tacoteddy22

[tacoteddy22]

Love Drug - Chapter 17 - The Sorceress (AO3)

Read from the beginning

Chapter 17 - The Sorceress Pairing: Sylus x fem!OC Words: 7403 Sylus and Val leave their mark in each others lives and homes as their relationship deepens. Zayne has a surprise patient in the ER and offers Val an out after she discovers the patient is none other than MC. The Colonel makes a commotion and the history between Zayne, MC, and Caleb is brought to the surface.

Over the next several weeks, Sylus and Valerie integrated themselves into each other’s lives. There were no loud declarations or grand gestures, just quietly things had changed.

Sylus had a key made for Val with unrestricted access to the base and any Onychinus file. Sylus wanted no secrets between them. She thought it was overkill, when would she ever need access to Onychinus?

“Just in case, sweetie. Now tell me you know where the armory is and your code for access.”

“I know where the armory is, and you told me not to say my code out loud because ‘you never know who has ears listening in.’ Which is honestly horrifying because I have made some noises in this base.” Val winced at Sylus, but he only gave her that dark look that made her panties wet.

“I love your noises, and if anyone ever says anything about it, tell me and I’ll make sure they never hear anything ever again.”

He had also given her a black card with access to his bank account.

“I don’t need this. Trust me, I make pretty good money.”

“Not as much as I do, baby.”

All of Val’s favorite foods were stocked in the kitchen and her favorite meals had been put on rotation with the chef. The everyday products she used now filled the cabinets throughout the base. Sylus had set up a bedroom just for Val and filled it with clothes for her.

“I could have brought over clothes, you didn’t have to buy me a whole new wardrobe, Sylus. And I won’t be sleeping in this bed.”

“Well now you don’t have to worry about it. I don’t want you to have to worry about anything…and who said this bed was for sleeping?”

She realized this was his love language. The food, the private space of her own, the custom handgun he made for her, not to mention the catered lunch he had sent over for the ER staff or the new mattress that was delivered to her apartment. Apparently, her old one was ‘too lumpy’. Val had also cleared out a closet in her spare bedroom and Sylus kept clothes there for the nights they spent at her apartment.

Val started working more night shifts so her schedule lined up with Sylus’s more often. The moment she walked through the door at Onychinus, Sylus was done with his workday. They ate dinner, played video games or just talked until they got tired then would crawl into bed and worship each other’s bodies until they were completely spent.

They spent their free time planning the renovation of the new restaurant. Sylus had decided to rename it Farina’s to honor Isabella and her family’s legacy. Val took him to some of her favorite places in Linkon and Sylus showed her the hidden beauty of the N109 Zone. Sylus took her to Elysium and showed her the secret services provided in this unassuming bar.

He introduced her to Aislinn and she gave Sylus a knowing look.

“So, she’s why you made the menu changes?”

“Indeed, she is.”

“Good for you, Boss.”

Sylus came home from an auction two weeks ago and found Val and the twins in the kitchen. She had sat them down to expand their medical training and was showing them how to properly bandage various injuries. Gauze, tape, slings, scissors, and a lot of bandages littered the countertop. Sylus watched them for a few minutes, proud of the twins for taking her so seriously. His heart squeezed at how she had taken the twins under her wing and was teaching them more than he ever would have asked for.

He walked in as she was wrapping up her lesson and he gave her a quick kiss to the temple.

“Are you going to teach me next, kitten?”

“No, your lesson is going to be on how to bandage yourself, not that you’ll actually do it.” She gave him a glare, but her eyes were full of mirth. Sylus grabbed a bottle of water from the refrigerator as he laughed at her playfully. He quietly appreciated just how well they fit into each other’s lives.

“Sy, I did steal all of these supplies from the hospital so if I get fired, get ready to open up a medical research division within Onychinus.”

“It’s cute you that you assume that I haven’t already started.”

She thought he was kidding, but he wasn’t. He’d started planning it after their game of twenty questions in the diner.

Sylus and Val could not keep their hands off each other. His hand rarely left her thigh and hers seemed to be attached to his belly. Eventually, Sylus’s hand sought the heat between her legs and Val’s itched to wrap her fingers around his length. The twins had learned to just stay away from the base if Sylus and Val had a day off together. They had accidentally walked in on the new couple in salacious situations a few times and were legitmately scared of the death glares received from Sylus. His right eye glowed red and the twins would suddenly be dizzy and hazy. They had no interest in that feeling that again.

They spent lazy afternoons watching movies on her couch and making pancakes for dinner. Sometimes she slept on the couch in his office just to be close to him as he worked. She’d crawled into his lap and cried after a few particularly rough days at work, and he would rub her back as she talked through the tragedies she had to witness. He loved that she saw him as a safe space to be vulnerable and a place to seek comfort and felt that same security with her.

“Move in here, move into the base with me, kitten.”

He had suggested this morning as Val was just about to get out of bed and get ready for work. His arms wrapped around her, and he slid a leg in between hers, their skin slightly clammy and her inner thighs sticky from the morning sex they had just finished. He pushed himself against her backside and nuzzled into her neck.

“Move in with me and we can do this every day.” His hand pinched her nipple softly and she leaned back into his chest with a soft moan.

“We already do this every day, Sy.”

“Not every day, sweetie.” He bit at the soft flesh on her shoulder, and she laughed at him as she turned over in his arms and he kissed her forehead.

“Well, we have to sleep sometime.” He let out a growl as she wiggled away from him and out of bed, sashaying as she walked to the bathroom. “You coming with me or what?”

********************************

Hours later, Valerie still had a smile on her face from the things he did to her in the shower. Heat built between her legs, and she had to shove off the thoughts of him before the memories became a distraction.

“Val, what has put that smile on your face?” Judy came up to Val and nudged her in the shoulder. Val blushed and buried her head in her hands, then peeked out to look at Judy.

“Don’t even say it…” Judy plugged her ears, but Val laughed and pulled Judy’s hands away.

“Sex, my friend. Lots and lots of sex.” Judy smacked Val away and shook her head with a laugh.

“Good for you, at least one of us is getting something. And if I had a man that looked like yours, I would also be having a lot of sex.” The women giggled at each other until a voice called out.

“More girl talk?” Zayne’s green eyes blazed with mischief and Judy’s jaw dropped.

“You do girl talk, Zayne?" Judy was dumbfounded; she never would have pegged the quiet doctor as one to be entangled with the emotional woes of the women he worked with.

“Only with me when I am annoying him.” Val smiled sweetly at Zayne, and she earned a small curve of his lips that disappeared as quickly as it came.

“What brings you down to the trenches?” Judy asked.

Zayne’s eyes flicked to Val and quickly looked away again, with an uncomfortable look on his face. “Uh, I have a cardiac patient coming in.”

“I can help you out with your patient if you need.” Val offered with a smile, but Zayne shook his head.

“That won't be necessary, I can find another doctor to assist me. You seem very busy.” He was suddenly very interested in his tablet and making sure the screen was free from any fingerprints. Val and Judy exchanged glances and Judy shrugged. Traffic had been steady in the ER, but not overwhelming and Val had the time Zayne seemed to think she was short on.

“No, not really. You ok? You seem flustered.”

Before Zayne could respond, paramedics burst through the doors of the ER with a patient sitting up on the gurney. The woman smiled brightly at Zayne with a wave, and he nodded his acknowledgment to her.

The trio followed the paramedics and the patient into the trauma room, and they quickly got her transferred off the gurney and onto the bed.

“Dr. Zayne! You didn’t have to come all the way down here. I’m fine, it was just a little dizziness.”

One of the paramedics handed Val the chart and she scanned through the information.

Patient: McKenzie Xia

Medics called to the scene after female, aged 28, collapsed after cardiac episode…Protocore Syndrome… fall caused injury to her ankle… non weight bearing… no compound fracture…

Val scanned the chart quickly to get caught up on the patient’s condition, but as she got to the end her mind blanked and she stared at the name.

McKenzie Xia.

Better known as MC.

The one who didn’t choose Sylus, who broke his heart and shattered his soul.

Zayne saw her staring at the page. “Dr. Tatsu, a word without outside please.”

Val followed him silently and he took the chart from her hands as she looked up at him.

“You know who she is.” It wasn’t a question. The look on Val’s face and the sudden stillness of her body told Zayne everything he needed to know.

“Yes. I know who she is.” Val was intrigued, another opportunity to meet Sylus’s ex-whatever was not likely to come along so easily.

“Do you want me to ask another doctor to assist?” Zayne was so kind, such a sweetheart to give Val the opportunity to back out of this situation now.

“No. I’m a professional Dr. Zayne.” Val mocked the way MC had said his name when she first arrived.

Zayne gave her a stern look that in any other scenario might have made Val laugh, but a shiver went down her spine as he paired the look with a step closer to her and a low whisper. “Behave, Dr. Tatsu.”

“I’ll be good. I promise.”

Zayne and Val walked back into the room and MC had a concerned look on her face.

“Is everything alright, Zayne?”

Zayne nodded, “Yes, I was just bringing Dr. Tatsu up on your condition. You collapsed in the field? What were you doing? Where’s your partner?”

“Xavier is back at the Association. He wanted to come with, but I told him to bring the intel we got back to Captain Jenna. We were just trying to infiltrate a meeting in Azure Square to get some information about a deal we think Onychinus is involved in.”

Val’s ears perked up at the mention of Onychinus. She listened intently as the nurses hooked her up to the heart monitor and inserted an IV. Zayne cast a quick glance at Val from the corner of his eye to gauge her reaction, but her face remained neutral.

“Infiltrating a meeting in a crowded area shouldn’t be such a strenuous activity that you collapse. What were you truly doing when you lost consciousness?” Zayne spoke to her sternly, but Val caught his teasing undertone. They had spent enough time on field missions together that Val had learned the subtleties of Zayne’s personality. She couldn’t help but crack a smile at their sweet camaraderie and his clever way of steering MC away from talking more about Onychinus.

MC stared at Zayne and rolled her eyes at him. “I promise, I wasn’t doing anything strenuous. My heart just started beating rapidly and I got a little dizzy. I think I just got overheated and was maybe a little dehydrated. Then I tripped on the curb and rolled my ankle as I was trying to sit down.”

Zayne stared at her blankly. “Did you hit your head?”

“No, it’s just my ankle.”

Zayne nodded his approval and began ensuring the cardiac tests he wanted to perform were ready, eager to find out what happened to have caused the spike in her heart rate.

“MC, I’m going to examine your ankle before Dr. Li starts running the cardiac tests. Tell me where you feel pain.” MC nodded and pulled herself up higher onto the bed.

Val put on a pair of gloves and gently palpated MC’s ankle. It was swollen and warm to the touch. “You couldn’t put any weight on it right after you fell, correct?”

“No - ahhh that hurts.” MC winced in pain and hissed as Val barely touched the outer ankle bone.

“I’m sorry!” Val pulled her hands away and removed her gloves. “I am going to order some X-rays, it’s possible with this much swelling and pain you have a fracture or torn ligament. Are you feeling any other pain anywhere else?”

“No, Xavier managed to catch me and broke my fall.” MC shook her head and winced again as the pain in her ankle flared.

“Good. I’ll also order some pain medication and an anti-inflammatory for your ankle as well as a banana bag, get those electrolytes up.”

Val rattled off the orders to the nurses and Zayne added a few blood tests of his own to the array of tests.

“Did you know Dr. Tatsu is also on the Hunters Medic Team. We’ve been on quite a few field missions before.” Zayne looked at Val and her eyes went wide. What was he doing?

“Have you been on any missions with the UNICORNS team? I don’t remember seeing you if you did.” MC looked at Val with wide eyes and a smile despite the pain she was in.

Val returned the smile and shook her head. “No, Zayne has first dibs on those, and he doesn’t pass up the opportunity.”

MC looked over at Zayne with a shocked look on her face and put her hands on her hips in the bed. “Dr Zayne! You should let Dr. Tatsu go on the next one!”

“Oh, I think Dr. Tatsu has other things to occupy her time at the moment. Unfortunately, you’ll be stuck with me on the next mission.” The ghost of a smile danced across Zayne’s lips and Val smirked as she caught what he was referring to.

“I see that look! Wait are you two...?” MC looked taken aback mixed with the slightest hint of jealousy.

Val and Zayne quickly shook their head and denied anything other than a platonic relationship and Val caught the relief on MC’s face. Interesting.

“No, Dr. Zayne just means work is taking up a lot of my time outside of the field missions.” Val looked at Zayne with a warning to keep up the ruse, but he only gave her a blank stare.

“I know we just met, but if you’re anything like Zayne, then you probably work too much too. You both should make sure to take care of yourselves if you’re going to work such long hours.” MC shook her finger at them and gave Zayne a poke in his side.

“And how do you suggest we do that, Miss Hunter?” Zayne’s affectionate tone led Val to believe that Zayne saw her as more than a patient. Also interesting.

“Macarons and naps on the couch in your office.” MC was quick with her response and Val’s suspicions about their relationship only deepened, but so did her own inclination to be friendly to MC. She liked that Zayne had someone else in his life that knew him well that wasn’t also a work colleague.

“Oh my god, that couch is amazing. I sleep on that instead of in the on-call room all the time!” Val chimed in and MC looked at her excitedly. They smiled at each other and then burst into laughter as Zayne sighed and rubbed his brow. MC was sweet and had been nothing but kind since she got here. Val could see why Sylus liked her.

A nurse arrived with one of the interns and wheeled MC out of the room to get the X-rays taken done. She waved at Zayne and Val on her way out and Val playfully smacked Zayne across the arm as soon as MC was out of sight.

“Why are you making me like her?!”

Zayne played innocent for a brief moment before confessing, “I knew you two would get along. If you had met before I think you could have been friends.”

She rolled her eyes and let out a sigh, “Maybe in another lifetime.”

Zayne opened his mouth to respond, but the sound of Judy yelling outside the room caught their attention.

“I don’t care what you’re the Colonel of you can’t park your plane on the helipad!”

Judy was toe to toe with a tall brunette man dressed in a full Farspace Fleet uniform. She had her hands on her hips and wasn’t backing down anytime soon. The air was thick with tension as several other Fleet members were lined up behind him. Zayne stopped in his tracks and Val heard him curse under his breath.

“Caleb!” Zayne barked out at the man Judy was confronting. Val jumped a bit; she’d never heard Zayne raise his voice like that. The man named Caleb turned his head slowly towards Zayne and cast a dangerous glare from his violet eyes.

“Where is she, Zayne?” Caleb stalked over to Zayne and crossed his arms expecting an answer.

“She’s perfectly fine. I can show you to -” Zayne attempted a diplomatic approach to diffuse the situation, but Caleb was having none of it.

“Where’s my fucking wife?” Caleb stepped closer to Zayne and Val stepped up to them and gently pushed Zayne back a step.

“Ok let’s just take a breath. Zayne, is he talking about the patient we just sent up for X-rays?” Val looked and Zayne and he nodded once to confirm.

“Ok then, Mr. Xia. Let’s go to her room and I’ll answer every question you have. In the meantime, why don’t you have one of your men move that plane off the helipad for actual emergencies. Caleb gritted his teeth and gave a nod to one of his men.

Val led Caleb to MC’s empty room with Zayne hot on their heels. Val had him take a seat. She pulled up the chart and walked him through the ankle injury and Zayne’s thoughts on the spike in her heart rate.

“We’ll know what the next steps are once we have the X-rays and other test results back. I know you’re worried about your wife, but she’s in good hands.” Calbe nodded.

“I’ll be able to relax when I have my eyes on her. Then I’ll decide her best course of treatment.”

Zayne scoffed, “MC will be deciding her own treatment, Caleb. You can’t dictate everything in her life. She’s perfectly safe in the hospital, you know I would never let anything happen to her.”

Caleb stood and balled his fists as he faced Zayne. “We both know she’s at risk when she’s around you. Or did you forget what you did to her when we were kids?”

The air dropped ten degrees as Zayne glared at Caleb. Val didn’t know there was history with MC, let alone Caleb and she stayed quiet, not wanting to set either of them off further.

“I’ll never forget what I did.” Zayne was so quiet. The shame in his voice was evident and Val filed that away to ask him about it on another day. Caleb got into Zayne’s face and Val moved forward ready to break them up if needed.

“I’ll know she’s safe when I have my eyes on her.”

Val touched them both on the arm and they looked at her. “Zayne, why don’t you see if Judy needs anything. Caleb, you’re welcome to stay here until MC returns. I’ll go see how much longer it will be before she’s back. Ok?” Zayne said nothing and left the room. Caleb sat back down and slouched back in the chair with his fist to his chin.

“Caleb, can I get you anything?” Val asked. She felt bad for him. She understood that fear when the one you love most is in danger and the need to protect them at all costs. Purple eyes stared at her and his lip curled back in a sneer.

“You can address me as Colonel.”

Feeling bad for Colonel didn’t last long.

“Your rank means nothing in this hospital. I was trying to be nice, even after you insulted my friend, but I see that won’t get us anywhere.”

Val left the room before he could respond and checked the radiology status. MC was next in line to get scanned and would be back within the hour. Val figured she would let Caleb sweat a little before telling him anything about MC’s status.

Sylus and Caleb were seemingly two sides of the same coin. Both loved fully and with no hesitations, but where Sylus felt Val’s place was beside him, Caleb made it clear MC was to stand behind him. Part of Val felt sad about that for MC, but as a grin slowly spread across Val’s face, a bigger part was insanely happy that MC’s choice led Sylus to Val.

[tacoteddy22]

Reblogging cuz I updated it!!

Hello! Welcome to this mess I have made

I am Taco Teddy, call me Teddy or Taco Have some fun facts about me:

Elder Millenial she/her Writer Mostly unserious I have the vocabulary of a well educated sailor

This is my horny corner of the internet where I post about my current pixel obsessions. Right now we are deep into Love & Deepspace and Dragon Age Veilguard with a touch of Baldur's Gate 3.

✨✨✨✨Requests are open✨✨✨✨

Ongoing Works

Love & Deepspace

Love Drug - AO3 - Long fic with weekly chapters posted on Saturdays

Sylus meets Dr. Valerie Tatsu and is captivated with her confidence and sweet nature. He lets her in at the risk of his heart and soul hoping this time turns out better than the last.

Veilguard

Til Death Do Us Part (AO3) - Arranged Marriage AU

Emmrich Volkarin and Yaryna Ingellvar’s wedding day had finally arrived and the betrothal promises made on the day of their births would be fulfilled. Too bad neither of them wanted this.

Finished Works

Love & Deepspace

Symphony of Desire (AO3) (Tumblr) - Composing a sex masterpiece with Sylus - 18+ MDNI

Veilguard

Read the Rem 'N Em Collection HERE!

Confessions in the Fade (AO3) (Tumblr) After returning from a tiring day in Arlathan with Neve and Bellara, Remy finds the rest of the team drunk off Isabella's bootleg hooch. She is tasked with tending to Emmrich who drunkenly confesses feeling he has never dared to say while sober. Too bad he won't remember in the morning. Give Me Your Heart and I'll Give You Mine (AO3) (Tumblr) - After rescuing the Dalish elves from the Venatori, Remy “Rook” Ingellvar is left wounded and overwhelmed by guilt. In a moment of rare vulnerability, she breaks down, fearing the cost her choices have on the team. Emmrich reassures her she’s not alone—they all chose to share the burden and the fight with her. Their confessions deepen into a promise of a future together, finding solace in each other despite the battle still ahead. You Had Me At "Perspicacious" (AO3) (Tumblr) - A passionate night is interrupted by the revelation of a secret Remy had been keeping. The moment provides the opportunity to open up and reveal deeper truths. Reflections on Rook (A03) (Tumblr) - Emmrich grieves Rook's disappearance into The Fade and the rest of the team helps piece him back together Not Without You, Rook (AO3) (Tumblr) - Rook returns from being trapped in the Fade and is faced with the harsh truth that she is truly loved by her team

WIPS

Love & Deepspace

The LIs get high and make you a snack then try to feel you up

Sylus gets a little jealous after you turn him down for a date, only to show up with Xavier to the same event

Zayne x OC long fic taking place after the events of Death & Rebirth

Caleb becomes obsessed with a Fleet officer who resembles MC

Veilguard

Modern Uni AU - Professor Emmrich Volkarin meets a young new Professor, Remy Ingellvar. She's a disgraced Watcher coming back home for a second chance - check out the #remy ingellvar tag for a few snippets from this long form fic

[tacoteddy22]

So, I've been having these thoughts about Nevarran, Rook, and Emmrich ways of showing affection.

I have this headcanon that, culturally, Nevarrans' way to show affection is mostly through words of encouragement and gift giving, especially gold jewellery. Physical contact is for more intimate relationships.

However, during her time outside the Necropolis and Nevarra, Ophelia (my Rook) learns that in other parts of Thedas, people can be more touchy as a way to show their affection. It starts with a hug from Varric. She's crying one night, missing home and wondering how she got to that point, and while she tries to hide it from her companions, Varric catches her and says: "Oh, kid..." Without thinking, he just embraces her, and her sobbing just stops. She's too damn surprised. But she likes it and lets herself cling to the dwarf, find relief in the contact. After that, she finds that she actually loves physical contact, that it actually helps a lot, not only for herself, but the people she helps on the way. Ophelia becomes more open with touching others as her way to show she cares.

Fast forward to Veilguard times. She has finally formed a great team, and she cares for them a lot. So, it's not hard for her to use her new shows of affection to let them now that. One touch here, one touch there, everyone seems to like it too, to have such a loving leader. However, the person she would like to touch more is their new Fade Expert, Emmrich. And I say, would, because she doesn't dare to actually touch him. She remembers how introverted she was when it came to touching before she came out of the Necropolis, so she doesn't know how Emmrich is going to take it, doesn't know if she'll break some boundaries. Also, when it comes to others, her touches are friendly and encouraging, but with him... she knows it's going to mean more than that. So, she doesn't use that shows of affection with him at first.

Now, we have Emmrich. He loooooves physical contact, adores it, but it's true that he doesn't use it much. He lives in the Necropolis and actually never leaves Nevarra, so, even when he knows is very common in other parts of Thedas, he doesn't have much opportunity to use that as a show of affection (unless he has a paramour in that moment, and Maker knows it has been some time). It comes as a surprise when he sees Ophelia, a Nevarran and former Necropolis inhabitant, be so openly touchy with everyone. It is refreshing and enforces his idea of her as an adventurer and avid traveller with an open mind. It saddens him, though, when the same treatment doesn't apply to him. He won't admit it, but he wants to be touched by her just as she does to the others (at first, because as his feelings for her evolve, he wants to be touched in other ways too). He let's it pass, maybe she doesn't feel so close to him after all (even with all that flirting she does with him).

However, something changes one night, the drop that spills the glass. They were all having dinner, which later evolved to a game of cards with a few drinks. The cards were then exchanged with telling each other anecdotes, jokes, and some challenges, too. No one remembers how they ended like that, but suddenly, Davrin doesn't have a shirt on, and it's having a push-up contest with Taash.

Emmrich observes the young elf, his muscled built, how Bellara bites her bottom lip at the sight and releases it before anyone can see. It's evident the Warden is handsome and strong and calls the attention of almost everyone. He looks at himself, the built of a scholar, way older and thin, even scranky. He watches how Ophelia laughs at her friends display, but he isn't sure if her cheeks are flushed because of the antivan wine or the sight of Davrin, but it makes him doubt. He has never been this self-aware, never seen himself as less than others, and he took care of himself and his body so much. But when Davrin stands and shows his muscles, then extends his arm for Ophelia to feel the bicep with her own hand, and she does with a cocky smile... he has never felt as bad before. He excuses himself and goes back to the laboratory, to everyone's surprise, mostly, Ophelia. He doesn’t want anyone to see him this way, envious and bitter.

Sadly for him, she follows, clearly concerned for his sudden departure. Maybe something offended him. Maybe he wasn't comfortable with the whole thing, and she wanted to make sure he knew his boundaries were valid. But she doesn’t understand anything, asking the wrong questions, and yet, receiving the proper answers, because Emmrich doesn’t understand either.

"I was a fool to believe I had any chance, more so when there are more fitting candidates on the group," he laments, impossible for him to keep it any longer.

"What do you mean?" she doesn't get it, tilting her head to a side.

"I'm happy for you both,"

"What are you talking about??"

"You and Davrin, of course"

"........eh?"

"You both joke, and you touch him so freely. There's no doubt you two are a couple,"

"What? No!! We're friends, I touch all my friends,"

"Then... we're not even friends??" He's even more alarmed than before, his eyes wide as he stares at her.

"Of course we are!!" she hesitates because she wants something more than friends with him.

"Why don't you touch me then?"

"Wait... are you bothered that I don't touch you?"

"You do it with everyone, but me!! You dislike me?"

Ophelia observes him, and suddenly, laughs.

"Oh, Emmrich... I think we are both fools,"

She explains her reticences about physical contact when it comes to him and admits she has been trying to control herself to not do it with him, but that she wanted to. A lot of feelings come to light that moment, many admissions. From then on, the person she touches more is him, at any opportunity she has. And as their relationship evolves, their touching does too.

One day in bed, their limbs tangled between them and the sheets, they both laugh and joke about that night.

"What? Do you think I've touched you enough tonight?"

"Darling, it's never enough,"

[tacoteddy22]

The beautiful Allette 😍

@sofiemystique commissioned me to draw Emmrich and her beautiful Rook, Allette 🥰

Thank you, as always, for letting me draw your baby 💜

[tacoteddy22]

"Well struck dearest!" Something something mages eyes glow in moments of high emotions. These two are gross on the battlefield.

[tacoteddy22]

Til Death Do Us Part - Chapter 1

Synopsis: Emmrich Volkarin and Yaryna Ingellvar’s wedding day had finally arrived and the betrothal promises made on the day of their births would be complete. Too bad neither of them wanted this.

Read it in full HERE on AO3

Yaryna Ingellvar Volkarin

See the preview under the cut!

It was the wedding event of the year. Her soft, almost white-blonde hair had been curled and pinned so the veil that had been chosen for her fell in the exact way her mother had envisioned.

Her dress hugged her waist and flared perfectly against her hips with demure little buttons down the back. The white satin fabric never touched the ground, save for the seven foot long cathedral train, her mother’s choice of course and the jeweled shoes peeked out from beneath her dress. The neckline plunged enough to be tantalizing, but not enough to be salacious. Her collarbone and shoulders had been dusted with a light shimmer and her lips had been painted pink. The shoes she wore pinched her feet and the delicate necklace around her neck felt more like a collar than an accessory. She stared at the person in the mirror and had no idea who was looking back at her.

Maybe she could run. Maybe she could grab Kat and Mira and and the three of them could run away to Orlais together. They could drink wine and meet lovers who would show them the life they had never been allowed to even dream of.

“Yaryna, sweetheart are you in here?” The voice of her father, Rexford Ingellvar, called out and the door to her dressing room opened. She quickly wiped the lost look from her face and gave her father a beaming and completely fake smile.

“Yes, Papa. I’m here.” She was there physically, but mentally she was anywhere else. On a beach in Rivain or a cafe in Treviso, anywhere but the Grand Necropolis in Nevarra about to marry a man twenty two years older than she.

[tacoteddy22]

EmmRook thinking they are being slick and hiding their relationship well. They are not slick at all

Except Lucanis walked in on them in the middle of the damn dining room with Rook bent over, her legs spread apart and Emmrich’s hand is definitely down her pants. They stood quickly trying to hide the fact they were definitely about to fuck.

“Wow, yes I do see what you’re saying about the wood grain. How fascinating, Emmrich.”

“Precisely darli- uh, Rook. The patterns often mean something. It’s like reading tea leaves or tarot cards. Oh, hello Lucanis. We, uh, didn’t hear you come in.”

Spite chimes in and it’s Emmrich’s turn to hold back knowledge that was forced upon him.

“LUCANIS. That’s what you. Want to do to Neve.”

“Mierda.” Lucanis is done with everyone’s shit. At this point he’d rather be hanging out with Illario.

Everyone just stares awkwardly for a moment before they all turn and exit through different doors.

***********

Oh, and we can’t forget about the time Bellara saw them making out at the top of the floating part of the Lighthouse you can only get to through the portal. Rook and Emmrich didn’t realize the noises they were making travelled so well in the Fade. It did give Bellara ideas for her next story, however.

***********

Another night, Taash and Rook locked eyes at the top of the stairs as they were each exiting their rooms to sneak into the bed of Harding and Emmrich, respectively. They gave each other a quick nod, a silent agreement to never speak of this again. Taash, of course, told Harding and we all know how Harding felt about EmmRook.

************

Neve caught them in precarious situations several times. She merely smiled and closed the door or made sure the others didn’t interrupt. Neve ships EmmRook so hard.

[tacoteddy22]

Mmmm I’m thinking dirty SnowCrow thoughts for Val and Sylus. I have some smutty scenes written with the three of them that are not Love Drug canon, but could definitely be some kind of AU/AD.

Here’s Love Drug on AO3

[tacoteddy22]

Obsessed with SnowCrow

Shielding him from his God’s harsh gaze

[tacoteddy22]

NON MC FICS!!!

LOVE AND DEEPSPACE NON-MC FIC RECOMMENDATIONS

I've been complaining about how much I'm crying over non-mc fics nowadays and a lovely commenter suggested I share some. I probably missed some other amazing works so please feel free to leave more in the comments. To all the amazing creators I have mentioned here thank you for putting your hard work out there for people like me to enjoy. Here are my recommendations ❤️🩷

The Cure to His Curse by @makingfanfictionstosleep

The Cure to His Nightmares by @makingfanfictionstosleep

The Cure to His Burdens by @makingfanfictionstosleep This series is so good that I've been staying awake, not sleeping, because of these 🤣🩷. Absolutely love them and can't wait to read more!

You never gave a warning sign (I gave so many signs) by @orphicmeliora There is just something about reading Zayne realize he fucked up and start working for it. It just hurts SO GOOD. Brilliant fic. Brilliant author.

Letters Unsent by @orphicmeliora ABSOLUTE CINEMA. I am not joking when I say I was sobbing in my bed after reading this.

Ever, Ever After by @kannady It's crazy how much I can feel the non-mc's pain in this one. I am rooting for them so much 🥹🩷

Gravity Hurts (you made it so sweet) by @kitimeq Caleb acting like a loser and being hit by consequences hard I was HOLDING MY BREATH reading this. Love it 😭

He Leaves You Out Like a Penny in the Rain by @icarusignite Again, Zayne. Again, brilliant work 🗣🩷

Another Zayne piece you can find here by @cno-inbminor I can read hundreds more of these and I will want more.

[tacoteddy22]

Love Drug - Chapter 16 - So Happy Together (AO3)

Read from the beginning

Chapter 16 - So Happy Together Pairing: Sylus x fem!OC Words: 7403 Sylus and Val end up being late for dinner to meet an associate of his and explore the secrets the restaurant has hidden below. The mention of another woman he had brought previously to a meeting has Val feeling a bit jealous and Sylus tells her of their past. They cement their feelings for each other and take their relationship to the next level. CW: SMUT

Sylus had been distracted. He could feel Val’s lips on his skin and her fingers digging into his waist. The memory of her body against his on the roof and the lack of her skin against his caused his temper to be short and he lashed out at his men until they had all found excuses to leave.

“Hey, boss. It’s almost eight in the morning. You should probably get some sleep before tonight, yeah.” Luke gently reminded Sylus he’d been working for more than ten hours straight. They were all tired and Sylus was technically still recovering from his wounds.

Sylus let out a snarl in frustration and ran a hand through his hair as the time finally registered in Sylus’s head. He checked his watch to be sure and shook his head in disbelief.

“No, you’re right. We all should get some sleep. It's been a long couple of weeks.”

The twins nodded and quickly tidied up the office and left Sylus on his own. He collapsed on the soft and slid down the back cushions until he was slouching low on the seat. He knew he’d been less than reasonable with his men, but that wasn’t the first time and it likely wasn't going to be the last. Making a mental note to include a bonus in their next paychecks he stood and strode to his bedroom.

He stopped in his tracks as he walked in and a caught a faint whiff of Val. Her presence lingered beyond her scent, and he saw the blanket she had used while she slept on the couch. The bloodied shirt had been left behind in his laundry bin and he let out a quiet groan as he pictured her peeling it off and slipping into one of his T-shirts. He undressed pulling on a loose pair of grey sweatpants and crawled into the bed held that held the memory of her curled into him as they slept. Her scent was stronger in his bed, and he inhaled the lingering sweetness of her skin. His heavy eyelids closed, and he let himself relax. Sleep found him quickly and he slept soundly pretending Val was there, but just out of reach.

“Shit!”

Val was running late. She'd agreed to take one last patient which, of course, caused her to get home an hour later than planned and now Sylus was going to be here in..

Fuck, only eight minutes.

Kitten: Hey babe! I’m a few minutes behind. Just come up to the apartment while I finish getting ready. My door code is 1202 ♥️

Dragon Boyfriend: You’re finally inviting me inside, kitten. It’s about time.

Val rolled her eyes at his message. It was about time, and she was out of it. She pulled a pair of black strappy heels from her closet and placed them by the bed then finished pinning part of her hair back from her face. Taking a step back, she looked at herself and smoothed out her hair on the sides then gave a satisfied nod to herself.

An alert on her phone went off and she looked at the notification from her alarm system. Someone had entered the front door.

“I’m back here, Sy!”

She sat on the edge of her bed, crossing one leg over the other as she put on one of her shoes. The fabric of the olive green, satin wrap dress she was wearing slid to either side of her as she lifted her leg and she saw the tall frame of Sylus fill the doorway to her bedroom.

“Kitten…” His voice was low, and alarm bells started going off in her head as she finished buckling her other shoe. She looked over at Sylus, who was staring at her with an intense gaze. His chest was rising and falling heavily underneath his black button up shirt, and Val became concerned. She stood and walked over to him resting her hands softly on his waist.

“Are you ok, Sy?” His hands gripped her hips firmly and pulled her flush against him as he moved them further into the room.

“No, I’m not ok. I followed the sweet doctor’s orders and got plenty of rest.” He leaned down and spoke softly in her ear. “I was a good boy and waited like you told me to.” His lips caressed the sensitive skin below her ear, and she twitched as his kiss sent a shiver down her spine. “But now, it’s my turn to get what I want.” Val let out a gasp as his teeth bit into her neck softly, she gripped him tighter and pressed her hips into him feeling his hardening cock against her belly.

“You were a very good boy, Sylus. You did so well getting some rest for me. Tell me what you want?”

He kissed and nipped back up her neck until his lips found hers, she slid her tongue in his mouth and savored the faint taste of whiskey on his mouth. Val felt the tie at her waist tug, a silent question of consent. Whatever it was, she wouldn’t be able to say no anyways. But Val wanted to hear him say it.

“Tell me what you want, baby.”

His hands traveled down her sides and barely grazed the side of each breast. His touch was rough, wild. It wasn’t the soft caresses she was used to. The tension in his body was at an all-time high and something in him was about to snap. Sylus gripped her hips and slid to his knees before her, resting his forehead on her stomach. She gripped his chin and saw the pained looked of longing in his eyes and knew she was in trouble.

“I want to touch you. I want to taste you, kitten. Please say you’ll let me because I can’t hold on much longer.”

Ohh.

She could hardly believe the sight before her. Sylus Qin, the leader of Onychinus, the most wanted criminal in the galaxy, on his knees begging. His hands tugged at her clothes, and he rubbed his cheek against the soft satin of her dress. His eyes pleaded with her, wanting her permission to worship her.

This power she held over him at this moment was exhilarating. She could toy with him a bit longer, but she had a feeling every moment she dragged this on was an opportunity for him to tease her right back. She decided she could take a little bit of torture from him.

She brought his face back to hers and looked at him with a wicked smile.

“Do you need to touch me, to taste me?” Her fingers raked through his hair roughly and he let out a growl.

“Yes. I need you. Baby… please.”

Val had been patient too. She’d boasted about how patient she was and there was the very real possibility that she would have been the one to be on her knees begging to touch him by the end of the night. Sylus had said it was about damn time she’d invited him up, she thought it was about damn time for something else.

She ran her hand down his face and heat coursed through her settling between her legs as his eyes rolled slightly at her touch. Her thumb grazed across his lips and his breathing picked up.

“Yes.”

A slow smile spread across his perfect face and Val’s dress fell half open as he untied the bow at her hip. He found the inner tie and pulled the knot loose then slowly pulled Val’s dress wide open and off her shoulders, letting it pool to the ground. Goosebumps pebbled her skin as the cooler air around her kissed her bare flesh.

The sensation of his velvet lips pressed softly to her belly while callused fingers trailed softly up the back of her thighs had Val’s blood pumping hot. She grabbed the back of his head and threaded her fingers through his soft, silver locks, letting out a soft moan. He kissed her body slowly, reverently taking his time to savor every inch of her skin on his mouth. She was his salvation, the one who brought light and color back into his life. Such beauty should be treasured slowly.

“Kitten, you’re so soft. Softer than I imagined. And so beautiful.”

His mouth trailed up her body, between her breasts and he flicked his eyes to hers, momentarily checking in. The noises she was making and the look of bliss on her face encouraged him on, and he stood slowly, dragging his hands up her sides. He palmed her breasts, squeezing them firmly and pulled the fabric down to bare the rosy tips.

His tongue swirled around her nipple, and she let out a sharp gasp. Val grabbed at his waist to steady herself as she swayed slightly in her heels. He hummed his approval as he took her nipple into his mouth and sucked on it as he tugged roughly at the other.

“Fuck, Sy…” Her hand wandered to the front of his pants and grasped his cock through his pants and Val’s breath caught in her throat. Fuck, he was big.

“Yes, baby, take what you want.” Sylus breathed out permission and Val’s mouth hung open as she continued squeezing down his length. She quickly unbuckled his belt and unhooked the clasp on his pants, plunging her hand inside to find the prize she sought.

Val stroked his cock as he continued to lick and suck at each of her breasts. Her thumb swiped over the end of his cock and her mouth watered as she spread the warm bead of precum across the tip. Hot, hard, so thick and weeping just for her.

The noises that fell from his lips sounded like the sweetest sin and Val’s pussy clenched in anticipation. He wrapped his arms around her waist and moved them towards the bed until the back of her knees hit the mattress. Reluctantly, she removed her hand from his pants as he guided her to lie flat on her back and laid down beside her.

“Look at you. So perfect, kitten.”

His eyes were staring intently at her body studying it. Feather soft touches brushed against the faint scars on her belly and chest, subtle reminders of seven years ago. He leaned over and kissed each scar until he reached her lips and gave her a soft kiss. Practically naked, she felt so vulnerable yet so safe. Val had been with other men before but none of them had taken their time to revere and adore her the way Sylus had.

He towered over her as his mouth trailed hot kisses down to her hip, biting gently at the thin fabric of her panties. Sylus gripped her thighs and spread her legs slightly and buried his nose between her thighs. Val’s back arched and she let a moan out as his warm breath heated up her core.

“Oh fuck.”

“Not yet, baby. I haven’t had my fill of you.”

Sylus hooked his fingers on the side of her panties and pulled them off, lifting her legs and resting her heeled feet on his shoulder. He tucked her panties into the pocket of his pants with a wicked grin and Val smiled right back.

Fuck, she was so hot for him. One touch and she was sure to combust on the spot. She could feel the heat between her thighs and the ache in her pussy as her body begged for his cock.

Sylus turned his head and kissed her ankles, rubbing his hand up her calves and back down. She bit her lip as he spread her legs wide and placed them on either side of his hips as he leaned forward placing his weight on her. Hard as steel and desperate for some kind of friction, he rubbed his cock against her bared center and shuddered as he felt her heat against him.

“Oh god, Sylus.” Val bucked her hips up with a moan. She loved the feeling of him on top her and the way he caged her in with his arms. She was needy for his skin against hers and she reached between them free his cock from the tight confines of his pants, but he caught her wrist before she got too far.

“Not yet, kitten. Suddenly you’re very impatient.” He moved her arm up above her head, and she brought her other arm up and crossed her wrists. Her legs wrapped around his waist as he traced his thumb over her covered nipple. A sly smile crossed his face and black-red mist flowed from his fingers to Val’s bra and suddenly it was gone, turned into dust, leaving her completely naked.

“Sylus!! That was a really good bra!”

He laughed as captured her nipple in his mouth, flicking his tongue on the dusky peak.

“I’ll buy you a new one, sweetie.”

Val didn’t have time to respond before his hand snaked between them and a long finger brushed over her clit slowly. Her back arched and a loud moan filled the room. Sylus felt his cock twitch at the sounds she was making, and he slipped a finger inside her pussy to see what other noises he could pull from her.

Her slick coated his finger, and he slipped another inside her curling them both upwards and stroking her inner walls. Val’s back arched off the bed and cried out as Sylus found the sensitive spot he was looking for. Sylus removed his hand, pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and cleaned his fingers off. As tempting as it was to lick them clean, he wanted his first taste of Val to happen with his tongue buried in her cunt. He smirked as Val whimpered and writhed below him.

“Look at you all needy for my touch. I thought you were a patient woman, Valerie.” He said her name like a prayer, and she shook her head.

“Not right now.” She palmed her tits and tugged at her nipples, pulling her knees up and letting them drop open, Val knew what he was going to do. He hadn’t removed a stitch of clothing while she was panting, desperate, naked mess for him. Sylus had said he wanted his fill of her and Val needed that wicked tongue on her, in her.

Val licked her lips as Sylus lowered himself down and settled himself between her thighs. His hand spread her wide and delicately stroked down her folds, circling around her entrance.

“So pretty, kitten. I’d bet you taste as divine as I imagined.” He lowered his head and licked a long slow stroke up to her clit and swirled his tongue around it slowly.

“Fuuuuuuuucck.” Val groaned out the expletive and wiggled her hips away on instinct. Sylus wrapped his arms around the back of her thighs and held her in place. He lapped at her folds languidly, savoring every morsel of flavor. Val’s head was thrown back and she breathed out a moan with every stroke of his tongue. Heat was building low in her belly and only built faster as Sylus sucked her clit into his mouth. She cried out loudly and speared her fingers into his hair and held his head in place. A heel clad foot rested on Sylus’s back and the motion spurred him on to change the pace. He yanked on her legs, pulling her closer and speared his tongue right into her hot cunt. Val choked out a breath at the intrusion and Sylus had to concentrate on keeping her in place as she squirmed. He feasted on her, devoured her completely. This was a man starved, and Val was the only meal that could sate him.

He growled his own pleasure as his tongue continued their ministrations and pressed his hips into her mattress seeking relief for his aching cock. Her breathing had gotten higher, and she was unable to stay still. Sylus figured she was close. He slipped two fingers into her cunt and quickly found the spot that made Val scream before.

The heat that had been building turned into a raging inferno and Val was so close to the edge. The strokes of his fingers and the flick of his tongue across her clit brought her higher and higher. Sylus sucked her into his mouth once more and she shattered on his tongue. Her pussy clenched around his fingers and she wailed out in pure ecstasy as she came. Sylus released her legs, and they clenched around his head. He could barely breathe but he didn’t care, he’d die a happy man drunk on her desire for him.

His tongue and fingers slowed as she came down from her orgasm and her legs released his head. Val looked down at him with a hazy look and whined as she saw him panting heavily with her slick glistening his chin. He looked absolutely feral. His eyes locked onto hers and he captured her clit into his mouth once more. She rolled her eyes to the back of her head and Sylus stopped.

“Eyes on me, baby.” He purred out the words and smiled as her green eyes dragged down to meet his.

“Good girl.”

Val’s walls clenched at the praise as the lazy strokes of his tongue returned and his stilled fingers once more caressed her inner walls. It took every ounce of control Val had to keep her eyes on Sylus as he licked and kissed her pussy. Her climax built once more, and he buried his nose into her to apply more pressure and taste every drop she had to offer as she came.

Val could only see his eyes from between her legs and the look of pure bliss gazing back at her threw her into oblivion and she shuddered her release once more with a loud cry. He licked her softly until she came down from another orgasm and sat up wiping his chin with the back of his hand. This time he did lick his hand and fingers clean.

“Sylus.” She was panting and still hadn’t taken her eyes off him. “That was…my god...”

He grabbed a towel from the attached bathroom and wiped his hands and face, before towering over her naked body and kissing her deeply.

“No kitten, that was…your dragon”

An hour later, Val and Sylus walked hand in hand into a little Italian restaurant. It was quiet with only a few customers still eating at this later hour. The decor hadn’t been updated in decades, but it had a charming air about it. An older woman in a flowered apron and sauce-stained shirt walked out to the dining area from the kitchen with a beaming smile on her face. She held her arms out towards them and bustled over quickly.

“Sylus. Il mio dolce bambino!” The woman brought her hands up to Sylus’s cheeks and Val watched in awe as the woman kissed each side of his face with an intriguing familiarity.

Val knew that Sylus spoke countless languages but had never been around him when he actually spoke another language. Fluent Italian flowed from his lips and Val melted as she watched Sylus and this woman converse. She spoke to him with a tone like a mother or grandmother and the mask Sylus normally wore during business meetings was nowhere to be seen. The woman’s eyes flicked to Valerie, and she gestured towards Val questioningly. Val bit back a smile as Sylus told her who she was, and Val wondered how he had described her.

“Valerie, this is Isabella Farina. She’s the owner of this restaurant and a dear friend. Isabella, this is my girlfriend, Valerie Tatsu.”

“Oh, so you do have friends outside of business.” Val looked at Isabella with a smile and held her hand out to shake it, but Isabella flashed that wide smile at Val and shook her finger towards him as she pulled Val into a hug.

“I like this one Sylus, she will keep you on your toes. The other one was not so nice to you.”

Sylus cleared his throat and looked away sheepishly. Val’s eyebrows shot up and jealousy flashed bright in her eyes. The mention of ‘the other one’ had Val feeling suddenly possessive of him.

“Is my usual table open, Bella?” Sylus inquired with a slight clip to his tone. The mischievous look in Isabella’s eye told Val she had brought up Sylus’s other guest on purpose.

“Yes, Sylus.” Isabella gestured to a corner booth. “And I’ll start the pasta for you now.” She kissed his cheeks again and gave Val a warm smile before going back to the kitchen. Sylus took Val’s hand and led her to the booth, and they scooted into the middle looking out at the rest of the restaurant. A young server came out and brought them water and large glasses of cabernet.

“Soooo, you bring all your girlfriend’s here?” Val asked trying to hide her simmering jealousy.

“She wasn’t my girlfriend,” he deadpanned, and Val looked at him with a skeptical face.

“But you did bring her here?”

“Is that jealousy I sense, kitten?” Sylus took the sugar packet she had been toying with out of her hands and interlaced his fingers with hers. She let out a sigh and looked up at Sylus.

“I may have a tendency to get a jealous from time to time. I want what’s mine to stay mine. Was this the one that chose someone else or is there another one Isabella was referring to?” Val rolled her eyes at Sylus, and he laughed softly.

“No, there wasn’t anyone else.” He looked sad, like there was still a part of him mourning the loss of her. Val’s stomach clenched and she took a large gulp of the wine. Dragging out this long, slow line of questioning was not working for her.

“Are you going to tell me anything about her or should I keep interrogating you for shreds of information?”

Bold. Too bold. Full of sass and laced with bitterness. It wasn’t a good look on her, but Val couldn’t help it. She lashed out at him to protect herself. If part of him still wanted her, then Val wanted to know now before she got too close to him.

He sat in silence for a few moments rubbing the back of her hand. Val couldn’t read his face. It was a twisted mix of regret and sadness with a touch of hope. Her heart beat out of her chest as she waited for him to speak.

“Her name is MC. It’s actually McKenzie, but everyone calls her MC. We have a long and complicated history, much of which she does not remember.” That part still pained him. The scar on his chest burned with the memory of his sorceress, but he knew deep down that the sorceress he loved, his enemy in the gladiator arena, and the girl he saved from Ever may have looked the same and housed half his soul, but they weren’t the same.

“We were fated to destroy each other.” Sylus told Val about the arena in Tartaurus and how they were pitted against each other, yet eventually deciding to escape together. He detailed their ill-fated escape and his time in the Tartaurus space-time prison, his escape, the birthday party he crashed and the wealth he obtained.

Val sat and listened as he told her about finding MC in the Gaia Research Center and how he came there to kill her before she had the chance to destroy him, but found her brilliant wings had been clipped so instead he saved her and waited. He sprinkled clues throughout her life to lead him to her and one day it worked. She had used herself as bait to find him. Her best friend, and what Sylus thought was her adopted brother, Caleb, had died when their childhood home exploded. She was sad and blamed Sylus for the death of Caleb and their grandmother. It was Ever, of course, not Onychinus. Sylus was desperate and angry that she didn’t know him, didn’t know what he had done for her or the lives they lived together. So, he kept her for three days before sending her back. In his desperation, he had scared her, repulsed her, and the resonance he needed from her never happened. She didn’t trust him and pushed him away, but he had told her enough to keep her coming back for more. They were friends despite her keeping him at arm’s length. He helped her with Hunter missions. She came along to some of his deals. He loved her, she never got over Caleb.

Isabella brought out a gorgeous bowl of the most delicious spaghetti bolognese with fresh baked bread. She refilled their wine and fussed over Sylus before leaving them to enjoy their late-night dinner.

Sylus continued as they ate and told her how Caleb came back. The Colonel. MC had infiltrated the Farspace Fleet and discovered her long lost ‘brother’ was alive. She spent her free time in Skyhaven, they grew apart as she fell in love with Caleb. Sylus watched the one he saved and waited for, protected more than she ever knew, loved and cherished from a distance fall for another man.

Sylus didn’t blame her. The memories that were returned to her about their time in Tartaurus felt like she was watching a play about someone else’s life. He didn’t make it easy on her either, especially not after their reunion, so she never really trusted him completely. They rarely said what was on their hearts, but rather played games around the truth.

But she opened her heart to Caleb even when he twisted the truth or overstepped his bounds. Caleb asked her to do the one thing that Sylus never would. Choose.

MC came to the Onychinus base one last time. She had tears in her eyes; she was sad yet resolute. She hugged the twins and gave Mephisto a kiss on his head. She told Sylus they were done. Whatever bond they had formed was broken. She didn’t know about their souls though and Sylus didn’t know that her choice and words would separate them so wholly.

It felt like they had been shot in the chest. Their evols surged with a flash. Her golden light danced with the black-red energy as their souls split and returned to their original half. The light that had filled the 10.5 grams of her soul had vanished. It was a light he carried with him for centuries, it had always led him to her. He didn’t know who he was without it. The day she married the Colonel, Sylus drowned in his grief and raged against his enemies. Death wasn’t good enough. He desired suffering and suffer they did. Sylus invaded minds leaving those who crossed him as nothing more than husks. Like a cat toying with a mouse, Sylus played with his prey. He made them think they had a chance and reveled in their realizations that any hope was utterly futile. Nothing but blood and cruelty brought him joy.

He would have lived like that for the rest of his days if it hadn’t been for a bold little doctor who commanded him to sit and let her heal his arm, who made a deal for quid pro quo. Something for something.

“And we certainly have something now, but not quite as something as with her.”

Her eyes stared at the empty space where her plate used to be. The table had been cleared long ago. Isabella had left a key for Sylus to lock up when they were done, and another key for the elevator. They were alone. Sylus looked at her hesitantly and waited for her to continue.

“Do you still love her?” Val looked up at Sylus and her green eyes were expectantly waiting for bad news.

“No. I let her go.” Sylus cupped Val’s face with one hand, and she furrowed her brow.

“But you were so angry.” She closed her eyes and nuzzled into his palm.

“Not angry, kitten. Lonely.”

Val looked at him with surprise and he brought his mother hand to her face. He kissed her softly and rested his forehead to hers.

“I’m not lonely anymore.”

He could feel her smile spread across her face as her cheeks shifted under his palms.

“Good, I’ll make sure to keep it that way. I do have one question though.” Curiosity was written on her face, and she tilted her head to the side looking off to the distance. Sylus dropped that deadly smirk on her.

“Just one, kitten?”

“No. I have a ton of questions, but I want to sleep on them first. What I want to know now is how did she get half your soul?”

He took a deep breath and held it for a moment. Bold. His beautiful, brave doctor cut right to the heart of him.

“We need a lot more time than we have at the present moment for that lore. I still have to show you the best part.” He kissed her again as confusion crossed her face. Val melted right into him and her tongue found its way across his. He could taste the cherry wine on her lips, and it only made him want to taste the slick flesh between her legs again. His warm hand pulled Val’s dress up her legs and dragged his hand up her thigh.

“Isn’t this supposed to be a business meeting?”

Sylus pulled away from her lips and pulled her dress back down her legs.

“You’re right, baby. Let’s go.”

He slid out of the booth and held his hand out to Val to help her ease out of the booth. She laced her fingers with his and rested her head on his bicep.

“Show me what you've got up your sleeve, Boss Man.”

He led her through the dining room and into the kitchen, past the office and into a supply closet. A button hidden within the electrical panel activated a shifting wall behind them. Val looked at Sylus with wide eyes and he laughed as he led her through the hidden space of the restaurant to a set of elevator doors.

“Ooohhh! This is a secret lair!” She bounced on her feet as Sylus called for the elevator. Her eyes sparkled with excitement and Sylus just watched her genuine thrill at being brought into his world.

She grabbed his hand and dragged him into the elevator as soon as the doors opened. Sylus put the key in and twisted it to unlock the access to the lower level. The elevator lurched and started its slow descent.

“Why did Isabella give you the keys? She must really trust you.” A secret basement underneath a dingy restaurant and a familiar connection with a mob boss made Val wonder what else Isabella had kept secret.

“I bought the restaurant from her this morning.” Oh, of course he just bought it. They had talked about money before and he’d made it clear he was a very, very rich man. Incalculably rich. Val stopped asking about money after that.

“Why did you buy it? Did she want to sell it Sylus?” She cast him a dubious look and he let out a full belly laugh and wrapped her up in his arms with a kiss to the top of her head.

“Yes, sweetie. She wanted to sell it, and I wanted to buy it for many reasons. Isabella’s husband died last year, and her children aren’t able to help as much anymore. It just became too much for her. I wanted to help ease her burden, and because of this…”

The elevator doors opened once again, and Val gasped in surprise. An empty, wide-open space stared back at them. Sylus stepped out and walked over to a light switch and flipped it up, lighting up the space. Val looked around and started walking along the perimeter. Sylus watched her inspect the empty room and pride bloomed in his chest. He already wanted her by his side in every part of his life, and the interest she took in everything he had filled his heart with hope that they could rule side by side.

“What are you going to use this space for?” Her voice echoed throughout the room and Sylus walked over to her and took her hand in his.

“Most likely as a storage depot.”

Val nodded and hummed her approval. “Clever. Disguise incoming deliveries as goods for the restaurant and outgoing shipments as to-go orders.”

“Something like that.”

“So, you approve?”

Val whipped her head over at him with raised brows. “You already bought it, Sy. What do you need my approval for?” Surprise laced her question, like she’d never considered that her opinion about his business dealings should matter.

“I don’t need it necessarily, but I want it.”

She looked at him earnestly and he would have given anything to be able to hear her thoughts at this moment. Val’s mouth curved up on one side and a dimple appeared, she nodded. “Yes, Sylus. I approve.”

“Good. I’ll need your input on the interior remodel of the restaurant.” He took her hand again and led her back to the elevator as she stared at him wide-eyed.

“Me? Really?” Her surprise delighted him, and he found her humility endearing.

“Yes, you. You boast about your sense of style so let’s see how well it translates to interior design.” He pressed her against the back wall of the elevator as the doors closed on them and the elevator lurched upwards.

“Alright. Challenge accepted.”

Sylus claimed her mouth with ferocity. She pulled him flush against her by his waistband and he let out a needy moan. He hiked her legs up and she wrapped them around his waist, her hot center pressing against the front of his pants.

“Come home with me, kitten. I want you in my bed tonight.”

“You’re finally inviting me to bed, my dragon. It’s about time.”

Hands and mouths roamed all over each other on the too short elevator ride back up to the restaurant. Val never let go of his hand as he locked up and only let go to get into his car.

The ride back to the Onychinus base was fueled with electricity. The charge between them was overloaded and desperate for release. His hand gripped her upper thigh and slowly worked its way inwards. Val spread her legs for him and pulling her panties to the side, he found her already swollen clit was wet with her slick.

“Oh, my sweet girl, so wet for me already.” He rubbed her clit and had to focus on the road and not the filthy sounds coming from her mouth.

“I need more, Sylus.” Her words were pleading and an echo of Sylus’s own thoughts. He pressed down further on the gas pedal and raced through the night back home.

They couldn’t keep their hands or mouths off each other. They stumbled through the halls of Onychinus leaving a trail of clothes behind. Their shoes were scattered in the hallway. His tie ended up on the floor of the kitchen and his shirt was discarded by the study. Her dress landed right outside his bedroom door.

Val ran her hands along his chest and stood on tip toes to kiss the scar on his chest. Her lips lingered there for a moment before she looked up and him with heat in her eyes. Sylus leaned down and took her mouth with his. Her body was hot against him and the electricity between them caused him to shutter. More. They needed more.

Val unbuckled his belt and unfastened his pants as her bra hit the floor. Sylus kicked his pants to the side and wrapped Val up in an embrace. He tangled his fingers in her hair and tipped her head back so he could bite and suck at her neck.

“Sylus, yes.” She whispered his name and whimpered sweet sounds in his ear. His cock strained painfully inside his boxer briefs, and he pressed himself against her belly. He back arched and her peaked nipples were just begging for attention. He lifted her and carried her to the bed, placing her down below the pillows and her Soft, golden-brown hair fanned out around her head like a halo.

His large hands dragged her panties down her legs, and he took off his boxers. He used his knees to spread her legs apart and settled his weight on top of her. Val could feel the tip of his cock pressed against her core and she raised her hips slightly to feel more of him.

“Valerie. Tell me you want me.” Her body was saying yes, but he needed to hear her say the words and see it in her eyes.

She rubbed her hands up and down his back and gazed lovingly into his eyes as sinful words spilled from her lips.

“Fuck me, Sylus.”

He thrust his tongue into her mouth in a searing kiss and pressed himself further into Val. The tip of his cock was so close to her cunt, and she shifted again trying to line him up properly.

Sylus sat back on his knees and licked his hand bringing it to Val’s pussy. Two fingers slipped easily inside and curled upwards to stroke the spot he knew would draw those delicious moans out of her. His thumb stroked her clit and her body writhed at his touch.

“So responsive, kitten. Let see what this does.”

He pumped his fingers in and out of her wet cunt and Val angled her hips to give herself more friction. Sylus stroked himself watching her, spreading the precum around his tip slowly.

“Sylus, please…”

Val was dripping and so ready for him. She was at his mercy, but he was not one to leave her wanting.

He pulled his fingers from her and used his spit and her juices to lube himself up. Lining him cock up with her entrance, he looked at her once more.

“Yes, baby.” She nodded quickly and kept her eyes locked onto his. He lifted her legs and draped them over his arms pushing himself into her pussy slowly. Her mouth went slack at the sting of her skin being stretched open. Sylus stilled his hips, letting her adjust to his girth. He pulled out slightly and pushed his cock in further. Val’s chest heaved and he watched for every reaction her body had. He thrust again slowly, smiling as her breath caught in her throat. She nodded and pushed her hips forward, pulling him deeper. The burn and stretch of his large cock inside her was a pain she never wanted to end. He pulled out and thrust back jn harder, burying himself to the hilt.

Her eyes rolled back in her head and he body arched off the bed.

“Fuck, Sylus, you’re so big.” She could barely breathe she was so full. She was wrapped so tight around him and could feel every thick inch of him.

“Are you ok, sweetie?”

“Yes, so good.”

That was all Sylus needed to hear. He pulled out and thrust back in and set a pace that had Val seeing stars. She moaned loudly as he fucked the air from her lungs. He pushed her into the mattress by the back of her thighs and watch his cock dip in and out of her cunt.

“Kitten, you’re so good, such a good girl when you take my cock like this.”

Val moaned at his praise and she clenched around him. She looked up at his face and her pussy pulsed again at the sight of him. His skin glistened with a thin layer of sweat from his exertions and his hair had fallen in front of his face. He had his eyes closed and the purest look of bliss on his face. This was all for Val, his pleasure and his desire belonged to her and her alone.

He slowly opened his eyes and grinned a feral smile at her. His hips slowed their pace while his fingers rubbed harder on her clit.

“I want you to come for me, kitten.”

Val couldn’t stop the orgasm that ripped through her entire body. She screamed his name into the night and scraped her nails along his back. The iron grip her pussy had on him sent heat licking down his spine and he spilled his own release into her. He groaned into her ear as he fucked his cum deep into her and she pulsed around his cock with little aftershocks.

He lay on top of her as they both caught their breath. She stroked the back of his head and rested her other hand on the damp skin of his back.

“Look at what you did to me, kitten.” He kissed her and slowly explored her mouth with his tongue before pulling out of her and rolling over next to her. She quickly cuddled up next to him and he wrapped his arms around her with their naked bodies intertwined.

“Did I hurt you?”

Val looked up at him and brushed her fingers along his cheek. “Only for a minute before I got used to that dick.”

They giggled at her crass words and Sylus reluctantly pulled away to get a towel for her to clean up. Val sat up on her elbows as she watched Sylus walk naked to his bathroom and admired his sculpted body. The broad muscles of his back down to the narrow dip of his waist and the delicious curves of his ass had Val biting her lip as he walked away. She blushed as he came walking back out of the bathroom with his cock swinging and he smirked as he saw her bring the sheet up to her face.

“Don’t be shy now, kitten.” He crawled towards her on the bed holding the towel and kissed her as he pulled the sheet away from her. She took the towel and cleaned herself up a bit as he slipped on a pair of loose sweatpants and tossed her a tshirt of his.

“I’ll be right back.”

Val got up and used the bathroom and put her panties and Sylus’s shirt on, just as he came back in with a small charcuterie tray and bottled water.

“Snacks!”

He sat on the leather sofa and Val crawled into his lap. Val popped of piece of cheese in her mouth and fed Sylus a grape. They snacked in content silence for a few minutes before Val spoke.

“Thank you for taking me to meet Isabella and see the restaurant tonight. I like learning more about your world.” She rested her head on his chest and he stroked her bare legs.

“I enjoy you being in my world. I can’t wait to show you more so that it becomes our world.”

Her smile quickly turned into a yawn, and she looked up at him happily.

“I’d really like that, Sy.” She paused for a moment. “Remember the other day when I said the beach was a sanctuary for me? Being with you gives me that same feeling of peace and comfort. And happiness. I’m very happy when I'm with you.”

“I'm very happy with you too.”

He felt loved. It was a new feeling for him, but he knew what it was. Maybe they weren’t ready to say the words yet, but he knew it was there in their hearts. They already showed it to each other with everything but the words. Every kiss, every touch, their contentment with the mundane, it was all a declaration of love.

Val’s breathing slowed and soft snores escaped from her lips as she fell asleep against him. He hooked his arms under her legs and carried her to bed and tucked her in. He slid in behind her and pulled her body against his. Val nestled into him and was soon in a deep sleep.

Just last night Sylus had to fall asleep pretending she was there, but tonight and every night after this is where he wanted her.

And that is exactly where she stayed.

[tacoteddy22]

I’m so unwell over this. It’s so beautiful, tragic, hopeful.

Just gorgeous.

You never gave a warning sign (I gave so many signs) | part 2

PAIRING: Zayne x Non-MC Reader

SYNOPSIS: An arranged marriage built on silence unravels into a love loud enough to echo—where a repressed heart finally claims what was always his.

WORD COUNT: 6.6k

NOTES: people. if you want to be tagged please please please just leave a comment under the masterlist post because it's really hard to keep track of who wants or does not want to be tagged. please it's a request.

part 1 | MASTERLIST | part 3

two years ago

It started, like most things in your marriage, with silence.

Zayne’s back is to you, chest rising and falling in steady rhythm. The navy-blue sheets have slipped low on his hips, leaving the smooth expanse of his back exposed in the soft, amber wash of early morning light.

He looks so peaceful like this. Sleeping. His features are unguarded, carved free of the cool, impassive mask he wears in waking hours. His lashes rest against his cheekbones. His lips—so rarely parted in anything but clipped conversation—are slightly parted now, soft and pink and so heartbreakingly human.

Your hand hovers halfway between you.

There’s an itch in your fingers you can’t scratch. A need you can’t name.

You want to touch him.

Brush the dark strands of hair away from his forehead. Trace the strong, elegant line of his brow, the bridge of his nose, the stubborn angle of his jaw. You want to learn his face like a map you’ve been handed in the dark.

And his lips.

You wonder if they’d yield beneath your thumb. If they’d part for you, just once. If the same mouth that barely speaks your name could be coaxed into something more.

But your hand doesn’t move. It stays frozen in the space between you. Caught on the edge of an invisible line he never drew aloud but made damn sure you understood.

You lie back down, folding your fingers against your own chest.

There’s a ring on your finger. A symbol of permanence, of intention.

You wonder what it means to him.

Because he sleeps in the same bed as you but never touches you. Wakes up before you do and leaves without a word. Comes home late, eats dinner at the hospital—if at all—and disappears into his study like the thought of sitting across from you might drown him.

You’ve asked yourself a thousand times why he married you.

You know the reasons the rest of the world believes. A good match. A stable alliance. Respectable. Practical.

But you still remember the way your heart had stuttered when he slipped that ring onto your finger. You’d told yourself it meant something. That surely no one would vow themselves to another without hope buried somewhere under all that ceremony.

You were wrong.

And is there anything more cruel than intentional neglect?

Because there are moments—glimpses—that keep you tethered. When he refills your tea without asking. When he checks if your car tires need air. When he walks you to the elevator and presses the button without looking at you.

Care without closeness. Duty without warmth.

It’s not enough.

But still—you stay.

You stay through the quiet dinners you eat alone. Through the long stretches of silence when the only sound in the house is the clock ticking into midnight. You stay because some traitorous part of you believes this is just the prologue. That the story will begin soon.

So instead of leaving, you learn to dream.

And in your dreams, Zayne is different.

In your dreams, he looks at you like you matter. Like you’re something he’s chosen, not inherited.

He speaks your name with weight—like it tastes like honey on his tongue, not obligation. There’s laughter. Real, full-bodied laughter that shakes his shoulders and lights up his eyes. There are inside jokes. Shared looks across rooms. His hand on the small of your back when someone looks at you too long. The brush of his fingers against yours when he passes you tea in the morning.

He listens in those dreams. Not like it’s a chore, but like your voice is a favorite song he’s trying to memorize.

And at night?

Dream Zayne touches you like he’s drowning and you’re the air.

He kisses you like he has something to prove—like he can’t believe you let him touch you, and he’s terrified it might be the last time. His hands are everywhere—possessive, reverent, hungry. He doesn’t just make love to you—he claims you.

He whispers your name like a prayer. Like it hurts to say it, but he can’t help himself.

In dreams, you are his home. His haven. His choice.

But with the inevitable sunrise, morning always comes.

And with it, the rustle of Zayne’s footsteps across hardwood. The quiet zip of his bag. The soft click of the door closing behind him.

When you open your eyes, the bed is cold.

The dent where he slept is already fading.

And so, you lie still, the echo of a kiss you never received still burning on your lips.

The boutique is elegant—marble floors, high ceilings, and racks of designer gowns arranged like works of art. You trail your fingers over silky fabric and shimmery beading, pretending not to notice the way Zayne hovers a few paces behind, hands shoved in his coat pockets like he has no idea what to do with them.

He’s clearly out of his element, but you catch him stealing glances when he thinks you’re not looking.

“Does it have to be long?” you ask, turning toward a rack of slinky, floor-length options.

He shrugs. “It’s formal. Wear what you like.”

You hum under your breath. That helps. Not.

Zayne doesn’t offer opinions, just follows you silently, occasionally brushing past you in narrow aisles. Every time he does, there’s a static hum in the air—an awareness of nearness that sits too close to your skin.

You pause by a velvet dress, running your hand over the soft material. When you glance at Zayne, you catch him watching your fingers, his gaze unreadable.

It’s nothing. It’s probably nothing.

You step away.

And then your eyes land on a display tucked slightly behind a pillar.

It’s not part of the formalwear section.

It’s... lingerie.

Your gaze sticks before you can pull it away. Among the sheer lace and silk, one piece stands out—midnight black, scandalous in its cut, with delicate embroidery tracing along the edges. The kind of nightgown that whispers promises just by existing.

You don’t mean to stare.

You definitely don’t mean to lean in a little.

But you do.

And that’s exactly when you feel him come up behind you.

His presence is quiet, but unmistakable—his breath warm against your temple, the subtle shift in the air as he steps close enough for your senses to latch onto him.

Zayne’s voice is quiet, rough-edged. “Do you... want to get that?”

You flinch, turning so quickly your bag nearly smacks him.

“What?” you choke, mortified. “No! I mean—what would I even need it for?”

Your voice is too high. Your face is on fire.

Zayne’s ears flush pink. He looks slightly stunned that he even asked. His jaw tenses like he’s mentally cursing himself.

“I didn’t mean—” he starts.

“You meant exactly what you said,” you mutter, trying to will the ground to swallow you whole.

“I just... saw you looking at it.”

“And?”

“And I thought maybe... you liked it.”

You do. You do like it. That’s the problem.

But there’s no way in hell you’re admitting that—not when your heart is thundering and your skin is betraying you with every shade of red imaginable.

And then—

As if summoned by the sheer mortifying timing—a saleswoman walks up, bright and chipper. “Oh, that piece is very popular with newlyweds! Especially for honeymoons or staycations,” she says, beaming at the both of you. “It’s from our Moonlight Temptation collection. Very sensual, very soft. Would you like to try it on, dear?”

You make a strangled sound in your throat.

Zayne doesn’t say a word. But his hand rubs the back of his neck, ears still visibly flushed.

You shake your head rapidly. “Nope. No, thank you. That’s—uh—not why we’re here.”

The saleswoman glances between you both, smile widening as if she sees something neither of you wants to admit. “Of course,” she says, brightly. “Let me know if you need anything. I’ll pull a few gowns I think will suit you.”

You don’t dare look at Zayne as she walks away.

He clears his throat. “Sorry. That was... awkward.”

You finally meet his gaze, still flustered, but curious despite yourself. “You really thought I’d buy that?”

He doesn’t tease. Instead, his voice dips—low, honest.

“I thought it would look good on you.”

Your breath catches.

It’s not just the words—it’s the way he says them. Not flippantly. Not as a joke. But like the truth he’s only just realized himself. Like he doesn’t quite know what to do with it either.

You say nothing, heart pounding in your ears, because what could you possibly say?

Instead, you turn back toward the rack of gowns, fingers fumbling with the fabric to hide the way they’re shaking.

Eventually, Zayne moves back to the front of the boutique, giving you space. You try on a few options, thankful for the privacy curtain and the moments to catch your breath.

But even as you pull a deep maroon dress over your hips and smooth the fabric down, your mind drifts—

To the warmth of his voice in your ear.

To the way he looked at you—not with clinical indifference, but something else.

Something dangerous.

Something tender.

And you can’t help but wonder...

If he really meant it.

If he wants more than a dress and a date for a night.

If maybe—just maybe—he’s finally beginning to see you.

You tried on four dresses after the maroon one.

The first was too frilly. The second, too stiff. The third had promise until you looked in the mirror and saw someone trying too hard.

But the fourth?

The fourth was different.

It slid over your skin like it belonged there. Heavy but fluid, with a neckline that didn’t scream for attention, just whispered confidence. The sleeves barely brushed your shoulders, and the fabric pooled at your feet in a way that made you stand a little taller without realizing it.

It was green.

A deep, quiet green—rich like the forest after rain.

You weren’t thinking of his eyes when you chose it. You weren’t.

But standing in front of the mirror, adjusting the straps, you felt it creeping in anyway.

That familiar, impossible shade.

You swallowed.

It didn’t matter. The color didn’t matter. His eyes didn’t matter.

Not when they never looked at you long enough to leave behind anything real.

You drew in a slow breath, trying to steel yourself. Then you pulled the curtain aside.

Zayne was seated in the corner, elbows resting on his knees, scrolling through something on his phone. He didn’t notice at first. The saleswoman did. Her eyes widened subtly.

You stepped out fully.

Zayne looked up.

And froze.

His phone slipped slightly in his hand, fingers going lax before curling around it again. He said nothing at first, but his gaze didn’t waver. It dragged over you slowly—shoulders to waist to floor and back again, lingering a fraction too long at the curve of your collarbone.

His lips parted. Just slightly. Like there was something he wanted to say but didn’t have the words for yet.

And then, softly, “That’s the one.”

You blinked. “What?”

“That’s the dress,” he said, straighter now. More certain. “It’s… perfect. You look beautiful.”

Your mouth went dry.

Zayne wasn’t the kind of man to throw around compliments. Especially not like this—low, reverent, honest.

You wanted to say something light in return. A quip, a brush-off. Anything to defuse the weight of his words.

But you couldn’t.

Not when he was still looking at you like that.

The saleswoman clapped her hands gently. “It’s stunning on you,” she said, stepping closer. “Would you like us to hold it at the counter?”

You nodded, barely trusting your voice.

Back in the fitting room, you rested your hands on the vanity. The dress still clung to you, warm from your skin. You stared at yourself in the mirror for a long moment, unsure of the person looking back.

She looked...hopeful.

You hated that.

When you stepped out again, changed into your regular clothes, Zayne had already paid for the dress. You opened your mouth to protest, but he took your hand and the bag with a firm look.

“Let me do this.”

You exhaled through your nose and didn’t argue.

The walk back to the car was quiet, your steps echoing lightly in the underground parking lot. He opened the passenger door for you, and for once, you didn’t fight him on it.

Inside the car, the silence stretched.

He didn’t start the engine right away.

“I didn’t expect today to go like this,” he said quietly, fingers drumming the steering wheel.

You gave a dry laugh. “Neither did I. I came in for a dress and walked out completely humiliated over lingerie.”

He huffed a breath. “You weren’t. Humiliated, I mean.”

You glanced at him. “You turned pink.”

“...I didn’t,” he muttered, rubbing his cheek. “That was just unexpected.”

You looked down at your hands in your lap. “I wasn’t looking at it for any reason. It just caught my eye.”

He was quiet for a moment.

“If you ever did want something like that,” he said, voice slow, deliberate, “I’d want to be the one you wear it for.”

You turned your head so fast it nearly gave you whiplash.

He stared straight ahead, like he couldn’t believe he’d just said that out loud.

The tension tightened again, dense and warm and impossible to ignore. You didn’t respond. Couldn’t.

So he started the car instead.

And the dress sat quietly in your lap like a secret neither of you were ready to say out loud.

You had no business being this nervous.

You told yourself it was just a hospital gala. A formal evening, full of handshakes and speeches and finger food no one actually liked. You’d show up. You’d smile. You’d leave. Simple.

And yet, here you were, in front of the full-length mirror, heart pounding like it hadn’t gotten the memo.

The dress lay draped across your body like it had been born for it. Soft and sculpted. Modest but magnetic. The color deepened in the dim light of the bedroom, pooling in folds at your feet and tapering upward to delicate straps that swept across your shoulders.

The only thing between you and perfection?

The zipper.

You grunted under your breath, tugging at the stubborn fabric. It caught just at the middle of your back—too far down to see, too far up to reach properly.

“Need help?”

You turned at the sound of Zayne’s voice.

He was leaning against the doorway, half-dressed in slacks and an unbuttoned white shirt, sleeves rolled, collar open. Dark strands of hair still damp from his shower fell over his forehead. The sight punched the air from your lungs in a way you refused to acknowledge.

You hesitated. “It’s stuck.”

He walked in slowly, unhurried. Controlled.

“Turn around,” he murmured.

You did.

His hand found the base of your spine first. Just resting there. Warm. Heavy.

You tried not to react.

Then—deliberately, achingly—he dragged the zipper up.

It was a slow climb. A whispering slide of metal against fabric. His fingers brushed up along the line of your spine with every inch, trailing fire in their wake. You felt his breath fan against your nape. Close. Too close.

You shivered.

He didn’t comment on it.

Instead, he said lowly, “This dress was made for you.”

You met his eyes in the mirror. “You’re just saying that.”

He shook his head. His fingers stilled between your shoulder blades, not letting go just yet. “No. I’m saying it because I won’t survive the night if anyone else sees you in it.”

You stared at him, pulse thudding in your ears.

His gaze burned. Hungry and unreadable. It made the air feel thick and too tight against your ribs.

“I was supposed to be divorced by now,” you say quietly, breaking the silence, your voice tighter than you want it to be.

He pauses behind you. You don’t have to see his face to know his jaw clenched.

Then, low—measured—unapologetic:

“Not anytime soon.”

You inhale, sharply, ready to fire back, but he steps closer before you can speak. His chest brushes your shoulder blades.

His voice is right beside your ear now, velvet-wrapped steel.

“And I promise you…” he murmurs, “…it’ll be you who tears them up. Willingly.”

Your heart stutters.

You hate how it rattles you. Hate that your pulse trips like a caught rabbit. Hate more that you can’t—don’t—move away.

“You clean up well,” you said lightly, trying to break the tension.

His eyes flicked to the mirror. “So do you.”

You swallowed.

Neither of you looked away.

The moment drew out too long. His hand still hovered at the middle of your back. Not pushing. Not pulling. Just resting. Like he couldn’t make himself let go.

Like he was trying to memorize what this felt like.

And then—his voice, softer than silk. “You’re shaking.”

You closed your eyes. “No, I’m not.”

“Liar,” he breathed.

You felt him step closer—so close that the heat of him seeped into your skin. His free hand came up to gently brush a curl from your shoulder. The back of his fingers grazed your collarbone.

You shivered.

He noticed. His eyes darkened.

“I don’t want this to be pretend anymore,” he said quietly, looking at your reflection.

You gripped the vanity edge.

“Zayne…”

“If you tell me to stop, I will.” His breath ghosted over the shell of your ear. “But don’t lie to me and say you don’t feel it too.”

You turned, barely, enough to face him over your shoulder.

“I don’t know what I feel,” you whispered. “You’re the one who spent all this time acting like I didn’t exist.”

Regret flickered through his features.

“I didn’t know how to have you without losing you,” he murmured.

You frowned. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“It does to me.” His voice cracked slightly, his hand finally falling from your back. “Everything I’ve ever cared for has slipped through my fingers. I thought if I wanted you too much—if I reached for you the way I wanted to—I’d ruin it.”

You stared at him.

At the vulnerability he didn’t often show. The grief he tried to carry alone. The love you never saw in words but now finally recognized in his silence.

“I’m still here,” you whispered.

He smiled. Not out of amusement. Out of something far more tender.

“You won’t always be. Not if I keep doing this wrong.”

You didn’t have an answer for that.

But you did take a breath. One shaky inhale. Then turned fully, letting the dress rustle around you like a secret. You reached up and fixed his collar for him.

“Let’s not be late,” you said gently.

Zayne’s jaw clenched. Not from anger. From restraint.

“Right,” he said, voice thick. “Let’s go.”

You walked out the door together. But neither of you said what hung between your lungs:

You’d never been more dressed up.

And never felt more bare.

The event was exactly what you expected—opulent, polished, and exhausting.

Crystal chandeliers glittered above a sea of suits and gowns, everyone wearing their best smiles and most neutral opinions. Strings played softly from the corner, the delicate hum of a cello echoing against marble floors. Waiters circled with glasses of champagne and hors d’oeuvres that looked more like abstract art than actual food.

You stood beside Zayne, who looked maddeningly comfortable in his element. Crisp tux, silk tie, not a hair out of place. Calm, unreadable expression. Like this wasn't his seventh sixteen-hour surgery week. Like he hadn’t just confessed things in your bedroom you were still trying to process.

Socialites and colleagues floated by, eager to shake his hand, congratulate him on the recent research breakthrough, ask about future conferences. He handled them all with clinical politeness, his palm resting lightly on the small of your back whenever someone new approached.

You didn’t speak much.

You smiled. Nodded. Sipped water and counted down the minutes until you could leave.

Until he appeared.

You didn’t even catch his name the first time—he spoke it too quickly and too close, leaning in without invitation. Mid-forties, sharp suit, smug confidence of a man too used to hearing yes. An investor, he said. Big donor to the hospital. Enthusiastic about “Dr. Zayne’s innovative direction.”

But none of that interest was on Zayne now.

It was on you.

“You must be the wife,” he said, his smile bordering on a leer. “I’ve heard so little about you. A shame, really.”

You offered a thin, polite smile. “That’s probably because I prefer to keep a low profile.”

“Modesty. I like that.” His eyes scanned the length of your gown. Lingered. “But you shouldn’t hide something so… stunning.”

You took a step back, nearly bumping into another couple. “Thank you, but I—”

“You know, Dr. Zayne’s lucky. If I had someone like you on my arm, I’d never make it out of the house.” A chuckle, like he thought he was charming.

You stiffened.

He didn’t take the hint.

Your eyes darted toward Zayne, but he was deep in conversation with the hospital director across the room, his back to you.

“Do you dance?” the man asked smoothly. “Tell you what—why don’t we give the good doctor a break, and I’ll borrow you for one song? It’s just a dance.”

You could feel the heat rising in your chest, but not from flattery. From sheer, cold discomfort. You didn’t want to cause a scene. Didn’t want to embarrass Zayne in front of his colleagues. So you opened your mouth to decline—diplomatically, gently—

“I believe my wife said no.”

Zayne’s voice cut through the room like a blade. Low. Calm. Terrifyingly sharp.

You blinked.

He was suddenly beside you. Standing too tall. Too still.

The investor turned, surprised. “Ah, Dr. Zayne— I didn’t mean any harm—”

“No,” Zayne said again, with a frosty expression that sent chills down your spine. “You meant to ignore the discomfort on her face and corner her under the guise of a compliment. There’s a word for men like you, but I’m trying to be polite.”

The man’s face turned a mottled red. “I think you’re overreacting—”

“I think you should go find someone who actually wants to talk to you. Which isn’t her.” Zayne stepped forward slightly, his shoulder brushing yours. Protective. Possessive. “And definitely not me.”

The man muttered something under his breath and retreated fast, disappearing into the crowd with his ego tucked between his legs.

The hum of conversation resumed.

You stood frozen.

Zayne turned to you, brows furrowed. “Did he touch you?”

You shook your head. “No.”

He exhaled, jaw still tight. “Good.”

Silence stretched.

Then, quieter: “You should’ve signaled me.”

“I didn’t want to make a scene,” you said, voice hushed.

“I don’t care about scenes,” Zayne snapped, more emotionally than you’d ever heard from him. “Not when you’re uncomfortable.”

You blinked at him. “Why?”

His eyes softened. “Because you’re my wife.”

It wasn’t said with ownership. It was said with reverence. A claim wrapped in vulnerability.

You didn’t know how to respond to that, so you looked down at your shoes, trying to collect your breath. “Thank you.”

“I should’ve been watching you more closely,” he muttered, almost to himself.

“You’re not my bodyguard, Zayne.”

“No,” he agreed. “But I am your husband.”

And for once, he said it like he meant it.

Not like an obligation.

Like a vow.

Your heart stuttered in your chest.

He offered his arm to you, and after a beat, you took it.

“Come on,” he murmured near your ear, “let’s dance.”

You blinked. “Wait—you dance?”

He smirked. “Not well. But I’d rather you be stepped on by me than leered at by anyone else.”

A laugh escaped you—genuine, light.

And just like that, some part of the ice between you began to thaw.

The music shifted to something slow and sweeping, a soft waltz that melted through the golden lighting of the ballroom. Zayne’s hand rested at your waist, the other curled gently around yours as he led you toward the center of the dance floor. You hesitated only for a breath—then let him pull you close.

Your bodies fell into rhythm surprisingly well. He wasn’t lying—Zayne wasn’t exactly a graceful dancer, but he made up for it with focus. Precision. As if he was memorizing your every movement and adjusting for it. The small crease between his brows deepened when he accidentally stepped slightly to the side. His thumb skimmed over the back of your hand.

“I’m trying,” he murmured under his breath, eyes fixed on you.

“I know,” you said, unable to keep the smile from your lips. “That’s what makes it endearing.”

He huffed something that might’ve been a laugh. “Endearing. Great. Just what every man wants to hear.”

“Would you prefer infuriatingly hot?” you teased softly.

His fingers tightened just a little at your waist.

He didn’t answer.

He didn’t need to.

The tension coiled between you was no longer just a thread—it was a live wire, vibrating with the kind of electric heat that made your skin flush.

For a moment, the world softened. The music drowned out the buzz of conversation. Zayne looked at you—not through you, not past you. At you. Like you were something he couldn’t believe he was allowed to hold.

Your heart started to ache with it.

Because just as you let yourself settle into that rare, precious warmth—

“Is that really her?” someone whispered, too loud to ignore.

You didn’t recognize the voice, but the words struck like a slap.

“I mean, she’s pretty, but… for Dr. Zayne?”

“She wasn’t even at the last two galas. Maybe she’s just a placeholder. The family probably wanted someone traditional—quiet.”

A scoff. “Can’t imagine her fitting in here long-term.”

Someone laughed.

Your stomach dropped. Ice flooded your veins. The music dimmed in your ears as white noise took over.

You froze mid-step.

Zayne’s hand on your back tensed. “What’s wrong?”

You didn’t answer.

Instead, you slowly turned your head and locked eyes with the pair of women standing near the bar. They immediately looked away—but not before you caught the smirk. The judgment. The quiet condescension.

You couldn’t breathe.

The past few months—your loneliness, the silence, the empty dining table, the aching questions about why he married you—all of it surged back in a single wave.

You pulled your hand from Zayne’s.

“Excuse me,” you said, tightly. “I need some air.”

“Wait—”

You were already walking away. Not fast, but with purpose. Each step burning, each breath harder than the last. You could feel the stares, feel the whispers lingering like perfume in the wake of your departure.

Zayne caught up just outside the building, where the night air bit sharp and cold against your flushed skin.

“Hey,” he said, grabbing your arm gently. “Talk to me.”

You turned around, eyes stinging. “Why? So I can pretend to be graceful while your world watches and whispers about how I don’t belong?”

Zayne blinked, caught off guard. “What are you talking about?”

“You didn’t hear them?” You laughed, but there was no humor in it. “Of course you didn’t. Because you do belong here. They all love you. They admire you. No one questions your worth.”

“I don’t give a damn what they have to say.”

“But I do!” you snapped.

The words came out louder than intended. You saw him stagger.

You lowered your voice. “I do. Because I already feel like a ghost in your life, Zayne. Like I’m always waiting in the background, watching you exist in this perfectly curated orbit that I was never meant to touch. And tonight, when those women looked at me like I was… disposable? It felt true.”

His expression shifted—anger, confusion, something more vulnerable.

“You’re not disposable.”

“Then what am I?”

Silence.

The wind whispered through the trees lining the parking lot. Your chest rose and fell rapidly, your heart slamming against your ribs. Zayne looked at you like he wanted to say something, but the words weren’t coming fast enough.

You shook your head and turned toward the curb. “I’m calling a cab—”

“No.” His voice was low, steady.

You turned back, startled.

“I’ll take you,” he said, already pulling out the car keys from his pocket.

You didn’t argue.

You spent the second anniversary of your marriage burning with a fever.

A cruel twist of irony, really. You'd managed to go your entire life dodging sickness with near supernatural luck, but all it took was one chilly evening, a forgotten shawl, and rain-soaked clothes to send your body spiraling into a fever that left your limbs weak and your head pounding.

At first, you thought you'd sleep it off. Wrapped tightly in all the blankets you could find—you let the fever burn through your skin in silence. You didn’t call out for help. You didn’t expect it. Not from him.

But Zayne noticed.

Of course he did. A man like him didn’t miss details.

When he came home that evening, he found you curled up, shivering beneath layers of blankets, your breathing ragged and uneven. You didn’t hear the door open. You didn't see the flowers, the gifts. You didn’t see the expression on his face when he stood in the doorway, brows pinched, jaw tight.

But you did feel his fingers, cool and clinical, touch your forehead.

"You have a fever," he muttered, more to himself than you.

Your eyes cracked open, lashes damp with sweat. "It’s nothing. It'll pass."

"You're burning up. How long have you been like this?"

His voice wasn’t cold. Not warm either. Neutral, but threaded with something you hadn’t heard from him before: urgency.

"Since last night, maybe. I didn’t think—"

"Why didn’t you tell me?"

You blinked up at him, dazed.

"Because you don’t want me to bother you."

There. The words landed between you like a glass shattering on tile. Zayne went still. For a long beat, he didn’t say anything.

Then, quietly, "That’s not what I meant."

You closed your eyes again, too exhausted to argue. "Didn’t you?"

He stood, his footsteps echoing out the room. You thought that was it. The end of whatever strange moment had bloomed between you.

But then he returned. With a cold compress, a thermometer, and a bottle of medicine that rattled as he uncapped it.

He didn’t say anything as he pressed the cool cloth to your head. As he helped you sit up and pressed the glass to your lips. As he waited, silently, for you to swallow.

You watched him through bleary eyes.

He didn’t have to do any of this.

"Thank you," you whispered.

Zayne looked up from where he sat beside the bed.

His eyes searched your face like he was trying to decipher something written between your freckles. He looked tired. Not physically, but emotionally. Like carrying the weight of his silence had cost him something.

"I never wanted this marriage to hurt you."

You flinched. Not from the pain—your head was already screaming—but from the admission itself. A truth, finally. You clung to it like a rope.

"Then why do you act like you’re not in it at all?"

Zayne’s jaw tensed. He looked away. "Because I’ve only ever ruined the people I loved. I thought... if I stayed away, I wouldn't ruin you too."

Your breath caught. That wasn’t an answer you were expecting.

"You think loving someone ruins them?"

His gaze flicked back to you, dark and unreadable. "In my experience, yes."

You let the silence sit for a beat. Then: "That’s the saddest thing I’ve ever heard."

Zayne didn’t flinch at your honesty. Instead, he sighed, the sound low and tired. He stood then, slowly, his hand hovering at your shoulder. You didn’t flinch. He tucked the blankets around you more securely.

"Rest. We’ll talk more when you’re feeling better."

You nodded faintly. But before he turned away, you reached out and caught his wrist.

"Zayne."

He looked down at you, startled.

"Don’t disappear again."

He nodded once.

"I won’t.”

Liar.

Because as soon as you recovered, he returned to work with a vengeance. Longer hours. Empty dinners. More silence.

That night, you saw the man Zayne could be.

But like everything else in your marriage—it was temporary.

Like a pulse.

Here, then gone.

You stepped into the house with your jaw set, your heels clicking a little too sharply against the tile. Zayne followed, quiet as a shadow but twice as heavy.

Your clutch hit the hallway table with a soft thud. Without a glance back, you turned down the hallway toward the guest bedroom.

“Don’t go to bed angry,” Zayne said behind you.

You stopped. Laughed—short, bitter. “Don’t tell me what to do.”

Your fingers had barely grazed the handle when it happened.

A thin, crystalline film crept across the surface, shimmering pale blue in the dim light. The doorknob let out a crackle as frost bloomed over it like a warning.

You blinked.

Tried again.

Solid.

Frozen shut.

You turned slowly.

Zayne stood a few feet down the hall, hands in his pockets like he hadn’t just weaponized his Evol against you. His expression was infuriatingly unreadable—except for the small, dry quirk at the corner of his mouth.

“Oh,” he said, like he’d just noticed it himself. “Seems like you’ll have to sleep in our bed after all.”

You stared at him, disbelief crashing into your ribs like a wave.

“I’ll take the couch.”

He tilted his head.

A beat.

Then, without a word, he flicked two fingers behind his back. You heard it before you saw it—that same sharp, cold whisper of ice forming.

You darted to the living room, half praying he hadn’t—

The couch was a glistening sculpture now. Icicles hanging off the armrest like smug punctuation marks.

“Are you serious?” you snapped, whipping around.

He leaned against the wall, ankles crossed, absolutely nonchalant. “It’s out of service.”

You glared at him. “Now what, then? You’re gonna freeze the floor?”

His brow arched—just a fraction. “If that’s what you’d prefer.”

You dropped to the ground in protest, but the second your fingers brushed the hardwood, a shiver shot up your arm.

Ice.

The entire floor was now ice.

You scrambled back to your feet, livid. “Are you going to turn the whole house into a damn ice rink?!”

He shrugged, and you hated how casual he looked. His voice, when it came, was quiet. “Our bed is an exception.”

You stared at him.

He didn’t look away.

And that—that was what stopped you. Not the ridiculous pettiness of his power trip. Not even the childish escalation of it all.

But the way his eyes softened, just slightly, in the quiet. Like he was hoping you'd see something underneath all the frost. Something unspoken.

You exhaled, sharp.

He didn’t move. Just watched you from across the hall, standing in the middle of a house half-entombed in ice, like this was the only way he knew how to ask.

Not with warmth.

But by freezing every escape.

You clenched your jaw, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a sigh. “This is psychotic,” you muttered, stalking past him toward the bedroom.

He moved aside, silent.

You stopped at the door. Paused.

Then turned your head, your voice flat. “Touch the blanket with your ice, and I’m adding carrots in every single meal.”

His mouth twitched, that almost-smile back. “Duly noted.”

You stepped inside.

The room is steeped in silence. Not peaceful silence—weighted silence.

The kind that vibrates in your chest like thunder that never breaks.

The lamp on the nightstand is still on, casting golden light against the walls. Shadows flicker gently as the breeze from the open window stirs the curtains. The bedsheets feel too crisp, too heavy. You’ve been lying there, backs to each other, for what feels like hours. Both awake. Both pretending not to be.

You stare at the same patch of wall, your thoughts spiraling. He’s just a breath behind you. Warm. Still.

Too still.

Then his voice breaks the quiet.

“Do you really want us to divorce?”

The question doesn’t come sharp. It’s… soft. Careful. Like he’s not sure what he’ll do if the answer is yes. Like the very act of asking might splinter something already fragile.

You don’t answer. But you breathe—deep, just once. Enough to say: I hear you. 

He doesn’t fill the silence. Not yet. And for a moment you almost think maybe he’s done, maybe he’s going to let it drop.

But then he speaks again. This time quieter.

“Do you despise me? Do you hate the very thought of me near you? Is this what I’ve driven you to?”

His words crack at the edges—like he's been rehearsing them in his head for days but saying them aloud costs more than he expected. There’s no accusation in them. Just... damage control. The kind of questions a man only asks when he's already built the worst answers in his head.

You press your eyes shut, your throat tight.

You should speak. You should end the misery. But it’s hard, trying to sort through all the mess in your chest. You want to scream at him some nights. And others, like now, you just want to understand him. To figure out why he’s the way he is—why he disappears behind walls he doesn’t invite you through.

But even when you hated the silence, you never hated him.

You roll over, just slightly, so he can see your face in the lamplight—shadowed, but open.

Your voice doesn’t lash out. It lands soft.

“I don’t hate you.”

You pause. Let it sit between you like a bandage being pressed against a bruise.

“I'd sooner hate a thousand sunsets than ever hate you.”

And the way his breath leaves him—slow and shaky—isn't relief exactly. It's grief. It’s longing. It's all of it.

“But… if there's one thing I hated, it was the wedding. The grand venue, the unfamiliar people, the dress”—you stopped abruptly before your voice could take on an ugly tone. You didn't want to sound ungrateful. Or spoiled. 

You could still hear her voice sometimes whispering—at times even screaming in your head. 

Men don't like ungrateful women. So don't ever complain to him. A good wife speaks pleasantly—

“Continue.” Zayne turns toward you—no hesitation now. He closes the space between you like a tide claiming the shore.

One arm wraps around your waist. The other threads beneath your neck, pulling you gently, but decisively, into the curve of his chest. You feel the press of his mouth in your hair, the slow inhale like he’s memorizing the scent of your skin.

He breathes you in like you’re medicine. Like you’re salvation.

His fingers splay across your stomach, not possessive, not demanding—just present. Anchoring.

You stay stiff for a second—surprised. Then… your spine softens, your head leans back into the hollow of his throat.

Your fingers—clumsy and unsure—find his where they rest against your waist. You don’t squeeze. You just touch. Lightly.

“...I'd much rather have preferred to elope instead.”

And that’s all he needs.

He doesn’t say anything else. Neither do you.

But there’s an unspoken agreement in the way he holds you—tighter than usual. Like he knows what he’s done. And maybe, just maybe, he’s ready to stop hiding behind it.

Your heart beats in quiet rebellion.

You don’t move.

You don’t forgive.

Not yet.

But you stay.

And that’s the first truce you’ve had in a long time.

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[tacoteddy22]

Emmrich Volkarin

[tacoteddy22]

You never gave a warning sign (I gave so many signs) | part 1

PAIRING: Zayne x Non-MC Reader

SYNOPSIS: An arranged marriage built on silence unravels into a love loud enough to echo—where a repressed heart finally claims what was always his.

WORD COUNT: 6.5k

NOTES: so.. this ended up being way too angsty than the original blurb but oh well no regrets. fair warning, prepare some tissues! The tag list for this fic is CLOSED.

MASTERLIST | part 2

The day you chose to deliver the papers was grey. Not rainy. Not stormy. Just… grey.

A sky without conviction. Wind without bite. The kind of afternoon that felt as indecisive as you were pretending not to be.

You stood outside his office door for longer than you were proud of. Long enough to memorize the grain of the wood. Long enough to talk yourself into it, and then out of it, and then back in again.

You pushed the door open softly, already shrinking into yourself.

You weren’t sure what you expected when you came.

That he’d be behind his desk, maybe. Pen in hand, papers meticulously arranged in little towers like the ones he builds in your mind—precise, unreachable, always half-tilted toward something you’re not allowed to see.

You thought you might say something rehearsed but kind. A line you practiced in the mirror, gentle but final. You didn’t want to hurt him. You just wanted to end the slow bleeding before it became a hemorrhage.

But the office was empty.

The silence hit first.

Not a tranquil silence. Not the kind that invites rest.

This one was clinical. Dry. Like the room had forgotten how to hold a heartbeat.

Zayne wasn’t there.

Of course he wasn’t. He was rarely anywhere you were. You’d grown used to missing him like one grows used to an old injury—limping out of habit, not pain. Not anymore. Not really.

You stepped inside anyway, shutting the door behind you with a quiet click. The room smelled like him—mint and paper, a trace of cologne sharp as memory. The blinds were half-drawn, the light filtering in like a sigh through cracked ribs.

You walked to his desk and placed the envelope down.

Gently. As if it were made of glass.

As if the act itself might shatter something irreversibly.

Why stay in this marriage when the instigator is already dead? It wasn’t a cruel thought. Just… practical. Your mother had orchestrated it all, hadn’t she? Down to the embroidered napkins and the painfully bright chandelier you never wanted. She'd made you both promises you never consented to, and now she was gone, buried in roses and obligations.

That question had come to you in the silence after her funeral, when the guests were gone and the condolences had dried into something brittle. You weren’t looking for liberation. You weren’t angry. But there was a kind of clarity that only grief could offer—harsh, clean-edged clarity that cut deeper the more you looked at it.

You stood there, staring at the divorce papers. The ink still smelled fresh. The curve of your own signature stared back at you like a challenge.

You didn’t hate Zayne.

God, if you hated him, maybe this would be easier.

But love had never bloomed between you. Not really. It had been all frost and formality, glances across long tables, the occasional brush of his coat sleeve as he passed you in the hallway. You learned his silences. He learned your smiles. But you never learned each other.

And even if Zayne had been mostly absent, even if he’d buried himself in work and left you to wander the quiet halls of your shared home like a ghost—well.

You weren’t completely blameless either.

You’d withdrawn before he could reject you. You’d built your own walls, brick by brick. You told yourself you were protecting yourself. But the truth was messier than that.

Maybe you’d been waiting. Hoping.

And when hope dried up, you folded your longing into politeness. Into pleasantries. Into dinner set for one.

Your fingers grazed the edge of the envelope again. He’ll see it when he comes in, you told yourself. He’ll understand.

He was good at understanding, wasn’t he?

But the part of you that still ached—the part that hadn’t quite given up—wished you didn’t have to do this alone. Wished he’d been here so you could have said something. Anything. So you wouldn’t have to walk out with your heart still clenched, still wondering if this was mercy or cowardice.

You turned toward the door slowly, letting your eyes sweep over the room one last time.

His chair was slightly angled toward the window. A mug of coffee sat abandoned on the side table, still half full. A scarf hung on the back of the chair, the one you once bought for him because he never remembered to dress warm in winter. He never wore it in front of you.

Maybe he wore it when he was alone.

Maybe he missed you, in his own quiet, useless way.

Maybe this wasn’t what he wanted either.

Maybe it was.

You didn’t wait to find out.

You slipped out of his office as softly as you had come. No tears. No dramatics. Just the sound of your heels clicking against the tile, carrying you away from the life you tried to build without being given the tools.

Behind you, the envelope sat motionless on his desk.

It would be the first thing he saw when he returned.

Or the last thing he expected.

Either way, the decision was made.

You just hoped he’d understand that it wasn’t born out of resentment.

It was born out of surrender.

And surrender, after all, was the only way you’d ever been allowed to love him.

You go about your day.

Mechanically, precisely. Like if you move fast enough, you won’t feel the weight of what you just did. Like if you keep your hands busy, they won’t remember how they trembled when you left the envelope on his desk.

You have dinner at a high-end restaurant downtown. The kind with mood lighting and cutlery that costs more than your first paycheck. The waiter greets you by name. You’ve been here before. Enough times to build a familiarity that feels almost like comfort.

You order your usual. A glass of wine, a dish too delicate for hunger. You smile when the waiter makes small talk. You nod when he compliments your dress. You even laugh—soft, practiced, hollow.

Around you, couples lean close, forks clinking gently against china, knees brushing under tables. You sip your wine and pretend you don’t notice. Pretend you’re above it all. That you chose this. That you’re fine.

You leave a generous tip and walk out alone.

You stop at a shop on the way home.

There’s a window display with crystals and tiny gilded mirrors and perfume bottles shaped like hearts. Useless things. Luxuries. Trinkets that mean nothing and say everything. You buy a pair of earrings that you’ll never wear, a satin ribbon you don’t need, and a music box that plays a lullaby you didn’t realize you remembered.

It doesn’t help. But it gives your hands something to hold.

By the time you return home, night has long folded itself over the city. You step out of your heels and into the silence, your keys landing with a metallic sigh in the tray by the door.

The house is spotless. Sterile. Like no one lives here. Like no one ever did.

You draw yourself a bath. You pick out the bath salts your mother once gifted you—lavender and sandalwood, soft and laced with memory. The water fogs the mirror, curls against your skin. You sink in, hoping the heat will coax something loose. The ache. The numbness. The way you still listen, stupidly, for the sound of the door opening behind you.

But there’s nothing. No footsteps. No voice calling your name.

Only the slow drip of a tap and the echo of your own breath.

After, you do your skincare. Layer after layer. Toner. Serum. Cream. A ritual. A mask. You look at your face in the mirror and wonder when you started looking so tired. You wonder if Zayne ever noticed. You wonder if he’d care.

You go to bed.

The sheets are cool, tucked too tightly. You lay there, stiff as porcelain, your eyes wide in the dark. The ceiling offers no answers. The night holds no comfort.

Your fingers find the empty side of the bed.

And stay there.

Still.

Quiet.

You don’t cry. You don’t let yourself. Because you made this choice, didn’t you?

You left the papers.

You left him.

But as sleep evades you and the silence tightens like a noose, you wonder if he’ll notice the way your perfume still lingers on the pillow.

And if he does—

You wonder if he’ll miss you.

Or just the absence.

You wake in the dark, unsure what pulls you from sleep. There is no noise, not exactly—just the strange pressure of being watched, the weight of something pressing too hard against your ribs.

Your eyes blink open slowly.

The room is dim, only the amber spill of the hallway light trailing in like a whisper beneath the door. The sheets have tangled around your waist, your body curled in that way it always is when you sleep alone, when there's too much space and too little warmth.

And then you see him.

Zayne.

Kneeling at your bedside. 

His head is bowed, his hands gripping yours like lifelines, like they’re the only thing tethering him to the earth. His shoulders are trembling. There are tear tracks on his cheeks—silent and luminous in the half-light. His palms are cold, clammy, too tight around your fingers, but you don’t pull away.

You can’t.

Because you’ve never seen him like this.

Not composed. Not distant. Not restrained behind the iron wall of manners and duty and that maddening, unreachable calm.

No. This is Zayne—undone.

“Please don’t leave me,” he breathes.

The words are so soft, they barely make it past his lips.

Your breath catches.

You stare at him, heart thudding with a terror you don’t understand. He’s not bleeding. Not wounded. Not dying.

But he looks like he is.

“I’m sorry,” he chokes, voice breaking like something rusted. “I’m so—God, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know how to be your husband. I didn’t even know if you wanted me to be. I thought—” His grip tightens, desperate. “I thought you were happier without me. I thought I was giving you space. I thought it was what you wanted.”

You try to sit up, but he’s still holding your hands, head bowed so low you can feel his breath against your skin. He presses his forehead to your knuckles like he’s praying. Or confessing.

“I saw the papers,” he says. “I came back and I saw them and—” A pause. A shudder. “I felt something inside me go still. Like the part of me that hoped you’d someday choose me… just stopped breathing.”

You swallow.

Your throat is dry. Your heart is loud. Your hands are still in his, small and warm and useless in the face of this.

Zayne’s never begged for anything. Not when you married. Not when you drifted. Not even when the silences stretched longer than the days.

But he’s begging now.

And it breaks something in you.

“I don’t care about the arrangement,” he says, lifting his eyes to yours for the first time, and—God. They’re red-rimmed and wet and unguarded in a way you’ve never seen. Not even when his mentor died. Not even when yours forced a ring onto your finger. Because that's exactly what she was—a mentor before a mother.

“I don’t care who started it. I care that I can’t sleep knowing you won’t be there. That I won’t see your shoes in the hallway. Your cup in the sink. Your voice in the morning. I know I’ve been gone—I know I made you feel alone. But I never stopped—”

He cuts himself off, like the words are too big for him to hold.

“Don’t leave me,” he says again, hoarse. “Please. Tell me it’s not too late. Tell me I can try. Tell me I can love you better.”

And then he says it.

“Because I do—”

Soft. Crushed. Almost drowned in breath.

“—I do love you.”

You sit frozen, trembling with something that isn’t shock but grief—but hope—but disbelief.

Because you’d spent months mourning something that had never bloomed.

And now here he was. On his knees. With all his walls gone.

Waiting for you.

His words echo in your chest like footsteps in an empty hall. They don’t settle. They don’t land. They just… circle. Hover. Haunt.

And yet—your hands stay in his.

You want to pull away. You should pull away. That would be easier, wouldn’t it?

But your fingers won’t listen. They're traitors. Trembling, but curled around his like they still remember how to hold on. 

Zayne’s eyes are still on you—pleading, ruined, impossibly gentle. And you hate him for it. You hate him for coming to you like this now, when your chest is raw and bandaged over with resignation, when your heart has learned to live with its hollow space.

You don’t know what to say.

You’ve always known what to say. You’ve always had something ready. A laugh, a line, a quiet deflection. You were raised to survive with poise, to never let the cracks show.

But now?

You don’t know how to speak through the knot lodged in your throat.

“I…” Your voice barely comes out. It sounds foreign. Bruised. “Zayne, I don’t—I don’t know.”

His brows draw together.

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” you whisper. “You didn’t want me. You wanted peace. You wanted quiet. I gave you that.”

You’re breathing faster now, not from panic—but from all the things you’ve never let yourself say aloud.

“You weren’t there,” you murmur, looking somewhere past his shoulder. “Not when I waited for you to come home. Not when I made tea and poured two cups out of habit. Not when I cried so quietly I thought I’d go mad from the silence.”

He’s shaking his head, tears falling again.

“I didn’t know,” he breathes. “I didn’t know you felt—”

“Because I didn’t tell you,” you say sharply. “Because I thought I didn’t have the right to want more. We weren’t in love. We were just… two people honoring a contract.”

Zayne looks like he’s in pain.

Real pain.

The kind that doesn’t bleed, just bruises the soul until everything aches.

“I’m not saying this to punish you,” you whisper. “I just—I need you to understand. I don’t know how to believe you now. I don’t know how to trust what you’re offering me, when all I’ve ever known is how to be alone in this marriage.”

He closes his eyes like he’s been struck.

“I’m not whole,” you add, voice cracking. “And I don’t know if I even know how to be loved anymore.”

There’s a pause.

A long, trembling pause.

Then, quietly—softly—Zayne presses your hands to his lips.

He kisses your knuckles like he’s asking permission to breathe.

“I don’t expect you to believe me right now,” he whispers. “Or tomorrow. Or the day after. I just want you to know—I’m not leaving. I won’t run from this again. From you. Even if you don’t forgive me. Even if you never say those words back.”

You stare at him.

Still unsure. Still aching. Still raw.

But something inside you shifts.

Not healed.

Not certain.

Just—listening.

And maybe that’s enough for now.

He stays kneeling for a long time.

Even after your fingers loosen in his grip. Even after your breathing slows and your eyes drop from his face to the twisted bedsheet between you. Even after the tears stop falling from both of you.

He stays. Like a man rooted. Like he’s afraid that if he moves, you’ll disappear.

Eventually, you whisper, “Get off the floor.”

It comes out hoarse. Less command, more tired breath. The words of someone too wrung out to carry this moment any further, but too tender to let it close alone.

He looks up at you, cautious. But the moment has passed for confessions. He knows it.

So he rises slowly, joints stiff, fabric creased and damp from where his knees met the floor. You shift aside, just a little—enough to make room without saying it aloud.

He doesn’t assume.

He stands for a beat longer than necessary. Hands fidgeting. Shoulders tense. And then he moves—quiet as snow—and slips beneath the covers, staying on top of them at first, as though unwilling to cross some unseen line.

The bed dips with his weight. You both lie there, backs half-turned, inches away and aching with silence again—but not the old kind. Not the lonely, echoing kind.

This one is... full. Thick with things unsaid but understood.

His shoulder brushes yours. He doesn't move. Neither do you.

You let your eyes close, but sleep doesn’t come.

Your mind is loud in the hush. Not with words. With fragments. Ghosts. That night at the wedding when your mother held your hand too tightly and whispered that love is just a fantasy. The first time you saw Zayne sleeping at his desk, collar loose, lashes brushing his cheek, more beautiful than anything you were allowed to say. The moment your fingers twitched toward him once, and you stopped yourself. Every almost. Every if.

You feel him shift beside you. Just a fraction.

Then his hand—a single scarred hand—moves slowly across the space between you. Hovers. Waits.

You don’t open your eyes. You don’t breathe.

And then, as gently as anything you’ve ever known, he rests his fingers on your wrist.

Barely a touch.

Just a presence.

I'm here, it says.

You don’t move. You don’t speak.

But you let him stay.

The sheets rustle as he slides down slightly, mirroring your position. His forehead brushes your shoulder. His breath warms the back of your arm. His hand stays wrapped around your wrist like an apology without words.

Minutes pass. Maybe hours.

You fall asleep like that.

Not in his arms. Not pressed close. Not healed.

Just… not alone.

For the longest time, your mother dictated the weather of your world.

She didn’t just control the room—she was the room. Her presence seeped into the walls, into the silence, into the decisions you hadn’t even made yet. She knew what you’d wear before you opened your closet. She could recite your schedule before you checked your calendar. She didn’t raise a daughter—she built a reflection.

And she expected that reflection to obey.

At first, it was subtle. Childhood rules disguised as safety. 

“Don’t play in the sun, you’ll get too dark.”

“Keep your voice down, good girls don’t shout.” 

“Smile when guests are around, don’t embarrass me.”

But over time, the rules turned into walls. And the walls became a prison. You learned to swallow words before they formed. To weigh your tone. To apologize for breathing too loudly.

It didn’t matter what you wanted. What mattered was what she thought you should want.

And then Zayne entered the picture.

A calm man. A blank page. A voice with the temperature of winter mornings—cool, crisp, distant. You hadn’t even fallen for him. You’d simply watched as your mother’s attention pivoted from micromanaging your life to orchestrating your marriage.

He was her dream son-in-law. A doctor. Unshakeable. Mannered. From a family she couldn’t nitpick.

She didn’t ask if you liked him.

She didn’t need to.

She assumed you would be grateful.

And in some ways, you were.

Because Zayne—unavailable as he was, emotionally constipated and always at the hospital—did one thing your mother never did.

He left you alone.

There was no suffocating presence. No list of expectations folded into every meal. He didn’t demand you dress a certain way. Didn’t police your volume, your mood, your silences. He didn’t ask much of you at all.

And in that eerie vacuum, you found something terrifyingly precious.

Autonomy.

Even if he barely spoke to you, even if he barely saw you, Zayne gave you the one thing you craved more than affection.

Freedom.

At home, your mother would barge into your room with unsolicited opinions. In Zayne’s apartment, you had a key to your own space. At home, your mother would correct you mid-sentence in front of relatives. Zayne would barely notice if you said something silly, let alone make you feel small for it.

He didn’t tether you.

And while that coldness carved an ache in your chest during sleepless nights, it also came with a strange sense of safety.

He was distant, yes.

But he was not cruel.

When your mother visited your new house for the first time after your wedding, you saw her try it—try to step into your space like she still owned it. She scanned your kitchen with sharp eyes, criticizing how you stored the spices. She told you you were putting on weight. That you needed to stop being lazy, that Zayne would leave you if you didn’t “keep up appearances.”

She said it lightly, like a joke.

Zayne was standing by the coffee machine.

He looked up, his gaze ice-cold.

“I didn’t marry her for appearances,” he said, voice clipped, face unreadable. “And if you’re done insulting my wife, you can go.”

The silence that followed was deafening.

You remembered the way your mother blinked. Like someone had thrown cold water on her. She huffed, lips pursed, and left without another word. She didn’t even say goodbye.

And you…

You’d looked at him like he was a foreign language.

He didn’t look at you. Just poured his coffee and left for work without a second glance.

But you had stood there, rooted to the floor, hands shaking.

Because for the first time in your life, someone chose you. 

Zayne had drawn a line in the sand.

And your mother had been on the wrong side of it.

You hadn’t cried then. Not even when the door slammed shut and silence filled the apartment again. But you remembered the tightness in your chest. The way you stared at the floor like you were thirteen again, except this time you weren’t helpless.

Because someone—your husband—had made it clear you were not to be messed with.

You still think about that moment. More than you probably should.

Because Zayne never brought it up again. Never mentioned her. Never asked how it made you feel.

But he didn’t apologize for defending you.

He didn’t make you feel like you owed him for it either.

And somehow, in his detachment, there was a kind of tenderness your mother had never offered you.

He gave you space.

He gave you a shield.

And somewhere in the folds of that cold, quiet marriage, you started seeing him not just as the stranger you were legally tied to—but the man who, even in silence, stood between you and the woman who broke your voice.

He might not have held your hand.

But he kept your name safe in a house that was finally your own.

And maybe that didn’t look like love in the way you were raised to recognize it.

But it was protection.

And for someone like you—raised to feel like a burden—that meant something.

You wake before the sun.

The room is still steeped in the heavy blue of early dawn, where everything looks softer than it really is. Blurred at the edges, like grief.

There’s a moment, a breath, where you forget. Where you wake as if from a dream and all is suspended. The air is cold against your cheek. The sheets heavy with the imprint of two. And there’s warmth behind you. A weight.

Zayne.

Not a memory. Not a phantom. Not another figment of wishful thinking conjured up by your loneliness.

He's still here.

The realization sinks in slowly, like tea bleeding into water. At some point in the night, he must’ve shifted closer. One of his arms is draped around your waist, tentative but real. His chest rises and falls against your back, the rhythm steady, anchoring. And his face—God, his face is tucked into your shoulder like it’s the only home he’s ever known.

You don’t move.

You just lie there, blinking up at the ceiling, your body stiff with exhaustion and the kind of grief that has no name. You're not sure what it is you’re mourning. Only that it’s something vast. Something invisible. A version of this marriage you never got to live. A thousand versions of yourself you never got to be—with him, beside him, for him.

There’s a heaviness in your chest that isn’t pain. Not sharp, not sudden. Just... present. Like fog. Like longing left too long in the cold.

You think about the envelope still sitting on his desk. Signed. Final. As binding as a scar.

You think about how easy it would be to slip out from under his arm. Walk away before the sun catches you both in this quiet trespass. Before the ache turns into expectation. Before kindness gets mistaken for forgiveness.

And yet—you stay.

Not because anything has been resolved. Not because his whispered apology last night has undone the loneliness you watered for so long it grew roots inside you. But because you're tired. And his breath is warm. And for the first time in what feels like a lifetime, you’re not waking up to a silence that only belongs to you.

He shifts slightly, his hand tightening instinctively on your waist. Just a twitch. Just enough to remind you: he feels you there.

The tears come before you can stop them.

Slow. Silent. The kind you don’t sob out loud. The kind you let slip into the pillow because you’re too proud to make a sound.

You wish you could hate him.

You wish he’d never said anything at all. That he hadn’t come into your room like that. That he’d left the papers on the desk and let the story end quietly.

Because now there’s a crack.

A crack in the coffin you tried to bury this marriage in.

And through it, something stirs.

Not hope. Not yet.

Just the unbearable truth that he’s still in there, somewhere—beneath all that absence. That maybe he always was. That maybe, just maybe, he had been mourning it too, all along, but in his own cold, closed, unreadable way.

Zayne breathes in deeply, then exhales with a small, uneven sigh. Still asleep.

You glance down at the hand around your waist. His fingers twitch once, like he’s dreaming of holding you tighter but doesn’t quite know how.

It hurts.

Not because he’s touching you—but because of how long you’ve wanted him to. Because of how gentle it is. Because tenderness, after all this time, feels like both a balm and a blade.

You close your eyes again.

You don’t move.

You don’t wake him.

There is a funeral between your ribs and a heartbeat beside you, and both feel sacred.

And maybe—just for this morning—that’s enough.

The eggs are overcooked.

Zayne stares down at the pan like it offended him personally, the browned edges curling up as if mocking the silence that’s wrapped itself around the kitchen. The yolks aren’t runny the way you like them. He used the wrong kind of salt. The tea might be too bitter. Everything’s a little off today.

Or maybe he is.

Zayne places the plate gently on the table, careful not to make too much noise. You’re sitting across from him, wrapped in your robe, a thin line between your brows as you butter your toast like it’s a task that requires precision. You haven’t spoken much. Not since waking up to find him still there, hovering in the doorway with eyes swollen from a night spent begging the universe to turn back time.

He watches you through the soft steam rising from the tea.

And he aches.

Not with longing, though that’s part of it.

No, this ache is older. Rooted in something he thought he buried years ago, back on that cursed mountain where blood froze faster than it could pool, and lives ended mid-sentence.

He shouldn’t be thinking about that morning—not here, not with you sitting across from him—but he is.

Because the divorce papers, the ones still waiting on his desk like an open grave, reminded him exactly how it felt to lose something you didn’t know how to hold.

That night on Mt. Eternal… years have passed since then, but the cold never really left his bones.

He still sees William’s face sometimes. In dreams. In the flicker of a hallway light. In the space between one breath and the next, when memory has no mercy.

He hadn’t known the man for long—barely a few months, a blip in the timeline of his tightly folded life—but William had burned bright. Reckless, brilliant, infuriatingly intuitive. He had a way of making people feel seen. A way of cutting through Zayne’s silence with nothing but presence.

And then—

Zayne remembers pressing his hand to William’s chest, trying to keep the life in. His own blood mixing with his friend’s. He remembers the way the air smelled—like frost and iron and finality.

He remembers thinking, If I survive this, I will never love anything fragile again.

And then he met you.

He looks up.

You’re chewing slowly, eyes unfocused. Lost in your own world of unspoken grief.

You hadn’t said anything last night after he fell asleep against your shoulder. You hadn’t moved away. But you hadn’t touched him, either.

Zayne doesn’t blame you.

He doesn’t know what to make of your silence—whether it’s resignation, or fear, or kindness. Whether he’s been forgiven, or whether you’re still too tired to fight.

He wishes he knew how to ask.

He wishes he were the kind of man who could reach across the table and take your hand, just to show you he's still here. That he finally wants to be here. But he isn't that man. Not yet.

And you deserve better than half-formed promises from someone still trying to dig his heart out from beneath layers of protocol and loss.

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly, almost without realizing it. The words come out hushed. Fragile.

You glance up.

Your eyes meet.

There’s no anger in them. But there’s no relief, either. Just tiredness. And something that looks too much like a mirror of his own sorrow.

Zayne swallows.

He wants to tell you everything. About the nightmares. About the way guilt has hardened in his chest like a scar tissue. About how hard it is to come home to a soft, warm bed after you've learned to sleep beside death. About how sometimes, when you smiled at him, he looked away not because he didn’t care—but because it hurt too much to hope.

But he doesn’t say any of it.

He takes a sip of tea. It’s scalding. Bitter. His throat burns.

He watches you spread jam on toast with careful, robotic movements before you casually reach over and add two spoonfuls of sugar into his tea, and thinks—I should’ve told her sooner. I should’ve told her everything.

But he didn’t. And now, here you both are. Sitting in the ruins. Pretending it's breakfast.

There’s no music. No birdsong. Just the soft clink of ceramic and the breathing of two people who don’t know how to mourn what never had a name.

He looks at your hands—those same hands he held last night like a prayer—and wishes he could rewind time.

Just one month. One year. One heartbeat.

But he can’t.

So he lifts his fork. Cuts into the eggs. Forces himself to chew.

Because this is what it looks like, sometimes, when you try to make amends:

Burnt breakfast.

Too many silences.

A table full of ghosts.

And you—still here.

Not forgiving.

Not forgetting.

But here.

And for Zayne—for a man who’s only ever learned to grieve in private—that is a beginning worth mourning, too.

His phone vibrates against the table.

He flinches—guilt, maybe, or just the startle of being dragged out of a thought you didn’t want to leave.

You don't look up, still quietly chewing, lost in that dreamless place where sorrow goes to sleep in you like a second skin. But Zayne reaches for the phone, thumb swiping across the screen, half-expecting some emergency at the hospital. A late case. A consult. Another impossible situation to fix so he doesn’t have to fix himself.

But it’s a text from Greyson.

"You still coming to the charity gala? Need someone to block Dr. Malik from hijacking the auction with his ugly vintage duck paintings again."

He exhales—one short breath, barely a sound. The message is simple. Banter, really. Nothing urgent. Nothing pressing. 

He hasn’t replied to Greyson in weeks.

He hasn't thought about the gala either. Usually an excuse for donors to parade their goodwill in overpriced suits, for surgeons to trade horror stories over cocktails, for the hospital to raise enough funds to keep the rural outreach programs going another year.

Zayne’s gaze flickers upward.

You’re sipping your tea now. Still quiet. Still careful. But you’re here. Still in this kitchen. Still in his orbit.

Zayne lets a thought settle in his chest—tentative, unsteady, like a flame in high wind:

Perhaps not all is lost.

Maybe not everything has calcified into endings. Maybe not every door has shut. Maybe there's still a sliver of future that hasn’t collapsed beneath the weight of what went unsaid. You hadn’t kicked him out last night. You hadn't pulled your hand away when he clutched it like a lifeline in the dark.

And now, this. A small, ridiculous gala. The softest suggestion of routine, of life continuing.

He looks back at the message, thumb hovering over the reply field.

Maybe… maybe he could take you.

The thought startles him with its tenderness.

Would you even want to go? Would it feel like a poor excuse to make up for everything? A bandage over a bullet wound? Would you dress up just to stand beside a man who once vanished when you needed him most?

Zayne’s thumb lowers.

He doesn’t reply. 

Instead, he watches you butter another piece of toast with slow, mechanical grace. He memorizes the way your lashes cast shadows down your cheeks. The way your hand trembles just slightly, like you’re barely holding yourself together.

You were so strong, always. And he—he let himself believe you didn’t need him. That your strength meant he could keep hiding inside his cold logic and call it love.

He knows better now.

Maybe it's too late to be the man you needed back then. But maybe… maybe he can still learn to be someone you don't have to heal from.

He slips the phone screen-down on the table.

Then, with hesitant hands, he reaches across the table and nudges the jar of jam closer to you. A quiet offering.

You glance at it.

He meets your eyes again.

And in that fleeting glance, something moves. The first light in a room long sealed shut.

The moment passes too quickly.

Your eyes lower again, lashes shuttering the fragile connection. You spread the jam he offered, slow and deliberate, as if trying not to let your hands betray you. Zayne watches the knife tremble ever so slightly in your grip. Not enough for someone else to notice. But he does. Of course he does.

He’s used to studying tremors for a living—on monitors, in pupils, in dying pulses beneath his palm.

And now, you.

You, trembling under all that quiet.

He clears his throat.

It’s not a loud sound, but it slices through the morning hush with a clean, surgical precision. You blink up at him, guarded again. As if waiting for him to say something devastating, or worse—dismissive.

Zayne presses his palms against the edge of the table. He doesn’t lean forward, doesn’t crowd you. He keeps his voice level. Gentle. Low.

“I, ah…” he starts, and immediately hates how uncertain he sounds.

You set your knife down.

Zayne exhales softly through his nose, schooling himself into coherence. He can do this. He speaks to grieving families, for God’s sake. Tells them about cardiac arrests and brain deaths and the final moments of their loved ones. He can string a sentence together.

But this—this is harder.

“The hospital is hosting its annual charity gala this weekend,” he finally says. “Greyson asked if I was coming.”

You tilt your head. Neutral. You say nothing, but he thinks you’re waiting. Letting him go on.

Zayne looks down at his mug, watching the swirl of steam curl like a vanishing thought.

“I was thinking,” he says carefully, “maybe you'd like to come with me.”

There.

He doesn’t look up immediately. He can’t. He doesn’t want to see your hesitation, your polite refusal, the way you’ll swallow your discomfort and say maybe next time when you know there won’t be one.

But then—

“Why?” 

Your voice is not sharp. Not cruel. Just… tired.

Zayne looks up.

You’re watching him now, one brow faintly raised, lips parted slightly—not in expectation, but confusion. Sincere confusion. And something deeper beneath it—wariness, perhaps. The kind that comes from being wounded too many times in the same place.

He leans back in his chair. Not retreating. Just trying not to suffocate you with the closeness of his yearning.

“Because…” he begins, but the rest of the sentence gets tangled somewhere in his chest.

Because I want to be seen with you.Because I want to try again.Because I miss being beside you even when we weren’t really together.Because I can’t bear the thought of showing up alone and being reminded of what I let die between us.Because I want to be yours.

Instead, what comes out is softer. Smaller.

“Because I’d like you to be there.”

You don’t answer.

Instead, your eyes move over him—like you’re taking stock of the man across from you. Not the doctor. Not the public figure. Not the version of Zayne that the world sees. But him.

You study the way his hands are folded, the way his jaw is clenched not with arrogance but restraint. The hair still damp from his morning shower. The sleeves of his dress shirt slightly creased because he didn’t take the time to iron them.

He’s not posturing. Not performing.

He’s just… here. Holding out a hand through the quiet wreckage.

And finally—finally—your lips part.

“Is it black tie?” you ask, like you’re still testing the water, still waiting to see if this is real.

Zayne blinks.

Then breathes.

“Yes,” he says. “Full formal.”

You nod. Just once. A small thing. A quiet gesture that still manages to bloom something in his chest that almost feels like hope.

“Then I’ll need a new dress,” you murmur.

And Zayne doesn’t smile. Not fully. But something in his expression softens, loosens. The beginning of light behind stormclouds.

He knows it’s not forgiveness. But maybe, maybe—it’s the start of returning home.

Zayne finishes his tea in silence.

And as he stands to leave, brushing past your chair to take the dishes to the sink, he lets the faintest hope settle into the hollowness of his ribs.

TAGLIST: @animegamerfox @sweetcalebb @ciaradream8 @hwangintakswifey @nm4565natty @zaynieinsanie @inzayneforaj @aara08 @multisstuff @notsurewhattocallthisblog8888 @yellowxiaotae @harmlesscouch @ourgoddessathena @dwuclvr @asilaydead @thelittlebutton @idiots0up @crazyzombieblaze @cordidy @storiesbyparadise @whosthought @sylustabbykitty

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[tacoteddy22]

It’s been some time since my last post and there’s been a few more additions to my Emmrook collection, both personal and for friends and lovely Fade members✨🤍✨

Some of these Rooks belong to @sofiemystique , @palenecromaniac , @emmg and a shared son with @andthekitchensinkao3 🤍🤍🤍

[tacoteddy22]

SO FUCKING GOOD.

One For The Money

Zayne x Non MC x Caleb

Tag List:

@noxus123

TW:

self-depreciation, smut, fake dating trope, emotional manipulation, HEA, named MC and OC to help the flow and characterization, smoking, cigarettes, substance abuse, alcohol consumption, alcohol abuse, neglect, MDNI

Summary:

It was a mistake. Taking that deal was a dangerous mistake. But it was the perfect way to make Zayne finally notice me in all the ways that mattered most. I just didn't think I would be pulled into Caleb's gravity at the same time.

Word Count: 2304

Finished || Ongoing

Chapter One->Chapter Two->Chapter Three->Chapter Four

Chapter Five->Chapter Six->Chapter Seven->Chapter Eight

Worship is what he called it.

But the way his mouth travels down my neck to my chest and down my stomach feels more like sin.

Every inch of skin that he touches feels like a wildfire is born from the contact. Leaving my back arching off the floor and my eyes rolling to the back of my head. Feather light and reverent.

Goosebumps rise as his fingertips dig into my thighs . His head dips between my legs. Leaving only his eyes to be seen as I peer down at him.

Then I feel him.

His tongue lapping between flesh and tasting every inch of me as it fans out. Caleb lets out an appreciative hum, and it vibrates through my center into my bones. His eyes close. I feel his tongue slide along my center. Hear the delicious sounds he makes with each lick of his tongue. My head falls back, and eyes flutter shut. There's a coil in my core that tightens every time he flicks his tongue against my clit. Growing tighter and tighter until I have to bite my tongue from moaning the wrong name.

Because we both know what this is.

We both know that we're not thinking of each other.

He's imagining it's McKenna he's tasting.

And I'm imagining it's Zayne between my legs.

"Look at me." His voice breaks through my conscientiousness, coaxing my eyes to open and head to raise.

His face lifts from its place between my legs. Chin dripping with my essence. And there's a painful surge of jealousy that rips through me. Because it's not me that he thinks he's licking off his chin.

But I'm just as guilty.

Emerald eyes flash to violet.

"Let go." His voice was pleading, desperate.

His head dips back down—to where it belongs—and his tongue hits my senses again.

My release hits me hard and fast.

Zayne Caleb grips my hips, yanking my core so close to him it's as if he's trying to devour my soul from me. Hungry growls of pleasure hum through my skin. None of them my own. They were his. And he's feasting on my release. His mouth wide open, and inhaling all of my pleasure like a man starved. My hand shoots forward, fingers gripping his hair as my back arches.

"Sing for me. I want to hear you."

It wasn't a request.

A demand.

And I obey.

Screaming through the waves of my climax like a siren calling her sailors to their watery grave. His name echoes from my lungs. My nails scrape against his scalp. I sing for him. Do as I'm told. Because it's so much easier to listen and obey than it was listen to my inner thoughts. Reminding myself that this isn't Zayne so I don't scream the wrong name. So eager to please. Eager to beg for a drop of the love I never received as a kid or an adult. And his next words were sweeter than any half-hearted 'I love you' I've ever heard.

"Good girl. Such a good girl for me."

I feel the absence of his mouth like a loss. The heat of his breath leaving me to feel cold. The lack of his tongue leaving me to feel empty. But not for long, because moments later his mouth peppers my skin from my hips to my collarbones with kisses between the bites. Barely feeling the sting of his teeth marking me. Barely registering the sensation from the tip of his cock brushing against my entrance.

Caleb positions his hands on either side of me. My chest heaves from the force of my orgasm. I've hardly recovered when I feel his breath against my ear.

"You ready?" His voice is a ghost trickling through the fog of my high.

"Y-Yeah, I'm ready."

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

His skin is sticky from sweat. Brain in a heavy fog from the taste of her on his tongue. Her release was the sweetest nectar he's ever tasted. An ambrosia he was lucky enough to have been graced with. The moonshine's starting to wear off. Caleb is ashamed to admit he doesn't have the resolve to put a stop to his. He knows this is wrong. Because she isn't her. And he isn't who she truly wants. He knows that.

But god did he want this.

She stares up at him with heavy, half-lidded eyes. Her lips kiss swollen and perfect. Skin covered in the afterglow of her release. Fuck, she looked so god damned good lying under him like this. Blissed out and at his mercy. Like she was a present sent from the heavens just for him. And maybe somewhere in his sick brain Caleb thinks she is. But none of that really matters right now. All that matters is the fact that she was still so soaked it was sinful. And he's so hard it's painful.

He pushes forward.

Taking a moment to pause. Letting her adjust to his size before beginning to pump his hips in a steady rhythm. Driving himself deeper inside her as her walls flutter around his length. Every movement forward has him swearing under his breath. His head drops, pressing his forehead to hers. The moment her nails find purchase on his back, his composure fractures.

Caleb moans.

He can feel her nails breaking skin as he pumps deeper inside her. Feels her breasts push against his chest when her back arches against the floor. A hand slips underneath her. Pressing his palm into the small of her back to keep her held in place. And he growls. A deep, guttural sound from within his chest. Careful not to say a name. Or the wrong one. Careful not to slip too far into a delusion he wasn't sure he was fully submerged into in the first place.

His Evol slips from his grasp. Wrapping around the two of them and pinning her underneath him. Not that he needed the help. Caleb was twice her size and could easily keep her where he wants her with one hand. But he didn't want be that guy. Not when he was already something of a monster.

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

This is wrong.

Should have never happened int he first place. We both knew that. And with the mix of sex and body heat the moonshine is slowly losing its effect. But we're both too far gone to do anything about it. Too caught up in the way it feels when his cock fills me completely. And even then I'm not entirely sure all of it fits inside me and I'm too overwhelmed with pleasure to even begin to check. Not sure if I want to anyways.

We're both too far gone to care. And we both clearly want this—albeit not with each other. But it's better than nothing and all we have. Too painfully aware of the fact that none of this is for each other. It's easy to pretend we're who we wanted. So what if it's gravity pinning me down instead of ice? So what if he keeps begging me to resonate with him only to be met with: "I don't know how."

Because none of this is real.

No breathy moan or reverent sigh between us is for each other. We knew that, right?

So what if every now and then the lines blur a little too well. Who cares if sometimes it's my name instead of hers that slips from his lips. Did it matter if I like the gravity instead?

Both of us chasing a high we know we'll regret in the morning. It feels like a dream. Like the trip on ecstasy I should have had at the first party I went to in high school. When some asshole spiked my drink—and Zayne came to my rescue. Rushing me to urgent care to have my levels checked and system flushed. But when the memory surfaces—it's not a shock of black hair that comes into my vision. And it's not green eyes when I blink.

I push the thought away.

Teeth sink into my shoulder. Sharp. Deep. Enough to tear skin. He moans against me, low and rough, and the sound pulses through me like another high. Fueling something I shouldn’t feel.

I’m overstimulated, too sensitive to be doing this again. Still crashing from the last release, but every slow, deliberate thrust drags me back under. I shouldn’t be able to focus on the way he feels inside me.

But it’s all I can focus on.

Caleb's hips roll into mine. Slow and deep. Like he's trying to memorize the way I feel. Maybe I'm doing the same thing. Every thrust inside me sending shock waves through me until I forget why this shouldn't be happening. Until I rake my nails down his back in angry, red lines like I need to hurt him just to stay grounded. He groans when I do. A low and broken sound stemming from somewhere deep within him. Like he likes the pain.

The burn of the stretch as he fills me is addictive. A sharp kind of pleasure that drags across nerve endings that are still coming to life. Dragging me deeper into whatever the fuck this is. I'm trembling beneath him. Thighs shaking with every movement and thrust. Too sensitive but still chasing the high of the next orgasm as the coil in the pit of my stomach pulls tighter. Desperate for more—more friction, more pleasure, more something to make this into something we both know it isn't.

His cock hits that spot inside me. The one that makes me see stars and my back arch without permission. Caleb presses his palm firmly against the small of my back. Like he was keeping me locked against him. Like if he let go I would realize this is a mistake and run away.

"Fuck," he breathes, burying his face into the crook of my neck, "you feel unreal."

And that's the fucking problem.

That this isn't real.

Not the way it should be.

One hand grips my hip, forceful at first before softening and sliding down my thigh. His touch turning into something full of worship once again. Like he was mapping out every curve of my body with his skin. It pulls a whimper from my throat. So loud it's embarrassing. A little too authentic to call it a lie.

"That's it," he murmurs against my throat, like he owns the sounds that come from me. "Just let me—"

Don't say it.

Whatever he says, I block it out. Unwilling to hear what it is he wants me to do. Because whatever it is—I already know I would do it without hesitation.

I'm close again.

I can tell by the way tension coils tight in my lower abdomen. Pulling so tight it's about to snap. My legs wrap around his waist without meaning to. Pulling him impossibly closer. Pushing him so deep inside me it's hard to tell where I end and he begins. Caleb pulls from me then, nearly all the way, before plunging back inside to the hilt. Burying himself so fully I hate how perfect it feels.

How perfect he feels.

Because it shouldn't be Caleb.

It should be Zayne.

Or at least I wanted it to be.

Our eyes lock. His pupils blown wide and jaw set like he was holding something back. Biting his tongue to keep from calling out her name.

It's only when he gasps out my name instead—like a prayer, like a mistake—that I come to my senses.

But it's too late now.

Because my release crashes through me so intense it's almost painful. My pussy squeezing around his cock so tight it's causes his to follow suit. Caleb shudders with one final low moan as he sinks into me. Our chests pressed against each other and his nose buried in my hair. I feel him drive into me one final time before the heat of his release spills into me.

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

Sweat collects along Caleb's face as she drifts off to sleep. A searing pain shooting along every nerve ending so intensely he can't push it away. His pupils dilate and after he carefully lays her—he falls to his knees outside her bedroom. Hands clutching the hardwood floor until his knuckles turn white and tears pool in his eyes.

He can feel it.

Can feel the Toring Chip searing away every memory associated with the feeling of euphoria. Before he had been able to will it away. But this time it had been too intense to shrug off. A euphoria like no other. So strong that the Chip was stronger than his will to remember.

For a moment, his mind is a blur of the night. Running over everything that had happened in the last few hours. From Iris drunkenly falling to the floor and telling him how her mother had made her learn how to make moonshine. Throwing it in some absent direction when she got it wrong. To the seven times his phone vibrated with the tell rhythm of McKenna trying to get a hold of him. And for the first time he had ignored every single one of them. Because Iris was more important tonight. His protective nature overtaking his hatred for her in all the years they've known each other.

At least that's what he told himself.

But when his eyes opened again—his memory was blank.

He couldn't remember why he in nothing but his boxers at her apartment. What they were just doing. What was said moments ago. If anything.

It didn't matter.

That's what he told himself as he installed the tiny surveillance cameras throughout her apartment.

Because this was for her safety wasn't it?

Of course it was.

[tacoteddy22]

Love Drug - Chapter 15 - The Killer and the Fiend (AO3)

Read from the beginning

Chapter 15 - The Killer and the Fiend Pairing: Sylus x fem!OC Words: 4537 Val details her recovery to Sylus and he agrees to show her the fiendish side of him. With their hearts and secrets laid bare, Val and Sylus make their relationship official with a deal to reveal their most vulnerable sides to each other.

Bonus photos at the end of the post!

Val was lying back against Sylus on the leather sofa in the study. She could feel his tight breathing as his chest moved in and out sharply. He was unfathomably angry. He was glad Val had killed those men because if they had remained alive… death would have been too easy on them.

“Sylus. I can feel your rage. Look at me.”

She sat up onto her knees facing him and tried to turn his head toward hers but he resisted. She whispered his name like a song and he finally allowed himself to look at her. She cradled his head in her hands and rubbed her thumbs along his cheek.

“Hey, it’s ok. I am ok.” His eyes softened and he rested his forehead to hers.

“I’m sorry, kitten. I’ve known of this story since it happened and I found it appalling back then. Hearing you tell it now makes me wish they were still alive just so I could kill them myself… eventually.”

“Aww! That’s so sweet. You’re so romantic, Sylus.” She giggled and kissed him on the tip of his nose. He planted a kiss on her lips roughly and let out a low hum that resembled a growl.

“Tell me what happened after you got out of the hospital. Tell me how you came back from this.”

Val turned back around and sat back against Sylus with her legs stretched out in front of her.

“Well, it took a while and there was some time I didn’t think I would come back. I had lost myself.” She picked at an invisible piece lint on her pants and her foot was tapping rapidly against the couch. Sylus picked up on her anxiety and started rubbing her arm softly to try and help keep her grounded.

“But you did come back, sweetie. You came back strong and bold. You’re brave and patient, beautiful and kind. I could keep going if you want.”

Val’s foot slowed down and Sylus could see the smile that his words brought to her face.

“I did come back. And I am all of those things, thank you for noticing. I had to take a year off work. Akso thankfully let me pause my residency and would let me pick it back up where I left off so long as I had kept up on the skills and knowledge. ”

“I needed physical therapy and Rafayel paid for me to have home care so I ended up moving in with him for a year. He said healing would be more effective in the sun than in some stuffy clinic and it was hard to disagree.”

“How long did you have to be in therapy for?” He continued rubbing her arm gently, keeping her anxiety down as she spoke.

“Physical and occupational therapy for about 6 months. Talk therapy for about 3 years. I’ll spare you all the gory details about my recovery, but it was a lot of me getting mad at myself that I wasn’t healing faster. That is until I finally figured out that it wasn’t a race.” She scoffed quietly and shook her head.

“It forced you to slow down.” He understood that. Sylus had been in many situations where time was needed to heal and repair and nothing he did made time go faster.

“Mmhmm. I spent a lot of time on the beach. It became my sanctuary.”

“I have a beach I could take you to if you ever needed sanctuary.” The offer was nothing to him. Just another way to make sure he could provide everything Val needed. It was more like a sales pitch, but to Val it was absolutely everything.

Emotion overcame Val. Tears welled up in her eyes and she held her breath to try and keep from letting out a sob. He offered her another beach for respite, but Val knew it was being with him that had started to become a sanctuary no matter where they were.

“Kitten? we don’t have to keep talking about this.” He turned her head to his and his eyes were full of concern as he saw that she had started to cry. His assumption that her tears were from reliving her past and not his sweet words made him all the more endearing to her.

“No, it’s not that. You just - you’re good to me.” She turned her head back and reached her hand up to caress his cheek with a smile and he nuzzled into her palm.

“Don’t tell anyone I have a soft side.” He looked at her with a smirk.

“I won’t. If anyone asks, you’re big and scary all the time.” She held a pinky up to show she meant to keep his secret and he wrapped his pinky around hers with a smile.

“Perfect. Now, what did you do after spending all your time at the beach?”

“After I was cleared physically I applied to the Hunters Field Medic program.” She rested her head back on his chest and he wrapped his arms around her holding her tightly to him.

“I didn’t realize you’d been doing that for so long.”

“I haven't. They rejected my application and told me to come back in a few years with some more medical experience under my belt. It was fair. I was a brand new doctor at that point. So instead I signed up for some self defense classes and got a trainer to help build up my strength then reacquainted myself with everything I needed to know to pick back up at the hospital.”

“And look at you now. An emergency physician, a field medic, part time Hunter… “

“A killer…”

His large hand grasped her jaw and tilted her face towards his. He wore a warning look, but his voice was soft. “A friend, daughter, a lover.”

Val sat up and kissed him softly, and Sylus deepened the kiss as he pulled her sideways into his lap. “And you are being sweet again.” He leaned down and nuzzled his nose to hers.

“No, I’m big and scary, remember?”

“And a Boss Man, a protector, a friend, a lover, and… a dragon? Although I haven’t seen that last one so whose to say if that is really true.” She gave him an innocent look as her fingers grazed the side of his neck.

Sylus laughed and shook his head at Val. “You don’t trust me, kitten?”

“Of course I trust you! But seeing is believing, you know.”

“I suppose it is. We are going to need more space then. Let’s go to the roof.” He hooked his arm under Val’s legs and wrapped his other arm around her back and stood up bringing Val with him. She wrapped her arms around his neck and let out a yelp as she was suddenly being lifted into the air.

“Do we have to go to the roof because your wings are so big?” She was teasing, but her eyes went wide and her jaw dropped open as she heard his response.

“Yes.” He held her as he walked out of the room and down the hallway and back towards the kitchen. Her mouth turned up into a huge smile and her eyes sparkled with anticipation. Sylus could see all the questions forming in her mind and he stepped out onto the terrace and set her on her feet again. Val’s warm hands steadied herself on his waist and she looked up at him with concern written all over her face.

“Wait. Does it hurt to do it? To shift? I don’t need to see if it’s going to cause you pain.” She shook her head at him and Sylus’s gaze softened even more. He held her face again and once more found it hard to believe that she had opened him up so quickly. He’d never been seen this way before and it was terrifying and exhilarating.

Val had accepted him exactly as he was. His sharp edges and unfathomable power never intimidated her or made her shy away. The day they had met, she had stepped up to him, looked him dead in the eye, and figured out that he was injured immediately. She had challenged and surprised him in ways that no one had before. The fears he felt at the idea of showing her his inner dragon melted away, but just in case this was the thing that did scare her away he had to make sure to make this possible last moment a good one.

Sylus lowered his mouth to Val’s and kissed her slowly. His tongue slid across her lips and a soft sigh escaped from her as she opened her mouth to his. Sylus pulled her close and held the back of her neck as his other arm wrapped around her waist. He didn’t let her breathe, he devoured her in a kiss so devastating that the stars themselves took notice. Every second was a chance to burn the memory of how her lips felt against his and the touch of her hands on his chest, the taste of her tongue, and the press of her body against his. It was rare for him to be nervous, but even the slim potential for this being a final kiss had his stomach in a knot.

He pulled away and Val was slightly woozy, her eyes glossed over and her lips swollen from his kiss.

“What was that for?” Tenderness shone behind her eyes and her fingers dug sharply into his sides as if she couldn’t let go.

“Just for you being you.” He kissed her forehead and wrapped his arms around her tightly. “Hold on, kitten. We’re going for a ride.”

Before she could respond black red mist surrounded her and she was weightless, nothing more than the mist herself. The feeling of Sylus wrapped around her was faint, but still present and she realized she was moving upwards. The terrace she had just been standing on was far below her and the night sky loomed closer. They sped up to the top of the building and onto the roof. Her feet landed and the rest of her body rematerialized with Sylus holding her tightly, inspecting her closely.

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah, just maybe give a girl a little warning before you teleport her next time.” She patted his chest lightly and stumbled back a step, a little woozy from the kiss and the sudden rearranging of her cells. Sylus caught her easily and smiled down at her nodding.

“I’m sorry, kitten. You’re right, I’ll be sure to give you a warning next time. Now, come with me.” He took her hand in his and led her to an open area of the roof and helped her sit on top of a transformer.

“Are you ready?”

“I’m ready if you are. And you didn’t answer my question from before if this hurts you.” She put her hands up to get him to wait before he did anything, and her repeated concern for his wellbeing over her want to see his other form gave him the reassurance he needed.

“Did it hurt when we ‘teleported’ up here?” Sylus asked with a teasing tone and gave her that playful smirk that made Val’s knees weak.

“No, it was weird though.” She smiled back at him and he shrugged casually.

“You’ll get used to it. Now, watch closely.”

His evol swirled around him getting bigger and bigger until she could no longer see him. The massive sphere of energy spun around faster than Val’s eyes could keep up until it slowly started getting smaller. Val could see Sylus more clearly as the sphere got smaller until it finally disappeared and the horned, winged monster of the N109 Zone stood before her.

Except it was also Sylus. His beautiful face and sharp eyes were still there yet he still looked at her like he was waiting for her to run away. Val hopped off the transformer and walked closer to him to get a better look.

His large hands had been replaced by claws and red veins ran up his right arm. Black scales cracked and split from his right shoulder and up on to his neck, with another crawling up the left side of his neck up to his temple. Two black, magnificent horns sprouted from either side of his head, twisting and curling up before ending in a deadly sharp point. Black, scaled armor covered his right shoulder and down his left arm and torso and black leather belts wrapped around his waist. Leather armor covered his legs ended with clawed feet similar to his hands. Val gasped and smiled as the long, spiked, scaled tail swung back and forth and it reminded of a cat’s tail swaying innocently before pouncing on its prey.

But his wings were the most thrilling of all the changes. Dark wings sprouted from his back, and Val thought they were black at first, but as the moonlight shone through them she saw they were a brilliant crimson. They were so expansive they blocked out her view of the sky and she understood why they needed so much space.

He lifted his wings as Val circled around him and gently ran her fingers along the large black and red scale on his upper back and down his scaled spine. More red veins on his back curled around his chest and down his stomach, all leading to the glowing red gem embedded in his chest. A memory flashed across her mind of an unconscious Sylus and the mark on his chest she had seen. Now she knew it was neither a scar nor a birthmark. Val looked up in awe at his wings and he flapped them softly at her, blowing her hair back gently.

“Say something, kitten.”

“You’re incredible, Sylus.” She held her hand out and he hesitantly extended his clawed arm towards her. She took it and rubbed her hands along the cool scales and brought the back of it up to her cheek. Her fingers ran up the length of his red-veined arm and back down again, studying this new form of his.

“It doesn’t scare you?”

She looked into his eyes knowing how important eye contact was to him and poured every ounce of truth she could into her eyes then shook her head . “No, Sy. It’s still you. Physically, you’re different, but the heart and soul I know are still there.

He scoffed disbelievingly at her and turned his head away as his lip curled into a sneer. His soul. Half of it was blackened and twisted and the other half still felt like it didn’t belong to him on most days. And what heart was she talking about? Certainly not the cruel and calculating mess beating inside his chest.

Val’s heart broke at the pain written all over him. He wouldn’t look at her and his shoulders had slumped forward almost in defeat. The scaled tail that had been mischievously swaying before now hung limp and lifeless and his wings drooped sadly.

“Hey, what is this? What happened? Isn’t it good that I’m not scared?” Val tried to reach for him, but he flinched away and she pulled her hand back instinctively, taking a step back to give him space.

Sylus saw her hand pull away and her feet step back. He waited for her to continue retreating away, but she just stood there silently staring at him, as patient as ever. Red-black mist swirled around him and the massive expanse of his wings disappeared. Val still waited silently. He wanted to run back to the shadows where wallowing in his pain was easier than facing the light she had shone on it. But the side effects that came with drowning yourself in your own sorrow were not things he was interested in going back to.

He approached her and wrapped scaled arms around her and a growl loosed from his throat as he felt her arms wrap around his neck and his possessive instinct kicked in.

“Talk to me, what’s going on in that horned head of yours?” Her breath was warm on his neck and her voice was a comforting sound. Sylus nuzzled his face into her and he revelled in the feel of her against his scales. He’d been so sure she was going to leave, everyone else had. It was practically an expectation at this point for him. He’d been alone so long and the dream he once had of spending his days in the arms of his sorceress had been cleaved apart the day she chose the Colonel. Sylus had given up on that dream of being seen for who he really is, loved for the man and the monster.

But here was Val, her warm lips pressed against his skin, delicate fingers playing with the hair on the back of his head, green eyes that saw the soul within him and she hadn’t run. She hadn’t even hesitated. She just gave him space until he was ready to come to her and he had never appreciated her infinite patience more than this moment.

“You’re good to me, is all” He echoed the words back to her that she had said about him and felt her smile as she held him a little tighter.

“We’re good for each other.” Val kissed the top of his head and they sat in comfortable silence before Val finally spoke.

“So, this is what you were last week?” No judgement, just curiosity and a desire for understanding.

He nodded. “Yes. I didn’t want you to see this and the bloodshed.”

“Did they deserve it? Whoever it was. Did they deserve your cruelty?” Sylus raised his head and nodded again.

“Yes. They allowed innocent people in Linkon to die. I have no tolerance for N109 Zone disputes bleeding out into Linkon and even less if people get hurt, let alone killed.” Val smiled softly and her heart sank a little at his words. It broke her to see that he couldn’t see that he wasn’t just good to her, but good to so many people who didn’t have any idea they were under his protection.

“Then you did what you had to do.” She gave him a firm nod and that was that as far as Val was concerned. “And this is what the rumor in the N109 Zone is about a winged monster who can't die?”

He nodded again. Val stood still and looked at him curiously.

“Is that true, can you not die?”

He inhaled sharply and closed his eyes. His head shook back and forth and a pained look crossed his face. “I can heal almost anything, but I can die. I died once before.”

Shock crossed Val’s face and her heart pounded out of her chest. The mere idea that he could die or would die had her mind in a panic. It was irrational, everyone was going to die someday, but they had barely started this thing between them and she was not ready to even entertain the thought of his death. Her hands rested on his chest, so close to the spot that the broadsword pierced him.

“You did? How?” She wasn’t sure why she asked, she didn’t want to know, not really. He gently pulled her hands away from him and away from the gem on his chest. “That story would require another secret from you.”

“Oh, I don’t have another big secret like that. You heard my only good one. The rest of them are little secrets.”

He brought clawed hands up to her face gently and rested his forehead against hers. “Then share all your little secrets and your heart’s every desire with me instead.”

“Only if you do the same with me. Deal?” Her eyes sparkled with the anticipation of learning everything there was to know about him and the excitement of sharing all of herself with him.

“Don’t you know it’s dangerous to bargain with a fiend, kitten?” He spoke slowly, seductively. If she were anyone else, fear would be coursing through her veins, but this was Val.

“I'll take my chances with you.” She caressed the scales along his neck and on his face and he leaned into her soft touch. His whole world was sharp edges and monsters in the shadows, but her softness and warmth was the only thing he wanted in this life.

“If I say yes, this means you’re all mine.”

“Then say yes and you’ll be all mine too.”

Claimed. Possessed. Cherished. Treasured. Loved. All things Sylus had all but given up on being. But not anymore. He placed his heart in her hands and she responded by offering hers up willingly as well.

“Then yes, you have a deal.”

No sooner did the words come out of his mouth, she had crashed her lips to his and claimed him with a kiss. Her hands tangled in his hair and her tongue dove into his mouth. She was the one who didn’t let him breathe this time. Her hips pressed against his and he moaned into her mouth. She was his, and he was hers. Heat licked down Val’s spine as his claws traveled down her back and gripped her ass.

“Sylus…” His name fell from her lips like a prayer as he nipped and licked at the soft skin on her neck. Sylus pulled her leg up and she used that leverage to wrap her legs around his waist, backing her up against the transformer with a growl. Val grasped one of his horns and pulled his head back up to devour his mouth with hers once again. Sylus’s blood pumped hot at her touch, he pressed his cock into her core and Val let out a moan.

“Let’s go back downstairs, kitten.” The heat and the tension between them was palpable. 

“Yes, let’s go.”

He pulled away reluctantly and let her down on her feet. Black red mist swirled around him and he was back to the Sylus that Val knew best. He took her hand and led her to the elevator doors and called for the elevator.

“I have a weird question.” Val took his hand and looked up at him shyly.

“You can ask me anything, sweetie.” He traced the lines of her palm with his finger and raised an eyebrow in anticipation of her question.

“If your claw fingers got cut off would they just be claws or would your human fingers be inside?” She scrunched her nose up and pulled her lips back in a grimace but Sylus let out a laugh.

“That is a very weird question.” The elevator dinged and the doors opened. He led her inside still laughing and Val relaxed at his reaction. “Just claws, kitten. Any other questions, weird or otherwise?”

Sylus punched the button for the correct floor and a smile spread across Val’s face and a mischievous look was in her eye.

“You’re about to ask me something dirty aren’t you?” He smirked at her and shook his head.

“Is your dick different when you’re a dragon? Do you have two dicks?” Her eyes went wide and he wasn’t sure what she wanted the answer to be.

“No, sweetie, my dick stays the same in either form. Disappointed?” He stepped closer to her and his eyes darkened as her hands pulled at the waist of his pants bringing him even closer to her. She bit her lip and looked up and him through her dark lashes.

“I don’t know yet. But I think I’m about to find out.”

Sylus pressed her against the wall of the elevator and cupped her face with his hands. “I think so too.”

Another kiss, another press of his hips into her, another moan. The elevator ride was too short and they heard the sound of someone clear their throat as the doors dinged open. Sylus peeled himself away from Val and glared at whoever interrupted them.

“Hey, doc. Sorry to interrupt you.”

“We waited as long as we could, Boss Man.

The twins stood before them avoiding eye contact. Sylus let out a sigh and looked at Val apologetically and shooed the twins away. He took her hands in his and closed his eyes for a moment.

“I’m sorry, kitten. Apparently, I have some business to handle. Will you stay and wait a while?”

Val brought his hands to her lips and gave them a soft kiss. “It’s ok. I should probably get home and shower, feed my fish, take a nap, and check in at the hospital.”

“You have a fish?”

Val laughed and shook her head. “No, its Rafayel. Its a long story…”

“Secrets for later?” Sylus cocked his head to the side with a smirk and Val just smiled at him. They walked hand in hand back to his room and chatted as Val grabbed all her belongings.

“When are you free again?” Sylus asked as he walked her to the door that led to the garage.

“I’ll probably go in to work for a while in the morning. But I can be free tomorrow night if you don’t have any more ‘business’ to attend to.”

“I do have somewhere to be, but you should come with me. I think you’ll enjoy it.” He gave her a soft smile and reached out to call the elevator for her.

“Ohh, will I need to be armed for this?” The excitement in her eyes sent a bolt of pride right to his heart. Now he wished she did need to be armed just to see her light up like this again.

“Not this time, sweetie, but I’ll bring you along to the next armed mission. Tomorrow will be a working date night.”

Val gave him a smile and puckered her lips for a kiss and Sylus happily obliged. The elevator doors dinged open and Val stepped inside.

“I’ll pick you up at seven, kitten.”

“I can't wait.” Val bit her lip again and bounced a little on her toes. Sylus almost pulled her back out of the elevator and dragged her to his bed but he knew the twins needed him right now.

He gave Val a little wave as the doors closed again and he watched as the numbers ticked down until he saw she got to the garage level. Pulling out his phone he sent her a quick text with a crow emoji holding a heart and a request to let him know when she’s home safe.

She sent back a kissy face and a thumbs up and Sylus smiled at the screen. He felt lighter than he had in years. The weight of loneliness had lifted and was replaced with the feeling of Val’s unwavering acceptance of him. He was seen, she saw the dark and the light and held her hand out for his and offered her heart in return. Part of him still didn’t understand why she did, or what exactly she saw in him, but he wasn’t going to take any of it for granted. All he knew for sure was that he was hers and she was his.