier settled gently around your wrist, holding it perfectly still just a fraction before the blade reached your skin.
The knife hovered less than a centimeter from your finger.
You slowly lowered the knife onto the cutting board and stared at your hand for several seconds before letting out a shaky breath.
"...Right."
Maybe you weren't imagining everything after all.
A few minutes later, the bathroom door opened.
Ashveil stepped into the hallway wearing a fresh set of clothes that you were fairly certain hadn't been in your apartment before. His long hair hung damp over his shoulders as he absentmindedly rubbed it with a towel, though it hardly seemed any drier than when he had started.
With another quiet sigh, you set down the plate you had been carrying and walked over.
"Give me that."
He obediently handed over the towel.
You gestured for him to sit, and after a brief moment of hesitation, he did. Standing behind him, you began drying his hair yourself, rubbing the towel through the long strands with far more efficiency than he had managed on his own.
By the time dinner was ready, the atmosphere had become... strangely ordinary.
The two of you sat across from each other at your small dining table, sharing a meal as though this had been your routine for years instead of mere hours.
Ashveil took a bite before his expression softened with unmistakable satisfaction.
"Home-cooked meals truly are the best."
"...Thanks."
"They're even better when they're made by someone precious to you."
You nearly choked on your drink.
"I'm sorry?"
"In my world, food prepared by someone dear carries more than nourishment. It restores strength, helps us recover, and grants considerably more power than an ordinary meal."
"...Your world sounds very convenient."
Your attention drifted toward the phone lying beside your plate.
The screen remained dark.
Normally, by this hour, your boss would have called at least twice about some last-minute change.
Your eyes kept flicking back to the phone, almost expecting it to light up at any moment.
Ashveil noticed. "You don't have to keep checking."
"What do you mean?"
"Your employer won't be contacting you."
A frown creased your brow.
"...How do you know that?"
Just as the question left your mouth, an overwhelming wave of drowsiness washed over you.
It wasn't the comfortable heaviness that came after a satisfying meal. It was sudden. Your eyelids became impossibly heavy, and your body slumped forward before you could stop it.
"Wha..."
You vaguely felt someone catch you before you slipped from your chair.
Somewhere in the distance, you felt yourself being lifted with surprising ease.
The mattress dipped beneath your weight a few moments later.
A blanket was pulled carefully over you, tucking you in with a tenderness that felt oddly familiar despite knowing you'd only met him a few hours ago.
Then everything faded into silence.
---
Morning sunlight filtered through the curtains, warming your face just enough to pull you from sleep. Then just as you remembered something urgent, you sat up almost immediately and glanced toward the front entrance.
The broken door was gone. It looked exactly as it had before, as though it had never been forced open in the first place.
"...He actually fixed it."
The apartment was unusually quiet.
"Ashveil?"
You climbed out of bed and wandered through the apartment, expecting to find him somewhere in the kitchen or living room.
Instead, you found it empty.
Just as you were beginning to wonder where he had gone, a loud yell shattered the morning silence.
"What the hell was that?!"
The voice came from outside.
You hurried to the front door and stepped into your small front yard.
The first thing you saw was Ashveil. He stood near the front gate with his hands casually tucked into his coat pockets, looking as composed as ever.
The second thing you saw was Kento from Human Resources sprawled across the pavement, his suit covered in dirt and leaves. His tie had come loose, one sleeve was torn, and he looked as though he'd lost a fight with something much larger than himself.
"...Kento?"
You hurried over and offered him a hand.
"Are you alright?"
Kento stared at your outstretched hand for a moment before accepting it, pulling himself unsteadily to his feet.
"You..." He looked between you and Ashveil, still breathing heavily. "Didn't you see them?"
"See what?"
"The monsters!"
"...The what?"
"There were.... shadow creatures! They came out of nowhere!" He pointed an accusing finger toward Ashveil. "And he was just standing there!"
You slowly turned toward Ashveil.
He met your gaze with an innocent expression.
"I have no idea what this gentleman is talking about."
Kento looked utterly speechless.
"What do you mean you don't know? They were surrounding me!"
"Were they?" Ashveil tilted his head thoughtfully. "How unfortunate."
Kento opened his mouth, closed it again, then rubbed both hands over his face as though questioning his own sanity.
Beside you, Ashveil's gaze briefly drifted toward the hand you had used to help Kento stand. His eyes lingered there for only a second before he quietly looked away.
After managing to calm Kento down enough that he stopped insisting your front yard had been invaded by monsters, you invited him inside.
A cup of hot tea seemed like the least you could offer after... whatever had happened.
Kento wrapped both hands around the mug, taking a long sip before finally speaking.
"I came because everyone at the company is worried about you."
"I'm fine."
"The boss doesn't think so."
"I already told him yesterday that the one who submitted the resignation letter wasn't me."
"I know." Kento nodded. "That's exactly why I'm here. Whatever happened, we'll sort it out at the office. Just come back with me."
"I'm not going."
"You don't have to resign."
"I didn't do it back then, but I was planning to quit."
Kento leaned forward, his expression growing increasingly earnest.
"Everyone's waiting for you, and your boss has been asking about you since yesterday morning. If you just come back, we can explain everything and.."
"I said no."
"You can't just disappear without discussing-"
Something inside you finally snapped.
You slammed both hands onto the table.
"I said I don't want to go back!" The words spilled out before you could stop them. "I'm tired of being on call every hour of every day. I'm tired of rearranging my entire life around someone else's schedule."
Silence settled over the room.
Your breathing was uneven as the frustration you'd been burying for months finally found its way to the surface.
"I don't want to hear another word. Leave!"
The room fell still. When you opened your eyes again, Kento was gone.
His teacup remained on the table. But the man himself had vanished.
"What...?"
Your gaze slowly shifted toward Ashveil.
"...Where did Kento go?"
"Nowhere."
"What does that even mean?"
Ashveil regarded you quietly before answering.
"It was your command."
"...You're saying he disappeared because I told him to?"
"You wished for him to leave."
You had no response to that.
Instead, you reached for your teacup, lifted it with both hands, and took a long drink as though it contained something much stronger than tea. You desperately wished it did.
After sitting in silence for another minute, you set the empty cup down and rose from your chair.
"I need some air."
You grabbed your coat from the rack by the door and slipped it on without another word before heading outside.
Behind you, Ashveil remained seated.
Only after the front door closed did he slowly uncurl the hand he had kept hidden beneath the table.
A faint crimson glow pulsed across the back of his hand before gradually fading, leaving behind nothing more than a thoughtful smile that disappeared as quickly as it had come.
---
The news of your resignation rippled through your friend group with surprising speed, a detail that baffled you slightly since you couldn't for the life of you remember ever getting around to informing them yourself.
The moment the group chat caught wind of your sudden freedom, your phone buzzed relentlessly with a flurry of texts from Melany, Crystal, and Andree. They unanimously insisted on a celebration, demanding you either throw a party or at least head out for a heavy meal and drinks to toast to your independence.
The following evening, you raided your wardrobe, pulling out your absolute best outfit. As you adjusted your clothes in the mirror, you made a deliberate point to leave Ashveil completely out of the entire plan. He was currently sitting on the sofa, watching you.
"Are you going somewhere important?"
"I'm going out with my friends," you replied, grabbing your keys from the counter. "You'll do perfectly fine on your own, right?"
"Of course."
You nodded and slipped out the door. A small part of you hoped that while you were gone, he might grow bored of the quiet apartment and simply move on to somewhere else. Perhaps, you thought, he had already fulfilled your deepest, subconscious wish of granting you a permanent vacation, and like a mystical genie, he would just vanish back into thin air now that the job was done. You would have to face the reality of finding a new job eventually, but right now, who cared?
Closing your front door, you waited on the curb until your friends pulled up to drive you to the restaurant for dinner. Your inner circle was deliberately small, as you had always prioritized the quality of your relationships over the sheer quantity of people around you. Tonight, it was just the four of you: Melany, who carried an effortlessly cool vibe; Crystal, the very definition of a sweet girl; and Andree, the only other guy in the group.
Determined to drink your heart out and completely wash away the lingering stress of your old job, you all migrated to a neon-lit bar nearby immediately after finishing dinner. Sitting close together, Andree slid a drink toward you and leaned in to chat, preparing to pitch a highly lucrative job offer at his own company.
"Seriously, Y/N, you're too good to be running around ragged for your old boss," Andree said "My company is expanding its marketing division. The pay is better, and honestly... Iâd really love to have you around more often."
"That actually sounds amazing," you replied, offering a genuine smile as the continuous flow of alcohol gradually loosened your posture. "I might actually take you up on that after I catch my breath for a week or two."
Before Andree could respond, a chaotic distraction drew your attention across the room. Crystal, who was already visibly hammered, had decided to make a break for the stage to grab the microphone for karaoke, while a panicked Melany scrambled to hold her back.
"Crystal, no! You are not singing tonight, sit down!" Melany yelled, laughing as she tried to drag her back by her jacket sleeves.
"Let me shine, Mel!" Crystal giggled, waving her hands dramatically in the air.
Amused by the spectacle, you chuckled and downed a few more heavy drinks, quickly passing the threshold into total intoxication. The room began to spin in a warm, hazy blur. Seeing you completely vulnerable, relaxed, and giggling at the table, Andree decided this was his moment.
"Y/N," Andree murmured, reaching out to gently touch your arm, drawing your attention back to him. "I've been waiting for a chance to tell you this without your phone constantly interrupting us... I've had feelings for you for a really long time."
Before your sluggish brain could fully process his confession, Andree leaned in, catching you completely off guard in your drunken stupor, and pressed his lips firmly against yours.
Right at that exact second, Ashveil arrived.
His piercing eyes locked onto the precise moment Andreeâs mouth met yours. A dark, suffocating aura flared violently around Ashveil, his knuckles tightening to the point of snapping. You were entirely too drunk to comprehend the danger or the sudden drop in the roomâs temperature, your head lolling uselessly against the plush. Sensing your lack of resistance and assuming you were just tired, Andree got ahead of himself.
"Let's get you some air." Andree whispered, scooping your limp body up into his arms. Eager to take things to a more private corner, he guided you out of the loud venue and into the dim, secluded parking lot where his car was parked.
But just as Andree opened the passenger door to place you inside the vehicle, Ashveil forcefully intervened.
Out of nowhere, an invisible pressure slammed into Andree, pinning him violently against the side of the car. He froze instantly, his muscles completely locking up as he realized, with absolute terror, that he was entirely paralyzed. Andree tried to gasp, but he couldn't form a single syllable.
Ashveil stepped forward into the pale moonlight, his tailcoat swaying gracefully. He didn't utter a single audible word to the terrified man. Instead, he reached down into the backseat where you lay half-conscious, using his thumb to aggressively and roughly brush over your lips, dragging his skin hard across yours to wipe away any lingering trace of the kiss another man had dared to give you.
With a menacing flick of his wrist, Ashveil made a sharp zipping motion across his own lips. Instantly, Andree's mouth was sealed completely shut, choking back his ability to even breathe properly.
Ashveil then climbed into the backseat beside you. Driven by a desperate attempt to completely overwrite the mark left by the other man, Ashveil pulled you tightly against his chest. His grip was bruisingly tight as he tilted your chin up. He kissed you. He kept pulling you closer, deepening the kiss until it felt like he was entirely devouring you, the fierce pressure leaving your lips aching and tasting faintly of copper, right on the verge of bleeding. You could only let out a soft, breathless whine, your hands weakly clutching at his white coat before your consciousness faded completely.
When he finally pulled away, your head fell back against his shoulder. Ashveil climbed out of the car, effortlessly lifting you into his arms to carry you all the way back home.
Behind him, in the quiet darkness of the parking lot, the vehicle he had left Andree pinned inside suddenly sparked. Within seconds, the car erupted into a violent, roaring blaze, crashing into the concrete wall as the fire consumed it entirely.
Despite the fact that he was acting entirely on his own, Ashveil truly believed that as long as you remained completely ignorant of his actions, his powers would face no consequences.
---
The next morning, you woke up with an absolute monster of a headache that felt like a drill spinning straight into your temples. Your mouth was bone-dry, and your mind was completely fractured. You groaned, clutching your head as you tried to sit up, but the room spun violently. You couldn't for the life of you remember how you had gotten back to your apartment, or when you had even left the bar.
The bedroom door clicked open, and Ashveil stepped inside. He had ditched his dramatic white tailcoat and was holding a steaming bowl of savory broth, the rich aroma cutting through the stale air of the room.
"Don't move too fast." Ashveil said, walking over to set the bowl on your nightstand.
"How did I get home last night?"
He didn't skip a beat, sitting gracefully on the edge of your mattress. "You got entirely drunk. Fortunately, you managed to dial your emergency contact number, which happens to be mine."
You blinked, staring up at him in sheer confusion, your sluggish brain trying to process his words. "My emergency contact? Since when do you even have a phone?"
"Since the beginning. You just never noticed."
Skeptical and desperate for clarity, you snatched your phone from the nightstand and opened the call history. He wasn't lying.
"Oh.." you muttered, leaning back into your pillows, too exhausted to question the logistics of how an egg-born man managed to acquire a cellular network. "Thank you."
You ended up staying in bed for the rest of the day, completely taken care of by him. True to your rule of keeping his tasks simple to prevent yourself from becoming addicted to his dangerous efficiency, you only asked for the bare minimum, but Ashveil anticipated your every need anyway. He brought you whatever you wanted, whether it was a fresh cup of water, extra blankets, or a quiet space to sleep. You only had to stay in bed and rest.
What you didn't know, however, was that while you slept, Ashveil had quietly taken your phone. With a few swift taps, he blocked Melany, Crystal, and Andree's numbers entirely. He muted all notifications and suppressed any incoming alerts. They wouldn't be able to contact you for now, and you wouldn't find out about the horrific "accident" in the parking lot anytime soon. In his mind, it was all for you.
That night, after you fell into a deep, uninterrupted slumber, Ashveil quietly slipped out.
He walked the empty, fog-laden streets until a dark, shifting silhouette materialized on the concrete ahead of him. It was shaped like the shadow of a massive hunting dog. The creature ran ahead, stopping directly in front of an apartment building where Crystal lived.
Ashveil stopped, looking up at the structure with a sharp, humorless smile. "So... one of them is here."
With a silent command, the dog-like creature dissolved, flowing across the ground and vanishing seamlessly back into Ashveilâs own shadow. He slipped into the building, entering the apartment completely undetected. He meticulously set the scene, tampering with the bathroom wiring to make it look like a tragic accident - a sudden surge of electricity right after she had finished bathing.
Stepping back out into the cold night air, Ashveil turned his gaze toward the eastern side of the city, preparing to track down his next target.
Suddenly, a low, resonant voice echoed sharply inside his own head:
"Acting on your own, driven by mortal desires... you will receive the consequences of your backfire."
Ashveil paused on the empty sidewalk, his gray eyes narrowing in defiance. He knew exactly what he was doing. He knew the risks of using his power to alter the fates of those around you without your explicit command, but he didn't care.
"I'll be fine," he muttered back to the silence of his own mind, his voice dripping with arrogance. "As long as Y/N is safe, I don't care."
Deciding it was wiser to space out the timeline so the deaths wouldn't look too suspicious to the human authorities, he called off the hunt for the night.
Later on, he quietly returned to your side. The bedroom was dark and peaceful, the only sound being your soft, even breathing. Ashveil looked down at your sleeping face, a wave of intense, possessive devotion washing over him. He leaned down, gently pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your lips.
"I'm sorry."
Carefully, so as not to wake you, he climbed into the bed and lay down right next to you. Pulling the blankets up, he closed his eyes, finally letting himself fall asleep by your side.
----
The next morning, you rolled over to find Ashveil lying completely still beside you. The usual vibrant energy that radiated from him was entirely gone. When your hand accidentally brushed his shoulder, you gasped, his skin was burning, radiating a terrifyingly high fever that seemed to scorch right through his clothes.
Panicking, you shook his shoulder. "Ashveil? Ashveil, wake up."
There was no response. His long hair was damp with sweat, and his jaw was tightly clenched. You didn't know what to do. You couldn't exactly call a normal human ambulance for a man who hatched from an egg, and you had no idea how his anatomy even worked.
Falling back on instinct, you resorted to traditional remedies. You rushed to the bathroom, grabbed a bowl of cold water and a cloth, and gently pressed it to his forehead to cool him down. You ran to the kitchen and fetched some fever medicine, but when you tried to coax him to take it, he wouldn't wake up to swallow it. He couldn't even sit up.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, watching his chest rise and fall in shallow breaths, a memory suddenly sparked in your mind. You remembered what he had told you at the kitchen table:
"In my world, food prepared by someone dear carries more than nourishment. It restores strength, helps us recover, and grants considerably more power than an ordinary meal."
"Please let this work." you whispered, scrambling out of bed and rushing to the kitchen.
You quickly prepared a simple, warm broth, pouring all your focus and genuine worry into making it. Bringing the steaming bowl back into the bedroom, you sat down beside him. Since he was completely unconscious, you had to force him to eat somehow. Carefully lifting his head, you used a small spoon to gently part his lips, coaxing a tiny bit of the warm liquid into his mouth, stroking his throat until his reflexes kicked in and he finally swallowed it.
You kept going, patiently feeding him spoonful after spoonful, entirely driven by the terrifying thought that he was about to die right here. You couldn't let someone who had taken such meticulous care of you die right inside your house, under your watch. He had acted weird, dramatic, and intensely overprotective from the moment he arrived, but you knew deep down that he harbored absolutely no ill will toward you.
Miraculously, your efforts worked.
By midday, the terrifying heat radiating from his skin began to subside.
That night, the peaceful quiet of the bedroom shattered in your mind. You suddenly gasped, your hands flying to your neck as an invisible, agonizing pressure tightened around your throat so hard you couldn't breathe. You thrashed against the mattress, suffocating, until your eyes flew open.
It was just a dream.
Beside you, Ashveil was still sleeping deeply, his fever completely gone, his breathing slow and steady. You let out a shaky breath, rubbing your throat, and tried to lie back down to sleep again.
But the moment you drifted off, the nightmare shifted into something far stranger. You found yourself standing inside a vast, pitch-black void. Out of the darkness, a chorus of disjointed, powerful voices echoed around you, their words drilling into your mind:
"Do not let him get past you... You must keep him in check... "
The dream snapped like a brittle thread, and you woke up to the soft light of morning creeping through the curtains. The heavy, eerie feeling of the void instantly melted away as a rich, savory aroma caught your attention.
You walked into the kitchen to find Ashveil setting containers down on the table. He looked entirely back to his usual, vibrant self.
"Good morning, Y/N," he said, offering a smile. "I went out and bought some food. I figured neither of us really has the energy to cook after yesterday."
"Thanks." you murmured, still a little dazed by the bizarre dreams. The food was delicious, and eating it finally brought some color back to your face.
Once the containers were cleared away, Ashveil looked out the window at the bright, sunny day and then turned to you. "You know, staying cooped up at home too much wouldn't be good for your health. Why don't we go for a walk?"
You looked down at your hands, thinking of the heavy grief and the strange nightmares. He was right, you needed fresh air. "Yeah, okay. Let's go."
The local park was beautiful, bathed in warm sunlight, and for a moment, you actually felt a sense of peace. But that peace was short-lived.
"Help! Someone help me! He took my purse!"
A sharp, panicked scream pierced the air. A few yards away, a man in a dark hoodie was sprinting away from an elderly woman who was clutching her chest, looking utterly distraught.
"Hey! Stop right there!" you yelled, adrenaline instantly surging through your veins.
Without a second thought, you bolted after the thief, your legs pumping as you tried to close the distance. Ashveil effortlessly kept pace right beside you. But after a solid minute of running, the lingering exhaustion from the past few days caught up to you. Your lungs burned, your steps slowed, and you had to double over, gripping your knees as you gasped for air.
The thief was getting away, rapidly approaching the edge of the park.
"Ashveil!" you choked out, pointing a trembling finger toward the fleeing man. "Go! Chase him down and bring that purse back! I'll wait here!"
"Alright, I'll be back soon."
Ashveil sprinted past the tree line of the park, his eyes locked onto the distant silhouette of the thief. But the man was desperate; he cut sharply into a maze of dense, overgrown alleyways, scrambling through a tight gap in a chain-link fence. By the time Ashveil effortlessly vaulted over the metal barrier, the street was empty. The thief had vanished into the shadows of the urban sprawl.
Ashveil stopped, his expression darkening into a cold, dangerous sneer. Losing a target was unacceptable, especially on a direct order from you.
With a fluid motion, Ashveil extended his left hand, his silver watch catching the dim light of the alley. He closed his eyes, tapping into the dark reservoir of his power. From the depths of his own shadow, a low, ominous growl vibrated through the concrete. A thick, ink-like darkness seeped outward from his boots, spreading across the pavement like spilled oil before shifting into the faint, glowing vapor of a tracking spell. Suddenly, a trail of glowing, ethereal footprints lit up the ground, weaving sharply toward a crumbling, abandoned house at the end of the block.
Inside the decaying structure, the thief was breathing heavily, huddled in a corner. Believing he had successfully escaped, he greedily dumped the contents of the purse onto a dusty crate, scrambling through everything he had stolen today- cash, cards, and trinkets.
A floorboard creaked. The thief snapped his head up. Ashveil slowly stepped through the broken doorway, his white fedora tilted low.
The man panicked for a split second, but seeing that Ashveil was alone and unarmed, he sneered. He reached into his waistband and pulled out a heavy switchblade, flicking the metal open with a sharp clack. Armed and confident, the thief launched himself forward, thrusting the blade directly toward Ashveil's chest.
Before the blade could even pierce the fabric of his coat, a sudden, agonizing weight slammed into the thief. The man fell heavily down to his feet, dropping his weapon as the metal clattered uselessly against the floorboards. He gasped, staring in absolute horror at his own flesh. Out of nowhere, deep, bloody bite marks began to manifest rapidly across his hands and arms, as if an invisible jaw were clamping down on him.
The shadows in the corners of the room detached themselves from the walls. Thousands of shadowy, ethereal wolves with glowing red eyes swarmed out of the darkness, their incorporeal forms snapping and snarling. Within a terrifying, breathless second, the wave of shadow wolves completely enveloped the screaming man, swallowing him whole until there was nothing left but empty air and the heavy silence of the room.
Ashveil casually stepped over the spot where the man had just been. He picked up the old woman's purse, checking to make sure everything was inside, while deliberately leaving the other stolen bags behind on the crate. He turned on his heel and glided back to the park.
When he returned to your side, you were still waiting patiently with the elderly woman. Ashveil held out the bag with a polite, seamless bow. "Your property, ma'am. Untouched."
The old woman let out a breathless gasp, clutching the purse to her chest. Tears welled in her eyes as she checked inside. "Oh, thank goodness! My medicine, my late husband's photos... everything is here! I can't thank you both enough."
Exhausted but relieved, you smiled. "We're just glad you're okay."
"Please, you must let me reward you," the woman insisted. "I own a little bakery just a few blocks away. Come to my house!"
You looked at Ashveil, whose stomach let out a perfectly timed, low rumble. You chuckled. "We'd love to."
As the three of you began walking toward the bakery, you looked up at the tall, formidable man beside you. He was walking with his chin held high, looking immensely proud of himself.
"Hey," you said, nudging his arm. "Lower your head for a second."
Ashveil blinked in confusion but obligingly tilted his head down, his bangs falling into his face. Smiling, you reached up and gently patted his head. "Good job."
A sudden, faint flush of color hit his cheeks, and his gray eyes widened slightly before a deeply satisfied, softer smile graced his lips. He walked a little closer to your side the rest of the way.
The bakery was cozy, and the old woman treated you both like royalty, piling a plate high with decadent slices of cake and pouring hot, fragrant tea. By the time you both returned home late that night after a wonderful meal, the exhaustion of the day finally crashed over you. Your eyelids were heavy, and you wanted nothing more than to just collapse onto the mattress and sleep.
You kicked off your shoes and walked straight toward the bed, but a strong hand gently caught your wrist.
"Ah, ah," Ashveil murmured, a playful but firm look on his face as he pointed toward the bathroom. "Go brush your teeth first, Y/N. Then you can sleep."
"Too tired..." you groaned, but he wouldn't budge, standing like an unmovable wall until you finally sighed, trudged into the bathroom, and brushed your teeth.
When you finally crawled under the covers, you fell into sleep instantly. But the moment your consciousness faded, you found yourself trapped inside the dark, oppressive void once again.
"Be cautious of your actions... The balance is shifting... You must control him before it is too late..."
You woke up early the next morning. Determined to shake off the unsettling nightmares, you quickly showered and dressed in a professional outfit. You whipped up a quick breakfast, eating your portion in silence before leaving a generous plate covered on the kitchen table for Ashveil.
Just as you were reaching for your keys, you heard the bedroom door click open. Ashveil stepped out, his long hair slightly messy from sleep.
"Where are you going?"
"Iâm going out for a job interview." you replied, checking your watch. "I need to get moving. If there are two of us living in this apartment, my savings won't survive the next few months."
"You don't need to go. I am more than capable of taking care of both of us."
"Sure. Unless you've suddenly acquired a bank account and a legal identity."
You stepped toward the entryway, but before your hand could touch the brass knob, Ashveil glided forward with impossible speed. His tall, broad frame completely blocked the door, his shadow looming over you.
You stopped, looking up at him, ready to tell him to stop playing around, but the words died in your throat. The playful, eager-to-please housemate you had spent the previous day with was gone.
"Ashveil, move," you said, your voice trembling slightly despite your best efforts to sound firm. "I'm going to be late."
"No."
Before you could even draw a breath to argue, a sudden, heavy pressure materialized around your neck. It wasn't a physical hand, but a crushing, invisible force that wrapped tightly around your throat like a suffocating leash. With a pull, Ashveil yanked the invisible tether forward, forcing your body to stumble toward him until you crashed lightly against his chest.
Your hands flying to your neck, but your fingers found nothing but empty, pressurized space.
Ashveil leaned down, his face mere inches from yours, his hair brushing your cheek.
"You must obey me, Y/N," he murmured, "You must obey because I told you to, and because I am a far stronger entity than you could ever comprehend."
He reached out, his thumb gently tracing your jawline, a terrifying contrast to the suffocating leash still holding you in place.
"You indeed are my master," Ashveil whispered, "But you do not know how to take care of yourself. I will take care of you. But you will stay here, where you are safe."
You sat up with a violent gasp, your hands instantly flying to your neck. You squeezed your eyes shut, rubbing the skin of your throat, but there was no leash.
It was just another nightmare.
Lately, it felt like you hadn't had a single normal, peaceful dream. It was always the dark void, the warning voices, or Ashveil turning into a terrifying captor.
Breathing heavily, you turned your head to look at the man sleeping soundly beside you. Would he actually do that to me? you wondered, a chill creeping down your spine. Is he capable of turning on me like that?
"You know, if you keep staring at me like that, I'll be too shy to sleep."
He hadn't even opened his eyes, but a slow, amused smirk was already forming on his lips.
You let out a shaky sigh, collapsing back onto your pillow. "I had another nightmare. About you."
"About me?"
"You used some kind of invisible leash around my neck and forced me to obey you."
Ashveil frowned, shifting his weight to prop himself up on one elbow. He looked down at you, his expression remarkably soft. "I would never do anything to harm you. Your mind is just playing tricks on you because you've been so stressed."
You looked from his sincere eyes down to his throat, exposed by the loose collar of his shirt. A sudden, reckless impulse flared within you, an urge to test just how deep his compliance really went.
Without a word, you suddenly shifted, climbing directly on top of him. You straddled his waist, pinning his hips down, and brought both of your hands up to his throat.
Ashveil didn't flinch. Instead, he just looked up at you from the pillow, his eyes filled with a mixture of intense amusement and absolute surrender. He relaxed his posture completely, tilting his chin back slightly to give your hands better access.
"Suit yourself," he murmured, "My life is in your hands anyway."
As he spoke, he slowly raised his right hand. His fingers, cool and deceptively gentle, entwined with yours where they rested against his pulse. He leaned into your touch, using his thumb to softly fondle your fingers, tracing the knuckles and stroking the skin with a slow, hypnotic rhythm that felt entirely too intimate.
You stared down at him, your heart hammering violently against your ribs. He was entirely at your mercy, completely unbothered by the fact that you were pinning him down.
Suddenly feeling incredibly foolish, you dropped your hands and scrambled off him, sliding back to your side of the bed.
"Yeah... that was insane of me. I'm sorry." you muttered, pulling the blankets tightly over your shoulders and turning your back to him, your face burning with embarrassment as you closed your eyes, desperate for sleep to claim you.
He waited patiently until your breathing elongated. The moment you were completely out, the soft, docile expression on Ashveil's face vanished. He sat up silently. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a sudden movement near you. A long, slimy, pale worm-like parasite.
With terrifying speed, Ashveil reached down and snatched the writhing thing out of the air. He didn't flinch as it coated his skin in a foul residue; instead, he brought it close to his face, his expression twisting into a mask of pure malice. He squeezed his fist closed, the sound of the parasite crunching and dissolving into black smoke echoing faintly in the quiet room.
"Do not dare try to ruin my peaceful life."
He turned back to you, his expression softening just a fraction as he leaned over your sleeping form. His fingers gently parted your collar, checking the pale skin of your neck.
"But having a leash around your neck isn't such a bad idea."
Satisfied, he pulled the blanket back over your shoulders.
Quietly sliding out of the bed, Ashveil glided across the room. He stepped out into the hallway, locking your bedroom door behind him with a silent click of his power so you wouldn't wander out.
He walked down the corridor and pushed open the bathroom door.
Inside the bathtub sat Melany. Your last living friend was bound tightly with thick ropes, heavy silver duct tape sealing her mouth shut. Her hair was disheveled, her eyes wide with a mixture of suffocating rage and absolute terror as she looked up at the tall man.
Ashveil closed the door behind him, leaning casually against the sink as he looked down at her.
"I promise you, it's not going to hurt much," he said, his tone dripping with a terrifyingly polite, smooth sarcasm. "Did you really think I wouldn't notice you setting up that pathetic thief and the old lady at the park? A transparent little plot to separate us so you could get to Y/N."
Melany thrashed against her bonds, a muffled, angry scream dying against the tape.
"Lucky for you, I caught you sneaking around before you even managed to step foot inside. Tell me, were you planning to tell Y/N the truth about Andree? About Crystal?" He shook his head, a dark, wicked smile curving his lips. "I'm afraid that ain't going to happen."
A few muffled noises later, the bathroom fell completely silent.
Ashveil calmly turned on the faucet, washing his hands before grabbing a cloth to meticulously clean up the bathtub, wiping away any trace of the struggle.
Just as he finished rinsing the porcelain, your muffled voice echoed from the hallway.
"Ashveil?"
The murderous chill in his aura vanished instantly, replaced by a bright, serene warmth. As long as you continued to solely depend on him, and as long as he continued to fulfill your deepest, subconscious wish for a life free of burdens, his power would only grow stronger. And eventually, he would manage to have you entirely for his own.
Immortal life, as it turned out, was not a grand canvas of cosmic exploration or profound enlightenment. For you, immortality was an endless, suffocating mountain of work.
It was your "purpose", or so the universe seemed to insist.
Your work ethic was commendable, devout, and entirely terrifying to your peers.
The salary was magnificent. The benefits were flawless. But you were working yourself into a beautifully gilded grave.
"I cannot keep doing this!"
Desperate for a pink slip, you had tried sabotaging your own career. You deliberately scrambled the budget projections for a major department. Instead of being fired, a supervisor covered for your "brilliant restructuring mistake" and handed you a promotion.
You showed up late, argued with management, and accidentally deleted an entire archive. They called it "creative boundary-pushing" and gave you a bonus.
You were too good at your job to be allowed to leave.
----
Everybody here knows Sunday.
Who doesn't want to meet him in person?
Rumors constantly echo through Penacony about the pristine, angelic man who holds the reins of the planet. The public deeply admires him. Naturally, that level of perfection breeds immense envy; countless ambitious figures dream of overthrowing him, actively plotting and craving the immense power of his high position.
From the high, shadowed balconies, Sunday got his view of everything.
How coincidental, then, that his attention bumped onto you. Just at the right time, as you were always on time. You had quickly become a slight entertainment in this suffocating life of his.
He saw the subtle slump of your shoulders, the heavy sigh you exhaled when you thought no one was looking, and the absolute devotion you poured into a world that didn't care if you withered away.
To Sunday, you weren't just a capable worker. You were a beautiful, tragic bird singing its heart out inside a cage of its own making. And a need began to take root in his soul: he was going to build a new cage, one made of velvet and silk, just for you.
----
You were rushing down the corridor, your vision entirely blocked by a precarious tower of high-priority ledgers. Turning a sharp corner, you crashed directly into someone.
The tower collapsed. Papers and data pads scattered across the polished floor in a chaotic mess.
"Watch where you're-"
Standing before you was Sunday himself, his halo casting a faint glow. Instantly, his bodyguards stepped forward, but before they could touch you, Sunday subtly raised his hand. The guards froze instantly, stepping back.
He knelt down on the cold marble floor, his elegant, spotless coat brushing the dust as he personally began to gather your scattered papers. He handed them back to you, his fingers lingering against yours for a fraction of a second.
"Careful."
You thanked him and hurried off.
---
It was well past midnight, you were deep into overtime, your eyes straining against the glow of the screen, when a soft knock rattled the door.
You didn't bother looking up. "Come in"
The door clicked open. You finally raised your gaze, only for your breath to hitch.
It was Sunday. And he was entirely all by himself.
Surprise cutting through your fatigue, you immediately began to stand up from your chair to offer a proper greeting. But before you could even straighten your posture, Sunday subtly raised a his hand, signaling you to remain seated.
"Lord Sunday.." you managed, clearing your throat as you questioned his sudden appearance. "To what do I owe the honor? Is there an emergency with the ledger sheets?"
"No," Sunday replied "I am here to offer you a deal."
You stared at him, entirely dazed. The sheer absurdity of the ruler standing in your cramped office to negotiate a deal made your brain short-circuit.
Exhaustion taking over, you raised your hands to rub your eyes aggressively, fully prepared to slap yourself across the face to ensure this wasn't some vivid, sleep-deprived hallucination.
Before your hand could make contact with your cheek, Sundayâs fingers wrapped gently but firmly around your wrist, stopping you in your tracks.
"It is not a dream." he murmured, "I can free you from all of this work."
At those words, the absolute fatigue in your soul vanished, replaced by a sudden, blinding flash of euphoria. Your eyes sparked with a brilliant, desperate light. Looking at your sudden transformation, Sunday actually paused, half-wondering if a pair of imaginary, eager ears had just popped out of your head from pure expectation.
Amused but entirely focused on his prize, he continued detailing the terms of the arrangement. "You will leave this place tonight and accompany me to my estate. You will be stripped of your current titles. In return, you will serve strictly as my personal assistant.. and my lover."
He braced himself. He had spent days drafting every persuasion plan possible, preparing legal threats, coercive maneuvers, and responses to your inevitable panic or denial.
He was ready to force your compliance if he had to.
But you didn't even wonder why he wanted you. As long as you were finally, legally free from the infinite nightmare of your current workload, nothing else mattered.
"DEAL!" you said immediately, blindly agreeing without a single shred of hesitation. You slammed your terminal shut with a definitive thud, pushed your chair back, and looked up at him with a happy, entirely willing smile. "When do we leave?"
"Right now" Sunday replied, reaching down to gently guide you out of your chair.
---
You moved into the estate that very night. Sunday had assigned you the bedroom directly adjacent to his - for the sake of convenience.
The next morning, you woke up incredibly early without the screeching panic of an alarm. Your internal clock was simply too deep in its corporate programming after decades of your old routine. Normally, you would have already been halfway through your first shift by now.
Deciding to make a bold move, you walked out into the grand hallway and stepped up to his door. You raised your hand, but just as you were about to knock, the heavy wood swung open.
Sunday stood there, a rare flash of genuine surprise crossing his features as he found you standing on his threshold so early.
"You are awake."
"I was just about to head down for breakfast," you replied, "I thought maybe you could come along?"
The breakfast that followed was an incredibly quiet affair. Sitting across from him at the long table, you didn't say a word. You focused entirely on eating, cutting your food with precision and clearing your plate with the single-minded determination of someone who used to have exactly seven minutes to consume a meal before a board meeting.
What you didn't notice, however, was the questionable look developing on Sunday's face. He sat with his fork poised mid-air, his golden eyes narrowed in a mix of mild bewilderment and deep scrutiny. He watched the absolute, unwavering intensity you directed at your toast.
His mind spinning into a spiral of analytical concern.
Are they simply too exhausted to speak to me? Or... are they so terribly bored by my company that they prefer the conversation of a plate?
When you finally finished, you set your utensils down with a neat click, looked up, and noticed his plate was barely half-done. You didn't rush him, you simply folded your hands in your lap and waited with a patient, professional demeanor.
"Lord Sunday..." you spoke up, breaking the silence. "What is your schedule for today? I should familiarize myself with your itinerary so I can properly manage your tasks."
After all, your pragmatic mind was still heavily focused on the assistant part of your midnight arrangement. As for the lover half of the deal? You secretly figured he might have just been kidding.
Sunday lowered his fork, his expression shifting from bewildered to deeply amused.
"Just call me Sunday, Y/N. My schedule is of no concern to you today," Sunday murmured, leaning back slightly as a servant stepped forward to clear the table. "First of all, you will be spending your morning at our private spa. I have already ordered the attendants to prepare a therapeutic regimen."
"A... spa? I am entirely fit to look over your correspondence-"
"Look at yourself in the mirror." Sunday interrupted smoothly, "We are going to get rid of the lingering tiredness on your face, and those dark circles. You are under my care now."
The hours that followed were a complete blur of steam, aromatic oils, and a level of absolute luxury you didn't even know existed. By the time the attendants finished, your skin felt rejuvenated, the heavy fog in your brain had cleared, and you felt undeniably, profoundly refreshed.
Shortly after, Sunday personally came to collect you, his eyes sweeping over your revived appearance with an immense, quiet satisfaction.
He led you through the winding, sunlit corridors of the estate until you reached his private wing. Right as you approached, two silent, impeccably dressed attendants stepped forward in perfect unison, bowing deeply as they pushed open the massive double doors to usher you both directly into his office.
Right immediately after your arrival, work came right after. Sunday took his seat at the massive desk, instantly shifting into a state of quiet focus as he began reading through the thick stack of documents required for him to review.
You, however, couldnât just stand there. Driven by decades of deeply ingrained professional habit, you pulled up a chair to sit right beside him, shifting nervously as you waited for your first official assignment.
But nothing really came. Sunday simply turned the pages, completely ignoring your eager posture.
Anxious to prove your worth, you leaned in closer, pointing out a glaring administrative mistake written on the paper. "Sunday, this budget projection is flawed. If you'll allow me-"
You reached out to grab the closest pen from the desk to note it down, but before your fingers could close around it, Sundayâs hand moved with blinding speed, gently but firmly intercepting your wrist.
He set the pen back down. Clearly, he did not want you working.
Left with absolutely nothing to do, you sank back into your chair. For an immortal entity used to a chaotic, three-jobs-a-day lifestyle, this forced idleness was agonizing. Slowly, the warm, rhythmic scratch of Sundayâs fountain pen and the absolute quiet of the office allowed the post-spa relaxation to take over. Sleepiness began to creep in through the sheer, unadulterated boredom.
Desperate to stay awake, you suddenly stood up and stepped behind his chair. Seeking any excuse to be useful, you raised your hands and began to give him a firm shoulder massage. There was no real reason for it, but Sunday didn't oppose the act.
Emboldened, you kept doing it, your eyes naturally drifting back down to the documents over his shoulder. You began reading the complex political paperwork from behind his back. Sunday didnât mind this either, seemingly content to let you browse his private thoughts as long as your hands kept relieving his tension.
You became so intensely focused on deciphering a difficult paragraph that your hands moved entirely on instinct. Your fingers slid upward, accidentally brushing against the soft feathers of the small wings nestled behind his ears.
Sunday went entirely rigid, a ragged breath hitching in his throat.
"I am so sorry!" you blurted out, instantly pulling your hands back as if you'd been burned, your cheeks flushing with professional mortification. You scrambled right back to your seat, bowing your head in apology. Sunday didn't scold you, his face averted as he quietly continued his work.
----
The next thing you knew, the office was gone.
You woke up to the low, comforting purr of an engine and the gentle swaying of a luxury vehicle. Your head was resting against something incredibly comfortable- which you quickly realized was Sunday's shoulder. You were leaning entirely against him in the backseat of his car, his arm loosely wrapped around your waist to keep you steady.
You bolted upright, your heart hammering as you apologized profusely for the second time that day, your mind entirely blank as to how you had even ended up here.
"It seems doing nothing bores you so thoroughly that you simply fell asleep at your chair. I merely carried you out."
By the time the car pulled up to the grand entrance of the estate, the moon was high in the sky. You walked back inside together, your mind hazy but determined to finally head to your own bed. But just as you turned to head toward your room, Sundayâs hand caught your elbow.
"Sunday?"
"I will be requiring your assistance with some personal matters." he spoke smoothly, his voice dropping into a low, commanding register that left no room for negotiation. "Therefore, for tonight, you will be sleeping in my room."
Your brain immediately flooded with a million chaotic visions.
What does he mean by personal matters? What does he mean by sleeping in his room?
---
You had already finished changing into a simple, comfortable pair of nightclothes minutes ago. You were always incredibly quick with those casual, everyday routines. Work had occupied nearly every waking second of your immortal life, leaving you no time to dally. But when it came to an unpredictable, deeply personal situation like this? You have no idea what to do.
"Come in, Y/N."
You swallowed hard and stepped inside.
It was genuinely hard to imagine that such a visual could exist right here, right now, in front of you. You were literally breathing the same air as him, but judging by how painfully ordinary you felt compared to how absolutely pristine, angelic, and breathtaking he was, the more your nerves threatened to choke you.
"Have you forgotten our arrangement so soon?" he murmured, "Being my assistant is only half the deal."
You couldn't even formulate a response.
What does he mean by that? How does a god-like figure even act as a lover to an overworked clerk?
Seeking any possible anchor to ground your frantic mind, you noticed him sit down in front of his vanity mirror. His hair was slightly tangled from the long day. Seizing the opportunity to be useful - to act like an assistant rather than a panicked mess - you stepped forward and picked up a nearby brush to help him out.
This time, you were extra, painfully careful around the wings, keeping your fingers at a strict distance because of the burning embarrassment from today's accident.
To break the suffocating, intimate silence, you forced yourself to speak. "Being swamped in work for years... it barely left me any time for regular interactions with others," you confessed, gently working a knot out of his hair. "Aside from demanding colleagues and angry customers, I had nothing."
Sunday remained perfectly still, listening intently to the soft confession of your isolation. When you finally finished brushing the last strand, he slowly turned around in his chair. Before you could step back, he reached out and firmly held both of your hands in his.
He began to speak to you, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that felt heavy enough to crush the air right out of your lungs. But honestly? You didn't hear a single word he was saying.
The sheer, overwhelming proximity to him, the gentle warmth of his hands, the faint scent of incense, and the ethereal perfection of his face right in front of yours drove your brain so completely crazy that the internal pressure reached a boiling point.
Your vision blurred, your knees turned to water, and your consciousness simply checked out from pure, unadulterated aesthetic overload. You fainted right then and there.
During some point of the night, you had a brief, fleeting moment of semi-consciousness. You remembered a distinct, heavy feeling pressing down on you. A comforting, suffocating warmth wrapping completely around your body. But your mind was too foggy to comprehend what it was, and the deep, heavy pull of sleepiness dragged you right back under before you could open your eyes.
On the other hand, from Sunday's point of view, the night had been a severe exercise in absolute restraint.
When you had suddenly fainted into his arms from sheer nervous exhaustion and overwhelming proximity, he had caught you. A chuckle had vibrated in his chest as he lifted you up and carefully laid you beneath the fine silk sheets of his bed.
He had spent the next hour just sitting on the edge of the mattress, watching you sleep. He looked at your peaceful face, now completely free of the dark circles he so thoroughly despised. Slowly, Sunday leaned down, his wings flaring slightly as he cradled your face and patiently pressed a soft, lingering kiss to your lips.
It was a miracle of pure willpower that he restrained himself from pushing any further. He knew you were a fragile, tired bird adjusting to a new cage, and he would not ruin his perfect victory by rushing you.
---
The next morning, you woke up with a heavy, throbbing headache - the unmistakable tax of your brain short-circuiting the night before.
You blinked against the bright sunlight, shifting beneath the heavy blankets, only to realize that Sunday was nowhere to be seen. The space beside you was empty, though the sheets still carried his faint scent.
Sitting up and rubbing your temples, you noticed a small, elegant piece of parchment resting on the nightstand beside a glass of water.
I have Family matters to attend. Drink the water, rest, and do not dare touch a single piece of work while I am gone. I'll be back soon, my love.
With the help of a few quiet, impeccably polite servants, you managed to change into fresh clothes and shake off the last remnants of your headache.
Left completely to your own devices with absolutely zero work to do, you decided to go for a stroll. The estate was massive, a sprawling paradise of pristine marble and hidden courtyards, it would be a complete waste not to look around.
After making a few deliberate turns through the hallways, you stumbled upon the estateâs library.
It was insane. Thousands upon thousands of leather-bound books and glowing data crystals rose up to the impossibly high ceiling, meticulously separated by subject, era, and even the subtle gradient of their spine colors.
You wandered deep into the towering aisles, running a finger along the shelves, when a man appeared out of nowhere.
"An impressive collection, is it not?" he murmured, bowing elegantly. He introduced himself as the keeper of the library.
Before you could politely greet him, his expression turned deadly serious. "You do not belong here," the keeper warned softly, looking over his shoulder. "I know who you are, and I know what Lord Sunday has told you. But you are being deceived."
Logically, you knew you shouldn't trust a complete stranger you had just met in a dark aisle. But then again... wasn't Sunday also someone you had just met?
"Then what do you suggest?.. What should I do?"
The keeper reached into his robes and pulled out a small, folded piece of parchment.
"If you wish to reclaim your true freedom, you must escape tonight. This map details the estate's hidden layout. It will lead you to a sealed emergency exit." He handed you the map, his eyes boring into yours. "But there is a catch. The door is secured by a lock. To open it, you must input a passcode derived from a highly specific philosophical riddle. Only Sunday knows the answer."
---
'How you obtain it is entirely up to you.'
That night, for the first time since your arrival, you took the initiative.
It was the most unvolunteer, anxiety-inducing thing you had ever forced yourself to do, but you waited for Sunday outside his bedroom.
The library keeper has no reason to lie. What would he gain from this? What if Sunday is indeed the bad guy?
When he arrived, looking exhausted from his day, you swallowed your pride and suggested sleeping in his room again.
Sunday paused, his eyes widening slightly before a look of profound, quiet satisfaction washed over his face. "Of course" he said, opening the door for you without a single question.
Once inside, you took a deep breath.
It will be fine, you can do this.
"Sunday... you look incredibly tense," you said, forcing your voice to remain steady. "I have just learned a hypnosis skill meant to relax the mind and relieve stress. Would you allow me to try it on you?"
Sunday looked at you for a long moment. You had no idea why he was always so incredibly lenient with every single choice you made, or why a man of his terrifying power would willingly lower his guard for you. Yet, he simply sat down in his chair, "If it pleases you, I am yours."
Using a slow, rhythmic cadence, you guided him into a deep, trance-like relaxation. Once his breathing slowed and his eyes grew heavy, you subtly slid the puzzle lock's riddle into the conversation.
From the depths of his hypnotized state, Sundayâs lips parted, and he softly murmured the exact, complex password.
You quickly memorized it, a sudden wave of sharp regret washing over you. He trusted you completely, and you were blatantly lying to his face. But you shook the feeling off.
I'm the prey in this story, you reminded yourself fiercely. I have to escape.
When Sunday finally blinked and shook off the hypnosis, he looked around the room, a faint frown on his face. "Nothing feels very different" he noted, rubbing his temples.
"I... I only just learned it recently" you lied quickly, backing toward the bed. "It probably didn't work well. Maybe next time I'll try harder."
"I look forward to it." Sunday murmured, rising from the chair and joining you beneath the silk sheets. But as you turned to close your eyes, his hand gently caught your chin. "Before you sleep, I believe I am owed a good night kiss."
You weren't afraid to try, especially since you needed to keep him compliant. Leaning forward, you gave him a quick, innocent peck on his cheek.
But apparently, Sunday didn't mean just that.
Before you could pull away, his hand slid to the back of your neck, his fingers tangling into your hair as he forcefully but elegantly corrected your mistake, sliding his lips over yours in a deep kiss.
Your brain short-circuited all over again. You didn't know when or how to stop, so you simply went along with it, completely helpless in his grip until Sunday finally decided to break the kiss himself.
"Good night, my love."
You lay perfectly still, forcing your breathing to remain slow and even. You faked being asleep for what felt like hours, waiting until the rhythmic, deep rise and fall of Sunday's chest proved he was fast asleep.
Slowly, you slipped out. You didn't dare make a sound as you crept across the moonlit bedroom, slipped through the door, and darted down the corridors, following the keeper's map.
Finally, you reached the metallic door hidden deep within the estate's lower levels.
With trembling fingers, you quickly input the exact password Sunday had given you. The mechanical tumblers whirred, a loud click echoed through the chamber, and the massive door began to swing open, revealing a blinding, brilliant light. Freedom was right in front of you.
But before you could take a single step forward, a sharp electronic beep echoed from the ceiling.
Before you could even react, a tiny, high-velocity projectile shot from the wall, burying itself straight into the side of your neck.
Your eyes went wide as a heavy, freezing numbness immediately flooded your veins. Your consciousness completely blacked out as you collapsed.
---
You woke up to the warmth of familiar silk sheets. As you blinked against the heavy fog in your brain, a familiar, immaculate silhouette materialized beside the mattress.
"You're awake." Sunday murmured, his voice a smooth, captivating melody that offered absolutely no hint of anger.
A sharp, blinding headache instantly ripped through your temples, forcing a low groan from your throat. You reached up to press your hands against your throbbing forehead, your mind scrambling to piece together the last things you remembered - the library keeper.. the sharp sting against your neck.
"Do not strain yourself," Sunday spoke softly, his fingers gently catching your wrists to lower your hands. "I was beginning to worry. It has been two days since your surgery. I was starting to fear you wouldn't wake up at all."
Your heart stopped. Surgery?
"What... what surgery?"
Panic cutting through the static in your brain, you tried to sit up abruptly, throwing the heavy blankets aside. That was when you felt it. Or rather, when you felt nothing.
A terrifying, hollow void existed where your lower limbs should have been. You tried to flex your feet, tried to shift your weight, but your legs refused to respond. They lay perfectly still, heavy and entirely detached from your command.
Sunday watched the exact moment the realization hit you, tracking the absolute horror that drained the color from your face.
"The tendons and pathways.." He placed his hand on your leg, "I had the surgeons cleanly sever them while you were asleep. You will never walk again."
Your breath hitched, a cold, suffocating wave of shock leaving you entirely pale. Your jaw trembled as you stared at him, looking for any sign of a cruel joke. But there was none.
He leaned forward, his hands coming up to cradle your face, his palms warm against your frozen skin. "There is no need to look so frightened. I will take care of you. I will be your legs from now on."
He leaned closer, pressing his forehead against yours, his breath shallow. "You cannot imagine how deeply it pained me, Y/N. You passed my first test so beautifully.... But you failed the second."
A sickening dread settled in your stomach.
The second test.
"The library keeper.."
"A simple plan to test your loyalty. I needed to know if your devotion was pure, or if you were a bird that would fly away the moment a cage door was left ajar. I gave you the freedom to choose me again. Instead, you chose to deceive me."
The sheer weight of his calculation made your skin crawl. Sickened, you raised your trembling arms, desperately trying to push his chest away, to break out of his suffocating hold.
But before your hands could make solid contact, Sundayâs fingers shifted to the base of your skull. He pressed a specific, hidden pressure point at the nape of your neck, a subtle trigger that instantly magnified the throbbing pressure in your head.
The room spun violently. The dizziness returned tenfold, completely draining your physical strength.
Your strength vanished, and your head fell heavily forward, landing right against his shoulder. Sunday caught you effortlessly, his arms wrapping around your torso.
"There, there," he cooed, his hand gently stroking your hair as your consciousness began to fray. "Take a good rest. You will feel fine very soon."
As the darkness dragged you back down, your brain reverted to its oldest, deepest trauma. The fear of failure, the terror of punishment from your centuries of endless servitude flooded your fading thoughts.
You began to deliriously mumble into his coat. "I'm sorry... I'm so sorry, I'll fix the ledger... I'll rewrite the report... please, I'll fix it..."
Sundayâs fingers paused in your hair. A subtle flicker of pity crossed his elegant features. "Well... it seems I went a bit too far." he murmured to himself.
He shifted his grip, trailing his fingers over your forehead to hum a low, soothing melody that acted as a deep sedative. Your frantic mumbling slowed, your breathing leveled out, and you sank back into a deep, dreamless oblivion.
---
You woke up again later, hours or days, you couldn't tell. A lingering nightmare had just slipped through your fingers, leaving your mind completely hazy. You sat up slowly, your thoughts entirely blank. You couldn't remember how you got here, why your head throbbed.
The slate of your memory had been wiped thoroughly clean.
The doors of the bedroom swung open, and Sunday walked in. Noticing your open eyes, he immediately turned to a servant waiting in the hall. "Prepare a light meal and bring it up immediately."
He walked over to the side of the bed. Still running on pure instinct, you swung your upper body toward the edge of the mattress, intending to take a step out of bed to greet him. But the moment your weight shifted, your lower body failed to support you, and you began to fall forward out of the bed.
Sunday rushed forward with blinding speed, catching you securely in his arms before you could hit the floor.
He lifted you back up, cradling you against his chest. As your face pressed into the crook of his neck, the distinct, calming scent washed over you. It was weirdly, profoundly soothing. The moment you inhaled his scent, the dull headache you hadn't even realized you were holding completely dissolved.
"What... what is going on?" you asked, "Why can't I... why can't I stand?"
Sunday looked down at you, his eyes filled with an unshakeable, tranquil devotion. He adjusted his grip, pulling you into a protective, full-body hug, his hand steadily stroking your back to calm your rising anxiety.
"You don't remember, my love?" Sunday asked, "We were preparing for our wedding. Everything was perfect, but then you had a terrible accident. The doctors did what they could, but you are confined to this bed now."
You blinked, searching the empty spaces of your brain. A wedding? You didn't know why, but looking at his gentle smile and feeling the absolute safety of his embrace, you found yourself simply agreeing with it. "We... we were getting married?"
"Yes," Sunday nodded, his grip tightening just a fraction, "We are very much in love with each other. You gave up your exhausting life just to be by my side forever. Do you remember?"
"Oh," you murmured, completely dazed by his proximity. "We were?"
"Yes, love," Sunday whispered. He leaned down, his face stopping mere inches from yours, his eyes exerting a heavy, almost magnetic pull over your suggestible mind. He spoke with a quiet, absolute authority, not a harsh command, but an undeniable truth that your brain immediately accepted as reality. "And right now, you are feeling a deep desire to kiss your fiancĂŠ."
The words echoed in your mind like an absolute law. Without a single shred of hesitation, you leaned forward, your hands weakly clutching his lapels as you followed his direction, pressing your lips to his. Sunday met the kiss deeply.
As he pulled back, a deeply satisfied, triumphant expression settled over his face. His grand plan had technically failed halfway through, he hadn't managed to break your will through a test of loyalty, and he had been forced to break your wings to keep you from flying. But as he looked down at your blank, adoring smile, completely dependent on his touch and utterly trapped in his paradise, Sunday decided it didn't matter.
----
This fic was written in response to a request from an anonymous reader! I added a little twist here and there to the original request.
I couldn't reply directly to their request because I didn't want to spoil the surprises, so I truly hope them catch this upload! ŕ´Śŕľŕ´Śŕ´żâ ⊠â.á
I had been trying to brainstorm a plot for a Sunday fic for a while but was completely stuck, so your ideas were incredibly helpful. Thank you so much!
hiiiiiii ! ! so i just found out and read basically (almost) all of your phainon x reader fics in one night!! i think I'm going insane but its phainon so it's okay!! all of em are so so awesome!! :D
its an idea that popped up on a random tuesday, feel free to adjust it for your own liking too! - yandere childhood phainon that likes reader a lot to the point he would do anything for them! ! the twist is reader is an idiot that speaks before thinking. you should've known where this is going (i totally did not give up because cough cough i didn't know how to explain it..) anyway wanyswy thankyou thaykyou i panicked and tripped but thankyyou! ! ! wish you a happy day! yayy! !
The Weight of Your Lightest Words
Yandere!Phainon x Reader
The afternoon sun cast a warm, amber glow over the open fields, the wind carrying the sharp scent of crushed grass and dry earth. It was a perfect day for kites, though you couldnât bring yourself to match the sheer, vibrant energy of the boy running ahead of you.
You were the nonchalant anchor to his drifting boat. While you walked with a slow, indifferent stride, tugging lazily at the string of your simple paper kite, he tracked your every movement with an intensity that defied his young age. He didnât care about the wind, or the sky, or the other children shouting in the distance. He cared only about the space you occupied.
If you told him to sit, he sat. If you casually mentioned you were thirsty, he would reappear minutes later, out of breath, holding a cool cup of water. It was an unconditional obedience born from a devotion he couldn't yet fully name, but one that consumed him entirely. He lived to please you.
Then, the wind died down in a sudden swoop.
Your kite dipped, spiraling out of control before snagging firmly on the highest, most precarious branch of an old tree at the edge of the field. You stopped, looking up at the tangled mess of paper and bamboo with a mild, disappointed sigh. It was out of reach. A normal kid would have given up and gone home.
"It's stuck" you looked over at Phainon, squinting against the sun. With the pure, unthinking unfiltered thought of a child, you mused aloud, "I bet you could reach it, Phainon."
You didn't mean it as a command.
But to Phainon, your words were a sacred decree.
There was no hesitation, no second thought for his own safety. He scrambled up the rough bark of the oak tree with a frantic, desperate agility, driven by the singular, burning need to give you exactly what you wanted.
"Phainon, wait, I didn't mean-" you started, your nonchalant facade cracking just a fraction as you watched him climb dangerously high.
"I'll get it for you" he called down, his fingers gripping a branch that was far too thin to support his weight.
He reached out, his hand just brushing the paper edge of the kite.
Crack.
The branch gave way instantly. For a terrifying second, Phainon hung in the air before plunging downward, crashing through the lower boughs until he hit the hard ground.
You rushed over, your heart hammering against your ribs. Phainon lay in the grass, the retrieved kite clutched tightly, miraculously uncrushed, in his right hand. His left leg was bent at an unnatural, horrific angle.
Yet, as he looked up at you through the pain, sweat beading on his forehead and tears pricking the corners of his eyes, he didn't cry out. Instead, a weak, disturbingly breathless smile stretched across his face. He held the kite up toward you.
"I got it," he whispered, entirely ignoring the agonizing snap of his bone, "I got it for you."
Horrified and completely out of your depth, you stumbled backward, commanding him to stay still before sprinting toward the village as fast as your legs could carry you. You shouted for the adults.
Within an hour, the village elder had set his leg, binding it tightly in wooden splints. Phainon had to be held down by two grown men during the process, but his eyes never left you where you stood in the corner of the room. He didn't care about the pain. He only cared that you had fetched help for him.
---
Years had bled into one another, you were teenagers now, but some things remained stubbornly unchanged. You still walked through life with an effortless, untouchable nonchalance, a quiet island amidst the loud, chaotic waves of your peer group. And Phainon, as always, remained your shadow.
It was a stifling summer afternoon when you and a handful of friends found yourselves idling by the edge of the old woods, looking for anything to break the heavy boredom. One of the boys suddenly pointed a finger upward into the thick canopy of a sprawling wild tree.
"Hey, look at that... is that a beehive?" he asked, squinting. "Man, that thing is huge. Look at the size of it!"
Instantly, the group erupted into competitive, childish chatter.
"I dare you to throw a rock at it."
"No way, you do it! I bet you wouldn't even dare to climb up there."
"Are you kidding? You'd get absolutely mauled."
You stood slightly back from the rowdy circle, your expression blank, watching the bees swarm lazily around the massive, golden-brown structure. You weren't really paying attention to their macho posturing. Instead, your mind drifted, entirely detached from the danger.
"Fresh honey sounds nice, though," you murmured under your breath, a casual, unconscious thought escaping your lips. "Bet it's really sweet."
Next to you, Phainonâs shoulders dropped their relaxed posture. His eyes, which had been fixed on the side of your face the entire time, shifted slowly toward the hive.
Before anyone in the group could even register a movement, Phainon stepped past them.
"Wait, Phainon? What are you doing?" someone called out, laughing nervously.
Phainon leaped onto the lowest thick branch and began to climb. It was a mirror image of the day he broke his leg years ago, only now, he was bigger, faster, and completely devoid of any self-preservation. Your friends gasped, stepping back in a mix of awe and horror as Phainon scaled the tree with reckless abandon, his eyes locked onto the buzzing hive.
"Phainon, stop!" one of the boys yelled up.
"Phainon, get down," you said, "I don't want it."
He didn't listen. When it came to your safety, he would protect you. But when it came to your desires, even the ones you didn't mean, he was utterly deaf to reason. He reached the high branch, the swarm of disturbed bees thickening into a angry, black cloud around him. Without a single flinch, Phainon reached out with a thick, heavy stick he'd grabbed along the way and violently struck the base of the hive, catching the heavy, honey-dripping mass with his bare arm as it broke free.
The swarm exploded. A deafening, furious buzz filled the air.
"Run! Run!" your friends screamed, scattering in absolute terror as a cloud of angry bees descended from the canopy.
Phainon dropped from the lower branches, landing heavily on his feet, holding the sticky, golden hive against his chest like a prize. "Run!" he commanded you, his voice eerie in its calmness, even as the first wave of stingers sank into his neck and arms.
You didn't need to be told twice. You turned and sprinted alongside your frantic friends, the furious swarm hot on your heels. But Phainon didn't run to save himself, he ran right behind you, deliberately keeping his body between you and the cloud of insects, acting as a human shield.
By the time all of you collapsed into the safety of an old abandoned shed, slamming the heavy wooden door shut, everyone was gasping for air. A few of your friends were crying, nursing three or four painful stings on their arms and faces.
But Phainon... Phainon was a horrific sight.
He collapsed onto a crate, his face, neck, arms, and hands covered in angry, swelling red welts. He had been stung dozens of times. He was shivering, his breathing shallow and ragged from the sheer amount of venom injecting into his system.
Yet, as you stepped toward him, your chest heaving with adrenaline and a mounting, suffocating sense of guilt, Phainon looked up at you. His eyes were bloodshot, his face puffed and distorted by the swelling, but the look in his eyes was pure, unadulterated ecstasy.
Slowly, he set the broken, dripping beehive onto a clean piece of wood between you. Amber honey oozed out, rich and sweet, filling the dusty shed with its scent.
He looked at the honey, then up at your horrified, pale face. A breathless, distorted smile pulled at his swollen lips.
"It's... for you," Phainon rasped, his voice trembling as he forced the words past his throat. He reached out with a sting-covered hand, not to touch you, but just to hover near your sleeve. "You said... you wanted it sweet. Is it... sweet enough?"
----
The transition from teenagers to adults was ushered in not by a festival or a coming-of-age ceremony, but by the harsh, metallic clang of armor and the grim call to arms. War had come to the borders. Phainon had been the very first in the village to volunteer.
If the war stays out there, it won't touch Y/N.
For three long years, the village heard nothing but bloody rumors from the front lines. No one truly knew what happened out there in the mud and the slaughter, but when the soldiers finally returned, the boy who left had been completely hollowed out and refilled with something terrifyingly sharp.
To the village, he was a hardened war hero. To you, he was still the same old Phainon, because the moment his eyes landed on you among the crowd, the cold, dead gaze of a soldier vanished, replaced instantly by that familiar, unconditional devotion. He had survived a war simply because he had promised himself he would return to your side.
The village erupted into a week-long celebration to cheer for the survivors. Because of your natural specialty in the kitchen, you somehow found yourself tasked with managing the grand feast. You weren't entirely sure how youâd let yourself get dragged into the chaotic, sweating kitchen, but as platters of roasted meats and rich stews flowed out, your nonchalant mask remained firmly in place.
You were an expert cook, but you were an absolute, undeniable fool when it came to alcohol.
As the night deepened and the cider flowed like water, someone pressed a heavy wooden mug into your hands. You drank it, then another, your usual detached indifference melting away into a blurry, sloppy haze. By midnight, you were completely intoxicated, slouching heavily against a tavern bench.
"I can't stand him" your voice slurred and overly loud as you aggressively pointed a clumsy finger across the crowded room.
Sitting at a long table was a boisterous, loud-mouthed soldier from the village who had also returned from the front. He was currently surrounded by a group of locals, loudly bragging about how he was going to court you, boasting to anyone who would listen that you clearly had a soft spot for him because you'd served him an extra portion of stew.
"So annoying. Wish he'd just shut up and go away."
Phainon had been sitting quietly by your side, ignoring his own food. At your words, his eyes slowly tracked your finger, locking onto the boasting soldier. The chaotic noise of the tavern seemed to mute in his mind. The man was a nuisance to you.
"I see," He leaned down, his breath brushing your ear as you closed your eyes, fading out. "If you don't like him... I can make him disappear for you."
"Yeah... whatever... make 'im go away." you mumbled thoughtlessly, completely oblivious to the weight of your words before your head hit the wooden table.
He rose from the bench with a swift movement.
It happened in one terrifyingly efficient go. There was no struggle, just the silent, lethal precision of a man who had turned killing into an art form. He didn't feel a shred of guilt. He only felt an overwhelming, ecstatic rush of pride. He was cleaning up your world.
By the next afternoon, you woke up with a pounding, merciless headache, your memories of the previous night completely wiped clean.
But the village was in a total frenzy.
"His boots are still in his room, his coin purse is on the table, but he's completely vanished!"
When you heard the shocking news of the man going missing, a cold prickle of unease washed over you, though you couldn't fathom why.
"It's awful, isn't it?" a soft voice spoke up from behind you.
You turned to see Phainon standing there. He was looking at you with those wide, adoring, entirely innocent eyes.
"People just disappear sometimes," Phainon said evenly, stepping closer until his shadow completely enveloped you, shielding you from the midday sun. He reached out, gently tucking a stray lock of hair behind your ear, his touch surprisingly warm, completely devoid of the blood that had coated it hours prior. "But you don't need to worry about it."
----
The morning after the village was turned upside down by the soldierâs sudden disappearance, the air felt thick with unspoken tension. Looking to escape the suffocating gossip of the town square, you accepted Phainonâs suggestion to take a stroll down by the river. You had no reason to deny him; after all, it had been three long years since you last walked together like this.
The riverbank was peaceful, the steady rush of the water a grounding contrast to the chaos brewing back home. As you walked side by side, you found yourself talking about the mundane things that had happened during his absence: the seasonal harvests, the changing weather, the quiet rhythm of village life. You told him, with your usual understated sincerity, that you were simply glad he was back.
Phainon listened with an intensity that made it feel as though your words were the only thing keeping him anchored to the earth. He didn't offer much about himself, the front lines, or the war. You didn't want to push him, either. You knew the battlefield left scars that ran far deeper than the jagged one on his brow, and you had no desire to force him to relive what was likely pure trauma.
Your thoughts wandered for a split second, your gaze drifting to the rushing water. Because of your momentary distraction, your foot caught on a treacherous, moss-slicked rock.
Before you could even gasp, a hand gripped your waist, and a strong arm locked around your shoulders, pulling you firmly against a solid chest.
"Careful," Phainon murmured, his voice low and incredibly steady against your hair. He didn't release his grip immediately, his fingers lingering on your waist just a second too long, checking to ensure you were entirely unharmed. "I've got you."
You stepped back, blinking away a rare flash of surprise, and nodded your thanks.
A little while later, Phainon excused himself to head back to the village first. You decided to stay by the river a bit longer, enjoying the solitude, until the bushes rustled and one of your childhood friends walked out, looking pale and deeply distressed.
"Oh, thank goodness," Martha breathed, jogging over to your side. She wrung her hands nervously, looking around the quiet riverbank. "Have you... have you noticed anything strange around here lately?"
"Strange? Like what?"
"I lost one of my lambs last night, it was just a few months old. It didn't break out of the pen- the latch was still closed. First that soldier disappears from the tavern, and now my lamb?"
"It's probably just a wolf," you replied calmly, trying to soothe her rising panic. "The winter was harsh. The predators from the mountains are likely coming down closer to the fences. Don't worry too much about it. Just double-check the pens before sunset."
Your friend let out a shaky sigh, comforted by your total lack of alarm. "Yeah... yeah, you're probably right."
The two of you began the walk back to the village together, wanting to return before the shadows lengthened and darkness settled over the place.
----
The next afternoon, you headed back toward the edge of the woods to gather a few more wild mushrooms to finish off tonightâs savory soup. As you knelt by a mossy log, a faint, desperate sound caught your attentionâthe distinct, muffled bleating of a lamb coming from a thick patch of briars nearby.
Curiosity breaking through your usual indifference, you stood up and followed the noise.
You pushed past a heavy cluster of bushes, your hand reaching out toward the trembling, trapped little lamb, when the ground suddenly exploded with movement. A rough, calloused hand clamped violently over your shoulder, ripping you backward. A large, rugged man stepped out of the shadows of the canopy, a rusted hunting knife glinting in his fist.
He pinned you against a tree, raising the blade, but as his eyes scanned your face, he froze. His expression twisted into a mixture of confusion and frustration.
"Wait..." the man growled, "You're not Martha."
He was clearly looking for the lamb's owner, likely waiting to ambush her when she came looking for her missing livestock. But his hesitation lasted only a fraction of a second. A dark sneer crossed his face as he tightened his grip on your shirt. "Doesn't matter. You saw too much anyway."
He brought the knife down. You closed your eyes, bracing for the impact, but the strike never came.
Thwack! Thwack!
Two sharp, deafening snaps split the air in rapid succession. The man let out a blood-curdling shriek as two heavy, black-fletched arrows tore through the air with terrifying velocity, pinning both of his palms directly to the trunk of the tree on either side of your head. The knife dropped harmlessly into the dirt. He writhed in agony, trapped against the wood by his own hands.
Before he could even process the pain, a third arrow flew from the shadows.
Crunch.
It was a gruesome, horrific sound. The arrow drove clean through the side of the man's neck, the steel arrowhead bursting out the other side in a spray of dark crimson. His eyes rolled back, his body going completely limp, suspended only by the arrows anchoring his hands to the bark.
Your breath caught in your throat, a cold sweat breaking out across your skin. You didn't wait to see who the archer was. Driven by pure survival instinct, you snatched the trembling lamb from the bush, tucked it firmly under your arm, and sprinted away from the bloody scene as fast as your legs could carry you.
You burst out of the treeline, your heart hammering against your ribs, and crashed blindly into someone's chest.
You looked up, gasping for air, to see Phainon. He was dressed in his hunting gear, a heavy bow slung over his shoulder, looking down at you.
"What happened? Are you hurt?"
"There's a man... in the woods," you panted, your usual calm entirely shattered as you clutched the lamb tighter. "He tried to attack me. Someone shot him... arrows through his hands, and his neck. There's so much blood. We need to go back."
Phainonâs expression darkened, a chilling, lethal stillness settling over his features for a brief second before he masked it with a calm, reassuring nod. "Lead the way."
With Phainon closely at your side, you cautiously retraced your steps back to the thicket. But when you finally pushed through the bushes to the clearing, you froze in absolute shock.
The manâs body was completely gone.
The three black-fletched arrows had been ripped from the tree, leaving deep, splintered holes in the bark. The only thing remaining was a heavy, gruesome trail of dark blood staining the grass and pooling into the dirt.
"He's... he's gone," you whispered, staring at the empty space. "He couldn't have moved."
Phainon stepped past you, casually kicking a patch of dirt over the heaviest pool of blood to obscure it from your view. He looked around the quiet clearing, his face entirely unbothered, as if a brutal scene of violence hadn't just occurred in this exact spot.
"The wind is picking up, and it's going to get dark soon," Phainon said softly, turning back to you with a gentle, comforting smile. He reached out, lightly patting the head of the lamb in your arms. "Take the lamb back to your friend. I'll handle the rest of this."
You looked at the blood trail, then at Phainonâs calm demeanor. Still dazed by the sheer adrenaline, you nodded slowly, turning to head back toward the safety of the village.
Phainon watched your retreating figure until you completely disappeared from sight. The moment you were gone, the gentle warmth vanished from his face. He adjusted the grip on his bow, tracking the messy path through the brush.
----
The next morning, the village felt smaller, suffocatingly quiet after the terrifying incident in the woods. You walked beside Phainon as he effortlessly carried two heavy wooden buckets of fresh water back from the well. Even with the weight, his stride was perfectly synced to your slow, indifferent pace. You were lazily conversing about nothing in particular when the sudden, loud clatter of hooves echoed down the dirt road.
A lavish, gilded carriage rolled into the village square.
With a harsh tug of the reins, the horses ground to a halt right in front of you and Phainon, kicking up a thick cloud of dust. The carriage door clicked open, and a man stepped out. Dressed in suffocating layers of silk and velvet, he carried himself with an insufferable, nose-in-the-air arrogance that instantly made the atmosphere turn sour. He didn't even look at the village; his eyes snapped directly to Phainon.
"You there," the man barked, his tone dripping with disdain as if he ruled the very ground you stood on. "I am looking for a new personal guard. Pack your things. You will serve me now."
A cold spike of irritation pierced through your usual nonchalance. You absolutely loathed people who treated human beings like property.
"He's not a dog you can just whistle for," you spoke up, cutting through the manâs arrogant demands with dangerous, unbothered friction. "He stays here."
The noble sneered down his nose at you, disgusted by your defiance, but before he could snap back, Phainon stepped squarely in front of you.
"I deny the offer," Phainon said. "I serve only one person. And it will never be you."
The nobleâs face twisted in rage, but with a dismissive wave of his hand, he stepped back into his carriage, his guards giving you both threatening, lingering glares before the carriage rattled away.
From the whispers of the lingering guards and the frightened murmurs of the gathered townsfolk, you quickly found out exactly who he was. He wasn't just a wealthy merchant; he was a powerful, untouchable noble out for a regional stroll, a man notorious for his corruption, a tyrant who seized lands, abused peasants, and treated the poor like dirt beneath his polished boots.
You and Phainon knew this wasn't going to be an easy rejection. Men like him didn't take 'no' for an answer.
Seeking an escape from the looming dread, you dragged Phainon into the village tavern. Frustrated and exhausted by the sheer injustice of the world, you turned to the alcohol once more, drinking wholeheartedly.
"If I had that kind of power... if I was that rich... I'd never let things be like that. I'd take everything he has and actually do something good with it. Corrupted bastards... they shouldn't even exist."
You drifted off into a heavy, drunken sleep a moment later, completely oblivious to the catastrophic shift you had just caused inside Phainon's mind.
Once he had safely carried you home and tucked you into bed, Phainon slipped into the pitch-black night.
The nobleâs carriage and personal escort had set up camp in a private clearing just outside the village borders. Two guards paced the perimeter, torches flickering against the dark woods. They never saw Phainon drop from the canopy above.
He landed soundlessly behind the first guard. In a fluid, terrifyingly practiced motion from his days in the trenches, Phainon clamped a hand over the man's mouth, pulling his head back to expose the throat. A single, deep swipe of his blade silenced the man forever. Before the second guard could even turn around, Phainon closed the distance, driving the heavy steel blade upward beneath the man's jaw, straight into his brain.
He slipped into the secondary tents where the remaining crew- the driver, the servants, and the backup mercenaries- were sleeping. One by one, he ended them in the dark. The canvas walls of the tents were painted in dark crimson as Phainon cut through them. He wasn't angry at these men; they were simply loose ends that needed to be severed to protect your new inheritance.
Finally, Phainon stepped into the main, lavishly decorated tent where the noble lay asleep.
The heavy scent of copper and fresh blood preceded him, waking the tyrant. The noble blinked his eyes open, gasping as he saw a tall, blood-splattered shadow standing over his bed. He opened his mouth to scream for his guards, but Phainonâs hand plunged downward, pinning the noble to the mattress by his throat. The sheer force choked out the scream into a pathetic, wet gurgle.
"They're all dead."
The nobleâs eyes widened in sheer, suffocating terror as he thrashed against Phainonâs grip. Phainon dragged the terrified man out of bed by his hair, throwing him brutally onto the floor. With his boot pressed heavily onto the noble's chest, Phainon reached into his jacket and pulled out a clean sheet of parchment, an inkwell, and a quill.
He dropped them onto the floor next to the man's trembling hands.
"I am going to give you a single chance to live," Phainon murmured, leaning down, "You are going to write a will. Declaring that upon your disappearance, every single coin, piece of land, and treasure you possess is to be legally transferred over to Y/N L/N. If you refuse, I will skin you alive in this tent."
Terrified for his life, the noble scrambled for the quill. With blood-stained fingers, crying and gasping for air, the tyrant frantically scribbled out the text, legally binding his entire estate, his generational wealth, and his vast treasures to your name, sealing it with his official family ring.
The moment the ink dried, the noble looked up, his face pale and wet with tears. "I did it... I did it. Please. Let me go."
Phainon picked up the parchment, blowing gently on the ink to let it dry. He inspected the seal, folding it carefully and placing it securely inside his inner coat pocket.
Then, he looked down at the noble. The gentle expression vanished.
"I lied."
Before the noble could even register the betrayal, Phainonâs hand darted forward. With a swift, brutal twist, he snapped the manâs neck.
---
The morning air was crisp, but you couldn't see the path ahead. A soft, dark cloth was tied securely around your eyes, blinding you completely as a pair of familiar, calloused hands guided you forward with absolute gentleness.
"Just a few more steps," Phainonâs voice murmured right beside your ear, rich with an excitement you had rarely heard from him since his return from the war. "I promise, itâs worth the wait."
You let him lead you, your usual nonchalant compliance guiding your steps. But as the ground beneath your boots shifted from rough dirt to smooth, polished stone, and the open-air breeze vanished into a grand, echoing warmth, a strange sense of unease began to settle in your stomach.
"We're here." he whispered, his hands moving to the back of your head to untie the knot.
The cloth fell away. You blinked against the sudden brightness, your eyes slowly adjusting to the sheer, breathtaking opulence stretching out before you.
You were standing in the grand foyer of a magnificent estate. Crystal chandeliers hung from vaulted ceilings, and gold-leaf trim lined the mahogany walls. The floors were scrubbed so clean they mirrored the morning light, and every piece of silver gleamed. It was entirely vacant, save for the two of you, but it was pristine.
"Do you like it?" Phainon asked, stepping into your field of vision. His face was lit up with a terrifyingly pure, adoring smile. "Itâs yours. All of it."
You stared at the sweeping staircase, your mind entirely blank. "Phainon... what are you talking about? I don't understand any of this. How could this be mine?"
"Because he gave it to you.. You remember him right? He left everything to you. I made sure of it."
The words echoed in your mind, and suddenly, the fog of the past few days began to clear.
You hadn't been living in a series of strange coincidences. You had been living with a monster who treated your every passing, careless thought as a divine commandment.
You realized just how incredibly, dangerously naive you had been. Your apathy had been his license to kill.
Before you could take a step back, Phainon glided soundlessly behind you. Unyielding arms wrapped securely around your waist, pulling your back flush against his chest. He buried his face into the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply, his chest rising and falling in a contented sigh.
"I told you I'd always get you what you wanted." His grip tightened, locking you to him. "I would do anything for you. You have me now... the greatest weapon you could ever ask for. And it is entirely up to you how you use it."
He leaned up slightly, his lips brushing against your cheek before pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your shoulder. He pulled back just enough to look at you.
"I know you'll make the right choice."
The silence of the grand manor pressed in on you, forcing you to look at the two distinct paths stretching out from this very moment:
You shatter your nonchalance once and for all. You command him to stop.
You look at the terrifying power serving only you, and you take your chance.
Hello! How are you? I hope you're doing wonderfully :]
Can I request you write about Yandere Saitama?
When I read your Yandere Mash writing, it reminded me of him and I'd love to see you write him if you can
Take care!
Idk why but I enjoyed writing this one :]]]
The Hero's New Directive
Yandere!Saitama x Reader
The metallic click of the deadbolt sounded deafening in the cramped, quiet hallway.
Your fingers, slick with sweat, twisted the doorknob. It gave way. Just a fraction of an inch of cool night air slipped through the crack before a heavy, suffocating pressure slammed the door firmly back into its frame.
An oppressive, crushing weight settled onto your shoulders. Right beside your ear, a voice cut through the silence.
"What are you doing?"
You froze, your heart hammering violently against your ribs. Turning your head just a fraction, you looked up. Saitama was standing right behind you. The usual dim-witted, blank expression he wore was completely gone.
You swallowed hard, forcing your racing pulse down, and opted for absolute, unbothered nonchalance.
"Uh, trying to see if the mail came." you lied, letting your hand drop from the knob as you turned around to face him. "But it looks like the slot is empty. Anyway, did you finish the chips?"
The terrifying aura vanished in a microsecond, dissipating so fast it left you dizzy. Saitama blinked, his sharp features melting instantly back into his usual, dopey, egg-like countenance.
"No, thereâs still half a bag left." he muttered, scratching the back of his head as he shuffled past you toward the tatami mats. "We should finish them before they get stale."
"Good point."
You walked back into the small living area as if you hadn't just been a hair's breadth away from a panic attack, sinking onto the floor next to him. The television hummed, casting a flickering blue glow over the tiny apartment. You pulled the low table closer, grabbing a handful of chips while a mindless variety show blared in the background.
Within ten minutes, Saitamaâs head began to bob. Within fifteen, his eyes were closed, a soft snore escaping his lips as he drifted off to sleep right next to you.
Looking at him now, so relaxed, it was almost easy to forget he was a god-like entity capable of splitting the sky. But as you glanced at the closed front door, the phantom weight of his aura still lingered on your skin, dragging your mind backward into the memory of how your life had devolved into this bizarre nightmare.
--
Before all of this, you didn't even know who Saitama was. You were just a completely ordinary citizen trying to survive the chaotic daily hazards of City Z.
Your brush with the extraordinary had started completely by accident. You had been walking home when a grotesque, towering monster cornered you in an alleyway. You closed your eyes, bracing for the end, only to hear a deafening CRACK followed by a wet, explosive sound. When you opened your eyes, the monster was gone, reduced to a shower of gory rain. You didn't see who did it; you just assumed a high-ranking Hero had passed through.
But your luck ran out a week later. It turned out that specific monster had been carrying a rare, highly volatile bio-engineered pathogen. Because you were the only surviving witness exposed to its residue, you were quietly abducted from your bedânot by villains, but by a rogue, black-ops research division associated with the Hero Association itself.
They locked you in a subterranean laboratory. A twisted, fanatical scientist in a pristine white coat had smiled down at your strapped-down form, preparing a tray of horrifying, oversized needles to dissect how your body was processing the pathogen.
You were seconds away from a gruesome examination when the alarms suddenly blared. A massive underground monster nest chose that exact moment to ambush the facility from beneath. The walls caved in, crushing the scientists and throwing the lab into absolute chaos. Amidst the screaming and crumbling concrete, you managed to break free from your restraints, stumbling blindly through the smoke, heavily bruised, bleeding, and terrified.
That was when the wall to your left exploded into dust.
Through the debris walked a bald man in a ridiculous yellow jumpsuit, followed closely by a blonde cyborg. They had been sent to clear the monster nest, splitting up to cover more ground. The cyborg shot down a parallel hallway, leaving the bald man alone.
He stopped when he saw you, his bored eyes widening slightly at your bloodied, battered state. "You okay?"
But as he moved, a stray piece of falling debris smashed into a highly advanced, experimental machine labeled Project: Aphrodite-9 - a weapon the scientists had been developing to manipulate human brain chemistry and induce absolute, unshakable obsession for psychological warfare. The machine short-circuited, its targeting lens snapping directly onto you and Saitama.
A blinding, pinkish-gold laser beam shot out, piercing through you and striking Saitama dead in the chest.
It didn't hurt physically. The blast didn't even singe his yellow suit. But as the energy washed over him, something fundamental in his eyes shifted. The dull, vacant look he always wore shattered. The laser had cross-wired his dormant, numb emotions, violently locking his brain's reward centers onto the exact image in front of him: you.
Saitama gasped, his chest heaving as a terrifyingly intense light flooded his pupils. Before you could speak, he crossed the room in a blur, wrapping his arms around you. He held you so tightly it almost cracked your ribs, burying his face into your shoulder.
"I'm not letting anything happen to you ever again."
A minute later, Genos came sprinting around the corner, "Sensei! I heard an explosion, are youâ"
The cyborg froze, staring in absolute bewilderment at his master.
"Genos," Saitama had ordered, "Find the nearest hospital."
--
A month had passed since that chaotic day. Living with Saitama was undeniably safe, but the weight of his constant, suffocating fixation left you with almost no personal space. You hadn't known him before the accident, but aside from specific personal tasks, he now insisted on following you everywhere.
Genos was acutely aware of your existence. At first, you felt defensive; you knew that strangers shouldn't just barge into someone else's life like this. But you understood his concern. You were fine with it, eventually agreeing to cooperate with Genos in secret. You promised the cyborg that you would help find someone to study, fix, and reverse the device, or build a new machine entirely to return Saitama to normal.
But until that day came, you had to manage his intense possessiveness.
Just yesterday, you had needed to go to the local market for groceries. Wanting a moment of reprieve, you had looked Saitama in the eyes and said, "I'm going out to the market with Genos to get some food. You should stay home and rest."
Saitama had simply blinked, "Oh. Okay. Sure."
But he hadn't stayed home.
The moment you and Genos stepped onto the bustling street, you caught sight of a yellow-and-red blur hovering at a "reasonable" distance behind you.
The trip quickly became an exercise in absurdity. When a pushy street vendor stepped into your path, trying to aggressively wave a coupon in your face, a tiny pebble suddenly ricocheted off the concrete with the force of a bullet, striking the vendorâs shoe and causing him to trip backward into his own stall.
Later, when a distracted shopper almost bumped into your shoulder, the wind pressure inexplicably shifted, blowing the man's hat off and sending him scrambling away in confusion.
Even Genos wasn't immune. At one point, the cyborg reached a hand out to guide you away from a puddle. The moment his fingers brushed your elbow, a small rock whizzed through the air, perfectly striking Genos's wrist joint with a loud CLANG.
Genos had paused, his glowing eyes darting toward a nearby rooftop where a bald head quickly ducked out of sight. The cyborg simply let his hand drop, exhaling a soft whir of exhaust. "Senseiâs tracking parameters are... exceptionally vigilant today."
By the time you both finished gathering all the necessary groceries, you finally made it back to the apartment building. As you walked up the stairs, Genos carried the heavy bags effortlessly, casting a rare, analytical look toward you.
"This excursion was remarkably efficient," Genos admitted, "spending this time with you wasn't bad. You were highly cooperative with the itinerary, which made the task optimal."
You couldn't help it. Genosâs absurdly straightforward way of paying a compliment was deeply endearing. You let out a gentle, soft laugh, shaking your head. "Thanks, Genos. I try my best."
The door to the apartment suddenly swung open before you could even reach for the handle.
Saitama stood in the doorway, already back inside as if he had never left. But his eyes weren't dopey anymore. A dangerous, sharp spark of jealousy flared in his pupils, his gaze locking intensely onto the lingering smile on your face, and then darting to Genos.
He didn't like you laughing at someone else.
--
The low hum of the television faded into the background as the tension in the room thickened. That single spark of jealousy from the market had shifted something inside Saitama. Over the next few days, his behavior mutated from a suffocating, shadow-like clinginess into something far more active.
You didn't know what was firing in his brain, but he began making requests you couldn't easily shrug off. You denied him at first, and to his credit, his baseline habit of listening to you made him back off. But overtime, you couldn't stop him from trying. The boundary lines were blurring, and he was pushing through them with the slow, unstoppable force of a glacier.
It culminated on a rainy afternoon. You were nestled deep inside the warmth of the kotatsu, trying to lose yourself in a book. Saitama had been sitting across from you, staring with a heavy, unblinking intensity that made the hair on your arms stand up.
Suddenly, he crawled forward on his hands and knees, sliding under the heavy blanket until he was right in front of you.
"Give me a kiss."
A kiss? You didn't even have a crush on anybody in your normal life, let alone the terrifyingly overpowered stranger who had essentially hijacked your existence.
"Saitama, no," you said, forcing your voice to stay level as you pressed your back against the wall behind the kotatsu. "We shouldn't do things like that. We're not... we aren't together."
"Why not?" he asked plainly. He tilted his head, his face looming inches from yours. There was no innocence in his expression; it was completely dark, consumed by the artificial obsession pulsing through his veins. "I protect you. Why can't I have that?"
Before you could scramble out from under the table, his hands shot forward.
With terrifying ease, Saitama pinned your wrists down against the tatami mat. He didn't use enough force to break your bones, but the sheer, absolute immobility of his grip was paralyzing. You struggled, throwing your weight side to side, kicking beneath the kotatsu, but it was like trying to move a mountain. He didn't even sway.
He leaned in further, hovering directly over you, casting your face in total shadow. Desperate to avoid his gaze, you squeezed your eyes shut, twisting your head violently to the side.
"Saitama, stop!"
He didn't listen. His lips pressed against yours. Losing your mind to pure survival instinct, you used your one shot. As his mouth moved against yours, you clamped your teeth down, biting his lip as hard as you could.
The metallic tang of blood instantly flooded your mouth. You gasped internally, expecting him to pull away in pain. But Saitama didn't care. The small smear of blood only seemed to heighten the dark intensity pinning you to the floor. He shifted his grip, trapping your hands more securely, and went in for another kiss, completely swallowing your protests.
You felt entirely helpless, trapped beneath a force nature itself couldn't stop, your heart hammering a frantic, desperate rhythm against your ribs.
Click.
The front door slid open, followed by the heavy footsteps of his disciple. "Sensei, I have returned with the component upgrades.."
Genos walked into the living area and froze. His glowing optics scanned the scene: you, pinned flat on the floor beneath the kotatsu, eyes squeezed shut, and Saitama, fiercely hovering over you with a line of blood tracing his lower lip.
A heavy, agonizingly awkward silence descended upon the room.
"I... apologize. I will return when the parameters of your... interaction... have concluded." Genos blurted out and turned on his heel and walked right back out of the apartment, slamming the door shut in sheer embarrassment.
The sudden distraction worked. Saitama finally pulled back, his grip loosening just a fraction as he looked toward the door with an annoyed twitch of his brow.
The moment you were free, a massive wave of relief washed over you, so intense it made your head spin. You scrambled backward into the furthest corner of the room, drawing your knees to your chest, your heart still thudding wildly as you wiped your mouth with the back of your trembling hand.
Saitama just sat there, wiping the blood from his lip with his thumb, staring at you with that same terrifying patience.
--
Thankfully, the suffocating atmosphere broke the next evening when an uninvited guest practically burst through the front door.
Fubuki swept into the apartment in her expensive fur coat, ready to pitch another demand for Saitama to join her faction. Instead, she halted in her tracks, her jaw dropping.
You were at the stove cooking a massive batch of stir-fry, and Saitama was quite literally glued to your side. He was wearing his goofy, blank, egg-faced expression, but his hands were firmly clasped around your waist from behind, chin resting lazily on your shoulder as you tried to chop vegetables.
"Saitama?!" Fubuki stuttered, her usual composed aura shattering into complete bewilderment. "What on earth are you doing? Who is this?!"
"Oh, hi," Saitama muttered, not letting go of you. "We're cooking. Don't bother us."
"I made quite a lot of food," you called out over Saitama's shoulder, desperately clinging to any semblance of normal human interaction. "Would you like to stay for dinner?"
To your surprise, behind her haughty hero persona, Fubuki turned out to be incredibly nice. Once she sat down, she polished off two bowls of rice, complimenting your cooking with genuine warmth. You both actually got along incredibly well, chatting about regular civilian life outside of hero business.
Seeing a glimmer of hope, you leaned in closer to her across the low table. "Actually, Fubuki, I wanted to talk to you about something... Saitama has been acting really strange because of-"
"Hey, don't eat all the pork!" Saitama interrupted loudly, shoving a piece of meat into his mouth. He deliberately nudged a plate between you and Fubuki, physically cutting off your line of sight. He wasn't going to let you tell her a thing.
Fubuki clicked her tongue, "Honestly.. Have some manners! You should learn to give people some space, you bald freak!"
"Hah? Who are you calling a freak? You're the one who barged into my apartment for free food." Saitama bickered back, his face twisting into his classic, comical cartoon irritation.
Watching them argue, a wild idea sparked in your mind. Fubuki was beautiful, powerful, and a prominent figure. Maybe, you thought, if I play matchmaker, I can redirect his obsession onto her instead.
You smiled, leaning forward. "You know, you two actually look really good together. You argue like an old married couple."
The bickering stopped instantly. Fubukiâs face flushed bright red, completely flustered. But Saitama didn't look flustered at all. He turned his head slowly, his cartoonish annoyance vanishing. He looked right through you.
"Don't say stupid things," Saitama said, "I don't care about her. At all."
The absolute finality in his voice crushed your matchmaking plan into dust before it could even begin. He knew exactly what you were trying to do.
--
After a deeply awkward farewell, Fubuki left. You carried the stacked plates to the sink, your hands slightly trembling from the residual adrenaline of his intense gaze. In your distraction, a ceramic plate slipped from your soapy fingers.
SMASH.
It shattered violently against the floorboards. "Ah!" you gasped, immediately kneeling down to pick up the sharp pieces.
"Don't touch it!" Saitamaâs voice boomed. In a fraction of a millisecond, he was on the floor beside you, his hands swatting yours away. But in his uncharacteristic rush to keep you away from the glass, he carelessly shoved his hand down into the pile.
A sharp tink echoed. Saitama blinked, looking down at his index finger. A tiny shard of glass had managed to find the perfect angle, pricking his skin. A single, small bead of blood welled up.
"Hold still" you said, scrambling over to the cabinet to grab the first-aid kit. Back at his side, you carefully cradled his enormous hand and wiped away the tiny bead of blood. After dabbing the prick with antiseptic, you smoothed a brightly colored band-aid over it, treating the minuscule wound with all the seriousness of a life-threatening injury.
Saitama watched you the entire time, his expression completely softening.
Before you could pull away, his grip on your hand tightened. He stood up, effortlessly pulling you with him until your back hit the edge of the kitchen sink. He stepped into your space, cornering you completely, trapping you between his sturdy body and the counter.
"Why do you always do that?" he asked, "You always try to push me away. Don't you get it? My whole head is filled with you. Every single thought. It's only you."
"It's because you were hit by a machine, remember? This isn't true love. You aren't yourself."
Saitama leaned in close, his breath brushing your cheek.
"I don't care what it is. Right now, you're what I want. And I'm keeping you."
The air grew impossibly thick, your heart hammering against your ribs as he leaned closer-
Click.
The front door slid open again. Genos walked in, carrying a fresh grocery bag. "Sensei, I realized we forgot the green onions for tomorrow'sâ"
Genos stopped dead in his tracks.
"I... see." Genos turned right back around, walked out, and closed the door.
You let out a breath you didn't realize you were holding, your shoulders sagging in immense relief as Saitama sighed, completely annoyed by his disciple's timing.
--
Later that night, the hum of the refrigerator was the only sound in the dark apartment. Saitama was dead to the world beside you, his breathing heavy and even.
Bzz.
The sudden vibration of your phone against the tatami mat made your heart leap. You carefully slipped it out from under your pillow, the screen illuminating your face. It was a text from Genos.
Genos: I have bypassed the main research protocols. Dr. Kuseno has successfully constructed a prototype of the reverse-resonance device. It is a test version, but the calculations are optimal. We should deploy it immediately.
You stared at the glowing text, a complex wave of emotion washing over you. You agreed. It was for the best. Saitama needed to return to the way he was, and Genos deserved to get his beloved sensei back. As for you? Youâd finally be able to return to your normal life. Granted, looking back, there wasn't much about your old, mundane routine that you particularly cared about. These past weeks had been terrifying, yes, but they had also been strangely full. Still, your conscience won outâyou couldn't just sit back and let someone have their entire life artificially devoted to you.
You texted back a single word: Okay.
Forcing your breathing to remain shallow, you faked being asleep. Minutes later, the balcony window slid open. Genos slipped into the room, a sleek, rifle-like machine cradled in his hands. You slowly opened your eyes, giving Genos a tight nod as you glanced at Saitama to ensure he was still sleeping soundly.
Genos raised the device. A faint, low hum vibrated through the air as the barrel began to glow with a pale blue light. The beam was just about to shoot out-
Snap.
In a fraction of a microsecond, Saitamaâs eyes flew open.
Before Genos could even pull the trigger, Saitamaâs fist moved. He didn't even stand up; he just threw a casual, backhand punch from his position on the floor. The sheer wind pressure from the strike didn't just shatter the machine, it completely tore through the ceiling, blowing the entire roof off the apartment building and scattering the debris into the upper atmosphere. The night sky was suddenly completely visible above you.
"What do you think you're doing?" Saitama growled, sitting up. "Both of you..."
You shook violently from the residual shockwave. You knew, with absolute certainty, that if Saitama had intended to aim that punch directly at Genos instead of just swatting the air around him, the cyborg would be nothing but a pile of melted scrap metal right now.
Before you could utter an apology, Saitamaâs hand wrapped firmly around your waist. "We're leaving."
In a blink, the apartment vanished. The sheer speed of his movement left your vision blurry and your lungs gasping for air. When your feet finally touched solid ground, you realized he had carried you to a desolate, abandoned warehouse district on the outskirts.
He set you down but kept his grip tight on your arm. "You want me back to normal so badly?" Saitama asked, his eyes gleaming in the moonlight. "You want to get rid of this? Let me show you what exactly it is you're trying to fight."
Right on cue, a massive, grotesque monster tore through the concrete walls of a nearby building, roaring at the sudden intrusion. It didn't even get a chance to posture.
Saitama didn't look at it. He just threw a single, careless punch.
BOOM.
The creature instantly exploded into a massive shower of gore, the shockwave splitting the clouds above the district in half. It was over in a blink.
Saitama turned his head back to you, his face cast in terrifying shadows. "See? That's what you're going against. The whole world is like this. But as long as I'm like this for you, none of it can touch you."
You swallowed hard, the sheer display of absolute power driving his point home. You did know what he was about. You knew exactly how terrifyingly invincible he was.
"Hey! Hey, mister!" a slurred voice suddenly called out. A drunk businessman, who had apparently been hiding in the alley, stumbled out into the open, clutching a bottle. "Did... did you just kill that thing? Thank you... thank you for saving-"
The man stopped dead in his tracks. Saitama turned his gaze toward him. It wasn't a hero's look. It was the cold, predatory glare of a monster far worse than the one he had just killed. The sheer aura radiating from Saitama made the drunk man choke on his words, drop his bottle, and flee into the night, screaming in pure terror from the gaze alone.
But Saitama had made a fatal mistake. He thought he had destroyed the only threat. He didn't know that you and Genos were already one step ahead.
You hadn't just stood by while Genos brought the machine to the apartment. Genos had given you a compact, emergency secondary triggerâa small, palm-sized cylinder hidden right inside your sleeve.
While Saitama was distracted by the fleeing drunk man, you whipped the device out, pointing it directly at his chest, and slammed the button.
A sharp, concentrated pulse of blue light shot out, hitting Saitama. He gasped, stumbling back a step. Because he was only wearing his flimsy, well-worn pajamas, the explosive force of his earlier punch combined with the energy blast caused the fabric of his shirt to completely tear open, leaving him standing in the cool night air with a tattered rag hanging off his shoulder.
Silence stretched over the desolate lot. You held your breath, your heart hammering. Did it work?
Saitama stood perfectly still for a long moment, staring down at his tattered pajamas. Then, his face suddenly slackened, his eyes losing that terrifying, hyper-focused glow. He rubbed his nose, his shoulders slumping into a deeply familiar, bored posture.
"Achoo!" he sneezed loudly, rubbing his head. "Man... it's freezing out here."
A massive wave of relief washed over you.
"We should... probably get back" you suggested.
"Yeah. Definitely. I think there's a sale on hotpot ingredients tomorrow morning anyway." Saitama muttered, turning around and walking back toward the city.
While walking a few steps behind him, you quickly pulled out your phone and shot a hurried text to Genos: It worked. He's back to normal.
You slipped the phone away, letting out the longest sigh of your life. For the first time, the crushing weight on your chest was gone. You were finally free.
You walked alongside Saitama in the quiet night, completely at ease. Which meant you didn't notice the way his eyes cut sideways to look at you through the dark. And you certainly didn't see the tiny, faint smirk playing at the very corner of his lips.
It was so easy to trick you. You actually thought a little piece of plastic could fix it all.
He let you walk a little closer to him, pretending to be cold, secretly relishing the fact that you weren't trying to run away anymore. Let Genos think the machine worked. As long as you stayed right by his side, he would play whatever part you wanted him to play.
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"Are you kidding me?" You muttered to your glowing phone screen, face-planting into the pillow.
The event route was ending in two days and somehow the game had decided that now was the perfect time to demand enough resources to bankrupt an entire kingdom.
You tapped the screen anyway.
A pop-up appeared immediately.
[Not enough coins]
"Yeah, I noticed."
With a sigh, you tossed your phone beside your pillow.
The reason you'd even downloaded the game in the first place was because F/ACE had been promoting it nonstop lately. The limited-time Otome collab event had hit a hard paywall. You were trying to unlock the exclusive Chapter 4 story route, but your resources were completely bone-dry.
As a dedicated fan, it hurts, but as a student with a budget, you had to stay strong. Your only consolation was that your ultimate bias, Ouri Sakaguchi, looked breathtakingly pretty on the gameâs loading screen.
---
The next day at school started out completely normal. You weren't anyone special, just a standard, background-character student who got decent grades and blended seamlessly into the crowds. Which made the sudden explosion of screams near the school gates completely jarring.
"Wait, is that really them?!" "Oh my god, it's F/ACE!"
You blinked, adjusting your school bag as the crowd surged forward. Standing in the center of the courtyard, flanked by cameras, managers, and a sea of screeching students, were the members of F/ACE. They were filming a promotional segment for their new variety show right at your school.
Your heart did a violent flip when you spotted Ouri. Beside him, Tamon Fukuhara stood tall, radiating his signature, blinding prince-like confidence.
Despite being a massive fan, you knew your place. You had no intention of inserting yourself into their idol world. But the universe, apparently, had other plans.
--
By the afternoon, the production crew had taken over the hallway just outside your classroom to shoot a quick transition scene. The students had been cleared out of the immediate zone, but because you had been delayed cleaning up your desk, you found yourself walking right into the perimeter just as the director called a brief pause.
"Ah, the next scene requires us to choose between the two paths."
You leaned against the wall, waiting for a safe moment to slip past, when Tamon suddenly turned his head. His eyes locked right onto yours. For a lingering moment, he just stared at you.
Your brain short-circuited.
That exact look. That specific, unblinking eye contact paired with his sharp, flawless posture. It was almost verbatim to the static, high-affinity character illustration that had flashed on your screen in the Otome game last night right before you ran out of stamina.
You shook your head, dismissing it. Get a grip. Youâre just sleep-deprived from gaming.
But the eerie sense of deja vu refused to leave.
"Alright, resetting for the hallway walking shot! Clear the center!" the staff shouted.
The members took their positions. Tamon was in full-blown "Perfect Idol" mode, shoulders back, eyes sparkling with effortless charisma. Ouri was right beside him, looking impossibly cool.
That's when a school hygiene staff member, rushing down the intersecting hallway with a heavy utility cart, completely misjudged the corner. A rogue wheel hit the edge of a locker base, causing the staff member to trip violently.
The cart lurched. A large plastic bucket filled to the brim with dirty, grey mopping water launched into the air, flying in a direct, terrifying arc.
And it was heading straight for Ouri.
If it hit him, his uniform would be ruined, the entire shoot would be delayed, and your absolute favorite person on earth would be soaked in mopping water. Your body moved entirely on instinct, completely bypassing your brain's protocol to "stay invisible."
You lunged forward, throwing yourself into the trajectory of the splash to shield Ouri.
Clang! Splat!
The water collided heavily with your back and shoulders. The cold, damp fabric immediately clung to your skin as the water splattered across the floor. You winced, shutting your eyes tightly, bracing for the impact of the bucket itself.
But the heavy thud never came.
Instead, a pair of arms grabbed your shoulders, steadying you. You opened your eyes, expecting to look up into the face of your bias, Ouri.
Instead, you were looking directly into the wide, stunned eyes of Tamon.
Because of the angle of your sudden jump, you had accidentally thrown yourself right in front of Tamon's space as well. From his perspective, you hadn't jumped to save the black-haired next to him, you had leaped blindly through the air to shield him from getting wet.
"Are you okay?!" Tamon asked, his confident idol persona slipping into genuine, frantic concern for a split second before his flawless smile snapped back into place to calm the gathering crowd. He looked down at your soaked uniform, then at your face, his eyes softening into something deeply profound.
Behind him, Ouri blinked, looking slightly confused but offering you a sympathetic smile. "Wow, that was a close one. Thanks for the save."
You stood there, soaking wet, shivering slightly, and utterly speechless.
--
You couldn't even remember how you got home after all that mess. All you knew was that today, your survival strategy was simple: complete and total avoidance.
Unfortunately, Tamon Fukuhara was making that incredibly difficult.
Every single time you had a free period or a break between classes, he seemed to materialize. Youâd go to fill up your water bottle, and his pink hair would flash at the end of the corridor. You'd step out toward the courtyard, and heâd be standing there, his eyes instantly scanning the crowd as if searching for a familiar face. You spent the entire morning ducking behind lockers and taking the long way around the building just to keep your distance.
By lunchtime, the crew was filming a duo shot featuring Tamon and Keito. They were positioned near the schoolâs vending machines, delivering their lines with absolute perfection. You figured this was the safest time to finally grab a drink, assuming Tamon would be too occupied by the cameras to notice you.
You slipped past the edge of the crew's setup, heading toward a smaller courtyard.
"Here."
A smooth, cheerful voice cut through your thoughts. You blinked, turning to see Ouri. Before you could process his presence, he lightly tossed a small, chilled carton of strawberry milk toward you. Your hands flew up, catching it purely on instinct.
"Thank you for yesterday," Ouri said, "You took a pretty nasty hit from that bucket so I wouldn't have to."
Your heart did a violent, happy somersault. You looked down at the milk carton, a genuine, uncontainable smile spreading across your face. For a moment, you were completely, purely happy. You were interacting with your actual bias, and he was giving you a gift.
What you didnât notice, however, was the sudden, sharp break in the scene being filmed just twenty yards away.
Tamon, mid-sentence with Keito, had frozen. His eyes had trailed over Keitoâs shoulder, locking directly onto the image of you smiling so brightly at Ouri. A sense of jealousy arose so quickly it caught him off guard.
"Cut! Tamon, focus! Let's reset!" the director called out.
Tamon forced his perfect idol persona back into place, but his eyes never truly left you.
By the end of the day, the school bell finally rang, and you practically sprinted out of the classroom to head home. You were almost past the school gates, breathing a sigh of relief that you had survived the day, when a camera crew suddenly blocked your path.
A bubbly variety show host thrust a microphone toward you, flanked by a few F/ACE members who were watching from just a few feet away.
"And let's ask a random student on their way home!" the host cheered into the camera. "We're doing a quick Q&A for the new show! If you played the new F/ACE Otome game, who would you choose as your main love interest? Who is your ultimate bias?"
You tried to look for an escape route, but the camera was already rolling.
"Uh..." you stammered, pulling out your phone to just show them the app and get it over with. You tapped the screen, unlocking it.
There, across the display in high-definition, maximum-affinity glory, was the fully unlocked, heavily customized, romantic profile of Ouri Sakaguchi. Hearts and sparkling special-event graphics surrounded his character's digital face. It was undeniably, glaringly obvious who your main love interest was.
"Oh! Itâs Ouri!" the host laughed, pointing the microphone toward the young idol, who cheered playfully in the background.
You offered a weak, embarrassed nod, quickly locking your phone and shoving it into your bag before rushing past the crew.
But as you hurried away, you caught sight of Tamon. The perfect, confident smile had completely vanished from his face. He stared at the spot where your phone screen had just been glowing, looking as if something integral inside him had just silently, violently shattered.
You weren't his most devoted fan. You were an Ouri stan.
----
Behind the closed doors of the waiting room, the blinding, radiant Tamon Fukuhara was nowhere to be found.
Instead, he was slumped forward on a couch, his head in his hands, surrounded by a heavy, almost visible aura of absolute despair. The revelation from the school gates kept playing on a loop in his mind.
An Ouri stan...
It felt like a physical blow. The one who had flawlessly thrown themself into the trajectory of a flying water bucket, the one who had selflessly sacrificed their own uniform to protect his, didn't actually look at him that way. The sheer gravity of the misunderstanding crushed him, sending him crashing down into his dark, insecure thoughts. He wasn't good enough.
But then, a spark of his relentless determination flared up against the gloom.
He lifted his head, his eyes narrowing with a sudden, fierce resolve. No. He couldn't just give up. He hadn't shown them his true appeal. If he could prove to that student just how dependable, charming, and perfect he could be in real life, he could win them over.
Slapping his cheeks with both hands, he forced the depressing thoughts away.
--
The next morning, Tamon initiated his new strategy. Whenever you were around, he went out of his way to be exceptionally helpful, charming, and attentive. Heâd hand you extra printouts before the teacher could pass them down, offer a dazzling smile whenever you crossed paths, and treat you with a level of exclusivity that was impossible to ignore.
You and your friend sat at your desk during a morning break, completely bewildered by his sudden appearance. He had just smoothly glided over to hand you a pristine, limited-edition promotional notebook from the crew's stash.
"For your studies," he said "A student as dedicated as you deserves the best."
Your friend looked between you and Tamon, their eyes wide with confusion, having absolutely no idea why such idol was suddenly acting so friendly toward you.
You, however, were desperately trying to rationalize the situation. There's no way this is real, you thought. It has to be for the show.
"Fukuhara-san.." you asked directly, "Is this part of the script? Are you guys recording a hidden camera segment or a 'school route' promotional video right now?"
He nonchalantly brushed off the question with a perfect, smooth chuckle. "My duty is simply to bring joy to the students hosting us. Think of it as a natural extension of our gratitude."
To your friend and everyone else watching, he was just being his usual, incredibly generous self. You sighed internally, accepting the explanation. If it was for the script, you just had to play along and not make a scene.
By lunchtime, the crew had cleared out to set up for an afternoon shoot, giving the students some peace. You sat at your desk, finally letting your guard down. More importantly, your phone buzzed with a glorious notification:
[STAMINA FULLY RESTORED]
You immediately opened the game, determined to finally blast through the new Chapter and lock in the choices required to get to Ouriâs exclusive romantic ending. Your fingers tapped rapidly across the screen, carefully navigating the dialogue trees to maximize Ouri's affinity points.
Suddenly, a shadow fell over your desk.
Before you could lock your screen, a tall figure slid effortlessly into the empty chair next to you. It was Tamon. He leaned in, his shoulder nearly brushing yours, his eyes instantly locking onto the vibrant game interface displaying Ouri's face.
"Ah, the game we're promoting" Tamon murmured smoothly, his confident voice sending a jolt of panic through you. He reached out a long, elegant finger, hovering it directly over the screen. "You know, this option right here... yields a much more rewarding path. Let's pick this one."
Your eyes darted from his finger to the screen. If he pressed that option, it would completely interrupt the precise sequence of choices you needed. A wave of slight annoyance washed over you. You were a dedicated fan, but a gamer's boundary was sacred.
"Actually, Fukuhara-san," you said as you quickly tilted the phone out of his reach. "I'm already locked into a very specific playthrough. I'd really rather make the choices myself."
Tamon's finger hovered in the air, his confident smile faltering for a microsecond before snapping back into place.
You quickly gathered your phone, notebook, and lunch bag. "I think I'm going to eat up on the rooftop today. Excuse me."
Without waiting for a reply, you stood up and walked away, leaving the pink-haired idol sitting entirely alone at your desk.
Tamon watched your retreating back, his hand slowly dropping back to his side. The confident smirk remained plastered on his face for the benefit of any onlookers, but internally, the image of Ouri's high-affinity profile was burning a hole in his mind. He had tried his absolute best, and you had still chosen to walk away to protect your fictional route with someone else. His confident persona was holding on by a thread.
The next day, the school cafeteria was an absolute war zone. Due to a filming delay, the F/ACE members had been cut loose for lunch late, and by the time Tamon practically ran down the corridor toward the cafeteria, the shelves were completely bare.
He stood there, staring blankly at the empty display cases, a rare flicker of genuine exhaustion crossing his face.
"Fukuhara-san."
Tamon spun around, his idol smile instantly clicking into place. It was you. You were holding a pristine, unopened package of melon pan from the bakery corner.
"The line was crazy today, but I grabbed an extra one." you said, holding the bread out to him. You couldn't help but feel a little bad seeing him looking so hungry. "You can have it if you want."
Tamonâs eyes widened, looking at the bread as if it were a holy relic. "You're truly a savior." He took it, his fingers brushing yours for a brief second. Seizing the opportunity, he tilted his head with a charming grin. "Since we keep crossing paths, I should properly introduce myself. I'm- "
"I know who you are." You giggled. "I'm Y/N L/N." you replied, giving your name simply.
"I know." He murmured.
"What did you say?"
"Y/N, a beautiful name."
Of course, Tamon already knew every bit of information he needed. The moment you had flashed your phone screen to the camera crew the day before, he had instantly replayed that take over and over to find your Player ID stamped in the top corner of your game profile. From there, it had been laughably easy to cross-reference the data, uncover your public fan account handles, and figure out your basic student details. He knew you, but he played the part of the clueless one flawlessly.
Before he could speak further, the heavy bell echoed through the halls.
"I have to get back," you said, "Enjoy the bread. Goodbye, Fukuhara-san."
Tamon watched you go, taking a bite of the sweet melon pan. A new, stubborn spark of hope lit up inside him.
Fans switched biases all the time. It was a well-known phenomenon in the idol industry. Someone would join the fandom completely dedicated to one member, only to get wrecked by another member's real-life charms and stay for them instead. If he just showed you enough of his absolute best self, eventually, you would switch to his lane. It was just a matter of time.
From that day on, Tamon became a constant, dazzling fixture in your peripheral vision. He would show up here and there, strategically catching your attention.
Eventually, he escalated his tactics, using the ultimate, un-rejectable excuse: professional duty.
"Y/N," he called out one afternoon, catching you just as you were about to pack up your desk. He looked striking, holding a script folder to his chest. "The director wants me to refine my lines and expressions for the upcoming episode. Since you're a student here, your objective opinion would be invaluable. Could you stay and help me practice?"
You bit your lip, looking at the script. As a fan of the group, it was hard to say no to a direct request for help, so you reluctantly agreed.
"That... that was good. Very convincing." you stammered, checking the clock.
As the sun began to dip below the horizon, painting the classroom in deep oranges and purples, Tamon closed his folder with a satisfied smile. "It's getting late. Let me walk you to your house, Y/N."
Walking home with a top-tier idol? In broad daylight? In this neighborhood?
If a single camera caught a picture of you walking down the street next to Tamon Fukuhara, the internet would explode. The rumors of an idol dating a student would ruin his reputation, and your quiet, peaceful life of keeping your distance would be permanently incinerated by angry fan forums. Unless it was absolutely, life-or-death urgent, staying completely out of idol rumors was your number one priority.
"Thank you, but that's really not necessary!" you said, packing your things at lightning speed. You looked around the hallway and spotted a male student from the track team who was just finishing up his club duties.
"Hey, Tanaka!" you called out loudly, waving the track student over. "Are you heading toward the station? Fukuhara-san here needs to make sure someone walks safely in that direction! Mind if he walks with you?"
"Huh? Oh, sure, I don't mind." the track student said, scratching his head, completely starstruck to suddenly be in Tamon's presence.
You turned back to Tamon, offering a completely innocent smile. "There you go! Tanaka is way faster and knows the shortcut. Have a safe trip, Fukuhara-san!"
Before Tamon could even process the sudden intervention, you slipped past him, darting down the stairs and out of the school building before he could utter a single word of protest.
He had laid out the perfect, romantic after-school scenario, and you had literally substituted him with a random high school boy just to maintain your distance. The fortress around your Ouri-biased heart was proving to be completely bulletproof.
Hi! I just wanted to inform you that it seems like someone made a c.ai bot by copying one of your Mydei fics called Missed Opportunity I believe? Unless this is your account or you gave them permission. It's by a user called @/Roxana_no_yes I would send the pictures but it seems that's not allowed on anon on your blog orz.
Hi! Thank you for letting me know about this. Iâve never granted anyone permission to use my fics for AI, and that account definitely doesnât have my consent.
Iâve also received reports from readers that my fics are being uploaded on other sites without my authorization. Just to clarify, aside from Tumblr, I donât post or update my fics anywhere else, so if you see them elsewhere, theyâve been taken without permission. I really appreciate you looking out!
Can you do a yandere Phainon with a reader who is a childhood friend and likes him a lot, but would rather read a "him x reader" fanfic?
Basically he has a lot of people who like him, so they wrote a lot of "him x reader" fanfics. And Reader really enjoys reading them more than interacting with him :D.
Whatâs Yours Is Mine
Yandere!Phainon x Reader
You were sewing back the button for Phainon. Heâd been a bit too energetic lately, no surprise there. Despite being your childhood friend, his radiant energy always felt like it belonged in a different world from yours. After school, heâd usually hang out with his club. Sometimes, though, heâd walk you home.
Today was one of those days. He sat across from you now, shirt draped over your lap as your fingers worked the needle. Heâd probably popped the button from running too much or throwing himself into some ridiculous game, typical Phainon. Still, you could feel his eyes lingering on you.
âThere.â you said, snipping the thread and handing him his shirt.
âSee you at school tomorrow.â he replied with a smile, before heading toward his house, just a few doors away.
That night, you had your own routine, browsing the schoolâs online forum, diving into the popular fanfiction section. Phainon was practically the king there. His name lit up the trending tags, with pages of Phainon x reader fics written by enthusiastic classmates.
Across the neighborhood, Phainon sat alone in his room. The button youâd sewn back wasnât just a button to him. His thumb traced over the faint indentations your fingers had left in the fabric. He held it as though it might vanish if he let go, his gaze fixed on the neat stitching.
You were sitting at your desk during recess, earphones in, scrolling through a Prince Phainon fic. The author had just written a dramatic confession scene when a shadow fell over your screen.
You jumped, quickly locking your phone. âYou scared me!â
Phainon only tilted his head, eyes flicking to the untouched bento in front of you. Without a word, he tore open a small rice cracker packet, pinched one between his fingers, and pushed it toward your mouth.
âEat.â
You bit down out of reflex, the salty crunch filling your mouth. He watched until you swallowed, and there was something almostâŚsatisfied in his expression.
After school, you ended up at the convenience store together. He grabbed an ice cream for himself, paid for yours, and handed it over. You finished your ice cream first and handed him the stick to throw away before hurrying toward your house.
Phainon stood there for a moment, watching you disappear around the corner. Then he glanced at the two sticks in his hand. He tossed his own into the trash without hesitation. Yours, however, he slipped into his pocket.
At home, his desk drawer opened with a quiet creak. Inside was a small, neat arrangement, items that would have looked meaningless to anyone else. A folded movie ticket stub. A scrap of ribbon. A worn eraser.
And now, your ice cream stick, laid carefully alongside the others.
After class, you slipped away from the usual chatter and laughter, weaving through the corridors until you found a quiet corner. Your phone was already in hand, screen lighting up with the next chapter of the fanfic youâd been following. It wasnât that you disliked people, you just needed to recharge, away from the noise.
Youâd barely gotten a few lines in when a familiar voice broke through.
âThere you are.â
You looked up, and Phainon was already leaning against the wall beside you. Before you could greet him, he pressed a lollipop against your lips.
âWhat the-â
âJust try it.â
Heâd already been eating it. The thought made you nearly drop your phone. You managed a short exchange with him, two, maybe three sentences, before excusing yourself.
Phainon didnât follow. He just stood there, eyes fixed on the lollipop in his hand. The corner of his mouth curved, almost imperceptibly. Turning on his heel, he started toward his own house, already deciding he wouldnât throw the lollipop stick away.
----
Phainon was all smiles that morning, greeting everyone he passed on his way to class. You, on the other hand, took a quieter route. It wasnât that you disliked him, it's the total opposite, you just preferred the safety of a screen, the neat predictability of text over the unpredictable weight of a real conversation.
Evening came, and the class was busy with cleanup duty. You were laughing lightly with two friends as you headed down the hall to refill the mop bucket. Your phone stayed on your desk, still glowing faintly with notifications.
Phainon noticed.
He didnât even think about it, just picked it up, the shape of your password moving through his fingers. The screen unlocked instantly, as if it belonged to him.
By the time you returned, he was leaning casually against your desk, holding your phone out.
âCareful,â he said, placing it into your hand. âSomeone might steal it.â
The glow of the screen had gone dark.
----
Your parents had invited Phainonâs family over for dinner, a tradition from when you were kids. But as the years passed, his parents were often overseas, and those dinners happened less and less.
Tonight felt almost like old times. After the meal, you and Phainon slipped away to your room, a stack of manga between you like the old days.
You were midway through a volume when you called over your shoulder, âPhai, look! I canât stop laughing.â
âDo you know,â he said, âthat seeing you with others irritates me a lot?â
You froze, blinking up at him.
âDo you share your stuff with others this easily?â His eyes held yours, âWell, I donât like it.â
The next thing you knew, you were on your back, the mattress soft beneath you, his hand pressing lightly into your shoulder. âI want you to be mine.â
Your heart stuttered, heat rushing to your face. âW-what-â
He smirked. âSaw it on the forum.â
âY-yeah, I saw it too⌠Definitely not reading it, though.â
The page youâd asked for lay forgotten in his lap.
âReally?â heâd murmured, leaning in just enough that you could feel his breath. The space between you shrank, close enough for a kiss.
And then his parents called from the living room.
âAw, what a shame. See ya later.â
He pulled back, and left.
The next day at school, you couldnât focus. Every time you caught yourself thinking about it, it felt like you were hiding something criminal.
The guilt faded only when you saw a notification, another Phainon fic this time. Your pulse quickened for an entirely different reason.
Across the room, Phainon sat a few tables away. One glance at your eyes was all it took, he knew that look. His phone was out a second later, his thumb scrolling until he found the same update.
By the afternoon, heâd had enough.
As you stepped out into the hallway, he was steering you into a quiet corner, his gaze locking on yours.
âWell, well, well..â
Your breath caught as he stepped closer, until the wall met your back.
âIâve been liking you for a long time,â he murmured. âI donât want to wait anymore.â
He leaned in. Your instinct made you tilt your head back, avoiding the kiss.
So he brushed his lips across his own fingers instead, then pressed them against your mouth.
âGood enough.â he said with a faint smile.
Before you could react, his other hand was at your collar, plucking loose the top button of your shirt.
âMine now.â
And just like that, he was gone, the small button vanishing into his pocket.
You had only been at NRC for a short time, but youâd already learned one thing: Savanaclaw students were trouble. So when a group of them cornered you after class, you knew it wouldnât end well.
Before you could react, theyâd clamped a collar around your neck and dragged you straight to their dorm leader.
Leona was lounging under a tree, half-asleep, when his underlings shoved you forward.
âLook what we got for ya!â one of them crowed. âThought you might wanna keep âem.â
Leonaâs ear twitched. His gaze locked onto the collar around your neck.
âWho,â he said, âtold you to do this?â
The grins faltered.
You barely had time to blink before Leonaâs hand shot out and the collar disintegrated into sand.
The Savanaclaw students paled.
âIf I ever catch you pullinâ this stunt again,â he snarled, âIâll bury you alive.â
And with that, he stalked off, leaving you sitting there, very confused, but weirdly touched.
Maybe Leona wasnât so bad after all.
[1-0]
----
The Starsending had been magical.
As part of the chosen group, youâd moved under the shimmering lights, performing the special ceremonial dance. The crowd had cheered, tossing flowers at your feet.
Did they just⌠pick these from the botanical garden?
You winced. You took care of those flowers.
So after the performance, you sneaked back to check for damage.
The greenhouse was eerily quiet, bathed in silver moonlight. You tiptoed between the exotic plants, sighing in relief, no missing petals. Maybe the culprits had been careful.
â-HRRK!â
A pained yowl split the air as your foot landed on something furry.
Beneath you, a tail lashed violently.
âYouâve got three seconds to explain why I shouldnât turn you into fertilizer.â
You scrambled back. âI-I was just checking the flowers! Someone stole some for the festival, and I...â
Leonaâs glare sharpened. âSo you stomp on my tail instead?â
âI didnât see you there!â
âTch. Typical herbivore.â He sat up, rubbing his tail with a wince. âYouâre lucky Iâm too tired to curse you.â
â...Sorry.â
Leona studied you for a long moment before sighing. âWhatever.â
You hesitated, then settled beside him, carefully avoiding his tail this time.
Silence stretched, broken only by the hum of crickets.
Then, unexpectedly, Leona smirked.
âYou werenât half bad tonight.â
âHuh?â
âThe dance. You didnât embarrass yourself.â
Was that⌠a compliment?
Before you could respond, he flicked your forehead, then nuzzled his head against you.
âNow scram. Next time watch where you step.â
The next day, something was off.
Hybrid students kept their distance, noses scrunched as they glanced at you. Even Grim, who usually clung to you wrinkled his muzzle and flicked his ears in irritation.
"Ugh, whatâs that smell?"Â
You frowned, lifting your sleeve to sniff. Youâd bathed just fine.
But then, a student from Savanaclaw stiffened as he caught your presence.
"Of course he would do that.."Â
Confused, you marched straight back to the botanical garden.
Sure enough, Leona was there, tail flicking as he watched you approach.
"Back so soon, herbivore?"
"What did you do to me?"
"Hm? Do I look like a babysitter? Youâll have to be more specific."
"Everyoneâs acting weird around me! Grim says I smell, and the students wonât even come near me!"
"Oh? That." He stretched, rolling onto his side to face you fully. "Maybe theyâve got enough sense to recognize when somethingâs claimed."
Leona reached out, fingers brushing against the side of your neck, right where heâd nuzzled you the day before. "Itâs a warning." His fingers grazed your skin. "Means back off."
You gaped at him. "You...you marked me? Without asking?!"
Leona shrugged, utterly unrepentant. "Consider it payback for stepping on my tail." His tail flicked against your leg, "Besides, youâre better off this way. Now every idiot knows youâre under my protection."
"Thatâs not- I didnât ask for it!"
"Too late."
Leona just laughed, flopping back on the ground like a self-satisfied cat. "Relax, herbivore. Youâll live."
You demanded he undo it.
"Nah." His tail flicked lazily. "But I can make it worse."
Before you could react, he lunged.
"Ow- HEY!"
His teeth sank into the meat of your shoulder. You yelped, instinctively grabbing the nearest thing, his stupid, twitching ear and yanked.
Leona recoiled with a hiss. "Feisty today, arenât you?"
You didnât stick around to hear the rest.
[2-0]
---
By lunchtime, the whispers had already started.
"Did you hear? The prefect got marked by Leona."
"No way. Like, marked marked?"
"Dude, I saw the bite."
Grim, perched on your shoulder (after much grumbling about the 'weird lion stink'), squinted at you. "Ya really pissed off the wrong guy, huh?"
You groaned, tugging at the high-collared festival costume youâd dug out of your closet. The fabric was thick enough to hide the fresh bite mark.
"I didnât do anything! Heâs just-!"
"A jerk?"Â Ruggieâs voice cut in as he slid into the seat across from you, grinning.Â
"So you knew."
Ruggie held up his hands. "Hey, donât blame me! Heâs always been like this. If he decides somethingâs his, good luck changing his mind." He leaned in, "But hey, look on the bright side, now nobodyâs dumb enough to mess with you."
You buried your face in your hands.
You found him back in the greenhouse, exactly where youâd left him.
Leona didnât even open his eyes as you stormed up. "Back for round two?"
"Fix. This."
His ear twitched. "Canât."
"You bit me!"
"And?" Finally, he cracked one eye open, "Youâre the one who tugged my ear. Weâre even."
You wanted to strangle him.
Leona sighed dramatically, sitting up. "Look, herbivore. The scentâll fade. The biteâll heal. But until then?" His smirk returned, "Might as well enjoy the perks. Free pass in Savanaclaw, no more idiots bothering youâŚ"
You crossed your arms. "And what do you get out of it?"
His tail swished. "Entertainment."
By the next week, the rumors had spiraled into something wild.
"They say Leona challenged the prefect to a duel and lost."
"No way, I heard theyâre dating."
"Dating?! But didnât he bite them?!"
You wanted to scream.
Leona, meanwhile, seemed delighted by the chaos. Every time you passed him in the halls, his smirk grew wider.
[3-0]
---
âAh, these got mixed up in the laundry. Since you know both of them, could you return them?â
You blinked. âMe? Why not just give them to their dorm members?â
âWell⌠no one from Savanaclaw is answering, and Diasomniaâs students are⌠hard to approach.â
You sighed.
Diasomnia was easy, sort of. You found Lilia and he cheerfully took Malleusâs uniform.
âOh? How interesting that you were entrusted with this.â
You ignored the implication and moved on.
Savanaclaw, however, was a problem.
The moment you stepped into the dorm, the usual chatter died. Students who wouldâve normally sneered or challenged you suddenly found the walls very interesting.
âHey, can one of you take this to Leona?â you called out.
Silence.
Gritting your teeth, you muttered, âFine. Iâll just leave it in his room.â
You knocked. No answer.
âHEY! Iâm just dropping off your-â
You pushed the door open.
And froze.
Leona stood in the middle of the room, towel slung low around his hips, water still dripping from his hair. His ears flicked at the intrusion, and his tail gave an irritated twitch.
ââŚHerbivore.â
Your brain short-circuited.
âI-uh-your uniform--â You thrust the folded fabric out like a shield.
Leona stared at you for a long, long second before his lips curled into that infuriating smirk.
âIf you wanted to see me shirtless, you couldâve just asked.â
âI DIDNâT-!â You threw the uniform at his face.
He caught it effortlessly. âRelax. Itâs not like you havenât seen worse.â
âIÂ havenât!â
âCouldâve fooled me.â He tilted his head, water droplets sliding down his neck. âYouâre still here.â
You were not staring. At all.
Before you could combust, Leonaâs tail flicked toward the door. âGet out before I decide you owe me for the show.â
You fled.
The next day, Ruggie sidled up to you with a grin.
âSo. Heard you got an exclusive view of him.â
You choked on your lunch.
You were never doing anyone a favor again.
[4-0]
---
You hated admitting it.
But when he was in the middle of a match with that infuriating smirk plastered on his face as he dominated the field.. yeah.
Leona was stupidly handsome.
Too bad he was also the most insufferable person youâd ever met.
You were still grumbling to yourself about stupid, arrogant, unfairly attractive upperclassmen when you passed by the stadium exit.
Wait.
ââŚIs thatâ
âHeâs my nephew.â
âYouâre⌠babysitting?â
âJust for an hour.â
Your brain short-circuited.
Since when was Leona good with kids?!
Leona turned to you, raising an eyebrow. âWhat?â
âI..no, I just didnât think youâd be the type to..â
âTo what?â His smirk was back. âHandle something more fragile than your ego?â
You scowled. âForget it.â
----
Azul had somehow convinced Crowley that the Octavinelle dorm needed "external oversight" for their latest merchandise launch, which really just meant free labor. And of course, you got volunteered.
"It's a truth-speaking ring"Â Azul explained, adjusting his glasses.Â
You eyed it suspiciously. "And it does⌠what, exactly?"
Jade smiled. "It compels the wearer to answer any direct question truthfully for a full day."
Floyd leaned in. "Unless ya got seeecrets~"
You shouldâve said no.
You definitely shouldâve said no.
But before you could, the ring was slipped onto your finger 'for testing purposes' and Azul cheerfully informed you "Oh dear, itâs already activated! Well, no matter. Itâll wear off by tomorrow!"
You were 100% certain he did that on purpose.
You were this close to making it back to Ramshackle when a shadow fell over you.
"Herbivore."
You froze.
Leona stood in your path.
"Why were you with Azul?"
Your mouth moved before your brain could stop it.
"Because Crowley made me babysit his stupid merch and now Iâm stuck with this stupid truth ring and I hate it."
"Oh?"
You clapped a hand over your mouth. Oh no.
"What do you really think of me?"
You fought it. You tried. But the ring burned against your skin, forcing the words out like a dam breaking.
"Youâre arrogant, lazy, and you never take anything seriously, but youâre also stupidly hot when youâre not being a jerk, and itâs really annoying!"
Leonaâs ears shot straight up.
Then he laughed.
"Took you long enough to admit it."
You wanted to vanish.
"Youâre enjoying this."
"Damn right I am." He flicked your forehead. "Whyâd you run away that time you saw me shirtless?"
"BECAUSE I WAS EMBARRASSED AND YOU WERE SMIRKING LIKE ANÂ IDIOT!"
You were going to murder Azul.
You turned to bolt, but Leonaâs tail hooked around your waist, yanking you back.
"Nuh-uh. Weâre not done." His breath tickled your ear. "One last question.âŚYou wanna go get lunch?"
"âŚWhat?"
He rolled his eyes. "The ring only makes you answer truthfully, not loudly. So?"
âŚWell. At least he wasnât asking anything else embarrassing.
"âŚYes."
[LEONA WON]
----
Leona was too easy to mess with when he was asleep. Sprawled under his favorite tree, tail twitching occasionally, he looked peaceful.
And you?
You were bored.
So you did what any reasonable person would do, you poked his cheek. You flicked his ear.
Emboldened, you leaned in and whispered, "Your tailâs drooling."
His nose scrunched.
You grinned. "Also, Ruggie said you snore like an old hyena."
That did it.
"âŚHerbivore."Â
Oh no.
Leona moved faster than you could blink. One moment, you were crouched beside him, the next, you were flat on your back, grass tickling your neck as he loomed over you.
"Teasing a predator in his territory? Bold move."
"I-uh..meant to wake you up for class?"
"Liar." His thumb brushed over your shoulder, right where his bite mark had once been. "Huh. Healed already."
You shivered. "Yeah, so..no need to- ah!"
Then, to your shock, he pulled back⌠and kissed you.
When he finally broke away, you were breathless.
"There." His tail flicked against your leg. "That oneâll last longer."
"âŚWhat was that for?!"
Leona rolled his eyes. "Consider it a permanent mark."
Then he flopped back down onto the grass, dragging you with him, your back pressed against his chest.
"Now shut up. Naptime."
----
Leona was trying to watch TV in your dorm. You didn't know it can work that well. Maybe it was afraid of him.
Keyword: trying. Because you, being the absolute menace you were, had decided that his personal space no longer existed.
You were draped over him like a clingy blanket, arms wrapped around his waist, face nuzzled into his shoulder. And if that wasnât bad enough, you kept nibbling his ears.
Every time his ears flicked at a sound on screen, youâd lean up and gently bite the tip, grinning when he growled under his breath.
"Herbivore," he warned, "Iâm this close to tossing you off the couch."
You ignored him and did it again.
Then, you tugged his tail.
Just a playful little pull, like you were teasing a house cat.
Leonaâs entire body stiffened, his grip on the couch armrest tightening to the point you heard the fabric creak.
"âŚDid you just"
You blinked up at him, all faux innocence. "Cute cat."
In one smooth motion, he flipped you onto your back, caging you beneath him.
"Youâre real bold today." he murmured, leaning down until his lips hovered just above yours.
You held your breath, waiting for the kiss. But instead of your mouth, he felt you duck under his chin, pressing your face into the warm crook of his neck.
You took a deep, dramatic inhale⌠and went limp against him, fake-snoring.
Leona stared down at you.
"âŚAre you serious right now?"
You let out an exaggerated sleepy mumble, nuzzling deeper into his collarbone like you were out cold.
His tail whapped your leg in irritation.
"Tch. Fine."
Because Leona never let anyone win, he dug his fingers into your sides, tickling you mercilessly until you screamed and flailed, nearly rolling off the couch.
"OKAY OKAY IâM AWAKE!"
"Thatâs what I thought."
You pouted, rubbing your now-tender ribs. "Youâre the worst."
"Yeah, yeah." He hauled you back up against him, this time trapping your legs under his tail so you couldnât escape. "Now sit still, or Iâll bite your ears next."
(I hope the anon who requested this prompt gets to read it. Since replying directly might spoil the plot, I decided to make a separate post instead.)
The sun filtered through the thick canopy above. It was a peaceful afternoon, and Mydei, heir to the throne, had finally escaped the stifling stone corridors of the palace for a hard-earned moment of quiet.
The rhythmic clop of his hooves slowed as he approached a familiar clearing. He breathed in the earthy scent of lichen and wet stone.
A rustle. He turned his head just as something fell.
Without thinking, his arms moved, catching the figure mid-fall.
He had seen countless faces, noble and common alike. For the first time, he saw a human. Your cheeks were flushed, your breath uneven, leaves tangled in your hair.
His heartbeat stumbled.
Your body twisted like wind through reeds and before he could even call out, you were gone, weaving through the bramble with the light-footed speed of someone who had done this a hundred times.
And just like that, the clearing was empty again.
Mydei stood frozen, still feeling your weight in his arms.
â...A human?â he whispered to himself.
His heart thundered in his chest from awe, from wonder.
That night, nothing held his attention.
All he saw when he closed his eyes was you.
He had to find you again.
He returned to the same moss-covered clearing where you had fallen into his arms like a dream he didnât know he was waiting for.
Mydei said nothing to his guards. He didnât take his usual escort. He left his royal regalia behind, opting for a light mantle of leather and plain bronze armor. There was no road to where he was going.
He studied old maps by candlelight the night before.
Uninhabitable.
Too dense to ride through.
Abandoned by all signs of hybrid life.
That meant the rumors might be true. That humans, the long-lost people of the Old Era, really had carved out their secret corners of Amphoreus.
Humans were thought to be extinct by now. Yet here you were, in a world ruled by hybrids, a sight so rare it might happen once in a thousand years.
He visited the marked locations on map one by one. Days passed. Then weeks.
Each forest edge he found was thicker than the last. With his large frame, traversing it was⌠infuriating. Roots snagged his hooves. Thorny vines wrapped around his limbs. At times, he had to backtrack and find another way around entirely.
He brought offerings.
He remembered the scent of your hair, like wildberries and citrus leaves. He guessed, then, and packed with him crates of the rarest fruits from the high plateau.
On his seventh attempt, he stopped at a bend near a thicket that sloped downward, just before a stream.
He just placed the fruit. Arranged them in a small circle. Then backed away into the cover of low ferns, as quiet as his body would allow.
Time passed.
You crept from behind the low boulders, bare feet light against the soil. You moved on instinct, checking the surroundings. Your eyes darted to the fruit. You hesitated. Then crouched, gently lifting a starplum in your hand.
A quick shift from the brush, he surged forward, but not like a hunter.
You turned, startled, and ran.
But this time⌠He was faster. âWait, please!â
A hand brushed your wrist, then caught it.
Your body twisted in the air, but he gently pulled you back into his arms.
âIâm not here to hurt you.â
You thrashed in his hold, but his strength was unmatched, even as he knelt slightly to seem smaller.
âI swear it.â he said again, âI didnât tell anyone about you.â
Your eyes narrowed.
âWhat are you called? Your name... please.â
You hesitated before telling him your name.
âY/N.â
You had never heard anyone say your name like that.
And then, just as quickly, he let go.
He stepped back, first one hoof, then another, his large frame retreating like a tide drawing away from shore. His arms remained loose at his sides.
You waited. Ready to dart again.
But he didnât chase. Just stood there, nodding once, as if promising he would not cross the invisible line you had drawn.
You grabbed the fruit pouch youâd stuffed and disappeared back into the trees.
He didnât follow.
Not physically.
But Mydei had spent his entire life learning how to track, and wait, and play pretend.
So he did what he was best at.
Days later, he found the subtle marks of your new camp, half-washed footprints near a secluded creek, small cloths drying high above where most creatures wouldnât look.
He made careful note of every detail.
He never approached.
But every movement, every pattern of yours was etched into his memory.
It started small.
He "stumbled" across your path again.
ââŚYou againâ
You stiffened behind the ferns, half-crouched like prey caught in a snare.
He reached into his bag and pulled out a round, glowing fruit. He gave it to you and chewed one to prove that it's edible.
The next time, he made idle remarks about the animals nearby. Mentioned how he often came here alone to rest, to be away from his people.
He never said the word âprince.â
Bit by bit, you began to linger longer when he showed up.
He began to craft conversations designed to seem coincidental. Comments about certain berries that grew near your side of the stream. Warnings about a predator pack moving westward.
âYouâre quick. Do you climb the inner trees to cross the water?â
âSometimes.â
âYou made that pouch yourself, didnât you?â
â... Yes.â
âHave you ever tried firefruit tea? I think youâd like it.â
You responded eventually. Short, clipped answers. But he could tell your guard was lowering.
Every word you gave was a treasure.
At his private chambers, by candlelight, Mydei stood alone in front of a forest map he had drawn by hand. Pins marked every place you had touched. Threads connected your trails like constellations.
He exhaled slowly, tapping a finger on a curved ridge near the west hill, you were shifting your shelter again. Probably testing if he could follow.
He could.
He wouldnât tell you that, of course.
---
The clatter of a goblet echoed across the marble floor.
Krateros slammed his hands against the stone table.
âYouâre past the coming-of-age cycle, Mydei. If you donât choose a bride by yearâs end, the elders will choose for you.â
Mydei said nothing at first.
His arms crossed calmly over his chest, but his thoughts were far from still. They drifted to you.
âI am looking,â he said. âI just havenât found the right match.â
Krateros grunted, not believing a word of it.
----
You spotted him again. This time stuck between two thick trees, his large centaur frame wedged awkwardly as he grunted under his breath and tried not to curse. His saddle-pouch was caught on a branch.
You tilted your head from behind the thicket, amused.
âYou should stop going this far in.â
Mydei looked up, ears flicking in surprise.
âI could say the same for you.â
You sighed and moved closer, just enough to grab the strap and lift it free, while keeping a branchâs length of distance. As you pulled the pouch free, your fingers grazed his flank, and he jolted slightly.
Days later, he went to find you again.
It was your first time holding a bow. A proper one.
You resisted at first, eyeing it, but curiosity got the better of you.
âRelax your shoulders.â
He reached out, gently guiding your elbow.
Your body tensed.
âDonât worry,â he added, sensing it. âIâll let go the moment you ask.â
You didnât speak, but neither did you pull away.
A bird flickered above the canopy.
You released and the arrow spun wide into the brush.
âDamn itâŚâ you muttered.
He chuckled. âWeâll try again.â
Each time, he corrected your form with hands that were always careful. Never lingering too long, but long enough for your breath to hitch and for you to step away after, pretending to adjust your grip or fetch another arrow.
He never mentioned it.
But he always smiled a little when you blushed.
On some nights, you'd sit across from each other near a small fire he built. You never let him get too close, but you no longer flinched when he arrived. He spoke of the stars, of old myths of hybrid ancestors, and slowly, you shared tales of your forest.
Sometimes, you'd catch him watching you when you werenât looking.
----
âYouâre distracted.â Krateros spat after sparring.
Mydei wiped sweat from his brow, his expression calm despite the bruises forming on his side.
âNo. Iâm focused.â
âFocused on what, boy? Some fantasy bride hiding behind trees? The elders will not accept a faceless myth.â
âThey wonât have to. When she comes with me, itâll be as my queen.â
Krateros paused. âYou really believe sheâll leave that forest?â
Mydei turned to him, and for once, his mask cracked just enough to show the spark behind his calm.
âI believe sheâs the only one worth convincing.â
Mydei's patience had frayed.
There were too many hands reaching for his arm. Too many eyes on his crown. And one particular hybrid mare had been far too persistent.
âYou should marry for duty,â Krateros had warned. âYou can keep your forest friend as a secret, but you need a queen.â
He ignored it. As he always did.
That night, he rode for the forest.
You were sitting where you always sat, legs crossed near the fire, poking at roasted root slices and dried berries. You offered him half.
That, to him, was progress.
He made you tea. You drank without question, murmuring about the strange birds you saw near the south path.
And your words began to slur.
Your last sight before slipping under was his face.
You woke with a jolt.
Your body was sprawled on velvet blankets. Light poured through tall carved windows.
You stumbled to your feet. You rushed to the window.
It was high.
You thrashed at the door, pounded the frame.
It opened.
Mydei stepped in.
âYouâre awakeâŚâ
âYou...â
âI didnât want to frighten you.â
âI trusted you... And you took me from my home.â
âYou would never have come on your own.â he said. âAnd they were going to choose someone else for me. Someone I could never love.â
Tears welling in your eyes, not just from betrayal, but from the confusion.
âSo you took me?â
âYes.â he admitted.
And then added, âBecause I love you.â
You turned away and didnât speak again.
He respected the distance, never forced himself on you. Still, there were servants, a few trusted ones who brought you food, water.
You overheard one servant whisper that theyâd been told you were a forest spirit, a blessing his majesty was protecting.
He still visited. Every night, without fail.
He never demanded anything. Just sat across the room.
Once you caught him curled on the cold floor outside your door, asleep upright.
You stood at the door in silence.
Then sighed, grabbed the blanket off the bed, and opened it just wide enough to toss it over his sleeping frame.
The door shut again, quietly.
You no longer hated him.
The illusion of secrecy could only last so long.
It began with whispers among the nobility, rumors of a mysterious girl hidden in the east tower. Then it spiraled. Someone caught sight of you through the upper terrace.
The court was buzzing.
And the King and Queen demanded an audience.
You would both show yourselves, or face forced inquiry.
Mydeiâs jaw had tensed as he received the decree.
âThey wonât harm you,â he swore under his breath. âIâll never let them.â
The servants, his trusted few, bathed you in lavender water and oils from the moonvine fields. Combed your hair with coral-toothed combs. And finally, they brought out the garments. A flowing chiton, embroidered at the hems with golden thread and several other jewellery.
When you looked into the mirror, you hardly recognized yourself.
Mydei entered beside you.
The royal hall was massive, atop it sat the king and queen.
Their eyes locked onto you the moment you entered.
You stiffened. Your steps faltered.
Mydei noticed instantly, and shifted his flank just slightly in front of you.
He bowed.
âI present to you,â he said clearly, âthe one I choose.â
Gasps. Murmurs. Some hissed in disbelief.
âShe is human?â the Queen finally asked, âWe thought your kind extinct.â
You looked at her.
Then glanced at Mydei.
The King leaned forward, claws tapping against the carved lion-arm of his throne.
âDo you understand what it means to stand beside our heir, human?â he asked. âYou are not just rare, you're valuable. For alliances. For everything you've been running from.â
âShe will not be offered. She will be with me, or not at all.â
You turned to him slightly, surprised by the public defiance in his voice.
The Queen studied the both of you. Then finally waved her hand.
And with that, you were no longer a secret.
The royal hall blurred behind you.
You barely caught the murmurs, the stares, the click of claws against marble before Mydei swept you away, his hand gripping yours firmly as he led you outside.
He didnât say a word until the door shut behind you.
It was the first time you had seen his room.
He turned to you then.
âYouâll stay here nowâ
âThis is your room.â
âExactly.â
âThen you stay. Iâll go back to the tower. Or the forest. I donât belong here, Mydei.â
That was when his eyes darkened.
âYou are not going back.â
Before you could step away, his arms pinned you firmly between him and the wall, one hand braced above your head, the other hovering just at your waist.
âIâve been patient. I waited for you to trust me. But I wonât let you run anymore. Youâve already been seen. If you vanish, theyâll hunt you.â
You stared up at him, heart pounding, not just from fear. From the tension, the closeness, the way his voice trembled not with rage but with desperation.
âI brought you here to protect you. But if Iâm being honestâŚâ
He leaned closer, his forehead brushing yours, ââŚI donât want to sleep another night without you near.â
The door creaked open.
Both of you turned.
A servant stood in the doorway, arms full with trays of food, and froze.
ââŚAh, I see this is not⌠perhaps the best time.â
They slowly backed out, carefully setting the tray on a side table.
The door shut again.
Mydei stayed there, his body still caging you against the wall, his breath warm against your skin.
âYou can sleep where you like,â he finally murmured, stepping back. âBut donât ask me to send you away.â
The bed was warm when you woke, but empty.
For the first time since youâd been brought here, the morning belonged to you.
No one ordered you to dress.
No one asked anything.
You could have left.
But you didnât.
You bathed. Let the breeze dry your hair. Found a fresh robe draped over a chair. You wrapped it around yourself and wandered toward the garden balcony you had seen from the window.
Meanwhile, Mydei stood once more before the throne, his arms behind his back, gaze steady as he addressed the King and Queen.
âI came to say I intend to marry her.â
The Queen arched a brow, barely amused.
âYou already swept her into the palace, paraded her in court, and disappeared before we could ask another question. What more is there to oppose?â
His father smirked faintly. âWe know the look of a fool in love.â
âIs that permission?â
The Queen waved a lazy hand. âGo. Do what your heart insists on, since you never listen otherwise.â
The garden was quiet. You sat on a low swing strung between two stone archways. Bare feet brushing the grass. Head bowed as you carefully wove green stems and soft white blossoms into a grass crown in your lap.
You didnât hear him at first.
But he paused at the edge of the garden path, just watching.
And gods, how he loved the thought of seeing you like this every day from now on.
He stepped forward.
Your eyes met.
No words passed between you.
But you stood. Crown still in hand, you walked past him without a sound, skirt brushing his leg as you returned to the chambers he once guarded like a secret.
His heart skipped a beat.
---
The bed was softer than moss. Warmer than the forest sun. You stirred slowly, eyes blinking open to a room still cloaked in gentle shadow.
A presence beside you.
Your breath caught as you turned.
Mydei, still fully dressed in his royal robes, his hair slightly undone from sleep.
He stirred as well, blinking once before giving a slow, low chuckle.
âYou told me this was my room,â he murmured, âSo⌠I returned. Just as you said.â
His golden eyes never left yours.
You opened your mouth, perhaps to protest or to sit up, but his hand gently yet firmly pressed you back against the silken pillows.
âIf you donât love me,â he whispered, âthen Iâll make you. Eventually⌠you will.â
You werenât sure if it was fear or something else that made your breath shallow.
He leaned in, kissed you deeply. His lips trailed from your mouth to your jaw, down the slope of your neck. A hand slid along your side, not rushed.
âYou were always meant to be mine,â he whispered against your collarbone. âAmphoreus took too long to return you to me.â
Knock
âYour Highness,â came a voice from behind the door. âThe emissaries from the Grove have arrived early. The king demands your presence.â
His jaw clenched.
His eyes closed for a moment, forehead resting against your shoulder as he let out a long, slow breath through his nose. His hand still cradled your side.
He pressed one last kiss to your shoulder, then pulled away reluctantly.
âRest.â
Despite what Mydei said, you didnât stay in his room.
At first, you only wandered down the corridor. But soon enough, you found yourself carried by curiosity.
You didnât know the name of this palace. You didnât know the names of the people. Yet everywhere you passed, you felt eyes on you.
âThatâs herâŚâ
âThe human girl.â
âHis Highness found her in the wild, didnât he?â
There were whispers, glances, and the unmistakable sound of hooves or paws echoing faintly behind archways.
A soft voice called to you from the herb gardens, âMiss, wait!â
You turned, surprised.
A young palace servant jogged up to you, her apron speckled with crushed leaves. She hesitated when she reached you, then bowed her head quickly.
âForgive me! I didnât mean to frighten. I⌠I just wanted to thank you.â
âMe?â
âMy son,â she nodded. âYou bandaged his knee earlier. He hasnât stopped bragging about it.â
You gave her a smile, unsure of what to say. But the servant smiled back, genuinely. âYouâre kind,â she said. âNot what the stories made us believe.â She hesitated. âI hope they let you stay.â
You returned from your bath, your hair slightly damp. The palace maidens had gifted you clean robes. A small, warm meal awaited on the table. Roasted root vegetables, honeyed flatbread, and a cup of something that smelled faintly floral.
You didnât eat much.
You missed the sounds of wind rustling between forest branches.
You slipped under the thick blanket.
And then sleep pulled you gently under.
Late at night, the door opened with barely a sound.
Mydei stepped inside. His eyes immediately sought the bed.
There you were.
He let out a breath he hadnât realized he was holding.
He didnât want to wake you.
Instead, he crossed the room slowly, peeling off his mantle and boots. He paused at the side of the bed and just watched you.
Then, carefully, he lay down beside you, keeping a gap between your bodies, but close enough to feel your warmth.
----
You stirred under the soft sheets, blinking away the haze of sleep.
You sat up, swung your legs over the side of the bed, and padded quietly to the door.
You tried the handle.
It didnât budge.
You frowned, gave it another turn, harder this time.
Still nothing.
Then panic set in.
You banged on the door with your fists. âHello?â you called out. âIs someone out there?â
âMydei!â you yelled louder, âMydei!â
Then, at once, the door clicked.
You lost your balance and stumbled forward, but not to the ground, right into his arms.
âEasy,â he murmured. âYouâre alright.â
âYou locked me in?â
His ears twitched. âNo, it was the guards.â
He stepped aside.
You followed his line of sight.
There were piles, mountains, of gifts outside your door.
Woven baskets overflowing with fruits, cloth, carved trinkets, perfumes, rare feathers, small vials of dyed sands, handwritten letters, some drawings, too. A few flower crowns lay gently atop the heap, clearly made by children. One little scroll had a message carefully written:
âFor the Human Princess.â
You stared, stunned. Then you looked up at Mydei.
âWhy?â
âThey heard of you,â he said. âWhat you did. That youâre kind.â
You felt your eyes sting. You hadnât expected this⌠warmth.
You turned back to Mydei.
âI still donât know what you truly want,â you said, âYou brought me here. You said you loved me. But I still need time to understand you. Marriage⌠marriage isnât just duty. Itâs not something I can do without love.â
For a moment, he said nothing.
âThat's... the first time you talked that much.â
He paused a short while.
âThen take all the time you need.â
Maybe youâd stay a little longer.
---
Today, it was a tall, lion-bodied court tactician who approached first. He bowed low and offered you a stalk of moon-blush flower.
âA rare bloom,â he said gently. âMuch like you.â
Before you could speak, a sharp snap tore through the air.
The stem of the flower, cleanly sliced, hit the ground between you.
You both turned.
Far off, on a terrace above, Mydei.
He didnât even bother to come down.
The tactician cleared his throat, stepped back with a stiff nod, and left.
The clang of weapons filled the air.
Mydei stood center of the ring, bare-chested, skin glistening with sweat. He now sparred with a younger centaur guard.
âThe prince is in rare form today.â
âItâs because someone mentioned her name again.â
The moment the word her floated in the air, Mydei's ears twitched.
Without warning, he slammed the younger guard into the ground with a vicious twist, sending a shockwave of silence through the arena.
âAgain,â he ordered coldly. âYou're too slow.â
The guard winced, barely able to rise.
âIs this how you plan to protect royalty?â Mydei snapped. âThen you deserve to be replaced.â
Nobody dared speak.
---
The palace glowed that night.
Nobles of all forms gathered for the diplomatic banquet of the season. You were seated near Mydei. You still werenât used to this kind of grandeur.
Then came a noble named Theron, a hawk-hybrid. His feathers shimmered black-blue along his muscular lower half.
He was pouring you wine before you could decline.
âA symbol of our alliance. Surely youâll try it⌠for diplomacy?â
You felt Mydeiâs hand stiffen beside you, but you didnât notice enough. Youâd only sipped.
Then you sipped again.
And the world began to blur.
The room tilted, then faded completely.
You were being carried.
The room spun gently.
You lay atop Mydeiâs massive bed, the silk brushing your skin as you rolled your head lazily to the side. Your vision cleared enough to see him again.
He stood by the window, shirtless, chest rising hard and fast from what could only be a fight. Blood smeared across his knuckles.
When he noticed that you were up, he approached and reached to adjust the blanket over you, but you suddenly grabbed his arm.
âYou're strong.â you giggled, tracing your fingers across the marble-cut muscle of his forearm.
He froze.
âAre you.. drunk?â
Your hand wandered over his shoulder. His breath hitched.
âI bet all the girls dream about you.â you whispered. âEven your enemies probably..⌠want to touchâŚâ
He leaned closer.
Then you leaned in and kissed him.
Your hands were in his hair now, pulling him down. Your giggles turned to whispers.
âYouâre warmâŚâ
He gripped your wrists gently, pulled away.
âYou're not yourself.â
You blinked slowly, your arms falling away.
âBut I do want youâŚâ
âThen remember that in the morning.â
You kissed him.
He let out a low, barely audible breath. His hand came to the back of your head as if to stop you, but it hesitated.
Your lips trailed lower, kissing his neck then gently sucking on that same spot.
âYouâll leave a mark.â he said quietly.
His breath hitched when you kissed him again.
âIf you keep doing that,â he said, âI wonât stop again.â
Knock. Knock.
âYour Highness, itâs urgent.â
You blinked slowly, dazed.
Another knock. Firmer.
His jaw clenched so hard you thought he might shatter.
With a long, deliberate exhale, he gently laid you back into the bed.
âRest,â he whispered. âIâll handle this quickly.â
âYouâll come back?â you asked, almost childlike in your dreamy haze.
âAlways.â
As he left, you caught the faint red bruise forming on his neck.
You woke with a dull throb behind your eyes, the taste of wine still faint on your tongue. The warmth of the bed was gone. So was he.
Despite the ache, you found yourself preparing.
You lit the incense the older handmaiden said he favored. You asked the kitchen for something light but hearty. You tried cooking what little you'd picked up from observing the maids.
By the time he came in, your eyes lifted from the table. He looked like a shadow of himself, his usually radiant hair tangled from the wind. Still, the moment he saw you⌠the exhaustion broke a little.
He sat, and you offered him the food. Watched him eat in silence.
âDid you make this?â
You nodded. âI tried.â
âItâs better than anything Iâve had in weeks.â
The incense burned slower now. His eyes began to soften.
âWhat is this scent?â
âLydia said you like it.â
Your eyes met. The realization hit.
âYou..."
[This section contains explicit content from here onward]
He walked to the door and clicked the lock into place.
âI didn't mean to.â
He moved toward you.
Your back met the edge of the couch as he knelt before you, hands lifting the edge of your robe slightly, just enough to place the a kiss just above your knee.
âWait-â
And then his lips touched your chest, just over your clothed bud.
You pulled his hair slightly. âMydei-â
âYes?â he asked, not looking up.
You covered your mouth, unsure whether to push him back or pull him closer.
So instead, you let him kiss you again.
Tonight, he would not cross the line.
When he kissed your thigh one last time, you felt your body twitch ever so slightly under the weight of want. But then he pulled back.
-----
You agreed to marry him.
The night you spent together what was Mydei expected most.
The grand doors of the chamber clicked shut behind you. His hands were already on you before you could even turn around, his lips crashing against yours. You gasped into the kiss, fingers tangling in the strands of his hair as he crowded you against the door.
His hands roamed your body with urgency, as if he couldnât bear another second without touching you.
âM-Mydei-â you managed between kisses, but he only growled in response, nipping at your lower lip before pulling away just enough to meet your gaze.
âNo one,â he murmured, âwill disturb us tonight.â
Before you could reply, his hands slid beneath your thighs, lifting you effortlessly as he carried you to the wide oak table in the center of the room. The cool surface pressed against your back as he set you down, his touch already working to ease the tension from your body.
His fingers traced along your skin, his lips following in their wake, along your neck, your collarbone, the curve of your shoulder. You arched into his touch, breath hitching as his hands slid higher.
âRelax, my queen,â he murmured against your skin, âTonight is ours⌠and I intend to savor every moment.â
Mydeiâs lips trailed lower, pressing open-mouthed kisses along the delicate skin of your inner thighs. You gasped when his fingers teased higher, a single digit slipping inside, curling just so, drawing a whimper from your lips.
Your fingers clutching at the edge of the table as pleasure crested over you. He watched before gathering you into his arms and carrying you to the bed.
You settled onto the sheets, your back pressed against his broad chest, his warmth enveloping you. One of his hands slid around your waist, palm flattening against your stomach in a slow glide, as if he were measuring you, memorizing the curve of your body like a tailor assessing fine silk.
You melted into him, letting the tension bleed from your limbs as his other hand traced idle patterns along your hip.
The moment he sheathed himself inside you, a gasp tore from your lips as you braced against the bed. Mydeiâs hands steadied you, his grip firm but tender as he began with slow, deliberate thrusts, allowing your body to adjust to the stretch of him. His breath was hot against your shoulder.
"Ah..So good.."Â he praised, his hips rolling against yours with aching precision.
Once your moans grew steadier, your body pliant beneath his, he increased his pace, just enough to make your back arch, to have you crying out his name. His own restraint was fraying, you could feel it in the way his muscles trembled.
"I canât wait," he growled, lips brushing the nape of your neck, "to see you swell with our child."
The words sent a thrill through you, but before you could respond, he was moving again, his thrusts deeper, harder, as if he could carve his devotion straight into your bones.
Hours blurred together, his hands on you, his mouth on you, his body claiming you in every way. Exhaustion crept in like a tide, your limbs growing heavy even as pleasure still coiled tight in your core.
The last thing you remembered was the heat of his chest against your back, his low groan as he spilled inside you once more.
When you awoke hours later, the first light of dawn painted the room in gold. A blanket was tucked carefully around you, and Mydeiâs arm was draped protectively over your waist.
You stirred awake with a soft groan, every muscle in your body humming with a delicious, lingering soreness, proof of the night before.
Before you could even sit up, his deep voice rumbled against your ear, "Stay."
With a snap of his fingers, servants slipped in silently, bearing trays of fresh fruit, warm bread, honeyed milk, and spiced meats. The scent alone made your stomach tighten with hunger, but Mydei had no intention of letting you lift a finger.
He propped himself up on one elbow, his free hand plucking a ripe strawberry from the platter. His golden eyes never left yours as he brought it to your lips.
He fed you.
But the moment the last morsel was gone, his fingers slid beneath the thin fabric of your shift, palms skimming over the soft curves of your bare chest. You gasped as his thumbs circled your peaks, teasing them into stiff peaks beneath the cloth.
"I was just making sure," he purred, leaning in until his lips brushed yours, "that youâll take my child well."
And then he kissed you again, his hands still working you beneath the fabric.
The morning after a wedding was just as important as the night, after all.
The servants had long since learned not to disturb their prince, especially not when the heavy silence of his chambers was broken only by your breathless pleas and the slow, deliberate rhythm of his hips.
"Mydei...please.."Â Your voice was a shattered whisper, fingers clutching at the sheets as he moved inside you.
His golden eyes darkened at the sight of your tears, the way your body trembled beneath him. A low growl rumbled in his chest as he finally relented, his hand tangling in your hair as he brought his lips to your ear.
"Just making sure you could take every inch of me⌠every drop."
The bed rocked beneath his power, his pace turning relentless as he chased his own release, determined to brand himself into your very soul. At last, you collapsed against him.
Weeks later, the royal physician stared in stunned silence at the diagnosis before bowing deeply.
"Her Majesty is with child."
Mydeiâs eyes burned with triumph as he pulled you close.
"Let it be known," his voice boomed, rich with pride, "that my queen carries the future of this kingdom. And we shall celebrate."
His hand slid to your waist, fingers splayed over the still-flat plane of your stomach in a gesture both tender and claiming. The hall erupted in cheers. But Mydeiâs attention never wavered from you.
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One-shot with fem reader as his lover who have weak body, then easy to be sick so that's why he locked her in his house because he scared that something worse will happen to her if he let her be free .
As Long As You Stay
Yandere!Flins x F!Reader
You hummed a gentle tune as the rhythmic click-clack of your knitting needles mingled with the soft ticking of the ornate wall clock. A ball of deep navy yarn rolled lazily by your feet, and the gloves sat warm in your lap. One finger left to stitch.
The front door clicked. You perked up instantly. The yarn slipped from your lap as you stood and rushed to the door.
Before your hand even reached the knob, the door creaked open, and he was already there.
âFlins!â
The cold air from outside brushed against your skin. Reflexively, you tilted your head, trying to peer past his shoulder for just a glimpse - the mist, the people you could never see. But in one smooth movement, Flins stepped forward and gently placed his hand over your eyes.
âNot todayâ he murmured, âThe wind is harsh. Youâll catch a cold.â
You felt the warm pressure of his palm against your face. He guided you back inside.
âHow was work today?â
Flins brushed a strand of hair behind your ear. âAs usual. Nothing worth troubling you with.â
You took his hand and led him to the table.
âI made your favorite.â
Flins sat, and you took your place across from him.
You were already halfway through your first bite when it happened.
cough, cough
Your chest jerked forward as the air caught in your throat.
Flins was beside you in an instant. His hand patted your back in steady rhythm, while the other held out a glass of water. âSlow down.â
You took the glass, coughing still, and finally managed a gulp. The cool water burned a little on the way down.
âI got excited.â
He didnât smile back. His eyes lingered on your face, finally, he reached out to brush your hair from your forehead.
âIâll clean up.â he said, already gathering your plate before you could object.
Later, he took your hand again and led you to your room.
âYou shouldnât push yourself.â he murmured as he opened the bedroom door.
The bed was already made.
You slid under the covers with a soft sigh, feeling his hand smooth over your shoulder as he tucked you in.
âDid you see anyone interesting today?â
âA few menâ he replied softly, leaning in to press a kiss to your temple. âBut none worth remembering.â
At some point in the dark, you stirred, barely conscious, but aware of the cool touch of fingers brushing your forehead. A hand lingered there. Then it withdrew. The mattress shifted, and Flins joined you, his presence pressing gentle and solid into your back.
By morning, he was gone.
You blinked awake to pale light filtering through the curtains, your fingertips curling around the still-warm bedsheet where he had lain. The house was silent again.
You sat up slowly, letting the cool air meet your skin. You felt fine.
Some mornings your breath would hitch just from climbing the stairs. Some days your limbs ached like they carried invisible weights. But you had good days too, and this felt like one.
So you made the bed. You dusted the bookshelves, rearranged the yarn basket, and even swept the floor, one small section at a time. It was all you could do to keep the day moving.
You shrieked, stumbling back as a thing darted across the corner of your vision. A mouse. It disappeared behind the leg of a cabinet before you could catch your breath.
Your heart thundered wildly. Panicked, you dropped the broom and scrambled for the door. You fumbled the latch open, wide enough to create a breeze, and tried to wave the little intruder out. âG-Go on, out! Out!â
But the moment the outside air hit your face, your chest tightened.
Your breathing quickened, and the edges of your vision shimmered. The world beyond the doorway threatened to swallow you whole.
You staggered back.
And just then, the door clicked shut behind you.
âBreatheâ
You turned to see Flins with a small paper bag in one hand. The coat over his shoulders was dusted faintly with rain. His expression didnât falter even once as he crossed to you.
He set the medicine bag aside and pulled you into his arms. His hand rested between your shoulder blades as he lowered you carefully onto the sofa.
âYou were supposed to be resting.â
âI-I saw a mouseâ you murmured into his chest.
He silenced you with a light touch, brushing his knuckles along your cheek. âYouâre okay now.â
From the paper bag, he pulled out a small vial. The medicine shimmered with that pale teal glow, bittersweet liquid that always left your tongue numb.
You drank it from his hand. And all the while, his arm remained around you, firm and steady.
You just lay there, in his arms, listening to the muffled beat of his heart beneath his shirt, and the gentle click as the front door locked itself again.
----
Even as the warmth of the medicine settled into your limbs, something inside you remained restless.
The fire in the hearth crackled softly. You sat curled on the armchair beneath a thick knit shawl, legs tucked close to your chest.
Flins sat nearby, quiet as always, reading. At least, thatâs what it looked like. But you could feel his gaze flick toward you every few pages.
You tried not to notice. And yet, your eyes betrayed you. They kept drifting toward the window.
The glass shimmered with a thin sheen of condensation. Outside, the world melted into a hazy winter gloom, all of it just beyond your reach, everything you werenât allowed to touch.
You thought of the mouse. Of the stone street you glimpsed when the door cracked open. What had changed? Did the trees look different now?
Your fingers tightened slightly around the cup.
And before you could look again, Flins had moved.
He was suddenly before you, kneeling, his hands gently covering your eyes.
âYouâll make yourself sick again.â
âI wasnât-â You stopped. You had been looking.
He pressed a kiss to your forehead.
Then his hands slid away, and he rose to tend the fireplace.
âIâll add more wood.â he said calmly. âYou said you were cold, didnât you?â
You nodded softly, letting your gaze drop to the flames instead. The fire popped, licking the logs as Flins stirred it.
Still, your thoughts curled like smoke, drifting upward, beyond the chimney, beyond the roof, into the sky you couldnât see.
When he returned, he sat beside you and took your hand again.
âRest now.â
You didnât argue.
But deep down, a little part of you still pressed gently against the glass.
---
The house was quiet.
Flins had fallen asleep in the armchair across the room, the book still balanced in his lap. You watched him for a moment.
Then your gaze drifted.
The curtains rustled faintly near the window. Just a glance, you told yourself.
You rose on your feet, your shawl wrapped loosely around your shoulders. The fireplace had dimmed to glowing embers, casting the room in a wash of amber and shadow. You tiptoed toward the window.
Your hand trembled slightly as it reached for the lock.
The door creaked open.
A rush of cold air swept. It kissed your cheeks, snuck beneath your sleeves, prickled your skin. You stepped out, bare feet touching the icy stone of the front step.
The mist drifted low, silver under starlight. The sky above was vast, ink-black and scattered with stars, so different from what you remembered.
âDonât move.â
The voice was hushed but insistent, trembling under the weight of fear and something deeper, something like heartbreak tearing at the edges.
You turned slowly.
Flins stood at the threshold, the rest of the house behind him cloaked in darkness. He held a small lantern. But the moment he saw you standing outside, his fingers slipped. The lantern dropped.
In an instant, his arms wrapped tightly around you, lifting you back over the threshold like a dream being pulled into waking.
âYouâll get sick,â he whispered. âYou canât...not again.â
âI just wanted to seeâŚâ
âYou donât need to,â he replied. âYou have everything you need here.â
Then he shut the door.
The warmth of the house wrapped around you again, but now it felt heavier. The stars were gone. Only the broken lantern remained.
---
You sneezed once, then again. Flins blinked out of his daze and moved swiftly. He fetched a blanket, wrapping it around your shoulders as he ushered you toward the sofa.
âIâm sorry.â you whispered hoarsely.
He didnât answer. He only pressed another blanket around you, tighter this time. You could barely move beneath it. Like the warmth was meant to hold you in place.
And then he sat beside you again.
He wouldnât sleep tonight.
The next morning, Flins left like he always did.
He kissed your forehead. Told you to rest. Told you not to open the door for anyone.
âEven if they say my name,â he warned.
âDonât answer.â You said at the same time with him.
He lingered just a second longer than usual, brushing your cheek with the back of his hand, then slipped out.
The house returned to its stillness.
You stayed beneath your blanket at first, curled on the sofa, the memory of starlight still haunting the back of your thoughts. The day passed in that slow, syrupy rhythm.
Knock.
Your eyes flew open.
You sat up slowly.
Knock knock knock.
You remembered his warning.
You backed away from the door.
Then the knock turned to pounding.
THUD. THUD. THUD.
Panic unfurled like a cold flower in your chest. The door handle rattled, someone was trying to open it.
You bolted from the room, did what instinct begged of you: hide.
The closet barely fit your frame, but you crouched inside, the coats brushing your cheeks, your hands clutched to your chest, your breath strangled in your throat.
Minutes passed.
Or hours.
Eventually, the sound stopped.
When Flins returned that night, he found you still wrapped in your blanket, curled tightly in the corner of the sofa, pale and shaking.
âI told you not to open it.â he murmured, kneeling beside you.
âI didnât.â You clutched his sleeve. âI hid⌠just like you told me. I swear.â
He gritted his teeth, glare fixed on the door. Then, slowly, he turned to you again. The anger drained, leaving his face .
His palm pressed to your forehead.
âYour feverâs worse.â
He warmed the food you hadnât touched all day. Sat beside you as you ate. Then came the familiar medicine.
He took your empty dish away, then returned, sitting beside you again. The firelight danced across his face. He looked tired. He always did, lately.
ââŚDo you ever think of me as a burden?â
His gaze snapped to yours.
âNo,â he said, âNever.â
Maybe it was the fever, or the comfort of his presence, but you leaned forward.
He caught you gently.
His kiss came like spring rain after drought, each careful press of his lips a benediction against your burning skin. You could feel him holding back, treating you like something precious even as you arched toward him with desperate need.
When your feverish grip pulled him closer, he finally deepened the kiss with aching tenderness, his cool hands framing your face like you were the only solid thing in his world.
He followed your pace, always letting you decide.
And when you pulled away, his lips hovered just a moment longer before retreating.
----
The next day passed in a haze of waiting.
You sat in the living room, the fire at your side burning low. You kept glancing at the clock. Watching the minute hand drag across the hours.
He was late.
Heâd never been this late.
Every creak of the house made your breath hitch. Every gust of wind outside scraped against your nerves. The memory of yesterdayâs knock echoed like a ghost through the walls.
But eventually, you heard the front door unlock.
He stepped inside, his coat damp with night mist, a tiredness etched into the corner of his eyes. He didnât speak right away. He simply gave you a look, one that said donât worry, and nodded toward the bathroom.
âIâll take a bath,â he said. âYou can eat first. Iâll join you soon.â
It wasnât until he returned and sat across from you, steam still rising faintly from his collar, that you saw it.
A thin, clean cut across his cheekbone.
You stood before your chair even scraped the floor.
He blinked as you disappeared, then returned with the first aid kit. You simply soaked the cotton, dabbed the blood gently.
âThere was⌠an intruder.â he said at last.
You stopped, looking up at him.
âBut itâs fine now. He wonât come back. Youâre safe again.â
Your fingers trembled slightly, but you continued tending the wound.
Later that night, the moon was high when you woke.
Your throat was dry, so you slipped out from beneath the covers. The house, as always, was dim, Flins preferred it that way at night.
You padded softly down the hallway, careful not to make a sound.
But when you passed the stairwell, you stopped.
The door was cracked open. Not wide, but enough for the mist to slip through.
And Flins was standing there.
His silhouette was long and dark, backlit by the eerie glow of the moon.
Quietly, you took a step closer. But the wood beneath your foot creaked.
You froze, ducking low behind the banister column, holding your breath. Your pulse thundered in your ears. A gust of cold air swept through the open door, brushing your skin.
Slowly, he reached forward and shut the door.
You heard the lock slide in.
He stood there for a moment longer. Then turned and walked away.
You didnât move for what felt like minutes. Only when the last shadow disappeared did you quietly sneak back to your room.
You slipped under the blanket, cold all over, and closed your eyes, pretending to be asleep when you heard the soft creak of the bedroom door reopening a while later.
---
Morning light filtered through the curtains. You wrapped the shawl around your shoulders and stepped quietly out of the bedroom. Your fever had finally begun to ease. You made your way toward the living room, the familiar rhythm of your steps echoing softly across the wooden floor.
Knock.
You froze.
Another one.
But Flins was home this time.
He was already by the door before you could call out, his back to you, one hand resting on the lock. You took a step closer.
But Flins turned slightly, eyes cutting back toward you with a calm, unreadable expression. He lifted his hand, the smallest of gestures, telling you to stay still.
You stopped where you were.
Your fingers curled against the edge of the hallway wall, your heart ticking faster. You couldnât see the visitor, but you could hear him.
âSorry to bother you.. uh.. I think I got turned around somewhere.â
âYouâre a long way off. Go left at the tree with the carved crest. Youâll hear water when youâre close.â
The man muttered his thanks. His footsteps receded.
The door closed with a click.
But Flins didnât come straight to you. Not right away. You heard him moving from room to room instead, checking windows, adjusting locks, pulling curtains tighter.
Then the rhythmic swish of the broom.
He was cleaning.
You slowly stepped into the living room. He glanced your way, nodded once.
âSit,â he said. âIâll take care of the rest.â
You did as you were told, curling into the familiar corner of the couch where the fire warmed your knees.
While he swept and straightened and made sure everything was in its place, you reached into the small basket by your side.
You had finished the gloves.
Midnight blue, just like the last pair.
When Flins finally finished, you rose from your seat and walked over, holding out your small gift like an offering.
âHere, try them.â
The fingers stretched a little.
ââŚA bit tighter than beforeâ he murmured, flexing his hands.
You frowned, taking his wrist gently. âDid your hands⌠get bigger?â
âNo.â A faint smile tugged at his lips.
You looked up at him, but his hand was already lifting to rest gently on your head.
âYouâve done enough,â he said. âYou donât need to fix everything.â
Night fell quickly here.
You sipped your medicine in silence, the familiar taste clinging to your tongue.
Flins helped you to bed like always.
He adjusted the pillows behind you, pulled the blanket up over your chest, and smoothed it. You watched him with sleepy eyes, the haze of the medicine already beginning to pull you under.
âGoodnightâ
He kissed your forehead gently. âSleep well.â
The door clicked shut.
But just before the dream claimed you, something stirred.
The door creaked open quietly.
You couldnât open your eyes, but in your dreaming haze, you saw him.
He leaned over the bed, eyes scanning your face. Then he pressed the back of his hand to your cheek, checking your temperature again.
Still warm.
He sat on the edge of the bed and gently took your hand in his. His lips brushed your knuckles.
âIâll take care of you,â he whispered, âNo matter what happens.â
His other hand reached for yours and laced their fingers together, locking them tightly. âAs long as you keep staying with me like thisâŚâ
He smiled faintly.
âSee? A perfect fit. Doesnât this match beautifully?â
Knock.
He stilled.
The sound echoed faintly through the quiet house.
Another knock.
But he didnât release your hand right away. He stayed there, brushing his thumb along your skin in a slow rhythm. His eyes never left your face, even as the knock came again.
And then, he leaned in, whispering near your temple.
âIâll be right back.â
Before he left, he pressed a kiss to your forehead.
Then he stood. But before leaving the room, he paused at the doorframe.
Just to make sure.
His gaze lingered. Watching the slow rise and fall of your chest beneath the blankets.
No sign you were awake.
You had fooled him once, after all.
When he was satisfied, the door clicked shut.
And his footsteps faded into the darkness, toward the knock that waited for him outside.
(Yeah this is inspired by one of the anon's rq so...)
You sit there on the cushion, the fabric pools around your bare feet. You watch the door while your owner tries to keep the curious people outside. Youâre not just a dromas anymore. You understand enough to know what comes next if you stay.
Curiosity can cut deeper than any blade. Eventually, the news reached the Grove.
The system flickers behind your eyes.
[OPTION: SPEAK â RISK: HIGH]
[OPTION: HIDE â RISK: LOW]
[OPTION: RUN â ?]
There's a system for this? Wait... Why am I in the game now? I just installed it. Is this some kind of VR tech?
You can recall the memories of this body. But to change from a dromas to a human? This must be a joke.
BANG
The door was kicked open. Anaxa squeezes past your owner, half-apologetic, half-thrilled.
"There you are.." he breathes.
He crouches closer, hands hovering in the air like he wants to touch you but knows he shouldnât yet. "Incredible. Do you understand me? Can you still-"
You let your head ducking low like youâre trying to fold back into the giant shape you used to have. You keep your mouth shut. If you donât talk, maybe heâll believe youâre dull.
Unfortunately, Anaxa found everything you do fascinating. Behind him, your owner tries to calm him down, maybe send him away, but Anaxa doesnât hear a word.
"The way you hold your arms... " Heâs scribbling notes on a tiny tablet, muttering to himself.
The back way, you stare at it like the only escape.
Anaxa inches closer. "Can you look at me? Just lift your head-"
You lift it, but only enough to see his eye. Then you flinch again, like the movement scares you. He scribbles faster. He thinks youâre harmless.
You shift your feet under the robe. When he leans in to press your owner for more questions, you slide one knee back, testing the weight.
[PATH: OPEN â 8 meters â No guard]
The next time he looks down at his notes, you push up from the mat, and slip past the water jars. The stone is warm under your feet.
Behind you, your owner calls your name.
----
You came back because you thought it was safe. The sun was down, and mostly because you were hungry.
But Anaxa hadnât given up. Of course he hadnât. He made a trade with your owner. He promised a better life for you.
Here you are, on a cart, the city shrinking behind you.
The Grove of Epiphany at last. Anaxaâs home is full of paper, jars, scrolls stacked so high you can feel the dust in your lungs when you breathe.
He gives you water first. Then food including soft bread, a few olives, a boiled egg cut neatly on a plate. He sits across from you.
You chew slowly, noted. You donât drop food on the floor, noted.
Sometimes you look up. Anaxa smiles when you do.
"You swallow normally. Youâre adapting so quickly."
You donât say I know how to drink water, idiot. You donât say anything at all. The words itch on your tongue but you keep them behind your teeth.
Home. The memory flickers. You wonder if your phone is still there. If someone found you slumped over your desk. If youâll ever see your screen light up again.
You lift your cup again. Anaxa notes it down. The candle on the table burns lower. If this world has a door home, youâll find it.
Later, he tries to joke with you.
"Do you still eat Redsoil Feed?" he asks, "I have some left, you know. Just in case you⌠miss it."
You shake your head.
"No? So your tastes have changed too. Remarkable."
You donât answer. You donât plan to.
Your eyes darted to the shelf when he stood to reach for a book high up. The shelf wobbles, slow at first, then it tilted entirely.
You immediately step under the shelf and catch the worst of the fall with your shoulder. The shelf clatters sideways. You are strong, like super strong. But this human body of yours definitely doesn't feel so good.
"ARE YOU HURT?!"
You hiss through your teeth and shove the broken planks away.
[WARNING: HOST BODY - FRACTURE RISK â]
"Now you tell me" you mutter under your breath.
Anaxa doesnât hear that. Heâs already at your side, brushing broken wood off your arm, fussing over the bruise blooming dark on your shoulder.
"You shouldnât push yourself like that."
You try to shrug him off but your shoulder screams back at you. He clicks his tongue.
When he returns with bandages, you sit still while he winds the clean cloth around your arm.
"Does that feel better?"
You try to lift your hand.
"Iâll feed you then. Just until youâre strong enough to manage on your own."
You glare at him, but it bounces right off. He dips bread into warm broth and lifts it to your lips. You open your mouth because you have no choice.
"See? You trust me, donât you?"
[ALERT: BOND FORMING â CAUTION ADVISED]
[OBJECTIVE: ESCAPE / OBSERVE]
The Grove of Epiphany settles into its nighttime. Anaxa doesnât sleep. He never does when heâs got a question to chase. You feel him scratching at the page from where you lie curled up on the floor mat.
You drift out of half-sleep, pulled by the scratch-scratch and the faint smell of oil. You sit up, testing your shoulder, it doesnât hurt anymore.
Woah, super dromas healing power?
The robe slips down your arm, the fresh skin smooth where the bruise should be.
Nice, I won't need him to feed me anymore.
Quiet as you can, you pad across the floor. You stand behind him, close enough to see the lines of his notes: little diagrams of bones and muscle, strange sentences about memory retention and post-animal cognition.
He doesnât feel you yet. You lean closer, shadow slipping over his shoulder.
The second your shadow hits the page, he stiffens. The hand holding the pen freezes. His other hand moves to grab a gun dragged from under a pile of books, pointed right at your chest.
For a breath, he doesnât see you. He only sees a shape in the dark. His eyes go sharp, not soft like when he feeds you warm broth.
"It's you.." he said, "You should be resting."
You reach out, catching the edge of his sleeve. "Is it about dromas?"
The light in his eyes isnât just bright, itâs devouring. You almost flinch from the intensity of it, that voracious, glittering focus. The gun clatters onto the desk, as his hand claws for the pen.Â
"Yes. Itâs about you. About what you were, what you are now. Are you interested?"
You nod once, tug his sleeve again like a question mark. He gestures at the seat beside him. He talks. Gods, does he talk.
He tells you about everything he knew of your kind. You sit there, hands folded in your lap. You listen because maybe somewhere in his ramble is a piece of the puzzle the system wonât hand you. Maybe this is how you find the thread back home.
His words melt against your skin. Your head finds the bend of his elbow like it was always meant to rest there. By the time your lashes flutter shut, youâve already forgotten how to stay awake.
When you wake, the candleâs long gone cold. Your cheek is pressed to his sleeve. Heâs asleep too, head tipped back against the wall, quill still in his fingers.
Anaxa stirs when you stand.
"Youâre a miracle."
Well, he was talking about your healed injury. You knew it was cool, but getting such a reaction is your first time.
Later you follow him, he needed more information, you both encounter several scholars on the way.
A pair of young apprentices whisper as you pass. "Thatâs the mad one..."
Anaxa doesnât even glance at them. He flicks his sleeve like brushing off dust.
You follow him through the halls. He talks as he walks, half to you, half to himself.
You listen because you have no choice. And because youâre looking for the smallest crack. Any sign he might loosen his hold on you.
[NOTICE: PATH TO RETURN IDENTIFIED.]
[CONDITION: WORLD COLLAPSE.]
You stop dead in the corridor. Anaxa doesnât notice at first, heâs already a step ahead, scribbling something on the back of his hand because heâs run out of parchment.
What does that mean?
The system flickers again.
[TRIGGER: CRITICAL INSTABILITY.]
[TARGET: ANAXA - KEY POINT OF FRACTURE.]
[METHOD: BETRAYAL]
Anaxa stops. He turns. He sees your face, how the colorâs gone from your cheeks, how your handâs clenched in the folds of your robe.
"Something wrong?"
He takes a step closer. You donât move. You just hear yourself say it.
"How?"
"How what? What is it?"
[RECOMMENDED PATH]
1) Strengthen bond â Encourage deeper trust.
2) Reveal partial self-awareness â Grant hope of shared secret.
3) Withdraw â Create sense of betrayal â Amplify fracture.
Anaxaâs fingers graze your cheek.
"Youâre trembling," he murmurs. "What happened?"
You blink up at him.
"Itâs nothing. Just⌠late to say it now, but.. Y/N is my name. And Iâm not leaving until your research is done."
[PATH CONFIRMED.]
[SEQUENCE: IN PROGRESS.]
You lie awake that night on the mat beside his desk. He murmurs as he reads, lips moving with words only he can hear. You roll onto your side.
"Do you hate them?"
His eyes lift from the script. "Who?"
"The ones we passed by this morning."
"Yes."
"..."
"What's the matter?"
"No hesitation at all.."
So you think of something else. You remember your desk back home.
"I can help!" you say after a moment.
You push yourself upright. You take a scrap of parchment from his pile, a bit of charcoal from the floor.
You draw a dromas leg bone. Then, a simple diagram of the cartâs harness, how the weight sits. Tiny marks for scale. Small truths you remember only because you were once the animal that carried them.
When youâre done, you stack the pages and set them on the edge of his book. You push the stack toward him.
"Here!"
You can taste the salt of imagined tears, see how they'd warp the vellum. Of course he doesnât actually cry. But he does blink hard like he might.
"You⌠I didnât know you could... This is⌠perfect. Youâre perfect."
[BOND: STRENGTHENED]
You smile at him.
One step closer to home.
At dawn, when Anaxa is half-asleep, or half-awake in the way scholars always are, you tug at his sleeve, he startles.
"Where are we going?"
"Okhema"
Before he can ask why, you take his hand, not just the sleeve.
The dromases there watch you from under. Youâre not quite one of them anymore, but not quite not, either.
Anaxa stands close at first, he tries to coax them near, but the they shy back. Itâs your voice that draws them in.
"What are they saying?" Anaxa whispers.
You smile at the dromas.
"She says she misses the boy who used to bring yellowsoil."
He jots every word down. You translate and explain every action. You show him the tiny scar on oneâs flank. His eye catches the shape of your smile, the way your brow softens when you speak to them.
Anaxa tries to coax one last answer from a stubborn dromas, but your eyelids are heavy. He notices, the way your head dips forward.
"That's all for today. Let's head back."
You lean against him on the walk back. He doesnât mind.
That night, he finds you curled up on your mat. Your hair still smells faintly of hay. He settles near, parchment stacked beside him, sketches you scribbled for him.
He reaches to pull the blanket higher when you mumble.
"HomeâŚ"
"Home?"
"Iâll leaveâŚ"
Anaxa stays there a long time, watching the steady rise and fall of your ribs.
He smooths the blanket over your shoulder with careful fingers, thumb brushing a curl of your hair from your brow. "Not yet."
----
A man's shout cracks your sleep open. Sunlight pools hot on the floorboards, you've overslept badly. Wiping drool from your cheek, you stagger to the window. Anaxa's planted like a dead tree between two red-faced men.
"... peddling your half-beast fairy tales again?" one spits. "Youâve wasted enough time. And now you drag some pitiful stray to prove your delusions? You're mad. Worse, boring."
You see Anaxaâs fingers twitch at his side, but his voice, when it comes, is calm as poison poured in wine.
"Boring? You come all this way to watch my research, then call it boring? Listen carefully, you, who have never labored for a single original thought in your life." He tilts his head, just slightly, "You spit on what you canât grasp, which, of course, is everything beyond your own reflection."
The scholar steps closer. You see the spark behind Anaxaâs visible eye.
"I will crack this world open if I must," he says, "Your small minds are the only parasites feeding on my work. I suggest you scatter before my partner does more than frighten your apprentices."
The other man shoves him then, hand flat against his chest, pushing him back toward the door.
You rushed and blocked in front of him as fast as you could. Before the man could lay a hand on Anaxa.
The scholar scoffed. You drove your fist into his chest. He flew away, not far, but far enough to taste the earth with his teeth. His friend scrambled back.
Your knees hit the floor. The last thing you see is Anaxa dropping with you, arms around your shoulders.
You sleep for a day. Maybe more. You dream of home, the stale comfort of your old bed.
Anaxaâs head rests on the edge of your mat, hair falling loose across his brow. He startles awake when you move.
"Are you hurt?"
You look at him and shook your head.
[BOND: PEAK]
[NEXT SEQUENCE: BETRAYAL â PATH HOME]
You let him brush your hair back, fuss with the blanket.
The door is open. The price is him.
-----
The Grove shifts in small ways first. You stop waiting by his side when he drafts his lectures. You slip from his reach when he lifts a hand to your shoulder.At first he pretends not to notice. But the shadows under his eye deepen.
You find the other scholars at the edge of the city. They watch you approach.
"Left him at last, have you?"
"I heard you speak of him. I will help you bring him down."
[KEY FRACTURE POINT IDENTIFIED.]
Anaxa found you talking to the men.
"Why are you here?"
"Talking."
His eye flicks past you to those who gathered like vultures behind your shoulder.
"Do you know what they are?"
"I do. But I don't care."
"Go home with me."
"No. That is not my home."
Behind you, the other scholars smile. They know this wound will bleed him hollow.
Eventually, you had to go back to his house. Those men need his research. You pretended to sleep.
You hear him at night, he was leaving the house. You catch glimpses of him putting on his coat and loading his gun.
The people you worked with are gone.
----
"Do you even know what youâve done? Opened the door!" You shouted but he didn't bother.
[PATH: COMPLETE]
[RETURN HOME: READY]
Oops. Never mind, then.
A hairline fracture snaking up the wall behind the shelves. Without hesitation, you shoved the shelves aside, fingers clawing at the crack, nails splitting as you pried it wider.
Somewhere behind you, Anaxa's voice cut through the hum of the system "Stop!"
[WARNING: YOU'RE RIPPING AWAY HIS CONSCIOUSNESS.]
But your mind was on the widening crack now, you didn't see him approaching from behind nor the alarms shrieking.
You leapt, and then you were sprawled on your bedroom floor, the smell of laundry flooding your senses. Home.
-----
<The other side>
The dromas' colossal shadow fell across the fields. A dromas plummeted to its farm.
Anaxa's scream follows you through the crack. Not from pain, from severance. His soul splits, one half still reaching for you as the rift seals.
[NOTICE: CROSS-WORLD ENTANGLEMENT DETECTED]
"How do I achieve a physical body?"
[HOST REQUIRED TO STABILIZE MASTER'S FORM]
"Find someone suitable."
"Can you at least say something more useful?"
"Would you like to share mine instead?"
"Who are you?"
[NOTICE: MOVING MASTER'S SOUL TO NEW BODY]
[IDENTITY: Y/N'S NEIGHBOR]
