Sara Min

Work had filled most of your time this week. Back to back missions, three cases that bled into each other, a Thursday briefing that ate the entire day. The Association had kept you moving and moving was good. Moving meant you weren't sitting still long enough to think about things you should not be thinking about.

The problem was tonight there was nothing to move toward.

You'd slowed down. Today's mission had seen to that —a clean operation until it wasn't, until you'd caught the edge of something you'd moved a second too late to avoid and ended up limping through the debrief trying to look unbothered. The Association medic had looked at your leg, told you to rest it, and now you were on your couch. Leg up. Thinking.

You'd worked with Sylus enough times to understand how your arrangement functioned, he had access to things the Association didn't and in exchange you'd give him information he found useful. You showed up. He had what you needed. You left. Repeat.

That part made sense.

What didn't was the rest of it. The part where two weeks of silence felt different now. He was the most wanted name on the Association's list and you were a Deepspace Hunter. The math on that was simple.

So no, you did not miss Sylus.

Your leg throbbed. You shifted your weight and stared at the ceiling again, trying to have an internal conversation about professional conduct and the importance of clear boundaries and then your phone lit up.

You grabbed it so fast you nearly put your elbow through the side table.

Sylus: I heard your mission went sideways. How's the leg?

You: How did you...you know what. Never mind.

Sylus: Mephisto was nearby.

You: You sent your bird to check on me?

Sylus: Mephisto goes where he likes.

You: 🙄🙄

Sylus: He said you were limping.

You: Tell Mephisto to mind his own business.

Sylus: He'll be devastated.

You: Good.

Sylus: I have something that might interest you. Have you ever seen a white Protocore?

You: White Protocores don't exist. Whatever you have is a fake.

Sylus: The seller pulled it from an anomalous Wanderer outside the N109 zone.

You sat with that for a moment.

Sylus: Come see it yourself. You'll want to.

The color alone was impossible by every known framework for protocore classification. Which meant either the seller was running an extremely convincing con, or something had come out of that wanderer that nobody had a category for yet.

Your feet were already on the floor.

You: Don't let anyone touch it. Give me 20 min.

Sylus: No need to rush, kitten. Look out your window.

You crossed the room in four steps and pulled the curtain back an inch.

Black car at the curb. No-parking sign directly above it, ignored completely. Sylus leaned against the driver's side door looking up at exactly the moment you looked down.

He raised his phone.

Sylus: Five minutes. Or I decide the leg is worse than you're letting on and leave.

You let the curtain fall.

"Not a chance," you said, to nobody.

You changed fast —jeans, jacket, hair up, sidearm checked —and ran down the stairs in a time your leg was going to remind you about tomorrow. The night air outside hit you cool and sharp.

Sylus hadn't moved from the car. He looked at you coming through the door, down the steps toward him and said nothing until you were close enough to hear.

"You ran down the stairs?"

"I want to see that Protocore."

"Of course." His mouth curved and there it was, the look that sat underneath the smirk, the one you'd filed away and kept finding again. "That's the only reason."

"It is"

"Then why are you still standing here instead of getting in the car."

You pulled the passenger door open yourself before he could do it, which seemed to amuse him. The interior smelled like expensive leather and him.

He slid in beside you, started the engine— the sound of it vibrating through the seat— and pulled away from the curb without looking at the road for the first two seconds because he was still looking at you.

"My people investigated as much as they could." He shifted gears, smooth and unhurried. "Which is why I need someone who knows what a forgery looks like at that level."

"But you also have people for that"

"I have people for a lot of things." He glanced over. Red eyes catching the streetlight for just a second. "None of them are you."

You looked out the window " Is that a compliment?"

"I didn't say it was."

The N109 Zone came up around you, neon and dark in equal measure, a place that operated on entirely different rules than Linkon City. You'd been here more times than your Association file strictly reflected. You knew the streets. You knew the hierarchy. You knew which doors opened for which names. All thanks to the man sitting in the driver's seat.

You had no idea what a white Protocore was. You had no idea what tonight was going to become but you had a feeling you were about to find out.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

His office, you knew this place better than your own.

The reinforced doors. The security overrides, which ones were decoys and which ones actually mattered. The hidden safes, three of them, one behind a painting ugly enough to be forgettable on purpose. You'd learned all of it slowly, standing close enough and quiet enough that he forgot you were paying attention.

The White Protocore sat inside a glass tube at the center of his desk, and you hadn't moved in two minutes.

It looked like the others at first. Same crystalline structure, same geometry. But every other Protocore carried color, blue, gold, pink, red, green and purple. This one just a faint pulse, soft milky light spilling across the dark wood. Strange and uncategorizable.

Sylus wasn't looking at the protocore, he was watching you. His eyes were tracing the curve of your jaw, the focus on your expression. In his world of cutthroat deals and rare power, you were his white protocore.

The back of your neck went warm but you kept your eyes on the protocore.

"Can I touch it?"

A low sound from his chest. Not quite a laugh. "I don't recall ever saying no to you, sweetie."

His fingers worked the glass tube open and lifted the protocore into his palm.

You reached for it.

Your fingers brushed his skin and the protocore sat between your hands for a single second and then —

No warning. Just white light swallowing the desk and the dark walls. Then the wind hit, not from outside but from inside the protocore, like a vacuum pulling in with a force that emptied your lungs before you could inhale. The sound of it was scary, like space tearing apart. The air collapsed into that small white light in your hands, the floor dropped away and you were falling without falling.

The first thing that came back was pressure.

Arms locked across your chest and shoulders, tight enough your ribs couldn't move. Something solid at your back. You tried to breathe. Couldn't. Tried again.

"Sy" Barely a whisper. "Can't— brea—"

His arms dropped instantly.

He was on his feet before you inhaled, one fluid motion, hand going to his gun, eyes sweeping the room. No targets. His hand dropped, but his shoulders stayed coiled, still reading the space.

You sat up. Pulled air in slowly until your chest stopped aching.

"Where are we?"

He didn't answer. Still looking.

You looked too.

Dark wood, heavy draping, expensive things chosen for use as much as looks. It felt like his place at first glance.

In the corner was a record player, vinyl turning silently, needle down, producing nothing. Beside it a bookshelf climbed straight to the ceiling, a ladder running the whole length on a track.

On the low table in front of the couch sat two glasses of wine. One half empty. Whoever had been drinking had stepped away expecting to come right back.

You stood slowly.

Sylus had crossed to the far side of the room. His head was angled down at something on the shelf.

You crossed after him, boots loud on the floor.

"Sylus."

He didn't turn.

You came up beside him, followed his eyeline, and stopped.

A photograph. You in your Hunter uniform with a different insignia of a rank you didn't hold yet, holding a trophy. Your smile in the photo was wide open and unguarded, a version of happy you didn't wear on your face very often.

There was a small engraved plaque at the bottom of the frame.

Hunter of the Year — November 2051.

You picked up a magazine beside it.

Your face on the cover. Same uniform, same trophy, same smile. Hunter of the Year in bold letters across the top. Small print in the corner, neat and impossible.

November 2051.

You set it down carefully.

Behind you, Sylus had already moved to the mahogany desk near the windows. Papers shifted. Folders opened and closed. His hands stayed busy and his face gave nothing.

"Sylus." You kept your voice steady. "Look at me."

He didn't.

You crossed to the desk and placedd your hand flat over the document he was holding.

"Three years," he was staring at nothing in particular, whatever was running behind his eyes not making it to his face.

You looked at the half empty glass. The record player still turning in silence. A coat hanging by the door.

"Sylus."

"I see it."

"That's your coat."

"This is one of my safehouses"

"Since when do you keep pictures of the Association Hunters? Last I checked you called us glorified errand runners."

A slow smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth "I've got a taste for beautiful art, sweetie, and maybe I like having a permanent reminder of my favorite headache."

"I'm not your—"

"Someone's coming." his eyes sharpened, hand closing around your wrist.

"Who—"

"This way." He was already pulling you toward a closet.

He yanked the door open expecting to see his weapons.

There were no rifles or guns, just stacked piles of the same magazine you saw earlier, floor to ceiling, your face on every cover, hundreds of them.

"Do you also collect magazines?" you asked, fighting to keep your voice down as he shoved you into the tiny space and squeezed in after you, pulling the door shut. "This is a lot of me for one closet"

"If you keep talking you're going to get us both caught."

You bit down on a laugh and then it died in your throat completely.

The door clicked open and Sylus stepped into the room.

You gasped, turning on instinct to check whether he had somehow warped himself out there with his Evol, but he hadn't moved an inch.

Future Sylus's hair was a mess, like he'd run his hands over it more than once, and a bit longer than you were used to. His shirt was wrinkled, streaked faintly with mud, stretched tight across shoulders that looked broader than the ones currently pressed beside you in the dark. There was more color in his face too, like time had put some weather on him. He paced the length of the room like a caged animal, fists clenching and releasing at his sides. He stopped mid stride, head turning like he'd caught a sound in the room, inside Sylus's hand shot out, closing around your wrist as one finger came up to his lips, a silent order to stay quiet.

Then the door opened again, and future you walked in.

She looked pissed. Shirt torn at the shoulder, soot and dirt ground into the fabric, but her eyes were lit up with anger.

She was you, there was no doubt about that, but she was different. There was more color to her face too and her body was softer in some places, sturdier in others.

"You had no right, Sylus!" She slammed the door behind her "I can still fight! I had that under control!"

"You almost got killed" Sylus didn't raise his voice. He didn't need to. Whatever was in his tone was cold enough to make the room feel smaller.

"That's a fucking lie and you know it!" She crossed the space between them fast, jabbing a finger into his chest. "I'm not some damsel for you to decide when I fight and when I don't!"

Beside you Sylus dipped his head, lips grazing the shell of your ear. "Different year. Same feisty kitten." His breath felt warm against your neck.

"Shut up, Sylus. Shut up" you hissed, elbowing him in the ribs. He huffed out a quiet laugh like you'd done him a favor.

Outside, the fight kept climbing.

"You think you can pull me off a fight and take me wherever you want?" her voice bounced off the ceiling. "I'm a Hunter, Sylus. I'm not joining Onychinus. Not now, not ever, no matter how many times you bring it up."

"You've made that perfectly clear."

"It's my job, Sy"

"Not anymore, it isn't."

"You don't get to make that call for me!"

He didn't answer with words. He started walking her back instead, one slow step for every one she gave up without notice, until her spine hit the ladder bolted to the bookshelf.

She was out of room. He planted a hand on either side of her head against the wooden rungs, boxing her in.

"Are you sure about that, sweetie?" Not a question so much as a challenge.

"We don't even know ye— get out of my space!"

"Make me."

Their faces were a breath apart now, close enough that the argument had stopped sounding like an argument. Through the door you felt the air on the other side change, something thick and charged, like the silence that comes right before either a fight or something worse. Your face went hot just watching it, the line between the two of them hating each other and wanting each other collapsing.

"I hate you"

"Good," he murmured so close to her lips. "You can hate me all you want, Mrs. Qin. You're still wearing my ring."

He closed the distance, hand curling around the back of her neck, and kissed her like it was the only thing he had left to say.

Beside you Sylus went completely still.

Future you made a sound against his lips that started as surprise and turned into a moan, her hands coming up to grip his shirt before she dropped them and grabbed him instead.

You turned to look at Sylus, his eyes dropped to yours and a slow smile moved across his mouth and your stomach went with it.

His shirt hit the floor first, hers followed.

Future Sylus lifted her off the floor and settled her onto a rung of the ladder. She grabbed the rung above her head to steady herself and he stepped back just far enough to look at her, taking his time with it while she sat there catching her breath.

Then he reached for her boots.

He pulled the first one off, fingers working the laces without looking down, eyes on her face the whole time. The second followed. He set his hands on her knees and dragged them up her thighs and she made a small sound before he'd even done anything.

His mouth found her collarbone. Moved down. The thin lace of her bra was still on and he put his lips over it anyway, tongue pressing through the fabric against her nipple, and her head went back against the ladder. He bit down through the fabric, and the sound she made was immediate.

You pressed your hand to your mouth.

He did it again on the other side, slower, and her knuckles went white on the rung above her while her hips moved forward looking for something that wasn't there yet.

He kissed down her sternum. The soft skin below her ribs. His mouth dragged across her stomach and she was already breathing in pieces by the time his hands moved to her pants. He worked them down her legs and off, then dropped to his knees.

You made a small sound against your hand.

He was now on his knees between her thighs, hands finding the backs of them, hooking her legs one at a time over his shoulders. The muscles in his arms and neck shifted with the motion and he settled her weight there easily, like he'd done it before. Because in three years he had. Many times. You could tell by how she exhaled when her legs landed on his shoulders— relief. Her whole body recognizing what was coming.

He looked up at her.

Hands spread across her inner thighs, holding them open, red eyes on her face, waiting.

She looked down at him.

Her chest was moving fast. Her lip caught between her teeth. She held his gaze for one long second and then, quietly, barely enough to hear—

"Please."

His fingers found her thong and pulled it to the side.

One hand went to his hair, pulling him in, the other stayed above her head. Her nipples were hard against the wet lace.

Every sound came through clearly. His mouth on her wet pussy. Her breathing. Your face burned. Other things burned. You pressed your thighs together and it didn't help because the sounds didn't stop.

You turned to look at him again.

His right eye burned red in the dark closet. His chest rose and fell in a rhythm that wasn't steady.

"Sy—"

"Don't stop." Future you's voice came through the door, breathless. "Fuck, Sy...just like that."

Your face went hotter and you faced forward again.

Sylus exhaled against your hair. His hand was still on your wrist. Neither of you had moved it.

He made a sound against her and the sounds that followed were louder and wetter.

Your fingers found the front of his jacket and held on.

"Is this affecting you?" he asked, right against your ear.

"Shut up."

Then her voice again, completely gone, nothing held back. "Yes — baby, my clit, suck on it — fuck yes—"

His hand tightened on your wrist. Hard.

"Sylus." Your voice came out dry. Broken in the middle. Not what you'd intended at all.

"I know," he said.

Future you screamed his name. The closet pressed in from all sides.

"We need to leave"

"Yes," he agreed, but neither of you moved.

Her thighs locked around his shoulders and shook. He stayed until the last tremor left her. Then he stood, chest glistening, and his hands dropped to the button of his trousers.

Popped it open. Pushed the fabric down his thighs.

The outline of his cock through the fabric of his underwear made your throat close. The tip already wet, a dark circle spreading through the cotton, and his fingers found the waistband—

A large hand came down over your eyes.

"Hey—" You grabbed his wrist. His fingers didn't move.

"If you want a show," his voice low at your ear, "you only have to ask."

"Move your hand." You twisted your head. His palm stayed exactly where it was.

Dark behind it.

Then the sounds hit again.

Slap.

Slap.

Slap.

Skin against skin. Her voice breaking between each impact, the sounds coming in waves that your brain immediately started filling in visuals for and that was so much worse than if he'd just let you look.

"You're burning up," he said against your ear, not in concern but in pure mockery.

Your thighs pressed together hard. "I swear to god—"

His fingers spread open.

She was still on the ladder. Legs locked around his waist, both of them flushed, sweat catching the light. He had one hand on her hair, holding her close to his face, their mouths almost touching, breathing the same air while his hips rolled forward in deep slow drives that shook her whole body. He was saying something to her, too low to carry, but whatever it was kept fracturing her expression every time he said it.

Then his voice came through clearly.

"Look at me." Steady, even over everything else. "Tell me who you belong to."

Her tongue dragged across his upper lip. "Yours—" Her head dropped back. "Ah— yours, Sy, I'm yours—"

Your underwear felt damp and your clit was pulsing with a persistence you were doing your very best to ignore.

"Do you really think," Sylus whispered against your temple, "it takes us three whole years to get here?"

"I don't—"

Future Sylus pulled back, his tongue dragged slow up her throat while she panted against his shoulder. "You taste different today."

"Because you're—" she gasped, "—you're driving me insane—"

"That's not it." He pushed forward, one deep thrust that tore a cry out of her "You shouldn't be taking field hits right now." A beat. "Not when you're carrying my child."

The closet went cold.

Your jaw dropped. Hers did too.

Pregnant.

The argument. Him yanking her off the mission. All of it clicked into place at once. She was carrying his baby. In three years, you'd be carrying his kid.

Your knees went out from under you.

Your foot caught on something hard as you stumbled back. A stack of magazines toppled with the movement, and everything blurred, sound, vision, all of it going soft at the edges.

"—watch—"

Crimson light cracked through the dark. Sylus's Evol flared, and every falling magazine froze mid air.

The energy didn't stay contained. It rolled out through the closet door and everything on the other side went dead silent.

The sounds stopped. All of them. What replaced the noise had weight to it.

Sylus's eyes were locked on the door. Jaw tight. Not a muscle moving.

"Pathetic," future Sylus said, clear, not a trace of what he'd been doing thirty seconds earlier, "a top tier Hunter and the leader of Onychinus, hiding like toddlers playing hide and seek."

Your stomach dropped straight through the floor.

"Sylus?" Future you, breathless, confused. "Who are you talking—"

"I know you're in there." He sounded almost bored. "You're both breathing like horny teenagers."

Beside you, Sylus exhaled through his nose and reached out to push the door open. "I could say the same"

He stepped out first, glanced down at his sleeve, and flicked off a piece of lint that probably wasn't there. Then he reached back, hooked an arm around your waist, and pulled you out with him. You stumbled onto the polished floor, face burning hot enough to set the room on fire.

Future Sylus had future you pulled against him, her bra strap slipping off one shoulder, hair a wreck, and she was staring between the two of you with her mouth hanging open.

"Is that—" Her eyes went from you to the Sylus standing next to you and back again. "Are we— are they—"

Sylus looked at his future self. Future Sylus looked right back.

Three seconds of silence passed between them, and somehow it felt like an entire conversation.

"You look good," Sylus said.

"And you are interrupting," future Sylus said, arm tightening around future you.

You stopped watching the two of them and scanned the room instead.

There. The White Protocore, sitting beside the wine bottle, pulsing soft in the low light.

You moved before anyone could stop you, crossed the room, and closed your hand around it.

Sylus was right behind you. His hand landed over yours, the stone was caught between your palms again, warm and humming under your skin. He tossed one last glance over his shoulder at his future self and smirked.

White swallowed everything. The floor vanished, and then thud.

The familiar light of his office in the N109 Zone.

You were flat on your back, staring at the ceiling, just breathing.

The Protocore rolled out of your hand and knocked against the leg of his desk before it dissolved into dust.

Sylus sat up, forearm braced on a raised knee, and looked down at you, smirk already back in place. His gaze dropped to your mouth, your throat, the way your chest was still heaving.

"So," he said, leaning over you with one hand braced on the floor beside your head. "A baby."

You threw an arm over your face. "I will shoot you again."

"I'm just thinking ahead." His fingers found a strand of your hair "Sounds like we've got a lot of work to do in the next three years, Miss hunter."

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"Hey!" she said, voice bright enough to make his teeth ache. "Nice bike. Vintage, right?"

Sylus clenched his jaw. Don't engage. She'll leave if you don't engage. He grunted, flicking a speck of rust off the carburetor.

She didn't take the hint. Leaning in, she tapped the fuel tank like they were old friends. "My neighbour used to have one just like this. Well, almost like this. His was blue, and the seat had this weird tear-"

"Mhm." Sylus reached for a wrench, deliberately turning his back.

"-oh, you're so right, it's totally going to rain later-"

Sylus stared.

Her voice twisted, warped. The words melted together like a shrill. His chest ached, hollow and heavy all at once. He knew this feeling. The one that came after the anger, when the fire burned out and left nothing but ashes.

Alone.

Even when she was here, screaming at nothing, he was alone.

She kept talking. About the weather. About some café down the street. About nothing, really. He tuned it out, focusing on tightening a bolt until his fingers hurt.

Finally, he stood, slinging his jacket over his shoulder. He didn't bother with a goodbye, just walked toward the garage door, her voice still bouncing off the concrete walls behind him.

Then it hit him. The talking hadn't stopped.

He glanced back.

She was still there, grinning at the empty space where he'd been standing, gesturing animatedly to no one. Her laughter echoed, high and bright, as if he'd never left.

Sylus exhaled through his nose. Not real. Again.

He shoved his hands in his pockets and kept walking.

Somewhere behind him, she was still laughing. Somewhere inside him, the silence was worse.

***

The clock glared at you from the corner of the screen. 11:47 PM.

Twelve minutes. Twelve fucking minutes.

Your fingers hammered the keyboard like it had personally wronged you. The essay was done, mostly, but the last paragraph was a wreck of half-formed thoughts and caffeine-induced word vomit. You backspaced violently, teeth sinking into your lower lip. "Come on, come on."

Your roommate's cat, an orange ball of fur called Caramel, hopped onto the desk and sat on your notes.

"Not now," you hissed, nudging him away. Caramel flicked his tail in your face and settled just out of arm's reach, watching you suffer with unblinking yellow eyes.

11:53.

You skimmed the essay one last time, your vision blurring from screen fatigue. Was that a typo? Did you mix up "affect" and "effect" again? The words swam on the screen, morphing into meaningless shapes.

Good enough. With a shaky breath, you hit Submit.

The page loaded with agonizing slowness.

11:58.

Your knee bounced under the desk. The cursor spun. Spin, spin, spin.

Submitted successfully!

The clock ticked over to 11:59.

You made a sound between a sob and a laugh, slumping back in your chair. The tension drained from your shoulders all at once, leaving you boneless. For a long moment, you just stared at the ceiling, your heartbeat finally slowing. The desk lamp cast long shadows, the room suddenly too bright, too quiet.

Caramel meowed, unimpressed.

"Yeah, yeah," you muttered, but there was no heat in it. The relief was too sweet.

You got out of the chair, your muscles protesting like you'd run a marathon instead of typing. The shower beckoned you. Hot, steamy, glorious. You turned the water up until it nearly scalded, letting it pound the stress from your back. The shampoo smelled like coconuts, the steam fogging up the mirror until your reflection vanished. For the first time in weeks, you could finally breathe.

After, you slipped into your favorite slip dress. The oversized lavender one that pooled around your thighs. Your skin still hummed with the warmth of the shower, hair dripping lazily onto your shoulders.

Then, the real reward.

You snatched your phone off the charger, thumb hovering over the app you hadn't opened in weeks. Love & Deepspace, the game you'd been too buried in assignments to touch. Just the icon made your pulse skip. The opening theme swelled as it loaded, the familiar melody wrapping around you.

You crossed your fingers. "Please don't crash. Please don't-"

The home screen loaded, vibrant and welcoming. A rush of warmth flooded your chest. God, you'd missed this. Missed the pixel-perfect smiles of your favorite characters, the cheesy dialogues, the way your stomach fluttered during the romance scenes. It was stupid. It was perfect.

You curled onto your bed, pulling the comforter up to your chin. Binx settled beside you, purring.

For the first time in forever, you grinned.

"Alright, baby," you whispered to the screen. “Miss me?”

You blinked at the screen, waiting.

The Destiny Café's afternoon glow bathed everything in honeyed light. Cozy, inviting, but wrong. Because he wasn't there.

Sylus should have been front and center, seated on the couch with that infuriating smirk, his silver-white hair catching the light like frost under the sun. His crimson eyes, like blood spilled over fresh snow, should have been locked onto the screen, onto you, with that knowing glint that always made your stomach flip.

But the space where he usually stood was empty. Just an untouched coffee cup and the faint imprint of where his hip would have rested on the couch.

Your finger hovered over the screen.

What the hell?

You switched to Rafayel. He appeared instantly, greeting you with a soft smile. Then Zayne, Xavier, Caleb. All were present. Exactly as they should've been. But Sylus?

Gone.

You reloaded. Same empty café. Same hollow silence where his voice should have been.

A weird, creeping unease settled in your chest. This wasn't right. Sylus wasn't some side character. He was Sylus, the one who always greeted you, made you laugh, the one whose rare, genuine smile felt like a secret just for you.

You clicked the "Date" tab. His name was still there. But his icon was grayed out, as if you'd never unlocked him. But you had. You knew you had. You remembered the grind, the late nights, the way your heart jumped when his story finally unlocked. You remembered the exact shade of his eyes. His sly remarks.

And now?

Now it was just… nothing.

The game hummed on, oblivious. The other characters chatted, flirted, existed like nothing was wrong.

But you couldn't shake the feeling that something was.

Where the hell was Sylus?

You switched characters again, as if he'd magically appear this time. But no. His spot remained empty. No silver-white hair catching the light, no crimson eyes glinting with amusement. Just emptiness.

Frustration settled under your skin. You exited the game, force-closed it, reopened it. Same empty café. Same missing man.

"Okay, maybe it's just a bug."

You hopped onto Reddit, scrolling through forums, searching for anything about Sylus missing. But there was nothing. No posts, no complaints, no panicked "Where's Sylus??" threads. Just the usual chatter. Fan theories, event guides, thirst edits.

Your stomach twisted.

Why was no one else talking about this?

You checked the official website. No mention of him being removed. No maintenance notices. It was like the universe had decided to gaslight you.

What was the point of playing if he wasn't here?

You glanced at the clock on your bedside table. 2:43 AM. You were too tired for this. Maybe it was just a weird glitch. Maybe tomorrow, when you logged back in, he'd be there like nothing had happened.

With a sigh, you tossed your phone onto the nightstand, flicked off the light, and yanked the covers over your head.

***

You were jolted awake by a sudden, unnatural sensation. Not by any sound or dream, but by the distinct feeling of movement while lying completely still. Your eyes flew open to complete darkness, but this wasn't the familiar comforting dark of your bedroom. The air felt charged.

You rubbed your eyes and felt yourself lifting, floating, as if gravity had momentarily forgotten you existed. Your breath caught in your throat as you realized you were actually hovering, weightless. Before panic could fully take hold, you sensed a presence beside you, touching you, the heat from his body searing through his clothes, enveloping you. Did someone kidnap you?

Slowly, almost afraid of what you might see, you turned your head.

And there, carrying you bridal style, was Sylus. Not as pixels on a screen, but as a living, breathing being. His silver-white hair seemed to glow faintly in the darkness, like moonlight reflecting off fresh snow. Those crimson eyes, the ones you'd have known anywhere, locked onto yours with an intensity that made your heart pound violently against your chest.

"I see someone’s up," he murmured, his voice deeper and richer than you'd ever imagined, sending an unexpected shiver down your spine. The scent of winter air and something faintly metallic, like cold steel, surrounded him. Every rational thought screamed that this couldn't be real, that you had to be dreaming, but the warmth of his breath against your skin felt terrifyingly real.

He smirked, that same infuriatingly perfect smirk you'd seen a hundred times on your phone screen, but now it was directed at you in a way that made your stomach flip. In this impossible moment, only one thought rang clear in your overwhelmed mind. He was real, he was here, and nothing would ever be the same again.

How the hell was he here and not in the game? But he wasn't actually here, right? You were probably just dreaming. A dream that felt dangerously real, one that had your heartbeat accelerating, the hairs on the back of your neck standing upright, your palms clammy, your thoughts all mushed up. Just what the hell was going on?

In that moment, you could think of nothing else but to do the only sane thing. The one thing any normal person would do. You screamed. Maybe Sylus wasn't expecting that. He stopped in his tracks and, just for a faint second, you noticed his eyes widen. Your scream tore through the night air. Before the second shriek could escape, Sylus' gloved hand clamped over your mouth.

The leather smelled faintly of gun oil and winter mint, an unsettlingly human detail for someone who shouldn't exist.

"Easy there, little kitten," he murmured, crimson eyes glinting with amusement under the moonlight. "We're in the N109 Zone. Do you really want an audience here?"

His thumb brushed your cheekbone, lingering a moment longer than it needed to.

The scream died in your throat as his words registered. N109 Zone. You'd seen it in the game before. You remembered what almost happened to the MC when she first came here. Your wide eyes darted past Sylus' shoulder, finally taking in your surroundings properly.

Moonlight bled through the trees, their twisted branches clawing at the sky. The air hummed with something electric, raising goosebumps along your arms. Ahead of you, where Sylus was walking, still carrying you like you weighed nothing, stood a glorious mansion adorned with intricate details, sculptures, gardens punctuated with red roses.

Sylus followed your gaze. "Ah. You've noticed our destination." He let you down, setting you carefully on your feet. "Walk with me. Questions can wait until I've safely escorted you inside."

Every survival instinct screamed to wrench away, but the rational part of your brain knew escape would be futile. This was Sylus, after all. Dream or not.

You found yourself matching his strides as he led you toward the glowing mansion, your bare feet sinking into unnaturally warm moss with each step.

The night was still young. Your slip dress, once perfectly comfortable in your bedroom, now felt flimsy as tissue paper.

"You're shaking," Sylus observed without breaking stride, his thumb finding your pulse point, where your heartbeat fluttered like a caged bird. "Don't tell me you only like me from behind a screen."

"I do like you. But you're not even real." You managed to speak without stuttering, although you knew he sensed the nervousness in your voice anyway.

"Or am I, sweetie?"

"I’d rather my fictional characters stay fictional," you snapped, then immediately regretted it when his fingers tightened fractionally.

Sylus laughed, a rich, unsettling sound that didn't quite reach those blood-bright eyes. "Your?"

The mansion loomed closer, its glowing arches humming. Something in that sound made your teeth ache. Sylus' grip shifted to your elbow as you approached the massive doors, his breath warm against your ear. "Deep breaths now. I wouldn't want my guest to panic. What kind of host would that make me?"

You locked eyes with him. There was something in his gaze you couldn't quite discern. This dream, or whatever it was, was driving you crazy.

As the doors swung open silently, revealing a cavernous hall pulsing with strange light, you realized with dawning horror that maybe, just maybe, this wasn't just some bizarre dream. But that wouldn’t make sense, right?

The game had never shown this place. Never warned about any of this. And the man beside you, the one whose smirk had once made your stomach flutter, now felt about as safe as a live wire in a thunderstorm.

Your breath caught as you took in the grand hall, its vaulted ceilings stretching endlessly. The air hummed with a faint warmth, carrying the scent of aged parchment and something richer, like smoldering embers and black tea. The walls were adorned with intricate carvings, their swirling patterns shifting subtly under the glow of floating orbs of light that drifted lazily through the space.

This place shouldn't have existed.

You'd spent hours in Love & Deepspace, memorizing every pixel of Sylus' world, or so you'd thought. But this? This had never been in the game.

As if reading your thoughts, Sylus chuckled low beside you. "The game only showed the places I wanted it to."

You tore your gaze from the opulent decor to glance at him, but he was already looking away, his expression unreadable. Still, you caught the faintest curve of his lips, smug, satisfied. Like he was enjoying your bewilderment.

Before you could retort, he stepped forward, extending a gloved hand toward you. "Come." It wasn't a request.

You hesitated, fingers twitching at your sides. Every rational instinct screamed that you shouldn't take it, that you should demand answers, find a way back, run. But curiosity was a traitorous thing.

You placed your hand in his.

His fingers closed around yours, warm and firm.

He guided you through the mansion with quiet precision, his grip on your hand unyielding as you moved through rooms that felt too expansive, too real to belong to any game. The air smelled of polished wood and gun oil. The walls were lined with sleek display cases, holding meticulously maintained firearms. Some modern, some antique.

A long hallway opened into what looked like an armory: racks of rifles and handguns. You recognized some from the game, the sleek, futuristic designs that had always appeared when you fought alongside Sylus. But others were unfamiliar, their edges worn from use. You paused beside a case holding a silver revolver. "This wasn't in the game," you murmured.

Sylus hummed, stepping closer, his shoulder brushing yours as he reached past you to tap the glass. "No. Some things are just for me."

The next chamber was a training area: mats covering the floor, a shooting range tucked behind soundproof glass. A half-dismantled rifle lay on a workbench, its parts spread out.

You couldn't believe your eyes. Yes, Sylus was your favourite fictional character. He was just your type. You'd spent hours reading his fanfictions, replaying his memories, poring over his fanart. But this? This was incomprehensible. Was this dangerous, or exciting? Were you dead, or dreaming?

You turned to him, your pulse quickening. "Is this real?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. "Or am I inside the game or something? ‘Cus this does not feel like a dream at all."

Sylus studied you for a long moment, his crimson eyes unreadable. Then, with deliberate slowness, he caught your wrist, guiding your hand to his chest. Beneath the fabric of his shirt, you felt the steady, rhythmic beat of his heart.

"Does it matter?" he murmured.

Your fingers curled slightly against him, warmth seeping through the material. It was too real, the heat of his skin, the faint scent of leather and something darker, like black coffee. The game never felt this real. It felt, well, just like a game.

He tilted his head, watching your reaction with that same infuriating smirk. "You wanted answers," he said. "But you haven't asked the right question yet."

You swallowed. "Then what's the right question?"

Sylus leaned in, his breath brushing your ear. "Not where you are," he said. "But why you're here."

A shiver ran down your spine.

Before you could respond, he straightened and tugged you forward again. "Come. I want to show you something."

And despite the unease coiling in your stomach, you followed.

The heavy oak door swung open under Sylus' touch, revealing a library so vast it made your breath hitch. Towering mahogany shelves stretched toward the ceiling, their upper levels vanishing into darkness. Rolling ladders stood along the walls. The scent of aged paper and polished wood wrapped around you, rich and comforting.

You took an involuntary step forward, your fingers already itching to touch the spines. "This is..." Words failed you as your gaze traveled up, up, up the endless shelves.

"Excessive?" Sylus offered, his voice laced with amusement. He leaned against the doorframe, watching your reaction with those piercing crimson eyes. "Or perhaps just adequate."

You turned to him, eyebrows raised. "Adequate for what? Collecting every book ever printed?"

His lips quirked in that infuriating half-smile. "For you."

"For... me?" Your hand froze halfway to pulling out a volume of what appeared to be 18th century botanical illustrations.

"You like books." He pushed off the doorframe and strode toward you, his boots silent on the thick rug. "I noticed. When you wouldn't log in to finish a book you'd just bought. When you'd pause the game just to squint at some background text."

Heat crept up your neck. You hadn't realized he'd been paying that much attention. How could you? Until now you didn't know he was real. Although you still weren't entirely sure. "So you... what? Built me a library?"

"Some of these don't exist in your world. First editions of books that were never published. Manuscripts that were lost to war or censorship." His gloved fingers brushed a bookspine. "Thought you might appreciate holding what others never got to read."

Your throat tightened unexpectedly. This wasn't just some game logic, this was thoughtful in a way that unsettled you. "But why go to all this trouble?"

Sylus tilted his head, as if taking in your every word. "Why does a hunter maintain his weapons? Why does a scholar preserve his texts?" He reached past you to pull out a slender volume bound in deep blue leather. "We care for the things that matter."

That matter? Did you matter to him? So much to have him build you an entire library.

The book pressed into your hands felt strangely warm. You opened it carefully to find handwritten pages in a language you didn't recognize.

"Okay." You closed the book slowly, gathering yourself. "I get it. You made this, all of this, for me." You gestured vaguely at the shelves towering around you. "But why? I'm so confused. How do you even know me? Like, actually know me. Not the version of me that logs in for fifteen minutes between classes."

Sylus stared you for a long moment, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes. "That's the question you should have led with."

"That's not an answer."

"No," he agreed. "It isn't."

He stepped closer, close enough that you had to tilt your head back to hold his gaze. "But I'll give you this much." His voice dropped, quieter, stripped of its usual teasing edge. "I don't hide my affections. I'm smitten with youm, have been for longer than you'd believe. You're all I've ever known that felt worth knowing."

Your breath caught. "That's not an answer either."

"No," he said again, the smirk returning, softer this time. "But it's true. The rest, you'll have to earn."

You looked away first, your cheeks heating up under his gaze. You didn't know what to say to that, didn't know where to put your hands or your eyes or the strange, fluttering thing lodged in your chest. He'd just said it so plainly, like it cost him nothing to hand over, while you stood there fumbling for words that refused to come. He was so unfairly expressive, so sure of what he felt and unbothered by saying it out loud, and you were just... clueless. Overwhelmed. Out of your depth in a library that shouldn't exist, standing in front of a man who apparently knew exactly what he wanted.

"I–" You cleared your throat, staring very intently at the spine of the nearest book instead of at him. "That's a lot to just... say."

"Is it?" Something in his tone suggested he found your fluster more amusing than he'd admit.

Sylus must have sensed it, because he gave your hand a gentle squeeze. “Okay?”

You squeezed him back, interlacing your fingers. “Okay.”

“We can go home. Or somewhere less crowded.”

“Are you chickening out already?” you asked, sending him a teasing smirk. Before coming here, you made a bet: Sylus would win you a plushie in only three tries. He was so confident about it too, you couldn’t help but laugh. And he took full offence, too.

“I’m winning that bet, kitten.” He tugged you towards the claw machine stand. You chuckled as you had to run a bit to catch up to him. Damn his long legs.

“We never established what the prize would be, though,” you mused.

Thankfully, the line to the stand was pretty short, compared to the other ones around you. You took your place behind an elderly couple and Sylus wrapped his arm around your waist, tugging you to him.

He bent down, warm lips brushing your earlobe. “You’ll find out soon, kitten.”

It was really hard to blame your shiver on the cold, considering it was scorching hot that day.

“You’re too confident about winning.” You poked his stomach.

When it was finally your turn, Sylus strode slowly towards the machine. You bit your lip pretty hard to keep yourself from laughing out loud when he stretched his neck and flexed his fingers a few times before putting them on the lever. 

You quickly approached his side and regarded the plushies. There, in the far corner, was a fussy kitty in a color you didn’t have. 

“Sy,” you said in a sing-song voice, “I want that one.”

“We never agreed you got to choose which plushie you want,” he huffed, amused eyes catching yours. 

“Well, if you want to double your mysterious prize…” you dragged the words, teasing him about whatever he had in mind. And when he gave you that smirk and parted his lips to reply-

“What do we have here, everybody!” An enthusiastic, too enthusiastic voice interrupted the two of you. “A gentleman winning a prize for his lover, I bet!”

A man dressed up in a weird, circus-like costume with a tall, red and white hat approached you. He held a microphone in one hand and a magic wand in the other, and a cameraman was following his every step. 

He was loud. 

“Dear party-goers and sun-enjoyers!” he sounded into the microphone. “Look at this handsome guy! I think he might be a bit too big for the poor machine.” He winked towards the camera and turned to Sylus, microphone shoved in his nose. “What’s your name, young man?”

Sylus did not seem concerned with the man, but he quickly peeled his gaze off the plushie and to you, looking for any sign of discomfort. You just nodded quickly and mentioned to fuzzy kitty.

“Sky,” Sylus replied flatly, focused again on the claw.

“A big round of applause for Sky!” he shouted and the queue behind you erupted in eager cheering. The man turned to you. “What plushie is he winning for you?”

You took a big breath. This man just ruined your excitement. At first, you were overwhelmed, then it was just you and Sylus – just as you liked it – and then he came in, loud and unfunny, a forced smile on his lips. This was not fun – couldn’t have been fun for him either, right?

“Fuzzy kitty,” you murmured.

“What was that?” he tilted his ear towards you, as if to hear you better.

And when he shoved this microphone too close to your lips, you were even more frustrated. “I said: fuzzy kitty,” you muttered in a cold tone, eyes locked on his. This was not amusing, certainly annoying not only to you. “Can you go now?” You held his gaze even when there was no microphone under your nose. 

The man raised his brows and laughed towards the crowd. “Fuzzy kitty, indeed! Tell us-”

“That’s enough, circus man.” Sylus turned to face you, a fuzzy kitty snug in his arms. Your lips instantly widened into a smile.

“Sy!” you exclaimed, throwing your arms around his neck and crushing the poor plushie between you. His laughter warmed your ear. “Wait, I didn’t count how many rounds that took you-”

“I am no circus man!” a voice behind you whined, already departing from the two of you and the claw machine. “I am the Linkon summer spirit in-”

You stopped hearing that voice when Sylus took your hand and put fuzzy kitty in your arm. “You just have to believe me it was three.”

You squinted at him. “Uh-huh. Sure.”

“Uh-huh. Really, sweetie,” he tugged you in the direction of the food court. “So, for my reward-”

“What reward! That didn’t count! I should get my reward!”

“Which is?”

“Well-”

Sylus' voice is so low it sends shivers running through you when you feel him come up behind you. He bypasses you completely, going straight for your son and leaning close till he was eyelevel "You're not disrespecting just your mother here, you've disrespected my wife. Don't you know what I do to those who scorn her?"

Your son can't bear to hold eye contact, looking nervous and lowering his gaze as Sylus whispers something to him. You're watching how his entire body goes rigid in fear as his father steps back "All this for your bike?"

He's too scared to respond, you can tell. You step up to his side to explain but your husband is not having it "Sylus-"

"No" He gently interrupts, before turning back to his son and tossing his keys at him, not as playfully as he usually would "The kid wants a ride? He's going to get one. Meet me in the garage in five minutes"

Your son slides an apprehensive look towards you and is about to leave when Sylus' low voice stops him dead in his tracks "Aren't you forgetting something?"

Gulping, he turns back to you. The keys jingle in his palms as he fists them. He's pale from fear at getting caught talking to you that way, but he's terrified for the talk that's coming after "I'm sorry, Mom"

He's out the door before you can respond and you turn to Sylus, dubious at how he'd behaved. Said man acts like he didn't just threaten his own son as he lifts his daughter out of the crib and coos at her "You can't talk to him that way!"

"And he can?" Sylus shoots back, his tone conversational as he kisses his daughter's cheeks.

"I was going to address it-"

"No" Sylus carefully holds his daughter in one arm as he turns to you "This is not behavior that we address. This is when they need to be put in line and made to understand the sacrifices you made for them to have the kind of life they do now" Putting an arm around you, he pulls you close and kisses your forehead "They can't get away with talking to their mother this way. More importantly, my wife"

"He shouldn't be riding his bike" Your brows furrow as Sylus puts his daughter back in her crib, before tucking your head under his chin and pulling you close.

"I've got this, baby" He pulls back to look at you, and those crimson orbs that all your children shared had come from this wonderful man, with his glowing eyes and wicked mouth. The love of your life "I'll make sure he's being careful"

With a final kiss to your forehead, he's pulling away to join his son when you call out behind him "Stay safe!"

Your parting words are still keeping him warm by the time he reaches the basement garage where his son is waiting by his bike, parked next to Sylus' own. He's already wearing his helmet, in clear hopes that this will help brace for impact of the storm that is his father.

Wordlessly, Sylus puts on his helmet and gets on his bike. Every moment stretched thin without a single word from his dad has your son nervous as he watches him rev the bike once, the engine roaring.

Sylus turns to look at his son once before he pulls his visor down and takes off. Your son's right behind him, the unspoken command to follow clear.

Both of them tear through the city, driving at a much lower speed than what they would usually, cruising past neighbourhoods and districts as the sun follows them into the sunset.

Your son is intently watching the back of his Dad's head, trying to figure out what exactly is going through his mind. Contrary to what most people deduced, he wasn't a mama's boy. He always felt closer to his dad. Like he didn't need a lot of words to express what he felt and Sylus just knew.

Even now, as they climbed around a hilltop, he could tell that just because he'd taken him out for a drive, everything wasn't back to normal. No, his clearly veiled threat that he didn't want you to hear earlier still rang clear in his head. This wasn't a way to help you calm down. Sylus needed the drive probably as much your son did.

After all, your son had inherited the love for riding from your husband.

They parked their bikes by a viewing spot that was blessedly empty, watching as the sun faded into hues of orange and blue over the city. Sylus takes his helmet off, hanging it over the rearview mirrors before turning to look at his son who was doing the same.

Unlike the older Qin, his son wasn't as good at acting aloof and unbothered. His foot tapped nervously on the tar before he caught himself, found himself knocking anxiously into the side of his bike and stopped abruptly, ran his fingers through his hair and looked around apprehensively before his gaze settled on the way the lights around the city lit up one by one. When he finally turned to look at his father, he found him already studying him quietly.

"You don't know the horrors your mother has faced to be able to give you this life. If you can't be grateful for it, unlearn that bullshit and do right by her yourself before I feel the need to step in"

Your son sighs. He screwed up big time. He lied.

He was a mama's boy.

Sylus tredges into your bedroom a couple hours later when you're sitting at your vanity and doing your skincare after a shower to calm yourself down. The twins caught wind about their eldest brother being in trouble and answering their questions on top of worrying for your son drained all your remaining energy out of you.

"Well?" You ask, going over to where Sylus is pouring himself a stiff drink and downing it in one go "What's the verdict?"

Sylus falls back into the couch and takes you with him, hugging you close to his body and sighing like he felt the entire world's weight on his shoulder "He lives"

"Sylus!" You pull back and smack his shoulder which breaks a chuckle out of him.

"He's fine. He handed over his keys himself and is serving his sentence by baking your favorite cookies before he comes up here to apologize again" That makes you smile as you wrap your arms around his neck, sinking into his warmth again.

"You did good" You praise, playing with the short hair at his nape "What did you say to him?"

Sylus' attention strays from where he'd been drawing mindless patterns into your skin, taking on a faraway look "Nothing too serious. He's a smart kid"

At your unconvinced look, Sylus complies "If it helps, I didn't scold him. He heard an earful for the way he talked to you but.. he's been cooped up at home all these weeks and that translated into today's episode" As an afterthought, he adds "Plus, the twins are not easy"

You groan "I sympathize with him, I really do"

Sylus laughs before he's quiet again, tightening his arms around you, lips resting against your temple "Told him that if he needed to go on a ride, he knows where to find me. And he'll only get his solo riding privileges back once I clear him safe"

"When will that be?" You muse, because you knew your husband.

"Never" You laugh quietly into his shoulder, knowing he's half kidding but also half serious "I should take away all his privileges simply for having talked to you that way"

Your fingers have stopped playing with his hair now, sinking deeper into the tufts of his hair and scratching his scalp as your hot breath whispers into his ear "Because no one disrespects your wife?"

You can feel the smirk spreading on Sylus' face as he pulls back to look at you "And lives to talk about it" At your evident frown, he amends "Unless they're blood related, in which case we concede with minimal punishment"

"What do you do to these...perpetrators?" You're not being slick at all, especially as your hand unbuttons his shirt with ease.

"Bad things" His lips ghost over your pulse before he's peppering kisses along your neck and jaw.

"What kind of bad things?" Your hands pull away at his shirt to feel his burning skin beneath your palms, running your fingers over the ridges as his stubble rubs against your skin.

"What was that saying about curiousity and a kitten?"

"It was a cat" You correct, moaning when his lips covers yours to reprimand you mouthing off to him with you hastily pulling away because you're far from done "There's not the full saying"

Sylus is simply humoring you now as he helps you out of your night slip, baring you completely for him "Is that so?"

"Don't you know satisfaction brought it back?" The innuendo is not lost on him, especially as your hands go to his belt buckle "Are you up for the challenge, Mr. Qin?"

Wordlessly, Sylus lifts you in his arms and drops you on the bed, very much up for the challenge as he simply rolls up the sleeves of his unbuttoned shirt. And because you're a glutton for punishment, you can't help but push his buttons "Yes? No? Maybe so?"

Sylus foregoes playing into your bait by grabbing you by the calves and dragging you to the edge of the bed as you squeal, throwing your legs over his shoulders, getting ready to show you how good he can satisfy this kitty.

Tokyo has always spoken to me, drawn me to it like a magnet, so it was the only option for me. A whole new country, a new world with new faces and new everyday struggles. The perfect place for a new beginning.

The rain is pouring down, raindrops knocking against the window front of my apartment, as i’m sitting on my white couch, endlessly scrolling through Instagram. It had been a rough few weeks, since I‘ve moved here, a lot of paperwork to do and the move itself was just a lot to put up with, but I managed to get it all sorted out and was finally able to just sit down and relax. I’ve saved enough money to pay for the apartment, the plane tickets and to get me through the first few months but I’m still looking for a job, to finally earn my own real money and get this new life rolling.

As I‘m scrolling through my explore page, lazily laughing at a view funny videos, I stumble across a post.

„VELVET LOUNGE. hiring floor staff“ was written in bold dark red letters. I clicked on it and it led me to a post of what seems to be a night club here in Tokyo, hiring new staff. I swipe to the next slide, giving me a little more information.

„High-end experience preferred. Night shifts only. High pay. Discretion required.“

It sparks my interest and I tap to read the caption.

„Velvet lounge night club - hiring new staff. Searching for bartenders and servers (f/m/d), experience preferred. Only night shifts with good payment.

Fill out the form linked in our profile‘s bio and become part of the velvet family!“

I do have some bartending and serving experience from former jobs I‘ve worked throughout my late high school and early college years. I finally click on their profile and the link attached to their bio, leading me to the website of the club, right to the application form.

I softly laughed at myself, shaking my head but still, I filled out the form, leaving my name, address and phone number and writing about myself in the free text field at the bottom of the page. I take a moment to think about it once more. My experience is definitely not „high-end“, and my idea of discretion was not telling my non-existent friends about me working at a night club, yet something still made me send the application, hoping for this to be an opportunity to get my finances stabilized.

As I hit the „apply“ button, the page turned white for a moment, only a „sent!“ being visible on the screen, before I was automatically taken back to the main page of the website. I explored the site, stumbling across a photo gallery filled with pictures of the club and its everyday nightlife. It seemed very expensive and classy, something way out of my league and doubts already started running through my mind.

I set my phone aside, looking out the window, watching the raindrops race each other down the front of the building, as lightning struck in the dark night sky. I sighed as I stood up, making my way over to my bedroom. The apartment I live in is nothing special, it’s located more on the edge of the city, a pretty calm and peaceful part of Tokyo. Its structure is simple, a small kitchen with a cooking island, being directly connected to an open living room with a sofa right in the middle of it, a small coffee table in front of it, both facing a wall with an average sized TV hangin on it and 2 shelves decorating the wall on the left and right side of it. Below the TV is another low shelf with a record player and some vinyl records on top of it. A gift from my mother.

As I’m walking through the living room, entering my bedroom to finally go to sleep after a long day of doing nothing, the faint sound of the rain is supported by the ticking of the clock on the wall reading 1am. I slip off my slides and make myself comfortable in my bed, closing my eyes.

I’m woken up by my phone ringing on the bedside table on my left hand side. I slowly stirr awake, rubbing my eyes, reaching over to grab the device, accepting the call without even looking who it is.

„Hello?“ I say, my voice still groggy from sleep.

„Y/n.“ I hear a low male voice calling my name.

I sit up in bed, still sleepy, not quite comprehending what’s happening. „Yeah?“

„Find yourself in the club tonight at 10pm. We‘re looking forward to meeting you. Don’t be late.“

And before I could say anything, the man already hung up and the only sound coming from my phone now is a low beeping that stops after a few seconds.

I set down my phone, rubbing my eyes one more time before finally realizing what had just happened. The club. My application. I was actually invited to a job interview this evening. Suddenly I‘m wide awake, processing the phone call I just received. I was relieved but also scared of what’s going to happen this evening. The man on the phone sounded very serious, almost intimidating and the way he delivered his message was kind of daunting but still intriguing.

By the time I finally got out of bed it was almost 10am. I made my way over to the small kitchen to have some coffee and a quick breakfast. The day went by surprisingly quickly, tonight’s job interview always being in the back of my head, basically keeping me in a constant state of excitement and nervousness.

The first time I saw the Velvet Lounge, it looked like something torn from a fever dream. A black, unmarked building wedged between a high-end hotel and a shuttered jazz-bar. No neon signs. No crowd. Just a velvet rope, a double door with gold trim and a man in a suit built like a wall, standing in front of it, intimidatingly.

„Name?“ he asked, not looking up from his clipboard.

„Uh.. y/n l/n“ I responded.

He scanned me from head to toe, nodded once, then opened the door with a simple „Don’t touch anything, unless you’re told to.“

Inside, it was like walking into another world. Dark walls shimmered like crushed amethyst. Light came in soft pinks and purples, bouncing off mirrors and low chandeliers. The music was slow, bass heavy, the kind you felt in your chest more than your ears.

I met a young woman in red stilettos at the bar, who introduced herself to me as Rika. She told me she’d been working here for nearly two years. She scanned me just like the security guy at the entrance did and finally closed our short conversation.

„Come back tomorrow night, same time. Dressed in black, minimum heels, no flats, hair up, no perfume and no questions.“

Then she turned on her heel and disappeared.

That was my interview.

I was taken aback by the quick and serious interaction, slowly turning around, leaving the club through the front doors. She didn’t even give me time to introduce myself, nor ask any questions about the job and the payment, which was very unusual and sparked feelings of doubt and regret inside of me. Though I was dedicated and always reminded myself that I need the money and it‘s only going to be a few months at max, or so i thought.

The following night was sleepless, the unsettling interaction from yesterday racing through my mind. The next day was nothing more than just staying home, trying to prepare myself for my first official shift at Velvet, going through my closet, searching for some suited clothing, reaching Rika‘s standards.

I find myself standing in front of my mirror in my small bedroom, fixing my collar for the fifth time. My black blouse is fitted but not tight, my black skirt barely reaching my knees. I applied only a little bit of concealer, mascara and a red lipstick, just like Rika had the other day.

I still don’t look like i belong.

But i’ll go anyway.

The rain had stopped hours ago, but the pavement still shone like glass, puddles reflecting the red neon signs like spilled blood. I kept my head down, fingers curled in the pockets of my oversized jacket. The city breathed around me — warm, wet air heavy with perfume and engine smoke. Somewhere nearby, a saxophone played from an open window above a shuttered sushi bar.

This wasn’t where i was supposed to be.

But then again, i wasn’t supposed to be anywhere.

Velvet is louder tonight. Busier. A typical friday.

I step inside, setting down my bag in the staff room before finally reaching the bar, where I’m met by Rika again.

The club was darker than it should’ve been. Velvet walls, low lighting, a bar lined with crystal and fire. Music that didn’t beg for attention but lingered beneath your skin. I had worn my only heels and a lipstick too bold for my comfort.

„You’ll shadow me tonight,” she said. “Don’t touch anything that sparkles unless someone puts it in your hand. And whatever you do, don’t stare.”

I didn’t ask what she meant.

By eleven, the club was full. Not packed — curated. Wealth, power, danger: all dressed in black, sipping slowly, talking low. I kept my eyes down and my hands steady. It was like walking a tightrope through smoke.

Up until now everything is clear to me, not very different from the bars I‘ve worked at so far.

The other girls don’t smile when I join them at the staff station. They don’t talk, unless it’s to say which tables are theirs. I’m given a small section - just three booths tucked into a quieter corner of the lounge floor.

My first few rounds are simple. Bottled water, a few cocktails and a round of beers, nothing very special. Everything is going surprisingly good so far, though the vibe still feels a little off, but that might just be because it’s my first shift and i don’t know anyone besides Rika, yet.

Most of the clients don’t really look at me. Some do - but not in ways that make you feel anything but small and watched.

Then i see him.

Sitting in a booth, along the upper balcony, a glass of something gold, probably a fine whiskey, between his slim fingers, one leg lazily crossed over the other. Oikawa Tooru.

I’ve heard his name whispered. Seen him glide through the club once or twice like he wasn’t walking but drifting. Some said he owned the place, others said he owned the people who did.

He doesn’t look real.

He’s too polished. Too pretty. Hair perfectly tousled. Tie loose like it’s a carefully rehearsed accident.

I finally look away, getting back to work, still astonished by the sight of this man.

Two hours in, my feet ache and my throat is dry. I’m standing near the bar refilling a champagne order when someone taps my shoulder.

I turn around just to be met with a younger man with soft features and tired eyes. He’s dressed in all black too, but it’s not a uniform - it’s intentional. Clean, expensive, stylish in a way that’s meant to seem effortless.

„You’re the new one,“ he says. „Right?“

I nod, cautious.

„I’m Matsukawa. Oikawa wants you to bring him his drink.“

My brain stutters, taken aback by his request.

„I- me? Why?“

„Don’t ask“, he says, amused. „Just don’t spill anything.“

He points to a glass already poured and ready on the bar. I pick up the tray, careful not to spill anything, like i was told. I cross the club floor, every step feeling heavier than the last.

Oikawa watched me approach him slowly, my heart hammering under my ribs. The tray in my hands felt too heavy, my steps too loud. His table wasn’t empty — two other men sat with him. One with a boxer’s build and a quiet stare. He had dark hair, was tall and broad-shouldered with a voice rough like sandpaper. The other one, I recognized to be Matsukawa from earlier, lazy smirk and cigarette between his teeth.

There’s something unreadable in Oikawas gaze - like he’s not looking at me so much as looking through me.

„You’re new,“ he said as I finally reached his table.

I nodded, unsure of how much I was supposed to say. He took the drink from my tray, but his eyes didn’t leave my face even once.

„I like new,“ he took a sip and tilted his head, „What’s your name?“

„Uh.. y/n,“ I said, voice steady despite my nerves. His smirk deepened.

„Tōru Oikawa,“ he simply responded, introducing himself to me.

He said it like it meant something. Like you’d remember it. Like you’d say it again — breathless, maybe, or desperate. And maybe I would. I turned to leave, but his voice stopped me.

“Stay a minute.”

I hesitated. Matsukawa raised an eyebrow. The other man, Iwaizumi, as i picked up from their conversation while walking towards the table, just sighed.

“She’s working,” Rika said sharply from across the room.

Oikawa didn’t blink. “So am I.”

The room seemed to pause around me. The laughter, the music, the low thrum of life — all holding its breath. I didn’t know it then, but the game had just begun. I wasn’t in the deep end yet. But my feet had already left the floor, before he could say any more, returning back to be bar.

The next morning, my heels were bruising my ankles, my tips smelled like cologne and smoke, and my head was still full of him. I didn’t know why he’d spoken to me. I didn’t know what kind of man could make Rika stop midstep with a single look. But I knew his name now. And somehow, I knew that mattered. Rika didn’t say much when i clocked in for my next shift. Just handed me a cleaner uniform, a tighter skirt, and a tray with a smile that didn’t quite meet her eyes.

“You did fine last night,” she said. “Keep your head down. Don’t let him distract you.”

I didn’t ask who “him” was. I didn’t need to.

The club had a rhythm, and I was learning to follow it. VIP tables in the back. No touching unless invited. Never make eye contact with a man who smiles too much and talks too little.

By midnight, the same faces had returned — slick suits, sharp watches, and whispers in languages I didn’t speak. A woman in red laughed too loudly. Two men passed envelopes under a velvet table. Someone cried in the hallway, softly, like she’d been here before.

Then he walked in.

Same suit. Same calm. Oikawa looked like he’d stepped off the cover of something expensive — hair still tousled, eyes still unreadable. He slid into his usual booth like it had waited all day just for him. Iwaizumi followed behind, nodding once at Rika. Matsukawa raised a glass to me from across the floor.And I tried not to look when Oikawa glanced at me and smiled like the two of us shared a secret.

It was a busy night again but just as last night, everything was running smoothly. I finally found my rhythm, carrying trays full of martin glasses and beer bottles with ease, until i reach the end of my shift, but I wasn’t allowed to leave. Yet.

He didn’t ask for me. But he didn’t need to. By now, the staff had noticed. Rika didn’t say a word when she passed me his order again. She just muttered, “Don’t linger,” and vanished behind the bar.

I approached slowly, tray in hand, like I was trying not to startle something dangerous.

„You again,” Oikawa said, eyes flicking to my lips and back. “Are you haunting me?”

I tried to answer, but my voice caught in my throat. Matsukawa laughed, and Iwaizumi just shook his head.

“She’s nervous,” Oikawa said softly. “That’s cute.”

He took the glass from my tray, fingers brushing mine. Deliberate. Controlled.

Then he leaned back in the booth and asked, “Do you like cars?”

The question startled me. I blinked. “I—I guess?”

“Wanna go for a drive?”

I hesitated. He grinned.

“Not tonight,” he said. “But soon. You should see what this city looks like when you’re going 140 under moonlight.”

My breath caught, and I hated that he noticed.

„I’m not so sure about that,“ I stated, but before either of us could continue, I hear Rika calling my name from across the room.

„I should probably go, I don’t want to get in trouble with her,“ I shoot him a sheepish smile before I turn around quickly and make my way back down towards the bar. And with that my shift finally ended.

Rika offered to call me a taxi, but when I stepped outside, a black car was already waiting. Windows tinted. Engine still running. The driver rolled down the window.

“I‘ll take you home.”

I paused. Looked back at the club. The lights were dimming. Staff were locking doors. The street was wet again, pavement shining like glass. I nodded, got in, and shut the door behind me. Oikawa was behind the wheel. Of course he was.He didn’t speak right away. Just adjusted the volume on the stereo — jazz, slow and low — and pulled onto the main road like he had all the time in the world.

“You live downtown, right?” he asked casually.

“How do you know that?”

“I ask around.”

He glanced at me, one hand on the wheel, the other resting lazily on the stick shift. His rings glinted under the dash lights.

“I like to know things about people I’m interested in.”

I didn’t answer.

The streets blurred by in soft golds and deep blues. The city felt like a dream in motion — unfamiliar, surreal, almost beautiful. He drove like he lived: smooth, fast, just shy of reckless.When he dropped me off, he didn’t ask for my number. Didn’t reach for my hand. Just smiled and said, “You’ll see me again soon.”

Then the car disappeared down the street like it had never been there at all. That night, I lay awake staring at the ceiling.

The club. The smoke. His eyes.

I didn’t know what I‘d been pulled into. But whatever it was, it had my name now. And it wasn’t letting go.

The beach was sunny that day, and it was full of people doing whatever they wanted: making out, poorly playing volleyball, making sandcastles, whatever they wanted. Oikawa considered joining in on an amateur volleyball match, but he shrugged it off. They would probably recognize him, and while he enjoyed his fame, he preferred his female fans to his male ones. He instead opted to do what he did best: lie there and look pretty. His muscles rippled in the bronzing sunlight as he observed how the waves of the ocean danced, how the children laughed, and how the seagulls terrorized innocent picnic-havers. It was the best thing ever…until he got bored and wanted a drink. Something light, something with lime and coconut. He didn’t care what as long as it had those two things. 

The bar was unusually empty, which was great. His fame got him a lot of special treatment, but cutting the line at the beach bar was certainly different from them. He gave the bartender his order and gave him the pesos, turning his back to the employee as his drink got mixed. Oikawa zoned out for the better part of it, not thinking of much until he was snapped out of his thoughts by a feminine voice. 

“Virgin margarita, please,” you spoke so sweetly like honey was falling from your lips. Oikawa snapped his head in your direction, and his eyes nearly fell out of their sockets. You, Wakatoshi Ushijima’s girlfriend, were standing a few feet away from him, in the cutest little black bikini he had ever seen. He choked on his saliva, pretending to brush it off as a cough. Fuck, did you notice him? There was no way you didn’t. Whatever, there’s no turning back now. Oikawa plastered his signature smirk onto his handsome features, staring at you through his designer sunglasses.

“Well, if it isn’t Ushijima’s illustrious girlfriend. What brings you to Argentina? Let me guess, he sent you to sign me to the Alders?” his voice was smug, annoyingly smug. 

You groaned and took off your sunglasses, nestling them atop your head. “Okay, you’re so wrong on so many levels,” you placed your hands on your hips, raising an eyebrow. “First of all, I’m not his girlfriend anymore. I broke up with Wakatoshi after he got drafted to the Alders, which probably answers your second question.” the ghost of a smirk dusted your lips. 

“Oh,” Oikawa was momentarily silenced. “But you’re still on a first-name basis?”

“And is that any of your business?”

“Wow, since when was Shiratorizawa’s princess so fucking bitchy? I thought you were Snow White or something,” he scoffed, stepping towards you with his arms crossed. 

“And you’re just as pretentious as people say you are,” you snickered. “For your information, Oikawa, I can act however I want. I broke up with his sorry ass, and I’m not telling you why. God, I can’t believe we’re at the same beach.”

Shit, he liked how you were talking to him. No one had put him down like that long ago, not since Iwaizumi. It was nice…did he like it when girls were mean to him instead of worshipping the ground he walked on?

“Hey, don’t get pissy with me, princess. It’s not my fault you just happen to go to the beach near where I live,” Oikawa scoffed. “What are you even doing in Argentina anyway? What, did university not work out for you back in Miyagi.”

You rolled your eyes. “For your information, asshole, I got into every university I applied to. I just…” you signed, rubbing your temple. “I just needed some time away from that place. Everything reminds me of Wakatoshi. It was just better for me to get away for a while.”

The bartender coughed awkwardly, holding your drinks. You both took them as the employee turned back around, visibly uncomfortable. Oikawa took a sip of the drink, nodding in approval. “So, I take it finding me on this beach wasn’t the most relaxing thing?”

“I thought you were going to be nice to me, but I guess I was wrong since you thought I was still with Wakatoshi,” you sipped your drink, the cool liquid drooling down your chin and onto your breasts. “But…I guess I can forgive you. After all, neither of us went to nationals since Karasuno got number nine and ten, right?” 

Oikawa chuckled. “Yeah, you’re right. Fucking Tobio.”

“You know he’s on the Alders as well, right?”

“What? Oh, fucking of course he is,” Oikawa scoffed, placing his drink down at the bar. He looked at your form again, drinking in each curve that your bikini did such a poor job of hiding. Did you wear that thing on purpose to find someone here to fuck? Maybe Ushijima never fucked you right. Maybe he never made you cum. Maybe that’s why you dumped his sorry ass because he was a terrible lover. Oh, wouldn’t that just be a fucking treat?

“So,” Oikawa stared at the ground. “Do you wanna head back to my apartment? It’s within walking distance. Plus, I have drinks that aren’t stupidly overpriced,” he shot the bartender a dirty look. “No offense.”

You thought for a moment, your perfectly manicured finger tapping on your bottom lip. “Sure, that could be fun. Besides,” you leaned forward, exposing your cleavage to the setter. “If Wakatoshi heard about that, he would be so fucking pissed. So why not, hm?”

Holy shit. You were perfect. “Wow,” Oikawa was speechless, which was a rare fucking treat. “And here I thought you were all sweet and innocent,” he casually snaked his arm around your waist, shamelessly feeling your supple skin. “I guess I was wrong.”

“You’re lucky we hate the same person, or else I would have broken your arm off by now,” you snicker, allowing his hand to feel up and down your waist. “Now, where’s your apartment? Let me guess,” you pointed to an expensive-looking building. “Penthouse suite on the top floor right over there?”

“How the hell did you know that?” he raised an eyebrow in suspicion. 

You scoffed, walking in tune with Oikawa. “I mean, it’s painfully obvious. That’s the only apartment complex within comfortable walking distance, and knowing your ego, you probably chose the apartment on the top floor because you think you’re entitled to it, somehow,” you smirked, staring into his milky brown eyes. “Well? How right am I?’

Oikawa frowned, pouting like a baby. “...pretty right…” he mumbled.

“What? I didn’t catch that?” you pretended to cup your ear.

“I said you’re right. Jeez, since when were you this cocky?” he grumbled, pulling you closer to his muscular form. He was ripped, more ripped than he was in the sports magazines from high school. His chest was chiseled, and his shoulders were broad as if he had been sculpted by the gods themselves. You would never admit this to him (not sober, at least), but Oikawa was hot as fuck, even though he was a major brat. 

“I’ve always been this cocky, just not in public,” you looked up at the door of the penthouse apartment complex, the doorknobs brandishing an expensive golden sheen. “Wow, these sure are different than the Miyagi apartments,” you mumbled, rubbing on your arm. Oddly enough, you felt out of place, like you didn’t fit the right tax bracket to be allowed here.

“Well, cutie, I am a professional athlete. I make more than the entire staff does combined,” he bragged, waving to the desk attendant, who had the most annoyed look on her face. Maybe she knew what a dick Oikawa was as well. 

You bit down on your bottom lip, tapping your sandalled shoe against the cool tiling of the lobby. Did he just call you a cutie? You shouldn’t take it personally. He probably did that with every other girl he found attractive. Wait, does that mean he found you attractive? Oh god, did you actually like being flirted with by Toru Oikawa? You slapped your hands over your cheeks, attempting to hide the ever-blooming red blush.

“Are you okay? You look red,” he thought for a second, his lips twisting into a smirk. “Is Shiratorizawa’s Princess blushing?” he leaned forward, smirking as the elevator doors closed. His large and calloused hands pressed against either side of your head, trapping you between the wall and his shirtless frame.

“Shut up!” you slapped him across his cheek, leaving a stinging imprint on his flawless skin. He gasped, massaging his cheek. “You’re a pervert, you know that?”

“I haven’t even said anything perverted yet! No one hits me, no one!” he wined, uncaging you from the elevator wall. “You’re feisty,” he mumbled under his breath, something you couldn’t hear.

Finally, after what seemed like forever, the elevator door dinged. You both left the elevator and walked to his apartment in silence, your hands massaging your arms as the cold air of the upper floor set in. Rich people have excellent air conditioning. 

“This is it,” Oikawa jiggled his key into the lock, pulling open the mahogany door. “Ladies first,” he winked, making you scoff as you entered the vast apartment. 

“Holy-” your words died on your lips as you took in Oikawa’s living space. How perfect and elegant it was. It was massive, boasting a designer kitchen with beautiful granite countertops and three ovens. Who the hell needs three ovens? “This place is huge! Damn, I forgot how much they pay professional athletes!” 

Oikawa chuckled at your childlike marveling, or perhaps it was envy? Either way, he could get used to you gawking over his wealth. “I know, I know. I’m fucking fantastic,” he strode over to the bar cart, mixing some peach juice and vodka. “I know this isn’t the most manly drink, but beer is so gross. Don’t you agree?” he handed you a glass, not even trying to hide the fact that he was staring at your tits.

“Oh, totally. Beer is gross,” you took a sip of the drink, smiling at the peach juice hit your tongue. “Oh damn, this is good. Where did you get this?”

“I’m not telling. You could buy out my entire supply!” Oikawa laughed, taking another sip of his beverage. “So,” he leaned against his kitchen counter, staring into your eyes with his half-lidded ones. “What will it take for me to learn why you dumped Ushijima, hm?” his voice was a purr, like a siren trying to lure you into the sea.

You rolled your eyes and sat down on the couch, admiring the tasteful throw pillows he had. “Well, if it gets you to shut up, I’ll tell you,” you patted the seat right next to your own. “You’re lucky I have vodka in me, or else I’d be really bitchy right about now.”

“Who’s saying you aren’t being bitchy?”

You shot him a glare. “Do you wanna know my breakup story or not?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he rolled his eyes and sat next to you, purposefully spreading his muscular thighs. Fuck, he was sexy as hell. “Well? Let’s hear the story, cutie.”

“Okay,” you took a deep breath, locking your eyes on your pedicured feet. “We started dating because one of his teammates said we would look good together. Tendou, I think his name was. He asked me out, but it wasn’t very romantic. He was stoic, unfeeling. I guess he’s always been like that,” you paused, licking your bottom lip. “He was a good boyfriend for the most part, I guess. He was kind, and he supported me in anything I did. It’s just…volleyball was his top priority, not me. And don’t get me wrong, I loved cheerleading. Wakatoshi prioritized sports over his relationship, so I dumped him once he was signed to the Alders.” you looked up at Oikawa, a soft smile gracing your lips. “I’m happy I dumped his sorry ass.”

“Wow,” Oikawa mumbled, setting his drink on the coffee table. “I’m sorry he treated you like that. I always knew he was a piece of shit, and now I have the proof,” he smacked his lips together, wrapping an arm around your shoulder. “C’mere, I gotta ask you something else.”

“Do we have to be this close for you to ask me a question?” you raised an eyebrow, secretly enjoying the intimacy.

“Yes,” Oikawa immediately responded. “Answer me this,” his voice dropped to a deep octave, goosebumps covering your arms. “Did he ever make you cum, or did you have to fake it every time?”

Your breath hitched in your throat, a blush dusting your cheeks. “Well, technically, no, he didn’t make me cum,” you whispered, knowing damn well that Oikawa had a shit-eating grin plastered on his face.

“I fucking knew it,” he pulled you impossibly closer, pulling your lip down with his thumb. “Poor little girl, hm? You’re big, strong boyfriend never gave you an orgasm. Did he even know where the clit is?”

You shook your head. “No, I had to show it to him, and he still has never found it.”

“Oh, that’s pathetic. And adorable. To think,” his lips trailed upwards to the cartilage of your ear, nibbling on it. “That a pretty thing like yourself had a boyfriend that wouldn’t give her what she wanted…that’s just tragic, don’t you think so?”

You looked at him, your eyes ablaze. “I guess so. What, did you wanna do something about that?” your hands slid up and down his thigh, dangerously close to his hardening cock. 

“I think I will,” without any warning, he scooped you up and threw you over his shoulder, slapping you on the ass. You squeaked and were thrown onto his bed, the crisp cotton sheets welcoming your burning skin. Oikawa crawled on top of you, pinning your wrists above your head. “I have an idea, something that will piss Ushijima off. That’s what we both want, isn’t it?” he planted a daring kiss on your neck, the aroma of your tropical perfume filling his nostrils. “I know you wanna see him angry, don’t you, cutie?”

Fuck, his words landed right at your core. You squeezed your legs shut, tilting your head to the side so he could plant more of his blazing kisses on your delicate skin. “Mhm, I wanna see him get so mad he does something he’ll regret,” you purr, gasping as Oikawa sank his canines into you. A soft moan fell from your lips, only encouraging him to leave more delicious bruises. He stopped his ministrations, licking his way up to your ear. “I wanna film me fucking your brains out,” his voice was a low rumble, practically dripping with want. “I wanna send him pictures of you covered in my fucking cum with your tits covered in hickeys. That’ll show him, right?” he shamelessly palmed your breast, wanting to tear that slutty bikini off your perfect body.

“Fuck, Oikawa,” you moaned, breaking free from his grasp. “If you’re gonna do that,” you sat on the bed. “We have to be equals in this, or he’ll think you’re fucking me without consent.”

“What? So, no bondage or anything?” he pouted. “Well, I guess that’s fair,” his milky eyes darted to one of his dresser drawers. “I…I have a professional camera in there, as well as a tripod. Don’t fucking ask why I have those, okay? If we’re gonna film a little something for your ex-boyfriend,” he playfully nipped at your ear. “We’re gonna do it right.”

“Sounds like a plan,” you chuckled, swatting his hands away as he fumbled with the string of your bikini top. “Nope, you have to undress me on camera. That’ll really piss him off.”

Oikawa smirked, setting up the tripod quickly. How many times did he use that thing? “You sure know him well, don’t you, cutie?” he hit the record button, crawling above you again. The camera was positioned to have the side-view of whatever you two decided to participate in. “Don’t worry, I’ll get the money shot with my phone,” he snickered, hovering his lips above yours. “Now, cutie, do you wanna make a movie with me?”

“Fuck yes,” and his lips were upon yours, ravaging them like he had drank a love potion. They moved in sync with your own, relishing in the mango-flavored chapstick you wore. He kissed you like he owned you from the second he saw you in that slutty bikini. The way his teeth clashed against yours was animalistic in his fight to be dominant, not even asking for entry before shoving his tongue inside your mouth. Your wet muscles danced, pulling moan after moan out of your lungs before he pulled away abruptly, cheeks flushed and chest heaving. 

“Gotta fucking catch my breath,” he chuckled. “You kiss like a fucking whore.”

“I bite like one, too,” you smirked, rolling over to straddle Oikawa’s waist. He gasped in confusion before quickly being silenced, the sensation of you harshly sucking on his muscular neck making him whimper. You chuckled, grinding yourself onto his pelvis, your most intimate parts being covered by thin pieces of fabric.

“Fuck, cutie,” Oikawa’s hands squeezed your hips, rolling the fat between his taped fingers. He bucked his hips upwards, making you yelp. “Take off that fucking top now,” he growled, fisting the sheets beneath him impatiently.

You giggled and reached behind your back, undoing the bikini knot teasingly slow. Oikawa knew what you were doing. He’d seen it a million times by now. Usually, he wouldn’t mind. It was just another beach slut taking her time, trying to draw out their experience with the great Toru Oikawa. But this time was different. He didn’t want to wait. He wanted you creaming on his cock the way Ushijima never made you. Besides, there would be a second time. And a third, and a fourth.

His hand cracked against your ass. “Don’t fucking tease me, cutie,” his voice rasped, his hands hungrily grasping onto your tits. “Fucking take this off, or I’ll rip it off of you. Show me those tits, don’t get all shy on me now.”

You squeak, your clit pulsating at the contact. “Fine, whatever you want, baby,” you threw your bikini top across the room, letting your breasts be exposed to the cool air of his bedroom. Oikawa groaned, rolling over so he was on top once more. His mouth found your breast, sucking at the pillowy flesh while his hands rolled over your pert nipple, alternating between each breast. He sucked on your areloas, making sure not to be gentle. He only got more confident with each slutty moan he ripped from your lips, relishing in the incredibly high ones he received when he bit down on your nipple. Your chest was littered with tiny purple circles and covered in his saliva, the desire in your belly practically bubbling over. His cock was painfully hard, pressing against your inner thigh. You swore you could hear it throbbing, begging to fuck your cunt. 

“Oikawa!” you whimpered, grabbing his ashy brown hair and forcefully pulling him away from your chest. “I-I think you marked me enough, right? C’mon,” your hand guided his into your bikini bottom, sighing as his thumb finally found your desperate clit. “I’m so wet down here for you, Oikawa. Don’t you wanna take care of me?”

Your voice was high-pitched like the girls in porn, and Oikawa fucking loved it. You were both putting on a show in shorts. A show to piss off a man that you both despised, but it was a show nonetheless. It's a sexy, depraved show.

“You moan like a fucking slut,” he pushed your bikini to the side, exposing your dripping pussy. Without a second thought, he shoved his middle and ring finger deep inside your heat, curling them slightly. You cried out, arching your back further into the mattress as his other hand still had a firm hold on your breast.

“Oh, you like that, cutie? You like getting finger-fucked by your ex-boyfriend's enemy?” he growled, fucking his fingers in and out of your weeping pussy at a relentless pace. “I wonder what they would say if they saw you like this, a slutty little mess under me. You’re such a whore for my fingers, aren’t you?” his thumb dragged over your clit, his fingers and his arm being so precise in their ministrations. Your pussy squeezed around his digits, feeling your first orgasm in such a long-time approach.

“P-please, Oikawa! Fucking make me cum!” you sobbed, your hands clenching onto the white sheets. You saw stars as your orgasm crashed over you, rolling your head to the side to stare directly into the camera. With your blown-out eyes and bruised lips, you looked fucking ethereal.

“Good fucking girl,” Oikawa popped his fingers in his mouth, tasting your slick. You tasted incredible, unlike anything he had ever tasted before. “Open up,” he ran his finger over your soaked core, gathering up more of your essence to forcefully shove inside your mouth. “Suck,” he commanded, and you did. Your tongue ran over his fingers while you made direct eye contact with him, making the setter impossibly hard. “Little slut.”

“M’not a slut,” you whined, spreading your legs further apart. You were contradicting yourself. You were on display for him as if his apartment was some kind of brothel. The look in his eyes when he saw your gorgeous body, your thighs still trembling in the aftershocks of your release. Fuck, it really looked like he ripped you straight out of a porno. 

“Then how come you’re spread out like one for me, hm? That pussy’s dripping all over my bed, dirty girl.” he slid off his swimming trunks, his cock slapping against his rock-hard abs. He boasted a proud, sensitive pink tip that was leaking with precum. He pumped his cock a few times before aligning it with your entrance, slapping the head against your clit. “Now, are you gonna beg for me to fuck you better than that pathetic ex-boyfriend of yours ever could?” he looked directly into the camera, mesmerized by the flashing red light. “Better than Ushijima, I’m better than Ushijima.”

“T-Toru!” you whined, pulling him down by his shoulders into a passionate kiss. You stared into the camera as well, giving it a wink. Using Oikawa’s first name would surely make your ex furious. It just had to. “Fuck me! Fuck me better than Wakatoshi ever could!” you sobbed, wrapping your legs around his waist so he had no hope of escaping. Your eyes were wet with fake tears, begging him to ruin you.

“Shit,” he groaned, pushing the head of his cock past your entrance. “That’s what I like to fucking hear.” he slammed his lips down on yours once again, bullying the rest of his throbbing length deep inside your heat. “So fucking tight.” Oikawa hissed at the sight of your greedy pussy sucking him in, his teeth nipping at your lips.

“S’fucking big, Toru! Fuck!” you cried, your nails leaving angry red crescent marks on his back. Oikawa revealed in the pleasure, continuing to make out with you as he fucked you harder, the tip of his cock kissing your cervix occasionally.

“You’ve ever been fucked this hard before, hm?” he bit down on your shoulder, leaving an imprint of his teeth. “No one’s ever fucked this pussy as good before, huh? Fucking answer me, cutie,” his hand wrapped around your throat, squeezing softly. 

You gasped, struggling to take his massive cock and breath at the same time. “No one’s, fuck, no one’s ever fucked me like this before, Toru!” you sobbed, sighing in relief as he let go of your neck.

“So fucking obedient. And you let her dump you, Usjijima? Fucking pathetic,” he rolled his hips against yours, hitting even deeper inside your pussy. His balls slapped against the cleft of your ass, the apartment echoing with lustful moans and squeals. He grabbed your jaw and pulled you in for another kiss, his tongue exploring your mouth as his cock ravaged your core. 

“Toru, I’m gonna fucking cum!” you sob into his mouth, your nails now leaving furious red scratches down his back. He whined into your mouth, his hips never faltering as they continued their unrelenting and unforgiving speed. Sweat dripped from his brow and into your hair, moan after beautiful moan being ripped from your lips as he fucked you like he owned you, like you were his. It was more than just a revenge fuck, so much more.

“Fucking cum on my cock, cutie. Be a good fucking slut and make a mess on this cock,” he growled into your mouth, pulling on your hair to force your neck to the side. He planted open-mouth kisses as you were pushed over the edge, crying out his name as your release coated his pulsating shaft. 

Fuck, he wasn’t going to last, not at the rate that your pussy was milking him. He eagerly reached for his phone on the mattress, and just as he felt his orgasm approach, he pulled out of your addictive cunt. The camera app was opened, and the record button was pressed, videoing Oikawa desperately fisting his cock before letting out a guttural, almost animalistic roar. His thick, white-hot ropes of cum painted your stomach and fucked out face, some even landing on your lips. Oikawa stopped recording and took several pictures, each with a different angle of your cum-covered curves.

“Gorgeous,” the setter muttered, tossing his phone back onto the now-ruined sheets. He got off the bed and grabbed the camera, winking at the lens as he hit the power button. The light stopped blinking, and Oikawa was satisfied. “Well, you just made your first porno. How do you feel about that, cutie?” 

You shrugged your shoulders. “It’s more of a revenge porno than anything, but I liked it,” you averted your gaze. “You’re a good fuck.”

He placed a hand on his hip. “Well, obviously,” Oikawa rolled his eyes, grabbed a box of tissues, and handed them to you. “Clean yourself off. I’ll run you a bath in a minute.”

You needed clarification. “You’re doing aftercare?”

“Why the hell would I not?” he sounded offended. 

“Because you seem like an inconsiderate piece of shit,” your words were so casual, yet so mean. Why did Oikawa crave more?

“I made you cum, didn’t I?” he snatched the box of tissues out of your hand. “Twice, I made you cum twice. That’s more than fucking Ushijima ever could.”

“Woah, don’t get your panties in a twist. It was just an assumption, damn.” you rolled your eyes, stepping off of the bed. “Now, I’m gonna need to borrow a shirt before I get the hell out of here. You kind of ruined my bikini top.”

Oikawa shook his head, placing the camera inside his drawer beside him. “You aren’t going anywhere, not until I’ve gotten as many orgasms as I want out of that slutty little pussy of yours.”

You chuckled darkly and pounced on him, straddling his waist once again. “Only if I get to be on top this time, okay?” you licked his neck. “I wanna see how the Great King reacts to Shiratorizawa’s Princess riding his cock.”

Oikawa grinned and pulled you down for another kiss, his cock already hard. You were in for a long fucking night.

Ushijima woke up to an onslaught of ringing sounds coming from his phone. Groaning, he turned to the side to see who had the balls to be emailing him at 2:56 in the morning. 

His eyes widened as he saw two video attachments, as well as several image attachments, of Oikawa’s cock plunging in and out of his ex-girlfriend's pussy. Her cries and moans quickly filled up his bedroom as Oikawa’s mischievous brown eyes locked with Ushijima’s green ones from behind the screen. He sat up, scrolling through the rest of the attachments. Each image was enough to send him into a rage, but the last one was what got to him. Your head resting on Oikawa’s chest, various hickeys covering your tits and neck as you slept soundly. On the other hand, Oikawa was smirking as he held up the number five with his fingers. Ushijima’s hands cracked his phone, shattering the protective glass.

01. lets go tokyo!

02. nekomas filled with FREAKS!!

There was something so stupid and so humiliating about being found and captured by the Outcast tribe after all the times he and the rest of the gang had thoroughly kicked their asses. 

Hiccup rolled his eyes internally as he remembered how all the things that could have gone wrong had gone wrong today. He hoped that Toothless would come to save him, but with the basted tail prosthetic, Hiccup was more worried that Toothless would be putting himself in danger. 

Alvin wasn’t as obsessed with Toothless as Dagur, but if his upbringing had taught him anything, it was that a Night Fury was a big prize no matter the final goal. Does that mean that Snotlout was the only one he could hope to help Toothless get him out? 

Yeah… that’s not gonna work out. With wild dragons in cages and a very stubborn Alvin with an island of Outcasts on their heels, whatever rescue mission is attempted can only end in disaster.

He wondered if they would give him a ground or boat funeral. 

“Move it, boy!” The guard taking him to his cage shouted, pushing him forward. 

His eyes drifted to the caged dragons, his footing slowing down just a little as he made a few comments here and there, and Alvin barking orders based on them. Something about how Scauldrons should be given less water if they want to avoid getting boiled alive, something about the Whispering Deaths, the rest he didn’t remember. Too preoccupied thinking about all the ways a potential rescue could go wrong. 

Snotlout with his macho antics and Toothless trying to single-handedly get him out of wherever the Outcasts had stashed him. 

They stopped in front of yet another massive cave-looking cage. What’s up with the people of this island and their massive prisons? Overcompensating for something, maybe? Lack of brains? Lack of prisoners? Lack of everything? The island did look rather barren when they explored it earlier. 

Part of him wondered where they managed to get so much iron that they could be so wasteful with it. 

“Get in there!” Alvin yelled as the door opened and pushed him in. 

As if that was necessary. This was clearly a dragon-sized cage. He could have entered from between the bars with little effort. Like he said, lack of brains. 

Hiccup stashed the information away. If he could get out of here and into the cage of another dragon, maybe he wouldn’t need a funeral after all. Being the size of a toothpick had its advantages.

“You two be nice now, aye?” Alvin closed the door, banging his fist against it before leaving. 

“Two? Who else is he talking about?” Hiccup said out loud, turning to look at the rest of the cage, his eyes scanning for a dragon silhouette. 

Did they put him in a cage with a dragon? Alvin had a thing for trying to make Hiccup use his “dragon master” skills. 

That was either the smartest or stupidest move he could have pulled. 

“Okay, nothing here… Maybe a Changewing? How would they even capture one?” Hiccup chuckled but scanned the cave again, slower this time, just in case. 

“Okay… lets see…Rock, rock, more rock…” He mumbled as he turned his head from one side of the cage to the other. “Hmm… maybe in the darker part…” He walked deeper. “Nope. Rock, rock, person, rock, ah, look more rock.” He chuckled, “Did he think there was a dragon here? Oh, poor Alvin.” Hiccup shook his head, placing his hands on his hips, letting out another chuckle, and turning his body towards the door again.

“Now… Is there a dragon that will not try to kill me on sight?” Scauldrons and Whispering Deaths shouldn’t be anyone's first pick when you are in a hurry or a pinch. So maybe not. 

Wait…

He slowly turns his head back towards the end of the cage. 

Waaiit… 

He squints his eyes as his arms fall to his sides. 

Waaaiiiit…

Hiccup took a step deeper into the cage. He could now make out the outline of a curled-up person, face hidden behind knees and arms circling the legs, keeping the position tightly locked in place.

Fuck there was another person! What why?

He took another step closer. “Are you okay?” 

“I promise I am not an Outcast?” He phrased it as a question, but he wasn't sure how reassuring it was that he wasn’t an Outcast. Probably a lot.

“Can you hear me?” Were they asleep? In this place? He was now standing close enough to the stranger to make the not-so-subtle shaking. How did he miss that? At least they weren’t asleep. 

“Hey…” He spoke softly as he bent down, their hold on their body tightened as if that would keep him from approaching, or them from being seen. His hand extended slowly to touch their knee. “Hey, can you—” 

The stranger's whole body shook and stiffened violently the moment his fingertips made contact with their knee. They untangled themselves, their feet stretching out, kicking him in the process.

“Ow!” Hiccup exclaimed as he rolled on his back, hands clutching his now-injured leg. “Ow! Come on! Not the good leg!” He closed his eyes and bit his lips, trying to hold back in shouts of curses in case he made them even more scared. 

“Why would you do that!? What is wrong with you?” He turned to look at the leg-kicking stranger, eyebrows frowning and expecting the biggest of apologies. 

His eyes took in the appearance of his assailant, who now appeared to be standing, eyes moving slowly from the ground up. Weird foreign shoes, weird foreign clothes, arms nestled on their chest pushing against it as their back pushed against the wall with the desperate need of someone who wanted to get swallowed by it. One arm had a bruise that looked more and more like a handprint. His eyes traveled further up. Dried blood that had rolled down their collarbone connecting to a cut on their neck, and tear-stained cheeks. 

Hiccup stopped clutching his leg as he met their eyes. Red rimmed and puffy from crying and full of fear. 

What the fuck? A hostage? But why? 

Okay… Okay… He got this. 

Hiccup took a deep breath and swallowed as he sat up. He kept his eyes on the stranger, scooting a little backwards to create space between them. 

He watched as you took a few calming breaths and slowly slid down the wall until you were also sitting down. 

“Well, that was quite the introduction, huh?” He made an attempt at humour, but when his only answer was silence, he let out an awkward cough, looking away. Maybe talking wasn’t on the table yet. 

He kept stealing glances as he noticed your shaky breaths and occasional nose sniffing, along with your hands that were rubbing your arms so insistently it was impossible to hear. 

He cleared throat and wet his lips. “Are you cold?” 

Your eyes moved to meet his, but when his only reply was the hunch of your shoulders, he let out a slightly exasperated breath. This was starting to get old. But he was patient and he was understanding, he kept telling himself as he held back a big eyeroll. 

He took off his fur vest and held it out to you, waiting for you to take it. Your eyes met his for a second before moving to the vest and then back to him. 

Hiccup nodded to the vest and then nodded softly as he pushed it a little closer to you. You extended your hand slowly, taking hold of his vest and slowly putting it on. Your attention was taken by the sensation of the fur. As if you were trying to determine something about it. 

You mumbled something he couldn’t quite understand, but then again, your words were so low and muffled he doubted anyone would be able to understand them. 

His eyes wandered around the cage, trying to keep himself busy and from looking at you. He started to move air from one cheek to another, taking his fingers against one leg as he tried to soothingly rub the one you kicked, letting out a hiss every now and again. 

“Ah—” he heard the unknown voice, rough and hoarse from lack of use or maybe from its overuse. You swallowed hard and tried to clear your throat. “Are you okay?” You pointed to his leg. 

Hiccup turned to you, surprised. Groaning as he let his head fall down, one hand holding his forehead while his fingers rubbed his temples. He’s an idiot! Gods, he's an idiot! The answer was staring at him this whole time! Weird foreign clothes, weird foreign shoes. You weren’t playing the silent game! You didn’t speak his language, and from the sound of it, he didn’t speak yours. 

How could he not notice!? 

He lifted his head again to steal a peek at you, taking in your appearance. He groaned again, covering his eyes. 

He should feel grateful that no one else was here to witness his stupidity. Fishlegs would have noticed immediately. 

A few more words left your lips that probably meant something along the lines of ‘are you okay’. Probably. 

He lifted his head again to look at you properly as you poked his knee. 

“Sorry, does it hurt a lot?” Your words sounded soft and sincere, not that he would be able to tell if they weren’t, your eyes a mix of worry and guilt… he thinks. 

This would haunt him for the rest of his days. 

“Dinner time!” The voice of one of the guards echoed through the prison, followed by the sounds of banging metal. 

Any progress made to calm you down had vanished as you hurried deeper in the shadows, curling back into yourself with your hands covering your ears. 

“Here you go, dragon master, Alvin ordered us to feed you well," his apparent title left the guard’s lips sarcastically as he threw a loaf of bread in their direction. “Don’t feel compelled to share.” He laughed.

“It would be a waste.” Another adds as he passes by. 

Hiccup picked up the bread. “What does that mean?” He asked, walking along with the guards for as long as his cage allowed. 

“Non ‘o yer business boy.” 

Hiccup frowned as he stopped his path, now blocked by the wall. 

What did that mean?

Hiccup shook his head as he tried to clean the bread as best he could. He rolled his eyes, turning to walk back towards you. Outcast, he thought with the same sentiment that he would say ‘typical’. 

“Do you think the high lady would offer the girl to Odin?” 

“Probably Freya, since she is the goddess of Seiðr.” 

“No! Odin is the Allfather! A warrior and a man of magics! it makes more sense to give her to him.” 

The fading voices of the guards echoed again. 

Hiccup stopped walking again and turned his head back towards the voices. 

Offer? No that… No… 

He turned to look at you again, eyes widening and biting his lips as his worry broke through the roof. 

Fuck… he had to get you out of here.