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if you don’t love me (lie to my face)
dan heng x gn!reader (past dan feng x reader)
he wants you to see him beyond the shadow that his previous incarnation cast. he wants to push you away, wants to hold you close, wants to hear his name spill from your lips without the taint of another man’s name. he wants you, but you cannot bring yourself to let go of the past.
angst
“Stop looking at me like that.”
You tilt your head, feigning obliviousness. “Like what?”
“Like that,” he huffs, averting his eyes uncomfortably to the horizon, if only so he may escape the longing, almost melancholic sheen that glazes over your eyes whenever you look at him.
“Sorry,” you sigh, but you make no move to tear your gaze away from the sight of him, drinking in every detail, cataloguing which ones are the same and which ones leave you mournful for the differences that shatter the illusion of a time gone by. “It’s just hard, sometimes, to look at you and not imagine someone else.”
He frowns at your words. “I’m not him.”
You smile, something brittle at the edges of it. “I know.”
“He’s gone,” he grits out.
“I know.”
“I won’t—”
“Dan Heng.”
He pauses at the sound of his name, turning his head and meeting your eyes again. You’re smiling, but there’s a fragility to it, like broken glass pieced together haphazardly, threatening to shatter at the slightest touch. It’s maddening to look at you and feel the acute sense of his heart twisting within his chest whenever he so much as catches a glimpse of you.
He doesn’t want to feel this way, hates feeling this way. Any connection to that man, any ties and bonds and whatever emotions you once made Dan Feng feel—he doesn’t want it. He wants none of the headiness and the weightlessness and the warmth that spreads through his body that it feels as though it could encompass the entirety of his soul.
But you make him want to want so fiercely it leaves him breathless and little frightened.
He wishes you never approached him, wishes you never got close to him, wishes you never directed such looks his way.
But mostly, he wishes you weren’t so easy to like (easy to love).
“I know, okay? I know you’re not him, but—” You close your eyes, fighting for composure, and when you open them again, he is met with a gaze full of hope and regret. “But just this once, just for a few seconds, could you let me pretend?”
Dan Heng feels his throat tighten, his heart falling with no one to catch it, because you’re not truly seeing him, no. You’ve never seen him for who he is, only the man who continues to haunt his every waking moment. Even now, he feels the weight of Dan Feng’s past mistakes and regrets heavy on his shoulders with the way you’re looking at him, pleading with him for a chance to relive a time long gone.
He knows he shouldn’t, if only so he may spare his heart, and yet—and yet, he is a fool.
However much he wants to deny this—deny you—he has always been weak when it comes to matters regarding you and the emotions you’ve managed to instill within him.
So Dan Heng nods, unable to look you in the eye, but he doesn’t need to see you to feel the way you slump against him in relief, arms winding around his shoulders in a mockery of a lover’s embrace.
This is madness. A foolish endeavor. He should have said no. Should have vehemently denied any sort of connection with that man. Should have turned you away the moment you began reminiscing your time with that man whenever you became lost in old memories and grief.
And yet, he does none of this, because he is weak, because he has gone soft, because—
Because he loves you.
He loves you, so he lets you hold him the way you must have held that man.
He loves you, so he lets you imagine him as someone else.
He loves you, so he lets you bury your face in his shoulder and murmur a name that isn’t his.
“Dan Feng…”
Dan Heng closes his eyes and dreams of a day where you will finally look at him without seeing another man’s face.
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Kinktober 19: Merlin x GN!Reader (Toys)
Rating: Mature
Words: 546
Warnings: None
Keep reading
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Hi I see you're opening request, so I'm here to ask for one. Thank you so much!
Plot: Zayne anger and his punishment when he find out you lied to him and get yourself in dangerous.
anon are you a mind reader?! 👀 bc I've had a draft of this sat in my wip folder for ages!!!
Hope you enjoy!! 💕
Sorry isn't enough...
Zayne x reader
Warnings: angst, lots of angst, no comfort, Zayne is mad (and possibly ooc)
Might do a part 2 (with a happy ending as an apology for this)
Zayne doesn't yell. In fact, in all the time you'd known him you couldn't remember ever seeing him lose his temper. Sure he got annoyed with you sometimes, mainly when you ignored his advice or turned up at the hospital with yet another injury, but it never boiled over into anger. He'd scold you like a child, giving the occasional icy glare, but nothing more. So when you limped into his office today, an hour late for your appointment and caked in dirt and dried blood, you were prepared to receive another lecture about safety from your primary care physician.
The minute you opened the door and took the first unsteady step into his office, you knew something was off. The air held an icy chill, causing a shiver to run down your spine, the tension increasing with every step. You could feel the pressure of Zayne's eyes on you as you approached his desk, piercing green gaze scrutinising every aspect of your appearance, taking note of every scrape and bruise, every smudge of blood that stained your skin and clothes.
"You're late." Emotionless and cold, his voice shattered the uncomfortable silence that had been present since you entered his office. Swallowing thickly, you finally meet his eyes, and immediately regret it. His expression is hard, brow furrowed and his lips pressed into a thin line. His eyes which usually hold a tenderness whenever he looks at you are dark, and swirling with a storm of fury. Zayne is pissed.
Opening your mouth, the apology on the tip of your tongue quickly dies at the sound of Zayne's exasperated sigh. "If you're planning on apologising I'd suggest you save your breath. I have neither the time nor the patience to listen to whatever feeble excuses you plan on giving." His harsh tone hits you like an avalanche, burying you in the disappointment that is practically radiating from him. "I've warned you time and time again to be careful, to prioritise your safety and yet you seem determined not to listen. I've lost count of how many times you've limped into my office. You refuse to listen to my advice yet you come to me whenever your recklessness results in another injury. Tell me, do you insist on continuing this foolish behaviour until it undoubtedly causes your death?!"
A lump forms in your throat, eyes fixed on the floor as you desperately try to hold back the tears threatening to fall. Every cruel word Zayne seethes is another knife to your heart, cutting deep and carving themselves into your flesh. And despite your best efforts, you can't stop the choked sob that escapes your lips. Because it hurts. Seeing the man who has always treated you so gently fuming with rage, steely glare freezing you where you stand, forcing you to endure the brunt of his anger. His words melt together, flooding your mind and making your ears ring as they echo on repeat inside your head. You're so overwhelmed by the crushing weight of his disappointment that you don't even realise you're crying until a cold hand touches your cheek, thumb wiping away a single tear. His breath fans your face as he exhales a tired sigh, "come here, let me see your wounds" his voice is softer now, having lost its previous venom but his outburst has left a sour taste in your mouth. You pull away from his touch, shaking your head slightly as you wipe away the tears that stain your cheeks.
"I can take care of it myself...I wouldn't want to inconvenience you any further." You utter, keeping your voice steady and void of emotion. "Don't worry, you won't have to deal with my reckless behaviour anymore. Goodbye, Dr Zayne." Turning away from him you quickly make your way out of his office, ignoring the calls of your name, determined not to let him see you fall apart completely. With each step you can feel your heart breaking more, bleeding out and flooding your chest with every crushing word Zayne spat at you. You're not sure where you're heading, vision blurring with tears, you just know that the last place you want to be is with Zayne.
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ೃ⁀➷ JEALOUSY, JEALOUSY — zayne, xavier, rafayel x gn!reader
it’s difficult to find jealousy on dr. zayne’s expression. but if you look closely, you can find it in the way his eyebrows crease every so slightly. his body leans towards you as you continue speaking with his colleague. you’re entranced in a conversation with the man zayne has introduced as a fellow associate, recalling the memories of childhood.
zayne isn’t one for dramatics but from his freezing silence you get the sense that he’s regretting introducing the two of you. he tugs your pinkie finger with his own and you briefly meet his gaze.
“i apologize,” he interjects, “y/n and i are running late for our dinner reservation.”
and as his colleague stutters out an amused goodbye, he whisks you away. though as you gaze up at him, the tips of his ears are turning a vivid red.
xavier is a bit more obvious in his approach to jealousy. even when you’re laying on the couch with his head nuzzled against your chest, he finds himself bothered by your lack of attention. he frowns, looking up to find you skimming the latest feeds. your eyes skim through another article.
there's no acknowledgement of the jealousy in his chilly gaze, but eventually xavier nudges his head in between your elbows. your phone tumbles out of your hands and onto his back with a gentle thud. as you look down, he's looking up at you with pleading eyes.
"what's wrong?" you ask, a smile creeping onto your lips.
"pay attention to me," he says simply. your hand meets the softness of his hair and you gently scratch his scalp watching that stubborn glint melt into satisfaction.
it's a well-established fact when rafayel is jealous. it's like a little meter that rises the more you neglect the poor man. especially when you're stopped in the middle of the street by an old friend of yours. rafayel waits for any indication of introduction, but when it doesn't arrive he's tugging at your sleeve with a peeved look.
you still don't reply, completely engrossed in your conversation. when laughter spills from your lips, rafayel's standing behind you with arms crossed over his chest and foot tapping against the pavement.
"y/n, i’m going to melt if we stand in the sun any longer," he whines, shooting your friend a look.
you give a brief apology to your friend before rafayel takes your hand in his and drags you away. he acts dramatic all the way home, complaining and grousing till you give him your utmost attention.
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━ when you have a dirty dream about him (and you ask him to make it a reality)
pairing: Zayne/Mc, Rafayel/Mc, Xavier/Mc
warning: suggestive, MDNI
Zayne-
He clocks that something is out of ordinary immediately. For someone who is undeniably independent, he noticed you're acting extra affectionate and perhaps a little shy around him.
You're gazing at him lustfully, looking away sheepishly when he gives you a curious glance. He's working away on his laptop and you're watching his strong, veiny hands, wishing they were on you worshiping your body.
He stops typing and his fingers hover over the keyboard. He is perceptive, of course he noticed.
"Is there something you want to ask me, MC?" there is a twinge of concern laced in his tone. You feel small under his stare as he's waiting patiently for an answer. He is just so hot, you crumble, feeling weak while he continues to focus on you. His breathing is steady, meanwhile you are certain even he can hear your heartbeat hammering against your chest.
Your lower lip slips in between your teeth, cursing the blood that rushes into your cheeks. Zayne tilts his head slightly, understanding that it's embarrassing for you.
"I uh," you begin, feeling your mouth becoming dry, "I had a dream about you last night."
He nods slowly. "Hm. What happened in your dream?" You see him trying to prevent himself from smirking.
You smack him on the arm lightly and he crosses his arms, chuckling to your response. "Stop teasing!"
He sets his laptop aside on the coffee table. "Judging by your peculiar behaviour, there is something you want from me."
Zayne knows what you want and he wants you to say it. The eye contact is so intense, you don't think you can handle any more of this.
"Zayne, I want you to fuck me."
The doctor appears amused.
"Now, was it that difficult? Why don't you go and wait for me in the bedroom. I won't be long."
Rafayel-
Your little touches here and there are driving him insane. He's been trying to focus on his new painting the whole day and he thought by you coming, he would have a muse. You inspire him after all.
But he can't. Even when you're quiet, all he is thinking about is you. You napped and showered at his beautiful home and came out of the shower in a thin fabric tank top, that perfectly defined your nipples through it. You know well he took a second take. His studio isn't the warmest part of his house either, but you love relaxing and watching him paint.
He sets his brush down, making a slight mess. He turns over to you and you're already looking at him. His shirt is halfway unbuttoned and there's a few paint marks on his face and hands. Your fingers pick on your soft lips as you're eyeing him up and down, liking what you're seeing.
He shifts his weight onto one leg while he stands in front of you, grabbing a tea towel and trying to rub off some wet paint residue.
"Hey, quit the staring. I'm not just some piece of meat, you know." he remarks, scowling when you chuckle and proceed to approach him.
"I'm sorry," you murmur, placing your hands on his chest and moving them gradually to his neck. "It's hard not to stare when you look this good."
Your gaze commences on his eyes and drops to his lips for a moment. The corners of his mouth twitch, forming a smirk. One of his hands rests on your lower back while his fingers on the other brush your hair away from your face.
"I had a really nice dream about you, Rafayel." your voice almost falters to a whisper and you close the distance between you two. He can smell your minty breath and that body lotion he loves on you, mixed with your favourite shower gel.
His hand slips under your tank top, remaining on your back and gently scratching your smooth skin.
"Ah, I get it. You're seducing me." he licks his lips. "Silly girl."
"And is it working?" you speak lowly. "Can I ride you?"
He closes his eyes momentarily, his breath caught in his throat. You always catch him off guard. Rafayel bores his eyes into yours before grabbing your arm and leading you to his bedroom. Hard on the spot.
Xavier-
You woke up with a bit of a shock. It all seemed very real, but seeing you had your clothes on, it shattered your wishful thinking. You decided to take a nap before Xavier finished work as you happened to be pretty tired. But still you're up, feeling tired anyways yet overexcited. Your mind didn't rest.
Yawning, you enter your kitchen to grab some water but you stop in your tracks. Xavier is sitting on your couch, watching some reality show. You regretted giving him a key to your place.
"Xav? When did you get here?" you ask, walking around the couch.
The hunter greets you with a sweet smile. "Maybe half an hour ago."
"Why didn't you wake me up when you came?" you sit yourself near him, wondering why he's giving you a strange look.
He shakes his head. "I didn't want to wake you up. It seems you were having a very pleasant dream."
Your eyes widen and you're panicking, wondering if you made any noise. It all felt so real. Your cheeks flush with heat and you're grateful for the dimmed lights in the room.
You are unable to muster up a response, you're speechless. You can feel his stare on you, he's not trying to be discreet in any way. He doesn't need to be discreet. He repositions himself in his seat to have a better view of you.
"I love when you moan my name like that." he speaks softly, making you shiver. You're imagining him whispering naughty praises into your ear.
"Xav..." you whisper his name, losing your voice.
He stands up just to hover over you. He searches for leverage on the seat by your shoulder and his other gently brushes against your leg.
"Tell me, MC." he says quietly, leaning to your ear. "What did I do, to make you sound like that? I want to hear it again."
You shudder from all the tingles running throughout your whole being. How does he make you feel this way and he hasn't done anything major yet?
"Please." you utter, incapable of answering his question.
"You want me to make you beg for it, is it? Very well, I can do that."
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1 YOU, 1 ME
This is a one-shot request by one of the lovely readers of mine, enjoy this one :) Although I must say, this brings me back to the days when I used to be suicidal, so the experiences of mine are translated into the form of reader's POV so that you would get to take a trip of what I had dealt with as well. Just as my other one-shot Delirious, I do not take mental health as to be a joke. I am here for you if you needed someone to talk to, just like how I know you would be supportive of my works. I would do my best to cater to you as well because YOU MATTER <3.
Warnings: Deals with HEAVY Topics, Depression Mentions, Heavy Angst but yes to fluff. Please please please refrain if you are easily influenced by such topics.
XAVIER
When you had arrived at HQ today, Captain Jenna had approached you, handing you a file and informing you about the location of the wanderer as per usual. You studied the file, the wanderer looking like a saber-tooth, with fangs that could definitely pierced through skin like paper. "Good morning." You directed your head upwards and your partner stood by the side of your desk, a smile on his handsome features as he crossed his arms in front of his chest.
"Good morning Xavier." You handed the blue file to him and he took it, opening up the page and started reading through the details just like you did. "This should be a relatively easy mission. You ready for it?" He gently placed the file onto your desk and he waited for you to get up, before walking at the same pace as you to get to the basement parking.
Xavier is wearing his white suit today, the silverish-blue garters an accessory that also serves as a tool. You can tell that he had a good sleep last night given that his blazer was pressed and there is barely a crease on it. Regardless, crumpling of clothings would be normal anyways given the dynamic range of movements hunters have to do to kill a wanderer.
The mission had ended early just like every other time. Your pairing is known to be the best due to the compatibility of Xavier's light evol and your Resonance evol, hence it is an added advantage when it comes to dealing with wanderers. Him dealing damage to one of the wanderers and your evol resonates the same act of his, inflicting damage upon other wanderers without you touching them.
"Shall we go and get something to eat?" Xavier asked you, readjusting his garter and wiping off some of the dried crusts of a wanderer's bodily fluids off of his shoulders.
You flicked your hand, your weapon disappearing on call and you looked over to him. "It's alright. I am a little tired. I'm just gonna head home for the night." You turned and started heading towards the direction of your parked motorcycle, the moonlight only being your source of lighting.
"Wait, don't wander around alone." His warned, footsteps catching up to yours effortlessly. "You might get lost in this forest you know."
Your lack of comeback made him ran his palm across the back of his neck out of embarassment. If only you are still interested in his facial features, then you might just be able to catch sight of him blushing bashfully. "My bike's here. I'm gonna head off. Enjoy your meal." You did not give him any time to revert the same to you. You just hiked up onto your bike and rode off into the night.
The same situation happened for a couple more times, till he got used to it. You would appear for missions, complete it and then you would leave. Just like how he did last time when you first met him but now the tables have seemingly turned. He watched you as you tried to control your breath after the wanderer was defeated. This time it was a huge creature, with a large tail lined with huge spikes that could kill with one swipe and it took the both of you a bit more time than usual to defeat it.
"Hey, y/n, do you---" He walked closer to you, leaning down to get a better view of your hidden face. The long hair of yours a brunette curtain.
"No Xavier, I am fine." You assumed he was going to ask you out for dinner but you were quick to reject, not wanting to add on to anymore complications. "I just needed some time to myself."
"I was meaning to ask, if you are okay?" He stopped for a tad bit. "Is everything alright?"
Your nod was curt but his frown is becoming more prominent by every added minute. "I can tell something is wrong y/n."
"Perhaps I have not been getting enough sleep recently." You dismissed him, walking towards your bike with him following behind you in quickened footsteps. "But I can assure you I am fine."
"But, you barely come to HQ and you have been excusing yourself from dinner with me after missions. Your reason for the past few times have only been 'I am fine' and 'I am tired' which is what's concerning me." He came up to you, obstructing you from getting onto your motorbike.
"Xavier." Your voice lowered. "I just want to go home and rest." With your tone, the blondie gave up, sighing and stepping aside to let you get onto your bike and he watched as you revved your engine and darted off into the embrace of the darkness.
┊ ┊ ┊ ˚✧
The rings of your doorbell beckoned you to get up and off of your couch, the drama on your television turning into white noise in the back. Not that you were actually watching it anyways, the screen was on but your mind was floating elsewhere. This time however, you did not falter into your state of guilt, rendering you a chance to actually sit in still silence. You are admittedly taken aback at the sound of your doorbell ringing as you do not have any visitors checking in anytime soon including Tara. You took your time to get to the door, not even bothering to check the peephole and you swung open your door.
Here he is now, in front of your door, looking down at you from his towering height, with a casual outfit and a pizza box in his hands. Yes, he did pretended he was the pizza man just to get you to open up the door for him. Now he also knows that the peephole is just a decoration for your door.
The sight of you however, made his jaw dropped mentally. Your arm was littered in cut marks, in different shapes and depth, but the crusting of the scabs tells him that this had happened a couple of days ago. You nervously pulled your sleeves down to hide your scars, making intense eye contact with the ground. It did not hit you for you to cover your scars as to a stranger, they would care less of what happens behind your doors. But maybe much of a dismay towards Xavier. He occupied himself within your door frame and you staggered backwards.
"What's wrong?" He placed the pizza box onto the shelf next to him and he gently took your arm, pushing the sleeve up. Your hiss made him halted his actions, eyeing you for a further reaction before he spoke. "Why did you do this?"
"I..." You could not make up any words, tears gathering at the back of your eyes. The guilt flowing its way through your system instantly. It was like you lost all of your control and succumbed to your emotions. The emotions that you were so scared of showing to anyone. Especially to Xavier. With him being your partner, and your crush. You did not want him to report this to the team, and you certainly do not want him to think differently about you. "I...I was scared..." Your fist tightening. "I didn't want to lose anyone else like how I lost Tara."
Ever since that day you found out about Tara's death, you got lost. Blaming yourself was the only viable way for you to forgive yourself. She was stuck with some rookie to go and defeat a wanderer on the day you had called in sick. It was that specific mission with the inexperience rookie that got both her and the rookie killed.
Yes, it has nothing to do with you but it also has EVERYTHING to do with you. What if you did not report in sick that day? Maybe things would have had a better turn? And maybe, just maybe Tara would be able to pull through till you arrived on the scene? You remembered, the way she stared at you as she laid on the battlefield, blood oozing out of all of her orifices. Her eyes a window to her soul, opened but lifeless. As if she died hoping you could have arrived on time.
Xavier said nothing, his breaths slow and steady. Approaching you, the blond haired man pulled you in by your waist, his grip solid. You had sunken into the hole of self-blame, rotating around a death circle and at this point, Xavier could do nothing but to tell you that he is here for you, through his actions. "It's not your fault that she lost her life, y/n. Please don't blame it on yourself. I am sure Tara would not want you to do this to yourself either." He slowly lifted your arm up, analysing the wounds. They are skin deep but not deep enough to damage your skin permanently but he had to wash this and wrap this up quickly before it evolves into a nasty infection.
"I just couldn't stop myself Xavier. It hurts so much in my head that physical pain is the only way to relief it." You croaked with your dry throat. "I just felt so sad you know. Like it really hurts my heart. I don't know what is this feeling." After the first few hours of you losing Tara, you experienced nausea and headaches. Then comes the crying and the grief and then to the self-blame. You had read up about mental pain being able to manifest itself into physical pain but you were too ignorant of how severe this may be. So severe to the point that you had to result to self-harm to remind yourself of the pain you had to go through because of your carelessness.
Leading you towards the bathroom, the boy was careful in his words and steps. "I believe this is what one would call grief. It hurts so much mentally that it hurts you physically as well. In this case, you have to hurt yourself to relieve the pain and I think it is time for you to meet a psychiatrist y/n." He sat you down onto the toilet seat and took out the medical kit from your cabinet. His words gave you the confirmation of what you had read about being factual. Kneeling down, he seeked for your confirmation with an alcohol pad in his hand.
When you nodded, he dabbed the pad across your arm and you bit onto your lips harshly to stop yourself from screaming out in agony. You do not deserve to scream as you had done this to yourself. His pause made you look at him. "You do not have to hold back. If it hurts, you can scream. If it hurts, you can cry. If it hurts still, you can talk to me." His eyes were sincere, the cerulean orbs a vast ocean, inviting you to be within his embrace as he opened up his arms to you.
And you fell, straight onto your knees and you grabbed onto his shirt, the blood crusts on your sleeve staining his shirt in the progress but the both of you could care less. You needed a good cry while he knows that you needed comfort. "It's alright y/n, I am here for you. I will always be here for you." His fingers ran through your hair, tucking some stray strands behind your ear, your body shook with every sob you took. "I just need you to know that regardless what happens, you can always tell me. I will never leave you alone, I can't bear to see you in this state because I love you." His sudden confession halted your cries for a moment, staring up at him with the ugliest look you got.
At this moment, you really wished that you could take any other days to hear his confession rather than hearing it from him when you are in such a vulnerable state. Seriously, who would want to get a confession when they are having a break down and they have tears and snot streaked on their face as part of their 'makeup'?
"You are saying this because you pity me, don't you?" You were ready to pull back, a slither of embarassment passed your expressions. "I do not need your pity."
"I do not pity you, y/n. In fact, I had always been admiring you for the things you do. You had uphold yourself well despite you are struggling so much. I really do like you and no matter what I will always be here for you." He reinstated his point and you grabbed hold onto his neck, crying even louder, strained voice echoed through your bathroom.
"I thought, I really thought I would have to deal with this all by myself. I can't, I never know that I am this weak." Your cries a reflection of your sadness and your relief, knowing that you can finally put your heart at rest, not having to deal with the grief all alone like how you always done it to yourself. Xavier placed his hand under your chin again and you looked up into his eyes of blue, with him leaning down and pressing a kiss to your lips. The death cycle shall come to an end.
ZAYNE
You tapped your feet onto the tiled floor impatiently. Clack, clack, clack. If anyone were to be within your vicinity now, your tapping against the floor would definitely be another added on frustration towards their state. Eyes darting everywhere, focusing on one thing to another. The door in front of you still remained tightly shut. The smell of antiseptic a constant fragrance within the hospital and you were about to get a headache.
You are up for your monthly routine check-up and meeting Zayne has always been nerve-wrecking, not because your heart is desperately trying to jump its way out of your chest and to give Zayne a hug, but it is also because you would like him to examine your brain as well. You figured something has been wrong with you mentally recently, after Tara's death to be exact. You get hot flashes at night, waking up at ungodly hours and sometimes, just sometimes, you would just want to lie in bed all day and not wanting to do anything, let alone eating.
You could not pinpoint exactly what was going wrong until the day you woke up from a nightmare, your chest tightened in a way you had never experienced before. Your breaths short and rushed, but no air was going into your lungs. Your throat had constricted airflow as well, choking you till your tears are being squeezed out of your eye sockets. It was until you had to scratch your arm till you bleed then you only regained consciousness, your breathing slowed, airways opening to welcome the fresh breaths of air that you were restrained from. You thought it was an allergy reaction for a moment but you were sure none of the allergies would get you to paw through your arm, breaking the skin barrier and seeing crimson red to replace the pain you had felt a while ago. Something is clearly wrong.
You had chose to wear a loose sweater today, not wanting to reveal your so-called battle scar to random strangers. Not wanting them to judge you for 'Im so emo, I hurt myself to be cool and I preach that battle scars are a sign for me fighting for my life in everyday society'. You can hear that in your own head, slowly succumbing into a state of blurred vision as you lowered your head, your vision darkening. "It's your turn." The familiar voice brought you out of your own reverie. Another shadow loomed over your hunched body, with straight shoulders and what seemed to be an outline of a long coat, you knew it was Zayne.
"Yeah." You stood up slowly and followed behind the cardiologist into his room. As usual, you took a seat next to his desk, the padded seat warm to your bum. A knob twisting, in suit with a locking sound, it marks the start for your checkup session. The room was filled with tension, as Zayne ran his stethoscope down your back, listening cautiously to your heartbeat as you took in deep breaths. The man's eyebrows were furrowed, eyes narrowed as if your heartbeat had an arrythmia. "What is it?" You asked, noticing that the listening session of his is unusually longer then usual.
"It seems like your heartbeat is slower. And there were slight staggers of arrhythmia on your right atrium. I should run some bloodtests and perhaps get an MRI scan on your heart as well." He retracted the stethoscope away from your back and walked to the front of you, fingers scooped your chin up and you looked at the man in front of you now. Standing tall, with broad shoulders that could be spotted underneath the bulky medical coat of his. He is in his blue scrubs today, perhaps a surgery aligned earlier on and he did not have much time to change out of it.
He took a small flashlight the shape of a pen out of his coat and he leaned down, a waft of his cologne hitting your nose. Minty fresh with a mix of antiseptic, that is what he smells like on the days he has a full schedule ahead. You peeled open you eyes wider and he flashed the light into your pupils, his hazel green orbs in an uncalled staring competition with you. "Pupils are functioning well as usual, but I do realise some redness at your whites. Have you been getting enough sleep?" A slight hint of him caring for your quality of sleep went away as fast as it arrived.
"I...Actually..." Your lips froze, words forming at the tip of your tongue but you could not roll out any of them. It was like your brain was subconsciously begging you not to tell Zayne, in order to not ruin his impressions of you being a healthy individual. He is a doctor, what harm would that cause if you were to tell him that you had been experiencing some mental issues these past few days? Perhaps he would just throw you some medical facts, ask you to drink more water and you should feel better in a day or two.
Then you recalled when your grandmother had passed, he did not show any bits of sympathy towards you other than passing on the box that was left behind by your late grandmother. He did not even ask if you were doing alright when you sat right here in his office, trying so hard to hold those choked sobs back. The thought of him not showing any sympathy towards you during the loss of your grandmother gave you the ultimate decision that you will not reveal anything to him. "I had been sleeping late these days because of paperwork."
The doctor sighed, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, the glasses sat comfortably at the bump he has on his nose. "If its so, try not to procrastinate in the afternoon and actually do your paperwork instead of rushing them all at once in the middle of the night." His sound advice not a bit helpful to your fib. "You wearing a long sleeved sweater in the middle of summer would cause you to get a heat stroke, which would directly affect your heart as well. So I would advice you to keep cool whenever you can." He sat down in his chair, picking up a pen and started scribbling away on the prescription tab. "As for now, take these medications for your arrhythmia. Once the MRI is scheduled I will get the nurse to contact you to come in for the scan."
┊ ┊ ┊ ˚✧
"Y/n." Tap tap tap. "Y/n wake up." An oddly familiar voice drowned your hearing, your body lifted off of the floor by a force. "Y/n. Please wake up." The smell of antiseptic filled your nose and your eyes slowly opened up, the blinding lights above made it hard for you to adjust to your surroundings. Your name was called out again and you turned your head a little, catching sight of Zayne, his eyes slightly widened. He was staring at you as if he had seen a ghost. You could barely remember what happened. Ringing in your heads made you winced and the man pulled you tighter within his arms. Your face now against his hard torso. "What happened?"
You blinked your eyes a couple more times and you looked down. Blood pooled on your wooden floors, the wax layered on top of it preventing the liquid from seeping through. Your arms were streaked in red, the evidence clear as daylight underneath your fingernails. It probably happened again, did it? "I...I don't know." You responded weakly, your lips equivalent to sandpaper. "I don't know what happened."
Zayne pushed you back a little and he held your arm up by your wrist, eyeing over all of the bloody and deep scratches to search for a sign of infection. Perhaps, a sign for why would you do this to yourself as well. Zayne decided to come by your abode when you had missed out on your MRI appointment, him knowing that you would not purposely miss out on any medical appointments and even if you have to, you would at least have the decency to make a call to inform.
That day when you left the room, he noticed your charm was lacking, your retorts were non-existent, and your face was ghoulish. You struggling to tell him a piece of your mind, only to retract back and say that you fell asleep late due to paper work caught the doctor off-guard as well. But he is not the type to intrude, to ask you questions that you would not want to answer.
He came by, searching under your potted plants for the key and it was slotted right beneath the jasmine pot that he had given you as a congratulatory present when you got accepted into Unicorn. His heart inexplicably felt warm at the thought of you still caring for the jasmine till this day. He twisted the key into the doorknob and it clicked open, slotting himself right into your doorway and he looked through your apartment. It looked neat, but the lights were not turned on. He heard a loud thud and his footsteps reacted to it, carrying him across your living room and towards your bedroom.
Another thud, this time louder, echoed through your room and he opened the door hastily, immediately catching sight of your body, laying on the floor, jolting as if you were shocked by an invisible electric current. You are having a seizure, in a pool of blood that he could only assume belonging to you. He took three long strides and he was shocked to his core. Your arms were littered with long and narrow open wounds, the culprit being your blood stained fingers. Your eyes were flipped to the back of your head, veins popped out of your neck as one of your hand latched itself onto your forearm and yo dug deeper into your wounds. "Y/n!" He shouted, unbuttoning his sleeves and pushing them up his forearm and he dived down onto his knees to heave you towards him, away from the wall.
He immediately started doing CPR, going according to the beat as he switched between pumping your chest and blowing air into your mouth. The effectivity of the CPR started kicking in when your convulsions started to calm down, your body going from tensing to limp and you laid unmoving on the floor. He leaned down to get a good hearing of your heart. It is beating in a normal rhythm, a good sign that you are still alive. The arrhythmia is gone now but the soon-to-be scars on your arms is the next thing he worries about.
He did not understand, none of the theories he had studied about one's physicality applied. The heart arrhythmia, the sight of you convulsing on the floor, the hearings of your choked breaths as he watched you, the skin deep lacerations inflicted upon yourself only with the use of your fingernails. None of the symptoms matched any of his medical theories. i am not a doctor, pls dont chew me on this :,)
Unless it has something to do out of his field, which is the mental aspect. Zayne being a doctor, although succeeded at a relatively young age, but his expertise has always been within the field of cardiology. Of course he has friends within the psychological field, but it never struck him that you would end up with a mental illness. You had always been fit as a fiddle in his eyes, both mentally and physically. But all it takes is for two accidents in a row to trigger the mental illness for you. If its so, why did you not tell him anything about it? Why did you keep it all to yourself? He knew he should have said something, he should have stayed by your side when he found out about Tara's death. It was too short of a timeframe for you to be dealing with two deaths within a few months' gap.
"It's alright, you will be okay. Everything will be alright." He only remembered during one of the mental illness campaigns he was asked to attend, they taught of ways to identify individuals experiencing mental illness and very little was talked about how can one deal with someone who is having an episode. The speaker said something about acceptance, comfort and validation. And that is to the extent of what Zayne knows.
"Y/n, I need you to take in deep breaths, I need you to calm down." He could not treat her just like any other patient in this damn moment. This vulnerability of hers is new territory for him, but it shows that she is not as strong as she portrays herself to be and this part of her provoked him to want to be there for her even more than before.
"I don't know...I don't know why I am like this." You trembled in his arms, your head spinning and you felt like you were about to taste bile anytime.
"And it is not your fault, y/n." His voice is calm, soothing to your ears. You could feel his hot breath against the shell of your ear and you looked up at him, the lights above him forming an angelic halo. "It shall never be your fault." He pressed a kiss to your forehead. "I am sorry that I was never there for you. From now on, let me be there for you." Other than the kiss on your forehead being a shock factor, the fact he wanted to be involved in your life and your 'journey-to-recovery' made your heart skipped an extra beat. "I promise you, from now on, I will always be by your side, only when you want me to."
You lifted your hand up to touch his cheeks, your palm cold to the touch on his warm face. You swore you saw him blushed for a mere second. "Of course I would want you to be by my side Zayne." And he gave you a comforting smile. The man then slowly inched down, eyes looking between your eyes and lips. When you tilt your head upwards, he took it as your consent and you both shared the first kiss.
RAFAYEL
"Do you want that?" Rafayel asked you, index finger pointed right at a banana boat plushie. Two 'flavours' to be picked from, one with the usual chocolate, vanilla and strawberry theme while the other has a caramel, vanilla and banana theme. You were about to pick for the latter but the man standing beside you was quicker in calling out shots. "I think the original one would fit you better. The colour theme just looks more harmonious than the other."
You watched as he picked up the dart and aimed it towards the target. He pulled his wrist back and with a flick, the dart landed onto the target's bullseye. The stall owner did not look a bit amused, probably thinking that he could scam Rafayel enough money for a meal. Walking over to the banana boat plushie, the guy took it down and handed it to Rafayel over the counter. "Thanks." You smiled, hugging the plushie when he gave it to you.
"Where is my hug?" Rafayel looked betrayed, the signature pout of his surfacing. "I was the one who scored you Mr.Babana here." Yes, he called it Babana. Smiling, you went over to him, arms opened wide and you hugged him, your head settling right into his chest. He smelled of grapefruit and white wood, with a splash of peach as the base. You thought he only used one perfume for all types of events as he has voiced his dislike for strong smelling scents but you were clearly wrong. Musky smelling ones for when he attends interviews, fresh smelling ones for when he attends events, and sweet smelling ones are only reserved for his outings with you.
His chin was propped right above the top of your head, and he smells fresh shampoo. You nagging him about how sakura composites are good for the hair recently is enough for him to know what shampoo you are currently using. To Rafayel, you are not that hard to decipher. In fact, you may be one of the most uncomplicated character he had ever met in his life. Your genuine emotions and expressions a direct reflection to your conscience and that is exactly why he likes you.
"Thank you for the Mr.Babana." You chuckled, pulling away from the hug but his arms remained on your shoulder, he would have opted to hold your waist but he wanted to make sure that you would not be uncomfortable in this situation.
"My pleasure of course." He mimicked your smile and this time, the both of you took a step back from each other and then walked down the path together. The cobblestones beneath your shoe reflecting the lights from the parade, painting them in all sorts of colours that offers more variety than a rainbow. "Y/n, I have to travel abroad tomorrow to attend one of my exhibitions. So, I was wondering once I am back from my business trip, would you like to go out with me again?"
Him informing you about the business trip made you hesitant to answer him. Not because you did not want to go out on a date with him again. You just did not want to be alone. Not when you had just lost a friend to a wanderer. All of the smiles you had presented today are genuine, but deep down, you were worried your remorse would eat you up and ruin the whole date for today. The last thing you want is for Rafayel to be on the receiving end for your breakdowns.
"I am waiting for a yes." You jolted at how close he is to your face, you could practically feel his breath against your skin. He smirked, taking a step back to give you some breathing space, hands tucked into the pockets of his black jeans. The young man today adorned a fitted black tshirt with a pair of jeans, pairing over it is a jean jacket. Simple outfit but definitely looks amazing on him.
"Y...yeah, of course we can Rafayel." You looked down, nervously trying to calm your hyped heartbeats. With that, the date between you two came to an end, with Rafayel fetching you home safely and making sure you got into your home before he drove off.
┊ ┊ ┊ ˚✧
Rafayel had left for his business trip for the past two days. And for the past two days, it can only be described as hellish for you. Jerking yourself off of your bed, you sat straight, eyes widened as cold sweat trickled down the back of your neck. Yet another nightmare, the same one every night. With the sight of Tara laying on the traylike bed in the morgue, awaiting for you to identify her. She was as pale as the walls surrounding her, her body laid rigid, and her eyes closed. It almost seemed like she was asleep but you knew right then and there, she would not be able to open her eyes anymore.
She had a wound the size of a bullet in between her eyebrows. They called it a fatality spot as anything that is sharp enough to penetrate that area and passing the skull would be guaranteed an instant death. Just like what Tara had gone through. The wound however, according to autopsy, was inflicted by something biological, so bullets are out of the question and the only answer you could think of is the act of a berserk wanderer. You kept trying to blink, assuming that if you blinked hard enough, Tara would be able to rise again and everything would be back to how it was like. But, that's not the case most of the time.
Instead of accepting her death, you chose to deny it. Ironic, your identification process of Tara in the morgue is validated but you yourself chose to not accept the reality of her death. You even refused to go to her funeral the day after tomorrow, claiming to yourself that it would only make you hate yourself more than anything else. You were not there when it happened as you were sent onto another mission, a much tougher one that involves civillians. So, Tara was assigned this mission, just to deal with a bunch of wanderers. Or so you heard, but her wound says otherwise. Whatever wanderer she had been dealing with is certainly way beyond what she could handle.
The date between you and Rafayel took place the day after her funeral so the wounds of your grief still remained fresh. With that stated analogy, the first few days of your denial marks the start of your wounds, freshly cut opened, breaking off the surface of the skin barrier but still not deep enough to leave a scar. Now you are in phase two, where blood starts seeping through the wound as it has broken through the skin barrier, cutting deeper. This is where the nightmares become more and more revolting, more and more realistic that you have a hard time differentiating between your trance and reality.
You buried your face into Mr.Babana and you cried like there is no tomorrow. You had to get it out somehow, and the best way you could think of is to cry yourself to sleep again and pray hard so that you would not have a continuation of the nauseating nightmare. When you opened your eyes again, you were met with the warmth of the sunlight peeking in through your window. Sunlight in general, is known to promote energy boosting for one's body but right now, it only did the opposite for you.
Your phone rang, drowning out the sounds of your ugly cries. Shimmying towards you bedside, you held up your phone and you saw the contact name 'Your Favourite Fishie'. You specifically recalled that you had saved his name under Rafayel, but when did it got changed? Maybe it was during that time when he was playing on your phone while his was charging and he seized the opportunity to change his name into something so ridiculous like this. You sniffled, trying to calm your breathing the best possible and you answered the call. "Hello." You croaked out. Shit.
"Hey, y/n. Did I happen to wake you up?" His voice came through the other side of the call. He sounded borderline concern.
"No, you didn't don't worry. I woke up to use the washroom." You spoke, if he were to be in front of you right now, he would be nagging you to speak up but thank goodness your phone has a good microphone to pick up your small volume. "How is your exhibition going?"
"Boooring." You can tell he was rolling his eyes to the back of his head. "That's why I am already on my way back. I will arrive in probably half an hour. So would you like to have dinner with me tonight?"
Contemplating, you knew that if you were to meet him in 30 minutes, your puffy face would lead to a telltale sign that you had just cried. Then, you assumed that Rafayel would be disappointed with you. You see, Rafayel had never been the type to submit towards pressure, instead, he is a notorious rebel towards it. It is like he has something personal against stress. With your current status, you immediately felt like you are not worthy to be spending your time with him. Let alone having to have a huge crush on him. What makes you think that he would like you back if he found out about your current state of distress? He would definitely not want to deal with such an issue.
"Actually, today I am not free. I have stuffs to do." You gnawed onto your lip.
Pouting, the purple haired man crossed his legs nonchalantly, sitting himself comfortably in his luxurious car as Thomas drove it. "Like what stuffs?"
You panicked, eyes watery and you sniffled. "I have to go to the doctors. I am having a flu and I don't want to infect you."
Rafayel heard that sniffle of yours and he immediately replied. "Oh, alright. Then you rest well okay? There will always be some other day that I can bring you out for a nice dinner so you owe me that alright?"
"Yeah okay." And the call ended with him saying 'bye and take care'. Hanging up the phone, your lips quivered, chills ran down your spine as you started hesitating about whether you should still stay in contact with Rafayel. You could not possibly land him to be your boyfriend, where did the confidence come from? "I am just not worth it." Your cries then came back.
The next hour went by and you were laying in your bed the whole time, no will to move, no appetite, no will to even meet anyone. You just wanted to succumb to your loneliness, the sound of the fan is the only voice you can hear. The only company you have for now. You had just calmed down from your break down, your eyes full on puffy now and you are experiencing after-cries hiccups. Your mind had a constant voice, reminding you of just how useless you are not only at your job, but also your incapability to keep your emotions in check. Feeling overwhelmed, you curled into a ball and just allow the tears to flow.
The door to your room creaked open but it did not faze you. You were too caught up with the voices in your head but Rafayel's voice made you covered your ears. You are delusional now, great. Until a hand touched your shoulder then you snapped your head towards the source, met with purplish-blue eyes that were filled with utmost concern for you. "Hey, hey what happened?" He climbed onto your bed and sat right in front of you, his large hands cupping your small face, his thumb drew over your cheeks, dismissing your tears. "Why are you crying y/n? Did someone hurt you?"
Your silence marks the end of his questioning and he pulled you into his chest. His solid torso cushioning your head as he laid down with you in his arms, on top of him. "Shh, it's alright." Rafayel held you close to him. "I know things have been tough for you."
"We should stop meeting." Your desolating suggestion made him pulled back in shock, his eyes scanning your face for any smiles or hints of it being a joke but he did not find any at all. "I like you Rafayel, and I think this is not healthy for you."
"Who are you? The moral police? Who are you to determine what is healthy or not for me?" His eyebrows are furrowed in frustration. "Even if you want to push me away, you can't because I am in love with you y/n. I am so madly in love with you that I kept thinking about you everyday, everything that I see reminds me of you, every artwork that I inspect at the exhibition only related to you. So, you can't push me away, no matter how hard you try."
"But, whatever I am experiencing now, it makes me think I am not worth---" His finger silenced you, pressing it against your lips to ask you to shut up politely.
"Do not speak for me y/n. As much as I like to hear your voice, I do not want to hear such unflattering ideas from your pretty head okay?" He ran his hand down the sides of your cheek, his gaze loving. "I want you to know that, I will never let you cry alone, ever again. Do not worry about me being stressed out or anything about you not being able to be in control of your emotions. I am sure I can handle anything when it comes to you, for I had waited a long time for someone like you y/n. Annnnd I will not let something as simple as you going through a period of depression push me away. So, why don't you do me a favour and tell me what is going on in that pretty head of yours?"
His confession surely warmed your heart, with you staring at him in disbelief. You know he had always been showing signs of him being interested in you, but you never thought you would be able to catch sight of him being empathetic towards you. Your sobs came again, this time much more stronger and you leaned into him, spending the day telling him about everything that you had went through and ended up sleeping next to him. Rafayel propped himself up on his elbow and he watched your features, puffy and reddish but you did not lack your beauty amidst all of the chaos you have to go through. He leaned down to press a kiss to your lips, a promise to you that he would stay with you forever.
This is the end of this one-shot and sorry my lovelies, this will not be getting an extra episode or anything. It shall only be ending here :,)
P.S: These are part and parcel of my actual experiences, hence I do not downplay or look down on anyone who are struggling with mental illness. As I know it is very tough to get over it. The part where Rafayel had spoken to reader, where he would be by his side blah blah, was actually what my boyfriend told me when I was having a terrible panic attack. So please my girlies, do not settle for the bare minimum and lower your standards for a guy/gurl who could not be better for you. Because you all deserve happiness oki.
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Delirious
No matter how much you had offered your heart and arms to him, you were never his. And he was never yours.
Another oneshot requested by my angsty babies, I am glad you chose Rafayel. Yes, the writer you had wished for is back. Hang on tight to your seats baby gurl, this one gonna be hard to swallow.
Warnings: Angst, no comfort. Make your eyes bleed. Character death. Descriptive Mentions of dark topics so if ur sensitive please refrain.
Artwork is not mine, please support the original artwork!
Ding Dong. Ding Dong. Ding Dong. dINg dOng. DiNg dOnG.
You slammed your door opened and the 183cm drama queen stands in your doorway, head hung low, face drooped towards the floor. If he is not made of solid muscle and bones, you would be watching him melting right into the floor. Sighing, you stood aside and let him in, not even bothering to ask him a single question. You sort of having a gist on what had happened.
"Here, soup for you." He replied solemnly, feet carrying him lazily across the living room and to your kitchen. He brought soup this time, must be something big. Him bringing a souvenir over also means he would probably be staying the night. Not that you guys are in a relationship or anything, but 'complicated' is the right term for the both of you as of this stage.
The chair creaked under his weight as he took a seat on the wooden chair slotted at your dining table. "Rafayel." You grabbed a tissue box and sat down on the opposite end, a good necessity whenever he drops by your house unannounced. His hunched over form under the harsh lighting of your dining room's light unexpectedly painted a blob of shadow on your table. You reached your hand out this time, finger tapped on the wooden table just a few centimeters away from his hand. "Rafayel, are you okay?"
"She broke up with me." His reply was short. No details, no whining, no accusations, but just one sentence. This is an untouched territory for you. Most of the time, he would pressed on the doorbell nonstop until you slam open the door and his lips would not shut off till he was done venting. There were a couple of times he did came in looking like a dreaded fish, but the smell of alcohol would be the perfume of his. Today, however, no alcohol smell and no usual harangues.
.⋆｡⋆☂˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆.
Few days passed, till few weeks, then few months after. For such a while, Rafayel had been hanging out more frequently with you, bringing you to the most random places to hang out such as going to a bowling alley just to get their waffles because he claims he likes to watch people roll balls but he also likes the waffles there. A trip to the market only to buy crabs and releasing them into the backyard to watch which one could run the fastest then the winner shall be rewarded as dinner on the dining table.
He had never been weirder than ever, but maybe this is his way of coping and who are you to judge? You had never been in love. But reading through romance books and watching all of the romantic shows, when love comes to your mind, Rafayel comes to your mind. You thought, maybe you do love him?
"Get out." Your words were final. Index finger sliced through the air and pointed straight towards your front door. Your cheeks glistened under the reflecting light casted by the television that was playing a teen romance flick. But no attention was spared for the movie anymore. "Rafayel. GET. OUT."
"What do you mean?" Eyebrows sewn together, eyeing your expression that spelled hurt. He was confused about your sudden burst of anger. "All I did was talk about the movie. And you got mad at me all of a sudden."
"You did not talk about the movie. All you did, was compared me to her, with the context of the movie." Your nostrils flared, tears stinging at the back of your eyes as if you had inhaled poison. Your throat and chest tightening further the more you held your tears in. "You lied to me. You said you got over her." Your arm fell to your sides, voice feeble. "But, why do you always find the need to compare me to her?"
"Oh spare me, I just went through a breakup, I could use the space to let loose, can't I?" His ignorance egged you on, seeing how indifferent he is about this situation. "Furthermore, I could use the---"
"And you think it's okay to play with my feelings?!" You belted, eyes welled up with tears, blurring your vision. You stepped up to him, hands pointed towards his face this time and you seethed in anger. "You, came here everytime, when she broke your heart. And out of everytime, I stayed. I waited." Your voice started cracking. "I was there for you when you had nobody else. And I picked you up when you thought you could not live without her anymore."
"Well, you could have just left if you---" He chipped in and you slapped him across his face with your palm. Although your hands are small, but it packed enough of a force to cause his cheek to ache, an uncomfortable throbbing pain following afterwards. He left his head tilted to the side, taking in the reality of what had happened. He just got slapped by a girl. Never in his life, he thought he would do something so outrageous that he would get slapped across the face. Guess he just broke his streak of not getting slapped by women.
"I WAS IN LOVE WITH YOU, CAN'T YOU TELL?!" You withdrew your hands and slid onto the floor, full on sobbing as you hugged onto your body to gain warmth for yourself. All of the blood had rushed up to your head which explains why you could not feel your legs anymore, hence the position on the floor. You desperately hoped Rafayel would grab you right now, and hug you tight within his arms.
You heard hurried shuffles, sound of keys jangling and a soft thud next to you. Those noises not tending to your curiosity at all. "I am sorry." His reply was bland, numb even. A sentence for remorse, also a sentence for a goodbye. The doors closed behind you and you were left alone, a forlorn soul basked within the lights emitted from the romance show. Silent sobs overheard by the moon that was peeking in through the windows of your sky roof.
.⋆｡⋆☂˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆.
"Rafayel!" Thomas burst in the front doors, scurrying towards Rafayel's room at full speed after spotting the empty canvas sitting at the living room. Slamming the door that leads to Rafayel's room, the artist was sprawled out on the bed, his room so cold that Thomas could have just witnessed the North Pole without having to be there. The floor was surrounded in trash, papers crumpled up, pencils of all kinds used for sketching strewn across the floor. One may call it an organised mess, but Thomas calls this artist block.
"How long have you been in this room?!" Thomas shook Rafayel's shoulders to wake him up. "Your room is as cold as the cold storage that you use to store your seafood!" Thomas wasted no time in having to collect the pieces of papers and pencils on the floor, arranging them in his hand. "Why are you not done with---"
His nag came to a halt when Rafayel had sat up straight, back hunched over and eye bags the only colour present on his pale features. "What do you want?" Even his voice sounds hoarse, like a teen boy cycling through the age of puberty. "I do not wish to be disturbed."
"Your calls, as usual, went unanswered for the past few days so I helped myself by going over to ask y/n about your whereabouts because I thought you were staying with her pretty often these days." Placing the items onto the artist's white desk, Thomas turned to study his expression, his arms crossed over his chest.
"I know that look from somewhere." He squinted his eyes, studying him even further. "You had that same look when you caught your ex cheating on you that night." Thomas was referring to the girl that came before you. The one that had broke Rafayel's fragile heart. "Funny, now that I think of it, y/n's not doing any better than you."
Coming to realisation, the light bulb in Thomas' head flipped the switch. "Did anything happened to the both of you?"
"Did she asked anything about me?" Rafayel answered his question with another question. Eyes finally slanted upwards to face the manager of his. He just wanted to hear something, at least something to give him a reason to find her. He felt guilty, remorseful even for putting his burdens onto her. Leaving her all alone, drowning her in her own agony that day was the worse thing he could ever do to someone who had only ever been kind to him. And it took him three days to figure that out in his fish brain.
"No, she just asked me to hand you this." The older man reached into the pocket of his blazer, fishing a pink note out of his pocket and he handed it to Rafayel. The paper a little wrinkled, but the contents of it are a mark of your handwriting.
//𝐼 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊, 𝐼 𝓌𝒾𝓈𝒽 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒶𝓁𝓁 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒷𝑒𝓈𝓉 𝒾𝓃 𝒻𝒾𝓃𝒹𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒 𝒶𝓈 𝐼 𝑜𝓃𝒸𝑒 𝒹𝒾𝒹.// Your cursive writing always a form of art to his eyes. A small, dainty note was all that takes for her to personally pass on the will to him. Rafayel stared at the note for a good minute, the wind coming out of the air-conditioner turning Thomas into a popsicle but filling the silence.
"I have to go." Rafayel uttered, hoisting himself out of the bed in one go and he threw on his dark pistachio green open collared shirt. The one you always quipped about how healthy his skin tone looks in it but with him constantly bantering that the green was a direct insult to his hair and eye colour. Just for this time, he would smother his ego, put on your favourite outfit, and head over to find you.
.⋆｡⋆☂˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆.
The keys he held onto, the same set of extra keys you had entrusted him with, slotted into the keyhole and turning it clockwise, a 'clack' could be heard and he opened the door with the twist of the copper-painted doorknob. The balcony's sliding door remained opened, the sheer white curtains danced to the rhythm of the wind. The lights in your house were dimly lit, providing Rafayel with just enough lighting to navigate himself towards your room.
At this timing, in the middle of the night, he tiptoed through your wooden floors, afraid even the smallest of creaks would give you the spooks. He twisted the doorknob to your door but it jammed halfway. Trying again, with a bit more exerted force this time, the door remained unbudgable. "Y/N...?" He called out for your name, using his knuckle to give a light knock on your door. "It's me Rafayel. Can we talk?"
He was met with a deafening silence. Of course you would not want him to be anywhere near you, be it to hear him apologise for his stupidity or for him to comfort you within his arms. He bet you could care less about him given the last stunt he had pulled on you. He grappled for his phone, pulling out of his pant's back pocket and he turned on the screen, the light on his phone screen puts the dim lightings to shame.
He scrolled through his phone book till he stopped at your name, a heart symbol edited in next to your name. It was not just a stunt for him to catch your attention, the heart emoji has always been there, but after you had taken him in and allowed him to stay with you for a couple of weeks, the heart started making more sense to him, but poor Rafayel couldn’t distinguish what is love and what is bare attraction. If he could get to talk to you this time, then maybe the heart would mean the world to him. Maybe, maybe this time, he will not mess his speech up and break your heart again.
The phone was set to dial mode and he pressed onto the green call button, ready to receive shoutings from the other side of the room. Your ringtone rang, the stupid song for the Toothless Meme played on rewind. Did you slept a bit too well maybe? He called again, and the same scenario happened.
His heart was hit with a sudden pang of fear. You had always been a light sleeper and noticing the obnoxiously loud ringtone not even waking you up for the slightest bit, he decided to take a step back and bust down the door with his shoulder. Luckily, just with one hard nudge of his broad shoulders, the door dislodged itself.
So does his heart. Your whole room was thrashed, filled with the pink notes that you had given to Thomas earlier. Some were torn, some were sheathed, some had scribbles all over it, all of the notes littered with handwritten notes beyond his comprehension. Rafayel watched you, held up vertically, legs far from touching the ground, a noose was the only thing connecting you towards the ceiling. "Y/N!" He ran up to you and grabbed you, his lanky legs kicking all of the notes out of his way. "Y/N!"
A short burst of flames from his fingers burnt the noose and you fell to the floor. Your face a shade match to the moon that was sitting outside. Rafayel's hands fumbled with his phone, calling the emergency hotline as soon as he could. Strings of curses coming out of his mouth afterwards when he asked for help to be deployed to your location as soon as possible.
While awaiting for the ambulance, Rafayel did CPR, or at least what he could remember from the lesson he had taken years ago. Pumping steadily to a rhythm, blowing air through your mouth to hopefully deliver air to your lungs. The sirens of the ambulances huddled outside of your condominium, the blue and red lights adding on a speck of neon to the monotonous night.
"Stay with me please. Please stay with me y/n." Rafayel held you in his arms, your ice cold skin prickled against his warmth. His tears fell down his cheeks and continued its trail down your already tear-stricken face. He never thought his ruse would cause you this much damage. He thought that you could be the end to his delirium, and the start to his new reality.
The paramedics that arrived on the scene stood aimlessly at the door frame, watching the broken man in front of them, amidst the thrashed room, holding onto a lifeless body of a woman who seemingly cried herself to death.
.⋆｡⋆☂˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆.
Angsty af, this piece is part and partial of my experience as I had once struggled with my mental health before, and it was also due to a shitty ex. But I am doing much better now, and writing this brings back those shitty feels that I used to have, but also reminded me of how much more happier and stronger I am now, and that I am not choosing death because of my ex! :)
But if any of you, do have issues with mental health, please do seek for reliable help. As cliche as it sounds, life is not at all bad if you have people that are supportive of your recovery journey. If you needed someone to rant to, my dms are always open <3.
I do not wish harm for any of my readers, and I want you guys to know that just as much as ur supporting my works, I want to be there to support you if you have any hardships in life as well. Just know that you are loved, and I love you <3.
Sincerely, Brails.
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୨୧ zayne loses control of his evol and hurts you in more ways than one
✧.* warnings:- fem!reader, established relationships (zayne x reader), nightmares, minor depictions of PTSD, mentions of blood, mentions of injuries, ANGST, breakups, hurt and comfort, jealousy, slight xavier x reader, unresolved emotions, reader and zayne are bad at communicating with each other, mentions of foods, hospitals, medication, suggestive content, language, explosions, zayne is kinda soggy and pathetic in this one, canon typical injuries, reader is in a coma, talks of surgeries, makeup sex, size kink, oral sex, girl on top, petnames (little on, my aurora, my love, darling), overprotective tendencies, possessive bf!zayne
✧.* strap in slüts (affectionate) we have 15k+ of zayne angst let's go
If someone had asked you what Zayne’s deepest fear was, you might’ve told them it was a botched surgery, or wilted carrots in his fried rice.
It’s not as if your childhood-friend-turned-lover walked around with his fears stapled on his forehead; Zayne was a private guy, and even after months of dating, you were still trying to get used to his moods and needs.
However, oblivious to you, Zayne’s fear was entirely apparent.
Time and time again, he showed you the truth—without words or fanfare—whenever he scolded you for being clumsy on the field or forgetting to eat the entire day.
Zayne was afraid of you getting hurt.
And he was afraid of hurting you.
The bags under your eyes have gotten worse.
A week had gone by since you had slept a full five hours, schedule packed to the brim after a deathly Wanderer attack at the train station left seven injured and five more dead.
Zayne wasn't faring well, either. His days were consumed with operation after operation; more broken and injured people filling the intensive care units till Akso Hospital had to transfer them to their sister hospital, Mariso.
The Association had issued out a full city warning for Hunters to patrol the streets from dawn to dusk. All your colleagues were burnt out, praying for this harsh season to end so they could return back home; back to normality.
In your shared household, the nightmare was on a constant loop.
For days on end, you and Zayne were fleeting shadows passing each other—the most contact being whispered good mornings or good nights, depending on the time, and once, his touch on your lower back when he gently nudged you away from the door so he could rush out for another surgery.
Things were catastrophic, to put it mildly.
And it didn’t help that your insomnia and his nightmares were back.
Staring up at the ceiling, you almost didn’t hear the bedroom door opening until you noticed his broad shoulders outlined in the dim darkness.
“Hey.”
Zayne’s voice is laced with exhaustion, and wordlessly, you open your arms for him.
He’s colder to the touch than you remember, a sign of his Evol losing its composure after days of insurmountable stress and adrenaline spikes.
He’s silent, holding you tightly to his chest. You smell the hospital standard bleach and anesthetic off his work clothes, feel the stuttering of his heart underneath your spread palm.
“When will it end?”
His voice, quiet and in a timbre you know and love, vibrates against your cheek.
“I don’t know,” you reply to him truthfully, bleakly. “I’ve been asking myself that same question since this all started.”
There’s a whistling wind outside the windows, rattling the wooden panes. You close your eyes, trying to put aside the mental image of a Wanderer’s snarl and how similar it sounded to the rushing breeze.
“You should go to sleep,” he touches your face, strokes the back of his knuckles down your cheek. “I’ll go take a shower.”
“Can I come with you?”
He huffed a laugh. “Of course. If I am correct to assume, you would be doing your skincare twice tonight. Would that not tire you out? Other than this inquiry, please. Be my guest.”
You chuckle slowly, and sit up, watching him undress. Lashes of scars on his defined torso, the sinews of muscles and sharp edges all stack up to create the man you missed with your entire soul.
Zayne fights back a smirk when he feels your arms around him, face tucked into the back of his neck.
“I missed you,” you breathed. “Feels like it’s been years.”
“Only a few days,” he corrects softly. Without sparing another minute, he turns, gathers you in his arms.
You spend the next few minutes showering with him, tracing the water trickling down his defined traps, obliques and abs with your wandering eyes. Lathering up bath soap and going over the spots of your body you had forgotten to scrub in your tired fugue, you discreetly watched him wash his hair, lost in his own thoughts.
Zayne’s beautiful green eyes flicker to the present when he feels you sneakily coming up behind him, and he almost groans like a virgin teenager at the sensation of your soft tits pressed against his back.
He stays still when your wandering hands trace down his stomach, over his pelvis where his hips tick the second he feels your tiny hands wrap around his cock.
“What’re you doing?” he asks, trying to sound gruff, but it came out breathless instead.
“Showing my boyfriend how much I miss him,” you hum.
Zayne bites on his lower lip, glad that he was facing the shower wall when you decided to play with him in such a risque way.
“What a little vixen,” he groans, voice dropping an octave deeper; a baritone timbre which sends shivers up your spine. “It’s amusing. If I had any suspicions, I think you’re trying to get me riled up so that I would lose control.”
His observation was apt, as usual.
“You’re correct,” you brush your lips across a scar over his right shoulder. “So, should I give you a medal, Dr. Zayne? Or, a trophy for getting it right?”
He breaks your hold on him, and you’re breathless, thinking he is going to reject you when he pulls you into his embrace. Your back meets the tiled walls, and his large hands grab fistfuls of your ass, hitching you up high enough so your legs can wrap around his slim waist.
“All of that is useless,” Zayne whispers huskily against your lips, and you swore your heart was about to double in size and burst out of your chest at his next words. “The only recognition and reward I need is your sweet little pussy, my Aurora. May I know if I can treat her well tonight?”
He didn’t even need to ask; you would serve your cunt on a silver platter for Zayne, no questions asked or needed.
“Yes,” you breathe, twining your fingers through his dark locks and tugging his face closer to yours. “You may, Dr. Zayne.”
His nightmares always started the same.
A dimly lit room. Chocolate wrappers on the bare, wooden floor. Loud explosions outside. And somehow, there was always a broken mirror somewhere in his periphery.
Zayne dreads (no, perhaps, it’s too mild a word)—he absolutely fears—what comes next.
There’s a little boy, no older than seven who looks at him hopefully. Zayne always ignores him, preferring to watch a blinking red dot on his screen.
He’s different here; dressed sharply in a dark trench coat, expression like a blank slate. Nothing at all like his focused, calm self in the present. And yet, Zayne recognizes him like how someone might recognize the back of their hand even under a different light.
The man before him was him… but not exactly him.
He’s been dreaming of this Zayne for a long time—ever since he turned twelve.
And right now, he was about to see the extent of this alternate Zayne’s power.
He can predict what comes next; the stretch of skin on the boy’s face snarling, broken bones sounding in the small room. The shard of ice through his heart which eventually ends his life.
But, this time, the boy’s cries are different. They’re higher pitched.
Feminine, almost.
Zayne’s heart races, his movements in the dream sluggish.
Zayne! Her voice reverberates, and he recognizes it. Zayne, please! Don’t hurt me anymore! Save me. Help me. You’re a doctor, Zayne. Not this. Never this. Please. Don’t hurt me—
The boy’s face disappears, replaced by one he knew all too well. His features morphed right into yours, and Zayne desperately lunges at the dark ice piercing your chest, fighting to get it out.
It would never move, no matter how hard he tugged on it or how much he willed his power to make it melt. You were dying with every wasted second, breathing growing ragged.
Zayne, Zayne… you never stopped calling out for him.
Zayne, help me. How could you hurt me like this? Zayne… Zayne…
A burst of light explodes behind his closed eyes. Someone is shaking him awake, the cadence of her voice familiar and sweet.
“... Zayne? Hey. Hey. It’s a bad dream. Zayne, you’re fine. Ssh, you’re fine.”
Her warm hands find his cheeks, pulling him right into her embrace. His face buries into neck, and he shudders, inhaling the sweet scent of strawberries from her hair.
“Zayne, you’re so cold,” you murmur into the darkness of the room. “You’re shivering.”
He was; huge tremors which rocked him from his very core. He feels the familiar tingle on his skin, the web of ice which encases his hands.
Before he can gather enough lucidity and control to push you away, it all explodes in one fell swoop.
Ice shoots out, hitting the ceiling, piercing through the wooden bedframe.
“Zayne—!”
Your scream of pain rips through the night, and he frantically sits up, finding a huge shard piercing through your forearm.
“No,” he whispers, fevered. “No, no.”
His hands are stained with blood—your blood—as he tries to help you. But, the shard wouldn’t budge.
“Zayne,” you hiccup, moaning lowly. “Shit… H-hurts…”
Nightmares become reality when it finally slams into him what he has done.
“Hospital,” he mutters hoarsely. “We need a hospital.”
“Zayne—”
“Don’t argue with me,” there’s a feral note in his tone, a harsh reprimand which makes you flinch back.
“Now, grit your teeth and bear the pain for a little while, Y/N. I am taking you straight to the emergency room.”
You felt like you were floating on auto-pilot.
Colors and shapes melded into one strange blob the longer you sat in the examination room. After a few excruciating minutes of the ER’s doctor trying to get all the shards of hardened ice out of your arm, you were stitched up and given a heavy dose of painkillers, enough to knock out a horse.
But, you resolutely stayed awake, afraid that if you closed your eyes, something bad would happen.
Immediately once the minor surgery on your arm had concluded, Zayne had disappeared from your side, and you assumed he was downstairs by the general admission—filling up your details. He had stayed with you long enough for the extraction, giving you his hand to hold, though he remained tight-lipped and pale throughout the entire ordeal.
You wanted to see him again, even if it was for a few minutes.
When the curtain parted, you looked up, expecting to find a pair of emerald green eyes, but were greeted with a pair of worried purple ones, instead.
“Hey, Pipsqueak. Zayne called me the second you got in. Grandma couldn’t come because she wasn’t feeling too well.” Caleb shifted the drapes aside, slowly stepping into your ward. He sat down on the chair by your bedside, the bags under his eyes heavy though his smile still held a teasing quality you were familiar with.
“Caleb?” you winced at how rough your voice sounded, reaching for the water bottle by your bedside. He beat you to it, grabbing the plastic bottle and tipping your head up, helping you drink.
Once your throat wasn’t drier than the desert, you sat up, the woozy sensation exacerbated from your sudden motion.
“Hey,” he whispered, rushing to steady you. “Slow down. You’re injured, Pipsqueak.” He rearranged you back onto the bed, expression pinched. “What happened? Zayne sounded frantic on the phone and that’s something new. Always thought he could disable a ticking time bomb with how unruffled he is.”
Despite poking fun at his childhood friend, it didn’t bring a smile onto your face. Caleb ditched his sunny disposition, becoming serious.
“Y/N, are you okay? You’re acting strange. Did… did Zayne hurt you?”
Immediately, you whipped your head towards him, eyes wide. “N-no! Of course, not. Why would you think that?” You struggle to speak past the drugs making you slur. “He… he didn’t hurt me. Brought me to the hospital. I tripped.”
A lame conclusion. Caleb’s eyes narrow, and he’s about to ask you again, when a familiar voice interrupts.
“She needs to rest. I thought I told you to come by in the morning?”
Zayne’s frosty glare sets off Caleb’s strained smile. Your childhood best friend's nostrils flare, and the whites of his teeth shine like the edge of a knife when he stands up to greet Akso Hospital’s best surgeon.
“You made it sound like she was dying so of course I came as fast as I could.” Casting his amethyst eyes to yours, Caleb’s feral smile softens. “You’re right. I can see she needs some rest. Let’s go—” He clasps a hand on Zayne’s shoulder, and you don’t have to be on the receiving end to know Caleb was using his Evol to tighten his grip on your boyfriend.
“You and I have a lot to discuss.”
Zayne grimaces, and you shoot him an apologetic smile.
Caleb turns to you with a cheery wave. You mouth don’t kill him and he rolls his eyes.
I’ll try not to, he mouths back.
Then, the curtains droop close and you settle back on the hard pillow, freefalling into a dreamless sleep.
Something was off the second you woke up.
Firstly, Zayne wasn’t with you again.
It was Caleb’s dark bedhead which greeted you, his face inches from your arm, eyes closed and breathing steady.
You lean up, wincing when you felt your stitches pulling.
“Hey,” you whisper, touching your best friend's broad shoulder. “Caleb? Why’re you still here?”
He groans, groggily opening his eyes. “M-morning, Pipsqueak,” he staggers through a yawn. “What time is it?”
“I don’t know,” you whisper, feeling a huge migraine clustering behind your eyes. “Ugh, where’s Zayne?”
At the mention of your boyfriend, Caleb blinks, wide awake now. “Ah. He told me he had some emergency surgeries lined up. He’s probably working.”
Oh. You fall into a disquiet, staring at the swathing white blankets. That uneasy feeling was back again.
“Did he say when he would be done?”
“I don’t know,” Caleb confessed. “But, you have his schedule, so I think you’d know better than me, Pipsqueak.”
Right. Zayne was your boyfriend. Caleb would barely know the guy if it wasn’t for your insistence in the both of them meeting up once a month for dinner with Grandma.
Swallowing your disappointment down, you plaster on a bright smile. “Are you up for some coffee today? You’re always complaining about the ones at the Academy.”
Caleb smiles, and leans forward to ruffle your hair. “Y’know, if this was a normal day, I would totally take you up on your offer,” he becomes serious now. “But, you’re still healing, Pipsqueak. And caffeine is bad. Let me call the nurse to check on you first, okay?”
You nod, watching his broad back disappear out into the halls.
Fidgeting, you touch your bandaged arm, recalling the clammy silence last night as Zayne drove to Akso Hospital; his jaw tense and eyes steadfastly not meeting yours.
He’s probably angry at himself, you reasoned. Zayne always was harder on himself than anybody else, and the guilt could be eating him alive.
Feeling slightly reassured that nothing bad would happen, you lean back against the pillows again, closing your eyes.
You fell back asleep the second Caleb reappeared with the nurse; both of them politely closing the door and giving you some time to rest, your best friend’s eyes lingering right on your exhausted expression.
“Goodnight, Pipsqueak,” he whispers into the still air which was permeated with your steady breathing. “See you later.”
That night, you woke up to an icy cold hand in yours.
Fluttering your lashes, you find Zayne with his eyes closed and head bent forward, one hand in yours and the other braced on his forehead.
“Zayne?”
He thaws from his uneasy doze, woozy emerald eyes widening slightly at your relieved expression.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers the second he finds his voice. “I lost control. I… I hurt you.” That last part was spat out, as if he was firmly disgusted with his lack of composure. “It was dangerous of me to even be next to you. I was aware of my nightmares and my Evol has been unstable as of late. I put you in harm’s way and I am forever sorry for doing so, my Aurora.”
His lips were cool on the back of your hand, those brilliant eyes fogged over with an unfathomable expression.
“Zayne… it’s okay.”
They flare back to life, this time electrified with an untamed emotion. “Okay?” he says slowly, like he couldn’t believe his sins were absolved that easily. “I’ve hurt you and all you can say is ‘okay’? Y/N, please. Be reasonable.”
You open your mouth to counter his harsh words, but his hand had already detangled from yours. Zayne stood up, the look on his face awfully cold and distant.
“I don’t think this will work out.”
What? You wanted to voice out, but your words were stuck behind the lump in your throat. “Zayne…”
You reached out for him, but all you felt was cold air where his warmth once stood. He had backed away, expression closed off and frigid. Shame and hurt filled you, threatening to pour out from your eyes.
He couldn’t bear to look at you, those emerald eyes latched to a water stain on the ceiling as if it was more interesting than the girl whose heart he was breaking right in front of him.
“What do you mean by that?” you demand, though it sounds like a plea in your thick voice. “Zayne, it was a mistake. A one-time thing. Don’t make it bigger than what it is. Please. Let’s talk this out—”
“No,” he stood to his full height, looking at you down the line of his nose. “It’s not something we can talk about. You’re better off without me, and I, you. I will drop your things off at your apartment the moment I get off work. Goodbye, Y/N.”
Hot pain sliced through your soul, leaving a gash where he once stood.
“No,” you murmured, though you were speaking to the thin air. Zayne had already turned and left. “Zayne? Zayne! Come back, we can talk it out—”
You tried to stand and run after him, but your body was weakened from the medication and lack of movement. Stumbling back, you sat on the edge of your bed, fisting the sheets and fighting back the urge to scream at him to come back. There was nothing you could do except watch the broadness of his back leave, disappearing down the hall and around the corner.
Easy. How easy it was for him to break things off like this.
Like you didn’t even matter.
You hang your head forward, the misting tears in your eyes pooling onto your lash line. You had no idea how long you stayed like this; frozen, immobile. Waiting for him to come back.
The curtains opened again, and you expected Zayne to be there with a change of heart. But, when you saw it was Caleb instead, carrying a box of doughnuts and his signature easy going smile, you couldn’t help the pang of disappointment coruscating on your trembling lips.
He sensed something was wrong the second you didn’t greet him, and he was right when he sat beside you and you broke down into tears.
Sorry, you gasped in between sobs. I’m so sorry. I’m usually stronger than this.
Caleb didn’t push you or demand you tell him the reason why you were crying. He held you close instead, patting your head. When you wouldn’t stop sobbing, he rubbed your back, telling you in his low, reassuring voice that you were going to be okay.
He never did find out why you were crying, and neither did you voluntarily supply any information.
But, when he took you home the next day and found your things neatly packaged in boxes waiting by the front door, it wasn’t hard to put two and two together.
Zayne…?
You flinched when Caleb mentioned his name.
For a single second, neither of you said anything.
Caleb exhaled noisily, gripping your shoulder and pulling you into his one-arm hug. “I’m going to kill him for what he did to you.”
“No need,” you surprised him and yourself by how emotionless you sounded; nothing but exhaustion and resignation in your tone.
“It wouldn't be worth it—not at all.”
For days after that, you threw yourself back into your work.
The second Jenna called for volunteers for a dangerous mission, your hand would almost always shoot up. It didn’t matter how bad the fluctuations were or how big the threat was—your name was almost always on the list every single day. Even Xavier was starting to notice how impulsive you were becoming, though his worry was more subtle than the rest of your nagging colleagues (read: Tara).
“Wouldn’t your doctor boyfriend worry about you throwing yourself in such situations?”
You fight back a wince, polishing the nozzle of your Hunter gun. Of course. None of your workmates knew the truth; they all still assumed you and Zayne were together.
“No, he wouldn’t,” you reply back mildly, eyeing the barrel down with a grimace. “He doesn’t care if I live or die.”
A gloved hand picks the gun from you, and you turn to find him frowning. Xavier’s pinched expression spoke volumes, though he didn’t ask any follow-up questions.
Neither of you broke the silence, until you heard the gun clatter back down onto the floor accompanied by his tired sigh.
“There are many, many stars in the night sky, Y/N,” he starts. You turn to him with a frown.
Where is he going with this?
Xavier continues. “Even if one dies or explodes, another one will take its place. Don’t lose your light for a star who refuses to shine for you.”
Standing up, he extends a hand towards you.
“Since you’re not in the best of moods, I was thinking we could have some lamb hotpot tonight. What do you think? I’ll let you choose most of the ingredients.”
Though the idea of food sounded unappealing, you couldn’t help but smile at his attempts to cheer you up.
Taking his hand, you nod.
“Sure. Can I also pick our second soup base?”
He huffed a laugh. “Why not, huh? You can hog most of the dipping sauce, too. I won’t complain.”
It was the first time in days since you had smiled, the expression foreign and almost painfully pulling your cheeks.
But, you do it anyway.
Despite his odd allegory, Xavier was right.
Even if someone took their light away from you, it didn’t mean you had to stop yourself from shining again.
Zayne may have been the brightest star in your universe, but at the end of the day, you were the fucking sun.
And no one could take away your light without your permission, no matter how hard they tried.
Another long night at the ER, another cup of coffee.
Zayne puts down his glasses with a sigh, and hears his office phone beep. He barely has time to steel himself when the message comes through, urgent and demanding.
“Dr. Zayne? It’s Dr. Lewis here. We have a code red down by Bloomshore Forest. Something about a fluctuation. Most of the injured are Hunters.”
His heart rate spikes and he immediately stands.
It’s been more than a week since he last saw you, and Zayne was almost at the end of his emotional tether. He had reacted poorly to the entire ordeal, and was now facing the repercussions of his hasty actions.
Nights were spent tossing and turning, his nightmares coming back at full force. Sometimes, he woke up and padded into the living room, trying to find respite on the couch where your old t-shirt still lay, smelling of you and his regrets.
When he woke up, there was no one to greet him or kiss his cheek with her morning breath. No one who hummed in the shower while she got ready for work or left loud, theatrical smooches on his cheek before she rushed out of the door.
There was no you in his life anymore.
Zayne was tired of shadow fighting with demons he couldn’t see.
Plain and simple—he missed you.
And right now, he had to see if you were one of the injured; Zayne would never forgive himself if something happened to you and he couldn’t make amends.
Rushing down the freeway, he passed by signs of destruction everywhere; torn up trees, fractured roads. Wanderers who left a trail of discord and mayhem wherever they went.
The flickering blue and red lights were what caught his attention, and he quickly disembarked from his car, hurrying to the thick of the commotion. Tents were set up, medical personnel running to and fro.
Someone recognized him and handed him a pair of scrubs and gloves. Zayne immediately got to work the second Greyson approached him, gray in the face from fatigue.
“Dr. Zayne—”
“Give me a rundown, Dr. Greyson,” he mutters, hurrying to the closest tent.
“Four injured and about ten with minor abrasions,” his assistant started, “We counted about two missing from the fray. A Mr. Xavier and… Miss Y/N.”
No.
At the mention of your name, Zayne stopped in his tracks.
Greyson looked apologetic, though for what, Zayne had no idea.
“When was her last contact?” he didn’t mean for his voice to rise, but it did, betraying his stress and fear over your whereabouts.
“Two hours ago. A comm signal right in the middle of the N109 Zone.”
Zayne swore he felt his heart drop right into his boots. He gapes, opens his mouth and closes it, but no sound escapes.
“Dr. Zayne?”
Greyson was waiting for his response. Zayne had to react, fast.
“Set up the operation room for the four injured and get me a line with the closest hospital for blood transfusions. We need as many supplies as we can get our hands on. Has the Association been notified of their two missing Hunters—?”
Before Zayne could finish his sentence, a commotion stirs at the fringes of the forest.
Several people yell, and he looks up in time to find a limping figure supporting someone else.
Your silhouette solidifies in the half light, dirt and blood caked on your face and limbs. Greyson gasps as well, muttering oh thank goodness.
A nurse with a blanket rushes over to you and a fair-headed man whom he assumes is Xavier, wrapping the both of you in the thick fabric.
Greyson doesn’t notice how his attention has waned, locked right on your smiling yet exhausted face. “We’re establishing a line with Mariso’s hospital down the block—hey, Dr. Zayne?”
He zeroes in back on his assistant with a firm nod. “Do it, then. And keep me updated on the progress.”
There’s a pause.
“Aren’t you going to speak to her?” Greyson asks, curiosity lingering at the thought of why his superior wasn’t going to greet his girlfriend. Zayne takes one last look at you, and he drops his gaze.
“No. I do not want to overwhelm her before her evaluations.” Straightening, he nods. “Let’s proceed with the different evals and prep. Line up the next surgery for hour 2045.”
There would be no time to let his heart take the lead.
He had to focus on the task at hand.
Greyson’s expression fades in and out of focus. Zayne notices that Xavier has his hands on your face, inspecting a nasty cut on your cheek.
How easy it was for you to replace him…
“Hour 2045, surgery #1 is confirmed, Dr. Zayne.”
He tears his gaze away from you and nods; ignoring the hollow pang in his chest.
“Let’s get it started, then.”
You didn’t expect to see Zayne in the distance when you returned back from a near death experience.
A part of you wonders if your mind is playing tricks on you; if the adrenaline has you seeing things your tired brain can’t catch up with.
But, there he stands. Forlorn yet imposing. Expression a blank sleet.
You swear he looks over in your direction, but when you look up, he’s walking away with a colleague, head bent low and eyes firmly on his tablet.
How easy it is for him to walk away from me.
“Hey.” Xavier brings you back to the present with a small smile and a cup of coffee in one hand. “No cream and three spoonfuls of sugar. Just like how you prefer it.”
You crack a smile, accepting the cup. “Are you sure you didn’t burn it this time?”
He chuckles, taking the spot next to you. “I told the nurse she had to make it and not me, so I wasn’t involved in the process whatsoever.” Your hunting partner blows steam off the cup, pursing his lips to sip on the dark liquid.
“Mhm. See? Sweeter than my burnt coffee.”
You follow suit and take a sip, nodding in agreement. “You’re right. It does taste better.”
Xavier follows your line of sight when he realizes you’re quieter than usual. His azure eyes land on the surgery tent in the distance where a few figures were milling around.
“Are you worried for Tara?”
You grip your cup tighter, fighting back a wave of self-loathing at what you had done.
“If I hadn’t asked her to accompany me near the fringe, none of this would’ve happened.” Your shoulders slump forward, and you feel Xavier shifting closer. “It’s all my fault, Xav. I could’ve gotten her killed.”
At the realization, tears prick your eyes. His arm hovers in your periphery and you sniff, imperceptibly nodding.
He wraps you in his one-sided embrace, holding your face close to his shoulder. “You couldn’t have known a protofield of that size would open. It’s not your fault.”
You thought back to Tara’s scared cries; how she dove head first to the ground to dodge the energy surges of that Berserk Wanderer.
The both of you would’ve perished if Xavier hadn’t stepped in at the last minute, breaking the field and swooping in to save you two.
“I need to apologize to her when she’s done,” you mumble softly, “I can’t get that mental image of her hurt out of my mind.”
As you spoke, someone familiar approached you. Blonde hair, blue eyes and a tight smile, Akso Hospital’s Dr. Greyson beckoned you over with a wave.
You shrugged Xavier’s arm off you and stood up, confusion clearly in your gaze.
“Hello! Miss Y/N, right? Dr. Zayne’s girlfriend? I need you to sign here as a witness for Miss Tara since her family is out of state.”
He procured a document and a pen. You took them mutely, unsure if it was rude to correct him on your updated status in Zayne’s life. But, figuring that it would be best not to trauma dump on a stranger, you sign your name on the dotted line without much resistance.
“Wonderful. Thank you. Dr. Zayne will step out and see you in a bit once he has some free time. In any case, please stay here and do not wander back for anymore Wanderers. We can’t have anymore of Linkon’s brightest Hunters hurt!”
Chipper and happy like he wasn’t in the middle of a dire situation, Greyson left you and Xavier alone.
“Nice guy.”
“Hmm,” you sit back down next to him, resting your head on his shoulder. “Zayne’s colleague. Older than him but a sweet one. I used to bribe him with fried chicken to get Zayne’s…” your breathing hitched, and you clear your throat. “... work schedule.”
Xavier’s body stiffens underneath your cheek and you immediately retract yourself away from him. “Sorry,” you mumble, unsure what had gotten into you; how you could’ve let yourself get this comfortable with your fellow Hunter of all people.
But, he shakes his head, patting his shoulder. “You can rest here if you want. I know you’re tired. I am, too.”
Cautiously, you lean your head back on his shoulder, eyes closing.
Xavier’s cheek gently rests on your head, and you hear him exhale tiredly. “I’m dead on my feet.”
“Mhm hmm,” you mumble, fighting the exhaustion caking heavily on your lids. “I could close my eyes and sleep for days.”
“That sounds like a wonderful time.”
The both of you take a second to rest, trying to recenter yourselves back to the reality of being safe and sound away from those terrifying Wanderers.
You hear someone approaching, gravel crunching underneath a pair of boots.
“Y/N?”
His soft voice fringes on your consciousness, and your eyes flutter open.
Zayne stands before you, tall and intimidating. There was no spark in his lustreless green eyes which flickered towards the dozing man by your side and then back to yours. You suddenly feel cold all over, like shards of ice were prickling underneath your skin.
It doesn’t matter what it looks like to him, you glance at Xavier and pat his shoulder, trying to get him to wake up. Zayne and I are long over.
“I need to run a checkup on you. Hunter Association’s orders. Can you follow me, please?”
Xavier stirs the second you nod, and releases you from the swathes of blankets. A clash of azure blue meeting clear green; both men staring each other down while you shifted awkwardly from foot to foot.
“Make sure she’s all right,” Xavier says in a soft voice, though you don’t miss the steel underneath it.
Zayne nods, and turns around. Barely even looking back to see if you were following him.
Wordlessly, you limp after his broad back, consciously touching your face and trying to smooth your hair down.
Inside the tent, Greyson smiles and leaves you two alone for the first time in days.
There’s a makeshift desk and a chair beside it. An examination bed that had been hastily drawn open stands, forlorn and waiting.
You take a seat by the desk, hands laced onto your lap and eyes on the dirt-packed floor.
“Are you alright?”
You don’t delude yourself into thinking there was a hint of concern in his tone. Zayne was just being your primary care physician at this moment—nothing more than his appointed role in your life.
But, wasn't there a time when he was more than this?
You shake off those thoughts, giving him one-worded answers.
“Yes.”
He drags the chair by the desk and sits on it, unfurling a binder and picking up a pen. It clicks loudly in the silence, exacerbating how alone you two were with each other.
“Any dizziness? Loss of hearing?”
You shake your head. “No, Dr. Zayne. I feel fine.”
“Please look at me in the face. I am trying to give you an evaluation for your Association’s report and I need to make sure you meet the health standard.”
Exasperation mingled with professional arrogance laced his tone. You bristled, but did as you were told, lifting your face to meet his eyes.
Those green orbs were galaxies you could get lost in. Swallowing hard, you repeat what you had said, this time in a forceful tone. “I feel fine, Dr. Zayne.”
You make sure to emphasize on his title, not wanting to appear weak in front of him.
How you had cried for nights on end when he wouldn’t return your calls or messages and now here he was—feeling more like a stranger day by day.
You promised yourself you wouldn't be that stupid, brokenhearted girl anymore. This would be the last time you let Zayne play with your resolve and mind.
He picked up a flashlight, beckoning you closer. Cool fingers touched your face, and you nearly flinched when the bright beam permeated your irises.
“My apologies,” he mumbled, and you thought he meant the intrusive medical checkup when his next words catch you by surprise. “I didn’t have time to answer your calls or messages. I was busy cleaning up after last week’s attack. Please, forgive me.”
He whispers that last part and your mind blanks.
You don’t know what to say, or how to react. So, you settle for silence.
Zayne frowns, clicks off the flashlight. He writes down his findings and brings out his stethoscope.
The cool circle touches your pulse point, your chest. He closes his eyes, listens to your heart.
“It’s beating faster than usual,” he mumbles, removing eartips and going back to his report. “Any fatigue? Dizziness? Perhaps vertigo hitting you when you least expect it?”
You shake your head. “I’m fine, Dr. Zayne. I told you.” Sighing, you plaster your eyes back to the ground to avoid his piercing stare. “I don’t think you should waste your time on me. There are other patients who need your expertise—starting with Tara. But, thank you for seeing me, anyway.”
He doesn’t get a chance to dismiss you before you’re standing up and walking out of the tent with your head hung low.
Zayne doesn’t call you back, and neither do you turn around to give him one last look, like you always do before you leave his office.
Meters of silence and unsaid words stretch between the both of you; coldness replacing once fond memories.
The flap of the tent falls close and a forlorn wind whistles through the air, ruffling the papers on his desk.
Zayne tears his eyes off your form, ignores how his heart squeezes when he sees you returning back to Xavier’s side.
The other man smiles at you, and the look on your face is far from detached. Warm and inviting, Zayne can’t recall when was the last time you looked at him like that.
Shit.
Never one to be steeped in regret, Zayne finds himself wishing he could turn back the hands of time; change his actions the second after he had lost control of his Evol.
Not only had he injured you, but he had left you behind like so many others did before.
That was the one thing he promised your Grandma that day he dropped by for lunch: I will protect her with everything I have, ma’am. I will never leave her alone for long.
And this was the best he could give you? Broken promise after broken promise?
For the first time in his life, he feels like a failure; an idiot with nothing but a lofty title and his big-headed ego.
He sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger.
Zayne grimaces, knowing how well you could hold a grudge if you wanted to. It looks like he has to temporarily play the role of the fool to get you back.
However, he relents and accepts his fate: this Herculean task of winning back your heart.
He would never say it out loud, but he admired your tenacity and determination; how you would always stick to your principles and never let yourself be swayed by a different current.
Reclaiming back your love wasn’t going to be an easy task. You would put him through the wringer—he was sure of that.
But, it’s what he deserves; what he could stomach and take after treating you so cruelly.
It was time to let the begging game begin.
“... Tara, what the heck is all this?”
You had walked into work one day to a deluge of roses heaping onto your desk. Tara was halfway signing off the delivery man’s note with a gleeful smile, before she turns and offloads the last huge bouquet into your arms.
“Looks like someone’s ex-boyfriend misses her.”
She winks and skips away, leaving you floundering with at least six bouquets of blood red roses swarming around your desk.
You flush with embarrassment when Jenna walks in, her expression one of open curiosity at the sight of all those flowers.
“Looks like you have a secret admirer,” your boss muses. “Or, someone’s boyfriend has done something really wrong. Wild shot—I’m leaning more towards the former.”
It was no secret you were dating Dr. Zayne, but to have it so brazenly rubbed into everyone’s faces was making you cringe from head to toe.
“I’m so sorry, Jenna,” you blurt. “I’ll toss this all out. Don’t want bees in anyone’s hair.”
You chuckle nervously when she gives you a look.
“Oh, don’t be silly. Just hand them to the gardener downstairs. I’m sure she’ll know what to do with them. Such pretty flowers would be wasted in the trash.”
Nodding, you pick up every single bouquet, struggling to not drop one on your way out of the office. Tara sits smugly behind her desk, not even offering to help; wanting to see how far your pettiness could take you.
“Good… morning?”
You peek past the crest of roses to find Xavier’s scrunched nose and confused expression examining the blooms in your arms.
“Morning,” you mutter hastily.
He drops his bag and plucks two bouquets from your arms.
“Are we throwing a party? Or, did someone from our department get engaged?”
You feel like you could spontaneously combust, steeling yourself to reply to his innocent question.
“These are… for me. I think.”
Xavier pauses mid-stride, glancing at you through lowered, ash blonde lashes.
“Oh. Are they from Zayne?”
You pretend not to feel your heart soar in your ribcage at the mention of his name, preferring to plaster on an irritated glare.
“I hope not. That wouldn’t make any sense.”
Xavier doesn’t prod anymore, and neither do you offer to keep the conversation rolling.
He helps you duly dispose of the roses, the gardener’s toothy smile a small consolation for saddling her with this many blooms.
Once you get back to your desk, you pick up your phone and bring up Zayne’s name, finger hovering over the call button.
But, you change your mind at the last minute and click on the chat bubble option.
Please don’t tell me you robbed an entire florist to send me those roses.
Send.
Instantly, a chat bubble appears, his reply coming faster than you expected.
Your accusation is inaccurate. I did, in fact, leave the old man a huge tip for procuring those roses in record time. You’re welcome.
Brows knitted together, you fight back the urge to roll your eyes.
I don’t want them. Please, don’t waste your time or effort on me anymore. It’s not worth it.
The bubble appears again. Then, it disappears. Reappears.
You wait on the other end with baited breath. Never did a pair of ellipses make your chest hurt this painfully; wildly thrumming heart caught in your throat.
Your tone suggests I am far from forgiven for what I did. If that is the case, would you like to join me for dinner at The Promenade tonight? I recall you adore their chestnut ice-cream. I can pick you up from your apartment. I would very much like to make amends, Y/N.
Clear and dry cut. Zayne was putting all his cards on the table for you to pick apart and prod.
You switch your screen off, unable to formulate a response.
The memory of how coldly he had treated you resurfaces; the cruel blankness on his face. The ease in which he left you like a man who had done it many, many times before.
Tightening your hands into fists, you fight back a fresh wave of tears which threaten to take you under.
Someone clears their throat, and you snap back to the present, blinking hard and pretending you had something in your eye.
Bless his heart, Xavier willfully ignores your lapse of control; he gives you a small smile, gesturing towards the pantry. “They… just brought in some new instant noodle flavors. I was going to make a cup. Do you want some?”
You plaster on a fake smile, nodding. Suddenly, your stomach rumbles, and he exhales a laugh at the well-timed interjection.
“Noted. The beef broth one?”
“Sounds good.”
“Roger that,” he turns on his heel, and you don’t know what possessed you to call him back. He turns, waiting for you to speak.
“What’re you doing tonight?” you blurt, and he pauses, tilting his head to the side.
“Not much. I have this movie I really want to watch. Why? Wanderer hunting?”
Knowing it was your favorite thing to do to let off some steam, he waits for you to formulate your response.
“No. I need to inspect something. At that forest again. Something about the fluctuation pattern those few nights ago… Something doesn’t add up.”
Xavier considers it, shifting from one foot to another. “And if we do find it? What, then?”
“We come back here and fill in the team,” you mutter. “And we can finally match the fluctuation pattern to Onichynus’ fabricated Protofield. It would give us a clue to their plans.”
Despite his reservations at letting you delve deeper into this conspiracy theory, Xavier had a hunch that if he didn’t follow you, you were bound to do it on your own.
Whatever happened between you and Zayne must’ve driven you down this frenzied yet determined path; choosing to prioritize your job over the feelings you haven’t sorted out yet.
And who was Xavier to complain? If he had a few more moments to spend with you, he would take it, no matter the motivation.
“Sure,” he shrugs. “I’ll meet you tonight at the Fringe. 8 o’clock.”
You nod, casting your eyes back to your phone’s dull screen. Zayne’s text message taunts you, and you sensed there would be hell to pay for ignoring him.
But, you turn off those thoughts and focus on your desktop, sorting out your emails and mission debriefs.
There were more urgent things on your plate that needed your focus than an indecisive ex-boyfriend.
The biggest storm of your life was on the horizon, and you were so sure that come tonight, you would finally get the answers you needed.
The tapping of his fingers on the table resounds like a metronome in this quiet restaurant.
Zayne picks up his cup of water, brings it to his lips and pauses. Setting it back down, he glances at his watch for what feels like the 178th time in an hour. A bouquet of fresh jasmines lie on his lap, and he thinks they might be wilting by the second for every minute you don’t show up.
Though it was unlike him to jump to conclusions, Zayne held a small flicker of hope that you would change your mind and see him tonight—despite how his text to you remains unanswered.
Someone clears their throat, knocking him out of his reverie.
“Sir, may I bring you some appetizers while you wait?”
The waiter’s smile is thin, and behind his sincere question, Zayne senses the pity shining in his eyes.
It bothers him, somehow, that people would feel sorry for him.
If anything, he thinks they should mind their own business; not jump to conclusions.
He heaves in a deep breath and shakes his head. “No. Please, get me the bill. I apologize for taking up your time.”
The waiter nods and disappears back to the kitchen—presumably to gossip to his colleagues about a random lonely man he had to serve tonight who was stood up by his date.
Somewhere to his right, a table full of young women were eyeing him, whispering behind their manicured hands. But, he pays them no attention, signing the bill and standing up, clutching the bouquet of flowers by his side.
Zayne steps out of the restaurant, and notices the darkening sky roiling above.
It was going to rain tonight and he hoped that wherever you are, you would have an umbrella on hand. He wouldn’t want you to get sick, and was about to pull out his phone and remind you when he stops short at a message flashing across his screen.
She’s hurt.
Dr. Greyson’s chat bubble appears, and then pauses. It starts typing again, and Zayne holds his breath, suddenly feeling uneasy all over.
Your girlfriend. You need to come to the hospital now.
He barely wastes anytime, rushing right to his car. Zayne guns it down the highway, straight for the hospital, no thought in his mind besides worrying for your safety. When he arrives, it was like that night he met you near the Forest; a nurse was hurrying into the ER, someone was yelling for more bags of blood, and there, in the fray, was Xavier, broad sword strapped to his back.
“What happened?”
Zayne feels his heart in his throat when Xavier turns to him, grim in the face.
“A calculated attack… an explosion.”
“Explosion?” The surgeon feels like his head is about to combust. A vein throbs in his temple and he narrows his eyes. “What caused it? Is she okay?”
“I’m trying to find out, too,” Xavier mumbles back. “Besides, it was my fault. You don't have to worry anymore after what you did to her.”
Frost sparks on his fingertips, and Zayne tries to control his temper; willing his Evol to stay in line.
It wouldn’t be wise to lash out at Xavier; it would do nothing but make you madder at him.
“Which surgery room is she in? I can help resuscitate her if necessary.”
The Hunter opens his mouth, but it's Dr. Greyson who interjects. “Dr. Zayne, she’s in Operation Theatre 2. Awaiting anesthesia.”
Zayne turns on his heel, leaving Xavier alone with his silent judgement.
“I need a full body evaluation on the patient to determine the exact location of overpressures and debris. Keep the defibrillator on standby. What category is the blast coded as?”
“Tertiary, Dr. Zayne.”
He swore under his breath, wincing. The same blunt force injuries that would traumatize a person who was involved in a car crash, fall, or collapsing building.
What did you get yourself into, Y/N?
Zayne has no time to ruminate; he has to save your life.
A hand on his shoulder stops him. Greyson’s heavy eyes permeate through his soul, rooting him to the spot. For a single second, the fatherly concern shining in his gaze reminded him of another elderly doctor; one who was forever lost in Mount Eternal. “Are you sure you can do this, Dr. Zayne? Are you well enough to take on this task?”
The implicit concern was clear.
This is your girlfriend we’re talking about. Can you handle trying to bring her back from the brink of death?
Zayne nods, bracing himself for another long night.
“I will try to undertake this with everything I have, Dr. Greyson.”
He stops, correcting himself. “I have to undertake this with everything I have, Dr. Greyson. I believe I do not have a choice.”
Suspended. Floating.
Trapped.
It was completely dark where you were, no light but a flickering blue ember in the distance. Reaching out to it, you found it dancing just out of your reach; taunting you with even more confusion.
You had no idea how you came to be here or what happened that led you to this strange place.
In this limbo, time neither exists nor moves forward.
You were just here. Just being.
Hours must’ve passed. Or, was it days?
You felt a softness wrap around you. Once or twice, you thought you remembered the feel of someone’s lips on your forehead. The shape of a hand whose fingers intertwined with yours. A whiff of a familiar cologne you couldn’t quite place.
It was dark where you were, but you were never alone.
Someone was always beside you. Talking to you. Drawing you closer and closer to that blue flame.
“... I’m sorry…”
You caught that word a lot.
Sorry.
Sorry.
But, for what?
Who was that voice apologizing to?
And what had they done wrong?
You would never know the answer. Except, one day, it appears before you, shining like a periwinkle blue sky opening to a new world.
The blue flame glows brighter, almost encompassing you.
Please… I’m scared…
You tried to scream, tried to push back.
But, it grew bigger and brighter. About to swallow you whole.
Was this how a new star was born? Did they see an unbearably bright light before they were engulfed in the flames of being?
Were you a star right now?
The flames hurt—fuck, they were lapping at your hands. Your arms. Your flesh turns a sickly pale blue, about to drop off your bones.
But, you don’t fight back this time. The burn feels almost sacrificial. Sacred.
Like a ritual you had to push through to see the other side.
So, you gritted your teeth and dug your heels in the ground; staying absolutely still. Letting the embers flicker at your feet, caress your sides and hair.
“... she’s waking up!”
“... quick… nurse!”
“Zayne… she’s back…”
There’s a commotion in the distance. You feel like you’re about to orbit another universe, your space ship drifting and attempting to dock with this strange planet’s gravity system.
The bright light pierces through your sticky lids, and you feel askew, like you could fall off this new planet’s axis anytime.
A familiar sharp scent permeates your nose, and you groan, the sound low and groggy.
“Ssh, don’t be scared.” His voice is familiar, a low timber which sounds exactly like home. “I’ve got you. Come back when it feels safe for you.”
Despite your hesitation, you drift back into the abyss, feeling the warmest brush of lips on your forehead again.
You want to reach out to that bright light, hold it in the middle of your palm. Fighting hard now, you wade past the molasses of your sluggish mind, forcing one eyelid to pry open. And then, another.
Finally, you blink, slow and unhurried. Swiveling your head to the side, it felt like you were in slow motion, every action delayed by three seconds.
The word was entirely made up of a blur. It was all too white. Too loud.
Someone cradles your face, and your world tilts. You find yourself sitting up slightly, a familiar face you knew and loved swimming into view.
His bright green eyes solidify, and you make a sound in the back of your throat.
“It’s alright,” he whispers, full of reassurance and relief. “It’s quite alright, my Aurora. You’re safe now. Safe here.”
“Z… Zay… Zayne?”
You force your tongue to cooperate; it feels like a clumsy eel in your mouth, twisting and turning in a slippery mess. Moans and low grunts emitted from the back of your throat, and you wince with every word you struggle (and fail) to enunciate.
“Ssh,” he mumbles, and you feel something circular and hard slipping in between your lips. “It’s water. You have to drink it from the straw. Do you remember how to sip?”
The motion comes back after a few tries, and you hesitantly imbibe the cooling liquid.
“Good girl,” he whispers, patting your head gently.
You struggle to pin your eyes on him, wondering what type of lights were shining above for him to appear so bedazzlingly in front of you.
The room is empty, and it’s only him here with you. Outside, the world was pitch black, but here, you feel like every beam was dancing in Zayne’s eyes; the relief in them washing over you, calming your spiking heart rate.
“You’ve been in a coma for three days, Y/N,” he informs in a low whisper, sitting beside you. Taking your hand, he presses it to his lips, kissing each knuckle reverently. “I don’t want to push you, but you need to rest. You suffered quite the blast from that attack.”
It all came back to you in an instant: Xavier’s wide, azure eyes, the flash of golden light. Searing pain and an impenetrable darkness.
You start to shake, and Zayne notices, immediately bringing another blanket from your bedside shelf and wrapping you in it. When that doesn't work, he twines his arms around you, pulling you to his chest. Ever so tender, he cradles your body, gently rocking you from side to side like you were a terrified child.
“It’s alright. It’s alright. You’re alright. It is normal to feel shocked after what happened. But, you’re safe, my Aurora. I have made sure of that.”
You paw at his shirt, fighting to roll the words off your tongue; remembering the unanswered text message and your instant regret when you realized far too late during your failed mission that you had basically told him not to care for you anymore.
“S… Sorry…”
“Please,” he says in a soft, tired voice. “No more apologizing. Don’t ever apologize, Y/N. It was never your fault.”
Zayne tilts your head up, his eyes soft and warm in the dark blue expanse of this hospital room. His thumb grazes your cheek, your jaw and lower lip.
“You should rest,” he murmurs, smiling when you start to pout. “Alright, my love? I am right here. I will keep you safe.” Leaning forward, he presses the softest kiss to your forehead, its warmth achingly familiar.
“I love you. Please—rest.”
You close your eyes, inhaling his comforting scent. Nodding off, the last thing you felt was his lips in your hair, his soft whisper of, “I am so sorry for how I treated you” dissipating into the recesses of your subconscious.
Once more, you succumb to the darkness, but this time, you do so with open arms.
“Bedrest and lots of fluids,” Dr. Carol says sternly, much to your chagrin.
Her salt and pepper eyebrows shoot up, daring you to fight back. You stay silent, staring at your lap glumly.
The day is much too nice to be bound in bed; sun streaming in through the frosted glass windows, cherry blossoms dotting the sill and bird song fills the air—the heart of winter thawing right into a dazzling spring.
Zayne is beside you, holding onto your purse while the doctor gives her diagnosis, trying hard not to smirk at your crestfallen expression.
“I will write a note to the Hunters Association to give you a month off. Lay off the dangerous missions, wandering into closed off zones, and getting yourself into trouble.”
She signs the paper with a flourish, tears it, and hands it to Zayne. Not even giving you a chance to protest.
“Thank you for the diagnosis, Dr. Carol,” your boyfriend says with a curt nod, pocketing the strip.
She returns his gesture, pushing her rimmed glasses up her blunt nose. “You take care of her, Dr. Zayne. Keep her out of trouble.”
Zayne helps you stand, letting you lean against his arm for support. “Oh, believe me. This little Hunter will be very well rested before she’s finally allowed back onto the field.”
You fume next to him, though with your warming cheeks, Zayne thinks you look a lot like an adorably pissed chipmunk. Before the door closes, you remember to politely give a small bow to Dr. Carol, despite how you were livid at her treating you like a wayward child.
“Don’t pout,” he murmurs, poking your side as you both tread down the narrow hallway. You flinch, glare deepening.
“What am I going to do for one month? Sit around and collect dust? Zayne, you have to speak to her. I can’t stay at home all the time,” your tone goes whiny, and he musters a quick chuckle.
“Darling, you know I can’t just interfere with another doctor’s advice. Besides, I wholeheartedly agree with the decided diagnosis.”
Warm sunlight spills across your cheeks; you take mincing steps, still getting used to walking after a full week of rotting on the hospital bed. But, Zayne is patient with you, holding onto your arm while he keeps you steady, matching his pace to yours.
He continues. “You’ve been overworking yourself since we took a break. You need to rest before your body shuts down.”
At the reminder of the separation you both endured, you made a face. “Maybe I should’ve stayed broken up with you for a little while longer to find my answers…”
“And risk throwing yourself headfirst into more conspiracy theories like a pig-headed fool? Be grateful we were given another chance,” he retorts without missing a beat. “You would be severely injured if I weren’t here to give you a voice of reason.”
You quieten, watching a cherry blossom break off a tall branch and float to the ground.
Zayne notices your silence, and nudges you. Glancing at him, you see a shadow of a smile etched on his lips.
“I know you must miss the outside. How about we come to an agreement? Take your medication, get loads of rest, and I’ll bring you out every evening to see the cherry blossoms. Would this be more suitable for a ‘punishment’, my Aurora?”
Your heart skips a beat; you’ve missed hearing your favorite term of endearment from him.
“Okay,” you murmur, considerably happier. “You’ve got yourself a deal.” Holding out your pinky right in his face, Zayne chuckles again, but indulges you, wrapping his smallest finger with yours.
“It is a deal,” his voice is softer, fringed with amusement and tenderness.
Zayne is a man of extremes; rarely meeting you in the middle.
When Dr. Carol had advised against strenuous activities for at least a week while your body heals, she didn’t take into account that Zayne would refuse to even touch you in any way other than as a caregiver.
He would fix your meals, help you around the house, and even tenderly bathe you if you so much as breathed a request for it.
But, he would never—in any circumstances—take it further.
How long has it been since we’ve last been together?
You fidget in your seat, staring out a window.
Far too long, the answer comes back to you like a nefarious whisper. You should do something about it.
And you do have a plan. Granted, it’s half-baked and needs a dash of liquid courage to work, but nevertheless, it was a plan.
Zayne would be home in exactly an hour, and that was the bulk of time needed for you to get ready.
You washed your hair, brushed your teeth, did your skincare and makeup; there was an attempt to style your locks but you gave up halfway only to let it air dry while you slipped on some silky lingerie. It was his favorite set—black and lacy with a sheer mesh covering the cups that left little to the imagination.
Catching your lower lip in between your teeth, you try to rearrange yourself on the sofa, chest out and hoping your lipgloss hadn’t faded yet; squirming to position your limbs so that it didn’t look like you were a splayed starfish.
The door unlocks, and you hold your breath, a big grin fighting to break through your expression.
Zayne blinks the second he notices you, his doctor's coat bundled up in one arm and the other hand holding his briefcase.
“... Hello?”
You sit up, hoping to God you were at least seductive when you cross your legs, giving him a sweet smile.
“Hello, doctor. Welcome home.”
Those gorgeous green eyes flit to your chest, and his jaw ticks under your scrutiny.
You expect him to at least compliment you, or ask what you were doing in bewilderment. Not say—
“You are going to catch a cold if you keep this up.”
Before you can react, he sets down his briefcase and wraps you in his coat, drawing you to his side.
“Zayne—” you mumble, dismayed. He keeps you tightly to his chest, like you were going to disintegrate without his support anytime soon. “Zayne!” You fight free from his grasp, giving him an exasperated glare.
“Hello? Here I am trying to seduce you, and you just mother henned me!” Pressing your palms flush to his broad pecs, you push him back firmly—exasperatedly. “This is so embarrassing!”
Petering off into a whine, you huff and cross your arms. Missing how his eyes darken ever so slightly at the sight of the skimpy fabric stretching across your tight nipples.
Taking in a deep breath, Zayne fights the urge to throw you over his shoulder and give your ass a firm squeeze (or smack, seeing as how his self-control was steadily declining). You were making it so hard to keep his composure under lock and key. He channels that frustration into a huge sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger.
“You are single-handedly the most infuriating woman I know on this planet.”
Without warning, he nudges you back, until you’re flush with a wall. He leans forward, and you hold your breath, feeling his eyelashes flutter against your jaw.
“You know other women?”
He can’t fight back an exhaled laugh at your petulant words. “No. Of course, not. None of them can compare to you, my Aurora.”
His minty cool breath fans across the sensitive strip of your neck, drawing goosebumps down your arms.
“You are so infuriating,” he noses the length of your jaw, breathing you in. The heat emanating from his broad chest is overwhelming; it makes you dizzy with lust, thighs squeezing together to alleviate the tension throbbing in between them.
“A menace… you’re impossible to deal with.”
His large, veiny hands grip the fleshy domes of your ass, squeezing them heartily. “Haven’t had you in so long.” Longing coats his every husky exhale. “I miss you so much… but, you aren’t at your peak health, my love. I do not want to hurt you again.”
Zayne’s dizzying warmth distances away from you and you actually cry out softly, grappling onto his shoulders to keep him in place. He gasps, low and taken aback, hips clipping into yours.
“No, please…” you feel your face burning up; never were you this desperate to feel him. “I need you, Zayne. I really, really need you.”
His groan reverberates in his chest, sounding like it came straight from his tortured soul. “You’re going to kill me.”
“Please,” you whimper. “I need you.”
Strong hands lift you up, pin you right to the wall.
Zayne doesn’t give you any time to breathe. His mouth is on yours, ravenously drinking your moans and mewls.
For a man whose Evol is ice, his hands run ridiculously warm; grabbing at any flesh he can find purchase on—your thighs, ass, breasts—squeezing them firmly.
Fuck, you gasp into his mouth. Oh… Zayne…
The room spins, nothing but the sound of your blood rushing through your ears filling your mind.
He sucks on your bottom lip, desperately rutting his hips into yours. You feel him growing harder against your thigh, straining behind his slacks.
Boldly, your tinier hand rests on his bulge.
Naughty girl, he rasps. You’re asking for trouble now, little one.
A shiver runs up your spine which has nothing to do with his now colder hands running down your sides.
His Evol drops the temperature around the room, a faint glow of blue ice coating his fingertips. He runs those freezing pads down your exposed skin, catching right on the tops of your breasts. Your pelvis. Inner thighs.
You cry out when he teases your mound through the lace with those cold fingers, back arching wantonly.
“I want to see this pussy beg for me,” he murmurs. “I want to see her drip.”
Slowly, like you were a present he was leisurely unwrapping, Zayne pushes down your bra straps, until the cups are barely clinging to your heaving tits. He presses loving kisses down the strip of your throat, stopping shy of your areolas.
Stop teasing me, you whine, and his warm breath caresses your nipples as he exhales a laugh.
I can’t… I’m having too much fun, my Aurora.
He licks and sucks on them until they’re dripping with his spit, achy and tender to the touch. While he loves on your nipples, one hand slips in between your thighs, finding your twitching center.
Zayne eases the seat of your panties out of the way, and you bite down on a whimper when the cool air brushes your swollen clit and damp folds.
“So wet,” he murmurs. One finger drags through the slick mess, finding your clit and rubbing circles on it tenderly.
Proving he was more man than robot like how you always teased him, Zayne slides to his knees and looks up at you with pure devotion.
I’m going to eat you out right now, my Aurora, he whispers. Is that alright with you?
Fuck, yes. You almost scream. He didn’t need to even ask; you were begging for it. His tongue, friction, anything—you swore you were about to die from the anticipation.
Hitching your right leg over his shoulder, he eyes your pussy with a dark look, one which makes you think of a predator cornering his prey.
She’s so pretty, he muses. I wonder if she’s missed me at all.
“Yes,” you breathe into the darkening living room. The blinds are still wide open, streetlights staining his apartment floor a warm, orange glow.
She’s missed you so much, Zayne.
The sight of his pink tongue flitting out to touch the corners of his lips, the perfect arch of his cupid’s bow running against the slinky lace, almost makes you explode.
Prying your panties crotch to the side with his teeth, Zayne breathes in your scent, his perfect nose pressed right to your glistening cunt.
“Good,” he mumbles to himself. “Because I’ve missed her like crazy, too.”
His tongue running through your folds catches you by surprise, your cry rebounding across the room.
If it weren’t for his strong grip around your thighs and waist, you would’ve melted to the floor like a snow draft on a hot summer’s day. Zayne held you up as he ate you out; lips and tongue giving you the sweetest friction you had been dreaming of.
You’re so worked up, he breathes in between sinful licks. Zayne mouths your clit, tongue sliding through your folds like he was made for this. There’s nothing but the wet sounds of his mouth on you; his tongue flattens, and you drag your clit over it, hips twitching, getting yourself off.
His cock twitches and he knows he would be the one to swallow his own words; how he wants to get you dripping when he’s the one leaking in his pants like a horny teenager.
Fuck, fuck, Zayne mumbles, peppering kisses on your inner thighs. He bites on the plush flesh, loving how you tense and squeal.
His teeth grazes the sensitive flesh, making you flinch. You’re so responsive, it’s making him heady.
Deep groans well from his broad chest, and you swell with pride. Only you had the power to make the reserved, stoic, measured Zayne go crazy on your taste.
And he duly gives you the credit you deserve.
“You drive me insane,” he mumbles, lips brushing your skin.
It’s intimate—how he’s looking at you. Those thick, black lashes that frame his perfect emerald eyes lowering; lust pooling in their depths.
Zayne’s lips are puffy, coated with your juices. There’s a light pink dusting on the high of his cheeks.
“Are you alright?” he mumbles softly, running those large hands you love up and down your thighs.
You nod, teeth catching on your lower lip. “Zayne,” softly, you voice your need. “Can you please fuck me?”
How polite. He fights back a smirk, lowering your right leg back to the ground, giving your inner thigh a soft kiss.
He stands back to his full height, towering over you. His sheer size makes your heart quicken, and your back presses flush to the wall, anticipation right in your throat.
But, he’s gentle, as he always is, when he takes your hands, pressing them to his chest.
“Undress me first, my Aurora.”
A stern command wrapped in silk—I won’t touch you until you show me how much you want it.
Your shaky hands move to his shirt, tugging on it until those pesky white buttons loosen. Scars line his chest and pecs, each of them a road your tongue, lips and fingers have explored. Down his stacked torso, more of those white indents make a home on his skin, and you briefly touch them, grazing your fingers on the happy trail leading right to his defined ‘V’.
The buckle of his belt goes next. You slip it off, working on his slacks and underwear. Zayne silently watches, not giving a reaction. He loves this part; how you huff and warmth surges on your cheeks—hating how much of a tease he was.
But, you’re always an obedient little thing for him.
You would do as he said, knowing the rewards that lie behind these slight humiliations.
He shrugs his shirt and pants off, and you’re already on him.
Fumbling in the cocooning darkness, your lips paint over his collarbone and neck, right to his jaw. Zayne leans down, kisses you fully on your mouth as he lifts you back into his arms.
Swiftly, your legs wrap around his narrow waist, and he brings you straight to the couch; too impatient for the bedroom.
Your back meets the soft surface, a cushion haphazardly arranged underneath your head so you didn’t have to strain your neck.
The mastermind has thought of it all. Your musings were cut short when he unhooks your bra, a deft, fluid motion with little to no fumbling. A surgeon’s hands surely were the steadiest.
But, they trembled lightly when he plucked at the band of your thong, gently tugging it down your thighs.
Beautiful, he whispers, half to himself.
Zayne, please. You twine your fingers in his hair, tugging his face closer to yours. Feeling his warm breath on your lips. Don’t keep me waiting.
Hold on, beautiful. Zayne slots himself in between your legs, letting them rest around his waist. He grips your left thigh, hooking it on his shoulder and turns his head slightly to give your plush calf a kiss. His cock catches your attention, fully hard and glistening with pre-cum. Like his physique, it was girthy and thicker; imposing and intimidating.
Will it fit inside of me after so long…?
A bead of his excitement pearls on his tip, rolling down the impressive shaft. You smear it across his tip with your thumb, not missing how he shivered.
“I’ll go slow, darling,” he mumbles, locking your fingers with his, drawing your hands above your head and keeping it there with one hand. “Tell me if it hurts, alright?”
He kisses you fully on your parted mouth, drinking in your hitched gasp. I love you, my Aurora.
Giving his cock a few strokes, he lines it right to your drooling hole, dragging his tip through your folds to prime you up.
The thickness of him breaches past your tight opening, and you cry out, back arching. Zayne shushes you, focused on not splitting you open too fast.
Shit, you’re tight, he hisses. I may not be able to hold myself back, my Aurora.
You shake your head, glossy eyes making something in his chest twinge. Don’t—let me feel you entirely, Zayne.
“Almost,” he mumbles, and you feel the glorious stretch; how it burns in the best way.
The sounds falling from your mouth were much too lewd, easily heard past the thin walls; though at this rate, you didn’t care who would complain.
He breathes hard, sweat bulleting down his forehead. Finally, with one push, he’s fully sheathed inside of you.
The both of you groan in relief, his forehead knocking softly into yours. He lets go of your hands, letting them wound around his broad shoulders.
You bury your face in his neck as he starts to move, tentatively rolling his hips to get you used to him again.
“Taking me so well even after so long,” he breathes hard. “You’re always so perfect for me, aren’t you, my Aurora?”
Mhm, your slurry moan brushes his heated ears.
Falling apart. He was dissolving for you faster than snow under the sun.
“I can feel your pretty pussy fluttering around me.” He brushes his lips across your cheeks and nose, those gorgeous heavy lidded emerald eyes sending jolts down your spine. “You really wanted this.”
You can’t do anything but moan for him, pleasure unfurling across your body like a cresting tidal wave.
His hips clipping heavily into yours, the dense sensation of his cock filling you up over and over again, coarse pubic hair catching on your clit—all of it were slowly edging you towards the biggest release of your life.
He fucks you slower this time, wanting to draw out the moment.
Weeks of separation and anxiety were condensed within this singular moment; thick gasps flowing from his mouth into yours and back again, filling the air with an unbearable tension.
I love you, he repeats again, figuratively and literally drilling his devotion into your lax body. I love you so much, my Aurora.
My Aurora. Mine.
His.
Zayne’s possessiveness leaves you reeling, overwhelming your senses. He was right, as he always was; you belonged to him, body, heart and soul. Every beat of your heart, every trembling breath—it was all his.
Only he could fuck you this good; this deep. Only he could make you tremble from such an onslaught of emotion and sensation.
His thumb slips into your mouth, pressing down on your tongue; your lips hollowing around it, sucking on his digit like you would his cock.
Good girl, he rumbles, removing his thumb and replacing it with his index and middle finger. So good for me—you’re my sweet little girl, aren’t you?
Yours, you mewl, mouth and voice thick with his digits. All yours, Zayne.
The pressure builds—reaching a fever pitch. All of it piles up; heady breaths, sloppy thrusts, his moans and groans slurred into your hair.
He moves his mouth to your throat; sharp sting of his teeth blends with his murmured praises. But, you can’t focus on anything beyond his cock pumping inside of you, the mess he’s fucking out of you. It smells like sex in this room; musky and heady.
The couch is shaking, clawed feet dragging across the floor. Somewhere in your foggy mind, it registers that his downstairs elderly neighbor would surely be storming up to confront him. But, no distractions exist when you’re in the circle of his arms.
He probably wouldn’t even hear her knock over your keening moans.
Something about Dr. Zayne—the meticulous, righteous Dr. Zayne—ignoring someone’s distress because he was too busy fucking you, makes the taut string of your impending orgasm snap.
Good girl, he whispers; groans when he feels your nails stab into his shoulders. Doing so good for me. Generous hands grip your ass, lifting your back slightly off the sofa. Can you give me another one?
His selflessness would be the death of you. Zayne hadn’t even cum once—too focused on your needs.
Your head lolls back, feathery moans tainting the air with pure sin. Your thighs spread further, taking him deeper.
“Zayne…”
“My Aurora?”
He groans softly when you glide your tongue over the shell of his ear, breathily moaning, “Can you please cum for me?”
Strong shivers wrack his body; his sharp mind drawing a blank.
“Please,” you mouth his pulse point, drawing your hands back to his hair to give his dark locks a tug. “Give it to me, please… wanna feel you all hot and pulsing inside of me.”
Fuck, he bites your shoulder, thrusts growing sloppier. Fuck, fuck—
He’s been holding back on you; not wanting to hurt you when you wanted it to hurt.
You wanted the heat, the overwhelming need. Whining, you whimper please, please, please, over and over again.
Give me your cum, Daddy.
That does it. Zayne grits his teeth, a lusty groan of pain and ecstasy brushing against your neck. His cum fills you up steadily, first in spurts, then a fulfilling warmth which coats your walls, drawing deeper into your body with every pulsing contraction; a mini release set off by his own.
He slumps over you, skin growing cooler to the touch. You glide your fingertips over his sharp shoulder blades, feeling frost coating your fingers. They melt instantly at your touch, leaving your skin damp with both sweat and the residue of his Evol.
Zayne shudders, rubbing his cheek against your jaw and neck like a sated beast.
You twitch your hips, and he pulls out slightly; the fullness of him unplugging and dribbling down to join the mess of both your releases onto the couch.
He stays deep inside of you, lips tangled with yours; the both of you unable to let the other go.
“Are you alright?” he asks into the afterglow. You squirm a little, feeling his softening cock twitch.
“Mhm hmm,” you flash him a satisfied smile and he fights back a chuckle. You wiggle your butt, biting on your bottom lip. “I love how full I feel of you right now.”
Zayne squeezes your hips, an exasperated and exhausted smirk gracing his perfect mouth. “Little minx.”
He holds your cheek, smoothes his thumb over your lower lip.
“You do know how much you mean to me, don’t you?”
His face is hazy, eyes soft and full of love in the faint light.
You rest your palm on the back of his hand, melting into his warmth with your eyes half closed and a small smile lifting the corners of your lips.
“Perhaps.”
You don’t give him time to recover from your quip, flipping him over, both of you still connected from base to tip.
Zayne doesn’t think he’s ever seen such raw beauty held in one person before; how your skin glowed in the muted orange glow, pretty eyes filled with a passionate ruin.
“But, if you let me take care of you this time, Dr. Zayne, I might be inclined to believe so.”
His hands span across your lower back, smoothing down your hips.
“Anything,” he mumbles hoarsely, an accessory to your seduction. “Do anything you want to me, my Aurora.”
You mumble his name, honeyed with devotion and lust.
And Zayne doesn’t care how many times fate would push you two away; like the tide to the sea, he would always come back for you.
As many times as it would take. For as long as he could.
“I love you, Zayne,” you whisper, tinier palms pressed to his chest; taking your turn to fuck him.
And he knows you would do it again, too; go through it one more time for him. It was the nature of your love—a push and pull as old as the sea tides.
But this time—most definitely—he makes a firm vow that it would be the very last time you were taken away from him.
— it is safe to say i am insane over this man i fear. reblogs and feedback are appreciated !!
©️ all works belong to lalunaymph. do not copy, repost, translate or share across any other platform
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Delirious
No matter how much you had offered your heart and arms to him, you were never his. And he was never yours.
Another oneshot requested by my angsty babies, I am glad you chose Rafayel. Yes, the writer you had wished for is back. Hang on tight to your seats baby gurl, this one gonna be hard to swallow.
Warnings: Angst, no comfort. Make your eyes bleed. Character death. Descriptive Mentions of dark topics so if ur sensitive please refrain.
Artwork is not mine, please support the original artwork!
Ding Dong. Ding Dong. Ding Dong. dINg dOng. DiNg dOnG.
You slammed your door opened and the 183cm drama queen stands in your doorway, head hung low, face drooped towards the floor. If he is not made of solid muscle and bones, you would be watching him melting right into the floor. Sighing, you stood aside and let him in, not even bothering to ask him a single question. You sort of having a gist on what had happened.
"Here, soup for you." He replied solemnly, feet carrying him lazily across the living room and to your kitchen. He brought soup this time, must be something big. Him bringing a souvenir over also means he would probably be staying the night. Not that you guys are in a relationship or anything, but 'complicated' is the right term for the both of you as of this stage.
The chair creaked under his weight as he took a seat on the wooden chair slotted at your dining table. "Rafayel." You grabbed a tissue box and sat down on the opposite end, a good necessity whenever he drops by your house unannounced. His hunched over form under the harsh lighting of your dining room's light unexpectedly painted a blob of shadow on your table. You reached your hand out this time, finger tapped on the wooden table just a few centimeters away from his hand. "Rafayel, are you okay?"
"She broke up with me." His reply was short. No details, no whining, no accusations, but just one sentence. This is an untouched territory for you. Most of the time, he would pressed on the doorbell nonstop until you slam open the door and his lips would not shut off till he was done venting. There were a couple of times he did came in looking like a dreaded fish, but the smell of alcohol would be the perfume of his. Today, however, no alcohol smell and no usual harangues.
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Few days passed, till few weeks, then few months after. For such a while, Rafayel had been hanging out more frequently with you, bringing you to the most random places to hang out such as going to a bowling alley just to get their waffles because he claims he likes to watch people roll balls but he also likes the waffles there. A trip to the market only to buy crabs and releasing them into the backyard to watch which one could run the fastest then the winner shall be rewarded as dinner on the dining table.
He had never been weirder than ever, but maybe this is his way of coping and who are you to judge? You had never been in love. But reading through romance books and watching all of the romantic shows, when love comes to your mind, Rafayel comes to your mind. You thought, maybe you do love him?
"Get out." Your words were final. Index finger sliced through the air and pointed straight towards your front door. Your cheeks glistened under the reflecting light casted by the television that was playing a teen romance flick. But no attention was spared for the movie anymore. "Rafayel. GET. OUT."
"What do you mean?" Eyebrows sewn together, eyeing your expression that spelled hurt. He was confused about your sudden burst of anger. "All I did was talk about the movie. And you got mad at me all of a sudden."
"You did not talk about the movie. All you did, was compared me to her, with the context of the movie." Your nostrils flared, tears stinging at the back of your eyes as if you had inhaled poison. Your throat and chest tightening further the more you held your tears in. "You lied to me. You said you got over her." Your arm fell to your sides, voice feeble. "But, why do you always find the need to compare me to her?"
"Oh spare me, I just went through a breakup, I could use the space to let loose, can't I?" His ignorance egged you on, seeing how indifferent he is about this situation. "Furthermore, I could use the---"
"And you think it's okay to play with my feelings?!" You belted, eyes welled up with tears, blurring your vision. You stepped up to him, hands pointed towards his face this time and you seethed in anger. "You, came here everytime, when she broke your heart. And out of everytime, I stayed. I waited." Your voice started cracking. "I was there for you when you had nobody else. And I picked you up when you thought you could not live without her anymore."
"Well, you could have just left if you---" He chipped in and you slapped him across his face with your palm. Although your hands are small, but it packed enough of a force to cause his cheek to ache, an uncomfortable throbbing pain following afterwards. He left his head tilted to the side, taking in the reality of what had happened. He just got slapped by a girl. Never in his life, he thought he would do something so outrageous that he would get slapped across the face. Guess he just broke his streak of not getting slapped by women.
"I WAS IN LOVE WITH YOU, CAN'T YOU TELL?!" You withdrew your hands and slid onto the floor, full on sobbing as you hugged onto your body to gain warmth for yourself. All of the blood had rushed up to your head which explains why you could not feel your legs anymore, hence the position on the floor. You desperately hoped Rafayel would grab you right now, and hug you tight within his arms.
You heard hurried shuffles, sound of keys jangling and a soft thud next to you. Those noises not tending to your curiosity at all. "I am sorry." His reply was bland, numb even. A sentence for remorse, also a sentence for a goodbye. The doors closed behind you and you were left alone, a forlorn soul basked within the lights emitted from the romance show. Silent sobs overheard by the moon that was peeking in through the windows of your sky roof.
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"Rafayel!" Thomas burst in the front doors, scurrying towards Rafayel's room at full speed after spotting the empty canvas sitting at the living room. Slamming the door that leads to Rafayel's room, the artist was sprawled out on the bed, his room so cold that Thomas could have just witnessed the North Pole without having to be there. The floor was surrounded in trash, papers crumpled up, pencils of all kinds used for sketching strewn across the floor. One may call it an organised mess, but Thomas calls this artist block.
"How long have you been in this room?!" Thomas shook Rafayel's shoulders to wake him up. "Your room is as cold as the cold storage that you use to store your seafood!" Thomas wasted no time in having to collect the pieces of papers and pencils on the floor, arranging them in his hand. "Why are you not done with---"
His nag came to a halt when Rafayel had sat up straight, back hunched over and eye bags the only colour present on his pale features. "What do you want?" Even his voice sounds hoarse, like a teen boy cycling through the age of puberty. "I do not wish to be disturbed."
"Your calls, as usual, went unanswered for the past few days so I helped myself by going over to ask y/n about your whereabouts because I thought you were staying with her pretty often these days." Placing the items onto the artist's white desk, Thomas turned to study his expression, his arms crossed over his chest.
"I know that look from somewhere." He squinted his eyes, studying him even further. "You had that same look when you caught your ex cheating on you that night." Thomas was referring to the girl that came before you. The one that had broke Rafayel's fragile heart. "Funny, now that I think of it, y/n's not doing any better than you."
Coming to realisation, the light bulb in Thomas' head flipped the switch. "Did anything happened to the both of you?"
"Did she asked anything about me?" Rafayel answered his question with another question. Eyes finally slanted upwards to face the manager of his. He just wanted to hear something, at least something to give him a reason to find her. He felt guilty, remorseful even for putting his burdens onto her. Leaving her all alone, drowning her in her own agony that day was the worse thing he could ever do to someone who had only ever been kind to him. And it took him three days to figure that out in his fish brain.
"No, she just asked me to hand you this." The older man reached into the pocket of his blazer, fishing a pink note out of his pocket and he handed it to Rafayel. The paper a little wrinkled, but the contents of it are a mark of your handwriting.
//𝐼 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊, 𝐼 𝓌𝒾𝓈𝒽 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒶𝓁𝓁 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒷𝑒𝓈𝓉 𝒾𝓃 𝒻𝒾𝓃𝒹𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒 𝒶𝓈 𝐼 𝑜𝓃𝒸𝑒 𝒹𝒾𝒹.// Your cursive writing always a form of art to his eyes. A small, dainty note was all that takes for her to personally pass on the will to him. Rafayel stared at the note for a good minute, the wind coming out of the air-conditioner turning Thomas into a popsicle but filling the silence.
"I have to go." Rafayel uttered, hoisting himself out of the bed in one go and he threw on his dark pistachio green open collared shirt. The one you always quipped about how healthy his skin tone looks in it but with him constantly bantering that the green was a direct insult to his hair and eye colour. Just for this time, he would smother his ego, put on your favourite outfit, and head over to find you.
.⋆｡⋆☂˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆.
The keys he held onto, the same set of extra keys you had entrusted him with, slotted into the keyhole and turning it clockwise, a 'clack' could be heard and he opened the door with the twist of the copper-painted doorknob. The balcony's sliding door remained opened, the sheer white curtains danced to the rhythm of the wind. The lights in your house were dimly lit, providing Rafayel with just enough lighting to navigate himself towards your room.
At this timing, in the middle of the night, he tiptoed through your wooden floors, afraid even the smallest of creaks would give you the spooks. He twisted the doorknob to your door but it jammed halfway. Trying again, with a bit more exerted force this time, the door remained unbudgable. "Y/N...?" He called out for your name, using his knuckle to give a light knock on your door. "It's me Rafayel. Can we talk?"
He was met with a deafening silence. Of course you would not want him to be anywhere near you, be it to hear him apologise for his stupidity or for him to comfort you within his arms. He bet you could care less about him given the last stunt he had pulled on you. He grappled for his phone, pulling out of his pant's back pocket and he turned on the screen, the light on his phone screen puts the dim lightings to shame.
He scrolled through his phone book till he stopped at your name, a heart symbol edited in next to your name. It was not just a stunt for him to catch your attention, the heart emoji has always been there, but after you had taken him in and allowed him to stay with you for a couple of weeks, the heart started making more sense to him, but poor Rafayel couldn’t distinguish what is love and what is bare attraction. If he could get to talk to you this time, then maybe the heart would mean the world to him. Maybe, maybe this time, he will not mess his speech up and break your heart again.
The phone was set to dial mode and he pressed onto the green call button, ready to receive shoutings from the other side of the room. Your ringtone rang, the stupid song for the Toothless Meme played on rewind. Did you slept a bit too well maybe? He called again, and the same scenario happened.
His heart was hit with a sudden pang of fear. You had always been a light sleeper and noticing the obnoxiously loud ringtone not even waking you up for the slightest bit, he decided to take a step back and bust down the door with his shoulder. Luckily, just with one hard nudge of his broad shoulders, the door dislodged itself.
So does his heart. Your whole room was thrashed, filled with the pink notes that you had given to Thomas earlier. Some were torn, some were sheathed, some had scribbles all over it, all of the notes littered with handwritten notes beyond his comprehension. Rafayel watched you, held up vertically, legs far from touching the ground, a noose was the only thing connecting you towards the ceiling. "Y/N!" He ran up to you and grabbed you, his lanky legs kicking all of the notes out of his way. "Y/N!"
A short burst of flames from his fingers burnt the noose and you fell to the floor. Your face a shade match to the moon that was sitting outside. Rafayel's hands fumbled with his phone, calling the emergency hotline as soon as he could. Strings of curses coming out of his mouth afterwards when he asked for help to be deployed to your location as soon as possible.
While awaiting for the ambulance, Rafayel did CPR, or at least what he could remember from the lesson he had taken years ago. Pumping steadily to a rhythm, blowing air through your mouth to hopefully deliver air to your lungs. The sirens of the ambulances huddled outside of your condominium, the blue and red lights adding on a speck of neon to the monotonous night.
"Stay with me please. Please stay with me y/n." Rafayel held you in his arms, your ice cold skin prickled against his warmth. His tears fell down his cheeks and continued its trail down your already tear-stricken face. He never thought his ruse would cause you this much damage. He thought that you could be the end to his delirium, and the start to his new reality.
The paramedics that arrived on the scene stood aimlessly at the door frame, watching the broken man in front of them, amidst the thrashed room, holding onto a lifeless body of a woman who seemingly cried herself to death.
.⋆｡⋆☂˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆.
Angsty af, this piece is part and partial of my experience as I had once struggled with my mental health before, and it was also due to a shitty ex. But I am doing much better now, and writing this brings back those shitty feels that I used to have, but also reminded me of how much more happier and stronger I am now, and that I am not choosing death because of my ex! :)
But if any of you, do have issues with mental health, please do seek for reliable help. As cliche as it sounds, life is not at all bad if you have people that are supportive of your recovery journey. If you needed someone to rant to, my dms are always open <3.
I do not wish harm for any of my readers, and I want you guys to know that just as much as ur supporting my works, I want to be there to support you if you have any hardships in life as well. Just know that you are loved, and I love you <3.
Sincerely, Brails.
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do you know where i could find subbed versions of all the shows by any chance? thank you very much, have a lovely day!!
HEY HEY!!! I did my best to gather all the information i got and also found nearly all the subbed versions, i at least hope they all work. I didnt doublecheck them, because i only watched them in japanese. I added those links too, because they also have the curtain call and backstage stuff, those are without sub though, sadly. I hope i helped you with his lovely. (If i find more or better links, i will update this post of course!!)Hyper Projection Engeki Haikyuu - A View From The Top https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=05khLF1fjCE(with english subtitles - just the main stageplay)Rerun:http://bluecatkate.tumblr.com/post/151564035222/dvd-download-link-hyper-projection-engeki(sadly no subbed version - curtain call, backstage)
https://ryota-kunstranslations.tumblr.com/post/166980158582/download-engeki-haikyuu-karasuno-revival(with english subtitles - just the main stageplay)
Hyper Projection Engeki Haikyuu - Winners and Losers
http://nebulous-wanderings.tumblr.com/post/165331265680/hyper-projection-engeki-haikyuu-shousha-to(sadly no subbed verison - curtain call, backstage)
https://ryota-kunstranslations.tumblr.com/post/167299536782/dl-engeki-haikyuu-winners-and-losers-eng-sub(with ebglish subtitles - just the main stageplay)
Hyper Projection Engeki Haikyuu - Summer of evolutionhttp://shiratorilover.tumblr.com/post/172055837159/download-hyper-projection-engeki-haikyu(sadly no subbed version - curtain call, backstage)https://ryota-kunstranslations.tumblr.com/tagged/engeki-haikyuu-subs(with english subtitles - just the main stageplay)
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Haikyuubu Masterlist
I reread them pretty often, so I decided to make this
All of them are posted by @kuromantic, so thanks!
Please note that this post will only be updated, not reblogged, so you will need to click on the original post if you do reblog.
I will also reblog to announce a new update.
This week:
The Clenching Oikawa-san
Last Chapter:
Fukurodani’s Big Eater
Next chapter: In two weeks!
Chapter 1: Akaashi Predicts (Almost) Everything
Chapter 1.5: Akaashi Hosts a Bokuto Pop Quiz
Chapter 2: Kenma the Champion
Chapter 3: Ushijima, Spirit Destroyer
Chapter 4: Kita (Almost) Never Laughs
Chapter 5: The Association Drinks A Lot
Chapter 6: Mika is Sick of Volleyball
Chapter 7: Hana Puts Up With Way Too Much
Chapter 8: Nakashima Has Too Many Fans
Chapter 9: Aone Keeps Too Many Secrets
Chapter 10: Oikawa Gets a Translator
Chapter 11: Tora Tries to Get a Manager
Chapter 12: Tendou Makes Manga
Chapter 13: The Managers Make Food
Chapter 14: The Miyas’ Bodyswap
Chapter 15: Aone and Yachi
Chapter 16: Seijoh Washed Ashore
Chapter 17: The Coaches
Chapter 18: Bokuto and the Principal’s Office
Chapter 19: Let’s All Become Hyakuzawa
Chapter 20: The Cats and Snow
Chapter 21: (No One Wants) Oikawa as a Youtuber
Chapter 22: Terushima Tries to Get a Job
Chapter 23: The Karasuno Neighborhood Meeting
Chapter 24: Isekai Shiratori
Chapter 25: Kanoka’s Delinquent Love
Chapter 26: Bokuto and Kiryuu’s Interview
Chapter 27: Tanaka and Nishinoya’s Exams
Chapter 28: Ukai and Saeko’s Meeting from Hell
Chapter 29: Seijoh Plays Cards
Chapter 30: Yachi’s Presents
Chapter 31: Kuroo VS Daishou
Chapter 32: Inarizaki’s Fortune Strips
Chapter 33: Taketora’s Youtube Debut
Chapter 34: Futakuchi and some kids
Chapter 35: Yachi’s Valentine
Chapter 35.5: Haikyuu Folktales- Oikawa-Taro
Chapter 36: Tendou the.. Kappa?
Chapter 37: Suzumeda’s Diet
Chapter 38: Sakusa’s Problem
Chapter 39: Ougiminami Recruiting
Chapter 40: Nekoma Plays Online Games!
Chapter 41: Oikawa Tries and Gets Tamed
Chapter 42: Karasuno Lottery
Chapter 43: Sakura with Yachi’s mom
Chapter 44: Android Aone
Chapter 45: Go Go Michimiya!
Chapter 46: Fukurodani Eating Contest
Chapter 47: Shiratorizawa Flower Fairy
Chapter 48: Shimada Mart Advertising
Chapter 49: Seijoh Goes Fishing
Chapter 50: Inarizaki’s Comedy Routines
Chapter 51: A Couple’s First Beach Date
Chapter 52: Kuro(o) the Kitten
Chapter 52.5: Haikyuubu Extra Sketches
Chapter 53: Ushijima’s (Virtual) Reality
Chapter 53.5: Extra Sketches 2
Chapter 54: Akaashi and Udai
Chapter 54.5: Extra Sketches 3
Chapter 55: Hirugami’s Pokémon
Chapter 56: Survive the Drive!
Chapter 57: Oikawa’s Trip Abroad
Chapter 58: Daichi the Diplomat
Chapter 59: A Terrifying Apartment
Chapter 60: Kenma and Volleyball
Chapter 61: Tendou’s Double
Chapter 62: Inarizaki’s Spring Clean
Chapter 63: The Grand King
Chapter 64: Daichi Can’t Catch a Break
Chapter 65: The Aone Army
Chapter 66: Kiyoko’s Avant-Garde Art
Chapter 67: Tanaka and The Monkeys
Chapter 68: The Murder Of Bokuto
Chapter 69: Asahi and Nishinoya’s Globe Trot
Chapter 70: Shiratorizawa’s Hay Fever
Chapter 71: Kuroo’s Demonic Hair
Chapter 72: The Switching Twins
Chapter 73: Aone’s Problem
Chapter 74: Bokuto the Magician
Chapter 75: Seijoh’s Day At the Beach
Chapter 76: Ushijima Turned Into A Baby
Chapter 77: Karasuno Shopping Avenue’s Test of Courage
Chapter 78: Kuroo Tries Social Media
Chapter 79: The National Team’s Photo Shoot
Chapter 80: Fukurodani’s Big Eater
Chapter 81: The Clenching Oikawa-san
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HAIKYUU BOYS WHEN THEY THROW THEIR WEDDING RING
ft. bokuto; suna; atsumu: kuroo; ushijima
a/n: the fact that i posted this exact prompt on my deleted blog but i don't remember it anymore—
jjk version
it was no secret that BOKUTO sometimes had problems controlling his emotions. he wasn't necessarily as affected by them as he was in high school, but there were enough moments that made him feel ashamed when he thought about them; just like he did right now. he was sobbing violently, his arms pressing you as close to you as ohysically possible. he wailed apologies, only stopping to take a breath every once in a while. he snapped out of his anger the moment the ring left his hand, but he was afraid that the damage couldn't be undone. he could only beg, proclaiming his love for you over and over, even if he knew that his behaviour just disproved his claims.
arguing with SUNA was tiresome. it was like he never even cared, not being attentive and only brushing you off. he never thought about the impact of his words once he did answer you, trying to get you off his back as soon as possible and with any means necessary. but even he understood when he went too far. he realized it when you took a deep breath, muttering something that he could not understand and turned around, disappearing into the bedroom only to come out a few minutes later with a bag over your shoulder, not even sparing him a glance as you rushed out the door. he clenched his jaw, picking the ring up and clenching his fist, staring out the window with a heavy chest.
ATSUMU was a prideful and confident person, he hated being confronted with his faults. he never really reacted well afterwards, either snickering a comment back or just waving the criticism off. no one was safe from this side of him, not even you. but he wasn't an idiot either. he saw the way your face fell when his ring landed on the floor, how you were shaking as you went and picked it up, only to retreat into the bedroom silently. he stayed still, not even daring to move an inch, only looking at the place you stood just a second ago. how did he let it go this far?
KUROO hated arguing and the yelling that came with it. he hated the irrational things he says during them, how every sense of reason is being thrown into the wind just to get to you because of his pride. and right after he threw his wedding ring across the room and stormed out, slamming the door behind him, he broke down, hugging his knees as he cried. he didn't know what came over him, he didn't know why he would ever think that what he did was okay but how could he face you after what he had done?
it was rare that arguments with USHIJIMA got so heated. you barely ended up shouting at each other, much less underline your words with some kind of big gestures. so it was even a bigger shock when he raised his voice at you, fiddling with the ring on his finger until throwing it away with some accusatory yell. you were too shocked to even say anything, only extending your arms in front of you to protect yourself as you stared at him with big eyes. he wanted to step closer, he wanted to hug you, he wanted to fall to his knees and beg for forgiveness; anything so that you wouldn't look so afraid of him anymore.
reblogs are appreciated
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hopelessly devoted.
pairing. atsumu miya x reader
warnings. angst! established relationship, insecurities, he’s mean, arguments, he hugs you but you don’t want him to (he physically hurts u kind of unintentionally??), lmk if there’s any mistakes or anything i need to add
wc. 1.25k
a/n. aaa i just wanted to write angst since i havent in a while so im very sorry if this isnt that good </3
It had been a couple weeks since you had last seen Atsumu. It was no surprise though, your boyfriend was a professional volleyball player, obviously there would be times where there were games that were out of the city. You knew that, he had told you that the moment he accepted MSBY’s invitation.
You were completely understanding of that. You were proud of him for reaching his goals and getting where he wanted to be.
So when you heard they had lost the game, you knew that was far from being a good thing.
Keep reading
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CHAPTER 4.
PAIRING. Atsumu Miya x f!Reader
CW. angst, harassment, atsumu is less of a dick but still a dick
A/N. Heres another chap :P i finished chap 5 so i can now post chap 4 ^^ srry if theres inaccuracies w volleyball stuff i didnt do research
-> MASTERLIST
There’s always something wrong with what you do.
No matter how big or how little something is, he always finds a way to make you feel like absolute shit.
You filled the water bottles up? There’s not enough ice. You mopped the floor? There’s still a speck of dirt on it. You filled the balls with air? Hmm, too much. You closed the door a little too loud? It hurts his ears.
Not even a full 3 weeks has passed by, yet you’re ready to turn in your 2 weeks.
The team has been preparing for the first game of the season, so Atsumu has laid low on his bullshit as of recently. Thankfully, it has given you time to actually enjoy your job. Because honestly, the only con about working as a manager for MSBY was Atsumu. His existence.
You’d give this job a 5/5 of stars, but just because he was there, he himself would bring it down to a 1/5. Maybe a 0/5, if that was an option.
Even so, the load of errands you’ve been running has gotten a tad bit heavier. Since the season is starting, you’ve been in charge of contacting the representatives at V.League to make sure the schedule and itineraries for the first game you have is correct. You need to make the guys and the team overall have everything ready that they need.
“Big game tomorrow, huh, Y/N?” Foster nudges your shoulder, “You nervous?”
You laugh a little, “Not really, but if I were in their shoes I would be,”
“Hah, yeah, but I’m sure the guys will do great. They always do,” he states while looking at the team practicing.
Smiling at his words, you join him in looking at the team. They’ve been in peak condition recently, and you agree with Foster’s statement.
You watch as Atsumu sets for Sakusa, a hard slam sounding through the gym as the ball hits the floor in an instant.
Most practices have been the same thing; they play, you take notes, you do things they ask of you. The simplicity of it all is why you took the job in the first place.
“Alright, I think I’m gonna let you off early tonight so you can get some rest before tomorrow,” Coach Foster pats you on the back with a warm smile.
“Are you sure? I can stay a little while longer—“
His laugh interrupts you, “Of course, get some sleep and be sure to get here around 6am tomorrow,,”
You give him a curt nod of your head before waving him off. Glancing over to some of the players, a couple of them notice you leaving and give you a smile and a wave.
Unintentionally, you met eyes with Atsumu.
Nothing was said nor was anything gestured. Just eyes locked for a brief second. Long enough to cause tension in your nerves.
Just breathe.
Your head snapped towards the exit as you exhaled and continued your way out.
An anxious feeling bubbled in your gut. Whether it was because of the game tomorrow or something completely unrelated was unknown to you.
— — —
Fortunately for you, you slept well.
Unfortunately for you, you slept so well that you woke up 30 minutes late.
The whiplash you received from just looking at the time was enough to prevent you from internally yelling at yourself. How you missed 3 different alarms was beyond you. You’re awake now though, and all that matters is whether or not you’ll make it.
You skip breakfast, hoping those spare 15 minutes will give you enough time to drive to the facility and make it on time.
Every minute that passes by makes you a little more anxious. It’s your first game with the team, maybe they’ll show you a little mercy?
There’s a sigh of relief when you see the bus still in the parking lot when you pull into park. You quickly grab your bag along with your other belongings and haul yourself into the bus.
You mentally prepare yourself for a “don’t be late” talk, but surprisingly you’re met with nothing.
Just tired faces, some of the men already having knocked out. You greet Samson with a good morning before finding an empty seat. From the row across from you, Bokuto is leaning against the window, mouth open and eyes closed.
You laugh to yourself a little before pulling your earbuds from your bag. The morning has been chaotic already, but at least you’re here and still have your job.
The bus hisses as it begins to move. A voice from behind you whispers.
“Great going,” it starts, “made us late for our first game,”
It’s condescending and annoying and it makes your eyes roll. It’s too early for this shit.
“Piss off, Miya,” you hissed between the crack of your seat and the one next to it. “It was only 5 minutes,”
“Just make sure it doesn’t happen again,” he sneers.
Funny how you got a scolding from someone other than your boss.
Atsumu had been doing so well. He was able to keep his mouth shut and away from you for 3 weeks— almost a month!
You plugged your ears with your earbuds and turned it up, leaning against the window to rest. You weren’t tired, but you just needed to mentally prepare yourself for the day that lay ahead of you.
— — —
The game was a couple of cities over, making travel time around 3-4 hours. You half-expected bus rides to be chaotic and loud, but surprisingly everyone was quiet and serious. It’s not that surprising though, these men were professionals, preparing themselves for their first game.
Maybe that’s also the reason why the man behind you had managed to keep his mouth shut for the rest of the ride ever since his little mouth-off in the beginning.
You only realize that you had been sleeping when you wake up in a completely different place. You’re woken up by men talking, bags rustling, and footsteps. In an instant, you’re sitting up and grabbing at your belongings. Hopefully you hadn’t been drooling.
Once you get into the aisle of the bus you’re behind Inuaki. You along with the men walk down until you’re at the door of the bus, stepping down carefully to make sure you don’t fall and completely humiliate yourself.
Foster gathers everyone before leading them into the stadium, finding their designated room meant for the team to get ready and put their belongings.
There was approximately 2 hours until the team was meant to go out in front of those thousands of people and begin to warm up. Even though you weren’t necessarily playing, you were still nervous. You doubt that there would be even a tiny bit of spotlight on you, but it’s still nerve-wracking. You were technically a part of one of Japan’s best volleyball teams.
You find yourself situated in a seat next to Foster, the guys standing around the two of you. The next couple of hours was meant to go over game plans and formations. And that’s what you do.
Foster seems impressed with what notes you have, and the nods that were given from the team members were a sign they approved as well.
Every now and then your eyes would catch a glimpse of the blonde, and while he wasn’t looking directly at you, you could tell he was in it to win it.
Before you knew it, it was time to get out there and play.
The men entered in a single line, running into the court, several cameras on them and being projected for all of Japan to see.
They all began to warm up as they waited for the official game to start. The crowd was loud, but from where you sat on the court, the sounds of the balls hitting the ground were louder. The determination of the players on the court was loud.
The first set was won without a hitch, the Jackals were in peak condition, following the plans and formations set by you and Foster to a T. You were proud.
The second was lost, the guys began to lose their flow, their energy. You became anxious with every point the other team had made.
In the third, MSBY had pulled through. Maybe they had gained a type of adrenaline when met with the possibility of them losing in the fourth set.
The game had finished in 4 sets, an early victory won by none other than the Jackals. Star player, Hinata Shoyo, making the final point.
A loud cheer had left your mouth as they scored, and the team had ran to those on the bench to gather and celebrate their first victory of the season.
The victorious cheers of the men continued all the way back to the room.
Foster let them settle down before congratulating them on his own, giving them a final talk before everyone would gather on the bus for the ride back home.
Or so you thought.
Apparently, it was tradition to go out to a random place in the hosting city to celebrate the first game of the season.
“I heard there was a great bar around 15 minutes from here,” Tomas inputs, clearly winning the favor of a majority of the team.
“Do you drink, Y/N?” a voice asks, when you look up it’s Oliver Barnes, one of the wing spikers.
If you were being honest, you kind of wanted to go home. It was a long day, but you had arrived here on the bus and your home was still 4 hours away. After long consideration, less than a minute really, you came to the conclusion that it wouldn’t hurt to go out.
When was the last time you let loose, or went out for that matter?
“Ah, a little bit,” you smile up at him with your response.
Victory heavy on everyone’s hearts, you along with the rest of MSBY marched out of the stadium’s facilities and into the bus.
— — —
The bar was already bustling when the lot of you entered. You followed the waiter and she led you and the team into a backroom with a bigger table and more seating. Some ordered food along with their drinks.
A couple of the guys tried to make small talk with you, but even then you still felt out of place. You were at a table filled with guys, of course you’d feel slightly awkward.
You were going to need another drink.
You quietly excused yourself before making your way to the main bar, telling the bartender to give you the best they had. Downing it in an instant, you sat in your seat with your thoughts.
Everything was loud. The voices, the music. Maybe you didn’t really need that drink.
Atsumu.
You were confused as to why he came into your mind at this instant. Perhaps because he hadn’t bothered you in a while. You smiled to yourself, happy. Finally.
Maybe if you were lucky, he’d continue this amazing 12+ hours streak of not harassing you. Maybe whatever higher being above would be on your side.
The buzz was getting a little stronger, but you were relaxed.
That was, until a rough arm slithered around your waist. Hot breath met your ear, making you shiver.
Shit.
Of course this would happen to you. It’s just your dumb fucking luck. You were only alone for what, 10 minutes? Maybe? Maybe 30, you lost count.
You kept your eyes trained on the empty shot glass in front of you, trying to ease the nerves in your mind.
“You with anyone tonight, beautiful?”
The voice was deep and gross, and sent dread shooting throughout your stomach. You were scared. You were 4 hours away from your hometown, you couldn’t call a friend or family. Your pride disallowed you from calling one of the guys on the team, you didn’t want them thinking you were trouble and couldn’t handle yourself.
“I can take you out of here, if you’d like,”
You can feel the man smirk from behind you.
“No, I’m alright,” you let out a friendly, breathy, laugh.
You try to loosen yourself from his grip, but the rough hand is tight around your waist, unwilling to let you go.
“I should really get back to my friends,” your arm is trying to pry his hand away now, still struggling to get him off.
You’re scared. So, so scared. Does anyone see you? Is there anyone you know around you?
Your eyes try to search around but your vision is already blurred. It’s hard to focus, hard to move. You wanna scream, wanna at least say to stop, but you can’t.
“So, so beautiful, aren’t you?”
His hand is coming up to your face now, and you can only brace yourself for the inevitable. You close your eyes, surrendering in silence.
Except what you were expecting— and dreading— didn’t come. Your tightly shut eyes slowly begin to flutter open.
You don’t know when it happened, but the arm that was once wrapped around you was now absent, and the hand that was coming towards your face was also missing.
Sitting in shock, you watch as the man who was once harassing you winced in pain as a familiar man, who you had just noticed, grabbed at the arm that was once reaching for your face. His knuckles were white around the gross man’s arm.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
© all writings belongs to suhkusa 2023. do not repost or change.
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MAYBE — CHAPTER 2: AFTER EVERYTHING
<- 01: maybe | current | 03: you deserve better ->
𑄹 series masterlist
𑄹 CONTAINS angst, fluff. unrequited, suna x f!reader. love triangle-ish(?) | WC 5.6k
𑄹 SUMMARY removing yourself from the ‘relationship’ doesn’t necessarily translate to moving on. but what happens when you meet someone promising enough who might just be able to help with that?
𑄹 NOTES ok guys, less angsty than the first, i promise. not proofed and i kinda wrote it in the wee hours of the morning so excuse my mistakes if any jdjdkd. anw rbs appreciated <3
It’s 3am and it’s pouring, but you don’t process the rainwater seeping through your clothes as you rush away from Rin’s house. You don’t know how far you’ve walked but you did know that what you needed was time to process; to fathom how it’s possible for someone you loved so much and so hard who seemed to have reciprocated the same way could so easily just let you go, could so easily make you feel like you’re not worth keeping.
Did you actually mean so little compared to someone else that your walking out of his life didn’t warrant any sort of reaction? Were you that hard to love?
Maybe it was entirely your fault for putting all your hopes on Rin, for depending on him to feel complete for the past five months that you dated. Maybe the knowledge of what he was like in high school should have warned you of how he could be—except you didn’t like judging someone based on who they were or who they seemed to be. Yet you feel like maybe you should’ve, then maybe he wouldn’t have had the chance to break your heart like this.
But he did, and the words he had spoken to you back when you first started dating come back to haunt you; the dismissive answer he had given you when you jokingly asked him why he hadn’t found a girlfriend yet: ‘I’m pretty busy with volleyball, a girlfriend’s the last thing on my mind.’ And maybe to Rin it meant nothing, but his words were the dark clouds lingering on the back of your mind ever since the start. He had warned you.
So maybe this hurt was all on you.
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when an i love you doesn’t fix things anymore - atsumu miya x reader angst.
just pure angst, also hey first post here :] , please dont be too harsh lol
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it wasn’t like this was something you could blame him for, in fact , this had been what you’d signed up for when you begun dating him, maybe this was just your heart being selfish.
your relationship hadn’t always been on the rocks with atsumu, there used to be a time when the two of you would spend your days together, living out the teenage dream, your hand in his, running to the who-knows-where of the future.
but when you grow up, that was when things had started to change between the two of you.
atsumu was late to dinners frequently, or missing them entirely, blaming it on his practise, or saying he already ate out with the team even though he’d never sent you any texts to inform you, of course it had upset you, yet you never had it in you to tell him.
his away games weren’t great for you either, you were happy for him, going out there and achieving his dreams, but you’d thrown away all of that shit, just for him, it was undeniable that you were jealous of your husband, you really were, and not to mention this meant you were left alone for tedious amounts of time, with only his texts as reassurance, well if he would even reply.
you really did love him, you’d loved him from since he was a boy, and he’d loved you too, but you didn’t have it in you to believe him at that point.
the way which he used to kiss your face and go on about how lucky he was before sleeping, had resorted to “ night, love you “ and maybe a quick peck if you were lucky, and it just wasn’t the same anymore.
maybe fame had gotten to him, or maybe your love was so worn that, you had no words left to speak to each other, and you weren’t sure which one would hurt more.
today, it was different, you weren’t sat at the dinner table, or in the kitchen when atsumu had entered your home, late.
he threw his jacket off to the coat-rack of your home, walking in with his usual peppiness.
you sat there, on your sofa, casually, not sparing the man even a glance, its not like he was looking your way to begin with.
“ and what made you late this time? “ there was a slight tinge of venom to your words.
“ well, we gotta big game comin up, so yknow we kinda gotta train baby! “ he shook it off like it was nothing; just like he always did.
“ what does that have to do with you being late? “ you had tried to ask in the politest way possible, not wanting to start an argument.
“ i jus toldja! we had to train more! “
was he deliberately ignoring the question you’d asked, or was he just playing dumb?
“ ..isn’t that what you’ve been doing the rest of the day? what have you been doing if not training? “ you were beginning to get annoyed by that point.
“ i jus got through the door and all yer gonna do is nag me? at least im fuckin workin for us! “
“ well one of us has to cook and clean, and since you cant be bothered be home half the fucking time then who the hell would if i didn’t? “
screw not wanting an argument, you were done just letting him trample over your marriage.
“ god, you were so much better when you-!” he began to snap at you, as if you were the one who’d done something.
“ nevermind, ‘m jus gonna leave ya to yerself since ya clearly dont want me here. “
how had love turned itself into this?
you could remember those days, where he told it would be you and him against the world, and what a lie it was.
and what was funnier, was that you
believed him completely.
you scoffed.
“ no, go on, since you clearly had something you wanted to say to me ” you dug deeper into the hole you’d both been digging, unknowingly.
atsumu didn’t say anything in reply, just edging closer to the bedroom door.
“ oh, what? have you gone shy on me now? you’re a grown man miya. “
atsumu hadn’t heard you call him by his last name before, when you were kids you’d always call him atsu.
he didn’t know why that made his heart ache.
“ are you afraid of ruining our marriage or something? maybe if you’d worried about that sooner, we wouldn’t be here!” it felt as if you weren’t in control of your words anymore, the composure you’d had for months had finally slipped, and out came a flood.
you’d heard him mumble something incoherent, and didn’t chase him up in it, just laughing dryly to yourself as he slammed the door behind him.
you’d done every single little thing, for your marriage to work out, you’d given up what you loved, you’d cooked every night for him, you always supported him unconditionally, went to all of his games, but no matter how much you did, he treated you like you were just a chore.
you held your face in your hands, sighing.
what was there to do now? he didn’t see anything wrong with what he was doing, he was so focused on his career that loving you had become a hobby, and volleyball was what consumed his heart.
maybe it would be better for you, if you started focusing on yourself more, but you weren’t sure if you were prepared for that heartache.
you shook your head, you needed to hear it from someone else, who wasn’t atsumu.
picking up your phone, your finger drifted over the contact button to your closest friend, osamu.
if atsumu had been there your whole life, it had been a given that osamu wouldve had to of been there too, they were inseparable.
whilst you hadn’t managed to speak to him in a while, you’d still thought that
you were close and all that jazz.
you tapped the call button , and sat there, waiting.
“ hello? “ you heard his voice, putting the phone closer to your ear.
“ hey samu…”
“ its been a while, how’ve you been? “
“ well, i’ve been alive which is a start..”
“ yer not really known for chitchat so why’dya call me? “
osamu had only just home as well after closing down his shop, you hadn’t rven thought to take that into account.
“ so..you know how atsumu and i are..well, married? “
“ considerin i was at yer weddin, i’d say i knew that..” he chuckled quietly, making you smile slightly.
“ it’s honestly beginning to feel like he’s married to volleyball , and not me, and im really not sure what i need to do, it feels like im the only one who’s trying to keep our relationship afloat..” you trailed off, not sure what else to add.
“ well, i can’t doubt the fact that tsumu loves ya, considerin how he proposed ‘n everythin….” he paused, thinking up what to say.
“ have ya directly spoken to him about the issue instead of jus glossin over it like ya normally do? “
there was silence on your end.
“ well, then tsumu aint gonna understand what yer gettin upset about then…god yer both just idiot..”
“ what if it makes things worse though? “
you spoke silently.
“ stop worryin, yer gonna be okay, now if ya don’t mind, ‘ve gotta go, ya should come round my shop sometimes, miss havin ya here. “
he gave you no time to argue back with that.
“ thank you, bye samu. “
and he hung up.
was that really what you wanted to do? talk it out with someone who would probably refuse to listen..?
well, some things had to be done, even if it would take you out of your comfort zone.
it had been about an hour of you deliberating, what to say, how to say it , but why? he had never cared to do that, he hadn’t tried to fix anything, he was fine with this.
maybe you just wanted too much, maybe this was how marriage was supposed to be?
not going on dates anymore, never cuddling, having one sided conversations about his job whenever you spoke, facing away from each other when you slept.
maybe that was all love boiled down to be, finding someone to put up with until you die.
that wasn’t what media had portrayed, but that was alright.
no, no it wasn’t alright , that was a lie, but you’d tell yourself it to make yourself sleep at night.
you took in a deep breath, finally getting up from your sofa , someone had to address the issue.
you walked towards your bedroom, where he’d resided.
before you could open the door , someone already beat you to it, and there you were face to face.
and just like the lovestruck teen you were, looking into his eyes had you at a loss for words, so you averted eye contact to the wall beside him.
you cursed yourself, after all these words, why did he still have that affect on you? you knew the answer, you just didn’t want to admit to it.
even after everything he’d done, you still loved him as purely as you had.
oh how hopeless you were.
“ we need to talk. “
sounds like a goodbye in one sense, its like a sign of maturity , growth, and no one has ever really used it in the good sense, its always something said before a serious chat, and thats something you’ve always been too afraid to say, even as an adult. you hated the way something could end so easily with just a few words, but if you didn’t say it now, when would you?
“ yeah..” well, at least he didn’t seem as pissed off as he had before.
you walked past him, taking a seat on your shared bed, patting the spot next to you for him to come over.
he did without a fight.
that was the first time he’d done something you said in a while.
“ listen , ‘m sorry that-“
you put you hand up infront of him, still not looking at him.
“ i dont want to hear an apology now, i would’ve wanted to hear one a while ago, but not now. “
he opened his mouth to say something again, but you just continued to speak.
“ things have been like this for a while haven’t they? “
he nodded.
“ and, we both know that they wont be able to change, because this is how things will always be , if we dont put an end to this. “
“ i’ve loved you for years atsumu, i mean it, i’ve loved you so fucking much, and the worst thing is, i still do. i’ll never be able to stop, but , i have to let go of you, for both of our sakes. “
atsumu hadn’t realised that he was crying, until he felt a wetness to his hand.
“ no-wait- please, darling, please just stop, i love ya, please dont go..”
“ i dont really want to, but how would you like it if the person who you loved rarely ever made any time for you, what would you do if they changed so much they became unrecognisable , but you love them too much to be apart from them, how would you feel? “
“ im so sorry please..i..know that i haven’t been a good husband to you, but i’m trying, i didn’t think ya felt like this..i ..all i’ve wanted was to make ya happy, ya’ve been my world since before i can remember…i promise i can fix it..i need ya..i know i said some stuff i don’t mean…but everyday i look forward to comin home n seein ya..no matter how tired i am from practise, i wouldn’t want anyone else to be married to me, please give me another chance, i’ll get home on time…everyday. “
“ this isn’t just about you getting homr late, you don’t understand the sacrifices i have made for this marriage, you have no idea how it feels to cut yourself into pieces just so you can fit yourself into someone elses life, im so fucking unhappy atsumu, i cant even think of the last time you genuinely said i love you to me without saying it out of pity…i’ve given you so many chances, but its always training that you prioritise, its never been me. “
“ no..yer wrong it’s always been you, hell i’ll retire if ya want me to, we have enough money, we could get a new house, anywhere in the world ya want, we can get pets, or have children if ya want..i’ve been a jerk..but please..i don’t wantcha to leave, i do mean i love ya..”
“ do you really love me though? or do you just love the idea of me? having someone make you meals and to share in bed so you dont sleep alone, do you even know anything about me? “
“ of course i do…” atsumu wracked jos brain, trying to think of something, but, it turns out, you had been right.
“ no, you dont atsumu, im sorry, but if you’re not even willing to have an actually conversation with me everyday that isn’t about how good you are at volleyball, then how would this work? you never even ask me how my day is? “
he bit his lip, hard.
“ im not asking you to pick your job or me, i know how passionate you are for it, i’ve grown up with you, and really you’re an incredible player, probably one of the best, and i am so proud that you got this far, but you put everything into it, and nothing into us. as much as i’ve tried to make this work, i’m the only one who had us in mind, this whole time. “
you stood up, but atsumu gripped your wrist softly, stopping you from leaving.
“ i messed up, i get it.. yer the only
person who i’ll love, please jus stay here with me, i’ll do anythin..please.. “
you could feel that he was shaking, and wanted nothing more to hug him and tell him that you’d stay, but if you did that, you’d be giving in to him. you couldn’t let yourself do it, he’d not comforted you at all, so it’s not like he was deserving of any back.
“ i’ll send the papers over when i can, i’ll be staying at my sisters house for the time being. “ you told him sternly, now you could hear him start to sob.
you grabbed his hand with your free one, and pulled it off of you, and wordlessly slided the ring on you finger off, placing it into his palm.
“ focus on your career, like you always have been doing. “
“ [Name] just, give me tonight, please, we can order takeout, watch a movie you like, and snuggle and i can have the day off tomorrow too..! we can go out somewhere ..we could do anything you wanted..stay here…i love you”
“ you shook your head, if you really wanted to do any of that, you would’ve done it by now. “
you could hear the creak of the bed as he stood up, as you briskly left , now that he wasn’t holding you back.
“ goodbye, atsumu. “
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Burn
Pairing: Atsumu x Reader
Words: 1.5k
Warnings: ANGST. Cheating, hurt/no comfort, swearing, crude mentions of sex.
A/N: FRIENDLY REMINDER THAT I LOVE ATSUMU WITH MY WHOLE HEART AND I AM SO SORRY. He’s so easy to write angst for and part of me hates it but I only write angst for the characters I love the most bc I know I’ll feel okay in the end. Anyway please enjoy my first writing in months :)
You hated Twitter.
You absolutely fucking hated Twitter.
On a day which was supposed to be happy and filled with hugs and cuddles and kisses, a simple @ on Twitter had ruined the high you’d felt only hours ago and left a burning behind your eyes instead.
Normally you’d look at the pictures for far too long, admiring the way he looked in his blazer and turtleneck, dressed up like he’d just come from a fancy dinner. But instead of adoration all you felt was anger, and you wanted someone to blame.
You supposed you couldn’t hold it against the person who’d tagged you in the photos, nor could you hold it against the person who’d taken them in the first place.
No, in the midst of your tears you could only find it in yourself to blame Atsumu—your Atsumu—who had his arm wrapped around some girl’s waist, who had his lips pressed against her cheek far too close to her lips, who was leading her into the hotel the team was staying at for their away games.
The sight made a pit form in your stomach and you clutched it with one hand, the other coming up to cover your mouth when a particularly loud sob clambered from your lips as tears left hot trails on your skin.
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