Meet Me At Midnight🌙

20 Love and deepspace Rafayel’s Mermaid Bride

[beneathashadytree]

REASSURING YOU WHEN YOU REFUSE TO ACCEPT THEIR COMPLIMENTS - TEXTING THE LOVE AND DEEPSPACE MEN

Warnings : slightly suggestive in Rafayel & Caleb’s parts, general feelings of insecurity (regarding appearance & intelligence), reader is gender-neutral!

Genre : hurt/comfort (real ones know it’s my fav hehe)

Additional notes : Had this old commission cooking for MONTHS now, even throughout my finals, relapsing into depression, and my dad’s diagnosis with Parkinsonism. It’s been a rough while buuuut at least I’ve got the LaDS men to momentarily distract me from it all🥴💗

Tip jar!

Masterlist

Taglist: @angry-and-yandere @nxx-jordiepord @honestlyjustablog @dawnbreakersgaze @tartartagliaboo @lucis-noctiana @riinari-sa @flurrina @reika-desu @randomidk-123 @tikitsune @cofijelli @roll-of-royces @lemonsupernova @loveyoutodeep @belovedof @lemurianmaster @hawtlineblingz @kalatipunan @eurekazz @bifedebruxa @thescribeswife @mysticangel123 @xenasolos @jvnluvr @dann-acalle @rosariymchapter @rin-sv14 @yololesgo @an-ever-angry-bi @semi-orangeapple @lavanderbliss @myturnwhen @winterlvod @carsonology @deepzombieyouth @respitable @stellisangelicus-world @kvsqkiii @bitchynightmarepost @violetsequel @spotted-salamander @cindywasneverhere @ladyparamount @sncrly0urs @huntersmoon1 @musiclover2119 @girl-who-lives-in-delusi0n @milktsukii @fromdeepspace-withlove @hrhmimieucliffe @icedunderwaterroom @ay-chuu @granddearduck @skriblobz @nadinefromwhere @imhere2dosomething @saerotonins (more in replies!)

Sign up for my taglist over here!

[cosmoszyn]

is it over now? | zayne.

✩ synopsis: you run to reddit for advice when it comes to your unsteady relationship with zayne. ✩ pairing: zayne x non!mc reader / wc: 4034 ✩ cw/tags: slight angst, hurt/comfort, misunderstanding ✩ crossposted in my ao3 ✩ a/n: written in second pov but will be in first pov with the reddit posts. not proofread, first time writing in a while pls be kind !

r/relationship_advice

u/cheesecake_plushie73   ∙   12h

I (25F) feel like my boyfriend (27M) is falling out of love with me, and I don’t know what to do.

As the title states. For additional context, I (25F) am your average girl. I work at a fairly well-known company in the personnel division, doing the most mundane tasks you could think of. Aside from that, I am often one of the faces of the division as I deal with the people in our company everyday so I’ve memorized all of their quirks and personalities–but that’s about it when it comes to me. On the other hand, my boyfriend (27M) is a profound professional in the medical field. He (quite literally) saves lives every day, and he is very well-known in his line of work. If I add more context as to his career, you would immediately find out who he is–the stark difference between us already says a lot.

We met a few years back through a common friend who is also a professional in the medical field and his close colleague at the hospital where he works. Throughout the relationship, he has been everything that I asked for. However, all of this started when last month, I was notified by my boss that I wasn’t promoted to the position I was vying for. It was heartbreaking. And naturally, I thought of seeking refuge with my boyfriend. When I messaged him, asking him to meet later that evening, he turned it down, saying he was finally meeting with his childhood best friend (24F). If it were any other day, I would’ve been ecstatic, as this was the same friend he mentioned to me that he had lost contact with. But that night, I felt as though it was the cruelest timing of the universe, especially how he described to me with earnest fervor everything about his best friend. How she was a rising hunter, and she found contact with him through a magazine article about him (yes, he’s that famous). However, I couldn’t bring myself to ruin his evening. And so, initially, I understood the situation since I don’t want to seem an overbearing, controlling partner. And so, I thought it would be best if I instead sat with my feelings first and sought comfort from him in the following days. 

But those days did not come. Instead, I was always greeted by his cold exterior, oftentimes he would be too busy to respond to me as he was in the midst of his hospital shifts, and once he did become free, he either was too exhausted to converse properly or would spend his time with anyone else other than me. Mostly, his best friend too. 

While I am aware that his best friend is also in a relationship (with their other childhood friend, it seems), I still can’t help but feel uneasy about the situation.

It has been a month since I noticed this behavior, and I’m not sure whether this was already occurring before, as my boyfriend could come off as nonchalant at times and stoic.

Usually, I’m not the one to jump to conclusions, but from the situation itself, it seems that my boyfriend has been drifting apart from me. I really love him and adore him, but with each day that we spend apart, it further breaks my heart as it feels like he no longer acknowledges our relationship. Is this worth fighting for, or is our relationship beyond saving at this point? 

EDIT: Please do not post this on other social media sites, I’m afraid he might see. 

⬆️1,304 💬252

u/linkonsfinest  ∙   12h

first off, i’m so sorry to hear about your career rejection. i’m sure it will redirect you to greener pastures, OP. anyway, about your relationship, this sounds like a classic case of sitting down and talking about your feelings with him. have you tried that, OP?

also, whether you like it or not, he is bound to see this post since it’s public, after all.

⬆️482

u/cheesecake_plushie73   ∙   12h Thank you for your kind words. But I would have if he had given me just a few minutes of his time. EDIT: What’s with the downvotes? ⬇️-167

u/starbunny   ∙   11h Ignore them, OP. It’s reddit after all lol. My advice is that U try and think abt what what matters most for U. Ur relationship with him or ur peace. The meeting with the bestfriend part may seem sketchy but U know ur boyfriend best than compared to us strangers on the internet.  ⬆️254

u/fishie_painter307   ∙   11h

Seems to me that you have hidden insecurities, OP. There was a tendency to look down on yourself in the paragraphs you have written, while you write about your boyfriend as if he had discovered the cure to the protocore syndrome. But it sounds like you’re just as amazing and as hardworking as he is. But I didn’t come here to give you free therapy sessions lol. I fear the only way we can find an end to this is to sit down with him and talk about the icky, uncomfortable thing called feelings. For now, try assessing what you have right now, and consider talking with him as soon as his schedule clears up. Better yet, just barge into his office and demand some answers lol, since he seems like he isn’t the type to care until the last minute.

⬆️393

u/cheesecake_plushie73   ∙   10h The last comment seemed unnecessary, but it felt like cold water splashing me. Maybe it’s the truth. Thanks. ⬆️146

u/evil_overlord901  ∙   10h

Since he’s a doctor, you should just pretend you’re on the verge of death to make him worry and as revenge for his neglect, hahaha.

⬇️-673

u/cheesecake_plushie73  ∙   10h I’m not that crazy enough. ⬆️206

Zayne has been staring at his phone for what seems like hours. But really, it has only been twenty minutes since Greyson hurled open his office doors with a frown etched unusually on his face. 

“What have you done to my friend?” Greyson asked, brows knit together. “Pardon?” Zayne could only reply. 

Greyson scoffs, running a hand through his hair, “They were right, you really don’t seem to care.”

“What is going on?” Zayne asks, finally setting down the pen he has in between his fingers. “Is there something the matter?”

The younger man holds back a grumble under his breath, “Just see for yourself.” He then set his phone across Zayne as the latter read the title.

I (25F) feel like my boyfriend (27M) is falling out of love with me, and I don’t know what to do.

“What is this supposed to be, Greyson?” Zayne asks, “Is this what the staff  are gossiping about in the hallway today?”

He recalls the way the nurses and doctors hushed murmurs in the hallways, sneaking glances towards Zayne as he waltzes through the bleak corridors. He paid no mind to it as he knew it wasn’t his business to pry into whatever they were gossiping about.

“They were gossiping about you, Dr. Zayne.”

“What?”

The conversation seemed like it was going nowhere, so Greyson just sighed defeatedly while retrieving his phone. A resounding ping! echoed from Zayne’s phone.

“I sent you the link to the post. Make sure to read every single word and tell me that isn’t you.”

That was twenty minutes ago, and Zayne was sure that every word was tattooed on the crevices of his brain at this point. But what else should he do now that he’s memorized it? He’s sure at this point that user cheesecake_plushie73 is most definitely you. There’s no denying it, with the way you described the circumstances and your impeccable writing style that mimics his. Yes, he’s certain it’s you.

But now what?

Smoke curls from the teacup you’ve set down seconds ago as you inhale the autumn breeze from your balcony. Your phone is on temporary do not disturb from the hundreds of Reddit notifications you received since last night. You observe the sky-high buildings and rigid architecture of the city, eyes fixated on nothing and everything all at once. It has been a month since you received the news, the words of your boss linger at the back of your mind, and the rejection email sits heavily on your phone, tucked away from the thousands of junk mail you receive. The nonacceptance of your promotion still gnaws at your chest despite the long time you’ve spent trying to accept it. Nevertheless, you have slowly come to terms with the rejection, chanting the line that the redditor told you in your post–that it’s just redirection. However, you can’t help but feel that the redirection that the rejection launched in your way also involved your relationship with Zayne.

You’re sure you’ve told Zayne about the promotion, how you applied for it, and how the chances of getting in seemed highly possible. And yet, you can’t seem to recall whether Zayne was supportive of it or if he had said anything at all. Your mind has been all muddled and cloudy with all of the heartbreaking scenarios you’ve made up since you received his message that he was meeting his childhood friend.

It was silly, and since then, you’ve felt perpetually stupid for thinking horrendously of your boyfriend. You know he wouldn’t cause such a scene like that, to see another woman behind your back–it was preposterous! The thought still makes you gag to the point where you couldn’t believe you actually went and logged into an online forum just to seek advice. The idea alone was enough to make you physically convulse and cringe because you knew that if he wanted out of your relationship, he would’ve already done so.

Which somehow makes you hurt more.

You’ve gone uncharacteristically by posting at an online forum just to seek advice from some stranger on the internet to tell you what to do. But how could you blame yourself? You’re just trying to make the situation better for you. But what is it going to take just to feel okay? Is it hope? Is it love? Do you talk? Or is it therapy?

You sigh for the umpteenth time of the day, watching the glow of the sun turn orange and pink as it continues to slowly illuminate your space. For some reason, despite being on a (fake) sick leave, you couldn’t bring yourself to stay inside your house. 

It just felt… emptier.

The doom and gloom of the space makes the apartment stuffier than usual, and no matter how much you’ve dusted the space, you’ve felt like going through different stages of your chest tightening. Perhaps it’s because of the memories that it carries, the way the air permeates Zayne’s faint perfume, or his touch that lingers in your skin when you settle on the couch, remembering how he used to tightly hold you on Friday evenings while watching something.

You just couldn’t take it.

The apartment feels heavier, and you couldn’t bring yourself to go back inside. And so, as a remedy, you find yourself tucked away on the balcony with a book you’ve forgotten the plot to, sitting idly on the table beside you. Your mind races a thousand thoughts, all of which contain the same wish. How you wish that everything would just end soon and that tomorrow the sun will rise again, and you can try again.

But what could be said for a new day when your chest is unwillingly clenching every time you think of Zayne? You want to be angry at him for neglecting you just like that one Reddit user said. You want to do something impulsive, irrational, and unmistakably stupid just to see him come running and say what you’ve been wanting to hear for the past month.

And yet, what is that something that you want to hear from him?

How are you?

I missed you?

I’m sorry?

…Let’s break up?

And what were you going to respond anyway?

I’m okay?

I missed you, too?

I understand?

…Is it her?

Oh dear heavens. You think to yourself, burying your face in your hands. You feel ridiculous and helpless. The Reddit users were right. You should talk to him soon, lest you lose your mind over all of this.

Succumbing to the most vile thoughts you have ever conceived, you didn’t notice the indisputable beeps of your keypad door lock echoing in your apartment. Neither the loud swinging of the door nor the frantic removing of shoes by the doorway, nor the heavy padding throughout the dim space.

Your head only whips in attention when you hear the door frame to the balcony rattling behind you.

“There you are.”

Oh.

“I’ve gone to your work, and they told me you were sick… Are you okay?”

Oh.

You sit upright, smiling meekly at Zayne. “You surprised me.”

Zayne closes the glass door behind him and carefully takes the vacant seat beside the table. You dart your gaze from him and settle on your now cold tea, “Would you like some tea?” You offered. To which he shakes his head.

Silence envelops the two of you. And for once, after all the daydreaming of possibilities of when he will arrive, you don’t know what to do.

“Why would I surprise you?” He asks.

“I dunno… It’s been a while since you’ve come here. And it’s unlike you to drop by unannounced,” you say with a faint chuckle. 

“Oh. I’ve left a text. But your notifications were silenced.”

“Oh.”

You picked up your phone and went to your messages, and lo and behold, he did send a message just twenty minutes ago.

“Twenty minutes ago?” You say out loud before you can even stop yourself.

“...Is there a problem?”

You sheepishly rub the back of your head before setting your phone back down, “Nothing…” You begin hesitantly, “You usually just give me a heads up at least hours prior. But it’s no big deal. I’m not complaining!” You defend.

Zayne nods at you promptly, and once again, silence wraps the two of you. You refuse to look at Zayne for a second longer than you should, afraid that the waterworks might come unwarranted. 

“I see.”

You only let out a grunt of approval, eyes drifting back to the buildings across from you two. Your refusal to look at him for a second longer warranted you to miss two things:

Zayne’s usually perfect hair seemed unkempt, like he had been running his fingers through it numerous times.

He refuses to look away from you even for a second.

And yet now that he occupies your space, you don’t know how to act. Why was he here anyway? You couldn’t bring yourself to act. Not when you caught a whiff of his perfume once again, making you want to both hurl in anxiety and lunge forward at him, wrapping your arms around his waist and just burying yourself in the comforts of his chest. 

Zayne wasn’t doing much better either. The moment he read the comment from user evil_overlord901, he thought about how you’d go to terrifying lengths just to gather his attention. While he knows you won’t go that far, the thought still gnaws at his brain like a pesky pest. To the point where he might’ve broken a few traffic rules just to get to your place.

The silence hangs in the air, and Zayne doesn’t seem to know what to do now that he’s seen you all safe and sound. A thousand questions were running around in his brain, but he didn’t know where to start. 

Nevertheless, he kept his eyes locked on your figure. Your elbow is propped on the table, your chin resting on the palm of your hand, and your glassy eyes sporting that distant look. He didn’t miss the swell of your eyelids nor the heavy bags starting to form. And for some reason, he hates himself for it. He hates how he barely noticed anything about you for the past month, how he felt utterly selfish for casting you aside. 

He loathes it.

And yet, he couldn’t throw himself a pity party when all he wants right now is to take you within his comfort.

After a couple more minutes of silence between you two, Zayne inhales. “...Cheesecake_plushie73?”

“...What?” You turn your head towards him mechanically, blinking slowly at his words.

“Does that…phrase ring a bell to you?”

You chuckle nervously in response, “...I suppose?”

You see Zayne and his usual pensive expression written across his features. “You suppose…” He parrots.

“Why? What’s that about?” You ask, your voice a bit smaller.

“Nothing… Greyson just showed me this post from a forum that seems eerily like you.”

Like us.

“Oh. I see.”

“...Have I been neglecting you?”

“What?”

“I have, haven’t I?”

You attempt to school your expression into something neutral, but you couldn’t deny the wild thumping of your chest when you see the way his eyes bore into yours with such intensity that you were certain you could melt from it. Zayne reaches out from his seat, clasping both of your hands with his much bigger ones. You hold back a flinch, startled from the sudden contact after being deprived of one for way too long. His hands were warm, you note, much warmer than your freezing ones.

Before you could even respond, he abruptly stands up, which makes the chair almost tilt back, and immediately, he kneels across you. Your eyes widen, wanting to scramble and make him rise from the cramped space of your balcony, but before you could even do anything, his lips ghost over your fingers, and you feel electricity coursing through your veins. 

“I’m sorry,” was all Zayne could murmur, “Your heart must be heavy from the weight of carrying our burdens.”

Your breathing constricts, and you feel your eyes well from his words alone. “It was foolish of me not to notice how you were going through such a terrible time, and I am so sorry for letting you go through that without me,” he continues, pressing chaste kisses on each of your fingers.

“Zayne, it’s nothing–”

“Please do not belittle yourself any further. I can’t stand seeing you speak so lowly of yourself, my love,” he says with finality that makes you clamp your mouth shut. He then turns his gaze back to you, his eyes soft and glassy, and you don’t miss the way his lips tremble. He then tightens his hold on your hands, pressing them onto his chest, “Do you feel how my heart only beats for you? How its pace quickens when I catch just a sight of your silhouette in the crowd?”

And you do. 

The way his heart rapidly pounds in his chest, even when you lie on top of him as you snuggle, or even as mundane as fleeting embraces, when it’s time to say goodbye.

You always feel it. 

“Only you have that effect on me, my love. And I despise myself for having you doubt my love for you. I have done poorly recently, so it seems,” Zayne continues, his hands still clutched tightly against yours. “There’s absolutely no one else that could make me feel this way. Only you.”

“Zayne…” Your lips wobble from the declaration of his love. 

“Please forgive me for being such a terrible lover, my dear. There was no excuse to it,” he says, almost pleadingly.

You feel a lump forming in your throat, and before you know it, Zayne already unclasps his hand from yours, and you feel his warm thumb gently caressing the salty tears from your cheeks. 

“It was just unfair, Zayne. How… how I felt so alone and miserable without having you by my side, while it felt like you were doing more than okay,” you mumble through fits of your tears.

“I was a fool, my love. Please don’t cry, it hurts me more than you know,” he whispers, inching closer to you.

You shake your head, “I’ve soon come to terms with the rejection, but I couldn’t accept how I was so lonely throughout the process. I just wanted you. But you had other plans. Other people to meet. Other people who seemed more important than I am, and I h-hated that…!”

The knot in your chest tightens as you finally let the damn burst wide open.

With no words left to say, Zayne rises from the floor and engulfs you in his tight embrace, letting your tears damp his shirt. He strokes your head carefully, humming to you as he tries his damndest not to cry with you.

The sight alone makes him physically ache as he continues to wallow in his regret and pity. For the first time in his life, Zayne feels helpless. He could only bring himself to hush you with comforting words like, “It’s okay, my love. I’m here now.” Or “I was an idiot. I didn’t love you properly when you needed it the most.”

And across you two, the sun slowly began to finally set, casting the last golden glow onto your skin. You claw tightly onto his back, desperate to feel that he is there with you and nowhere else.

“I’m sorry,” you hiccup, your tears slowly dissipating. “I felt so terrible that I posted our relationship on an online forum.”

“It’s okay, my love. You didn’t know what else to do, and that’s okay,” he murmurs. “I’m sorry too for neglecting you and hurting you in the process. I never desired for you to hurt because of me.”

You shake your head, but you couldn’t bring yourself to say that it’s okay. You swallowed thickly, “I forgive you,” was all you could say. 

“And I don’t deserve such forgiveness from the sweetest girl in the world.”

You chuckled half-heartedly, digging yourself closer to his chest and inhaling his scent much further, memorizing the warmth of his body, and how he holds you.

“Am not,” you retort jokingly.

“Yes, you are, miss cheesecake_plushie73.”

You weakly punch his stomach in response, laughing softly at his attempt to lighten the situation. He sighs contentedly, pressing a kiss on the crown of your head.

“I love you, my dear.”

r/relationship_advice

u/cheesecake_plushie73   ∙   12 mins ago

UPDATE: I (25F) feel like my boyfriend (27M) is falling out of love with me, and I don’t know what to do.

I think I owe everyone an update here. My boyfriend and I had finally talked things through, and all my worries had vanished. Apparently, he was meeting up with all his childhood best friends, and it had been a decade since they last saw each other. He also apologized for the neglect, and he took two weeks off from his work to go on a short trip with me to make up for lost time. I felt silly for being worried, but he assured me that it was not silly to feel valid emotions and that we would work things through. I also apologized for closing myself off and for making up bad assumptions about his bestfriend. Anyway, I’m off to pack for our trip. Thank you all for all the advice and comments. 

P.S. He also saw my post here which prompted our conversation T___T

⬆️201 💬79

u/linkonsfinest  ∙   5 mins ago

see! all you need is a good ol’ conversation and everything’s okay! glad you fixed it, OP! despite him seeing the post and prompting the conversation lol. still, congrats!

⬆️32

u/cheesecake_plushie73   ∙   3 mins ago Thank you. 

u/starbunny   ∙   5 mins ago

Nice. Glad U worked it out. 

⬆️30

u/fishie_painter307   ∙   5 mins ago

Finally some good news in my feed! Congrats, OP! Bring us some souvenir from the trip, will ya? ;)

⬆️27

u/cheesecake_plushie73   ∙   2 mins ago Thank you! Also, my boyfriend said your comment was one of the reasonable ones including u/linkonsfinest. Except he didn’t like how you called me insecure lmao T__T ⬆️25

u/evil_overlord901  ∙   3 mins ago

Aw, no fake deaths?

⬇️-91

u/cheesecake_plushie73  ∙   1 min ago Please get off the internet. ⬆️90

a/n: heavily inspired by empty house by neck deep and is it over now by taylor swift !! also, i saw this reddit style format writing somewhere in tumblr and thought i had to give it a try!! comments r very much appreciated :)

[gummybearjello]

Hear me out, I don’t know how Valko's in game personality would be like but I can imagine how he’d never be able to hide his emotions whenever he’s in his hybrid form.

When he’s happy.

You leaned against the doorway, arms folded across your chest, brows raised teasingly.

"Aren't you happy to see me?"

"No."

"Are you sure?"

"...Yes."

Thump.

You both looked down.

His tail was happily smacking against the wooden floor of his apartment.

Thump. Thump.

"..."

You grinned knowingly.

When he’s mad or jealous.

"Are you mad?"

"No."

"Are you jealous?"

"No."

"You sure?"

"I am."

You slowly pointed behind him. "The fur on your tail is standing."

He glanced over one shoulder.

"..."

"It is also considerably larger than it was five minutes ago."

"..."

"And..." You leaned closer towards him. "You were snarling."

He immediately stiffened. "...I was not."

"I could literally see your canines from here."

"..."

You couldn't resist. Reaching up, you gently poked his forehead. "Down, boy."

His eye twitched.

When he’s sad.

"Are you okay?"

"Yes."

"You know you can tell me anything."

"I'm fine."

You pointed up at his head. “Your ears.”

They drooped pitifully against his head.

"..."

"Also..." You crouched down slightly. "Your tail."

He followed your gaze. His tail was tucked neatly between his legs.

"...Traitor."

You blinked. Your head tilted slightly in confusion as you pointed to yourself. "Were you talking to me?"

"No."

"Your ears and tail?"

"...Yes."

His ears and tail were far too honest for his liking.

[starkissedxav]

... WHICH COULD MEAN NOTHING

SYNOPSIS: rafayel compliments you and has a nickname for you and holds your hand and openly flirts with you... which could mean nothing

tags/warnings: rafayel x fem!reader, fluff, reader is both oblivious and refuses to accept love, lowkey yandere/stalker/manipulative!rafayel if you squint, reader thinks she's undeserving of love, happy ending, I think that's it! wc: 6.6k

a/n: hi hi!! I finally got around to working on a raf drabble that turned into This,, I hope u guys enjoy !! I liked playing around w the dynamic between reader and rafayel hehe I hope it comes across !!! thank u to my gorgeous wife tee and my beloved brother in arms emmy for proofreading !! PLEASE let me know what u guys think !! reading ur comments and tags genuinely keeps me going hehe,, okay enough yapping, I hope u enjoy :3

masterlist

It was the first exhibition you were working security for him. You hovered around him the entire night, smiling when he’d shoot you pleading glances. You shook your head at him and continued to scan the room. It was a nice event, you’d have to remember to compliment Thomas's work the next time you saw him. Everything went smoothly, and Rafayel was surprisingly cooperative the entire night. 

You bit back a smile when you watched Rafayel's eyes sparkle underneath the spotlights, explaining his pieces to every sponsor and guest as he made his way around the room. The thumping of your heart made your face flush as you watched him smile and gesture wildly towards the canvas, mimicking the brushstrokes he’d used to capture the raging sea. He stole a glance back at you, smirking a little when he caught you staring. You tore your gaze from him, blinking quickly and regaining composure as you stood a little straighter. 

 When the night came to a close you waited for a moment off to the side, laughing to yourself as Thomas all but shoved Rafayel to shake hands with the VIPs. After he finally finished, he made his way in front of the largest canvas in tonight's showing. You pushed yourself off the wall you'd been leaning against, standing next to him and looking at the painting alongside him. You clasped your hands behind your back, rocking slightly on your heels, glancing at him from the corner of your eyes.

“Did you know I started this piece a year ago?” His words echo slightly in the now empty room. The lights pointing straight at the painting cast beautiful shadows across his face. You only hum in response, reading the title card next to the painting. 

The Sea’s Love.

“Good thing it sold for the highest then,” you joke lightly, still focusing on the painting ahead of you. Rafayel turns his head slightly, gaze focusing on you. 

“When I first started painting it, I was fueled by anger and frustrations,” he states, voice neutral as he continues to watch you. “I was so angry, I felt like I would never be able to feel truly happy, like I’d never trust enough to be able to love again.” Rafayel pauses for a second, eyes shifting back to the painting you were so engrossed in. “I abandoned it after three days of working on it.”

Your brows furrowed slightly, focus finally tearing from the art to the artist beside you. 

“You said you finished this in six days though,” there’s genuine confusion on your face as you continue, “and you said you were inspired by feelings of hope and love, not anger.” 

Rafayel hummed, a soft smile playing on his lips as he leaned closer to you. “I did. Somewhere along the way I realized I could love again, but it doesn't mean those negative feelings just vanished overnight.” 

“So your anger and fears, they still live alongside the way you love and devote yourself to whoever your beloved may be.” It was less of a question and more of an observation. You cocked your head at an angle, eyes tracing every brushstroke. 

“Exactly Miss Bodyguard. Love is like the sea, filled with beauty and serenity, but also storms and chaos. That's what love truly is, messy and heartbreakingly wonderful."

It was nice to talk to Rafayel when he was in his element and not making your job next to impossible. You smiled at the explanation, nodding your head and turning to look at him, his eyes met yours. 

“That’s nice, I like that.” 

“I picked it up again a month ago. I found new inspiration, one that invoked the more ‘positive’ influence of the painting.” He’s quiet for a moment, eyes lingering on you enough to make your face flush, “right after I met you, actually.” His eyes never left yours, and the last couple words make heat rise quickly to your cheeks. The room felt too hot all of a sudden, and you were quick to break eye contact first. 

“I think they’re about to shut the lights off, let’s get you home before Thomas tries to pitch you a commission for a sponsor,” you smile, turning on your heel and taking a deep breath. So he picked up his painting about love and the complexity of it after he met you? So what? It doesn’t mean anything, just a coincidence, a one off chance that will probably never occur again. 

Rafayel smiles behind you, watching as you wipe your hands nervously on your pants. You were flustered, cute. He takes one last glance at the painting, focusing on the middle right, where he’d hidden your initials among brushstrokes.

 

It was hard for you to say no to people. Even harder when ‘people’ was Rafayel staring at you with wide pleading eyes, and you were saying ‘no’ to an all-expenses-paid trip to Italy to visit his aunt for the weekend. 

“Miss Bodyguard, what if EVER gets me on the flight there? Or my stalkers figure out where I’m staying and kidnap me? I’ll be defenseless and all alone and you’d be none the wiser!” Rafayel gives you his best pout, and damn it was good. 

“Rafayel, I promised my friends I’d go to dinner with them already,” you sighed, guilt creeping in your chest as your mind ran wild with possibilities. What if something bad did happen to him? What if he really did need you there?

“Fine, when you see on Linkon City News that world-famous artist Rafayel Qi was found dead on the Italian coast, you better not cry.” He huffs softly before getting up from his spot on the couch, heading to his back porch as the sun begins to set. 

You frowned at his words, quickly following him outside. “If you’re worried about security you could always hire someone else! I’m sure anyone would-”

“I don’t want anyone, I want you.” For a moment a flicker of something flashes in his eyes, it leaves before you can place it. Your stomach flips at his words, and you have to remind yourself he doesn’t mean those words in the way you secretly hoped he did. This was a professional relationship. As professional as a pouting diva artist and overworked hunter-turned-security detail can be, at least. 

Rafayel leans on the railing that heads to the beach, chin propped in the palm of his hand as he scowls. He knew you’d feel guilty if he sulked for long enough, and sulk he did. “I’m sure my dumb seagulls will miss me when I’m dead in three days time, we never finished our final choir act y’know.” 

You rolled your eyes, pulling your phone out and sending a profuse apology to your group chat. You can’t make brunch Saturday, the job you took as a side quest is requiring you to travel for an event this weekend. 

“Watcha writing? You should look up caskets near us, help me choose one since I’ll be dead in-” you cut him off by flicking his forehead. “Ow! What was that for? You’re supposed to protect me!” 

“You are so dramatic you know that?” Rafayel can’t help but smile, knowing he had you right where he wanted you. “Stop smiling, you ruined my weekend plans,” you furrowed your brows at him, looking out into the ocean as the sun slowly sunk deeper into its depths. The oranges and pinks never failed to take your breath away. 

“I promise I’ll be on my best behavior Miss Bodyguard.” 

You were going to kill Rafayel. You had to find him first, but then you were going to kill him. This was poor foresight in your end, you had to admit. You really should’ve put two and two together when Rafayel took you dress shopping and picked out only items that matched his suit. 

“I thought you were just visiting?” You’d asked, zipping up the dress and looking in the mirror.

“Well yes, but she has this charity event she’s putting on, told me to come and support the cause,” he mumbled, eyes glued to his phone as he scrolled mindlessly on social media, he smiled when he saw your moments posts.

“What’s she donating to?” You asked as you smoothed the dress out, fixing your hair a bit and twirling to see how it fit. 

“Combating human trafficking,” he replied, it wasn’t a total lie. 

“Oh that’s nice.”

The sound of the curtain opening made him snap his head up. He thought his nose might start bleeding soon.

“What do you think? I feel like maybe it’s too much? I’m just security so I shouldn’t be flashy in the first place,” you slowly shrunk into yourself, Rafayel was quick on his feet. 

“It’s perfect,” he breathed out, his fingers ghosting over your shoulders, itching to finally touch your skin. It took every fiber of his being to pull away, he swallowed hard before shaking his head. “You’re my security, you have to look the part, don’t want you embarrassing me with a boring outfit do you?”

You shook your head, smiling slightly as you caught your reflection in the mirror. “It is really pretty, isn’t it?” Your eyes were focused on the detail of the gown, Rafayel was focused on the details of your face. 

“Very beautiful,” he agreed softly. 

“Miss Y/N?” The voice pulled you out of your haze, a nervous smile on your lips as you focused back on the woman in front of you. 

“My apologies, what did you say?” Your eyes shift nervously around the room, hoping to find the familiar purple haired man you’d arrived with. 

“How long have you and Rafayel been together?” The question would’ve been harmless, had you actually been in a relationship with the artist. You were grateful for the amount of training the association made you do on remaining stoic under pressure. 

So with a gentle smile you replied, “only about a month,” the lady cooed at you, going on about young love. The second your eyes met with Rafayel’s across the room, you quickly excused yourself. Rafayel smiled at you, then he realized your eyes were narrowed at him, his smile seemed to grow when you roughly grabbed his arm. 

“Where the hell did you go?!” You hiss at him, making sure your voice wasn’t too loud. 

“Miss me already cutie? I was just giving the staff my piece for the auction, doing my part or whatever,” he smiled at you, trying to hide how much he loved how angry you looked. 

“Okay first of all do not call me that,” Rafayel pouts at your words. “Second of all I’m here as your security, to secure you, make sure you’re secure. How do you suppose I do that when you run off behind my back?” You smack him lightly with your purse, hitting him harder when he lets out a string of ‘ow's that cause guests to turn and look at the two of you. Both of you give them convincing enough smiles to turn away. 

“Third of all, why did some random lady ask me how long we’ve been together?” 

Rafayel’s cheeks turn a hue of pink as you ask your third question, a nervous chuckle leaving his lips as he looks at you with the softest eyes you’d ever seen. No, stay strong. 

“Okay! Okay! I’m sorry for running off. I just had to give them the canvas I donated or else Aunt Talia would have me gutted. I promise I won’t do it again cu- Miss Bodyguard,” he begrudgingly corrects himself, you thank him under your breath. “As for the last question, hypothetically, how angry would you be if I told my Aunt that you were my girlfriend and everyone accidentally found out? Hypothetically.” 

It wasn’t an accident, he’d asked Talia to put you down as his plus one, and next to your name on the guest list were the words ‘Rafayel’s muse.’

“Hypothetically you don’t pay me enough to fake date you,” you bite back, hoping he can’t see the flush on your cheeks or hear how fast your heart is beating. “Hypothetically,” you sigh out, pinching the bridge of your nose and closing your eyes for a moment before looking at Rafayel, “if you have a good enough reason for it then I won’t quit.”

“Well, if everyone knew you were my bodyguard they’d know to target you, and then without you I’d be a defenseless fish out of water.” You hate how quickly he replies, and you hate how much of a point he has. You can only grumble, muttering something about a raise before taking a flute of champagne, chugging it down, and slipping your arm into Rafayel’s. 

He pulls you closer to his side. You steal a glance at someone’s program, seeing that underneath the piece Rafayel had donated was your name, and next to it were the words ‘to my one and only muse.’ It must all be part of the ruse, the way he complimented you and stole glances at you throughout the night was just to sell the act. 

And when he takes the heels off your feet and carries you from the cab to your hotel room, you take it as him just being nice. The way his eyes linger on you for a second too long when you say goodnight at the door probably means nothing. 

You stare up at the hotel ceiling, repeating it to yourself until you can convince yourself of it. 

It means nothing. There’s nothing there. 

You wish the butterflies in your stomach and the thumping against your rib cage got the memo. 

Rafayel takes you into the city the next day, buying souvenirs for the two of you. His hand brushes against yours more times than you can count, you hope he doesn’t notice the way your breath catches in your throat. (he does).

When the two of you arrive in Linkon again you turn to say goodbye to Rafayel, finding him already looking at you. 

“I really enjoyed being with you this weekend,” his words catch you off guard, mouth slightly agape as you scramble to find the meaning behind his words. There’s no way he means fake dating you, that would never happen. You smile at him and nod in agreement. 

“So did I, I’ll see you around,” you reply, not thinking too much of it, you can’t let yourself. Before you can turn to hail a cab, his hand envelopes your wrist, his mouth opens slightly, like he’s going to say something. 

“What is it?” You ask, scanning his face for a moment and ensuring nothing was wrong. He’s quiet for a moment, still holding you in place. 

How does he stop you from leaving? How does he keep you with him for as long as possible? 

“Let me give you a ride home, airport cabs are way too expensive,” he finally says, his voice as relaxed as it always was. You want to punch yourself for thinking he would say anything else. 

“It’s okay Rafayel, if you’re that worried about my finances just give me a raise,” you tease, waving goodbye and easily slipping out of his grasp. You feel your chest tighten as you close the door behind you, letting out a small sigh. Fake dating for a weekend didn’t mean anything, him falling asleep on your shoulder during the plane ride was nothing. 

There’s nothing there, you remind yourself. You bite the inside of your cheek as you stare at the clouds, as much as you wished there was, there wasn’t. 

You needed to go out on a date. It was starting to get ridiculous. So you did what any sensible person does: bought bottles of wine and invited your friends over to curate your dating profile. Hours later through flushed cheeks and barely contained giggles, it was done. Now all that was left for you to do was swipe on whoever you liked and hope you’d match. 

It didn’t take long for you to realize that half the people on there only really wanted one night stands and nothing serious. With most of them starting off with terrible pick up lines and the rest jumping straight to “dtf?” You were seriously giving up hope, until finally you came across someone who actually struck up a conversation. 

Two weeks later you found yourself fidgeting with your outfit, changing for the third time and fixing your hair one more time. You jumped as your phone buzzed on your bathroom counter top. 

[incoming video call from Rafayel]

You answered on the second ring, phone still on the counter with only the top half of your head showing as you fixed your mascara. 

“Hey Miss Bodyguard wanna come over? I need your opinion on this art piece I’m working on,” he pans the camera over to a colorful canvas before re-centering his face, you can see his brows furrowing as he watches your actions. “What are you doing?” 

“Sorry Rafayel, I can’t today I have plans already,” you blink a couple times before finally feeling satisfied, fluffing your hair and grabbing your phone. “I don't think I'm qualified to give opinions on art, but I can swing by tomorrow after work?” You watch as Rafayel’s eyes widen, his mouth opens slightly as he stares at you. “Hello?” 

“Do I have an event I didn’t know about?” Rafayel questions, swallowing hard as he blinks rapidly, drinking in your appearance through his phone screen. God, you looked gorgeous. 

“No, no, just going on a date is all,” you mumble, embarrassed beyond belief as your cheeks heat up.

“A date?” Rafayel feels his world stop, blood going cold. 

“Yeah figured I should put myself out there y’know? It’s been a while and I’ve been- anyway whatever, good luck with your painting!” You smile brightly before hanging up. Rafayel thinks his phone might crack from how tightly he was holding it. You absolutely could not go on that date. 

You needed this date, you had to get over your feelings for Rafayel. Taking a deep breath you finally exited your apartment, locking your door and heading for the cafe you’d agree to meet at. 

When you arrived at the cafe you sent your date a quick message, telling him you’d be seated in a booth near the back corner. You tapped your fingers against the table, looking around the room as you checked your phone. It’s fine, people run late all the time. 

Ten more minutes passed, and you figured it wouldn’t hurt to order your drink while you waited. You stood nervously in line and glanced at the door with every ring of the bell, heart sinking when it wasn’t your date. The thumping of your heart slowly subdued, and you felt silly for getting your hopes up so much. 

With slumped shoulders you slid back into the booth, checking your phone one more time as you sipped on your drink. Nothing. The door opened again, the small bell on top of the door rang as your head shot up. 

It wasn’t your date. You sipped your drink slowly, opening your phone and staring at the last text your date had sent you. 

‘See you soon! :)’

It’d been thirty minutes already, you’d texted him with no response. Just your luck you get ghosted on your first date back on the dating scene. With a heavy heart and a bruised ego you threw your now empty cup in the trash can, stepping into the warm summer air and taking a deep breath. Maybe it was a sign.

You didn't move when you got in your car, staring blankly at your steering wheel for a moment. The sound of your phone vibrating made your heart rate pick up, quickly checking the screen. 

[incoming call from Rafayel]

You take a deep breath, muttering a small prayer under your breath before answering. 

“Hello?” 

“You know it’s terrible etiquette to answer your phone while on a date right?,” you can hear his teasing tone, it makes your stomach churn. 

“It uh- ended early,” you lie, “what’s up?” 

Rafayel grins at your words, holding the phone between his ear and shoulder as he places an ice pack over his knuckles, walking back to the couch. 

“I ordered way too much takeout, what are the odds you wanna swing by and grab some? We can put on that movie you told me about last week,” Rafayel adjusts the bouquet of flowers he got you during his side quest earlier. 

You’re quiet for a moment, this was definitely not going to help squash your bubbling feelings for the artist. But you were starving, and you didn’t want to wallow in self-pity just yet, not when your hair had turned out so nicely. 

“Did you finish your painting already?”

“I can work on it tomorrow,” he huffs out, “c’moooooon cutie, come over and help me finish this food, please?” 

“I’ll be there in 15,” you reply, biting back your smile as you shake your head and hang up. 

You unlock his front door with the key he’d given you, calling out to make sure he knew it was you entering. Within seconds he rounded the corner, a smile on his face as he greeted you, clad in a hoodie and shorts. The sight never failed to make your heartbeat race. 

“You look beautiful y’know,” Rafayel says softly after the two of you finish eating. You’re sitting on opposite ends of the couch, your eyes are glued to the TV stuck on a loading screen. “He’s an idiot to not have realized what a catch you are, cutie.” 

You don’t have enough fight in you to protest against the pet name, you know he doesn’t mean it romantically. You're too emotionally drained to think about the fact that you never even told him how the date went

“Thanks Raf,” you say softly, had anything been playing he wouldn’t have heard it. 

“I’m Raf now?” The man grins, cheeks dusted pink as he repeats the nickname. You can’t help but roll your eyes at him. 

“Don’t make me take it back,” you groan as he scoots closer to you, leaning his head on your shoulder and letting a content sigh leave his lips. Maybe it was because you already felt vulnerable and Rafayel just so happened to be there for you. Maybe it was because he handed you a bouquet of flowers when you walked in the door. You don’t know why you say it, but you do. 

“I should’ve known better than to think I’d find someone on a fucking dating app,” you scoff, laughing slightly as your gaze settles in your lap. Rafayel sits up straighter, a sympathetic smile on his face. 

“Hey,” his voice is feathery, his touch even more so as he lifts your chin for you to look at him, “dating apps are stupid, I could’ve told you that for free.” He smiles, you can’t help but reciprocate it. 

“You’re amazing, you know that? Anyone would be lucky to have you,” his face is closer to you than you ever remember it being, “I would be lucky to have you.” There’s no playful undertone in his words and no pout on his lips as he stares at you. His eyes flicker down to your lips for a fraction of a second. 

“Rafayel,” you breathe out, eyelashes fluttering as everything becomes too much. What was happening? Could this mean-

The sound of the movie abruptly starting makes you jump, the sudden realization of how close you were has you clearing your throat, scooting away from the man you so desperately wish to be closer with. 

He almost kissed you. You almost kissed him. He was there for you after a terrible date, with flowers and your favorite food. Which could mean nothing, and for the sake of your already aching heart, you tell yourself it does mean nothing. Because it was Rafayel and you were just, well, you. 

It was hard to quell your feelings after that night. It was harder for you to ignore how pretty Rafayel was, how charming his smile was and how well you and him got along. It was damn near impossible to ignore just how much you liked him. 

You tried to brush off his offhand comments, immediately deflecting and not allowing yourself the pleasure of entertaining the idea. This was Rafayel. The most handsome man you’d ever seen in your life, he was funny and kind and caring and he did not have a thing for you. 

“Hey cutie, what do you say we grab a bite after this?” He winks at you during an exhibition, you want to kill the butterflies in your stomach. 

“I can’t, sorry Rafayel,” you say simply, giving him a small smile and hoping he’d drop it. He doesn’t, of course he doesn’t. 

“C'mon! We can go to the place you’ve been wanting to try! I saw your moments post about it,” he narrows his eyes at you, crossing his arms and leaning forward. 

You take a small step back. Rafayel wants to grab you by your waist, he digs his fingers into the fabric of his shirt to stop himself. 

“I already have some food I have to finish up, maybe next time?” You smile nervously, palms already sweaty from how intently he was looking at you. His purple bangs falling gently across his forehead, you fight the urge to brush them out of his eyes. 

Rafayel only spoke to you again when parting ways after the exhibition, turning around and causing you to almost bump into his chest. 

“Y’know I’m here for you, right? Whenever you want for whatever you need,” the words catch you by surprise, making your heart thump louder in your ears as you smile at him. 

“O-okay thanks,” you reply, moving to walk past him, he grabs your wrist, staring at you like he was going to say more. He opens his mouth before closing it again, shoulders slumping and letting out a small sigh. He lets go of your wrist, savoring the way the warmth of your skin felt on his. “Let me know when you get home, Miss Bodyguard,” he smiles softly. 

“Okay,” you breathe out, eyes lingering on his lips for a second too long. You turn on your heel quickly, the mantra you’d always repeat to yourself when it came to Rafayel already looping in your mind. 

It probably means nothing. The look in his eyes wasn’t anything, it couldn’t be. Your heart tugs the further away from him you get, God, you wish it did. 

You decided you were going to be brave. After almost a year of debate, you were going to take a leap of faith. 

With shaky fingers you hover over the dial button, taking a deep breath before tapping your screen and putting the phone to your ear. It only rings once before you hear the same voice that always makes your stomach flip. 

“Well to what do I owe the honor of you calling me first, Miss Bodyguard?” Rafayel smirks on the other line, leaning back in his seat as he puts the phone on speaker, mindlessly twirling a paintbrush between his fingers. 

“I need to ask you something, and I want you to promise that you won’t judge me or laugh at me or- are you already giggling?” You furrow your brows, nerves slowly replaced by that familiar feeling of enamored frustration only Rafayel managed to bring out. 

“You can’t tell someone to not laugh at something, everyone knows that just makes them want to laugh,” he states, “but fiiine, I won’t laugh.” 

“Do piercings hurt a lot? I know you have a bunch and I’ve been wanting to get one forever and I’ve been so scared but I really want one.” You rush your words out, pacing around your living room before staring out your window and flopping backwards on your couch. 

“You thought I would laugh because you’re… scared to get a piercing?” Rafayel cocks his head slightly, pausing his movements as he sets his brush down, grabbing his phone and smiling softly. He can picture you already, your face is probably warm, nose scrunched and lips pouting as you look to your side in embarrassment, shrugging your shoulders. 

“Well, yeah,” you mutter, nose scrunched and face hot as you stare away from your phone, as if he could see you through the camera. 

“What kind of piercing do you wanna get? The pain depends on the placement but also everyone’s pain tolerance is different.” He hears you hum on the other end of the line. 

“I wanted to get my nose pierced, is that lame?” Your face is hot, embarrassed to be so scared of something so many people did. 

“You’re gonna look great with it! It shouldn’t hurt too much, when are you gonna get it?” Rafayel has to take deep breaths as his imagination runs wild. The thought of you with your nose pierced, he closes his eyes for a moment, willing himself to calm down as he shifts uncomfortably in his seat. 

“I don’t know, I was kinda thinking of getting it soon, rip the band aid off,” you smile, sitting up from your position on the couch and checking the time. “Are you busy right now?” 

“I’m never busy when it comes to you,” Rafayel replies easily, wiping his paint stained hands on a nearby rag before standing up. 

“Do you think you could come with me? To get the piercing?” You’re covering half your face with one hand out of embarrassment. You’re fully prepared for him to laugh at you, say ‘hell no!’ and hang up on you. Okay, that might be a little extreme. 

“I’m already on my way, cutie,” he replies, you can hear the jingling of his keys before you let out a small, ‘okay’ and hang up. You stare at the floor for a moment, then a wide smile breaks onto your face. You break out into maniacal giggles, burying your face in your hands before biting your bottom lip. 

Rafayel knocks on your door in 15 minutes time, hair falling perfectly and cologne wafting into your senses the moment you open the door. You look up at him with a shy smile, having never noticed just how built the man was. He crowds your space as he leans against the door frame, smiling and holding his hand out for you to take. 

“Are you ready?” He asks, you nod, hesitantly putting your hand in his. You ignore the way your whole body reacts to the simple touch. You’re too in your head to notice the way his face goes red as his hand envelopes yours. 

Rafayel was enjoying this way too much for your liking, but you were too nervous to make any remarks as he walked into the piercing shop with your clammy hand in his. 

“Hey what can I help you guys with today?” The man asked, looking between the two of you, “matching tattoos maybe?” He grins, you can’t help but let out a nervous chuckle. 

“Maybe next week, right cutie?” He chuckles when your eyes go wide and you elbow him. 

“I wanted to get a nose piercing,” you tell the man, and two consent forms later you’re seated in the piercing chair, fidgeting with your t-shirt nervously as you talk to Rafayel. 

“It’ll look good right? I won’t look stupid with it?” Rafayel smiles at you and nods. 

“You’re gonna look stunning, Miss Bodyguard,” he mumbles, walking from his position across the room to your side. “Who knows, you might even inspire me to paint more pieces about you.”

You smile at him, then the words process in your mind. “What do you mean ‘more’?”

“Alright! I’m gonna go ahead and mark where the piercing will go and let me know if you like the placement!” The piercer walks in, saving Rafayel from having to answer your question. Reluctantly you tear your gaze from him, smiling at the piercer and sitting still as she marks your nose and hands you a mirror to check. You nod in approval, handing the mirror back as she preps the area. 

Rafayel is staring at you intently, your heart is racing, fear coursing through your veins as the piercer turns to grab the needle. 

“Can you hold my hand?” You ask quietly, Rafayel all but jumps at the opportunity, intertwining your fingers with his, like he was always meant to be by your side. 

“Alright, you ready?” She asks and you nod, eyes focused on Rafayel’s pretty blue-pink ones. “Breathe in through your nose and out through your mouth for me.” You do as you're told, feeling slightly embarrassed by how sweaty your palm is against Rafayel’s.

“Deep breath,” he says softly, eyes glancing between your gaze and the needle, squeezing your hand as she punctures the cartilage. “Good girl,” Rafayel praises, thumb stroking the back of your hand in soothing circles as your eyes water slightly. You blink rapidly, a stray tear slipping out as they insert the small stud in place of the needle. 

“Alright you’re all done!” The piercer smiles at you, letting you know to head up front to pay. You thank her quickly, turning to Rafayel who still had a tight grip on your hand. 

“How do I look?” You smile at him. Rafayel doesn’t say anything for a second, eyes scanning your features as his thumb swipes the stray tear from your cheek. 

“Beautiful,” he whispers, squeezing your hand before helping you out of the chair. He’s quick to beat you to the register, immediately handing the receptionist his card before you have the chance to protest. 

You’re too flustered by his compliment to fight back, opting instead to simply thank him as he places his card back in his wallet. Rafayel doesn’t say anything, his hand slotting back into yours. Both of your faces are burning hot, with neither of you addressing it until your hand leaves his as he holds the car door open for you. 

“That wasn’t as terrible as I thought it was gonna be!” You gush as Rafayel slips into the driver's seat. He watches from the corner of his eye the way you stare at your reflection in the sun visor mirror.

“You did a great job! My brave girl,” he says smoothly, left hand on the steering wheel and the other coming to squeeze your arm gently. Your body is on fire at the small contact, and you’re having a hard time rationalizing this into nothing. 

He holds your hand during your piercing, tells you he’s painted pieces inspired by you, that could mean nothing. But now he’s calling you his girl? Your mind is scrambling and you can only land on one conclusion. 

“Rafayel?” 

“Cutie?” He purrs back, he can all but see everything in your head clicking into place, his heart thumping against his chest as your gaze bores into your lap. 

“Do you like me?” You check to see if the passenger door is unlocked, in case he laughs in your face and you have to jump out of this moving vehicle. You think about the logistics of it, you’d most likely survive, mainly surface injuries, you’ve fought off hordes of wanderers, you could take jumping out of a car. What you couldn’t take, is the artist you’ve been crushing on for a year calling you delusional. 

“I thought that much was obvious, I’ve been flirting with you since I met you,” Rafayel lets out a deep chuckle, turning to look at you briefly. Your mouth is agape, eyes wide as you stare at him in disbelief.

“What?!” You shriek. Rafayel only laughs harder. 

“Did you think I just went around complimenting everybody? Calling people cutie and my muse?” Your silence makes Rafayel’s mouth drop. “Are you serious?!” He exclaims, parking the car in front of your apartment building before turning to face you fully. 

“I didn’t want to assume things! I just rationalized everything that happened,” you defended, “I just kept telling myself it meant nothing and you were just a flirty person!” 

“So when I gave you a key to my house?” 

“I’m your bodyguard so you gave it to me for security purposes,” you explained, and Rafayel had to hold back his laughter. 

“I told you there’s no one in my life that I’d want with me other than you, and that’s the conclusion you came to?” Your face burned as you tried (and failed) to defend yourself. “Okay and the time I told you that you were the reason I started painting with lighter tones and images of hope and love instead of despair?"

“You said that you did that after you met me, not that-” saying it out loud makes it seem obvious, embarrassment coursing through your veins as you realize the mental gymnastics you’d been doing all year. 

“I practically professed my love for you the night you got stood up, how did you rationalize that?” His head cocks slightly, a smug smirk on his face as he wonders what radical conclusion you’d landed on. 

“That you’d never have feelings like that for someone like me,” you shrug your shoulders, not daring to meet his eyes as you finally come clean. The true reason you’d brushed his every move off, the one thing driving the mantra you’d always told yourself. 

“Someone like you?” Rafayel repeats, his heart clenches at your words. He doesn’t say anything else, the restraint he had for the past year is thrown out the window as he reaches over the center console and angles your face towards him. 

“Do you like me?” Rafayel asks, his breathing erratic as he stares into your eyes. You give him a small nod, about to say something else before you’re cut off with his lips on yours. You tense for a moment, body catching up before your brain does as you melt into the kiss, hands weaving in the soft purple tresses at the nape of his neck. You whimper slightly when Rafayel pulls away and nips at your bottom lip. 

“Please tell me you can’t rationalize that,” he mumbles, you laugh, letting your head rest on his shoulder. 

“If I try hard enough-” Rafayel takes your face in one hand, lifting it up and kissing you once more, careful to not hit your freshly pierced nose. 

“I want you,” he mumbles against your lips, “you drive me crazy– you’re the only one I want– I want you all to myself, as my lover and as my everything,” he punctuates each statement between kisses, slowly turning rougher as you move in sync with him, tugging gently on his hair. 

When he pulls away, the only thing connecting the two of you is a string of saliva between your lips, which Rafayel quickly wipes with his thumb, licking it clean. You bite back a moan. 

“Am I clear enough now?” He smirks. You gulp, nodding. 

“Do you wanna- we should probably- come on let’s head inside,” you finally sputter out, quickly opening the car door and heading to your apartment. Rafayel is hot on your heels, relief filling his body when you turn around and shoot him a shy smile as you unlock your door. 

Rafayel crowds your space the rest of the day, kissing every inch of you, telling and showing you just how badly he’s been wanting you. He whispers sweet words to you as he brushes your hair out of face, his fingertips trace your sweaty skin, eyes staring at you like you were the most precious work of art ever created…. which could mean nothing. 

But you know better now.  It means the feelings you’d been shoving aside this whole time were reciprocated ten fold. It means he loves you, with every fiber of his being.

taglist: @hirayalia @violasepals @txtworlddom @mrs-lixiaqin @pjselee @luvyizhou ask to be added!

[zaynezone]

When you spot Sylus leaning against his motorcycle, sunglasses on, waiting for you by the entrance of the building, you suddenly become very aware of yourself. Not your appearance, god knows Sylus has seen you in worse states.

No, it’s the fact that your male coworker leans in just a little too close, murmuring a joke that you laugh at without thinking.

You say your goodbye quickly, heading over to Sylus with confusion on your face.

“What are you doing here?” You lean a little close to him, making sure the variety of people ogling your Greek god of a boyfriend get the hint.

“You wanted to try that restaurant down the street, yes?” Sylus smirks when he sees what you’re doing, hands finding your waist and fiddling with the buckles of your uniform.

“I am starving…”

“I assume all that laughing stirs quite the appetite.” He’s teasing you, because of course. You shove him a little, only slightly pouting.

“We’re just friends. I promise.”

“You don’t need to explain yourself, kitten. I understand.” He’s smirking, but you can tell he’s being genuine.

“You’re…not jealous?” He huffs a laugh at your question, leaning down to brush his lips against yours.

“Why should I be? I’ve known my treasure is desirable for quite some time. But as long as she chooses me, I have no reason to worry.”

[madamechrissy]

Your husband Satoru slams a hand to muffle your cries as he lifts you up and bends you right over the damn drying machine, running right along with the washer loud enough it quiets the filthy sound of your messy cunt on his fingers. He shoves aside your pajama shorts you've been cleaning in all day, moaning when he gets to rub his tip on it, pearly white cum sticking to your clit.

"Satoru, right n-now?" You hiss out the words, he chuckles in your ear and bends over you, clicking the lock shut for good measure, the two of you hiding from your two kids as he actively plans for another like the freaky little shit he is.

"Saw you bending over putting those pans away? Fuck, thought how good your hips would look in my hands," he moans and grips one, sinking his cock inside easily with how soaked you are, but it's a tight fit. "Oh fuck..."

"Can't keep quiet if y-you..." he slams his hand again on your mouth, shoving his nine inches all the way inside, tip drooling on your cervix. You whine out against his palm, eyes rolling back in your skull, the sounds of Bluey filtering in. "mmph!"

"They're busy, it's fine..." He fucks into you faster, whimpering quietly and pounding your pussy - he's not gonna last long with how needy and sensitive he is. "I wanna put another inside you, hah-"

You think to yourself he's insane, but when he starts whispering that filth in your ear you're about to shatter, every glide of his cock in your quivering walls ruining you.

"Mnh, you want it huh? Me pumping you full, mm?-" he bites down on your neck to muffle another whine, pressing you harder on the dryer as your legs just dangle - he's so damn tall it's the perfect height to bend you over. He's wrapping his arm around, hand gripping a tit and squishing. "I wanna see these full of milk - wanna suck it from them again... mm it's so sweet..."

A circle of his thumb and another pump inside has you falling apart, gushing down his length, he pulls his hand off your mouth to kiss you.

"Drooling on my cock and my mouth?" He taunts, the man who had just been giving your kids rides on his back now had damn near black eyes and a feral grin, shoving in deep and holding you there, watching your eyes damn near go cross, your tongue all little and pink hanging out. "Fuck you love my cum, don't you? Want me to breed you, baby?"

"Please," you know damn well you shouldn't have another yet, but - "Breed me, please."

Your whisper ends him - pumping you full and gasping out into your mouth, coating your walls white with his hot ropes, spurts catching your cute cervix that's already swollen from his mean tip. "Oh fuck... mmm, want four more kids... fuck..."

"I'll tie my tubes after three," he glares and you giggle, breathless. "One more!"

"Fuck that I'll untie them," you're gasping when he eases out, shoving his fingers deep to plug that cum up, before he hears your kids arguing and curses. "Four more."

"One more," He grins as he slips his fingers in your mouth, your cheeks hollowing, moaning at his taste. "Mmm, two then."

Satoru grins, fixing your clothes and then throwing your hair back into that ponytail. "Sure, sweetheart."

****

I'm ovulating STILL and god help everyone this week lmao

[mwphisto]

Imagine Sylus being so pussy drunk that he doesn't even process that he's overstimulating the life out of you?

You've already snapped your thighs shut around his head, one hand pushing desperately against his hair as if it will somehow detach him from your poor, throbbing clit.

Your entire body is writhing to get away from him.

But his hands are iron-clad in their grip on your skin. You're not going anywhere, even as you manage to fight through the overwhelming pleasure and twist your upper half. Grabbing at the pillows, the sheets, anything for leverage to pull yourself up the bed.

But, Sylus holds firm, mouth latched on to your slippery cunt. You're nearly begging, trying anything to somehow dislodge your beast of a lover from your cunt.

Imagine somehow being able to get yourself from your back to your hands and knees.

Trying so hard to crawl away on trembling legs but you just can't seem to make them move fast enough.

Not that Sylus is letting you get very far. Large arms encompass your lower half in a bear hug, and his face is smushing itself embarrassingly deep into your sloppy sex.

Succumbing to the fact that you're not escaping him, nor are you escaping his eager mouth. Melting into the pillows, slack jawed and watery eyed as you fully give in to the pleasure he's giving you.

Sylus isn't quite about it either, no, he's a loud eater.

He's moaning and groaning into your cunt, slobbering down your thighs, nuzzling his entire head into the warmth between them.

What a fucking mess...

[0wlettie]

slight nsfw implied, kitty!rafayel x fem!reader, wc 0.7k

you groggily wake up, a soft grunt coming from the back of your throat as you blink the sleep from your eyes. you’re entire body is warm, smothered by a heavy weight resting on your front. you’re so warm that you can feel sweat bead in various spots on your body, the thin sleep shirt you’ve got on sticking to your skin. when your blurry vision focuses, you find that you’re staring up at a domed glass ceiling, the barest hints of pink and purple lighting up the sky outside. it takes you another moment to recognize where you’re at.

so then that means, the weight on your chest…

you shiver when clawed fingers slip around underneath your shirt, firmly kneading the soft pudge of your hips. a furry ear tickles your chin as rafayel nuzzles his face between the valley of your breasts, pressing his body even closer to you after your reach up and wrap your arms around his shoulders. the smooth and cool silk of his robe brushes against your heated skin, and you let out a sigh as you squeeze his shoulders. gently, you thread your fingers through his shaggy hair, lightly scratching your nails against his scalp.

‘g’mornin’, baby. sleep well?’ you rasp, smiling when you can see the line of rafayel’s tail flick at the sound of your voice. he mumbles something incoherent into your chest, and your legs tighten around his hips when you feel him lightly buck into you. your smile grows wider, showing off a bit of your teeth as you crane your neck down to look at his face. what parts you can see is flushed a fetching pink, and you can’t help the little squeeze your legs give his waist.

‘what’d ya say? i didn’t quite catch that.’ you tease, playfully nosing at his ear while you scratch at his head again. he gives you a full body shiver, nails digging into your skin as he stubbornly buries himself deeper into your chest. you giggle when you see the flush on his face get darker, and you can feel the heat from his skin seep through your shirt.

rafayel abruptly lifts his face to shoot you a glare, but his pouty lips and pink cheeks ruin the effect he’s trying to have. your smile only gets bigger in the face of his irritation, and you playfully reach up to cup his face and rub your thumb against his bottom lip. he bares his sharp little kitty teeth in response, but he tellingly leans into your palm as you prop yourself up with your other arm.

‘don’t be like that, baby. ‘m just playin’ with you.’ sleep still lingers in your raspy voice, something that clearly bothers him judging by the frustrated hiss he gives you. but he doesn’t back away from your touch, in fact, he crowds even closer to you. so close that he ends up sliding his legs up underneath you, shifting to rest your lower half on his thighs.

‘you’re being mean to me.’ he complains, eyes glaring at you as his hands slide down from your hips to the outside of your naked thighs. you coo, breathless but still playful.

‘i hurt your feelings huh?’

‘mhm, yea. i’m reeeeaaal hurt. how are you going to make it up to me?’ his nails lightly scratch against your skin, eyes going half lidded as he leans closer to your face.

your smile grows a little crooked as his nose brushes against yours, and you raise your other hand to cage his face in between your palms. your back drops to the bed, drawing your further away, but rafayel easily follows you down. still within the soft cage of your hands, he leans even harder into your touch. you gently swipe your thumbs over the apples of his flushed cheeks, lightly pinching when you feel his nails scrape against your skin.

‘i don’t know…what will it take for you to forgive me, huh?’

he pretends to think about it, eyes flicking off to the side as he tilts his head. he trails the sharp ends of his claws up your thighs, palms lightly smacking the side of your knees. you jump a little at the feel, eyes widening when he suddenly hooks your knees within the crook of his elbows and pulls.

‘i can think of a few options.’

just something that's been sitting in my drafts lol and it's been way too long since i lasted posted sooooo here we are ! as usual, this may or may not get a part two who knows ;)

if you drop a follow plz have an age in bio 🩷🩷🩷 ageless/blank blogs that follow will be blocked !

[beatricetonguedi]

This is inspired by post and post by @/mwphisto. It has been rotting in my drafts since the dawn of time. It also happens to be the first fanwork I've ever published. (Please be gentle.) I'll post Caleb's version next week.

~460 words • AO3 • 18+ MDNI

“Why do you have a waxing appointment on your calendar today?”

Until now, Zayne has said nothing to you about his love for your pubic hair. He said nothing when you trim it close to the skin. He said nothing when you shaved the edges of your bikini line before going to the beach that summer. He said nothing when you complained about maintaining it a few weeks ago. Nothing, until now. In all honesty, he probably wouldn’t have allowed the sharp words to escape his lips had he not been so alarmed upon seeing the appointment in your shared calendar.

You see, he’s more than a little obsessed with your pubic hair.

The first time he saw how your slick saturates your pubic hair, his jaw slackened. Zayne had never seen anything more enticing. The way it glistens and clings to the strands as he pulls your slit apart with his thumbs mesmerises him every time.

If he’s not careful, Zayne will kneel before you and nuzzle into your mons for long periods, holding your hips while breathing in your scent. To prolong the moment, he’ll work two fingers into you while he presses heavy kisses to your curls. He loves the feeling of your downy soft hair against his skin. He craves the smell of your arousal, needs it to overwhelm his senses. The simple act melts away his stress.

It’s no accident how messy he is. Zayne likes you messy. He finds there's something addictive about it, about being the one to make you that way. While you lie spent in his bed, he’ll often kneel between your legs and thumb your clit while his cum leaks out of you, spreading your combined orgasms through your curls. He’s gently marking you as his in one of the few ways he will allow himself.

Zayne knows all too well the increased sensation pubic hair can bring during sex, and you would be forgiven if you assumed he’s only using that knowledge to his advantage when he grinds his pelvis into your pubic bone as he fucks you. Every movement creates delicious friction that makes your legs quiver and your breath stutter. You play into it too, grinding down onto him like he inadvertently taught you, never noticing that it makes him come faster.

All of this flies mostly under the radar for you. So when he calls you, speaking with a sharpness born from panic, you’re not expecting it at all. If you tell him unequivocally that waxing away your hair is what you want, he’ll apologize and never bring it up again. When you realize what is upsetting Zayne, you easily agree to cancel the appointment. You don’t have to understand it. If he likes it that much, you’re keeping it.

[lvl1l1]

Sylus is the definition of tit for tat.

You find out pretty early in the relationship that if you mess with him, he’s going to mess with you right back(tenfold)

It starts small.

You’re sitting on the couch together when you reach up and rub his head affectionately, fingers threading through his silver hair. “Soft today,” you tease.

Without missing a beat, the second you lower your hand he reaches over and pats the top of your head like he would with a cat. “Even softer,” he murmurs, smug look on his face.

You narrow your eyes. He just arches a brow like he’s daring you to continue.

So you do.

Later that evening you walk past him in the kitchen while he’s pouring a drink. On impulse you reach out and grab his waist, giving it a quick squeeze as you go by.

Two hours later you’re standing in the same spot, reaching for a glass, when Sylus strolls past you. His arm snakes around your waist and squeezes, harder, fingers digging in just enough to make you squeak.

“Fair’s fair, sweetie,” he says smoothly, not even breaking stride.

You start keeping score after that.

One lazy afternoon you can’t resist. He’s standing there in a fitted black shirt, looking unfairly good, so you slide your hands up his chest and give his pecs a firm, appreciative squeeze.

He doesn’t react immediately. Just looks down at you with that dangerous little smile.

But the next morning when you’re stretching in front of the mirror in nothing but one of his shirts, he appears behind you. His hands come up without warning, cupping your boobs fully, thumbs brushing over your nipples through the fabric.

“These are much better,” he says casually, giving them a gentle but possessive squeeze before letting go. “Carry on.”

Your mouth drops open. He just walks away like he didn’t just feel you up in broad daylight.

It keeps going.

You’re feeling bold one night after an outing. As he walks past you toward the bedroom you reach out and lightly slap his ass; quick, playful, barely any sting.

Sylus stops. Turns his head slowly. He raises an eyebrow, the corners of his mouth turning upwards.

You think you’ve won.

You haven’t.

Later, when you’re bent over grabbing something from the bottom drawer, he walks up behind you. One big hand grabs a full handful of your ass, squeezing hard, before he brings his palm down in a sharp, resounding spank that makes you jolt forward with a surprised yelp.

“Ow- Sylus!”

He leans down, lips brushing your ear as his hand soothes over the spot he just smacked.

“You started it, kitten,” he purrs, voice low and amused. “I’m simply finishing it. And I always finish stronger.”

You rub your stinging cheek, face burning, but you’re also grinning like an idiot.

Because that’s just how it is with him.

And the worst (best) part?

He always waits for the perfect moment. Never does it immediately. He lets you think you got away with it… then strikes when you least expect it, settling the score with interest.

You’ve learned your lesson by now.

But you still can’t stop yourself from lightly slapping his ass again the very next day.

Because let’s be honest: you like losing this game.

And Sylus?

He loves winning it

[atomics-creations]

Untamed Pasts (Ch. 3)

LaDS. Zayne x Non-MC!Reader

Grief, both for MC and for the time lost to misunderstandings, haunt this relationship. You think lost time can never be redeemed, but Zayne's efforts to learn how to love you again may just prove you wrong.

5,205 words. angst, domestic fluff, arguments, groveling, grief, f!reader, cross-posted on ao3

a/n: thank you for the love given to the first two chapters! i hope this chapter patches the wounds of angst I've been giving to y'all :D (and yes, there is a chapter four. That wasn't in the plan at all, but Zayne and Non-MC's story didn't want to end yet lol)

dividers by @uzmacchiato | ao3 link here

chapter 1 | chapter 2 | chapter 3 | chapter 4 (soon!)

Nothing could have prepared you for such a solemn day.

You visited Akso Hospital to simply see your boyfriend, who should’ve been heading to his office from a conference. A conversation with him about anything is better than nothing, and you’ve patched your heart up too many times just for it to break whenever the weight of your heartbreak shows itself again. You needed to do something for the sake of your misery.

But daunting steps towards his office quickly became sprints towards a different hospital room.

You heard MC’s name being called out by hospital staff, but you knew not to ask questions as they stormed the intensive care unit, preparing for resuscitation. You remembered sitting in the nearest waiting room with dread all over your body, your thoughts filling up with too many emotions for one person to bear.

After tears have made a home on your sleeves, you stayed for as long as needed before you could visit her. It took until sunset for them to allow visitors, and it took all of your strength to see her again. The conversation turned into laughter, admitted regrets, and even a hair day to make her feel alive again. 

But you knew, even then, that she wouldn’t be here for much longer.

So when the news of her peaceful death came to you, it wasn’t the wave of grief, nor was it the news that surprised you the most. It was the way Zayne ran to you before you could hide your own tears, kneeling near your feet and sobbing in your hands.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” he whispered to your knuckles, kissing each of them like he did all those years ago.

You simply didn’t have it in you to pull your hands away from his grasp, not when this is the most you have seen from him in years. Not when you’d used all of your strength up, leaving you in tears as well.

Zayne, ever the observer, looked up and gently wiped your flowing tears with his hands. His whispers are made unintelligible by the ringing in your ears and the sounds of your unasked questions, but his eyes are recognizable. Red from exhaustion, bloodshot from grief.

You saw that in the woman you once detested with your whole soul.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, like the weight of the world collapsed on his shoulders and he failed to fix it. “I’m sorry, my love.”

“Shh…” you had cooed. 

Many eyes were on the both of you, but embarrassment was the last emotion welling up in your chest. Zayne’s heart is on your sleeve, sitting next to your tear stains, and it beats and beats and beats as he cries. What could embarrassment have against agony?

Even now, as you sit in your car’s backseat with your head on his shoulder, his heartbeat is loud enough for you to hear. Its thud, thud, thud are like tubes bringing slivers of life back to you.

There is nowhere to go, nowhere to be besides the silence of the late night and a grief you share with the man you cannot completely detest, no matter how much you try.

Even though his tears are for another woman.

But are they, if his lips only utter your name? If his arms are around you, falling asleep for the first time in ages?

Was it fair to compare yourself to a woman who’s now gone?

Moonlight shines upon Zayne’s features. Lifting your head up, you find him fast asleep, and the sight pierces your chest. You can see the everpresent exhaustion in the lines around his eyes and the way his sleepy whispers are of hospital orders. He works and works and works, and not even sleep could save him from that.

Not even you were placed above that.

“Oh, Zayne,” you whisper as though he may hear it. As though he could hear years of anger in only two words.

You pry yourself from his hands so you could go ahead and move to the driver’s seat, but you don’t even get to open the car door before you hear your name from his lips.

Pleading.

Seldom have you heard him plead for something, let alone for you. You heard it weeks ago on the night you planned to leave. You hear it now that you’re leaving his arms.

But you don’t let yourself fall for it.

“Go back to sleep. I’m taking us home.”

Zayne’s whispers collapse into a satisfied hum at the word home, peculiar considering he’s never there. But you don’t have the will to ask any more questions when you already have so many.

Right now, as the memory of a woman settles within you, you can only think of home and how superficial it was to call silence such a word.

When Zayne gained consciousness again, it wasn’t when his eyes first opened the day after such a painful night. It wasn’t when sunlight crashed upon his blankets, peeking through the fabric even as he attempted to cover his eyes with it.

No. It was when he realized where he was.

Home.

The familiar popcorn ceiling, his penguin plushie he swore he wouldn’t care for but is now perched atop his pillow, your hair peeking out of your blankets…

He is home.

Zayne closes his eyes, tears threatening to spill as last night’s memories hit him like death. His best friend, whom he had tried to save for decades, is now gone. There will be no more days in which he could approach her and see her smile, her snide remarks, and her laughter. There will be no more days in which he would sigh before calling the lab, only to be told the same thing: We haven’t made progress in researching her specific condition. We’re sorry, Doctor. 

His best friend is dead.

Had he not tried hard enough to save her?

Zayne’s eyes land on you. Your soft snores are like music to your lover’s chaotic mind, reminding him of why this house still feels like home. He remembers his best friend’s words of advice as he wipes the stray tears that fall down your cheeks, wishing he could do so much more. 

“Good morning, my love,” he whispers before placing his routine kiss on your head.

He reaches for his phone on the nightstand, preparing for yet another text from Greyson about an emergency surgery or a scheduled conference he may have forgotten about. Instead, he sees a singular notification that makes his heart drop to his stomach.

The Director.

Zayne opens it with one eye closed, hoping he hadn’t made so much of a fool of himself last night that it got him fired. The medical field is not known to be forgiving to the grieving even though grief is what defines it.

But he reads the message over and over again, a wave of relief washing over him as he sees the words “extension to your leave” and “return when you feel you are ready.”

Zayne has not known understanding in a long, long time. A break doesn’t seem like something he deserves, and yet he looks at your fluttering eyes and tearful cheeks and understands that despite what he believes, he needs one.

“Zayne?” you murmur, sleep coating his name like a pleasant reverie. He’s wise enough to understand that it’s not forgiveness, nor is it consolation for all the years he has yet to make up for. It’s only a moment of confusion on your end.

Yet, his heart flutters all the same.

“Go back to sleep, my love,” Zayne whispers, still wiping tears from your face. “I’ll make breakfast.”

Although he doesn’t hear a response as he stands up, he glances back from the doorway and sees your ears have perked up at the thought of breakfast. 

He may be inadequate, but he’s eager to do better at loving you.

It started with breakfast.

The scent of meals cascaded throughout the house, and the sound of Zayne’s hums echoed through your heart. You would walk to the kitchen with your hair sticking out in all directions to a gaze brighter than sunlight and a voice lighter than silence.

“What would you like me to make for you?” he would ask, and it surprised you because never in a million years did you expect him to ask.

You almost responded with “nothing,” but your tummy rumbled before the lie could escape your lips. Humbled by Zayne’s smirk and grounded by your frustration, you muttered a breakfast that you knew he couldn’t make.

But unbeknownst to you, Zayne’s dedication goes beyond his titles and reputation, because every meal you had asked, he would make.

One time, he made your favorite meal. You watched him in the hours he spent following a recipe video step by step, the silence that came with his utmost focus to creating perfection. His hums were nowhere to be heard, and your only music on that morning was the sound of popping oil and knives hitting cutting boards.

You watched him afterwards, apologetically handing you the meal he unsuccessfully created.

“I’m sorry. If we need to order takeout, I’ll be happy to do so.”

In the burned meal, you saw all of the nights Zayne wasn’t home. You saw all of the breakfasts you could’ve spent with him, all of the meals you have saved on your phone in hopes that you could try them with him. Years and years of hopes and dreams collapsed into one meal that’s too burned to salvage.

But you also saw the effort it took for him to try.

Why hadn’t he tried earlier?

Why hadn’t he saved you years and years of unfulfilled hopes?

Why had he chosen her instead of learning more about you?

“Takeout is fine,” you murmured in the coldest voice you can muster as tears threatened to spill down your face again. 

Zayne nodded, but you know him well enough to see the hurt in the gesture. “I’ll do better next time, my love,” he said, and the frown on his face is practically engraved in your broken heart.

But his efforts didn’t stop at attempts at making breakfast.

He began picking up on the chores you were used to taking care of. Snack boxes and containers that sat on the kitchen counters were placed in cabinets. The baskets in the pantry, once filled to the brim with random ingredients you impulsively bought for recipes that never came to life, were now tidied and even labeled with that familiar doctor’s handwriting. You hate that you can read those words perfectly.

Worst of all, the dust mites on the walls were gone and crumbs on the floor were nicely swept and mopped. The amount of times the mop has heard your grumbles about Zayne’s absence is insurmountable, and now that same mop is in the hands of someone who seems to be trying to come back into your life.

“Careful. It’s slippery,” Zayne murmurs.

“I know what a freshly-mopped floor feels like.”

You also know what hope feels like, and it blooms within you as you watch Zayne mop the floor under the dinner table. Soft grunts creep amidst his breathlessness, his arms peeking out of the white button-up shirt he decided was perfect for the occasion. If you were less angry, you would have slipped by now, like you would have back when love felt like a dream.

“Are you trying to impress someone?”

The question is abrupt, a show of how your heart leaps when your brain becomes hazy. You cross your arms as Zayne looks up with a smirk you didn’t know you missed so much.

“Is it working?” he says before going back to mopping.

Your heart is doing somersaults for a man who’s broken it over and over again.

“No.” But even you don’t seem convinced by your attempt at conviction. That same “No” would have sounded sweetly snarky years ago, and it would have warranted a smile from your beloved and maybe even a couple kisses as atonement. 

Tonight, your “no” carries the weight of all of those missed memories with grief that no atonement is sufficient enough to fix.

Zayne doesn’t press further. He only continues to mop the floors as though the silence between you two holds no weight, occasionally stealing glances at you in the midst of little mishaps. And you, ever the bearer of wounds, look away at every one.

Odd, because years ago, you would have teased him about it.

Years ago, your heart wouldn’t be battling between the truth and your emotions. Your heart would simply love.

Yet, after his obsession with everything other than you, there is no world in which you can imagine getting those years back. No matter how hard he tries.

One night, with a heart full of hope, Zayne has an idea.

Standing in front of the mirror as he buttons his white shirt up — knowing which buttons to leave open — years of happy memories wash over him like a map. Mornings full of blissful laughter, afternoons stolen by work but returned by the night’s lovely embrace, rare evenings full of kisses on the kitchen counter… he remembers all of the memories you grieve, all of the memories stolen by his fears.

His fear of being seen. His fear of never being enough.

“Always thinking that distance will heal what you’ve broken… when all people seek from you is your company.” 

MC’s voice appears in his head, like it usually does when contemplation arises in the midst of self-reflection. Even though it has been weeks since her death, guilt lingers and his long-standing ineptitude settles within him like bile.

Nonetheless, he fixes his dress pants and takes the bouquet from the bathroom’s sink, and with a deep breath, he shuts the lights and walks over to where you lay on the bed.

He sees you cozily reading your novel and almost hesitates. Would it be poor timing if he interrupted you? If he took you out of your reverie in order to make amends?

“My love.”

Your eyes dart from the pages in your book to Zayne’s expression. His eyes land on the nightstand beside you as he clears his throat, guilt momentarily giving him this moment.

“I… These jasmines made me think of you.”

He watches every line of your face appear and disappear as you stare at the bouquet, and then at him. Not even the buttons that show his skin can save him from the flames that burn from within. 

“Oh?” You gently take the bouquet from his arms, staring at each flower as though they hold answers to unsaid questions. “Where did you find the time to get these?”

“I always have time for you.”

The genuine affection in the sentence is prevalent in his smile, yet you don’t seem to share the same feeling. Your gaze turns cold, and not even the bouquet can salvage the new morning.

“My love?” he treads gently. “Did I say something wrong?”

His hands, which were aflame with nerves only moments ago, are now cooled by dread. Your angered gaze lands on him — novel discarded, your reverie completely gone.

“You don’t always have time for me,” you whisper. “Do you understand that, Zayne?”

Zayne understands it all too well.

Or, at least, he thinks he does.

“You don’t, because you-” You poke his chest, your touch searing the skin and hitting his beating heart, “You don’t know how much I wanted you to have time for me.”

Zayne steps back, but the wall behind him keeps him tethered to you.

“Years, Zayne. Years.”

The pain in those words is enough to warrant death in anybody, but for Zayne — who yearns to learn more and more about you — it feels like life has returned to him.

“There were so many things I wanted to try a-and see and… and learn with you! But you never had time for me…”

“I tried-”

“Tried?” Your laugh is mocking. “Was I supposed to believe that when you are never home?”

Zayne’s breath hitches when you take a step back. 

“And when you would come home, I would hear all about impossible treatments and low hopes a-and… her.”

He tries to take your fists in his hands, but you don’t let him. You don’t let him see the anguish that you’ve successfully hidden from him, the futile hopes that now make themselves known. 

“MC was always your priority.” Tears glisten in your eyes now. “Do you know how belittled I feel when every one of our conversations is about another woman? When all of your time is spent trying to… to…”

He hears the words left unsaid.

Save her.

And it breaks his heart further.

All of those nights where he worked himself to death because he felt like he wasn’t good enough for anybody, much less you, feel less like salvation now. 

Not when it broke your heart like this. Not when it made you think he loved someone else.

“Always thinking that distance will heal what you’ve broken… when all people seek from you is your company.” 

MC’s words echo in Zayne’s head once more as he gently takes your hands. Your fists are like flower buds that refuse to open because of a lack of light, and his lips are no replacement for the years in which he could’ve nourished them.

But he tries anyway.

A miracle for someone who knows failure like the back of his hand.

“It was only you,” he murmurs on your knuckles. “I love you.” 

You respond in sobs he wishes he could kiss away. “I don’t believe it.”

“I don’t… I don’t blame you, my love. But please… let me make it up to you. I-I will do better this time.”

Zayne falls to his knees on the cold wooden floor, like a supplicant in need of redemption. Like you’re the only goddess who can grant such a request.

A dark cloud seems to inhabit your thoughts, and you push his hands away before wiping your own tears. “You will only do better because she’s gone,” you say, and it breaks him to hear you jump to such a conclusion. “Because she can’t occupy your time now that she’s dead.”

“No,” he gasps, but there is no use. There is no consolation for a disappointed hope that’s waited years and years to bloom. “It’s only been you, my love.”

“Don’t… don’t say that!”

Your tears spill out endlessly, making Zayne wonder how many nights you must have yearned for somebody to hold you through the pain of his absence. He thought he understood what he’d done wrong when his best friend explained it to him, but watching you carry your pain like this paints a different picture, a different map for him to follow.

Bravely, he stands up and wipes your tears. His touch is light, asking for permission to hold you like he should’ve done every night haunted by his absence. With a heart so pierced it’s impossible to understand how it’s still beating, Zayne presses his forehead against yours.

“I’m sorry, love. I… I didn’t know-”

“You never asked about me!” you lash out, scratching the fabric of his shirt to seek an outlet for the emotions pouring out. “N-never looked at me or talked about me. How were you supposed to know?”

When your scratches turn into sobs on his chest, Zayne doesn’t waste a second. He holds you as you cry — as your words continue to hurt him like no other, only responding with apologies that fail to make up for lost time. He wipes the tears when you look up at him and places kisses on your tearful cheeks when you ask. He learns, in that moment, how to carry the burdens he misplaced on your heart.

He learns, in that moment, just how much you’ve carried alone.

I will make it up to you, Zayne thinks as he holds you, remembering every inch of you to heart. How bizarre it is for him to have believed detachment made your life easier. How absurd it is that he thought that distance was the solution to his insecurities. How crazy it is that he wore himself out in an attempt to be a man more deserving of love, not knowing it made you feel like you were a burden.

He may not be able to bring back lost time, but he can try to make the rest of your life better.

Thunder rattles outside of your bedroom window, jolting you awake.

Last night’s memories are buried beneath your loud heartbeats. Your childhood fear haunts you to this day, reducing you to a shaking mess beneath your blankets. 

Count sheep. Count sheep. Count sheep…

But the thunder continues to roar, and no breathing techniques can quiet it.

You search the bed for your novel, only to caress familiar petals. The jasmines sit there, a reminder of the man who held you through the entirety of last night. You’re reminded of how gentle his words are, how comfortable his hands were when he carried the weight of your soul. Hatred washes over you, alongside a guilt that has no business blooming in your dying garden. 

The bedroom door opens, and when you look up, Zayne’s small smile catches your attention. A blanket is wrapped around him, and judging by his hair — which is swept up in all directions — he had been sleeping a moment ago.

“I heard the thunder and wanted to make sure you were all right.”

Zayne remembered.

You didn’t think he could do such a thing, especially right after you told him he didn’t make time for you.

Your retort is stolen by a thunderbolt, and your earlier pleas for silence comes in the form of his hug.

“Is this okay?” he asks.

More than okay, you would have said if you weren’t so focused on breathing. Your heartbeat slows and your anger dies in the hands of the man who feels like home.

Home.

You haven’t felt that since forever, and even if it’s from the man you detest with your entire soul, you know when to relent.

And so you do.

There are more instances like that, where the weight of the world shifts just slightly at Zayne’s presence.

Breakfasts and chores continued to be a constant. He would take care of them effortlessly, and when you asked to handle them, he would shake his head and ask you to rest. Your off days consisted of reading and catching up on your favorite shows as home started to feel familiar.

After his work days, he would immediately run to you with food and flowers in hand. 

Just like he did back then.

Some days, he brought home your favorites from the bakery near Akso Hospital. Other days, he’d ask you if you’d eaten dinner, and he would make midnight snacks in case you’d get hungry. 

“Sandwiches?” you’d asked him once, and he beamed while showing you the culinary masterpieces created under sleepy, meticulous hands. 

“I find them more tasty when cut diagonally, even though there is no research contributing to that opinion.” He placed the larger sandwich on your plate. “Would you like some?”

A “No” was on the tip of your tongue and a retort was on its way, but you were truly hungry, and there was no way you would pass up on food.

On most days — if not every day — he would ask you questions.

“My love,” Zayne says as soon as he comes home. Still in his scrubs with his glasses slightly tilted — a sign of utmost exhaustion. “How was your day?”

You, on the other hand, are cutting up a slice of cake you bought after you got home from work. You were still getting accustomed to hearing my love as often as you do. “It was fine.”

“Did your boss fire the lady who got on your nerves?”

Interesting. Zayne remembered something you said in passing.

“She went on temporary leave.” The poor cake becomes a victim to your frustration as you continue. “I suppose her talents are too vital to the company or whatever.”

“Ah.” He gently places his duffel bag on the kitchen counter before walking over to where you’re standing. “I’m surprised your boss didn’t immediately flag her embezzlement as a reason for termination.”

“And from being a pain in the ass, that is.”

You hear a soft giggle coming from his direction, stopping you from slicing further. “What?”

“The cake, my love,” he comments, and you look down at your… linear masterpiece with a gasp. The slices are nowhere near even, and it looks more like a used cutting board than a scrumptious dessert. 

Yet, Zayne takes a plate and asks for a slice.

“You and your sweet tooth, Zayne,” you murmur, but you continue to give him one of the larger slices. It looks more like a rhombus than it does a triangle, you notice, but he doesn’t seem to mind.

Come to think of it, he doesn’t seem to mind any of your imperfections the way you thought he would, nor does he ever wish you were different.

You look down at your masterpiece and think of MC.

She mentioned wanting some cake during your last conversation, saying it would help her smile a little more. You were braiding her hair and telling her that you would find a cupcake in the hospital’s gift shop, or if you were fortunate, you could make a trip to the bakery and purchase one before it closed.

However, you never managed to find the cupcake, nor were you fortunate enough to run to the bakery before she took her last breath.

It feels odd to be standing here with the cake she could’ve gotten had death not been so impatient to take her. To mourn what a relationship could’ve been is one thing, but to ponder if a friendship could’ve bloomed is another. One could be salvaged with enough work, but it’s so much more difficult to talk to the dead.

You feel Zayne’s hand on the small of your back, light and asking for permission to exist. “The rhombus shape makes the flavor pop. It’s okay.”

It takes a moment for you to understand that he’s talking about the cake, and when it hits, you can’t help but let out a small laugh. “You sure you don’t want a better cake?”

His only answer is another mouthful of the slice.

You can only stare as little bits of frosting surround his mouth as he chews, your thoughts drifting to a place so dangerous it makes you freeze. Regardless, you take a napkin and dab at his lips as he speaks, his words lost to the tenderness of the gesture.

Realization dawns on you: this has been the most gentle you’ve been with him in months.

“Frosting,” you excuse shyly. “It was on your lips.”

“Oh.”

Oh indeed, but you refuse to say that aloud, instead acknowledging the unfinished slice and sentence. The tint of his cheeks and ears are certainly none of your business.

Or, at least, that’s what you think.

“Do you know that you’re the only woman who can do this to me?” Zayne mutters, placing his fork atop his now empty plate. His eyes are much more serious now, but years of longing have not erased your knowledge of this man. The light is still there, and it burns brighter than ever.

You tilt your head, pretending not to understand. “Do what?”

“You’re the only woman who can make my cheeks burn red.”

Zayne takes your hand in his and places it on his face. His smile has always been able to disarm you, and for a moment, you can only focus on it.

Lost time comes back. It comes back as slow as forgiveness and as brutal as grief. It robs you of the words you’ve wanted to say, the thoughts you should be thinking, and the actions you should be taking.

MC’s words come back to you unabashedly.

“He’s very… smitten.”

The same words that once burned you with envy now glimmer with realization. 

“It’s only been you, my love,” Zayne says in the voice you only heard in your dreams, and with every day that passes, it becomes easier to believe.

Her grave holds too many flowers, letters, and unsaid words.

You are not the first to visit her grave, but you are the first to hand her a small slice of cake. Strawberry cheesecake, like she mentioned in your last conversation, with a fork on the side for good measures. 

“Good evening, MC,” you say, but it doesn’t carry your usual envy. 

Moonlight shines over you, like it has been when your grief feels too much to carry alone. The years on the stone are too close together, and the variety of flowers surrounding it are proof of the love that surrounded her life. Bringing laughter and light with one’s existence can certainly achieve that.

“I can’t believe we didn’t speak much at that dinner party,” you admit. “But perhaps it was for the best. I hated you then.”

The words feel dry when they leave your lips. Is hatred what pushed you to visit her when you heard that her condition was getting worse? Is hatred what you felt when you were trying to make her time at the hospital feel less… lonely? 

Is hatred what you felt when you saw yourself in her? The lost hopes, the wish for death to claim her as soon as it could, the days in which she yearned for a better life — a life not consumed by what-ifs?

After blinking your tears away, trying not to let them ruin your mascara, you take the time to read the notes on her grave. Some have disintegrated in the rain that has plagued Linkon for months, but the love in the words remains regardless. There are words of respect from other hunters, doodles from the patients at Akso Hospital, and envelopes from names you don’t recognize.

You have never seen so much life in a graveyard.

As you stand up, a figure ahead stares back. It startles you until you recognize the short black hair and the white coat that’s distinctly his no matter how many people at Akso Hospital wear it.

“Zayne?” His name escapes your lips with less frustration than you wish it had.

“You shouldn’t be outside at this hour. It could be dangerous.”

You scoff. “I’m not scared of ghosts.”

He doesn’t laugh, but you can see a faint smile on his lips. It disappears in the blink of an eye.

“Come. Let’s go home.”

You take one last look at MC’s grave before taking his hand. There are so many questions left to be asked, and your doubts on his love have not completely dissipated.

But as he opens the car door for you — a gesture you’re still getting accustomed to — you notice a flower petal on your cardigan and one of the sticky notes from her gravesite.

I wish I could forgive you.

a/n: This chapter is, hands down, one of the most challenging things I have ever written in my life. Each scene took forever to write (the argument alone took three and a half hours) and I was overthinking every little detail lol. I do have to say, writing a lovesick Zayne was so fun, and putting him on his knees was even better :)

Thank you for reading! Any form of interaction is appreciated. Take care :)

taglist: @aiycnlyme @potania @someonestopsoren @typicalme23 @crimsonrubie @fruitymoonbeams-blog @a-girl-who-dreams @amethystheartsx @picnicinthegarden @liveforkny @gojoswaterbottle @concerneddeobi @animegamerfox @pjselee @sailorstar9

[lvl1l1]

Sylus has always been a patient man.

But nothing tests that patience quite like you.

The first time you leaned in and kissed him, he felt like the entire world could burn down around him and he wouldn’t care. Since then, making out with you has become his favorite addiction. The way you melt into him, the little sounds you make when he licks into your mouth, how you grip his shirt like you’re afraid he’ll disappear,he can’t get enough.

Tonight is no different.

You’re straddling his lap on the couch in his private lounge, hands tangled in his silver hair while he kisses you deep and slow. His hands slide up your thighs, squeezing the soft flesh as he pulls you closer. A low groan rumbles in his chest when you rock against him, unconsciously grinding down on the growing bulge in his pants.

“Fuck, kitten…” he murmurs against your lips, voice already rough. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

You whimper softly, kissing him harder, and for a moment it feels like you might finally be ready. His hands slip under your shirt, palms warm against your bare waist, thumbs stroking just beneath your ribs. He’s so hard it’s aching, straining painfully against his zipper, but he doesn’t rush you. He just keeps kissing you like he could do this forever.

Then you pull back suddenly, breathing heavily, eyes a little wide.

“Sylus… wait. I’m sorry, I-” You bite your lip, looking guilty.

He stills immediately.

His hands slide out from under your shirt and settle respectfully on your hips instead. Even though his cock is throbbing angrily between you, begging for friction, his expression softens.

“Hey,” he says gently, voice low and calm. “Don’t apologise. You never have to be sorry for that.”

You look down, cheeks flushed. “But you’re… I can feel how hard you are. I keep getting you worked up and then stopping-“

Sylus cuts you off by tilting your chin up so you meet his eyes. That usual smugness is gone, replaced by something warmer and tender.

“I don’t care if I stay hard for the rest of the night,” he says simply. “Or all week. Or all month. We go at your pace. Always.”

He leans in and presses a slow, sweet kiss to your forehead, then your nose, then your lips, much softer this time.

“You letting me kiss you like this already feels like winning the lottery, sweetie,” he murmurs against your mouth. “I can wait. As long as you need.”

Even as he says it, his cock twitches hard between your thighs, still painfully trapped and aching. He ignores it completely, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you against his chest instead.

You bury your face in his neck, relaxing into him. “You’re too good to me.”

Sylus lets out a quiet chuckle, though it sounds a little strained.

“Trust me, I’m not a saint. Right now I’m thinking about a lot of very filthy things I want to do to you,” he admits, voice dropping into a purr. “But I’d rather have you comfortable and happy than rush anything. This-” He squeezes your waist gently. “-is more than enough.”

You stay like that for a long time, you curled up on his lap, his arms securely around you while he presses occasional kisses to your hair and temple.

Later, after you’ve fallen asleep against his chest, Sylus finally lets out a slow, controlled breath.

He’s painfully hard, balls aching, cock leaking into his boxers… but he just holds you tighter, a small, satisfied smile on his lips.

Because even if it means blue balling himself every single time you make out, you’re worth every second of it.

His kitten is safe, comfortable, and slowly opening up to him

[viptrash]

You loved Rafayel with your whole heart.

Of course you did, he was your husband of 3 years now, your everything. And if his wedding vows were anything to go by, you were his world too.

And yet you missed him, badly.

He was preparing for a new exhibition, one with another famous artist he spoke highly of. You loved to see his eyes light up when he talked about art.

But he started coming home later than usual, not noticing how late it was due to how immersed he got into his work. You loved him, and you loved how passionate he was. But he still came home later and later.

You didn't say anything because he meant no harm, he truly didn't mean to put you on the back burner. His work was a part of him, you didn't want to take away his creative outlet or make him feel like he had to sacrifice his work for you.

.

One day, you decided to bring him dinner at the studio. You missed him, and while it wouldn't be the first dinner he missed, you were sure he would be grateful you were thinking of him. He probably forgot to eat all day, too focused on his paintings and exhibition planning.

You let yourself in to the studio (he really should lock the door), calling out for Rafayel to announce your arrival.

You find him upstairs, admiring a piece with Rita standing next to him.

With Rita laying her head on his shoulder, holding on to his arm.

You freeze for a moment before clearing your throat. Rafayel turns to you, removing himself from her hold to welcome you.

"Cutie~! To what do I owe this visit?" Damn him and his pretty eyes.

You smile up at him, holding out the bag of food packed for him. "It's late so I brought you dinner, like the best wife ever." You teased.

His smile faltered. "Sorry cutie, Rita and I already had dinner earlier."

"Oh."

"Sorry! I would've sent him home earlier if I knew he had a curfew." Rita laughed, winking at you.

"No, it's fine! I'll just bring these back home. See you later Raf!" Turning on your heel, you left as quickly as you could.

It was nothing, but unease started pooling in your gut regardless.

.

You brought the leftovers to Solana, after confirming she hadn't had dinner yet. You wanted someone to enjoy the meal you made. And if it gave her one less thing to do today, at least you weren't worthless.

.

Rafayel was late again. He didn't wake up to his alarm, hitting snooze again and again.

You tried waking him up slowly, kissing down his face, his neck. You trailed your hands up under his pajama shirt, his skin heated against your cold fingers.

It was a Sunday, and you missed him. Surely he could take a day off or have a late start? (He's cancelled on Thomas more times than you could count so that you could have some...alone time)

It wasn't until you straddled his hips that he started to stir, gazing up at you through half-lidded eyes. He shifted under you, hands grabbing your hips.

You smiled down at him, excited to finally, finally have him to yourself, at least for a little while. You leaned in, kissing him with all the pent up energy you've accumulated these past couple of months.

He pulls away, glancing at the clock on the nightstand.

You freeze, worried you'd overstepped.

He jumps up from under you, pushing you away while cursing about being late to meet Rita at the studio.

As he runs into the bathroom, turning the shower on, you can't help but feel naked. Dismissed. Forgotten. Unimportant.

He wasn't even excited. Hell, it usually took him a lot less to get in the mood. But nothing.

You pull the sheets over yourself, feeling too vulnerable to unpack all at once.

The unease has settled deep into your bones now, you couldn't shake it off.

Was he not attracted to you anymore?

You stopped waiting up for him.

.

You're not sure what prompted the change, but he started coming home earlier.

Your birthday was this week, he insisted on going to the best restaurant to celebrate with you.

It was just enough to give you hope that this will blow over soon. The exhibition would be held in a month, and you would have your lovey dovey husband back.

So why were you still on edge? Why were you waiting for the other shoe to drop?

Maybe you got too used to the distance, to the silence.

You tentatively agreed to dinner. Kept your hopes in check, making sure you didn't raise them too high.

Still, you couldn't help but get excited.

You woke up on your birthday to find the other side of the bed already cold.

Not surprising, Rafayel was grumbling last night about having to be at the venue early with Thomas. ("Unsuitable work conditions" and "cruel and unusual punishment" he called it)

The day went on as usual, an influx of "happy birthday!" calls and texts and moments posts pinging your phone.

And yet, nothing from Rafayel.

.

You send Rafayel a handful of texts as you're getting ready that evening.

5:17 PM Should I meet you at the restaurant?

5:17 PM or are you going to come pick me up?

5:36 PM I'm on my way to the restaurant now, the reservation was for 6:00 right?

5:52 PM I'm here a bit early, they just sat me at the table. See you soon :)

5:54 PM The waiter kinda looks like Thomas, it's a little freaky haha

6:11 PM are you on your way Raf?

6:26 PM okay this isn't fashionably late anymore

.

7:39 PM I'm going home. Where are you?

You feel humiliated. But you also feel bad for the waiter, holding a table when he could've made more money on another couple. He was sympathetic, giving you basically a free meal (you took most of it to go, you didn't have much of an appetite). You leave a $100 on the table before he can give it back to you.

.

10:48 PM I'm staying in the guest bedroom tonight.

.

Still, no answer. You get ready for bed, bringing your charger and tomorrow's work clothes to the guest bedroom.

You lock the door before you go to sleep, wondering how your marriage got to this point.

.

You make yourself as busy as Rafayel is, sneaking out of the house to get to the Hunter's Association before he even wakes up.

You take on more missions, working yourself to the bone. If you're too busy to think, you can't fall apart, right?

You're tired, and everyone notices. Luckily, they mind their own business and don't say anything.

Until you faint from exhaustion at training.

Jenna sends you to the hospital to make sure you're okay, despite your protests.

You sit in the hospital bed, the bright lights giving you a faint headache. It's nothing you can't handle. But the thought of them calling your emergency contact has you more anxious than sitting in the silent, sterile room.

You don't want to see Rafayel.

.

And you don't. The receptionist tried to reach him, left him 3 voicemails with updates. They asked you if there was anyone else you could call to take you home.

You called Zayne instead. You feel bad bothering him, but he was your childhood friend and primary care doctor.

He takes a look at your discharge papers and pauses. Silence is not new from him, but this felt heavier than normal.

"You shouldn't be pushing yourself in your condition." His soft murmur confused you.

"What do you mean? You know about my heart condition, and cleared me for work."

"They didn't tell you." Not a question, a statement. You tilt your head, silently asking him to elaborate.

He passes you the discharge papers, pointing at the page he was on. "They did a pregnancy test, it's positive."

.

The drive to your house is in complete silence. Zayne can sense you have a lot on your mind, and thankfully doesn't push you to talk.

You thank him for driving you, promising to take care of yourself. As you walk through your front door, your phone buzzes with a text from him.

11:17 PM If you need anything, I'm here for you

11:17 PM I mean it.

You're grateful for his quiet support, and for the empty house that you have come home to.

.

You don't even see Rafayel anymore, and you don't hear anything from him for a couple of weeks. Until he sends you the exhibition information the week of.

You're finally about to get your husband back.

So why don't you feel excited?

.

You decide to tell him once you both come home from the exhibition night, hoping he'll be excited.

You take a positive pregnancy test, placing it in a gift bag with a "my dad is cooler than yours" baby onesie. You leave it on the dining room table for your return later.

.

You're more anxious than excited as you stand in the crowd, waiting for Rafayel and Rita to open the exhibition.

Taking peeks into the venue, you can't help but marvel at how well everything came together.

"Hello everyone! And thank you for coming to tonight's event." Rafayel's voice is strong and reassuring, the microphone projecting his speech to the audience.

Eventually, he hands the microphone off to Rita to say a few words. Thanking everyone for their support and donations, she goes on and on until-

"Oh! And thank you to Rafayel." She giggles. "For being my muse, my inspiration." The way she clings to his arm is making your eye twitch. "And I'm happy to announce that we are officially dating!" She squeals.

And then she kisses him.

Reporters begin taking photos, the bright lights making your head swim. Before you know what you're doing, you're already walking towards the exit.

Rafayel is dumbfounded. Well and truly shocked that he did not see this coming.

Snatching the microphone back, he tries to correct her before you leave.

"That is 1000% not true. We are not dating. I am actually veeeerrry happily married to my beautiful amazing wife y/n-" he can already see you at the door. "wait please don't leave I can explain-"

Now, while your marriage wasn't a secret, it wasn't public knowledge either. Rafayel didn't wear his ring often, claiming he didn't want to ruin it with paint.

The crowd turns, looking for who Rafayel's wife could be. You slip out the door before they can be disappointed.

.

Beep.

Beep.

Beep.

No answer, you sigh before texting Caleb.

7:12 PM I'm on my way to Skyhaven

7:13 PM not sure if you're on a mission, but you don't mind if I let myself in right? I just need a place to crash for a while, I'm sorry if you have plans.

7:27 PM I'm getting on the train now, I'll see you when I get there. Or whenever you get home.

.

Your leg won't stop bouncing. You're almost shivering, the dress you wore not providing much warmth on the freezing train.

You took a cab to Caleb's house, punching in the security code and letting yourself in. He hasn't responded to your texts yet, but you're sure the security cameras will let him know you're there.

You wash off your makeup, change into a pair of Caleb's oversized pajamas, and go to sleep.

.

[from glub glub]

7:21 PM cutie she's lying. Or delusional

7:21 PM I would never do that to you.

7:21 PM you know that, right?

7:22 PM I wouldn't

7:22 PM I love you

7:22 PM I need you

7:23 PM please say something

7:23 PM please come back, we can talk about this

7:24 PM I know I haven't been the best husband recently cuz of work but I would never cheat on you.

7:24 PM Never working with her again obvi

7:31 PM *missed call from glub glub*

7:35 PM did you go home? I'm going home as soon as Thomas lets me leave

7:59 PM *one attachment*

7:59 PM is this real????!!

8:00 PM *missed call from glub glub*

8:00 PM where are you?

8:00 PM at least let me know you're safe...

8:01 PM *missed call from glub glub*

9:34 PM I'll wait for you

.

1:19 AM I'll give you some space, but just know that 1. I would NEVER cheat on you. 2. I love you. and 3. I'm here whenever you're ready to talk or come home.

.

.

.

.

[livanavier]

clack!

"..."

"..."

more movements and rustling until your squinted eyes meet the squinted eyes above you. the intrusive bright light from the night stand almost blinding.

"..what you *yawns* doin' down. there?"

you open your mouth to answer but rafayel makes inscrutable noise only drowsy, sleepy people would.

"cutie?" he adds.

"it's comfortable," whispering, you tug your blanket higher, covering yourself from his surprisingly intense gaze.

rafayel looks offended by that answer? comfortable? you sleeping on the floor beside his luxurious and plush king-sized bed?

he blinks repeatedly, trying to wake himself up and process if this is all even real at 2am.

"you mad at me? did i do something?"

"no. i promise it's just comfortable, raf."

"it can't be. 's not comf." a miserable huff leaves his jutted lips.

it's like he's glaring at you from above, on the edge of the bed. but barely trying. you calmly watch his next move, knowing he's likely refusing to sleep without you within his radius but contemplating if it's worth waking up with a sore back sleeping on the hard floor.

finally he grunts and slides off the edge of the bed. dragging his massive, shirtless figure off the bed. his arms bracketing your sides on the carpeted surface to stabilise himself as half of his body hangs off the bed. smooth like a snake following each of his knees.

one down. another down. then he plops right on top of you.

sighing in relief when he gets to inhale your scent, the tip of his nose drags across your warm skin as you giggle sleepily.

"stop." you scoot to make space for him. inviting him closer when you raise the blanket. rafayel happily invades your long gone personal space. now you're both covered in a shared blanket, shielded from the cold of the night.

"things i do for you," he mumbles, cuddling you tightly, his leg thrown over yours. "not that comfy, by the way."

"go sleep on the bed," you truly mean it. he doesn't have to trouble himself. it's just one of those nights where you need a quick change of pace. just because.

"shhh, sleep. 's late, cutie."

every part of your body calms, soothed in his warmth as his palm mindlessly pats your side. your mind ease back as the current of the sleep gently carries your consciousness away.

[dustyblack]

Everything

MASTERLIST || CHARACTER M. LIST

Pairing: Sylus x Non MC Reader

Word Count:

Summary: When Sylus mindlessly forgets your special day. He drops to his knees and do everything in his power to make sure his girl never feels sad again.

Warning + Tags: Angst | Hurt To Comfory | Neglect | Silent Treatment | Feeling like second choice | Protective

The heavy silence inside the grand, dimly lit corridors of Onychinus wasn’t just quiet; it was suffocating.

For the past three days, the N109 Zone’s most feared ruler had been met with a wall of absolute nothingness.

No sharp retorts.

No lingering glances.

No soft smiles when he walked into the room.

You moved through the penthouse like a ghost, your Evol usually so vibrant and attuned to your emotions humming at a low, fractured frequency.

You didn’t glare at him; you didn’t throw tantrums.

When he spoke to you, you simply nodded or offered a quiet, hollow, "Understood," before walking away.

Sylus sat at his desk, swirling a glass of amber liquid, his crimson eyes narrowed as he watched you retreat into the bedroom without a single backward glance.

His brow furrowed.

He was used to your fire, your warmth, even your occasional stubbornness.

This icy, detached version of you was entirely foreign, and frankly, it was starting to grate on his patience.

He thought it was just a passing mood, a petty grievance he figured you'd get over.

He didn't realize that under that silent exterior, your heart was utterly breaking.

Downstairs, Luke and Kieran were pacing nervously in the main lounge, exchanging terrified glances.

They had been tracking the dates, and the realization had just hit them like a freight train.

"Boss is a dead man," Luke whispered, his face pale.

"Worse than dead. Do you think we should tell him? If we don't, she might actually leave, and then everyone in the N109 Zone dies," Kieran groaned.

Steeling their courage, the twins practically dragged themselves up to Sylus’s private office.

Knocking hesitantly, they entered to find their leader looking uncharacteristically annoyed.

"What is it?" Sylus bartered, his deep voice dripping with irritation. "If this isn't important, I suggest you turn around."

"Boss..." Luke squeaked, swallowing hard. "It's about her. We... we figured out why she's giving you the silent treatment."

Sylus paused, setting his glass down with a soft click.

He leaned back, his imposing frame casting a long shadow. "Enlighten me. I haven't the slightest idea what minor inconvenience has caused her to freeze me out for three days."

"It wasn't a minor inconvenience, Boss," Kieran said, his voice dropping to a somber, genuine tone. "Three days ago... it was her birthday."

Sylus’s gaze sharpened, a sudden, cold prickle of alertness hitting him. Her birthday.

"And," Luke added, wincing as he prepared for the impact, "you spent the entire evening at that high-end restaurant in the central district... treating the Deepspace Hunter girl to dinner after her mission. You forgot, Boss. You completely forgot her birthday for someone else."

The silence that followed was deafening.

For a second, Sylus didn't move.

Then, the realization crashed over him, brutal and unyielding.

The memories of three days ago flashed in his mind: he had been caught up in Onychinus business, dealing with the Hunter organization, and had casually treated the MC to a meal to finalize an information exchange.

He had thought nothing of it. It was transactional.

But to you.

You had sat in this penthouse, alone, on the one day that belonged to you, watching the clock tick away while the man you loved was out celebrating with another woman.

You hadn't thrown a fit. You hadn't demanded his attention.

You had simply realized where you supposedly stood in his hierarchy, and you had broken in silence.

Sylus stood up so fast his chair skidded across the floor.

The air in the room grew heavy, his dangerous aura flaring, but for the first time, it wasn't born out of anger toward an enemy; it was pure, unadulterated self-loathing.

"Get out," he commanded the twins, his voice dangerously low.

They didn't need to be told twice, vanishing instantly.

Sylus strode down the hall, his boots echoing heavily until he reached your shared bedroom.

He didn't knock.

He pushed the door open to find you sitting by the expansive window, looking out over the neon-lit chaos of the N109 Zone.

You looked so small.

Your Evol flickered weakly around your fingertips, a sad, dim glow that mirrored the exhaustion in your eyes.

When he entered, you didn't look up.

You didn't even flinch.

Sylus closed the distance between you in seconds.

He dropped to one knee in front of your chair, a position the proud, ruthless leader of Onychinus never assumed for anyone.

But right now, he would have crawled on his knees if it meant fixing the hollow look in your eyes.

"Kitten," he murmured, his voice rough, stripped of its usual mocking playfulness. It was thick with a heavy, grounding desperation.

He reached out to cup your cheek, but you subtly flinched, tilting your head away from his touch.

The rejection cut through him cleaner than any Resonator blade ever could.

His hand hovered in the air for a fraction of a second before he let it drop to your knee, gripping you gently but firmly, refusing to let you completely drift away.

"Look at me. Please."

You slowly turned your gaze to him.

Your eyes were red-rimmed, dull, and entirely devoid of the affection that usually shielded you when you looked at him.

"Are you done with your business, Sylus?" you asked, your voice a quiet, fragile whisper. "Because if you are, I'd like to sleep. I'm tired."

"I am a fool," he said bluntly, his crimson eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that burned.

He didn't make excuses.

He didn't blame the N109 Zone, or business, or the Hunter.

He took the blade entirely on his own chest. "I forgot. I let the days bleed together and I failed you in the worst way possible. There is no defense for what I did."

A stray tear finally slipped down your cheek, and this time, he didn't give you the chance to pull away.

His large, warm hand gently cupped your face, his thumb brushing the tear away with an agonizingly tender touch.

"Seeing you like this... it's a punishment I deserve, but I won't let you sit here and believe for a single second that you don't matter to me," he growled softly, his forehead leaning forward to rest against yours.

The proximity allowed you to feel the frantic, heavy thudding of his heart. "The girl from the association means nothing. It was business. But you... you are my entire world, and I neglected you on the day I should have been celebrating your existence."

"It hurt, Sylus," you whispered, your voice cracking as the wall of silence finally crumbled, letting the raw grief spill out. "I waited. I even made something for us. And then I heard where you were. With her. On my birthday."

Hearing the pain in your voice made something wild and feral tear at his chest.

Sylus wrapped his powerful arms around your waist, lifting you effortlessly from the chair and pulling you into his lap as he sat on the edge of the bed.

He buried his face in the crook of your neck, holding you so tightly it was as if he were trying to fuse your souls back together.

"I know. I'm sorry. I will spend every day making it up to you," he murmured against your skin, his hands tracing soothing patterns up and down your back, trying to ground your erratic, sorrowful Evol. "Cry, scream at me, tear this entire penthouse apart with your power if it makes you feel better. Just don't shut me out. Don't look at me like I'm a stranger."

You buried your face in his shoulder, your fingers fistting into his dark coat as you finally let the tears flow.

Sylus held you through it all, unmoving, a solid, unwavering fortress for your grief.

He kissed your temple, your hair, whispering dark, fierce promises of devotion into the quiet room.

He didn't just stop at an apology.

Over the next week, Sylus completely locked down his schedule.

The N109 Zone could have burned to the ground for all he cared.

He practically showered you in everything you could ever want, but more importantly, he gave you his undivided, suffocating attention.

He brought you rare, beautiful artifacts that resonated with your Evol, helping you strengthen it.

He personally cooked your favorite meals, standing in the kitchen with his sleeves rolled up, looking entirely out of place but completely focused on making you happy.

He filled the penthouse with your favorite flowers, and every single night, he held you close, his heartbeat a constant, steady rhythm assuring you that he wasn't going anywhere.

One evening, as you sat on the balcony wrapped in his heavy coat, sipping warm tea he had prepared, Sylus stepped out behind you.

He slid his arms around your waist, pulling your back flush against his broad chest. He placed a small, velvet box in your hand.

Opening it, you found a breathtaking, custom-made ring, embedded with a rare Aether core that pulsed beautifully with the exact frequency of your Evol.

"A reminder," Sylus murmured, kissing the shell of your ear, his voice deep and fiercely possessive. "That you own me. My time, my heart, my existence, it belongs to you, Kitten. Never doubt your place by my side again. If I ever slip up, remind me of my place. But I promise you, I will never forget again."

Feeling the warmth of his chest and the fierce, protective love radiating from him, your Evol finally flared to life, bright and harmonious, weaving perfectly with his dark energy.

You turned in his arms, looking up at him, and for the first time in days, a genuine, soft smile graced your lips.

"I'll hold you to that, Sylus."

A dark, relieved smirk tugged at the corner of his lips as he leaned down to capture your lips in a deep, burning kiss. "Good. I'd expect nothing less."

[zaynezone]

i want you

synopsis: Zayne doesn't know where he went wrong warnings: it's kind of angsty, zayne is overthinking a bit and there's some worries of cheating but it has a cute ending i promise pairing: Zayne x fem!reader wc: 1.4k an: trying out a new banner style cause i'm sick of making collages lmao let me know what you think or if you care at all lol

When Zayne spots the dark purple mark on your neck, he’s not sure how to feel. At first, his mind blanks. Then it crashes into him like cold water.

He had asked you to be his girlfriend a few months ago. He thought that meant being exclusive. Perhaps he’d been wrong.

It was the spot just beneath your ear. Your sweet spot. The place where your pulse fluttered when he kissed you, where you always tilted your head just a little to give him better access. Whoever had left this mark clearly knew you well enough to know such a thing that had taken Zayne weeks to discover, nights of gentle patience, every inch of progress earned by trust.

Had it taken them weeks as well? Or had you given it to them easily, thoughtlessly, without the hesitation you’d once shown him?

He’s too quiet as you get dressed. He knows that. The silence is heavy, like a third presence in the room. Usually, he would be rattling off the itinerary of the day he’d planned. Having a day off together was rare, precious, and he’d planned it with a deserving amount of care: a picnic in the park, coffee at the new café you’d been eyeing, a walk on the trail that led to the farmers market, and maybe some ice cream to end off the night.

But now, every plan feels sour. He can already imagine you sitting across from him at the café with that mark on your skin, a secret he’s not privy to, and his stomach twists. He feels nauseous.

He’s almost relieved when your phone rings, that special ringtone he’s come to associate with work slicing through the tension you’re unaware exists. You glance at him apologetically as you answer, brows furrowing as you agree to whatever’s being asked of you.

“I’m so sorry, Zayne. They need me to go in for a few hours.”

The apology is soft and familiar. He’s not upset with you. How could he be? The same words have fallen from his own lips too many times, pulled away by duty in the middle of dinners, dates, moments that were supposed to belong only to the two of you. You’d never been upset with him.

Not the time he had been paged just as you were finally sitting down in the restaurant you’d been waiting to go to for weeks.

Not the time you had waited in your dress and heels, makeup perfect, for three hours after a surgery had run long.

Not even the time his phone had gone off just as you were tugging him toward bed, whispering against his neck how desperate you were for him.

You had forgiven him, every time. But perhaps the missteps had added up.

Your hair falls forward again, hiding the mark perfectly. He probably wouldn’t have noticed it at all if he hadn’t seen you putting it up earlier to wash your face. But now it’s burned into his mind. It doesn’t matter that he can’t see it anymore. He knows it’s there. You hadn’t even tried to hide it with makeup. That thought cuts the deepest. Maybe you had wanted him to see.

Maybe you wanted him to end it.

He can’t.

Zayne has spent years loving you. He had chosen his specialty while thinking of the kind of life you might build together. He’d spent countless sleepless nights staring at the ceiling, replaying every interaction with you like scripture. Every smile, every laugh, every word you’d ever given him. The idea of walking away now feels like cutting out his own heart.

You’re dressed for work now, no longer wearing the pretty sundress you had chosen for your rare day off. There’s still a guilty look in your eyes as you grab your work bag. Maybe going in today isn’t the only thing you’re guilty about.

You lean down to kiss him goodbye, and he hates how quickly the storm in his head clears the moment your lips touch his. He pulls you closer, almost desperately, pressing harder against your mouth than usual. His chest aches with the need to keep you tethered to him, even if only for this fleeting moment. You make a noise in surprise but soften into it easily, letting his insistence guide you. Your jasmine shampoo fills his lungs until it’s all he can breathe.

When he finally pulls back, your eyes are unfocused, lips parted as if you’re still caught in the haze of him. He can see your throat work as you swallow, your breathing uneven, as though the world around you has dropped away.

At least he still has this.

The moment ends too soon. You laugh lightly, wiping the smudge of gloss from his lips with your thumb, the gesture almost careless. He lets you. You kiss his cheek, promise to be home in a few hours, and slip out the door, leaving him staring at the silence you leave behind.

Zayne has no idea what to do with himself while you’re gone.

He cleans. He scrubs every surface until his hands are raw, until the smell of bleach makes him feel sick. He wipes down corners of the house he’s never even noticed before, moving with a manic sort of energy, as if stillness itself might shatter him. He can’t give himself even a second to think, because every time he stops, he sees the mark again, purple against your skin, laughing at him.

When the house is spotless, he cooks. He drags out the heavy recipe book you like to use, flipping through pages until he finds one you’ve always talked about making together. He pulls out ingredients, hands moving automatically. Normally you’re in charge of the kitchen, with him playing your sous chef, sneaking kisses between tasks. It’s always been fun with you. Alone, the process feels like penance.

Still, he follows your rules. The recipe says one clove of garlic; he takes three. You always say the recipes lie, that there’s never enough flavor unless you push past the instructions. So he does.

He hears you come home before he sees you. Your steps are tired, dragging faintly against the floorboards. The smell of simmering food fills the kitchen, the only sound the low bubbling of the pot on the stove.

“You made dinner?” you ask, appearing in the doorway. You look exhausted, hair slightly mussed, face drawn in that way that tells him work was chaos. He should ask you about it. Normally he would. But the weight pressing on his chest makes his throat close around the words.

Instead, he lets you wrap your arms around his neck, lets himself sink into your warmth. Something in him loosens when he feels your body pressed against his, like maybe he can survive as long as he can hold you like this.

“Thank you, Zayne. Today was so annoying. This burn has been killing me.”

Burn?

His blood runs cold.

“What?” The word croaks out before he can stop it.

You tilt your head, pushing your hair aside, revealing the mark he has been torturing himself over all day. “Yeah! It happened while I was doing my hair. The stupid thing slipped. I should’ve just asked you to help.” You pout, completely unaware of the havoc you’ve wrecked on him.

Carefully, almost reverently, he leans closer to look. The edges are too clean, too sharp, the faint shine of irritated skin obvious now that he’s inspecting it. Relief floods him so fast his knees nearly buckle. It’s a burn. Not a mark from someone else.

“It’s not too bad,” he manages, his voice steadier than he feels. His evol stirs at his fingertips, cooling his skin as he presses lightly to the irritated spot. You sigh in relief, leaning into the touch, and he almost does the same.

“You’re a lifesaver, Zaynie. What would I ever do without you?” you say, grinning up at him with that same smile that has undone him a thousand times before.

“Luckily,” he murmurs, his voice low, his heart finally unclenching, “you’ll never have to find out.”

[zaynezone]

"Zayne? I have a...proposition for you."

He stops writing on your chart at the words. Zayne knows you well enough to know that this conversation isn't for Dr. Zayne, so he sets aside the clipboard and gives you his full attention.

"See...the Association offers an all-included week long vacation for all it's employees and their p-partners." You shoot him a pointed look, to which he nods. His eyes dart back to his papers, scanning them.

"I see. And because of your condition, you need a note from me. I'd be happy to provide one for you. I...didn't know you were seeing anyone."

"W-well that's the thing. I'm not. But I'm sure you might...have some spare vacation days."

A long moment goes by. Long enough that your throat goes dry and your heart starts to hammer in your chest. Oh god, this was a stupid idea. Maybe if you pray hard enough, a wanderer will spawn and kill you now, just to free you from the awkwardness.

"Are you suggesting we go together? Isn't being romantically involved a prerequisite?" His fingers interlock, resting on the desk as he stares at you. But he hasn't said no yet, so you press on.

"We could just pretend! It's not like we have to do anything. And I figured you might enjoy some time off! You work more than I do." You smile in what you hope to be a collected manner, but probably comes off more insane.

"I'll check my schedule. Is that all?"

You try not to openly deflate. Of course he wouldn't want to come. Why would he want to spend a week pretending to be your boyfriend for a vacation he could take whenever he wanted?

You're still moping later that evening, scrolling absentmindedly on your phone to take your mind off your humiliation when it buzzes with a text.

Zayne: I have a week's worth of vacation to take at any time. When do we leave?

Well, it's too late to turn back now.

series masterlist // part 1 coming soon!!