kar_ma-ish

While you rushed downstairs, the twins and MC were already standing near the entrance. The three of them wore completely different expressions. The twins looked tense, shoulders rigid as if they were bracing themselves for something.

MC, on the other hand, stood off to the side, her posture stiff and guarded, her arms folded across her chest like a shield.

The sight of her only irritated you further.

You scoffed under your breath, marched toward the key tray by the door and grabbed the first vehicle key you could find.

You needed to leave.

Now.

Before you did something you couldn't take back. Before you broke down in front of all of them. Before you had to hear another word about Sylus. You reached for the door. Only for the twins to rush forward and stop you.

"Where are you going—"

One of them caught your arm before suddenly freezing.

"Wait... is that blood?"

The other twin's eyes widened.

"Your neck—"

You paused.

Your grip on the doorknob tightened until your knuckles turned white. Only now did you fully register the throbbing pain spreading across your throat. Your skin felt unbearably hot. Like a fever was slowly consuming you from the inside. Something wet slid down the side of your neck.

Blood.

A thin stream trailing along your collarbone before disappearing beneath your shirt. You understood their concern. You really did.

But right now none of it mattered.

You just wanted out.

“I’ll be—“

“Just let her go.”

MC interrupted.

As usual. The irritation that had been simmering inside you immediately flared hotter. The twins hesitated. Their grip loosened slightly.

Uncertain. Torn.

One of them glanced at MC before tightening their hold again.

"No."

The answer was immediate.

Firm.

"We don't know what happened between you and her, Miss Hunter."

Their voice remained respectful. But only barely.

"She's our comrade."

A pause.

Then softer.

"Our friend."

The words hit harder than expected. The twin swallowed.

"Right now her wellbeing is more important than whatever happened upstairs."

MC opened her mouth to respond.

A different voice cut through the room first.

“Let them be.”

The protest died instantly on her lips.

Everyone turned.

Sylus stood at the top of the stairs. Still. Unreadable.

His expression revealed absolutely nothing. Yet hearing his voice sent another wave of anger crashing through your chest.

Not necessarily...

The words echoed inside your head again.

Over.

And over.

And over.

You couldn't do this. Not right now. You yanked your arm free from the twins. Ignoring their protests. Ignoring their concern. Ignoring him.

You threw the door open and stepped outside. The cool air hit your face. It did nothing to soothe the fire burning beneath your skin.

The door slammed behind you with enough force to rattle the frame. You crossed the driveway in quick strides. Your vision blurred slightly.

Whether from anger, exhaustion or the pain in your neck, you weren't entirely sure. The motorcycle came into view.

Thank God.

You climbed onto it without hesitation. The engine roared to life beneath you. A familiar vibration. A familiar escape.

For a brief second, you glanced toward the house.

Toward the windows.

Toward the people inside.

Then looked away.

You twisted the throttle. The motorcycle surged forward.

And within seconds, you were gone.

Inside the base

Silence lingered near the front entrance long after the sound of the motorcycle had disappeared. The twins remained standing by the door, staring at it as if expecting it to open again.

It didn't.

Slowly, they turned around. Their eyes settled on their .

He was still standing at the top of the staircase.

Still staring at the closed door.

Still silent.

His jaw ticked once. A subtle movement.

But enough to reveal that something underneath his composure had shifted. Despite, the tense atmosphere MC spoke again.

“Couldn't expect anything less from her, to be honest—“

“Enough.”

The word cut through the room immediately.

Cold.

Sharp.

Final.

Sylus descended the staircase with practiced ease. Every step measured. Controlled. As though nothing about this situation affected him. Yet the atmosphere around him said otherwise.

He reached the bottom and stopped.

His gaze briefly swept over the twins. From the way they were standing, he already knew what they wanted. An explanation.

For once, he wasn't entirely sure how to give one. He inhaled quietly. Gathering his thoughts.

“What happened to Y/n, bossman?”

The question hung in the air. Sylus paused. Long enough for the hesitation to become noticeable.

"Y/N and MC had a bit of an argument."

His eyes shifted briefly.

"A heated one. I...had to intervene."

The twins exchanged a look. One of them frowned.

“Is that why her neck is bleeding, boss?”

Silence.

Sylus looked away. His gaze drifting across the room before eventually settling on MC. She met his eyes directly.

Unwavering.

Waiting.

“…Yes.”

The answer felt insufficient even to him. The twins didn't miss it. Neither did MC.

A heavy silence settled over the room. Then one of the twins sighed.

"You better fix this asap."

Sylus raised an eyebrow. The twin continued anyway.

"If we lose her..."

Their voice hardened.

"...we won't stay quiet."

The other twin nodded in agreement. With no hesitation. No fear. Just honesty. For a brief moment, nobody spoke. Then both twins turned and headed toward the hallway. Halfway there, one of them glanced back.

First at Sylus.

Then at MC.

Then continued walking. Leaving the living room behind.

The silence that followed felt significantly heavier. Sylus pinched the bridge of his nose. Exhaled. Then looked at MC.

“Come to my office now.”

His tone left no room for discussion. He turned immediately and walked away.

MC followed.

The moment they entered his office, the tension became impossible to ignore. Sylus pushed the door open harder than necessary. The impact echoed through the room. He walked straight toward his desk and sat down. He remained silent.

MC lingered near the doorway.

Uncomfortable.

Uncertain.

A feeling she wasn't accustomed to experiencing around him.

"Get in."

She immediately obeyed.

"And close the door."

The click of the lock sounded louder than usual. Sylus remained seated.

Hands folded. Expression unreadable.

For several moments, he simply looked at her. The silence stretched.

MC shifted slightly. Sylus noticed. Of course he did. Finally, he spoke.

“Care to explain why you felt the need to follow Y/n to her room and provoke her?”

MC looked down. Mumbled something under her breath. Sylus's eyes narrowed. His hand struck the desk. Not hard enough to damage it. Hard enough to make her flinch.

"I can't hear you."

His voice remained controlled. Which somehow made it worse.

"Say it louder."

MC swallowed.

"I said..."

She hesitated.

"...based on what you told me about her..."

Sylus remained silent.

"And the marks on your neck..."

Her fingers curled tightly into the fabric of her sleeves.

"I thought she was forcing herself onto you."

The room went still. Sylus stared at her for several seconds. Then slowly stood from his chair. MC immediately regretted her choice of words. Not because she thought she was wrong.

Because of the look in his eyes.

Disappointment.

Pure disappointment.

Sylus walked around the desk, stopping in front of her.

“And you thought it was okay for you to play my lawyer?”

It wasn't a question.

MC looked away.

"I was trying to help."

Sylus laughed once, without any humor.

"Help."

The word sounded foreign coming from him.

"You asked me about Y/N before agreeing to work with her."

His voice lowered.

“because I trusted you enough I answered…” He paused.

MC remained silent.

“You took pieces of information. Drew your own conclusions.”

Another pause.

"And decided confronting her was a good idea."

His eyes sharpened.

"All because you saw marks on my neck."

MC clenched her jaw.

"You looked uncomfortable around her."

Sylus tilted his head slightly.

"And?"

The single word immediately robbed her of momentum.

"And?"

He adjusted the collar of his turtleneck. Slowly. Deliberately.

"Did it never occur to you..."

His gaze locked onto hers.

"...that I allowed it?"

MC eyes widened.

"No."

The answer escaped before she could stop it.

“You…that’s impossible…you looked so awkward and uncomfortable around her—“

Sylus scoffed.

Of course. Of course it hadn't occurred to her.

"You and I share a connection."

His voice softened slightly. Not in kindness. But in exhaustion.

"I understand your concern."

MC's expression brightened briefly.

"What I don't understand..."

The warmth vanished.

"...is why you thought that concern entitled you to involve yourself in matters that don't concern you."

MC straightened immediately.

“It does concern me when it comes to you, Sylus.”

Sylus closed his eyes briefly. A muscle in his jaw flexed. When he opened them again, they were colder.

"What happens in my personal life..."

He stepped closer.

"...and the people involved in it..."

Another pause.

"...is not your decision to make. And it definitely doesn't give you the right to act the way you did today."

“Sylus can’t you see—“

“Enough.”

The word landed harder this time. But MC wasn't finished. She was frustrated now. Defensive. Trying to justify herself.

“Why are you defending her so much? Is she that important huh?"

The question burst out before she could stop it. Sylus remained silent.

That silence only encouraged her further.

"She's obsessed with you."

Nothing.

"She forces herself into your space."

Nothing.

"She's—"

"Careful."

The warning was quiet. Dangerously quiet. MC ignored it. Big mistake.

"She's just a bitch who spreads her legs for men—"

Sylus moved. Fast. His hands gripped her shoulders. Not enough to hurt, but more than enough to stop her.

"Quiet."

The room shook with the force behind that single word. MC stared at him. Stunned. Sylus's eyes burned.

"Y/N did what she had to do to survive."

His voice was low. Controlled. But visibly strained.

"Telling you about her past..."

A frustrated breath escaped him.

"...I shouldn't have."

MC shook her head. Still refusing to back down.

"You only keep her around because of that past."

Sylus released her immediately.

The accusation hanging heavily between them.

MC pressed on.

"You're afraid she'll leave."

A pause.

"After all..."

Her gaze sharpened.

"...your biggest source of income just walked out of your house."

Silence. Complete silence.

"That's enough, Miss Hunter."

For the first time that day, Sylus raised his voice fully. The office seemed to vibrate around it. MC immediately fell silent.

"You've been running your mouth for the past hour."

His eyes narrowed.

"And it's seriously beginning to irritate me."

A pause.

"You'll leave for Linkon immediately."

"Sylus—"

"I'll have one of the twins accompany you."

His tone became final.

"You're dismissed."

The conversation was over. And for the first time since entering the room—

MC realized she had lost.

The office door closed behind MC with a sharp click. Silence followed immediately. For the first time since Y/N had stormed out of the house, there was no one left for Sylus to address.

No one left to question.

No one left to correct.

Just him.

And the aftermath.

He stood motionless for several seconds, staring at the closed door. The anger that had carried him through the conversation slowly ebbed away. Leaving behind something far more unpleasant.

A heavy exhale escaped him.

He dragged a hand down his face before turning away from the door. The office suddenly felt smaller than usual.

Quieter.

His gaze drifted toward the large mirror attached to one of the walls. For a moment he simply stared at his reflection.

Then he walked toward it.

Slowly.

Thoughtfully.

As if he wasn't entirely certain what he was looking for. When he stopped in front of the mirror, his crimson eyes settled on his own reflection.

Unchanged.

Composed.

Controlled.

Exactly as always. Yet something felt off. His gaze lowered.

Toward the black turtleneck covering his neck.

A reminder.

A concealment.

A consequence.

His fingers rose to the fabric. Hooking beneath the collar.

He pulled it aside. The marks immediately came into view.

Faded slightly compared to the previous night.

But still there.

The scattered hickeys.

The bruising.

The distinct imprint of teeth against his skin.

Your marks.

Sylus stared at them quietly. His fingers brushed across one of the darker bruises. The skin was still sensitive. A faint sting greeted his touch.

The memory followed immediately after. Your hands gripping his shoulders.

Your laugh. The satisfaction in your eyes when you saw what you'd done.

"Yeah… it's like I've marked my territory."

His jaw tightened. Not in irritation.

Something else.

Something considerably harder to name. His fingers continued downward. Stopping where the bite mark sat. The deepest mark you'd left behind.

His thumb traced the outline carefully.

And for a brief moment...far too brief..

he could almost feel the ghost of your lips against his skin again.

The warmth.

The pressure.

The reckless possessiveness.

Then the memory shifted. The room.

Your expression.

The argument.

The blood.

The silence.

His hand dropped. The reflection in the mirror suddenly felt significantly less interesting. Sylus looked down.

Only now noticing the faint reddish stains that had dried against his fingers.

Your blood.

His eyes lingered on it. Longer than they should have. Long enough for the weight of it to settle properly. He had seen blood countless times before.

Spilled it.

Been covered in it.

Caused it.

None of that bothered him.

This did.

A muscle ticked in his jaw.

The image of the crimson Evol wrapped around your throat flashed through his mind again.

The marks left behind.

The look on your face.

The disbelief.

The hurt.

The disappointment.

He exhaled slowly.

"You really know how to make things difficult."

The words were barely audible. Almost lost to the empty office.

No answer came. Of course not.

You were gone.

Sylus glanced away from the mirror. His gaze settling on the phone resting on his desk. For a moment he simply stared at it.

Thinking.

Then he crossed the room. Picked it up and unlocked it.

Your contact was already near the top. His thumb hovered over your name. A brief pause.

Then he pressed call.

The line rang.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

No answer.

Eventually it disconnected. Sylus stared at the screen.

Waited.

Then called again.

Nothing. Again. Nothing.

The fourth attempt went directly to voicemail. His expression remained unchanged. But his grip on the phone tightened slightly.

Enough to reveal his frustration.

Not at you.

At the situation.

At himself.

At the fact that he no longer knew where you were. Another exhale. Then the familiar beep sounded. For several seconds, he said nothing.

Listening.

Thinking.

Choosing his words carefully.

"Pretty dove."

Silence.

The nickname sounded strange in an empty room. His gaze drifted toward the window. Toward the darkening sky beyond it.

"The twins are worried."

Another pause. Longer this time.

His thumb rubbed absently against the edge of the phone.

"Get your neck looked at."

The words came out calm. Matter-of-fact. As if they cost him nothing.

But he remained silent afterward. Because there was more.

Far more.

Things he couldn't say.

Things he wouldn't say.

Another breath.

Then—

"Call when you're able."

A pause.

"...or don't."

The corner of his mouth twitched. Not quite a smile. Not quite resignation. Just acceptance.

"I'll know you'll be stubborn either way."

The line remained silent. He listened to it for another second.

Then ended the recording. The office returned to silence. Sylus lowered the phone. His thumb immediately moved toward your chat.

Waiting.

Expecting.

Looking for any indication that the voicemail had been heard.

Nothing.

No notification.

No response.

No message.

Just emptiness.

For the first time all evening, Sylus allowed himself to acknowledge the uncomfortable truth.

You weren't ignoring him to make a point.

You genuinely didn't want to speak to him.

His gaze drifted toward the mirror again.

Toward the marks still decorating his neck.

Toward the evidence of a relationship that had become significantly more complicated than either of you had anticipated.

The room felt quiet.

Too quiet.

And for once—

Sylus found that he didn't particularly like it.

A faint vibration broke the silence.

His phone. He glanced at it. No name. No notification.

Just system noise.

False expectation.

Nothing real.

Sylus stared at it for a moment longer than necessary.

“…Tch.”

Barely audible.

Not anger.

Not frustration.

Something more restrained than either. He walked past the desk and place the phone face down.

He did not make another call.

He did not send another message.

For the first time—

he chose not to pursue the variable.

Because pursuit implied certainty.

And for the first time,

Sylus didn’t have any.

And we're done 😇 Lemme know what y'all think.

In fact, Caleb looked happier when after the ceremony, MC bounded up with him with a grin, patting his hair and congratulating him for getting married and finally, finally moving on. To which he blushed and replied to her with something inaudible to you.

So from the very beginning, there’s always been three there has always been three in the spaces you occupied with your husband, three at the altar (you wondered if Caleb had imagined it was MC standing in your place on your wedding day), three in the bed (you could even imagine MC lying in empty space inbetween you and Caleb as you slept, and three at the table (at first before Caleb had learnt more about you, the dishes he served were all reminecent of MC’s favourites). You knew MC haunted, haunts, your marriage. But like any good wife, you looked the other way and hoped for the best. 

Although it was not that you expected for Caleb to start acting like your husband right off the bat (you told yourself he needed time to heal). Not that you expected him to treat you like MC. Not that you never stopped praying that the underdog (you) of the story may prevail eventually. Yet the silence in his cold, gray penthouse, the lack of physical touch between the two of you, the meals consumed in harrowing conversation (you’d have to give it to him for always trying to ask you how your day was everyday), the nights spent so far away from each other, was slowly convincing you that this marriage was nothing but one of convenience. All you did was try your best to keep holding onto the hope that maybe things would change with Caleb for the better. 

About two years into the marriage, Caleb surprised you by asking if you could have a child together. 

You were shocked he was the one to ask. 

Your remembered first attempt at intimacy had gone miserably. You could freshly recall on your wedding night when Caleb had loomed over you in the darkness of the bedroom, his chest heaving - though he hadn’t moved to do anything, anything at all - with spots of tears forming in the crease of his eye. After ten minutes of silence, he rolled off you.

‘I— I’m sorry…I- I can’t.’

You had told him it was okay. And you never mentioned it again, so you were coloured surprised when Caleb meekly asked you, as if he thought you might get upset, to try for a baby. 

Fortunately for him, it only took about three times before you presented him with a positive pregnancy test. Fortunately for you as well, since each attempt was very awkward, terrifyingly so. You had no idea where you should have out your hands, your legs, if he even wanted your hands on him— and neither did Caleb know what to do with his touch. You’d think he didn’t want a baby by how hesitant he was acting. However, eventually when you did hand him that test with two pink lines, Caleb’s face practically glowed. You had never seen your husband, in all these years of marriage, look so…happy, so much more like his actual age than the cold, gloomy colonel you were married to. For the first time, you saw the sunny Caleb that you only got to know through photos stuck in dusty albums in the corners of your home. He hugged you, kissed you, and laughed in relief. 

Relief? 

Honestly, you were somewhat relieved too. Usually, Caleb would be away for prolonged periods of time, always muttering about something to to with the fleet, a mission, training, before departing for sometimes weeks at a time, but ever since you got pregnant, Caleb cut back on prolonged duties and stayed by your side if he could. There was one thing you could never complain about him, was that when it really came down to it, Caleb was not a bad husband by the books. He constantly cooks, cleans, cares and caters for you, and even more so now, he’ll drop whatever is on hand at moment’s notice to come running to you if you said you felt the slightest bit of discomfort. Plus, with all the baby essentials Caleb had purchased, they had really livened up the house much more. You watch as he assembles them without the need to look at the instructions whilst sitting on the floor of the living room. As he fusses about with you taking the right supplements, about getting enough sleep…it’s cute. It’s the closest feeling you’ve ever experienced to having a real husband,  despite being married for well over two years now. 

On a muggy afternoon, you inched out of Caleb’s grasp (he has now found it in himself to sleep closer to you with one hand usually over your stomach if you allow it) and wobbled your way to the walk in closet for some airier clothes. As you sifted through the racks, you accidentally knocked out a few photos from Caleb’s colonel service coat, which fluttered down to the bottom of the closet. Crouching down (whilst you still could), you inspected the photos. 

Oh.

It was a laminated photo of your baby’s ultrasound. Not just that, but on the edges of the photo, written neatly in his handwriting in pen, were the words: [name]’s ultrasound appointment on xx/xx/xxxx. 

Adorable, you thought, that Caleb carried this around with him. You privately wondered if he would proudly show it off to his co-workers or his underlings. You hoped he might, maybe even boast a little about how lucky he and his wife was. You couldn’t help but smile to yourself, wondering if this marriage was finally taking a step into the right direction. 

But right next to that photo was that necklace. When U Come Back. You knew very well the story behind that necklace, how MC had given it to him before he left for the aerospace academy. How he used to wear it, 24/7, but had at least the decency to stop wearing it at all times and only keep it on him, after he married you. Yes, at least he had the decency to now never take off your wedding bands. Your eyes glazed over the necklace again. Bitterly, you wondered if he’d ever want to carry a photo of him and you someday. 

Nevermind. You dried your eyes quickly. At least in this marriage, both he and you, are getting something that you both wanted, something that you will both cherish more than anything. 

A bouncing baby girl.

He wanted your baby. He needed your baby. He wanted to be a father, because he wanted to be a father, a nurturing, loving figure, right? And not for any other reason? Right?

Right.

Two weeks later, whilst tidying up the kitchen, your hand bumped against a bright yellow lunchbox patterned with little apple stickers, long forgotten beneath a pile of documents and papers. Fondly, you picked it up. 

In the very earliest days of your marriage, you had done the domestic, wifely thing of making your husband a lunchbox before he departed for work every morning. And he had returned an empty box everytime, down to the last grain of rice being picked clean. You still remember the fuzzy feeling of seeing Caleb smile at you, thanking you for such a delicious meal, how his subordinates had all fawned over the presentation, how delicious it was, how lucky the colonel was to have such a lovely wife…

So why not do it again? You thought merrily, after all, you haven’t made him a packed lunch in a while. Maybe showing up at his work with a delicious lunchbox might perk him up. Excitedly, you got into your car and made your way down into central Skyhaven. 

Entering the fleet HQ, you were immediately guided to your husband’s office. 

You were about to turn the handle and step in - usually there weren’t much visitors in his office in the middle of the day - but a chorus of loud voices stopped you. 

“And to Caleb! The newest dad-to-be!”

“The first of all of us to be a father, actually.”

You heard a round of clinking cups. It must be Caleb, inviting his flight school friends to celebrate the impending birth of your child. At his office though…strange. But it must be because he’s been so busy, he hardly had any time to go anywhere except his workplace and his home.

“Woah…no, no more.” You recognised that as Caleb’s voice. You could imagine his hand gliding over to cover the surface of his glass.

Drinking? In the middle of the day? Seriously? You snorted, hand going down on the handle again, But at least it’s to a good cause. Caleb being a new dad and all.

“But seriously. Here’s also to your marriage not being a total disaster!” 

Your stopped before you could push against the door.

“It’s not. A total disaster.” Caleb said, his voice a bit slurred though not completely drunk.

“Yeah, yeah…we all know you had the hots for MC, but she ended up marrying that sexy doctor instead of the big bad colonel, didn’t she, oof—!” 

A thud. Caleb had probably slammed whoever said that against the wall. A series of ‘ooohs’ followed.

“Kidding, kidding…”

“You better be.” Caleb dusted his hands off, sinking back into his seat. “I’ve long moved on from MC. I even have proof.”

“Oh yeah? Don’t tell me it’s—”

He pulled out the ultrasound picture that he kept in his uniform pocket, showing it to everyone in the room.

“I had a child with my wife. Can’t you see how much I’ve moved on already? I can have a child with someone who’s not MC. See?”

Tears stung your vision. 

So thats what he was using that picture for. 

Not for a happy memory’s keepsake, no. But to show the world that he, Colonel Caleb Xia, the yearner, the lover, the oh-so-perfect man…has moved on from his sweet MC.

…

You quickly threw the lunchbox you made away, and fled the building. You needed to get away from him, in that moment. You didn’t want to linger on in this kind of feeling anymore.

…

Time passes a lot quicker, you found, when it wasn’t just you in the house all day. With Caleb by your side (more or less constantly in the final few months of your pregnancy) the days had quickly passed. And before you knew it, there was a living, breathing infant in your arms. 

The birth was easy, and again, you were grateful for Caleb’s support (he never left your side in those six hours, plus you’ve heard far too many horror stories of baby daddies bringing their Xbox, or not showing up at all…) though admittedly you swore at him multiple times and eventually snapped at him to wait outside. However, part of you feared he might react to an actual baby, his and your baby, with regret and hesitation. You couldn’t shake the fear that Caleb might feel prejudiced against a baby you made with him instead of one borne from him and MC. But those fears quickly evaporated when you saw Caleb crying, sniffling, holding the little pink bundle in his arms.

Both Caleb and you were overjoyed, though also albeit scared, naturally like most first-time parents. He was seriously dedicated at every step. Again, you’d have to give it to him for being a good dad. 

After returning from the hospital, he never allowed you to get up in the middle of the night to soothe the baby. He never complained about doing the messy work that came with babies, often willingly taking care of all her wants every day as if trying to prove a point. He now even tries to come home earlier and go on less long-distance fleet missions to spend more time with the baby, something he’s never done for you in the time you were married. You watched as he poured his whole heart into being a good dad for a tiny little girl. A perfect masculine figure. Ever so sensitive to what she needed.

But what about what you needed?

Sometimes when you come home after a day out with your friends or a solo trip somewhere, the moment you open the door to your home, you feel as if your entire world is behind that doorway. That despite all the freedoms Caleb has given you in this marriage (the financial freedom, ‘you can go anywhere you want’ , you can do whatever you wish), your world had drastically shrank to the man sitting in the grey parlour, who wasn’t even facing you.

On other days, he wasn’t even there. 

Gone to MC’s. Emergency.

….you weren’t exponentially surprised by the reason. Caleb frequently rushed to MC’s house to deal with her emergencies. At this point, you simply shrugged it off and continued on as you usually would. Only that when you went to the nursery to check on your daughter…

The crib was empty. 

Your heart dropped. You had frantically dialled his number. No response. You racked your head for thousands of possibilities. Did someone take her? Did he mention he was taking her anywhere? Did he…did he take your child? Taking off with MC to a place where you’d never find him again? Did Caleb pack up and leave altogether? With your baby?

You told yourself it couldn’t be true. That he’d never do something like that. He wouldn’t. That Caleb is a good, kind man. But to what distances he would go for MC, you had no idea. All you knew was that you’d like it to be you instead of her. 

Ten minutes later, you were banging the front door of MC’s house. 

Surprisingly, it was her husband, Zayne, who answered. 

“[name]? What are you doing here?” Zayne asked, surprised. 

He didn’t even get to answer before you shoved past him, calling Caleb’s name. 

“Caleb, Caleb?!” Your mind flashed with possibilities of where he could be. Maybe he was already gone. Maybe he took MC and drove up to the airport already. But surely not, his car was parked outside, and, and…

There he was. In MC’s backyard, sleeves rolled up, that stupid grin on his face as he…tacked a nail into a piece of plywood, MC hovering over him with a tray of lemonade. You stopped in your steps where the stone of the house met grass, calming down, as you watched your husband beam up at MC, sweat glistening down his muscular arms, droplets forming on his healthy skin, a damp V soaking the top of his t-shirt. Time seemed to slow as Caleb reached up, took a sparkling glass, smiling at MC gratefully, a smile so bright you’ve never seen in all those times you ever offered him something. 

“Caleb!” You snapped, finally loud enough that he whipped his head around, MC too. “Caleb! Where’s our daughter—“

Before you could even hear his reply, a beaming MC gasped in delight and smothered you in a hug. 

“[name]! You’re here too! That’s perfect, you should stay and have dinner! Ooh, I’ll tell Zayne to set an extra space at the table.” She spun around, shouting into the open patio doors. “ZAAAAAYNIIIIEEEEE?” 

She talked at such a fast pace, you barely even got to get a word in on how you didn’t really want to stay for dinner, how you just wanted to demand where your daughter is and go home. In that moment, you didn’t even really care if your husband went home with you. But just as you opened your mouth…

“Aw, pips, there’s no need, I’m almost done with building this part already.” 

MC pouted, that little, pathetic, faux-childish pout she always made at her dear gege. 

“C’mon, Caleb, staying for dinner is the least you could do for me, after rushing over on such short notice to build Zachary’s treehouse.” She said, referring to hers and Zayne’s son. She turned to you and smiled, dropping her voice to a whisper, “Zayne is so useless when it comes to things like this, and my gege is the best!” 

She turned back to Caleb. “And bringing your adorable little daughter too! I’ve been dying to meet her. You know I’ve asked you so many times already.”

You paused. “Wait a minute. You…asked Caleb to…to bring…”

“Yes!” MC replied, “I know she’s only a few months old, but all I’ve been asking Caleb is to let me meet my adorable niece!” 

It was almost laughable. The ‘emergency’ that required Caleb’s immediate attention was the construction of  a treehouse for MC’s son.  You couldn’t help but wonder how many other of these such trips to her house that Caleb took were also something else, something less significant but labelled as an ‘emergency’. 

You turned to Caleb, absolutely pissed. 

“You. You took my daughter just like that? You took her without asking me?” 

“I told you I was going to MC’s—“

“You didn’t tell me you were taking her!” 

“I thought you would have assumed—“

Right. Like you should assume, like every other little bit of your marriage, you should have assumed that Caleb’s judgement was right. That your husband is doing his best for you. For this marriage. That you should assume every step he did, he was thinking of you first, and not MC. You should always assume. You’d be happier off that way. 

But obviously, you were much more headstrong than Caleb let on. You were no longer the nervous blushing bride that had once optimistically stood by his side. 

“You have no right to take her and tell me, her mother, to just assume anything about the safety of her own child.” You replied, in a tone that surprised Caleb so much, that he wasn’t sure how to reply.

MC, caught in the middle, immediately pushed in to diffuse the tension.

“Aw, don’t be like that, my sister-in-law.” She smiled, holding onto your arm. “Don’t blame Caleb, it’s my fault. I asked him to bring the baby.” 

“No, no.” Caleb cut in, standing up and putting a hand onto MC’s shoulder. “Don’t blame yourself.” 

He turned to you, frowning. “[name], I think we’ve just blown this way out of proportion. No one’s been hurt and you’re acting if I’ve kidnapped someone!”

“You know that’s not what I—“

“Come on.” Caleb gently took your hand, herding you towards the house. “Our daughter’s fine. She’s asleep upstairs.”

He led you past the living room, past the kitchen where a frazzled Zayne stood, wordlessly watching as Caleb led you up the staircase and into the nursery, familiar with the layout as if it was his own house, to where your daughter was sleeping peacefully in their son’s old crib. 

“See?” Caleb sighed, “Nothing’s wrong. You got all worked up over nothing.” 

You wanted to yell and him and tell him that this wasn’t nothing. That somehow ‘nothing’ always seemed to be associated with his behaviour with MC, and that none of what happened concerning MC in your marriage could just be swept under the rug like that. Maybe that’s how he preferred it, you thought bitterly.

“I want to go home.” Was your only reply.

Caleb’s shoulders slackened. “C’mon, let’s just stay for dinner…”

“I want. To go. Home.”

Your husband seemed to give up this case, and sighed. “Alright.” He replied, “Let me get my jacket.”

Suddenly, both of your heads turned, as you heard MC rap her hand against the nursery doorframe. 

“Caleb…can I just speak with you for a second before you go…?”

You wanted to question if she had been lurking outside, listening, but Caleb cut in front of you. 

“Of course.” He replied.

He took MC by her shoulder“We’ll just be a minute.” He called to you.

“You don’t mind, do you?” MC asked graciously. 

“Sure.” You replied evenly. “I’ll just be in here. Come get me when you’re done, okay? I’ll dress our daughter to leave.”

You saw Caleb nod, before escorting MC down the stairs. You made sure they both saw you close the nursery door.

You mad good on your promise to stay in the nursery and dress your fussy little daughter (who was looking more like Caleb by the day). Five minutes later, gently creaking open the nursery door, you snuck outside, thinking they’d finished their conversation already.  But you realised they hadn’t gone far. As you stood on the stairs with your back against the side of the wall, you could clearly hear Caleb and MC talking in the living room behind the staircase. 

Their words made your heart beat out of your chest.

“Is your wife always so…uptight?” You heard MC mumble, her voice suddenly sultrier than before.

“No, she’s just…” You heard Caleb began.

I’m just what, Caleb?

“…she’s just emotional, that’s all.”

You heard MC snort. “Emotional? Hardly. I seem to remember that at your wedding, she was ever so meek and crittery, so nervous, so deferent, so grateful to marry the big strong colonel…” She sighed, “And I thought that, y’know, hey! She might do a lot of good for you. She’s like a squeaky mouse, just like another version of me, how I was your ‘pipsqueak’…” Her voice suddenly dropped to a whine. 

“I thought maybe you found a better replacement.”

You heard sounds that indicated that Caleb stepped forwards to hug her. 

“MC…nothing and nobody could ever replace you.” Caleb said gently.

They were silent for a long time. Wetness had began to gloss your eyes.

“Well…on that happy note…” MC mumbled, “I have some news for you.”

“Hm? What is it?” 

“I’m…” She giggled, “I’m expecting.”

“You’re what?!” You heard Caleb exclaim.

“Shhhh! I said I’m expecting. I’m going to have another baby.” MC replied hushedly. 

“Oh wow…congratulations!” Caleb laughed. “Guess I’m ready to be uncle to another mini-zayne, huh?” 

MC let out a small happy sigh. “Not quite.”

“What do you mean? Do you think this baby’s going to look more like you, or—” 

“No, no…”

A pause. MC gazed up at your husband, clasping his hands.

“Caleb…the baby is yours.”

…

You couldn’t bear to hear the rest of the conversation. You sprinted back up the stairs, going back into the darkness of the nursery. You hated yourself for it, but you couldn’t help but sob, sob over this marriage which you’ve always held hope to, this marriage which, admittedly, up to that moment you were still clinging onto the hope that things may turn to the better, that your fate might change, that this wasn’t all a mistake, that your marriage wasn’t just a helpless fantasy on your part…

But look at you now.

Crying on the floor of the house which belonged to the woman who your husband was obsessed with. Crying with a baby that was only born into the world to prove a point for your husband, to prove that he had moved on. Or worse, your poor baby daughter wasn’t even born to prove a point anymore, she had only served to prove a lie, a lie that was quickly unravelling at the hands of the man who demanded her existence.

Caleb…oh, Caleb.

Your tears stopped when you heard someone coming up the stairs. Immediately, you dried your eyes and stood up, trying to slow down your breaths and calm yourself down. You refused to face your husband like this. You refused to make a scene. Not now, anyway.

“Ready to go?” He asked, pushing the door open. 

You didn’t turn for a second. In that moment, time seemed to stop. 

Slowly, you turned to him, your daughter held tightly in your arms.

“Sure.” You smiled, “Let’s go home.”

…

Home. Such a funny word.

As you watched the glowing skyscrapers pass you in the passenger seat, you suddenly felt very calm. The air was wet from rain, and a cool summer breeze had began to sweep through the night. You thought you might feel rage, or resentment, but instead…all you felt was a strange sense of sereneness. You were disappointed at Caleb, sure, but not as surprised as you thought you’d feel.

Which felt worse than being angry. 

You’d rather feel that rush of adrenaline, make a scene, throw something at his face and scream at him and cry and slap him, maybe, but no, no, all you felt was a churning pit of emptiness in the pits of your stomach. Your belly empty, while MC’s swelled with life. His life.

“What do you want to have for dinner when we get back home?” Caleb asked you, breaking the silence.

You shrugged, wondering when, or if that all, he was going to confirm for you what you had overheard. 

“Don’t be like that.” He nudged you with a half smile, “You can pick anything. Anything at all to eat, it’s up to you.”

You didn’t want to eat with him. Even the thought of sitting at the same table, across him, made you feel sick. The thought of your mouth wrapping around the utensils that once touched his mouth, his mouth that once warmed MC’s tongue. Biting into food prepared by his hands, his hands that once traveled across MC’s naked skin. A sickening scene.

You didn’t want anything to do with him. 

“I’d rather you decide.” Came your firm reply. “Since you seem to decide everything that goes on around here.”

Caleb sighed, a long heavy drag. “[name], I don’t know what you want me to tell you.” He spun the wheel, pulling into the familiar street. “So can we please just drop the attitude?”

“What attitude?” You asked, fluttering your lashes as often MC did when she wanted to appease her dearest gege, “I really don’t mind what we eat. Why would I?”

“[name].” He said more seriously, “Please. I don’t want a scene. Our baby’s asleep in the back and I’d really like to keep it that way.”

Right, so you’d be fine having an argument if our daughter wasn’t here. Speaking of children…

“MC’s looked glowing today, don’t you think?” You mentioned, sliding out of the passenger’s seat almost the second Caleb rolled the car into the driveway. 

He shot you a strange look as he unlatched your daughter from her baby seat in the back. “Yes…she did. Why do you ask?”

You shrugged innocently, unlocking the front door, “Nothing, I just meant that motherhood agrees with her.” 

Caleb said nothing in reply. You watched as he carried your daughter inside, not a muscle in his face giving away a single hint of suspicion or anxiety. You knew what kind of man your husband was. It wouldn’t be so easy to gauge out the truth from him, or any semblance of emotion he didn’t want to express for that matter. But you were expecting this.

“Do you think she’s going to have another one?” You said coquettishly, shrugging off your coat.

He couldn’t help it this time. You watched from behind as his shoulder twitched, ever so slightly, for not even half a second. 

“I wouldn’t know.” Caleb replied, his tone ordinary, “I wouldn’t be surprised if she did. She and Zayne are a happy couple, after all.” 

Your husband would have made a great actor, you thought humorlessly. You wondered if he was tearing himself apart inside.

“Actually.” You raised your hand, smiling. “I don’t want dinner.”

Caleb turned, cocking an eyebrow at you. “What? But you—”

“I’m not hungry anymore.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.” You nodded, one foot on the stairs. “I’m going to bed early. It’s been a long day.”

“But it’s only—“

“Goodnight, Caleb.”

“…goodnight.” 

…

Weeks had passed. You’ve continued to act as if nothing had gone wrong. Caleb went to work, came back from work, cooked, played with your baby girl (who was now crawling all over the place) and went to bed. The only aspect that he felt…off, about, was how pacified you acted now. 

You didn’t pepper him with questions about his day anymore.

You weren’t there to ask if he was feeling alright the moment he came home.

You couldn’t even bring yourself to stand closer to him.

It was as if the marriage had undergone mitosis and split itself in two, as if the straining cell it had once been has finally pulled away from the other half. All that remained was two individuals, standing inches apart in the kitchen, sitting a meter away in the living room, sleeping in beds that felt miles away from each other at night.

Your scents didn’t even mingle together anymore. The air in your home felt stagnant. You were sure that if you hadn’t got used to it, if you weren’t you for a second and you had visited your current home for the first time, you would assume that there were no inhabitants in it at all. 

You could imagine it now. The edge of the scissors pulling the winding umbilical cord into a taught triangular shape in the sterile air, about to snap shut, about to separate the two entities, mother snd baby, to deliver individuality and freedom to both…there just needed to be a little push. A little force. Just a little more, and you would be able to forever sever this rotting chord that ties you to this marriage . 

Every day, Caleb would come home and wonder what changed your demeanor so much. And you’d wonder when your husband would grow the balls to tell you that MC is pregnant with his baby.

He didn’t on week one. Or two. Or three. Or four. And as you can guess…

He didn’t speak a word when MC posted a gender reveal (week 19) online, the cutting of the triple-tiered cake revealing flamingo-pink insides. Caleb liked that post, you saw.

He also didn’t mention a word when MC announced a baby shower (week 28), which you were also invited to (the gall. can you imagine the audacity?). You had acted perfectly amicable, presenting MC with a hug and a basket of gifts. Caleb had gone to congratulate Zayne. You couldn’t help but chuckle at the irony.

By the time the date hit 30 weeks after you overheard their conversation, you had had enough.

If Caleb was going to be a coward about it, then you would force him to confront the truth.

…

Week 34 was fast approaching. You knew a normal pregnancy would end at about 37 weeks to 40, so when Caleb, suddenly, in the middle of your morning shot up from his seat after answering a call, you were surprised.

“What’s wrong?” You asked.

“MC had th—her baby.”

“Already?” You hummed. “It’s a bit early, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” Caleb gasped, practically sprinting to put on his jacket hanging by the bannister, “That’s why I need to go see her. Now.”

“No wait!” You stood up, grabbing his wrist. “I’m coming too.”

“No.” He replied. “You shouldn’t. Someone needs to stay home with our daughter. And I won’t be long.”

“No, no!” You chirped merrily, picking up your daughter from her high chair. “Let’s bring our baby. After all, she should get to know her new half-sister.”

You enjoyed watching the colour suddenly bleach from his face.

“What?” His tone was chilling, shaken, almost boyish. 

“You heard me.” You fished out the car keys from the little ceramic dish near the front door. “Come on.“

“[name]—“

“I thought you were in a hurry to go.”

“[name].” Firmer, now.

“So let’s go.”

“[NAME]!” Caleb yelled. It was the first time he had yelled at you.

“What is it?” You blinked back.

Caleb’s eyes were bloodshot. His shoulders heaved. 

“How long…have you known?” 

“I think the better question is, Caleb,” Your face, he thought, was frighteningly unreactive. “When were you planning on telling me?”

He threw his hands down, turning away from you. “I was going to tell you today. After the baby was born.”

“So you can force me to face the consequences of your actions? If I like it or not? Is that why?”

“No! Don’t put words in my mouth.” He faced you again. “I was going…I was going to…”

“To what?” 

“To work something out.”

“And how was that going to end?” 

“I—“

“I’ll tell you how that was going to end, Caleb Xia.” You stabbed your finger against his solid chest. “It would end in me having to make sacrifices. It would end up in me in pain, over and over again, just to cope with how you’ve decided to treat me! I will be the one at a loss while you, you will get what you’ve always wanted. Every decision you’ve made was never for me. It was always either for you or for MC! I don’t believe a word that comes out of your mouth when you tell me that you’ll ’work something out’. I know you’ll give me the short end of the straw. You already have, for every day we’ve been married. Yet you never realise, because of course in the end whatever happens would work out for you, because it always fucking does!”

“[name].” Caleb breathed, “Calm down.”

“Don’t tell me to—“

“I’ll be home as quick as I can.” He said, pulling on his shoes at the door. “And then we’ll settle this.”

You laughed.

“Oh, Caleb.” 

You watched as he glanced at you from the corner of his eye.

“I’m sure you’ll find yourself right at home.” You said with a smile. 

…

“Caleb, come quick!” MC giggled, waving her hand to usher him in. “I just sent Zaynie to go out to the cafe to buy me some lunch.”

Caleb looked over at the bassinet, where a tiny wriggly baby wrapped in white lay. His lips broke out into a smile, a little wider than when he had first met his daughter with you, before gently, very gently reaching into the blankets, prying them apart, to reveal the scrunched up face of his new daughter.

He instantly folded, a finger stroking her wrinkly cheeks.

“Hey there, sweetheart…” Caleb cooed, as the baby made an uncommitted sound. 

She was tiny. Wrinkly. But to Caleb, she was one of the cutest things he’s ever seen. She was part of him, and part of MC, after all. 

Caleb took an awed breath in, as she fluttered her eyelashes, opening her eyes to reveal…

Big, green eyes.

Her eyes were green. 

A bright, mocking, hazel.

Just.

Like.

Her father’s.

Zayne.

…

“What the fuck?” Caleb spun to MC, “You said—“

“Well…” MC smiled devilishly, a telltale sign that she knew the entire time, “I assumed wrong, I guess.”

“But you told me it was from that one night when—“

“There’s no way I could have conceived her with you from just one night, compared to how many times I’ve fucked Zayne around the same time.” She noticed Caleb wince in uncomfort at the mention of her activities with her husband. “You were right. Aren’t you always, gege.”  

“But—“

“Caleb, the baby isn’t yours.” MC snapped. 

He stood by the beside, shellshocked. 

She exhaled out of her nose, smoothing out her blankets. “There is no ‘but’ to it.”

Caleb let out an exasperated breath. “I can’t believe you lied to me. You lied to be about something this important!”

“I had to!” Suddenly, her voice turned an 180 and became a pitiful, little cry. 

“Gege…I was trying to help you…you married [name] and seemed to be so upset all the time, so I had to think of a way to get you out of that marriage. And see, now…” She smiled, “She’s out of the picture and will never bother you again.”

“You don’t understand!” Caleb shook his wrist out of her grasp, “I would never have…have put [name] through all this if it wasn’t my child to begin with.“

“Come on, Cay, you’re just being selfish now.” MC picked at her nails, “It’s all for the best. You didn’t enjoy being married to her in the first place anyway. I can’t believe you went through all the trouble of having a kid with her just to prove that you were over me. You’re so pathetic, gege.” She chuckled.

Caleb felt as if he could not move. MC’s voice seemed to become a distant echo, until…

“Gege?”

He snapped back into reality. Caleb frantically began pulling on his jacket, turning his back to MC, his shallow breaths filling the room. 

“Gege, don’t go.” She said softly, “It’s all for the best. You’ll still be an uncle to the baby. To our family. We’ll be together again, aren’t you happy about that?”

Caleb’s hand tightened on the door. He turned to look at MC, with the most hollow look in his eyes she’d ever seen him possess. Emptier even than the time she renounced him as her gege.

“No.” He replied curtly, pushing the door open. 

“Caleb Xia.” MC barked. “Xia Yizhou!”

For the first time, Caleb didn’t look back to her.

…

Caleb wasn’t sure how many speed limits he broke while making his way home, but from the look of the bumper, he should be expecting a few tickets soon.

He was in a daze as he got out of the car, almost stumbling to the front door of the house, unlocking it. 

He was ready. To apologise. To kneel before you and beg for forgiveness. 

Anything at all.

To go back to the beginning. To make things right, as they should be between a husband and his wife.

To be a family. You, him and your precious baby, that you gave him.

He opened the door.

The house was silent.

Almost empty.

Empty…

The empty table. The empty living room. The empty bedrooms. The empty nursery. It was as if the house had reversed to its first day Caleb had moved in, where every inch was shrouded by plastic wrap and packed in cardboard. When no life had been breathed into his home.

A home without love is just a house, after all. How long had Caleb been trying to change that?

How long had he stayed, in denial, that his goal had actually been long fulfilled?

Where are the people who made his house a home?

“[name]?” Caleb called out. “[name]? Where are you?”

A prickling feeling creeped up against his spine as Caleb made his way back into the kitchen, where you had the fight just before he left. The plates had been cleared away, leaving only a sticky note taped onto the table.

You finally got your dream. I hope you can be happier with MC and your family with her. It’s all for the best. Love, [name] :)

Caleb fell to his knees.

A choked cry echoed through the house.

What dream? What family? 

What had he forsaken to chase after his selfish needs?

He wasn’t happier. Not even a little.

Not at all.

Somehow, without his men knowing or Caleb's, for that matter, you suddenly appear in the Fleet's newly fortified base right after a particular report about Linkon University and a damaged faculty wing was submitted to his table. You're seething, as he predicted, behind a thinly veneer of nonchalance that they're all accustomed to now. At least from a distance.

But he still remembers how you could summon wave after waves of Wanderers with human-capable intelligence without a Metaflux.

You're the unknown variable that Caleb made the mistake of underestimating, and now, the sheer magnitude of his colossal fucked up is in front of him. Which is why, if he needs to get you to listen, he has to do it as carefully as walking through a minefield.

Navigate.

"I take it that Sylus told you about our deal?" Caleb begins smoothly. He does everything by the book to de-escalate the situation. He's still sitting at his desk, both hands on the table so you can see them. His guns were on the counter somewhere, with some measurable distance between them, so you'll know he's unarmed. The large window behind displays the open sky and drifting clouds, hoping they could lighten your heart. He also spared the courtesy of offering you refreshment because most likely, you'll throw it at his head.

"None of you were ever going to help me go home!" You scream, and all pretense of nonchalance disappears. Hurt and so, so much anger practically drips from your tongue. There's something primal about it, the urge to tear him and probably the others, too, in pieces is clear in your own eyes, and yet, Caleb faces you head-on. "Y'all had me 1-on-1 just so you can figure out how I tick! What part of I don't wanna be here anymore none of you get? I know every single one of you fuckers doesn't give a shit about me, so stop pretending that you do, but Infold writers would've never written any of you to treat a woman so cruelly just to make MC look good, so why are you doing this to me!? The GAME is broken to the point that all of you are semi-aware enough, right? Right!? So all of this is on you, not the GAME!"

The silence that descends feels like a familiar hammer, only this time, Caleb is alone.

Slowly, he pushes himself up and does something that had you utterly flabbergasted and beyond anything you could’ve imagined.

Colonel Caleb Xia, one of the most, if not the most, powerful public figureheads in the world, bows with arms firm at his side in a sincere form of military apology.

"I am sorry. I... from the bottom of my heart, I offer you my sincerest apologies for treating you like a criminal." Caleb's voice is rough. You hate how he actually sounds like he means it. "All I ever wanted was to protect her, and in doing so, I treated you despicably. You deserve the truth, and that is... I was, no, am still afraid." His fingers curl into fists, as if he's mustering the courage to push the words out. "One day you appeared out of nowhere. A woman who shouldn't exist. Someone so impossible who knew things she wasn't supposed to know. Someone who could change things simply by being here." He then slowly lifts his head to stare at you again. "And from the moment you came here, all you did was try to survive. I can barely imagine how that feels like; to wake up in a world you recognise but didn't belong to. Every face was familiar and yet completely different. You must've been terrified." The realisation seems to hurt Caleb and against your wishes... it does something in you. You hate that you can see the man before the explosion changed him. Oh, you know Caleb was always a possessive freak when it comes to MC, but he was vulnerable behind the walls he built to protect himself, and by right, he only showed that side of himself to her. So you have no idea how to react now.

But much to your chagrin, Caleb wasn’t done yet. Oh, God.

"And instead of helping you, I kidnapped and tried to interrogate you. You didn't deserve that. I'm sorry. I know what you've lost."

"No, you don't." You interject waspishly, refusing to give him an inch. "What do you know of a healthy family? Josephine was a shitty excuse. I don't even wanna touch your whole deal with MC with a 10-foot poll."

Caleb's jaw ticked, and you would've grinned if you weren't so emotionally exhausted with everything.

"I know enough. You're far away from home and loved ones. Whatever future you've planned for yourself." He swallows. "And I'm sorry for every moment I made that burden heavier. I can't speak for the others but I'm sorry for the pain I've caused you."

"As if the others gave a shit! Pretending to actually—"

"Pretending? I've seen how Xavier's eyes find you even in a room full of people. He mentioned how you light up whenever there's a red bean bun. He loves that about you, the little things about you that he hoard like speckle of stars."

You turn away from him.

"Zayne keeps asking if you've been sleeping. He worries about your health more than his own. Did you know he's been researching patients with immunocompromised? He can't wait to share his progress with you. And Rafayel... he wants another chance. He thinks if he says the right words this time, you'll stop looking at him like he's already lost you."

That got your nose scrunched up and arms folded.

"And Sylus? We all can see how you have him in the palm of your hand. He's utterly fascinated. He sees a woman who keeps fighting, going so far as to defy our world. He admires that about you. And me?"

Caleb exhales once. Deep and heavy. "I envy you."

Your attention immediately snaps back at him. Say what!?

At your shock, a hollow smile adorned his handsome face.

"It infuriates me that... that you don't know how free you are. You move wherever you want. Say whatever you want. You're like a bird." Here, something wistful enters his expression. "You soar through the sky without asking for anyone's permission. You have to know that I've spent my entire life following orders. And somehow you became important to all of us." He then presses a hand on his chest, where the necklace you know is hidden. "You matter to her so naturally... you matter to us too."

The Colonel's office becomes so suffocatingly awkward that you just—

Then you started to laugh, a truly broken sound.

Caleb freezes.

"What does that matter? The GAME can erase me at any point now! I can die in a split second because I'm not supposed to be here, and all of you are too busy trying to play mind games on me, all because of your precious MC! So what exactly is all this love worth, hmm?" You sneer with shaking hands. "And by the way? Apology not accepted. Go kill yourself."

You could tell that your words hit him because Caleb had to stop himself from recoiling. For a moment, genuine pain flashes across his face.

Then something changes.

Something subtle.

Dangerous.

When he opens his eyes again, they are calm. Far too calm for your liking.

"You still don't get it."

"...Get what?"

"None of us chose this world. But you did. You downloaded the App."

A chill crawls up your spine. You... you didn't like the sudden shift of his tone.

With his gaze on you never wavering, you felt like a pinned butterfly underneath a microscope... or a magnifying glass on a hot day. "You chose to enter our lives. That's something none of us can do. Your existence isn't part of the GAME, which in theory, the rules don't own you because you're not MC or any of the side characters. You're a PLAYER... and your choice itself is power. If you stay—"

"Shut the fuck up."

"—you can become real here. You can become one of us."

"I don't want to fucking hear it!"

"If you choose to stay, we'll love you." His voice softens. "The GAME won't be able to delete you. We'll give you a home, a family and you'll never be alone again. All you have to do is choose."

"I don't want that! I want the life that I had! None of you could ever be my family! I want my parents, my siblings, and the friends I made from around the world. Even if my life isn't perfect and I hate my job, at least they belong to me! So no, Caleb. I won't ever choose this world because I will never want to. All of you need to accept that and let me go."

After your tirade and for the first time ever, Caleb looks tired. His shoulders sink with unseen weights.

Then he sighs. A sound heavy with regret. "I was hoping it wouldn't come to this."

Communicate.

Alarm bells started screaming at you.

"Sylus and I made an agreement: He was supposed to convince you with music and the promise of a new family. It's kind of funny, but he was supposed to play the part of the good cop due to his sins against you is lighter than mine." Caleb's expression then hardens. "But you're still not listening."

Your eyes warily follow him as he walks toward a nearby table and reaches for a plain black case. An easy thing to overlook, so don't be too harsh on yourself. The heavy-duty locks on it click open.

"Understand that I never want to do this. If you would just give us a chance, then none of this would've been necessary. Once you've calmed down enough, I'll remove it. I promise."

Terror, unlike anything you've ever experienced, tears through your body as panic begins to make you short of breath because...

Because Caleb is holding up a chip.

watching your eyes spark over lace decals, silk ribbons, and the delicate treasures on your endless list is another second he must pretend it isn’t breaking him apart.

he does his best to wear that well-rehearsed smile. he nods at the right moments, offers a gentle chuckle when needed, and sometimes tilts his head with mock seriousness as you hold up two swatches of lace, asking which belongs on the gift table and which should be saved for the dessert display.

“this one?” you ask, lifting the first piece. then the second. “or this one?” 

the colors might seem identical to weak human eyes, but to yours and his lemurian ones, the difference is quite obvious.

he taps his finger against his chin, brows furrowed as if the choice were a matter of life or death.

"the softer one,” he finally says. “it fits better."

your head tilts, eyes darting between the two fabrics, and after a moment, you nod as though he’s just shared some artistic wisdom. 

“of course. why didn’t i see it.”  

he likes this. 

likes how easily you trust him with things like this. with the details and the decisions, with the small, precious fragments of a future you’re unfortunately building with someone else. 

and rafayel has become alarmingly skilled at standing beside you, pretending that it’s not tearing something from him.

he doesn’t think this could ever compare to his previous tragedies. this one—this one is somehow worse.

you never notice his grip tightening on the basket when you mention ceremonial florals and you miss the way his smile wavers when you talk about the first dance or your chosen song. oh, and he forces his gaze to find the window, searching for solace in the distant ocean just outside.

all of this, and you never notice. 

or he’s simply has gotten better at hiding it. 

he likes to think it’s the latter. 

by the end of the day, your arms are full and your mood is somehow brighter. rafayel follows you back to your apartment just a few stops from the shops with bags of supplies balanced between his hands. 

you unlock the door and step inside, already moving. 

he unloads everything onto the dining table, exhaling softly as his fingers hover over the handles a moment too long. the day’s tension finally beginning to unravel from his chest.

you, on the other hand, don’t stop. 

you dive into the bags, sorting ribbons from glassware, candles from strands, your hands moving with practiced purpose as you tuck each item into neatly labeled boxes for the venue.

and rafayel just watches, silently. 

his eyes track your every step as you orbit the kitchen, words tumbling out, arms full, carrying more than you ever let on.

“the coordinator was impossible,” you say, barely pausing long enough to breathe. “she kept insisting ivory linens instead of white. can you believe the audacity?” 

he let’s out a quiet huff, something akin to amusement. 

“just unforgivable.” 

you grin at him from across the table, missing the way his voice dips at the edges. 

“and don’t even get me started on the seamstress,” you continue on, moving back to the table to grab another glass container. “she said the pearls detailing my veil might be too heavy, but i told her-” 

“you’ll make it work,” he finishes for you, a little quieter this time. “you always do.” 

you pause for a heartbeat, hand lingering on the glass, only noticing too late how your lips betray you with a small, upward curl.

“yeah. i guess you’re right.” 

a veil decorated full of pearls. 

rafayel almost laughs at the cruelty of it. 

lifetimes ago, your tears had turned into them before they could touch the ground. lifetimes ago, he watched you hold yourself together in that sacred temple while he walked out with someone else’s hand in his. 

now you stand in front of him, complaining about pearls sewn into a wedding veil, unaware that the idea alone is enough to tear him open. 

he can’t even gather his thoughts as the image of you in a dress made just for you flickers through his mind.

and just picturing you draped in white, adorned with touches from your homeland, traditions woven from your memories and those of lemurians who now share the surface world.

he says nothing. 

he only watches the way your eyes continue to glow with excitement as you speak, your hands moving through the air as you explain every detail. 

you move so easily within a future that leaves no space for him, at least, not in the way he aches for.

then a thought occurs. dangerous and alarming. 

he could stop this. 

would he stop this? 

he could ruin it all? 

would he ruin it all? 

the thought returns. a repeating one that has never left him since that day.

he could tell you that this is the lifetime where you’re supposed to get it right. that he remembers every version of you, and he knows no amount of apologies could ever amount to how much he’s missed all this e versions of you—how much he regrets allowing you to love him silently from the sidelines while he obliviously chased after something doomed from the start.

he knows crossing heaven, sea, and earth for her before was no issue, and he swears he’d it again, but just for you, if you asked. 

and he can tell you his soul, his bond, every piece of himself that sill knows how to worship, belongs to you, and only you. 

these thoughts are too selfish...

worse than that, they’re unfair. 

because he didn’t deserve you then, and he doesn’t deserve you now. 

...

yet a selfish, terrible part of him aches to demand ruin to everything anyway.

he wants to say the words that would finally make you see him as you once did. he wants to be cruel enough to ask if the promise you made to him truly means nothing compared to the vows you’re about to makes to someone else. 

he almost says something. 

“...rafayel?

he blinks, and his thoughts shatters.

you’re turning back from the counter, two familiar envelopes gathered in your hand.

“i was asking if you wouldn’t mind delivering talia and mira’s invitations.” your voice softens, almost hesitant. “i know you mentioned something about visiting talia later, and i’m sure mira will be at her show, so if you could–”

“of course i can.” 

he doesn’t hesitate, not with the way the forced answer leaves him too easily. 

he smiles before you can feel guilty for asking, reaching out to take the invitations from your hand.

it’s familiar beneath his fingers. more specifically, the seashell motifs and the pale blue ribbon. the careful, delicate lettering. 

it is the same kind he held weeks ago in his studio, the same that curled into ash between his fingers as thunder echoed in his ears.

this time, he can’t even think of burning it, not with you standing right in front of him.

this time, he tucks them safely away, only because you asked him to. 

and lately, that alone is enough to unravel him completely.

in the weeks that follow, rafayel learns the shape of your absence through the glow of text messages.

he learns you are always somewhere: linkon, skyhaven, chansia, whitesand. the bakery, the tailor, the venue, the florists, the apartment, back to the venue again because someone forgot to confirm the delivery window and, apparently, humans require endless confirmation for everything.

unlike before, you now find solace in complaining to him more often.

you always call him in the late afternoons, when the sun is already setting and damien texts to say he will be home late because of a new intern's mistake.

you complain about the linens and the seating chart and about damien’s relatives who’ll be arriving at least a week before the wedding. about the dance instructor who keeps rudely correcting your posture but never damien’s, and the seamstress who still thinks the pearls are still too heavy, and frankly too much to go with your dress. 

and every time you send another message, every time he swipes right to your call asking if he is free, every time you say, “raf, i need a small favor,” he answers.

he always answers, telling himself it’s because you need help, and he’s the only one who can give it.

because you’re tired. because you’re basically carrying the entire creation of your wedding on your own. because you insist on working yourself to the bone with work and doing all this, because you’re skipping meals and your sleep schedule is all skewed. 

he tells himself he’s easing your burdens. 

but rafayel knows better. 

the selfish truth is that by offering his help, by dropping everything, by making himself available, it’s become his only excuse to stay close to you.

every errand is a borrowed moment. every box he carries is another reason to walk beside you. every ribbon he ties, every invitation he delivers, every opinion he gives about table runners and desserts becomes proof that you still reach for him when the world overwhelms you.

he is someone you trust, someone you need. someone who once depended on you for a millennium. and now, here he is, returning the favor.

and because rafayel is greedy, just as he is stubborn, and has been since his first life—since he was the god of tides—and has spent too many lifetimes almost having you, he takes whatever you are willing to give and receive.

and in those moments, when you’re not looking, too distracted by the hundreds of other things running wild through your mind and checklist, he lets himself pretend.

he pretends the wedding is something you’re preparing together.

that when you say, “we need to decide on the centerpieces,” the we means something more. so much more.

that when you ask if the pearls have become too much trouble and if you should settle for something simple and sincere, you’re asking because he’s the one who’ll see you wearing the veil first.

it’s cruel and a little pathetic, but it’s almost enough.

almost. 

but not quite. 

rafayel is really starting to despise that word. 

it’s exactly one week before the wedding when you arrive at his beachside studio, knocking three times on the door, a wagon behind you stacked full of tall glass cylinders. 

you’re breathless, hair tousled by the swirling breeze, and you smile as if you already know he could never turn you away.

he’d have to be out of his damn mind to refuse you.

he swings the door open wider, leans against the frame with a theatrical sigh, sunset eyes drifting down to your wagon.

“well...look what the tide dragged in.” 

you roll your eyes.

“yeah, yeah. so are you going to help me or just insult my centerpiece transport system?” 

“both, obviously.” 

you fight back a smile, but he catches it anyway.

for the first time in days, the ache in his chest softens into something bearably gentle.

the first hour passes by easily, just like it always does when he’s with you. 

there’s something simple and easy about the way you two fall into rhythm, sitting cross-legged on his studio floor, sleeves rolled up, supplies in neat little piles, your tongue poking out in concentration as you try to coax the ribbon ends to behave just like the youtube tutorial promised.

outside, the ocean breathes against the shore. inside, bach’s well-tempered clavier hums softly in the background. one of rafayel’s favorites. and for now, everything feels peaceful.

but you on the other hand, are squinting down at your phone, attempting and failing to follow a new tutorial on tying the ribbon around the glass. 

rafayel pauses, letting his gaze linger on your focused face a moment too long before forcing his attention back to the ribbon in your hands.

he clears his throat, but you don’t look up. 

“yes, rafayel?” 

he leans a bit closer. 

“you’re tying that wrong,” he says. 

you raise your eyes to peer at him. “no i’m not.” 

“yes, you are.”

he lets out a soft huff, already moving to reach over, and his fingers brush over yours as he takes the ribbon from you. 

“look,” his voice soft. “like this. you gotta loop it here, and then pull this side under. see? easy peasy.” 

for an artist, he’s always been skilled with his hands. too skilled maybe. his fingers glide over yours, adjusting and guiding, fixing what you stubbornly claim isn’t broken. when he’s done, he takes the glue gun and presses the bow perfectly onto the glass.

done. finished. easy as that.

you stare at it, amazed. 

then you look at him, and before you can stop yourself, your lips form a pout.

he can’t help himself. your adorable actions makes him fight back a laugh.

“i feel like you should’ve been the one doing the tying while i glued.” you say. 

“that would've been the better plan, yeah.” 

“then why didn’t you say anything earlier?” you bite back. 

“because you looked so cute in your determination. who was i to crush your indomitable spirit?” 

you glare at him, but it doesn’t last long. not when he chuckles this time and takes the remaining pieces of ribbons you had already pre-cut, already moving to tie each one expertly. 

and for the next forty minutes or so, you spend the rest of the time gluing them down, nodding when a centerpiece is finally completed, decorated just like you envisioned, and placing it carefully to the side. 

he can’t take his eyes off you. 

not even when a bead of hot glue slides dangerously close to your thumb, making him murmur your name in warning before you notice.

even now, after everything, you’re still pretending you don’t need help.

but once you accept it, everything becomes so much easier for you. he wishes you could see that. 

and he wishes he could tell you without it sounding like he’s asking you to need him more. 

time drifts on, each minute quietly slipping away, and as he finishes one centerpiece and starts another, he notices how your words fill the room more than usual tonight.

or perhaps he’s simply listening more carefully, taking in all the details you’ve shared over the past few weeks—the last things needed, the finishing touches, and damien’s insufferable mother with her insistence on details you can’t bring yourself to stress over anymore—but he lets you repeat them, nodding along as though each piece of information you shared is something new. 

maybe it’s the comfort in your voice that calms him, or the way your laughter bubbles up when he cracks a joke about your complaints, easing the ache in his chest for a heartbeat. maybe it’s the gentle look in your eyes, the furrow of your brows, or each exasperated sigh you let slip.

whatever it is, he wants to remember every detail.

because soon, he won’t be the person you call first when something goes wrong. 

“damien’s mother said she’d pick up the flowers the morning of, which is good because it’s one more thing off my plate—” 

you pick up a seashell that you had collected yourself from the last time you journeyed beyond the depths, turning it between your fingers with a frown. 

“but what if she picks up the wrong ones, rafayel? or the florists messes up, and i end up with lilies?” your eyes lift to his, your demeanor shifting to something more serious. “do i look like a lily bride to you?” 

he always thought a flame lily would look lovely tucked behind your ear.

but its too late for that now.

for a moment, rafayel forgets to answer. 

you tilt your head. “well do i?” 

the thought vanishes. 

“absolutely not,” he finally answers. “everyone knows you’re more of a sea lavender kind of bride.” 

“exactly!” the expression you had moments ago washes away, and you point the seashell at him like he’s just proven your case. “thank you.” 

the conversation loops back to the dance coordinator, the same woman you’ve doubted since your very first lesson. then it’s the seating chart—would the lemurians prefer to cluster together, or might they share a table with the humans? you’re still not sure. 

“oh,” you say suddenly, placing the seashell down as you pick up a candle to drop inside the glass, “did i tell you i finally got the seamstress to stop arguing with me about the veil?” 

rafayel glances up. 

“well, partially.” you begin, lips pursed in concentration. “i think she gave up and decided to accept it. so i guess my stubbornness does pay off.”

rafayel ties another ribbon, allowing the corner of his mouth to lift. 

“well, well. who would’ve thought.” 

“see, i knew it was good for something.” a pleased smile lights up your face before you go on. “but anyway, i can’t wait to show you how it all looks together.”

rafayel feels his mouth grow dry, and he tries not to think about the aisle or the flowers or the pearls or the–

“i can’t wait to see you walk down that aisle.” the words slip out before he can stop them. 

you still, and rafayel realizes how it sounds a second too late. 

especially when your eyes flicker, something unreadable passing behind them. 

so he forces a smile. 

“from where i’ll be standing, i mean,” he adds just as quickly, lifting his right shoulder in a lazy shrug. “at the front as your man of honor.” 

your expression softens, though there’s confusion that still lingers. 

you quietly huff. “right.” 

he expects the next words to leave your mouth to be something playful, maybe teasing. perhaps about him being dramatic, or how you hope he doesn’t cry and ruin the photos, or get drunk off two shots of whatever they’ll be serving, considering he was such a lightweight...

he waits for it, for you to say something, he’s preparing to answer with something equally as ridiculous, something that’ll turn the conversation light again. 

but you don’t. 

instead, your eyes drop to his hands, his fingers frozen around the last bits of ribbon, and when you look back at his face, your smile lingers, but it’s not quite right.

“rafayel.” 

there’s hesitation laced in your voice, something he’s not used to, something he hasn’t heard since…

“i think it’s for the best, my dear sea god.” 

he blinks a few times, blueish-pink hiding behind long lashes, avoiding your gaze. 

he lets the silence stretch, but he can feel your brows knit together, your eyes dropping once more to the seashell you now turn over and over in your hand, fidgeting with it anxiously.

“everything’s going to change, isn’t it?” 

there it is. 

the truth. 

the one that finally seeps through the cracks of a promise you’ve both been pretending is strong enough to keep everything from falling apart.

a breeze drifts in from outside, and somehow the sea mist finds you, ruffling loose strands of your hair, and he can’t say how it manages it.

“i keep saying it won’t, or that it wasn’t going to,” your voice drops, much quieter. “i kept telling myself that we’ll stay the same. that nothing between us has to be different because i’m getting married, but..."

“it won’t ever be the same, will it.” 

rafayel has always known the answer. 

he has known it since the day you came to him with guilt riddled tears in your eyes. 

when you summoned that little pink flammula and it glowed between your palms. 

and if he hadn’t known it then, or had pretended or ignored it, it would’ve resurfaced when your calls became shorter, and your visits became less frequent.

he could no longer escape it when the invitation arrived, and when his name was nowhere beside yours.

when the invitation burned because he couldn’t bear to keep holding on to proof of a future he'd lost.

human life will always demand more of you than a promise made to a powerless sea god. 

it already has, after all. 

but you look so afraid, teetering on the edge of tears, and he can’t bear to see you cry. not with the answer he can’t bring himself to give. not now.

so rafayel lies. 

“nothing will change,” he says, voice dangerously low enough to be mistaken for truth. 

“we made a promise, didn’t we?” 

your eyes flicker toward him, and he lifts his right hand to gently wipe away the tear that slips down your cheek, catching it before it can become a pearl.

for a split second, he thinks you might see through him. you’ve always known him too well.

and just as he sees through you, you see through him. you know every tell and every mask he carries. 

but when your expression softens, he wonders if maybe you cannot read him as well as you once did—like you previously could in every other lifetime.

“yeah, rafayel. we did.” 

he gives you a reassuring smile while bringing his hand to the top of your head to lightly ruffle your hair. just enough to ease the moment and elicit a giggle from you.

“there she is,” he articulates as he mimics your laughter, “there’s my silly girl.” 

“no. don’t call me that,” you groan jokingly, moving to take his hand off your head.

“alright, alright. c’mon. sulking time is over. we’re so close to being done with these.” 

and with that you nod, already reaching to grab the next glass to place in front of him while he reaches to tie another ribbon. 

by the time the clock slips past two, the last centerpiece is done and you’re half cleaning, half laughing, debating whether the very first one you decorated deserves a place among the rest, since, according to rafayel, your ribbon tying was "absolutely atrocious."

and despite his insult, he makes you laugh, hand pressed to your stomach, eyes shining with a kind of joy he wishes he had the right to keep. 

he memorizes this, commits every aspect of it to memory. your addicting laugh, your adorable smile, the way your head leaned against his shoulder just as you’d done in that underwater cave from your very first life. 

and again, that stubborn confession rises to the tip of his tongue—the words that could ruin everything.

he almost says it. 

rafayel wants to say he loves you

or rather, he’s in love with you. 

he no longer wants to be just your sea god, or your closest friend, or the one you call when the world becomes too much.

he wants to be yours, the way you were once so completely his.

but the moment passes the second you yawn, pulling yourself away from him and taking all your gracious warmth with you.

as you rub your eyes, he swallows the words before they can become another weight for you to carry.

so the almost lives on. 

and rafayel, as always, lets it. 

⏾⋆.˚

a/n: i think i've gotten a total of like, 12 hours of sleep in the last 72 hours. i am not built for the 9-5 corporate office life.

Galen

You were standing in his office. He arrested some of your men and claimed to have dirt on them. But he wouldn’t give you information until you saw him.

“So this is actually why you wanted me to come here?” Your arms cross under your chest.

Except, he lied. Because there he sat, looking at you with an unreadable expression, and a flustered face. He didn’t utter a word about your men or their cases since you came in, and it’s been 30 minutes.

“I would never ask this of you because I usually handle it myself.” His voice softens, “But, I can’t keep pretending there isn’t anything in me wanting you…“

“I don’t know, Zayne-”

“Zayne?” You look up at him, and sigh.

Despite his usual appearance, something was different about him.

He wasn’t Zayne. He was him.

“Galen…” You whisper.

You didn’t know what to expect and he mentioned earlier it wouldn’t be too bad.

~

He’s a liar.

He dragged you out of the office a few hours ago, and to the interrogation room. He couldn’t have anyone seeing the things he wanted to do to you. Nobody deserved to see you in such bliss.

You were bound to bed— not him— with your legs bent and knees touching your chest. His cock slid in and out at a rushed pace; its tip pushing against your cervix every time. His feet were planted besides your hips and his arms hugged you tightly.

“F-feels soo good…” he breathed in your ear.

Your toes curl and teeth bite your lips as you try to hold your moans back, but it irritates him.

“Don’t you dare hide those sweet sounds from me.” He growled, slapping the side of your ass.

“Galen…! Mmm!” You whimper and moan as he pushed even deeper.

You can feel him poking where your belly button is and your urethra squirts on his pelvis.

“Good girl.” He lightly smirks, watching pleasure melt on your face.

He moves his head above yours and kisses your lips, slowing his pace for a moment. You melt into it and kiss him back, sighing in his mouth from the way he grinds against you.

You feel sticky and messy, between the sweat from both of your bodies and the cum from both of your genitals combining and piling up inside you. He keeps his lips connected to yours as he increases his pace again; his hips loudly smacking against your ass. Your eyes cross and close as you press your head back into the pillow, giving up to him completely.

Caleb

He sat on the ground, one leg bent with his arm hanging over his knee.

“P-please. I’m used to taking care of it on my own, but…,” you look so good, he’s losing his mind.

You watch his jaw clench and fist curl then uncurl. You look down at your fingers and sigh, “I don’t know, Caleb…”

He crawls over to you and holds your waist, looking up at you with half-lidded eyes, “you’re my only hope, pipsqueak.”

But, was this Caleb talking or Perses?

Your hand slowly moves and rests atop his head, making him nudge and nuzzle into your palm. He kisses it then turns to look at your covered pussy, ready to devour it any second now. You look down at him once more and notice a dark look in his eyes..

~

Two hours went by since Perses was re-arranging your guts. He had you down on the couch with your ass up, and him snapping his hips against the jiggly muscle.

“Fuck… should’ve done this a long t-time ago,” he breathes out against your spine, giving it a kiss.

Your hands grip the cushion, almost certain they’d tear at any minute. “F-fuck! S-slow… down!!” Your head turns just enough to side eye him.

His face was flushed with sweat trickling down his forehead and chest. He was focused, too focused, on something.

His hands grip your biceps and pull your torso up, arching your back then wrapping his arms around your midsection. “Do I feel good, baby?”

You’re not even sure if this is Caleb or Perses anymore. It sounds like Caleb, but it doesn’t act like him.

“Feel me deep inside? Riiiight here?” He cooes as he touches the noticeable bulge in your stomach.

“You thought you could deny me of what I’m owed? I own you, angel. You were mine from the moment I laid eyes on you~”

Your head rests back on his shoulders and you feel kisses scatter your neck and shoulder. You’re too intoxicated by his cock to even form words.

“We’re gonna be here allll day until all you can think of is me, pipsqueak.” His hand moves down and rubs your clit, making you mewl out.

“I hope you’re prepared.”

Sylus

You stared at the large man on his knees and hanging his head low.

“So… you’ve come to witness a real frenzy, kitten?” his deep voice rumbles in the large cage.

You don’t say anything and open the door, carefully stepping in. You leave it open in case you have to run out. In case he truly loses it.

“I… came to help you,” your voice gets soft.

“You can’t handle this,” he glares at you through his bangs, “I’d kill you before I’d even realize you’re dead.”

He was right. You knew frenzies could get bad, but you had never seen them get THAT bad. Not with him at least.

He knew you were hesitant when he mentioned it a while back. But, you were curious about what it’d look like. So, you made the choice of helping him.

“I want to help, Sylus.” You carefully walked up to him.

You’re only standing in front of him for a few minutes before he lunges forward and grabs you by your throat. He pulls you towards him and rubs his nose against yours. You look up at him conflicted and notice the shift in his eyes.

“You’ve Sylus and Tartarus in your hands, sweetie.”

“Tell me… which one do you want?” His breath hits your cheek then down your neck.

His grip had loosen a notch, making sure you can still breathe. You swallow and furrow your eyebrows, looking up at him.

“…Tartarus,” was all it took for him to snap.

~

Your face had been pressed hard against the bars for 30 minutes now. Your hands grip them tightly as his large dick piston’s your wet cunt. He growls and pulls you away from the bars, pushing you onto your knees and holding your head down on the ground.

You turn your head and look up at him, biting your lip as you watch him re-arrange your guts.

“Ohh! S-Sylus-!” Smack!

His hand comes down on your ass hard then grips the flesh, feeling his fingers sink into it. Your walls tighten around him, causing him to groan loudly and fuck you harder. His other hand grips your throat and lifts your head up, whispering in your ear, “That’s not my name, kitty. You wanted Tartarus, so you get Tartarus.”

You feel something warm fill your womb and realize he’s coming. Again. The white, sticky substance drips out of your used pussy every time he thrusts in and out. You feel dirty, but you forget want him to stop.

He puts all his weight on you like you’d escape, proneboning your poor body. “Fuck! … I want to breed this cute pussy so bad. Won’t you let me put a baby in you, sweetie?”

That seemed to turn you on because you let out a loud moan and cry against the floor of the cage

Or it’s because he pushed his tip against your cervix and made you cum.

He huffs and pulls back, watching you twitch and squirm under him as his cum slowly seeps out. “Now… Do you regret coming here?”

No. Not at all.

If anything, this helps you decide to help him more in the future. But, it also makes you wonder if he’s like this when he’s Sylus and just in that mood.

Rafayel

You close the door and lock it, taking your jacket and purse off. You were about to take your heels off when someone from down your dark hall spoke.

“Welcome home.”

You freeze, recognizing the voice, and sigh.

“How did you get in here? And how’d you know where I live?” You take your heels off.

“Lucky guess, cutie.” His tone deepens as he stares at you; a small smile forms on his face.

You hear him take slow steps towards you, and look up, keeping your eyes on him as you back away, and make him come into the light.

“Rafayel–” you back into your dining table, and it makes you jump a bit.

“What’s wrong? You never seen Tamino in a frenzy before?”

So this was its state? You knew they could get crazy, but he seems so calm right now. Nothing is said for a moment and you blink, instantly regretting it when he’s in your face in an instant.

~

His hands firmly squeeze your breast as he sucks on your right mound. You whimper quietly, trying to push his head back, but all his grips tighten.

“I used to stare at these when you came by my cage, cutie… always wanted to touch them.” He whispers, humming as he sucks on the other tit.

Your head falls back, and he keeps devouring your lumps before he pulls away. He turns you around, and wraps his arms around your waist, lifting you and sitting on the table with you on top of him.

He spreads your legs after pulling them up, causing a loud gasp to slip from your lips as your lower half is fully exposed.

“Y-you–!” Your eyes watch as he hungrily rips your panties of and slips his length inside you.

“I’ve been thinking about what you’d feel like for a while now…,” he mumbles against your ear, putting you in a full nelson, and groaning when your warmth and tightness chokes him.

“God you’re so perfect… how could you not think that you’ve been occupying my thoughts, cutie?” He desperately whispers. “Why do you think I always want to see you, and only you?”

You cry out and bite your lip, moaning cutely at the strange pleasure below. Your breathing matches every push he gives, and encourages him to be rougher, fight to get deeper than he already can get.

“T-Tamino…” you pant, moaning like a whore as he fucks you so good, the soft clap of your skins echoing out.

“Say it again, baby.”

Your sweet juices coat his dick, and slowly seep out, dripping onto the wooden floors. His quiet groans against your back don’t bother to compete with your cute sounds because yours are what helps him fuck you better.

Xavier

You finished getting dressed after taking a shower, and walked into your cool bedroom. You got home from work a little while ago and were settling down after the long day of paperwork and training that new guy. He’s only been there for two weeks, but he’s an incredibly slow learner, seeming like he has no interest in the work.

Whatever makes a buck, I guess.

You remove your robe and hang it up, putting it back in the closet. You move around the left side of your room near the bedroom door, completely unaware of the man sitting in the shadow of the opposite side near the window. It’s only when you go over there, do you realize that something is actually there and not just the pile of clothes you’ve been too tired to fold.

“What the fuck?” You speak loudly and step backwards to turn the light on.

And there he was. The noob from work, Xavier.

“You’re so beautiful, starlight.” He eyes your oversized shirt and shorts.

“How the hell did you get in my house?” Your eyebrows scrunch up and arms fold.

“Your patio.”

“I live on the 5th floor, Xavier,” you deadpan.

He’s not interested in having a conversation, feeling something vicious and primal raging within him. He stands up slowly and walks over to you, prompting you to take some steps back.

“What are you doing? Why are you looking at me like that?” You feel worried, somewhat panic when you bump back into the wall.

“I need your help, Captain…” his soft voice puts you at ease for a split second before you shake your head.

“I-It’s late, you need to lea-” he’s fast on his feet, caging you in his arms and taking your lips using his.

Your eyes widen and fists come up, clenched and pressed against his pectorals. He deepens the kiss, and your body slowly warms up, with you feeling something tingly and warm forming in your panties. You force your head away and press your hand on his shoulder.

“W-what the hell are you doing?!” Your eyes shift back to him, just now seeing the look in his.

“Taking what I need… to calm this monster…” his words confuse you, and you’re not given enough time to deciper them.

~

His hard dick slides smoothly in and out of your mouth, the tip grazing your uvula.

“Fuuuck, Captain… ohhh your mouth is so w-warm,” he softly moan, watching dazedly as his shaft enters and leaves it.

His intertwine with yours and press them firmly on your bed, while your body slumps against the side. You gag then gargle as he moves faster and deeper.

“Take your junior’s cock… yeah, just like that. O-ohhh,” he hiss quietly then moans again, hunching over your figure.

His balls swing against your chin, saliva and pre-cum building up and bubbling from the sides of your mouth.

“O-oh shit, I’m gonna cum! Don’t swallow just yet” He groans and lets go of your hands, tightly gripping your head as he fucks into your mouth like a toy.

Your eyes roll back and your hands grip his bare thighs, while your thighs press tightly together to try and rid the rapidly-forming wetness in your panties. His movements abruptly stop, with your face pressed against his pelvis, and you feel hot liquid filling your mouth.

“Ahhhh…” he breathes out, shivering a bit when you touch his calves.

His eyes close momentarily, before he looks down at your half-lidded eyes. Your cheeks puff as his salty load sits in your mouth.

“Open.”

He tilts your head back and you open your mouth wide, showing him his essence.

“You look pretty with my cum in your mouth,” he admires. “Now swallow.”

He watches intensely as you gulp down his seed, and his breathing slows.

“… I can’t imagine what you’d look like when it drips out your sweet pussy…” his hands slide down and grip your waist, hauling you onto the bed.

“Will you let me have a feel?” His eyes stay laser-focused on your face, taking in the sight moments before he corrupts you.