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purplecandygerl · 1 day ago

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ceiling contemplations | zayne.

✩ synopsis: it's 12 am and you stare at the ceiling, denying every claim that you have fallen deeply in love with zayne. ✩ pairing: zayne x fem!reader / wc: 5.4k ✩ cw/tags: can be surmised as zayne x non!mc reader, slight angst, hurt/comfort, mutual pining, misunderstanding, YEARNING !!! ✩ crossposted in my ao3 ✩ a/n: just... pure yearning. this is yearning personification lmfao

You don’t love Zayne.

Not one bit.

At least, that’s what you tell yourself in the midst of a freezing December midnight, tossing and turning in your sheets with a terrible ache settling in your chest that won’t go away no matter how many ounces of water you gulp down. You lose yourself in the grains of your ceiling, limbs laying limp and sprawled across the mattress, vision slowly turning blurry as you refuse to focus.

Your memory is flooded with the images of Zayne in his pristine white coat, deft hands scribbling on his clipboard as he discussed with you the pain you feel in your chest.

Everything is normal, he says.

You took lab tests, ran on a treadmill, took an ECG, and everything came out perfect.

So he prescribes you to rest and lessen the overtime—to which he already calls the Hunter’s Association to follow his orders.

And you can only offer him a meek nod, smiling sheepishly at your nonsense check-up that he bothered to attend to.

Zayne only responded with a curt shake of his head, telling you it’s his job.

You don’t love Zayne.

You tell yourself as you shift your weight to the side of the bed, swiping down the notifications panel of your phone—unable to control the clench in your ribcage when there were zero replies from him. You shove the device under the pillow, gnawing on your bottom lip as you shakily run your hand over your face. There was no reason to fall for your doctor. It was unethical, unprofessional, and beyond ridiculous to even contemplate on the mere thought.

But when Zayne calls you at 8 PM and finds you still at the Hunter’s Association, giving you an earful of resting and not overworking yourself to the bone when he does the complete opposite; Or when he picks you up amidst the crazy traffic jam with the car stereo already playing your favorite songs; Or when he brings over your favorite meal claiming he made too much; Or when he personally bandages your lacerations at the ER when there were already a handful of standby nurses to tend to you; Or when he delivers desserts from when he’s out of town; Or when he took care of you when you were coming down with a horrible fever just a few days ago–

You can’t help it.

Not when your heart leaps out of your chest when his skin grazes yours even for a millimeter. You can’t help it when heat rushes to your cheeks when he swipes off an icing from the corner of your mouth. It’s not your fault when you find yourself looking for every corner in search of his presence, walking briskly through the streets to just catch a glimpse of his perfectly-ironed black button-down top and glistening specs. And it’s out of your control with how your stomach churns and your throat tightens when you notice his usual straight lips curling up and sharp eyes softening at the woman he is conversing with at a cafe.

You couldn’t seem to look away.

Eyes glued to the scenario playing across you.

You felt like a third character in a romance drama reeling on weekday nights. Your fingers tremble beside you, nails clawing on the fabric of your pants. People pass by you, occasionally bumping into your side and huffing by your ear, mumbling protests under their breath.

But you couldn’t understand a word they were saying.

No matter how many times the stop light flickered to green and red, you stood frozen in time. Watching Zayne across you, divided by a single pane of glass, swipe his thumb over the corner of the woman’s mouth and his pupils dilating.

Until you’ve watched enough.

You turn your heel and immediately march back to your apartment, heavy breaths escaping your chapped lips and the blurry bright lights from the streetlamps and tall buildings finally coming to life.

You don’t love Zayne.

At least, that’s what you tell yourself as you gripped on your duvet a little too tightly, pulling them up to your chin with an unfamiliar stinging sensation from your eyes.

Because you knew you could’ve fallen for your next door neighbor who drops you snacks and paintings of Linkon landscapes every Sunday, the college friend who you’ve been with since the start of that one project, or even that colleague at the Hunter’s Association who would join you in missions and get your back during combat. Unfortunately, you find yourself pulled to your primary healthcare physician whose interactions with you are purely professional.

It was so utterly foolish that you feel like banging your head across your pillow and scream until you pass out.

You love Zayne and you felt stupid to think you could have him just because you think he cared for you.

On the other hand, Zayne is in a dilemma.

Something that he cannot find an appropriate answer to in every search engine or textbook, online forums appear to be nuanced, and he lacked the experience and expertise in the field. He tried observing his patients who were accompanied by their spouses and lovers, noted colleagues and their left ring fingers, and even subtly watched passersby in the cafe with intertwined fingers with their partners.

But to no avail.

Zayne is in a dilemma–he seems to be in love.

And he doesn’t know what to do with it.

He tossed for the umpteenth time in his bed, sheets tangling in his limbs. The ticking of the analog clock and whirring of the AC echoes throughout the empty room, he catches a glimpse of the former.

12 AM.

And despite his assumption that his exhaustion from three scheduled surgeries, one emergency, and two administrative meetings would wear him down, he’s still wide awake for twenty-five hours. He stares right at the blank ceiling, breathing steadily as he reminisces the conversation he had with Greyson earlier.

Greyson had been knocking on Zayne’s door for the past two minutes with no response from the latter. He supposes Zayne had an emergency surgery but the sign by the door was relatively clear: The doctor is: IN.

With a concerned frown etched on his face, he twists the doorknob to his office, “Dr. Zayne?” He calls out, peeking through the small gap. He finds his coworker deeply entrenched in his notes, the crease between his brow deepening, and his fingers twiddling on his favorite blue pen.

“Dr. Zayne,” Greyson utters again.

Zayne finally snaps out of whatever spell he was in, turning his attention to his colleague from across the room. “Greyson,” he begins, “Is there something I can do for you?”

“Yeah,” Greyson nods, stepping inside and closing the door behind him. “But before that, what’s got you in deep thought?” He asks, foregoing the work conversation in the meantime. “What do you mean by that?” Zayne asks, “I seem to be perfectly fine.”

“I have been knocking on your door for the past two minutes. You weren’t answering, so instead I let myself in and caught you absorbed in your notes,” the brunette replied as-a-matter-of-factly. He takes a peek into the pad of paper and sees the busy slate of nothing. “That you don’t seem to have,” he jests.

He notices Zayne’s lips being pulled into a thin line, a habit he’s noticed whenever he seemed hesitant to share about something.

“It’s nothing of importance,” he insists. Greyson merely raises a brow at him, staring at him incredulously. “Sure. The Dr. Zayne who is known for his laser focus and attention got his head up in the clouds for something trivial,” the other man replies.

Zayne purses his lips as he watches Greyson take a seat from across his table, crossing his legs as if to say he will not go until he unloads the burden he’s carrying.

With a resigned sigh, Zayne succumbs, “I have been feeling rather… odd symptoms lately. Something I am quite unfamiliar with.”

Panic momentarily flashes across Greyson’s features, his head tilting to the side, “Symptoms? Are you okay? Do I need to inform the HR that you need to take the day off?”

Zayne abruptly shakes his head in disapproval, waving his hand across him, “No, no. That won’t be necessary. I am not that unwell.”

“Then… What happened?” His colleague asks, concern lacing his tone.

“I have consulted this matter to Dr. Noah but it seems he finds it amusing,” Zayne replies, grimacing. Before Greyson could ask any further, Zayne continued, “He merely laughed in my face and told me to think about it.”

Greyson’s frown only deepens. What kind of doctor laughs at his junior for consulting him about symptoms that he is experiencing? He bit his tongue. “What did you tell him?” He instead says.

Zayne darts his gaze elsewhere, focusing on the neatly arranged bouquet of pens by his organizer. “My heart seems to quicken, my hands get clammy, and my face and neck seem to heat up when I find myself… thinking about a certain person.”

Greyson blinks. This was certainly not on his bingo card of concerns that Zayne may have.

“Does… it seem to get worse whenever you are around this person?” He asks. Zayne nods, “It seems so.”

He catches Zayne’s fixated stare at a set of pens hastily tied together by a pink ribbon and the creased card attached to it, as if it was opened numerous times before.

No wonder Dr. Noah laughed in his face.

“Dr. Zayne are you… sure that you are unfamiliar with these symptoms?” Greyson asks for one more time, just to check if he wasn’t mishearing things. The other man shook his head, “100% sure.”

“And how long have these symptoms persisted?” His colleague asks.

Zayne racks his brain for an answer, “This predicament has been bothering me for several months now.”

Several months since a certain someone surges into his life like a raging thunderstorm, Zayne wants to say.

Greyson stares at him analytically, adam’s apple bobbing up and down his throat. Zayne merely watches him with expectant eyes.

With bated breath, Greyson answers, “Dr. Zayne, I think you might be in love.”

Tick-Tock. Tick-Tock.

Zayne was undeniably, irrevocably, and rather foolishly in love.

Slowly, Zayne drags his gaze away from the collection to his colleague sitting across him. Suddenly, weight pressed against his shoulders in spite of the feeling that the room lit up as soon as the words stumbled from Greyson’s mouth.

He cocks his head to the side, “Love?” He asks, the word foreign and tasting sweet.

Greyson nods.

The world expands in Zayne’s vision, a new fluttering sensation lingers in his stomach, lips clamped shut in deliberate realization.

Despite trekking through unfamiliar lands, he continued, “How… Does one respond to love?”

Regardless, Greyson shrugs, “I’d say accept it.”

Zayne waits for his assistant to elaborate. “There’s not much time in this world to wallow in the ‘what-ifs’, y’know? It’s best for a person to embrace the feeling and confess rather than spending the rest of your life with regrets,” he said. Zayne merely nods in acknowledgement in Greyson’s answer before proceeding to changing the topic.

That was twenty hours ago.

Twenty hours have passed and still, Zayne remains clueless.

Or rather, afraid.

In spite of Greyson’s advice, uncertainty still lingers in the air. He realizes he is in an uncharted territory, he could not bring himself to pour his heart out to the girl that he’s been looking out for for years. Too terrified that everything will change, especially when you need him the most with your condition.

After all the hours of ruminating over his predicament, he realizes it all boils to one thing–unfamiliarity frightens him.

Because how can he tell you that he loves you when he was your healthcare physician? He was your doctor that needed to help you treat your heart and track your health, not to worry you with superfluous feelings of love that you probably didn’t need. He was a doctor. He isn’t supposed to be feeling these things nor look out for your entire wellbeing.

He was just your doctor.

He tells himself as he notices you weren’t replying to his messages a couple of days ago.

And the first thing he does is rush to your apartment.

Yeah, he’s just your doctor.

That same doctor whose back of his hand is gently pressed against your forehead, his brows creasing at your shivering state. “It’s freezing,” you weakly mutter, attempting to pull the duvet closer to your body to which your physician stops you from doing. “Just a little longer,” he mumbles, pushing the strands of your hair away from your sweating forehead. A thousand thoughts run through his brain as he tries to rack an answer from it, wondering the cause of your sudden illness.

The beep beep beep from the thermometer cuts Zayne’s thoughts off and he pulls the device from your skin and holds it up to his eyes.

39.0°C

You feel delirious. You’re seeing Zayne on your bed, tucking you in and pressing a cold, damp cloth on your forehead. Why is your doctor here on a weekday? Who called him in? How did he get in your apartment?

Too weak to ask the questions, your lidded eyes trailed over his figure who was busying himself with reading the labels of the medicine he brought over to your apartment. You breathe heavily through the sheets, staring at him as he served as your entertainment while you were fighting for your life against the harsh illness.

“Is there any pain aside from your fever?” He asks carefully, putting aside the medicines and turning to you.

“Head,” you croaked.

“Is there anything else?” He probes, hoping he would get some sort of answer from you to find out the root cause of the problem.

“Tired,” you panted, as if you just ran a ten kilometer marathon, “Very.”

He hums, pressing the palm of his hand against your hot cheek, his thumb grazing against your skin and you can only stare at him blankly with lips slightly apart. You can feel the palm of his hand growing colder against your skin. He purses his lips and he says in a whisper, “Have you been working overtime again?”

You merely give a slight nod as an answer, too frail to use your mushed brain. He frowns at your answer before sighing, massaging your forehead and neck instead with his evol activated in his hands.

“I’ll scold you when you get better, but for now…” Zayne trails off as he watches your eyes stare at him blankly while tucking you in, “Get some rest. I’ll call the Association with regards to your health.”

And as if hypnotized by his words, your body slowly descends itself into slumber.

In the following days of your demented state of mind and dying fever, for some reason, you would find Zayne in your apartment before the sun sets. You would hear the scuffling of his socks against your floor, the sizzling of the pan in your kitchen, and soon he’d settle on your bed, pulling you up to rest against the headboard and spoon feeding you with the meal he had prepared for your recovery. He would then make you drink your medicine, take your temperature, and set on your nightstand a glass full of warm water.

That was a couple of days ago.

You didn’t bother dropping by the hospital for a check up, afraid that you wouldn’t be able to sit through the entire thing after witnessing the most heartbreaking scene you have ever watched in your life that romantic movies didn’t compare.

But your non-appearance didn’t guarantee Zayne the peace of mind he needed. So as soon as you mustered the courage to get over the scenario playing in your head on repeat, you snatched your phone from the dresser and messaged him that you are okay and you thank him for taking care of you, and ensuring to apologize for bothering him.

He only replied with a thumbs up emoji.

You’re unsure whether to let out a sigh of relief or curl up in your mattress in shame.

But one thing is certain, you love Zayne and the best way out of it is to pretend you’re not as helpless as you think.

Except all efforts remain futile as you continue listening to the soft hums of your AC in the dead of the night, body remaining stiff under your duvet. You want to release the feeling bubbling in your chest, you want to curl your fists and crumple the sheets, or even just let the tears flow to your cheeks.

To no avail.

The memory is etched in your brain like a pesky parasite destroying your flower bed on a warm spring day and you can’t use any pesticide in fear of contributing to its complete eradication. It continues to reel in your head like a vinyl record stuck on a loop that only stops when you forcibly intervene.

Everything in the moment terrifies you to an unfamiliar degree.

All of a sudden, a wave of exhaustion washes over you, maybe your heart finally decides it’s had enough of wallowing in your self-pity. As your eyelids grow heavy and the grip on your duvet becomes limp, you slowly find yourself succumbing to sleep.

Lucky you, because two hours have passed and Zayne still remains unmoving atop his mattress.

There was a longing ache in his ribcage, something that felt missing.

Something that urges him to physically grasp his shirt and twist in his fist.

And with zero hesitation left in his body, overwhelmed by the sea of emotion lapping up in his chest, he snatches his phone off the bedside counter.

Immediately, he finds your number.

One ring.

Two.

Three.

Maybe you were asleep.

I mean you should be.

After giving you that lengthy discussion about the health benefits of sleeping and consequences of staying up all night, he expects you to follow his orders.

Four.

This is stupid.

He should be sleeping too–

“Zayne?”

Oh.

“Hello,” he speaks over the phone, holding it tightly beside his ear.

Suddenly, pitter-patters of rain tap through his window.

“Hello…?”

He clears his throat, noticing the grogginess in your voice, “It’s raining,” he says.

Zayne imagines the way you rub your eyes blearily, listening carefully to the slight rustles of the sheets from beneath you, “I’m well aware, Zayne. But that does not explain why you called at–” you pause and he hears a soft grunt from you, like propping yourself up with your elbow physically strains you already, “–almost 2:00 am.”

Oh.

What is he thinking?

What is he supposed to say?

Rain continued to pour from the outside, growing exponentially stronger with every second that passed. He realized he just disturbed you in your sleep, something that he almost begs on his knees for you to follow. This is silly, he thinks. He shouldn’t be doing this.

“...Zayne?”

“I just thought of you. That’s all,” he replies almost immediately.

Zayne thinks of the way you frown or possibly jut your lips out in confusion, knitting your brows together at the situation. “I don’t think the Zayne I know would disrupt my sleep over that,” you state, seeming that you were just as puzzled as he was in the scenario.

There was another beat of silence between you two.

You almost exhale a sigh as you plop to your mattress, laying supine. Your eyelids grow heavier with the accompaniment of the rain beating down your roof and your phone slipping from your fingers as the softness of your pillow and duvet warmly engulfs you.

“I think I may be in love with you.”

Your lips part as sleep completely takes over you, your phone landing a soft thud on your bed and your body completely going limp.

Zayne calls out your name.

Once.

Twice.

Until he realizes he should take the matter in his own hands.

Your dreams were nothing short of sorrowful.

It felt like your brain’s taking a cruel play on you with the way it reels clips of you being happy with a mysterious man. Your ring finger glistening brightly whenever the sun casts its light onto you. You giggle at some joke the man says, palm running up and down his bicep affectionately as you two walk down a familiar street. He laughs along the sound of your chuckles, drunk on passion and affection that you yearned for.

You were mystified with the way he carries your conversations so effortlessly, nodding earnestly to every word you say, and throwing you the sweetest smile you have ever received from anyone. You wrap your arm around his tighter, listening to the way he compliments your hair brushing across your skin and your dress flowing delicately in the autumn air.

Then you hear it, the words “I love you” that tumble from his lips.

You shake your head disbelievingly and turn your head to the surroundings around you. Christmas lights glow across the trees and wrapped around the streetlamps, melting into a drunken haze that seemed unreal. Then a knock urges you to turn your head to the side, only to be met with a harrowing sight across you.

It was Zayne again with that woman.

Your brows furrow and you scowl, remembering the way air constricts in your throat the same way it did the first time you saw the scenario.

Another series of knocks that urge you to stare at the woman across him. The face was blurry, you couldn’t seem to make out any significant features from his partner. But the way Zayne smiles for her was a crystal clear image.

A particularly loud knock jolts you awake.

You sit straight in bed, your heart hammering in your chest as you crane your neck across the room.

Your eyes couldn’t comprehend the images across you, remnants of sleep still haunting your vision. Until you notice your brightly-lit phone strewn beside your pillow.

In bright, bold letters, as if to taunt you, you squint your eyes to read.

Dr. Zayne

00:31:56

He didn’t hang up?

Knock knock knock.

Oh.

Swallowing thickly, you ignore your phone and pad your way to your apartment, head still dizzy from the sudden awakening.

And you didn’t even bother peeking through the peephole, despite the dangers that your lack of actions posed.

But as soon as you swing your door open, your jaw drops to the floor.

Zayne didn’t have a reason to stand by your doorstep, drenched from head to toe, heaving breaths like he ran a marathon in the midst of a typhoon but here he was–his eyeglasses lopsided and the usual white button down top and black trousers turn slightly sheen as it clings to his skin. Before you can open your mouth to speak, Zayne mutters, “I’m sorry.”

You shake your head disapprovingly but with no words further exchanged, you quickly usher your doctor inside your apartment, scrambling around as you hand him a fresh towel and turning the heater up.

You couldn’t even muster up words even if you tried. Your eyes remain wide and in shock as your brain refuses to piece together that your doctor is inside your apartment, drying himself off in your bathroom that probably smelled of lavender and vanilla.

As if going against your wishes, your heart picks up its pace again. Thousands of questions run through your head with your shallow breathing echoing through the expanse of the living room.

Were you still dreaming?

Yeah, this must still be a dream, you tell yourself. There’s no way Zayne would be here in your apartment at– you glance at the clock– 2:30 AM.

He still has work tomorrow, you’re sure of it. He’s never taken a day off, after all.

But why else would he be here?

Why?

Your train of thought cuts off with the way he plops beside you into the couch, eyes zoning off to the sounds of the rain playing in the background. He lounges in the old college sweatshirt an old boyfriend left ages ago in your dresser and a pair of stretched-out shorts that hung too low on his waist.

The whole scenario was theatrical, it seemed something that jumped out of the romance books that you once read in high school. Something about finally getting together with the man of your dreams after hopelessly yearning for him from afar.

But you quickly dismiss the thought as you remember the girl he was once with.

She is probably a lover of his, you surmised. There was no other way that you caught him shamelessly melting into her presence after all.

“I have to tell you something,” his words cut through the tension like a knife, “And I am afraid this could no longer wait until tomorrow.”

You purse your lips, staring idly at the way your fingers pull at the loose thread of your worn-out shirt. “Okay,” you hoarsely reply.

Zayne shifts in his seat, knees turning to your direction, compelling you to angle yourself to his way.

And you make the mistake of catching a glimpse of his eyes.

You find his pupils dilated, gloss shining over it, with his lips trembling and slightly ajar.

The same way you found him one warm day with the woman across from him.

Except, you can’t help but notice the absolute longing in his gaze as he bores his eyes to you.

“I know this may seem unnerving and unforeseen,” he begins, almost tripping over his words that make you tilt your head to the side in confusion, “But I noticed I have been exhibiting symptoms that are unfamiliar to me. Something strange that I somehow do not pick up from any of my patients.”

“Are you okay, Zayne?” You ask, physically restraining yourself from giving into the itch of resting your hands atop his.

He swallows thickly, shaking his head, “I’m afraid I’m not,” he says. And those words alone make your heart sink in your chest. You open your mouth to speak until he continues, “I am terrified that if I don’t linger myself in your presence or have your hands enclosed in mine, or even reading your messages first thing in the morning, I might lose it.”

You furrow your brows.

“I search for you in my patient records every day, hoping you would request for a check-up just for a mere visit and invitation for lunch. I think of you in every love song that plays on the radio that it feels silly to have you constantly running in my thoughts. I remember you with every bite of a sweet dessert that melts in my tongue, knowing you would enjoy it wholeheartedly more than I do.”

You press your lips in a tight line.

“I am afraid it has gotten to me fiercely that I can no longer hold my feelings back,” he declares, hands reaching out to yours and cupping it tenderly. Then, he leans close to your space, breathing shallowly, “I am in love with you.”

Your heart pauses.

“I love you.”

You blink once.

Twice.

And you don’t know it yet, but the way you dawdle in your silence has Zayne on wit’s end. He searches for your gaze, desperation clawing its way in his ribcage. He feels his stomach churn and he halts his knees from bouncing rapidly against your floor.

“...Are you sure?”

It was his turn to blink at you.

You squeeze your eyes shut, “I-I mean! I just don’t think–”

“You don’t seem to understand the magnitude of my feelings for you,” he says, cutting off whatever hesitation that tempts to fall from your tongue.

“But aren’t you already seeing someone else?” You ask, slipping away from his grasp, “I don’t want to be the cause of someone else’s pain, Zayne.”

“Seeing someone?” The words alone felt too foreign and raw for Zayne to even say out loud. “Who am I possibly seeing?”

You pause, hands turning clammy underneath his scrutinizing stare. “You were with her a couple of days ago at the cafe we used to go to,” you reply.

“...Her?”

A cold shiver runs down your spine as you hear the unforgiving tone in his voice and you only nod in reply.

“She’s simply a friend,” he says flatly, “She was talking about her upcoming wedding and she thought of inviting me.”

“Oh.” You turn your head to the side before looking back to him again, “As the groom or…?”

Zayne couldn’t resist the chuckle that escaped his lips, “As a guest.”

“Oh.”

A ghost of a smile remains plastered on his face and you rack your brain of the answers that lead you to this situation. Unfortunately, your head was anything but stable and capable of rationalizing the circumstances around you.

And for a second, Zayne’s smile falters and hesitation engulfs his chest.

Perhaps it was truly a mistake running over to your place at the crack of dawn in his wrinkled clothes just to confess the immense swell in his chest whenever he sees you.

He knew it was ridiculous from the get-go.

He knew it went against professionalism and upholding all ethics possible.

But who could blame him when all he thought about the moment he lays to rest and the second he wakes up is you?

He couldn’t blame himself for feeling that way and yet he still couldn’t escape the overpowering feeling of his heart shattering in two when Zayne notices the absolute reluctance in your eyes.

You slither your hands away from his hold and he feels his world crumble apart.

Maybe it truly was a mistake going over here because clearly, you don’t feel the same–

“I love you too.”

His entire world spins.

“I have always loved you, Zayne.”

Then, he finds himself cupping his hands over your cheeks, desperate to lock your gaze into his which seem to be fully engrossed with your coffee table.

“I loved you enough for me to deny that I do but I can’t deny it any longer. I have loved you so much that it began to physically hurt me,” you continued.

“I could say the same thing to you too,” he replied, “I yearned for you in ways that I did not know was possible nor conscious. I longed for your presence like a fool that I had to seek medical experts to figure out why I was feeling that way.”

His words elicit a giggle from you and his fingers gently tug your jaw to his direction, “I remember requesting a check-up from you because of the same reason,” you say and he only releases a hearty laugh.

You expect Zayne to respond to your words with the same dry humor that you’ve been accustomed to, or perhaps shake his head disapprovingly.

And yet, you weren’t prepared for the next thing that he says, “May I kiss you?”

You would be a fool to turn his request down.

With your heart hammering in your chest and a slight nod, Zayne inches closer to you until his breath fans against your cheeks. The corner of his mouth curled slightly upward in delight and Zayne could feel the heat rushing to his neck, his ears twinge a bright shade of red. And with a beat of certainty and after an eternity of pining for you shooting up his system, he leans in and presses his lips to yours delicately.

Your breathing catches in your throat while he molds his chapped lips against yours, eyes squeezed shut, and tongue reluctantly swiping against your bottom lip.

And with a single heavy breath, he says, “I have no idea I could feel this way. I have completely fallen for you in ways I couldn’t even imagine.”

You giggled against his mouth, slightly pulling away and Zayne had to regain his composure to not let his disappointment show in his face, “I had no idea I would also receive such a confession that seemed to jump out of a romance novel.”

He smiled, pressing his forehead against yours, “I had no choice. My body ran faster than my brain could catch up. All I knew was I needed to rush to you.”

a/n: pathetically yearns...

likes, comments, and reblogs are highly appreciated ! <3

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purplecandygerl · 1 day ago

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another movie night, this time it was a pretty random choice - a cheap movie about zombies. Nothing much was happening on the screen, the random cartoon for kids would be better. Yet it didn't stop her from wondering about how she would behave in similar settings.

"If there would be a zombie apocalypse all of sudden.. you will probably be working on a cure. I bet you could save the world with that mind of yours.. meanwhile I would be getting rid of zombies and wanderers at the same time." she smiled while looking at the screen. Then she glanced at him and poked his forehead.

"mhm.. probably." he mused while staring at her like usual, he could listen to her all the time.

"Or.. if there won't be any cure and everything would be in shambles.. then we would live together. We will survive, I could keep you safe all the time."

"we could keep each other's backs.."

She nodded amused. "And if you would misbehave.. I would force you to eat carrots. Somehow I would find them and then feed you."

"So cruel.." he murmured yet a small smile stayed on his face.

They were both silent for a moment, eyes on each other.

"Hey.. do you think you could build an ice castle with your evol..? So we could have a shelter. You know like Elsa did." she asked in all seriousness.

Zayne blinked once before a short laugh escaped his lips. He buried his face into her shoulder.

"What? I demand and answer."

"Would I need to sing something while doing so?"

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purplecandygerl · 2 days ago

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Bad Advice

in which you prank the LADS men by faking a phone call giving bad advice based on their career paths... inspired by the fact my Tik Tok feed was covered with this a few days ago. feat: Xavier, Zayne, Rafayel, Sylus, and Caleb <3

note: first drabble posted <3 just silly fluff.

You sit next to Xavier on the couch, humming as you move the phone to your ear. He's half asleep, laying against the couch cushions next to you.

"Hello?"

Xavier's eyes drift to you as you pause.

"Oh? There's a wanderer about?" You murmur. "Well… Unless its actually attacking people the Hunters Association doesn't care, so just walk the other way."

"…?"

"Yeah its fine if it looks like an A level threat. You don't need to report it either, just walk the other way it wont hurt you-- Xavier?" You look over as he stands up, before he disappears. "...Huh?" Blinking, you put your phone down.

Moments later, he's back, walking towards you with a tilted head. "…I went to check. There wasn't any wanderers nearby. Is… this a prank?"

"Xavier I am literally a hunter why would I casually say that wanderers aren't a threat and not to report them--"

Sure, Zayne was used to your antics, but it's been a few days. You were in his office, waiting for him while scrolling social media. You kept on seeing it on your feed, so you just had to do it.

Its about halfway through his lunchbreak when he starts catching up on work files-- and when you put your phone to your ear.

"Hello?"

Zayne doesn't look at you.

"Yeah, I'm with Zayne right now, whats up?"

Feeling him glance at you, you give him a smile before focusing on the call, smile dropping as you continue. "Oh... Is... How badly is your chest hurting? When did it start? Randomly? oh.."

"Mc?"

"Oh, yeah, well, if your chest pains just started randomly they should go away soon. No-- no you don't need to go to the hospital. They wont see you unless you have an actual issue--"

"Mc who are you talking to?" Zayne is standing up now. Even with his usual blank expression you can see that he's worried. "And what are you saying? If anyone feels unusual pain in their chest it could be sign of a heart attack. They should come to the ER instantly. Give me the phone I can help with this--"

Lounging on the couch, you watch Rafayel as he paints his latest piece. His attention glued to each brush stroke. Normally you don't mind but well... Boredom has sank in. So, you move your phone to your ear.

"Hey Thomas. Oh? You need advice for the next exhibition? hm... let me think..." You trail off. Rafayel is still focused, so you raise your volume a bit.

"Yeah, I think Rafayel would like the exhibition even more if you invite people who only care about art for profit and not how the piece looks at a deeper level-- in fact if anyone likes analyzing art you shouldn't invite them and-- Rafayel!!"

He's in front of you. You didn't even know he could move this quick. "Are you mad at me cutie? Do you want to torture me?" He pouts, plopping down on the couch. "Conspiring against your darling boyfriend like that?" He huffs, crossing his arms.

"Rafayel I was joking~ no ones even on the other end of the phone."

"Really? Well you still seem to be smiling ear to ear. You're not too convincing."

"Rafayel..." you sigh. "I was just bored, go back to painting. Your Exhibition is in a week and--"

"Hm... Nah. It can wait. I have to entertain you before you get any more wicked ideas."

It was a quiet day today. Reletively. Sylus was sitting in his chair, listening to a record, as you lounged next to him, enjoying the gentle melody. But... Boredom started to sink in, so...

Your phone moves to your ear.

"Hello? Oh, you want to know about the N.109 zone?" you murmur, glancing over at Sylus. He tilts his head, eyes meeting yours as you look away and hum.

"Yeah, you can just walk in. There's nothing bad here-- I mean, they don't follow the laws but... Yeah, You'll be safe. In fact you should walk in and try to draw as much attention as you can, especially if you're in an auction-"

You hear Sylus chuckle. Glancing at him, he shakes his head. "Kitten, your phone didn't even ring is this what you're doing for amusement now days? or do you just want someone gone?" He murmurs. "Because if you were this bored, I could think of something for us to do. And if you want someone gone I can help with that too..." His hand sets your phone down, tugging you a bit closer.

Caleb was cooking dinner as you pressed the phone to your ear. You knew he was serious about his planes, and you've been seeing so many videos doing this, you just had to.

"Hello?" You say, loud enough for him to hear.

You feel his eyes flicker to you mere seconds after you speak.

"Hey, how you doing man? Am I with Caleb right now? Yeah, yeah I am. Oh you think your plane has a faulty engine?"

Crossing his arms, he shakes his head, moving towards you. "Now who're you talking to, hm?"

"Nahhh, just fly anyways. Its fine. Caleb flies all the time without doing an engine check---" "Pipsqueak why are you talking to other pilots? You hate this guy or something? Because they NEED to do an engine check or else they risk crashing. Pipsqueak--"

He's quick to use his evol, snatching the phone out of your hand and into his, before he stares at the blank screen. No call to be had.

He sighs, shakes his head. "...very funny."

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purplecandygerl · 2 days ago

Text

Bad Advice

note: first drabble posted <3 just silly fluff.

You sit next to Xavier on the couch, humming as you move the phone to your ear. He's half asleep, laying against the couch cushions next to you.

"Hello?"

Xavier's eyes drift to you as you pause.

"Oh? There's a wanderer about?" You murmur. "Well… Unless its actually attacking people the Hunters Association doesn't care, so just walk the other way."

"…?"

Moments later, he's back, walking towards you with a tilted head. "…I went to check. There wasn't any wanderers nearby. Is… this a prank?"

"Xavier I am literally a hunter why would I casually say that wanderers aren't a threat and not to report them--"

Sure, Zayne was used to your antics, but it's been a few days. You were in his office, waiting for him while scrolling social media. You kept on seeing it on your feed, so you just had to do it.

Its about halfway through his lunchbreak when he starts catching up on work files-- and when you put your phone to your ear.

"Hello?"

Zayne doesn't look at you.

"Yeah, I'm with Zayne right now, whats up?"

Feeling him glance at you, you give him a smile before focusing on the call, smile dropping as you continue. "Oh... Is... How badly is your chest hurting? When did it start? Randomly? oh.."

"Mc?"

"Oh, yeah, well, if your chest pains just started randomly they should go away soon. No-- no you don't need to go to the hospital. They wont see you unless you have an actual issue--"

"Hey Thomas. Oh? You need advice for the next exhibition? hm... let me think..." You trail off. Rafayel is still focused, so you raise your volume a bit.

"Rafayel I was joking~ no ones even on the other end of the phone."

"Really? Well you still seem to be smiling ear to ear. You're not too convincing."

"Rafayel..." you sigh. "I was just bored, go back to painting. Your Exhibition is in a week and--"

"Hm... Nah. It can wait. I have to entertain you before you get any more wicked ideas."

It was a quiet day today. Reletively. Sylus was sitting in his chair, listening to a record, as you lounged next to him, enjoying the gentle melody. But... Boredom started to sink in, so...

Your phone moves to your ear.

"Hello? Oh, you want to know about the N.109 zone?" you murmur, glancing over at Sylus. He tilts his head, eyes meeting yours as you look away and hum.

Caleb was cooking dinner as you pressed the phone to your ear. You knew he was serious about his planes, and you've been seeing so many videos doing this, you just had to.

"Hello?" You say, loud enough for him to hear.

You feel his eyes flicker to you mere seconds after you speak.

"Hey, how you doing man? Am I with Caleb right now? Yeah, yeah I am. Oh you think your plane has a faulty engine?"

Crossing his arms, he shakes his head, moving towards you. "Now who're you talking to, hm?"

He's quick to use his evol, snatching the phone out of your hand and into his, before he stares at the blank screen. No call to be had.

He sighs, shakes his head. "...very funny."

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purplecandygerl · 2 days ago

Text

the lads boys as kittens. 🌹 ‧₊˚ sylus

summary: You were living in your new apartment now, a free space for yourself, but maybe it was too free. You weren't quite used to the silence and loneliness of it, so you decided to welcome a little one to your home. After considering many options, a cat seemed adequate: clean, independent, wouldn't take much of your time like a dog… right?

characters: kitty!sylus (other characters will be posted separately), mc as reader.

a/n: cat breeds are selected based on the "Yes, Cat Caretaker" event. If there's any change, it'll be based on the appearance of each breed, but not its personality traits strictly. proofread but if there's any mistake please let me know! (eng isn't my first language). This one is gonna be long btw.

xavier 🢒 rafayel 🢒 zayne 🢒 caleb

Sylus — Caracal How did he get to live with you?

During the winter season, Captain Jenna assigned your division the mission of traveling to the periphery of the savanna, a crucial task for a recruit like you since it had the dual function of personal training and training for the hunters in the area, who had limited personnel and experience compared to the grand cities.

The camp, to everyone's luck, was well-equipped and the missions were not as exhausting; plus, the weather was pleasant enough to work in. However, one night, the onslaught of the Wanderers was greater, and communities nearby, in their attempt to defend themselves, caused a fire that spread rapidly, exacerbating the crisis.

The next morning, once the flames had been controlled and the locals were taken care of, you began patrolling the area with your colleagues to ensure there was no one else injured, continuing through much of the burned terrain. That was the moment when you found him.

He was just a cub, weak and on the verge of starvation. Even so, he showed resistance by hissing and pulling out his sharp claws when he considered you a threat. If it had not been for his critical condition you would have left him alone, simply taking him to a safer zone deep in the Savannah. Still, the obvious wound in his right eye prevented you from ignoring him.

With a few scratches and bites (which, yes, they HURT) you managed to take him to the nearest animal protection center. Some questions were asked while they started the examination of the rebellious cub who wouldn't let anyone come close that easily. Information about the place you found him and if it existed any signal of its mother in the nearby area was significant. The wildlife veterinarian concluded that it could be the case of an orphan, the hints being the location he was rescued from, which happened to be near the hunter's campsite, areas that caracals avoided due to the abundance of people around.

Thinking about it, the past few days you had been suspicious of some strange sounds as you trained or passed the time with your friends. Some unexpected rustling or scratching. And that time when a piece of meat disappeared from your plate… Could this little guy be the culprit? The idea made you chuckle, and you got a little closer with the permission of the vets, perhaps he was a little more familiar with your voice.

"Little man, we're just trying to help you. Everything will be fine, come on", you coaxed him out of his hiding spot behind the cabinets. It took you a whole ten minutes to catch him in your hands, wrapping a warm towel around him with a gentle tone and slow movements. He squirmed, hissed, and tried to bite again, but there was no opportunity now, he was in the hands of professionals again.

Maybe that was how your bond started.

After being admitted to the clinic, his condition gradually improved. Your visits were nothing new to the staff, because something inside you felt peace at seeing him in better shape each day, watching him sleep peacefully, and eat voraciously. The poor guy had surely spent a good while starving. Little by little, between frequent visits and growing confidence, the little one warmed up enough to play with you. He would run in the gardens and jump to catch the dangling cat wand that you used to carry around.

On a certain evening, during one of your visits, the head veterinarian approached you with a warm smile, his clipboard tucked under one arm and a practiced casualness in his step. "I was checking on his analysis from this morning, he looks a lot better than when you first brought him in, don't you think?," he said, leaning against the tree that protected you from the sun as you watched Sylus run around. "Is that so? He looks bigger now too, and it's been only a few weeks."

"Caracals grow quickly. And with a gentle person taking care of them, even more," he said, taking a step closer. You only smiled, looking back at Sylus who was flicking his ears. "I was thinking… You mentioned it was your day off, right? Maybe we- Ack!" The guy yelped in surprise as a blur of tawny fur shot from the shadows. He wasn't using his claws, but was firmly gripping his ankle, his good eye narrowing as his little tail flickered.

You laughed, managing to take him in your arms with care. "Sylus! You can't just do that, you scared him."

"Sylus?"

"Ah. The locals mentioned something the other day. I couldn't catch the pronunciation right, tho. But it meant something about greatness and… I thought it fitted him." The feline in your arms chirped and you returned to the main point of the conversation. "Excuse me, you were telling me something earlier?"

He cleared his throat, fixing his appearance a bit. "Ah yes. I… I was going to suggest transferring him to Linkon. They’ve got better equipment at the Wildlife Linkon Reserve, and I know the team there. They probably won't take him in immediately but… he's still young, you could take him with you, right?"

…Why did you always end up in these situations?

Four-legged threat. You became accustomed to the sound of things breaking and falling after adopting Rafayel. It wasn't always intentional, he just tended to be messy. But Sylus… he deliberately locked eyes with you, he CRAVED for you to witness his crimes, to watch how his paw slowly pushed over the edge of the counter your coffee mug, the way his sharp claws threatened to scratch and tear apart the bathroom mat (again) and how his teeth was just a breath away from munching on your chicken thigh. He didn't just love chaos, he was the chaos.

Hyperactivity is afraid of him. He jumps, and remember, caracals can jump over three meters (10 feet) with no impulse. So, leaving the balcony open was completely ruled out; the passing birds deserved a longer life far away from Sylus' claws (yes, it had happened before, and the bird had survived… barely). He likes to run, and caracals are also unbelievably fast, so he does these marathons from the kitchen to your bed, to your bed to the sofa and then you have to see the table he knocked over and the covers of your bed on the floor. You feel like taking him to the wild and making him run a whole day wouldn't be enough to tire him out.

He's BIG. You thought Zayne was big, I mean, Maine Coons were large cats… but now you can't help but feel that Zayne looks tiny by his side. He takes almost half of the couch, your bed, your whole damn desk when he climbs on it, the cages you use for the rest are comically small for him, and carrying him is a chore that tortures your back health. If Zayne could talk he would complain with you about how he's a victim of his fat ass 💔 (Sylus has picked out the habit of crushing cuddling Zayne with his enormous body. Zayne barely stands him, Sylus probably thinks he's hilarious). He takes the best spots on the bed, by the way, and Xavier is not having it.

Chonk. The change of being in the wild and living in a small apartment with another 3 cats led him to move less. And his diet couldn't change, so, over time, he became a bit chonky. You couldn't deny he looked adorable with a little pooch belly (which he sometimes allowed you to scratch and pet), but you also knew that wasn't healthy. Taking him for walks outside was nearly impossible, that'd be irresponsible and people could get scared, but you had the solution: a new exercise wheel! It was huge, and he ran so fast you were almost scared he'd accidentally centrifuge himself… Don't worry, he was back in shape in no time.

Food thief alert. Rafayel and he are very much alike in this topic with one difference: Rafayel steals your food and Sylus steals his. No, he shouldn't be eating regular cat food, yes he eats it just to be petty, and yeah, he acts smug about it. Probably just messes with Rafayel 'cause his reactions are madly funny, but something inside him tells him he should avoid Xavier's plate…

Scary dog cat privileges. No one will ever break into your apartment, trust me. And if you're dealing with some creepy neighbor at the door, he will calmly walk over and sit beside your standing form, yawn, and not even hiss. Seeing those fangs as he yawned was enough to get you out of your uncomfortable situation, isn't he such a good boy? If you're too scared to take out the trash at night he'll also accompany you to make you feel safe. He has never attacked anyone, but wouldn't hesitate to do it if you were in danger.

Actual cutie :( Deep down Sylus is just a really silly and sappy guy !! Please don't get intimidated by his looks, he'll literally cuddle with you on the sofa, letting you pet him for hours if you wish and he PURRS. LIKE. AN ENGINE. He likes to rub himself against you so you smell like him and he smells like you, likes kisses, nose boops, chin scratches, and if you're lucky you can touch his ears. If he doesn't let you, it ain't personal: caracals have sensitive ears (a lot of muscles there!), so too much touch can overwhelm him. You can always admire his little ear flicks when he's focused either way!

His favorite place to make biscuits is your belly. The softest dough he'll ever knead, and if you have a bigger belly? Please, you'll make him feel like he won the lottery. He rarely shows this kind of affection and, even if it hurts a little because of his natural strength, you're not interfering in the process. He'll purr as he kneads and lick your hand if you reach out to pet him.

Another mighty thunderclap tore through the skies, momentarily deafening the sound of the drops hitting the terrace floor and the shaky windows. It was the third day of this great storm, this one being so strong that going to work was out of the question, so you stayed home. Having four cats was not exactly synonymous with boredom, though. Xavier missed bathing in the sun, Rafayel wanted to play in the rain, and Zayne... well, he actually just wanted to nap.

The most restless of them all seemed to be Sylus, pacing around the apartment with an annoyed look, as if tired of waiting for something thrilling to happen. The first thunder he heard got him excited, making him perk his ears in alert, and jump onto the window seat with wide eyes. He tapped the window when the first drops of water hit the crystal, reminding you of the times you did “drop races” as a child, anxious to see if your selected drop of rain would reach its “goal” before your friend’s one did.

But now, after three days of non-stop raining, it no longer caught his attention. Until now, apparently. A gentle growl and a nudge on your shoulder made you turn to look at him. “You want to get in?” You asked, lifting the blanket you had been using to cover yourself as you sat on the floor in front of the balcony doors, admiring the storm. “Come on, let’s see the rain together.”

With a warm smile, you welcomed him to cuddle with you, him taking a seat by your side and closing his eyes as you scratched the space between his ears. The comfortable silence of your home, combined with the chilly weather, brought you closer to him. You welcomed the storm with quiet gratitude. And, with all your being, you hoped it would last just a few more days.

It was the only way to postpone it, at least for a little while.

ᯓ★ A few days before

You were at work, mindlessly sipping coffee as you reviewed some documents on your laptop for your next mission, when the notification sound of an email brought your attention back. But after clicking on it, your hands didn’t move, you didn’t even blink, and the room suddenly felt too cold.

Subject: Wildlife Release Authorization. From: Linkon’s Wildlife Rehabilitation Center. Considering the successful follow-up of the rehabilitation treatment, and the notoriously improved clinical results and professional evaluation, candidate 943 “Sylus” (Caracal caracal) has been considered suitable for reintegration into the wild. We kindly request that you confirm receipt of this email, as the candidate's presentation is scheduled for the next five working days.

Just after reading the body, you closed the tab and let the email bury under the endless pile of new ones. You knew this would happen someday. But you’d think about it later, after work, maybe, or tomorrow. Just… not today.

You returned home late, dragging your feet, but not exactly in exhaustion, at least not a physical one. You followed your nightly routine, spending some time with your precious kitties before going to bed, and you found him there, curled up over the soft covers with his usually sharp features completely relaxed. Trying not to wake him up, you got closer and booped his nose, giggling at his little ear flicks and his paws moving, as if trying to find you. “Sleep well,” you mumbled and lay down beside him, your hand caressing the smooth fur of his back.

You weren’t ready to say goodbye.

“Now… go!”

The next day, you stayed home. Full of energy and with a ton of free time, you built an obstacle course for Sylus. This was a common exercise for him as part of his treatment and training for his injured vision. It helped him build a stronger spatial awareness, kept him active, and improved his visual coordination. “Good! Good, great!” You cheered with enthusiasm as he finished the entire course without bumping into anything, eating with delight the treat that awaited him at the end of it. “You’ve gotten so much better, Sy. You looked awesome—”

But your enthusiasm vanished with the memory of that email you tried so hard to ignore. Maybe, deep down, you wanted to prove that Sylus still needed some time, for his own safety! He could still use a week or two, or maybe three, or… or you could simply accept that you knew from the start this was bound to happen, and sooner or later he’d need to return to his natural habitat, and you shouldn’t have bound with him as you did.

A grumble got you out of your thoughts.

“Oh my god. Yes, yes. I’ll give you another treat.” You looked down at him, rolling your eyes at how he pulled the fabric of your pants. “Jeez, you’re so greedy.”

You still had four more days, yet parting as soon as possible might be the best thing for everyone. After thinking about it too much, tossing and turning as if feigning dementia gave you hives, you decided to start packing. His medical reports, leftover medication, his documentation, and some things that, once returned to the wild, he would never use again, such as the toys he pretended not to want so much, but ended up using perhaps to amuse you. You weren’t sure if he was aware of what would happen soon, yet he seemed restless, flicking his tail constantly and looking through the windows almost in annoyance.

The day you decided you’d take him to the center was when the storm started. The perfect excuse. But as mentioned before, it wouldn’t last forever.

Your eyes then opened as something heavy lay on top of your back, pressing you against the mattress more than you’d like. “Ugh…” You squirm, only to see a big paw right on your cheek and a warm, steady breath tickling your neck. “Sylus…” You complain, trying to move him, but it only seemed to make him cling more to you.

“Caracals are solitary creatures”, they said. “They prefer to be alone and aren’t as loving as other felines”, they lied to your face. Sylus was the dictionary description of clingy and needy. He picked up this habit when he was a cub. And I repeat, he was a cub; he barely weighed more than two kilos after growing up. But now? He was easily ten times that weight. However, this time, you allowed him to stay like that. The alarm would go off in an hour, you could endure it.

But what you could not endure was what happened in the next few hours; you never imagined it, but the image of Sylus, the once-wounded little caracal you rescued and cared for for months, fussing and hissing inside a cage while the vets took him away, broke your heart.

“It’s for the best, he will re-adapt to his habitat, please do not worry,” someone said to you, but you didn’t see who. You just stared at the vast valley that would serve as Sylus’s temporary home until they reintegrated him into the savanna. The lump in your throat signaled it was time to go home; you didn’t want to cry in front of everyone. So you went back the way you came, took a couple of steps, and suddenly you heard the rattling of the metal grating that divided the protected area from the outside. Curious, you turned around one last time, and what a surprise when you saw that tawny fur jump over it, high as never before, getting out of the valley.

“Sylu– Ah!” He landed on top of you, making you fall hard, and you thanked the floor, which was all slippery mud, for preventing you from getting a contusion. The caracal licked your face after pouncing on you, like a little treat for letting him catch you, and suddenly, the tears slid down your cheeks. You hugged him tightly, giving kisses to the top of his head, earning a little grumble from him that made you laugh.

Perhaps your bond had grown too deep for a clean goodbye, and parting was a language either of you had ever spoken.

Likes, reblogs are comments are greatly appreciated!

Guys. I tried, I really did my best. I'm gonna admit that I don't love the final result, I feel that it was getting too long but this is the idea I wanted for Sylus. Yes, I could've forgotten the part of caracals being wild animals and just make him domestic, but I simply couldn't, lol. Sylus is probably ooc but pls he's just a caracal 💔. Regardless, I really hope y'all like it, I worked on this for days and did my best I SWEAR.

Thank you so much for your support on the series, the next one will be Caleb as the final part!

tag list ! @animegamerfox, @princessofenkanomiya, @aethercoreria, @thatweirdomidas

Dividers made by: @uzmacchiato, @v6que and @haecunt

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purplecandygerl · 2 days ago

Text

the lads boys as kittens. 🪐 ‧₊˚ xavier

characters: kitty!xavier (other characters will be posted separately), mc as reader.

rafayel 🢒 zayne 🢒 sylus 🢒 caleb

Xavier — Ragdoll How did he get to live with you?

You adopted him. He was going to be your first cat, so you wanted to make sure you were choosing the right one, and receiving recommendations from an adoption center was the best idea. You went there and heard of a slightly older cat who hadn't been adopted yet. A single look was enough to know he was the one. His bright blue eyes stared at you, and his paws tried to reach you as you got closer. A little nervous of scaring him, you gently allowed him to sniff your finger, and he then rubbed against your hand. It is not necessary to say you decided you'd give your life for him.

On the way home, the little kitty curled into a puffy ball of fur, sleeping peacefully after feeling safe in your warm arms ♡

Little did you know what this little thing really was !!

This kitty EATS. A LOT. You can easily win his heart with treats. He can smell them even before you open any can or package, but will wait like the good boy he is, with both front paws stomping cutely on the floor. However, you had to cut back on them because your wallet was starting to suffer the consequences of a gluttonous kitten. Poor thing got upset for a while, but the food was still yummy, so he adapted (he's not that much of a picky eater…)

Eepy baby. He's a sweetheart and always, I repeat, always cuddles to take naps with you. The kind of cat who climbs onto the bed the moment you flop down on it and makes his way between your arms to be cuddled and sleep. Purrs quietly and very softly, and will rub against your hands as he does. Rarely meows, but does it when he's being needy. Has fallen asleep while eating or drinking his warm milk more than once, his little chin all dirty, so you have to clean him (he doesn't like it!).

He follows you everywhere. Whatever you're doing, if you're walking around the house, he'll follow you like a loyal knight. His fluffy tail moves gently against your legs when you're standing, washing the dishes, brushing your teeth, or cooking. Sometimes he expects you to see him (you do) to pick him up (you always do). He's a needy boy! Needs lots and lots of your attention!

Talking about attention, he climbs onto your body when he feels neglected. You were happily cooking, humming the songs on your playlist, chopping vegetables for the new dish you wanted to try- and then oop! The weight of a fluffy hairball snags on the fabric of your hoodie back without warning. "Xavi! Don't move- Don't move!" you urgently exclaimed as you slowly moved back from the hot stove. Can you blame him? He just wanted to spend time with you :(

Great hunter in every shape! A cockroach? He's already smacking it with his paws. A fly? He already jumped to catch it. Mosquitos? He saw them even before you did. If by any chance there's a mouse or rat inside, be sure he's getting rid of it! And he's so fast! (Give him a treat afterwards, he deserves it.)

Grumpy if you wake him up. He hates the vacuum cleaner with his life, and hates it even more if you decide to use it when he's just fallen asleep. When you switched to an automatic one, he smacked it with his angry paws each time it bumped onto him. Doesn't hiss at you, he's too docile for that, but will meow very loudly until you comfort him back to sleep (and give him treats-).

His favorite place to make biscuits is your chest while you're lying down. If you're watching some TV, reading a book, scrolling down your phone, or simply flopped down on the sofa or your bed, he climbs on top of you and makes his way to your chest and starts kneading very gently. He never uses his claws on you, so you allow him to do it, it's his way of bonding with you and relieving some stress after all <3.

Sulkynator 2000. Baby boy gets UPSET to astronomical levels when you even mention other cats. Do NOT play with his little heart like this! :( Why are you watching cat videos if he's right there? He can do tricks too! Or why are you petting the neighbor's dog? He's dirty and too loud! Xavi is clean, he doesn't leave mud on your carpet, and doesn't bark in the middle of the night for no good reason! :(( You'll have to face a moody Xavier for a good time until you soothe his poor feelings.

It was a quiet Sunday morning. The weather outside was hot, and that woke you up, along with the blinding sun that entered the room from the window in front of the bed. You stirred, kicking the blankets away when a gentle paw touched your cheek.

"Morning, Xavi!" You baby-talked to your little prince cat, who had just woken up by your sudden movements, stirring with you and slowly opening his little blue eyes, struggling to keep them open for too long. "Oh no, what are we gonna do? My prince is too eepy to start the day!" You giggled, taking him in your arms and cuddling him once more, kissing his little face. He didn't even need to convince you to sleep five more minutes, his mere sleepy presence was enough for you to feel lazy again and go back to the bed.

But today was too hot to stay in, and you wanted to change out of your pajamas as soon as possible. With another kiss, you sweet-talked your lazy cat to wake up and have breakfast, but he just purred in response and kept his eyes closed. Accepting the impossible, you just got up, feeling his small claw clinging to your shirt; you couldn't sleep with him anymore, but you couldn't ignore his adorable attempt of keeping you close, so you cradled him like a baby, holding him in your arms and even rocking him a little.

If Xavier could blush, he would definitely do so at that right moment. He was a big cat already! But… your arms were so warm and he was so comfy… That's how you ended up carrying him to the bathroom, brushing your teeth with one hand and holding him with the other, then you made him lie against your shoulder, taking your hair products out.

"Mwraa," he protested when you set him down on the floor outside the bathroom. "I need to take a shower. Wait outside, breakfast will be ready in a minute." It wasn't really breakfast that his meowjesty was requesting, but his comfortable sleeping spot: you! But now he couldn't bring himself to be sleepy again, so he wandered around the apartment lazily, finding a good place in front of the balcony door to sunbathe.

When you came out of the bathroom with your hair still dripping wet, the first thing you saw was that adorable bundle of fur lying on his back with his little paws stretched faaar as he just finished doing the most exhausting job in the world. And maybe he did, carrying all that beauty had to be exhausting!

"My, look what I found!" You crouched down to him with a big smile, tickling his tummy, which he quickly defended by trapping your hand. "Is Xavi the prince enjoying the warm weather? Hm?" He got up in a swift move and rubbed against your legs, his long, fluffy tail almost tickling your nose. You picked him up, peppering his face with kisses before putting him down again. "Let's get breakfast, come on."

He happily followed behind you, passing through your legs when you leaned down to pick his empty bowl from the floor. The good thing with Xavier was that no food went to waste… which was also bad because it meant that tummy seemed to never fill. He meowed only once as he saw you open the wet food package.

"Almost done, Xavi. Wait a second," and he did, his little paw ritual bringing a smile to your face. When you put the plate down, he hurriedly took the first bite. "Enjoy, baby. Ah- I forgot to take out the trash." The hurried sense flooded through your veins as you saw the hour. "Wait for me, I'm back in a minute!" Your hands were quicker to pick up the smelly garbage bag and run out of the complex to dispose of it before the truck came by.

You did it just in time, sighing in relief as you walked back, until you saw an adorable stray kitten playing with a plastic bottle cap between his paws. "Look at you, aren't you having fun?" At the sound of your voice the kitten stopped playing but didn't run away, an act you took as an open invitation to get closer. You fawned over the stray, your voice melting into playful coos as you playfully ruffled its fur.

It wasn't until a loud noise from the street scared the small cat you realized you'd been playing with it for a long time. With a content sigh you dusted your hands off and walked back to the complex. Inside your home, Xavier had already finished his food, waiting patiently around the entry for you to come back, blue eyes locked on the door as if he was afraid to miss your arrival. When he heard the soft click of it, he meowed as a greeting, until… What was that?

"Ah Xavi. I'm back, did you finish your food-?" You hadn't finished your question when his fluffy body jumped right at your arms with an angry growl. It surprised you, honestly, he was always so calm and loving that this behavior only occurred when… Oh.

"Is someone jealous over here? You don't like that I- Ow! Hey!" He didn't scratch you, but he definitely was about to chomp that teasing finger you were wiggling in front of his very upset self. He meowed in protest, trying with all his might to rub himself against you once again! How could you do this? He works so hard keeping his scent on you, and now you come back after a fifteen-minute leave, invading his sensitive nostrils with another's cat scent? Oh no, he wasn't having it.

But you couldn't contain your laughter. He wasn't even scary and wasn't hurting you because he trusted you too much to do that, but he was madly funny when he got like that. "I see, I see. I made Xavier upset. I apologize, baby," you said, cradling him in your arms as you sat on the couch. "How can I get your forgiveness, hm?" Xavier acted like he hadn't heard you, wiggling his tail still in his petty mood, squirming gently in your arms as if trying to get away. "Ah ah ah. Don't you want me to be only yours, your majesty? Gotta stay here for that, then. What about I give you a small catnip treat I got you yesterday?"

His entire expression shifted. Oh well. You were right, of course you were, mm-hmm. He couldn't be mad at you all day either, could he? And now he moved closer to you, licking gently your cheek, bringing a smile to your face. "Now who's a good boy, huh? Of course you are, you'll always be."

Xavier held no grudges against you, he never did. After all, who else on this planet would love him as you did, after facing loneliness for so long? He was your good boy, and he'd be always there for you.

Likes, reblogs are comments are greatly appreciated!

I did it! I can believe the amount of time it took me to finish this, but it's been ages since I last wrote any kind of fanfiction or content for fandoms so I'm a bit nervous. I hope you like it, and if it's the case I'm so happy for that! I'm already working on Rafayel's version so don't miss it <3

Dividers made by: @uzmacchiato and @v6que

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purplecandygerl · 2 days ago

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the lads boys as kittens. 🍐 ‧₊˚ zayne

summary: You were living in your new apartment now, a free space for yourself, but maybe it was too free. You weren't quite used to the silence and loneliness of it, so you decided to welcome a little one to your home. After considering many options, a cat seemed the most adequate: clean, independent, wouldn't take much of your time as a dog... right?

characters: kitty!zayne + mc as reader (other characters will be posted separately

xavier 🢒 rafayel 🢒 sylus 🢒 caleb

Zayne — Maine Coon How did he get to live with you?

A precious cat café that you frequented was your favorite, it had a cozy atmosphere and the kitties were adorable. Most of them were young and lively, playing between the tables and napping on the window frames. You loved that place, but one day you received the unfortunate notice: they were going to close permanently soon.

The nostalgia of memories formed in that special place drove you to visit again before it shut down forever. There was no longer service, and just a couple of employees were cleaning up the place. They apologized and explained that maintaining the establishment was becoming impossible since the rent had become pricier and the cats needed more medical treatments. Upset, you were about to leave just when the owner stopped you at the door.

In his fragile arms he carried a pitch-black beauty, bigger than a regular cat. You recognized him as the cat you always found at the reception desk every day you visited, staring at the door in an upright sitting position or taking a nap from time to time.

The owner explained that it was his cat. He tried many times to introduce him to the rest of the cats in the café, but he never got along much, mostly because his big body intimidated the smaller ones, and apparently, he wasn't as playful. Because of this, he made it stay with him at the reception to keep him company, rarely getting any caress besides yours, who always showed him affection.

The gentleman explained the complicated state of his health. His business had become a chore for him, it made him stay away from home for long hours, and he couldn't bring himself to leave his precious cat alone that much. Since his goal was to provide the kittens with a better life, he got them new owners who were happy to adopt them before closing the shop. But for his boy… he needed the perfect caregiver. That's when you learned his name: Zayne.

"Even now that I'll be more at home, he deserves an owner who can take care of him as he deserves. My mobility is getting more limited with each passing day, and I'm worried he's starting to take care of me instead of me taking care of him… My wife and I adopted him some years ago, but I'm not selfish enough to make him stay with me now that she's gone… I know he will be happier living with you."

And that's how it happened. After a couple of days of proper procedures, your new angelic boy was home.

Gracious presence. Zayne has the unique talent of making looking through the windows a solemn sight, with his silky, daintily groomed black fur glistening in the late afternoon sunlight. His tall, long body stretches gracefully when he wakes up from his small naps, purring tenderly when you scratch his chin (he loves it). His existence is so full of grace that your gallery is now loaded with his photos.

Shy boy! During the first days of living together, it was hilarious to see such a big cat jumping in surprise each time Rafayel got closer to sniff him when he was napping, accidentally waking him up. But his reclusive demeanor was as endearing as it was concerning, you didn't want to cause him any discomfort or anxiety, so you did your research and got a few toys and treats ready, compromised to spend the day bonding with your cats. Rafayel was enthusiastic, Xavier liked being rewarded for his hard work, and Zayne... well, he played with the plush mouse toy along with Xavier! It was something, wasn't it? The next day when you returned home after work and saw them napping together, you knew it had been all worth it.

Quiet. Continuing with the previous trait, he's an even quieter cat than Xavier! Doesn't really let out meows and just occasionally chirps when he's hungry or expresses discomfort. He doesn't make any noise at night… someone could learn a thing or two from him.

Glutton in disguise. Zayne is a well-mannered cat, he is clean, polite, and mostly never causes trouble, but when food is involved… sigh. His usual wet food is fine, perfect even: nutritional, tasty, and prepared with love when you add the supplements recommended by the vet. There's nothing wrong until treats are involved. He likes them too much and will get pretty moody if he doesn't get at least one per day. The vet strictly restricted him from eating them so frequently after his last check-up. He doesn't like to talk about it.

His favorite place to make biscuits is your thighs. Soft, squishy even, he doesn't hurt you with his weight and you always reach out your hand to pet him as he commits to his duty. It occurs as you're lying down: he'll announce himself with a short meow and jump on top of your legs gently. After he's done, he lies on your lap quietly (nap time!)

Nuzzles, nuzzles, nuzzles. Against your legs, your hands, your face, anywhere you allow him to, really. Doesn't do it frequently, just when you've been gone for too long or when he's showing affection. Oh, he also likes to stretch his body up on you, so you must carry him and let him nuzzle against your neck when he's needy.

Grooming grump. No, don't get me wrong, I said it before: he's always neatly groomed. Not "most of the time", no. Always. He spends a good amount of time getting his fur clean and shiny, not even Rafayel is as meticulous as him, but... the grooming brush? Get that away from him. You have to prowl around while he basks, acting as if you're not looking for him, then reach down to pet him a couple of times, gaining his trust... and now! You take the brush from your pocket and start from his exposed belly. He'll surrender the first 5 minutes, gently smacking your hand when he's done with the sensation. And let me tell you he's still very polite about it.

No touch. Strangers can't touch him, he'll run off. You can, but that doesn't mean all the time. His ears are particularly sensitive so he'll move away if you scratch him for too long, and how open he feels that day to allow you to shower him in caresses or not relies on his mood. You've learned to respect his boundaries, giving him space when he needs it, and he knows for sure your arms are all open to receive him when he wants to be pampered.

It felt, at times, like the world was a heavy storm cloud perched on your shoulders—loud, weighty, and unwilling to lift. "Bright days and cloudy days" you merely called it, but deep inside, the truth was that exhaustion made you feel like you were running in circles.

“Hey, it's fine. We're all bummed about it, but it's already done. Take this. It'll help you sleep at night”, the forever-sweet Tara told you after seeing the guilt in your eyes, still heavy from today’s mission... including that disastrous report you submitted, which didn’t exactly win points with your boss. She handed over a small packet of herbal tea—the kind that promised to calm your nerves. Her usual remedy when things felt off.

With a sigh, you put it away in your bag and left the Hunters Association building. Your bike was under repair again since it had been damaged during your previous mission, so you had to take the bus—and yes, what your eyes saw was the bus, the only one that came every hour, pulling away as you arrived at the bus stop seven minutes late.

On the outside, you only sighed heavily and rubbed your temples. But inside, you felt like you were reaching your last straw for the day.

The door locked itself after you, matching your hundredth sigh of the day. Kicking your shoes off and not caring about picking them up to store them was the first sign. Dragging your feet in dim light and just pouring food on each of the bowls was the second one. Ignoring the mess of toys Rafayel created during the day, and Xavier asleep on your clean laundry was the third.

Finally, heading to your bedroom without taking a shower first was the fourth and last one he needed before jumping off the wall hammock and walking towards the dark room. The soft click of the door handle turning startled you. “Zayne?"

You were sitting on the bed, breaking your rule of no outside clothes on the freshly cleaned covers, but frankly, you were too tired to even bother. Your body was facing the open window, small tears blurring your eyes as you stared at the starry sky outside, counting the tiny sparkling dots to avoid any form of thought about your awful, lousy day coming to your head.

Evidence destroyed, a fugitive, and a terrible feeling of resentment toward yourself for failing.

It felt unfair to disturb the peace of your cats with the gloomy mood you were in, and it was late anyway, so you allowed them to sleep and rest at ease, dealing with your turbulent emotions alone. But tricking Zayne into believing everything was fine turned out to be a fruitless mission.

He walked around the bed, his shiny, peridot-like eyes staring back at you. “Meow,” he bumped against your leg, nuzzling for a second before placing his paws on your knees for support. “Oh, Zaynie. Go back to sleep, it's nothing." You scratched his chin and he purred, leaning against your touch and jumping on top of your lap, sitting there. Avoiding falls from the unstable sitting spot, you cradled him in your arms like the biiiig baby he was. “Sorry for waking you up…”

His paws gently touched your face, and it sounded ridiculous maybe, but you felt it like reassurance you so badly needed in that moment, and that made you tear up. His paws patted your cheeks, and you couldn't help but smile. Your back rested on the mattress now, his body cuddled on top of you, purring slowly and tenderly, his soft breathing calming your own. He had nuzzled his face against yours as you cried and let out all the pent-up stress and frustration from the day.

His purring rumbled against your chest as your hands kindly petted his delicate fur, earning an affectionate lick on the cheek that coaxed a giggle out of you. You cupped his tiny face to pepper kisses all over it. "Thank you for coming to my emotional rescue, my loving gentleman," you teased, adoring every aspect of him. Zayne was observant, and after weeks of building your relationship, earning each other's trust, and caring for each other, it was clear as day how much of an emotional support he was for you.

Once your mind became clear of self-deprecating thoughts, you refreshed yourself with a warm bath, changed into your comfiest clothes, prepared the tea Tara gifted you, kissed Rafayel and Xavier goodnight —a well-deserved gesture after a whole day of absence—, and tucked yourself under the covers where Zayne waited patiently for you.

Your hands gently caressed him, waiting for the herbal infusion to take effect, and slowly you drifted into the land of dreams, your relaxed breathing bringing a sense of comfort to the cat beside your limp body. He stretched to reach the lamp on the nightstand, fumbling with his paws until he managed to press the switch and turn off the light.

You'd only notice until the next morning, but it wouldn't be the first time he surprised you with those actions. Were those small gestures the same as he did when he lived with the elderly couple that adopted him first? And if they were, was he tired of having to do it all over again for you?

A few words were enough to answer this: he would always look after you with pleasure, as you always took care of him.

Likes, reblogs are comments are greatly appreciated!

hi !! first of all: thank you SO much for the love the kitty series is receiving! I'm so happy y'all like it, these are really fun and relaxing to write for me, so I'm glad there is people who enjoy it too. For Zayne's part... I'm sorry Zayne girlies, I admit this isn't as fun as Xavier's or Rafayel's, but y'all are welcome to make me write something cuter if you want HAHAHA. Thank you again for reading, let's see each other again for Sylus's version! <3

thank you to all the people who started following me too! (⁠人⁠*⁠´⁠��⁠｀⁠)⁠｡⁠*ﾟ⁠+

tag list ! @animegamerfox, @princessofenkanomiya, @aethercoreria

Dividers made by: @uzmacchiato, @v6que and @haecunt

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purplecandygerl · 3 days ago

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The Lark of Philos ⋆🦢˚⟡˖ ࣪ (Xia Yizhuo, Li Shen)

“Every wreath we’ve made, every quiet moment in the garden, every stolen look… my heart has belonged to you for longer than I even realized. I don’t want the crown, or the title. I want you.” ˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊

Synopsis: You are the Lark of Philos, wedded to Zayne, who never truly sees you until it is too late. While his gaze lingers elsewhere, it is his adoptive brother, Prince Caleb, who loves you from the very first moment—and it is to him your heart quietly, irrevocably belongs.

Genre: Angst, Slowburn, Romance

AU: Royal!AU

Pairing(s): Prince!Zayne x NonMC!Reader, Prince!Caleb x NonMC!Reader (Reader is Xavier’s younger sister)

Warnings: Zayne is lowkey cold towards reader, so he’s very dismissive and mean (😭), Zayne angst in the end (I’M SORRY)

Note: Hi guys this is my first ever LADS fic on tumblr so excuse me for any mistakes or inaccuracies 😭 I’m trying out something new and this scenario popped right up before I slept, so I decided to make it a whole fic. Any reblog + like is definitely appreciated, I hope to bring more fics soon! Happy reading <3 (P.S: Yes I am using Enhypen photos because I couldn’t find any Zayne or Caleb pics that match the vibe of the fic)

From the moment you were born, your life was not your own.

As the younger sister of Xavier, one of the Paladins sworn to the crown of Linkon, you grew in the shadow of swords and vows, yet you were nothing like them. Where your brother’s name was etched into history with steel, yours was woven into song in the Kingdom of Philos.

They called you the Lark of Philos—a title that clung to you like perfume, carried from court to court, your beauty praised as though it were a thing both holy and untouchable.

No rival ever came close; none even tried.

It was little wonder, then, that when kingdoms trembled and treaties threatened to break, your hand became the offering.

A jewel for peace, a bride for alliance.

Thus you were given to Zayne, crown prince of Linkon and a Paladin, not out of love but of necessity.

Your marriage was an oath written in ink before it was ever spoken in vows, leaving you to wonder if the man at your side would ever truly see you.

Around him gathered the Paladins, the brothers bound by blood and by fate.

Zayne, the one who’s reserved yet cunning, Linkon’s heir to the throne. Caleb, Zayne’s adopted brother, whose eyes held a quiet fire that seemed to find danger no matter where it stood. Rafayel, ever mysterious, his presence heavy with grace. Sylus, who wore a smug smile like armor, masking truths beneath charm. And your own brother, Xavier, the steadfast shield of the realm.

Together, they were the kingdom of Linkon’s strength, its sworn protectors.

And you—bright, untouchable, yet bound—were placed among them like a caged bird in a gilded hall. Adored, admired, and yet unseen by the ones meant to love you most.

Caleb had always known his place.

Brought into the royal family of Linkon as a child, he grew in the shadow of Zayne, the rightful heir.

To the court, he was the adopted prince—the second son whose name carried courtesy but no crown. Yet Caleb never minded.

He never hungered for power, nor did he envy the weight of the throne that would one day rest on Zayne’s shoulders. He found his peace elsewhere: in the quiet halls of the palace library, in the practice yard where steel met steel, in the fleeting moments where duty was not a chain but a choice.

The day of your betrothal to his brother was one such moment—though it would haunt him for years.

The kingdom of Philos had long been an ally of Linkon, but alliances were fragile things, stitched together by marriages, treaties, and blood. You, the Lark of Philos, became that stitch.

The promise of unity. A bride for the future king.

Zayne had accepted the arrangement with the calm detachment expected of him. You, too, agreed, though your smile trembled like a candle against the wind.

The two of you stood side by side, your hands joined before the court as oaths were spoken.

But not everyone was so willing.

“Are you certain of this?” Xavier’s voice was low, taut with unease, as he pulled you aside after the announcement. His hand lingered on your shoulder, the weight of a brother torn between loyalty to his king and love for his sister.

“This is not a choice you make lightly. Zayne—he is a good man, but a Paladin first, a husband second. I have stood beside him on the battlefield. I know where his heart lies.”

You lifted your chin, meeting his gaze with the steadiness of one who had already resigned herself.

“And I know where my duty lies. If this marriage strengthens both kingdoms, then it is not a burden—it is an honor. You need not fear for me, Xavier. I will be all right.”

Xavier studied you in silence, his jaw tight. At last, he exhaled, a reluctant nod breaking through his frown.

“You’ve always been braver than I give you credit for.” His voice softened, though it carried a note of warning. “But remember—if ever you are not all right, I will know.”

Across the chamber, Caleb watched this exchange quietly, his expression unreadable.

To the others, he was simply present—another Paladin among the four. But to him, it was the moment he first understood the depth of your resolve, and the quiet ache it carried.

Later, as the feast stretched into the evening, he found himself drawn to you—not in defiance, not in desire, but in wonder.

You sat beside Zayne, your beauty a flame in the candlelit hall, every smile perfectly measured, every word a note in a song carefully composed. You did not falter, though Caleb could see the way your fingers curled slightly against your lap, hidden beneath the tablecloth.

When he passed by, offering a polite bow, his eyes lingered on you for a fraction longer than was proper. And in that brief glance, you saw something you had not expected.

Not duty. Not admiration. But recognition.

As though he had looked at you—not as the Lark of Philos, not as the bride of a future king—but as a woman.

And in the silence between you, something fragile yet unspoken began to take root.

The morning sun struck the palace training grounds in a blaze of gold, the air thick with the sound of clashing steel and the low grunts of men sparring.

Caleb rolled his shoulders, sweat running down his temple, while Sylus laughed from across the ring, victorious over another unfortunate squire.

“Keep your guard up, Kieran” Sylus taunted, tossing his practice sword to the ground. “If you want to be a Paladin someday, you’ll need to stop leaving your ribs wide open.”

Rafayel only shook his head, leaning his weight against the hilt of his sword, ever the silent judge of the chaos around him.

It was then that the call came—a messenger rushing in, bowing low before the three men.

“Your Highnesses, the Princess of Philos has arrived at the port. You are summoned to escort her to the palace.”

Zayne was absent, of course. Off in the council chambers with matters “too important” to delay. But Caleb knew the truth: his brother’s heart lingered elsewhere, wrapped around Celestine, the courtier whose name was already on too many lips.

“I suppose it falls to us then,” Rafayel said, sliding his sword into its sheath. A wry smile tugged at his mouth.

“The famed Lark of Philos herself graces us with her presence once again. Have you heard the rumors? They say she’s the most beautiful woman in all of Deepspace. Her parents guarded her like a treasure, reluctant to marry her off to anyone. And after the wedding—well, I can see why.”

Sylus chuckled, slapping Caleb’s shoulder as they began to walk.

“You were there, Caleb. Don’t tell me you weren’t impressed. I swear, half the court forgot their vows when she stepped into the hall that day.”

Caleb gave only a small shrug, though his mind stirred at the memory. The wedding had been months ago, a blur of silks and vows, of stolen glances and formal smiles.

He remembered the candlelight against your hair, the way your voice had not wavered even once. He had thought you beautiful then—beautiful in the way one might admire a painting hung too high to ever touch.

But when the ship from Philos came into view that morning, he realized how poor a memory could be.

The vessel’s sails unfurled like wings, catching the sea breeze as it drew closer to the dock. The deck bustled with attendants, guards, and courtiers, but Caleb’s gaze found you instantly—as though the rest of the world had fallen away.

You stood at the railing, the sun gilding your hair, the salt air tugging at your hair.

Months had passed since your wedding day, but something about you had shifted, deepened. You no longer looked like the sheltered jewel whispered about in ballads—you looked like a queen who had crossed the sea with her head unbowed.

“I suppose Rafayel wasn’t lying,” Caleb thought, his breath caught somewhere between awe and disbelief. “No wonder Xavier rarely speaks of her—how could he, when she’s grown into someone who could silence a court with a single glance?”

As the ship moored, Caleb stepped forward, schooling his face into the polite composure of a prince. Yet when your eyes met his, something unbidden flickered in his chest.

He smiled. Soft, warm, perhaps too personal for the moment.

“Welcome to the kingdom of Linkon, Princess,” he said as he offered his hand to help you down the gangway. His voice was steady, but inside, he wondered if you could feel the way his heart quickened.

You placed your hand in his, the coolness of your rings brushing against his skin.

“It has been some time, Your Highness,” you replied, your tone measured, though your gaze lingered a heartbeat longer than courtesy demanded. “I trust you’ve been well.”

Rafayel, ever the one to fill silences, stepped forward with a grin.

“Well enough, though our training grounds are far less bright without a lark’s song. The halls have been waiting for you.”

Sylus chuckles and greets Xavier before turning to you. “And so have the kitchens. Zayne’s already informed the cooks to prepare a feast, though I imagine half of it will go untouched while the court stares at you instead.”

Their banter pulled a quiet laugh from you, though your hand still rested lightly on Caleb’s arm as he escorted you toward the waiting carriage. He could feel the fragility of the moment, the way the air seemed to thrum with something unspoken.

For Caleb, the realization came swift and merciless: admiration had shifted into something more dangerous.

You were not just Zayne’s bride, nor the Lark of Philos. You were you—and from this moment onward, he would never look at you the same.

The journey from the port to the palace was swift, the streets lined with curious eyes and fluttering banners. Yet the grandeur of Linkon’s welcome faded the moment you stepped inside the castle walls.

The marble halls stretched tall and echoing, the tapestries whispering of victories long past.

You walked beside Caleb, your hand resting lightly on his offered arm, Xavier a steady presence at your back. For all the pomp and pageantry, your thoughts turned to one man only.

“Is my husband in?” you asked, your voice calm though your chest tightened with nerves.

Months apart had a way of fraying certainty. You wondered if he would smile, if he would reach for you, if perhaps—just perhaps—the bond could grow into something more.

Caleb’s gaze flickered, then steadied.

“He is,” he said, his voice even. “He’s expecting you.”

The words warmed you, even if you mistook the faint hesitation behind them.

Servants bowed low as you entered, whispering your title, their faces alight with curiosity and admiration. One of them hurried forward, bowing so low their forehead nearly touched the marble.

“Your Highness, the prince awaits you in his study.”

Relief softened your steps. At last, a reunion. At last, your husband.

But when you entered the chamber, you were met not with warmth—but with ice.

Zayne rose from behind his desk, his gaze flat and unreadable as his eyes swept over you. No joy, no softness, only the detached stare of a man inspecting a foreign envoy rather than his wife.

“Zayne,” you greeted brightly, forcing your voice into melody, as though sheer cheer might bridge the distance. “It’s been too long. Linkon has grown even more beautiful since I last stood within its walls.”

He regarded you in silence, his jaw set. Then, with a flick of his hand, he motioned toward the adjoining room. “Come.”

The door to his study shut behind you with a soft thud, sealing you in a silence so heavy it pressed against your ribs. You tried again, your smile faltering but not yet gone.

“I’ve missed you. Perhaps tonight we can walk the gardens together—there’s so much I’d like to—”

“Stop.”

The single word fell sharp, final.

You blinked, lips parting as if struck. “…Stop?”

Zayne’s expression did not shift. His voice was steady, almost weary, but merciless.

“Do not pretend at affection. You and I both know what this marriage is. An arrangement. A bond written on paper, not on hearts. I will not play the doting husband for the sake of appearances.”

You drew a slow breath, steadying the storm rising in your chest. “But we are husband and wife now. If not for affection, then for duty—at least respect—”

“I am in love with someone else.”

The words cut cleaner than any blade. He said them with no shame, no pause. Only truth, laid bare.

Your throat tightened, the air suddenly harder to draw. “…I see.”

Zayne’s eyes softened, but only slightly, and not in the way you longed for.

“You are free to do as you please here. Live as you wish. Hold your court, play your part. All I ask is that you stay out of my way. Do not meddle where your presence is not wanted.”

For a long moment, silence stretched between you, broken only by the distant hum of palace life beyond the door.

You wanted to argue, to plead, to ask why fate had tied you to a man whose heart was never yours. But you bit back the words.

Because you were not a girl anymore. You were a princess of Philos, a future queen of Linkon. You were in a foreign land where every eye waited for you to falter. You had Xavier, at least—your brother, your anchor.

That would be enough. It had to be.

Lifting your chin, you forced the pain down, burying it deep where it could not be seen.

“Very well,” you said, your voice steady, though your heart bled beneath it. “I will not trouble you.”

And though you smiled as you left his study, your hands trembled within your sleeves.

Outside, in the hall where shadows pooled, Caleb stood waiting. He looked up at you, and in that single glance, his eyes caught the crack in your armor—the hurt you so carefully tried to mask.

And for the first time since your arrival, you felt seen.

Caleb had felt it the moment Zayne beckoned you into his study.

Something about the stiffness in his brother’s shoulders, the way his voice held no warmth, had left a sour weight in Caleb’s chest. So he lingered in the hall, leaning against the stone wall as though he waited by chance.

Minutes passed. The door finally opened, and you stepped out with your smile perfectly in place. Too perfect.

Your eyes widened faintly when you saw him there.

“Oh? Prince Caleb. What are you doing here?” Your smile curved brighter, practiced, but Caleb caught the way it faltered around the edges.

He straightened, dipping his head slightly in courtesy, though his gaze did not waver from your face.

“I thought I might walk you back,” he said smoothly. Then, softer, almost too low to hear: “I wasn’t sure how long my brother would keep you.”

Something in your expression flickered, but you quickly smoothed it away. “That’s kind of you. But as you can see—” you gestured lightly to your smile, “—all is well.”

Caleb almost answered—almost asked what Zayne had said to put that shadow behind your eyes—but he swallowed the words.

It was not his place to pry. Not yet.

Instead, he offered his arm with a small, easy smile.

“If you’ll allow me, Your Highness, I’d rather show you something more pleasant than palace walls and council doors. You’ve come a long way from Philos. Let me give you a tour of your new home.”

Your brows lifted slightly. “A tour?”

“I heard from Xavier that you kept a garden in Philos,” Caleb said, his tone light but sincere. “He spoke of it often—of how you tended to it yourself, even when attendants could do it for you. If that’s true, then I think I know exactly where to take you.”

The faintest warmth touched your cheeks.

“Xavier told you that?”

Caleb’s lips curved, gentler now. “He did. Your dearest brother never shuts up about you, in fact.”

That earned a quiet laugh from you, soft and genuine, the first he’d heard since your arrival. And for Caleb, it felt like a small victory.

He led you through the marble corridors, his stride measured so yours would not quicken. He pointed out small things along the way—where Sylus had once broken a stained-glass window with an ill-aimed training sword, where Rafayel always paused beneath a particular tapestry as though the woven warriors could hear his thoughts.

His words were laced with humor, subtle stories that painted the palace not as a cage, but as a place with life within its stones.

At last, he guided you through a pair of wrought-iron gates into the palace gardens.

The air shifted immediately, fragrant with roses and jasmine, the quiet trickle of fountains weaving between hedges sculpted into elegant spirals. A soft breeze stirred the leaves, carrying the faintest birdsong.

Caleb stepped aside, letting you take it in.

“It’s not Philos,” he admitted, “but I thought you might like to see that beauty lives here too. Perhaps, in time, it could feel like yours.”

Your breath caught as you looked around, the memory of Zayne’s cold words still echoing in your heart. But here, surrounded by green and bloom, you allowed your smile to soften into something real.

You turned to Caleb. “Thank you,” you murmured.

“You didn’t have to do this.”

His gaze lingered on you, steady and warm, before he answered.

“Maybe I didn’t. But I wanted to.”

And though the ache of your husband’s rejection still weighed heavy, for the first time in Linkon, you felt the smallest spark of belonging.

The palace was a flurry of preparations for the evening’s banquet.

Servants hurried through the halls with trays of polished goblets, tapestries were shaken free of dust, and chandeliers glimmered like captured constellations above the grand hall.

Tonight was meant to be in your honor—the Princess of Philos, newly welcomed into Linkon. Yet as you watched from afar, you knew the gesture was not Zayne’s heart but his duty.

He had hardly looked at you these past weeks. When he did, his gaze slid away as though the sight of you burned.

His voice never cut sharp, never cruel—but each dismissal carried a weight that bruised in its own way.

You were there, and yet you were invisible.

In that loneliness, you found solace not in your husband, but in those who stood closest to him.

Sylus’s steady presence, Rafayel’s laughter, Xavier’s protective eye—all had become your circle of comfort. But it was Caleb who became something more.

Caleb who listened when words faltered, who filled silences with warmth rather than obligation. Caleb, whose quiet smiles eased the ache of being unseen.

That afternoon, with the banquet still hours away, you sought the gardens—the one place in Linkon that felt even a little like home. And, as he often did, Caleb joined you.

The sun dappled through the lattice of leaves, casting patterns across the marble path.

You walked beside him, skirts brushing the roses, your hair braided with blooms by attentive ladies earlier in the day.

The flowers wove through your braid like constellations, making you look less like a queen-in-waiting and more like some ethereal nymph the garden itself had conjured.

Still, your pout was anything but celestial.

“Tell me,” you said, pausing beneath an arch of ivy, “is your stepbrother always this closed off? It’s so hard to read him.”

Caleb blinked, then let out a low laugh. The sound was warm, rich, the kind that filled the air like sunlight.

“You pout like that, and people will start thinking the new princess is still a child.”

Your eyes narrowed in mock offense. “I am not pouting.”

“You are,” he countered, grinning, before reaching out to ruffle your braid, his fingers brushing lightly against the flowers. “But I suppose you’re allowed. You’ve had more patience with him than most would.”

You swatted his hand away, though your lips twitched with a smile. “So? Is he always like this?”

Caleb tilted his head, his expression softening.

“Zayne is…difficult, I’ll admit. Reserved. He keeps his thoughts close, even from those who know him best. He isn’t cruel, though—it isn’t in him to wound without cause. But he can be… hard to reach.”

His eyes lingered on you as he spoke, as though he wanted to say more. That Zayne’s distance wasn’t your fault. That anyone would be blind not to see you, to treasure you. But Caleb bit it back, the words lodged in his throat.

So instead, he smiled. “He’s hard on new faces, but he warms up eventually.”

You sighed, your gaze drifting to the roses. “Eventually,” you echoed, though doubt clung to your tone.

Caleb watched you, the way the sunlight kissed your skin, the way your fingers traced the petals as though speaking to them in secret.

You looked like an angel against the bloom, and it took everything in him not to reach for you—because he wanted to take his time. Because you deserved gentleness, not another man who rushed past your heart without seeing it.

“Don’t let it weigh on you,” he said finally, his voice low, meant only for you. “If Zayne cannot see what’s in front of him, that’s his failing. Not yours.”

Your lips parted, surprised, but before you could answer, the bells tolled in the distance—the signal that the banquet hour approached.

You exhaled, straightening your gown, the mask of composure slipping back into place. “Then I suppose we should play our parts.”

Caleb offered his arm. “At least you won’t play them alone.”

And when you placed your hand in his, you felt, for a fleeting moment, that you truly weren’t.

The palace was aglow that evening, its gilded chandeliers spilling golden light across polished marble floors. Musicians strummed a soft melody as nobles gathered, their silks and jewels shimmering in a kaleidoscope of color.

Tonight was meant to be your night — a banquet in honor of your arrival, your new role, your new life as the future queen of Linkon. But if the kingdom expected warmth between you and your husband, they would find only carefully constructed illusions.

Caleb stood near one of the towering pillars, with Rafayel and Xavier at his side, his eyes scanning the grand staircase where you were soon to appear.

Zayne, as ever, lingered across the room with Sylus, surrounded by a circle of advisers and older nobles.

The contrast between the two brothers was stark — Zayne, austere and impenetrable; Caleb, watchful, his heart already leaning toward someone he shouldn’t.

Then you came.

The room fell quiet, breaths stilled, and Caleb swore his chest tightened as though struck by something divine.

You descended slowly, each step deliberate yet graceful, your cream and baby blue ruffled ballgown catching the light like the sea at dawn.

Your hair was arranged in delicate curls, flowers and jewels woven through them like threads of heaven. And your smile — radiant, luminous — made the chandeliers above seem pale.

Caleb’s fingers curled into a fist at his side.

He cursed Zayne in silence, cursed his stepbrother’s indifference, cursed the way such beauty and light was being wasted on a man who barely looked your way.

How could he? How could anyone?

When you reached the foot of the stairs, Zayne was already waiting, duty pulling him forward.

For the sake of appearances, you both inclined your heads politely, a picture-perfect pair for the watching crowd.

Words were exchanged — pleasantries, hollow courtesies — and then, as soon as others were distracted, you drifted apart, severing the fragile performance as if it had burned your hands.

It was then Celestine approached, her presence bright and sweet. You greeted her with kindness, your smile as genuine as it could be under the weight you carried.

But Caleb’s observant eyes caught the flicker — the way your expression faltered when you noticed Zayne.

For once, his stone facade seemed to soften in Celestine’s presence, as though she alone could breach his walls.

Your own smile slipped.

Sylus noticed, sharp and calculating as always, and moved immediately. He guided you gently, firmly, toward your brother before any crack in the illusion could widen.

Caleb’s jaw tightened as he watched, helpless to intervene, his teeth gritting against the urge to storm across the hall and drag you away from all of it.

Xavier’s frown was thunderous as Sylus delivered you to him. He didn’t need words to understand. He simply offered his hand, protective and grounding.

“Do you want to get some fresh air for a while?” he asked softly, his tone a balm.

You nodded, though your eyes flicked — almost instinctively — to Caleb. He stood a short distance away, gaze steady, almost as if he’d been waiting for you.

“Can I go with Caleb?” you whispered, your voice fragile, uncertain. “We can talk later after the banquet.”

Xavier studied you for a long moment before exhaling through his nose. He ruffled your hair gently, in that older-brother way he always had.

“Fine. At least with him, I know you’re safe.” His frown lingered, but he let you go.

Caleb was already moving toward you when you turned. Without hesitation, he led you through the tall glass doors and into the night.

The garden was hushed, the air cool and fragrant with roses and lavender. The laughter and music of the banquet muffled behind you, as though you had stepped into a different world.

You sank onto the edge of the fountain, skirts pooling around you, shoulders slumped under a weight Caleb wished he could lift.

The moonlight cast a silver sheen over your gown, over your downturned face, and he thought you looked like something from the old songs — an angel wearied by mortal pain.

“He really loves her, doesn’t he?” you murmured, voice barely carrying above the fountain’s trickle. Your fingers twisted in your lap, restless, betraying the ache in your chest.

Caleb lowered himself beside you, careful, patient. He watched you for a long moment, his throat tight, before sighing and leaning slightly against you — enough that you might feel his presence, solid and grounding.

“He loves her,” he admitted quietly. The truth was a blade, but there was no point in offering lies. “…but that doesn’t make you any less lovable, Y/n.”

You gave a soft, broken laugh, bitter at the edges. “Doesn’t feel like it.”

Caleb turned, his eyes narrowing with quiet anger — not at you, never at you, but at the man who had made you feel this way. He reached out, his hand steady as he brushed his knuckles against your cheek, forcing you to look at him.

“Stop looking so dejected. He shouldn’t act like this. You’re not some bargaining piece. You’re—” He broke off, biting back words he couldn’t say. Not yet.

You blinked up at him, eyes shimmering, and before you could turn away, tears slipped down your cheeks.

Caleb swore softly under his breath and fished out his handkerchief, pressing it into your hands before gently wiping at the tears himself.

“Don’t cry,” he whispered, his tone soft but firm. “You’re so much more than that idiot.”

You hiccuped, clutching the cloth.

“I’m tired,” you admitted, your voice cracking. “I know the banquet’s in my honor, but… I want to go to my room. I don’t think I can keep smiling tonight.”

Caleb’s heart twisted, but he nodded without hesitation. His hand lingered in your hair, patting it softly, tenderly, as though you might shatter if he pressed too hard.

“Alright,” he murmured. “Let me take you there. You don’t have to stay where you’re hurting.”

And in that moment, under the moonlight and away from the eyes of the kingdom, Caleb swore silently to himself.

If Zayne could not protect you, if he would not cherish you — then he would. Even if it meant stepping into dangerous shadows.

Caleb and you quietly approached Xavier after leaving the garden, the muffled music of the banquet still echoing down the marble halls.

You tugged lightly on your brother’s sleeve, and he immediately noticed the heaviness in your expression.

“Xay,” your voice wavered, just above a whisper, “he doesn’t love me. I know we’re doing this for Philos, I know why it had to be me—but I’m trying, I really am.”

Your throat tightened, betraying the rest of the tears you had been holding back all evening.

Xavier’s frown deepened, and before you could fall apart, he gathered you into his arms. His embrace was firm, protective, the kind you had clung to countless times as a child whenever the world felt too cruel.

Caleb, standing a step behind, watched as your brother’s hand cradled the back of your head, his thumb stroking comfort into your hair.

Something inside Caleb softened, even as his chest burned with quiet anger toward Zayne.

“You’re alright, Y/n,” Xavier murmured against your crown, his voice low, gentle but edged with frustration at the situation.

“He’s a fool for not loving you—or for not even trying. But listen to me, you’re not alone in this. I’m here. Caleb’s here. We won’t let you bear this by yourself.”

Your hands clutched at your brother’s coat, fingers trembling.

“But how long do I have to endure being treated like a burden? Like I’m just… a name on parchment?”

Xavier pulled back enough to look at you, his eyes soft but blazing with protective fire.

He brushed away a tear that had escaped down your cheek, and for a moment you saw the boy you grew up with—the boy who always promised to shield you from everything.

“Just hang on a little longer,” Xavier whispered, pressing his forehead to yours. “We can go back to Philos soon enough. This isn’t forever. You’ll come home to us, to me. I swear it.”

Behind him, Caleb exhaled slowly, his jaw clenched to keep himself from speaking out of turn.

He wanted to tell you that you deserved more than a loveless marriage, more than cold stares and polite dismissals. He wanted to promise that he would never let you feel this unwanted again.

Instead, he stepped closer and gently laid a hand on your shoulder, grounding you between the two people who truly cared for you.

“Your brother’s right,” Caleb said softly, his usual playful tone replaced with rare sincerity. “Don’t lose yourself because of him, Y/n. You’re worth more than what his blind heart can see.”

You gave a shaky nod, your lips trembling into something that tried to resemble a smile.

With both Xavier’s arm still wrapped around you and Caleb’s hand steady at your side, you finally let yourself breathe—just a little easier—before Xavier led you toward your chambers, away from the glittering halls of celebration that felt so hollow.

Since that night, Caleb had silently vowed to himself that he would make it his mission to win your heart—and not only to win it, but to give you a reason to stay in Linkon and find happiness here, a happiness that was truly yours.

He had no grand schemes of stealing crowns or sparking scandal, no hunger for power or glory. That had never been who he was.

But with the way Zayne drifted farther from you each passing day, so unwilling to meet you halfway, Caleb felt fate was forcing his hand.

And yet, he didn’t resent it. Because for you, he would.

For you, he’d shoulder the risk, step into the storm, and fight for something greater than a throne. He didn’t need to become king—he only needed to become the man who treated you as though you were the most treasured thing in all the realms.

His parents, after long consideration, had given their blessing. Even Xavier, ever the protective brother, had fixed him with a searching stare before finally nodding, entrusting Caleb with what was most precious.

That was all the permission he needed.

Now, all that remained was for Caleb to show you.

To treat you with the devotion you had been denied, to make you laugh again, to braid flowers into your hair not because it made you look like an angel—but because you deserved to feel adored, cherished, seen.

And so, quietly, patiently, he began.

At the training grounds, when you came to visit, it was always Caleb who noticed you first.

He’d call out your name with that easy warmth of his, his squire Gideon trailing loyally at his side. He would make space for you, draw you into their conversation as though you belonged there.

Zayne, meanwhile, hardly spared you a glance, his focus locked on his sword or the men around him. And so, perhaps without even meaning to, you mirrored his indifference, your smiles and laughter saved for the other Paladins, for Caleb most of all.

More than once, Zayne’s brow lifted when he caught the shift—though he said nothing.

In the garden where you spent most of your time, Caleb began making it a habit to find you.

You would be sitting beneath the sunlight, a book in your hands, flowers braided into your hair, and he would drop down beside you with the familiar ease of someone who never needed permission.

“You’ll spoil me with that smile,” he would tease, before stretching out and letting his head rest in your lap, claiming he needed only a moment’s rest after a long mission.

You would huff and roll your eyes, though your fingers betrayed you—brushing stray strands of hair from his forehead, lingering there far too long.

And at night, when the halls were quiet and shadows stretched across the marble, it was always Caleb who walked you back to your chambers.

Sometimes the two of you would talk until you reached your door, other times you’d walk in companionable silence, his hand brushing ever so close to yours, just enough to make your heart ache.

It was… different with him.

Where Zayne had walls you could never climb, Caleb opened his arms and let you in without hesitation.

Where your husband dismissed you with silence, Caleb looked at you as though you were something fragile and precious, something he’d gladly spend his life protecting.

And slowly, against your better judgment, you felt your heart tilt toward him. Little by little, you began to realize what it meant to be cherished—and you found yourself falling.

The day of Zayne’s birthday banquet was filled with movement—servants rushing about, nobles arriving from neighboring kingdoms, musicians tuning their instruments—but you found yourself tucked away in your chambers with Xavier, the two of you surrounded by brightly wrapped boxes and folded silk.

Just a few days earlier, Caleb had insisted on taking you down to the village markets.

You hadn’t expected much, but he had spent the entire afternoon watching your eyes linger on things, quietly committing every little detail to memory.

Now, as you opened each gift, it became clear just how closely he had been paying attention.

A set of pressed flowers sealed in glass frames, the very blooms you had admired from a merchant’s stall. A shawl of Philosian weave, light but soft enough to remind you of home. And at the bottom of one box, a silver hair comb etched with intricate vines—almost identical to the ones your mother used to wear.

Xavier picked it up and let out a low whistle. “Caleb has a good eye on him, doesn’t he?”

You smiled faintly, running your fingers along the comb.

“He really does. It’s… thoughtful. More than I expected.”

A throat cleared at the doorway. Both you and Xavier turned, surprised, to see Zayne standing there.

His eyes flicked over the opened boxes, then to you, and though his expression was carefully guarded, the flicker of something unreadable—surprise? irritation?—crossed his face.

“Zayne,” Xavier greeted smoothly, rising to his feet. You followed suit, setting the comb gently back in its box.

“Your Highness,” you said softly. “What brings you here?”

Zayne hesitated, his gaze still lingering on the gifts. Gifts from Caleb.

“I… just wanted to check on you before tonight, that’s all.”

The air felt weighted, awkward. You gave him a polite nod, and Xavier, ever the protective brother, shifted slightly closer to you.

Zayne cleared his throat again, straightened his shoulders, and offered a clipped, “I’ll see you both at the banquet.”

Without another word, he turned and left, the faint echo of his boots fading down the corridor.

When the door closed, Xavier exchanged a look with you—half questioning, half amused. You, however, couldn’t help the strange rush in your chest.

For the first time, Zayne had sought you out, had seemed… unsettled. And though it was fleeting, it left you wondering if perhaps your indifference was finally being noticed.

Zayne couldn’t understand it.

The feeling gnawed at him every time he caught sight of you and Caleb together—something sharp, hot, and unrelenting, curling in his chest like a flame he couldn’t smother.

He told himself it was irritation, perhaps annoyance at Caleb’s recklessness, but deep down he knew it was neither.

Just days ago, he had passed by the training grounds and seen you offering Caleb a neatly folded handkerchief.

He remembered how you smiled faintly, pointing out the embroidered apple you had stitched yourself.

Caleb had grinned, boyish and triumphant, before leaning down to kiss your forehead. “I’ll use it forever,” he’d promised.

Zayne had walked away before either of you noticed him lingering, but the image stayed, branded in his mind like a wound that refused to heal.

And then, in the gardens—always the gardens. You sat at the table with Xavier and Rafayel, tea cups steaming between you, laughter spilling into the quiet air.

Caleb sat at your side, a crown of woven daisies in his lap, his hands clumsy but determined as he followed your patient instructions.

When he placed the half-finished wreath against your hair, everyone laughed, even you, though you reached up to fix it. Zayne, watching from a distance, felt his jaw tighten.

Why did it bother him so much? Why did it feel like every smile you gave Caleb was one stolen from him? He wasn’t supposed to care. He had no right to. And yet—he did. The thought unsettled him more than he could admit, even to himself.

The banquet hall was alive with music, laughter, and the clinking of goblets.

Servants wove through the crowd with silver trays, their movements almost as practiced as the noble smiles plastered across every face.

It was a celebration in Zayne’s honor, but for the first time in years, he felt like little more than a spectator.

Because across the room, all the grandeur, all the music, all the endless toasts—none of it mattered compared to the vision of you.

You were seated between Xavier and Caleb, head tilted in laughter as your gloved hand covered your smile.

The baby blue gown you wore shimmered beneath the golden chandeliers, each ruffle and thread of lace catching the light so perfectly it seemed you glowed from within.

Your hair, carefully pleated and adorned with tiny crystal pins, framed your face like something carved from marble and brought to life. Zayne’s chest tightened. Had you always been this radiant? Had he been blind all this time?

He raised his goblet, only to realize it was empty. Before he could summon a servant, a familiar voice murmured at his side, low enough to be meant only for him.

“Careful now.”

Zayne turned his head, brow furrowed.

Sylus leaned casually against the column beside him, wine glass in hand, his lips curved in that infuriating smirk. His gaze flicked toward you—still laughing softly as Caleb leaned close to whisper something.

“That’s your brother’s lover you’re staring at.”

Zayne’s grip tightened around his goblet until his knuckles went white.

“She is my wife,” he replied flatly, eyes forward, as though the words themselves could banish Sylus’s insinuation.

Sylus chuckled, a low and knowing sound, and swirled his wine lazily in the glass.

“On parchment, perhaps. Signed, sealed, and sanctioned by the crown.” He tilted his head, studying Zayne’s stony profile. “But the heart… ah, the heart does not obey ink or vows. And hers, my friend, is far from yours.”

The remark landed sharper than any blade. Zayne forced a scoff, but it sounded hollow even to his own ears.

“You speak too boldly for a guest.”

“Do I?” Sylus arched a brow, eyes glinting with mischief and something darker. “I only speak what all here can see. Look at her.”

Against his will, Zayne’s gaze followed yours once more. Caleb had leaned back now, and your hand lingered on his shoulder in an absent, comfortable gesture.

A wreath of flowers you had crafted earlier rested at your side, but it was Caleb’s smile—the kind of smile a man wears when he knows he is cherished—that stung the most.

“Tell me, Zayne,” Sylus continued, voice soft as velvet but cutting like glass, “when was the last time she looked at you like that?”

Zayne said nothing. His throat had gone tight, and for a moment he could only hear the music, the laughter, the sound of his own pulse in his ears.

Sylus’s smirk deepened at his silence. He lifted his glass in mock salute.

“Do not glare at me as though I am your enemy. I am merely the messenger. And the truth—” he took a deliberate sip of his wine “—always leaves a bitter taste.”

Zayne clenched his jaw and finally tore his gaze away from you, forcing himself to face the hall, the nobles, the celebration that was meant to be his. But even as he tried to drown the rising anger, jealousy coiled in his gut like smoke.

You were his wife. His queen. And yet—

Sylus was right.

The banquet had ended in a haze of music and wine, the nobles retreating to their chambers, their laughter fading down the gilded halls.

Zayne stood for a long time in the empty hall, watching the last of the candles burn low, until even the musicians had gone.

It should have been a night of triumph, yet all he carried with him was the bitter weight of Sylus’s words, echoing mercilessly in his skull.

Her heart does not belong to you.

Later, as he walked through the corridor leading to your chambers, he slowed when he heard voices muffled through the carved oak doors. Caleb’s voice, warm and steady. Yours, softer, trembling.

Curiosity rooted him in place. And then, without meaning to, he found himself listening.

“I can’t keep it hidden anymore,” you whispered. The sound of fabric rustling—perhaps you had taken Caleb’s hands in yours. “Caleb, I’ve fallen for you.”

The silence that followed was deafening. Zayne’s heart stopped. His lungs seized. He pressed himself against the cold stone wall, every muscle locked.

Your voice came again, surer now, as though relief poured out with the truth. “I want to marry you. Not Zayne. Not anyone else. Just you.”

There was a sharp inhale, and then Caleb’s low voice, shaken but tender. “Are you certain? You’d give up everything for me?”

“I already have,” you said, almost laughing through tears.

Through the crack of the door, Zayne could hear movement—a forehead pressed to another, perhaps, or a soft kiss exchanged in the silence of your vow.

Zayne’s chest constricted, pain stabbing sharper than any blade. His fingers curled into fists at his sides, nails biting into flesh, yet he could not tear himself away.

He had been too late.

The banquet, the vows, the crown—it all meant nothing now. He stood in the shadows of his own castle, hearing the truth that Sylus had already voiced, but which he had refused to believe until this very moment.

You had never been his.

And now, you never would be.

When Caleb murmured, “Then it’s settled. I’ll stand before the court, before the people, and claim what should have been ours all along,” Zayne shut his eyes.

His brother had his crown.

His brother had his kingdom.

And worst of all, his brother had you.

Zayne turned from the door at last, retreating silently into the endless, hollow corridors of his own palace.

249 notes · View notes

purplecandygerl · 4 days ago

Text

again (fluff)

zayne one shot (love and deepspace) you had done everything possible to forget your ex-boyfriend zayne, without knowing that you would run into him at one of the most important medical conferences of all ⋆｡° | pairing : doctor!zayne x doctor!reader ⋆｡° | word count : 2.7k (2,700) ⋆｡° | fluff, second chance, ex boyfriend zayne ⋆｡° | autor note: hi!!! i'm so happy because this is one of my favorite one shots!! also, it's inspired by a book by my favorite author (but i won't say which one, maybe someone will guess) :3 likes and reblogs are appreciated!! :) ★ masterlist here

the first time you saw Zayne was when he was at the front desk waiting for the key to his new room. you were supposed to have a reservation from your hospital, but something had gone wrong and now you were there, waiting for a new room on a floor that wasn't yours. when you looked around was when you saw him walk by, Dr. Zayne from Akso Hospital, greeting other doctors because of course, he always had people around him because everyone looked up to Dr. Zayne. even you.

the second time you saw him was when you were walking down the hallway looking for your room number. you were walking with your eyes fixed on your room key and occasionally looked up to make sure you were going in the right direction. that's when you noticed, Zayne was walking in the opposite direction from you, he seemed to be looking for his room as well. he didn't see you because you turned around and ran out of there.

the third time was when you were on your way to see one of the lectures that was listed on the first day. Zayne was on his way to enter the room causing you to come to a complete stop, turn around and run out. you hated that Zayne was there because you were really interested in the lecture on regenerative medicine and the use of stem cells and had to miss it. you two had broken up a year ago, you had asked for a hospital transfer after what had happened, not because there had been consequences. Zayne was your superior and yet he had never compromised your education, never allowed anyone to treat you like Dr. Zayne's ex-girlfriend. and yet, being there became unbearable anyway.

you had tried hard to avoid him for the rest of the day, it had been a little difficult, Zayne was an experienced surgeon but you were just a resident hoping to specialize in cardiac surgery. you had really tried hard, even at 3am when you felt hungry and decided to go down to the second floor of the hotel because you were sure you had seen a vending machine.

as you left your room and closed the door behind you, you were looking around to make sure Zayne wasn't around. a small smile formed on your face as you walked to the elevator and your smile didn't fade even when you found yourself in front of the vending machine and decided on a good snack for the rest of the night. the hallway was practically empty, it was obvious, it was after 3am and normal people must have been sleeping. Zayne used to accompany you sometimes in your insomnia, he said he didn't sleep much, the few hours he managed to sleep was because you were by his side, even in the rest rooms at the hospital. you remembered that—

the elevator door in front of you didn't finish closing, someone pulled his body in before the doors could close. you felt your heart fall to the floor and someone stomped on it. you had been careful, you had done your best not to run into him, you had even checked every time you left your room and yet there he was. Zayne's piercing gaze bore into you as he settled at the other end of the elevator and pressed the same button you had pressed seconds before. he was on the same floor as you, you had suspected, but a part of you hoped that you had been wrong and that the chances of running into him as he exited his room were not that high.

"Hello" you mumbled nervously. you didn't know what to say, he wasn't a person who was easy to read, yet you could tell the surprise all over his face.

"I didn't know you were here." you had to do your best not to close your eyes and tell Zayne that you loved his voice and ask him to please keep talking. you remembered that you had once told him, you had asked him if he could make a recording for you as an audiobook to listen to before bed. and although Zayne had laughed thinking it was a joke, the next day in your chat you had received four audio files of the first chapters of a book that had been on your list for some time. you had never finished reading that book.

"yes, I… arrived two days ago." you squeezed the package of cookies you held in one of your hands. you had been there since the event had started, of course you didn't mention how you had been avoiding him since the first day or how you had missed the lecture on regenerative medicine because you had seen him enter the conference room.

he only nodded before averting his gaze, waiting for the elevator to stop. however, you still felt the anxiety rising in your throat, if you ended up vomiting in front of Zayne it would be the cherry on top of your humiliation. you exited the elevator in a hurry and you didn't know if it was because of his height or his long legs, but he caught up to you in a few seconds, two steps from you was perfectly one step from him. you also remembered that they had once made fun of that, you weren't exactly a short person, you were a little above average height and that was thanks to your long torso, however your legs were still short. when you went running with Zayne (twice a month) you always complained about how he was faster and they had a discussion about how having short or long legs actually affected those things more than it should.

"are you on this floor?" he asked walking beside her. why couldn't he just leave? he was getting on your nerves and not because he was being rude. in fact, that was the biggest problem: Zayne seemed to have the emotional maturity that the rest of the world's population didn't when it came to ending a relationship.

"listen." you stopped abruptly and turned to look at him. Zayne followed you a few seconds later, stopping to look at you. "we don't have to do this. we're done and that's it, I don't hate you but I don't want to see you. you don't have to talk to me and we don't have to make this awkward. it would be much better if we just didn't talk because I missed the regenerative medicine conference trying to avoid you and I was really interested in that conference." you felt your lungs empty completely. Zayne's expression told you… nothing, perhaps a flash of confusion but also understanding.

"Dr. Hannaway said exactly the same thing he said last year." you looked at him blankly.

"Excuse me?"

"Dr. Hannaway said exactly the same thing he said last year at the regenerative medicine conference. he had no breakthrough in his research." you blinked and understood what he meant. well, you felt better knowing you hadn't actually missed anything, but she would have liked to see it for herself. you simply nodded and took a step back. you turned around ready to go back to you room but Zayne's voice stopped you again. "you should hate me. you switched hospitals because of me."

you turned again uncomprehendingly, it didn't exactly sound like something Zayne would say. "hate you? how could I hate you?" you blurted out angrily. "you're… you're perfect!" Zayne looked at you blankly, he expected anything but that. "you never gave me any reason to hate you, our relationship ended well, our working relationship was fine. after you got mad at that intern for reducing me to nothing but your ex no one ever bothered me again. it seemed like nothing had changed, it seemed like our breakup had had no effect on my work life. how could I hate you?"

Zayne raised an uncomprehending eyebrow. Another thing he hadn't expected: he'd always thought you'd asked for a transfer to another hospital because you hated him. "would you have preferred me to make your life miserable?"

"what? no!" you sighed in frustration. how could you explain it to him? you sat silently trying to find the right words to explain to him how you felt, you yourself felt it was stupid. "hating you would have been easier for me. I couldn't forget you because you hadn't given me any reason to hate you. you defended me from someone who tried to pretend I was nothing, you had the emotional maturity that most people don't have. How could I hate you?" you sighed in frustration.

Zayne's face said nothing, except that he was as confused as you were, or maybe more so. "you…" Zayne took a step up to you. "you left, you asked for a transfer without telling me."

"without telling you? why would I tell you?" Zayne stopped abruptly. you were right, it was the same thing he had repeated to himself the next morning when he found out there was one less resident. you didn't have to give him an explanation, they were over, even if it had been peacefully.

"I'm sorry to have bothered you. you can enter any conference and if I see you there I'll go to the other end of the room." he turned away without another word. you froze, your mind was not processing whatever had happened. just that? he wasn't going to say anything else? the change in his voice, the change in the way he had responded and especially how he had turned around without another word to leave.

"what?" you mumbled to yourself but he wasn't going to listen to you anyway, he was already too far away. it took you a couple of seconds to snap out of that little trance and start walking up to him in an attempt to keep up. "wait!" Zayne didn't stop at your words, you didn't know if that had made you feel furious or actually…. no, you didn't know what you were feeling at those moments, it was like a mixture of everything. "Zayne!"

the next thing happened too fast, you felt your mind was foggy and you hadn't quite processed why your back was now against the wall closest to you and why your body was trapped between the wall and Zayne's strong body. he always made jokes, no doctor who ate that amount of sugar could have that body, not that you were complaining anyway. you liked it… you liked him.

his lips were mere inches away, you could feel his breath hitting against your face. you did your best to keep your eyes locked on his, however you couldn't, your eyes slid to his lips and you knew that the feeling of having his lips on yours would surely remain the same as it had been a year ago.

"what are you…" you tried to speak, tried to make your voice sound firm but all you had gotten was a shaky mumble. there was something in his gaze that you couldn't quite recognize, something different. he looked like the same calm Zayne he had always been, he had that face he had all the time when he was at work, but you had a part of him that no one else had: you knew him. you had memorized his expressions, you had managed to read every part of his face, you had managed to catch when his eyes were trying to tell you something.

and maybe he was going to tell you, maybe he should admit that he missed you or that it had been stupid to break up but that it was really the best thing for both of them at that moment. maybe he was going to tell you but not that night because all he could do was press his lips against yours. you did your best not to let out a gasp, not to cling to him, you had to break away from him, to remind him of the reason they had broken up. however, you couldn't do it, your hand slid to the back of his neck, pulling him closer to you. you could feel him pinning you against the wall until there was no more space between them.

Zayne's breathing was heavy but refused to leave your lips. his hands roamed you body, you could feel your heartbeat in your ears, maybe you should write an article about how your heart rate sped up to impressive levels when you kissed the person you like.

you didn't know how much time had passed, you only knew that Zayne had pulled away from you slightly to take breaths before pressing his lips against yours again. you knew his lips didn't feel like they had a year ago because this time they felt better. you knew you needed more from him but maybe you weren't going to get it that night because he had abruptly pulled away from you, pressing his forehead to yours. his breathing was ragged as was yours, you could feel the heat in every part of his body and yet you didn't know what to say because you were afraid. you were afraid to speak and ruin that moment you had waited for so long. you didn't know how much you missed him until you felt his lips on yours.

"I… that was…" you didn't know what to say, for a second thousands of emotions ran through your mind but the second you opened your mouth nothing coherent came out.

"I know." Zayne squeezed your hips and pulled away, far enough to… walk? he was carrying you? no, he was gently pushing you toward the room near them.

"to where…" you were silent when you heard a soft click and the door behind you was opened. you tried to look over your shoulder but you couldn't move too much because you didn't know how Zayne was managing to keep his body glued to yours and continue walking.

it must have been his room because otherwise you doubted he was going into a stranger's room just to…. do what? well, it was something obvious that was about to happen, you just didn't know what to think. you loved him so much, you missed him and you needed him much more than you thought. you still wondered what would happen the next day, what would happen to them or if it was just one of those times you accidentally ended up in your ex's bed without knowing why.

you sighed and as Zayne closed the door behind them and decided to turn off your brain.

when someone took a seat next to you, your brow furrowed. you like to find empty places in conferences so no one was bothering you, even if they were all adults and doctors, there were some who just acted like little kids and wouldn't stop talking. you turned to look at the person next to you, just to make a bad face, but it was the opposite. your expression changed to total surprise. "what are you doing here?"

Zayne adjusted his glasses and looked at you. he looked so calm, nothing had changed about him and… you liked it. you liked everything about him. "is this place taken?"

you shook your head. you didn't know how to ask him what the kiss the night before had meant, you two had to talk about it at some point because you and Zayne had always been direct when it came to your feelings. "no, it's okay." you nodded as you turned your gaze back to the front but it wasn't more than a couple of seconds before Zayne spoke again.

"there is still an open resident position at the hospital." you turned your face to look at him not knowing what he meant, until… your heart pounded, you felt you knew what he meant but you needed to know that what he was saying was the same thing you believed. was he asking you to come back? "yes" he replied before you could say anything else. "I'm asking you to come back."

you felt your breathing stop completely. your mother was probably going to be upset if you told her you were going to ask for another hospital transfer.

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purplecandygerl · 4 days ago

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@nanamineedstherapy I fucking love you for saying the things I could never put into words.

I was looking for fics and in my search I found a dope post delving into fictional men but there are some specific parts that really fuckin spoke to me:

I would reblog the entire thing but it was too big and the parts in red are the ones that really spoke to me.

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purplecandygerl · 4 days ago

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"Psst! Greyson! Over here!"

These night shifts must be taking a toll on him. Or maybe it was Yvonne's ghostly tales, swearing up and down that Asko becomes haunted after sunset, preying on his exhausted, vulnerable mind.

"Greyson!"

Just keep typing out the report. No wandering spirit is scarier than doctor Zayne when you get behind on paperwork.

"Quit ignoring me." The voice calling to Greyson from the shadows is getting louder. The speaker is trying to stay quiet, seeking his attention specifically, but getting frustrated the longer they go without a response.

A quick peek won't hurt, right?

Oh!

It isn't a vengeful spirit intent on tormenting him at all. Huddled to the side of the vending machine, face shrouded by the fake plant kept in the front office, is doctor Zayne's beloved.

Noticeably favoring her left leg over her right.

"Miss Hunter?"

"Shh!" Glaring, you lift a finger to your lips.

Whoops.

"Is something the matter?" It feels a little silly. But Greyson is considerate enough to match your hushed volume, whisper shouting to a person halfway across the room.

He hasn't done this since middle school. Wanting to share secrets with his friends, trying not to be caught by their teachers.

It's a lot more embarrassing when you're an adult in a professional setting.

"I need you to do me a favor. Zayne can't know I'm here," you emphasize, eyes shifting, nervously glancing around the empty corridors.

"Can you keep this between us?"

Through the green leaves Greyson makes out a black, papery wrapper. You wave it, trying to win him over with the allure of temptation.

"You want me to keep your doctor's visit a secret for a bar of chocolate?"

"What? You don't like chocolate?" Your expression deflates. There may be a teensy flaw in your foolproof plan.

"You have to like chocolate. Everybody likes chocolate. Greyson, you like chocolate."

"Am I interrupting?"

Greyson doesn't know who flinches harder at the arrival of a third voice.

Doctor Zayne, no further than a foot in front of you, stands imposingly. Ice cold gaze pinning you down, he brushes aside the green polyester leaves.

Busted. Still huddled against the vending machine, you just lost the most humiliating game of hide-and-seek of your life.

"What happened?" Just like Greyson, he immediately takes notice of your odd posture, how your right leg is half raised off the ground, imitating a flamingo.

"Wanderer," You mumble, shame heavy in your tone.

"Did you walk here like this?"

"Yes?" It's spoken more like a question. The disappointment radiating off of Zayne is felt from across the room, sending a shiver up poor Greyson's spine.

Zayne's piercing gaze shifts to him for just a second. Greyson is quick to raise his hands, surrendering before the confrontation truly begins.

I have nothing to do with this. I just work here.

"Come here. I'll be the one taking a look at it."

Plucking the chocolate bar from your weak grip, tucking it safely into his coat pocket, he bends at the back. One arm slides beneath your knees, being cautious of her injury, with the other supporting her back.

It's more intimate than Zayne takes any of his other patients to his office for sure. Greyson shouldn't be looking at this, should he?

Safety and proper, tender care are a guarantee for Miss Hunter. Even Greyson knows doctor Zayne doesn't take anything more seriously than her health.

But he certainly doesn't envy the scolding you're in for.

Greyson's chair swivels, fingers returning to the keys, immediately getting back to his report. A chocolate bar would never be enough to convince him to get on Zayne's bad side.

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purplecandygerl · 4 days ago

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The Anatomy of Estrangement

[Prequel to the Coatroom]

The secrets plaguing your marriage come to a head. Or do they?

Synopsis: Before the coatroom, before the silence, before you became ex-anything– there was the night you realized something was slipping through your fingers. Suspicion doesn’t wait for proof, and love doesn’t shield you from doubt. Every look, every late night, every excuse carved another crack into the foundation. This is where the unraveling began.

Content Warnings: future exhusband!Zayne, Prequel, Married Life Falling Apart, First Cracks in the Marriage, Suspected Cheating, Emotional Distance, Domestic Angst, Slow Unraveling of Trust, Foreshadowing Divorce, Miscommunication, Heavy Angst, Reader POV, Intense Domestic Scene, Early Signs of Estrangement, Paranoia vs Intuition, Hurt/No Comfort, Relationship Breakdown, Angst With No Resolution, Pre-Divorce Tension, Dark Domestic Vibes, Prelude to Coatroom Fic

Crossposted on AO3

“Listen, I'm not sitting in a stakeout if you won't feed me.”

“Solana, you already ate all the damn chips I brought.”

“And? They just made me hungrier.” Solana slumped in her seat, crossing her arms. “He's been in there for two hours. I don’t think he’s coming out.”

You adjusted your binoculars, trying to zoom into a dark window. “I need to see him leave her house– or them together. I can’t leave before that.”

Solana lowered the binoculars. Her face softened, but you’d known her long enough to recognize the look that came only before hard truths. You sighed, bracing yourself.

“Look, from what you’ve told me, I know Li isn’t a two-pump chump. So either he’s spending the night, or he’s on round four.”

“I know.”

“Okay, so you know. Let’s stop wasting time– go get something to eat and plan the next steps.”

You turned on the car, stealing one last glance at the apartment windows before peeling away.

➷➷➷➷

The eatery was quiet, surprisingly so for a Friday night, and you and Solana picked a booth in the back.

“I’ll have the miso cod, please.”

“And you, miss?”

The characters on the menu blurred together through the tears brimming in your eyes.

Solana pulled the menu away and handed it to the waiter. “She’ll have the ginger congee with chicken, thank you.”

“Right away, miss.”

“Y/n?”

“What do I do, Solana?” You buried your wet face in your palms. “I really loved him, and now it’s– it's like it was all a sham.”

Solana pulled you into her arms. “I know, honey. But you have a choice to make now.” She stroked your hair back from your face and handed you a napkin.

“You can either confront him or leave quietly.”

“But I don’t even have proof. Just speculation.” You pulled away, dabbing at your tears with the linen.

“If he’s at that bitch’s house on a Friday, and has been for the past month, I don’t think you need proof.”

“I’d rather confront him.”

“Why would you subject yourself to that? You know he’ll just lie. All men do. Not my Thomas, though– he knows better.” She sipped her wine, glancing at you.

“I need to hear it from him. If he lies, that’ll tell me what I need to know. And if he tells the truth, then…”

“Then?”

“I don’t think I can handle the truth.” You sighed.

The waiter returned, breaking the moment. He placed a plate of steaming congee in front of you and a plate of fish and rice in front of Solana, who was practically drooling.

“Eat and rest before you do. You can stay with us, clear your head,” she said between heaping spoons of rice.

“Okay. I don’t think I can go back to an empty house anyway,” you admitted solemnly.

Solana frowned, tapping your plate.

So you ate.

➷➷➷➷➷➷

“Y/n! It's good to see you!”

Thomas greeted you from his spot on the living room floor.

“Mia what are you doing to your daddy?”

Solana laughed, kicking off her shoes and putting on her slippers.

Mia, their 5-year-old daughter, was circling around her father, dusting him with a makeup brush leaving bright pink patches behind on his face.

His hair was tied into several small ponytails and his eyes were surrounded by circles of blue eye shadow.

The girl just grinned, not stopping her artistry. Thomas didn't seem to mind too much– he was a very patient man.

“You should have never taken her with you to work, now you look like one of Rafayel’s paintings!”

You laughed, sitting on the couch and twiddling your phone in your hands.

Solana glanced at your fidgeting and cleared her throat.

“Mia come on honey, it's bed time.” She shooed her child upstairs, giving Thomas a look you couldn't decipher before following.

Thomas nodded and stood up, packing away everything before sitting on the couch across from you.

“Solana has– uh..filled me in on everything.”

“Thomas, I can't have a serious conversation with you looking like that.” you try to hide your smile and be serious, but it is impossible.

He checked his reflection on a nearby mirror, startling himself, “Jesus!”

“I'll be right back!” He said darting off to their powder room.

Your phone lit up in your hand.

Zayne.

You threw it on the couch and got up, heading to their kitchen.

You couldn't talk to him.

Was he done with her? He must be home now. Or maybe he was calling to give you some “working late” excuse.

Grabbing a cup from their cabinet, you walked to their fridge, placing the cup under the nozzle for water. You rested your head on the cool fridge as you waited for the cup to fill.

“Y/n?”

“I'm in here!” You lift off the fridge and grab the cup taking a sip as you walk back.

“He called you.” Thomas was sitting back on the couch, pulling the remaining hair ties from his hair.

“I know.” You deflate back into your previous spot. The phone lit up again.

You and Thomas both watched it til it went dark.

“Want me to talk to him?”

“No.” You took a sip of water. “Let him fester in his guilt.”

“What do you plan to do? I just can't fathom Zayne doing something like this. I mean it's–”

“Y/n. He called me. I didn't answer.” Solana sat beside her husband, her braids in ponytails suspiciously similar in style as Thomas’ were.

Thomas started to gently pull them out when his phone started vibrating.

He looked at you, then Solana. Both of you shaking your heads frantically.

Pulling it out of his pocket, he slumped his shoulders in relief. “Hi Rafayel. What's going on?”

Thomas held up a finger and got up to pace while he talked to his employer.

Your phone lit up again. Solana snatched it and turned it off.

“You'd think he was smart enough to take a hint.”

“Well he doesn't know that we know what he's been up to.” You hugged a throw pillow to your chest, when you wished it was Zayne, you threw it.

It flew past Thomas’ face as he came back in. “Yes.”

He waved erratically at you and turned his phone on speaker.

“She's currently sleeping. My wife and she ate a lot of food.”

Solana smacked him.

Ow, Thomas mouthed.

“Alright, I was getting worried when she wouldn't answer my calls. Thank you, Thomas.”

“Yeah no problem, Zayne.”

Click.

Thomas sat down running his hands through his hair. “I feel like an accomplice to a crime.”

Solana sat beside him, “It's for a good cause silly.”

“I know, I just feel bad, and now I don't even know how to act around him.”

Solana rubbed his back.

You looked at them, in love and supportive of each other.

It was thanks to them you had even considered getting married, they were the perfect couple, a perfect balance of love and arguing. They made you believe that you could have that kind of love too. And you thought you did.

You wipe the tear that fell.

You felt arms wrap around you as both Solana and Thomas hugged you.

“We're here for you y/n, whatever you need.” Solana cooed.

“I'm not much of a fighter, so don't ask me to punch him for you. Anything else is doable.”

You laughed at that, picturing Thomas trying to punch the equally pacifist Zayne was too comical.

“Why don't you get some rest, you don't have to decide anything tonight.”

“Okay. Thanks guys.” They released you from their embrace.

Solana grabbed you a pillow and blanket from a closet, and set up the couch for you.

They bid you goodnight, and you waited til you heard their room door click before you turned your phone back on.

6 missed calls and 2 messages from Zayne.

You thought he'd be crazier, but guess that call with Thomas chilled him out.

You opened his texts.

Hubby💙: I won't be home til midnight.

Hubby💙: I'm rather disappointed that you didn't tell me where you were.

That's it? That's all he could say to you?

You placed your phone on the coffee table, laying down and bridging the blanket up to your chin.

You stare at the ceiling.

I'm rather disappointed. What is he my dad? Not my husband. He's not my husband anymore, how can I stay married to a cheater? Fuuuuck, how can he do this to me? Six years together, and he–

You shot up and grabbed your phone.

Me: I don't ever want to see you again. You know why. Bye.

There. Decision made. You slumped back into the pillow and covered your head.

➷➷➷➷➷➷➷

The smell of pancakes and coffee woke you up. You could hear cartoons from the TV and look over to see Mia still in her pajamas.

“Good morning Mia.”

“Hi y/n!” She came over to sit on you, and you pulled her down into a hug, both of you watching the TV.

You've known Solana since kindergarten, and when she came back to the dorms beaming about Thomas proposing, you were ecstatic for your best friend.

When she came to your house, banging on the door til you and Zayne got up, just to tell you that she was pregnant, you were also happy for her.

Now as you lay there, hugging your goddaughter, you couldn't help but feel remorseful. That you were destined to just be a cool auntie. That to balance a great relationship like Solana and Thomas have, another must crash and burn. Yours must crash and burn.

“Come eat!” Solana called from the kitchen.

You tapped Mia and she sat up turning off the TV. “You go ahead, honey.”

Folding the blanket up, you put it and the pillow back in the linen closet.

You were headed to the kitchen when a knock came from the front door.

Running ahead, you hid behind the kitchen island.

“Y/n! What's going on?” Thomas asked, nearly stepping on you.

“Someone is at the door.”

Solana rolled her eyes, flipping a pancake onto a plate. “Go answer it, it's probably the neighbor kids, they always ask Mia to play around this time.”

“No. I think it's Zayne.”

Another knock, then the doorbell rings.

“Okay okay, I'm coming.” Thomas threw a dish towel over his shoulder and went to answer the door.

“Don't be silly, why would he be here?”

The knocking got more intense.

“I kind of told him it was over.”

“You what?!”

“Where is she?”

His voice freezes your blood.

“She–”

“Hey Zayne! You just missed her, she went to get us milk.” Solana stepped out of the kitchen, trying to cover for you and silence Thomas.

You stay hidden, thinking of running out the back door, but your limbs wouldn't cooperate.

“Her car is here.”

“Yeah she walked.” Thomas quipped.

“The nearest convenience store is 20 minutes from here.”

“Well don't ask me, she must have wanted to clear her mind.”

Oh my God Thomas, shut up.

“Clear her mind from what?”

Oh no.

You started to creep towards the door to the backyard, ready to book it.

“From– mmmphmnhl” Solana must be covering his mouth.

Zayne’s shoes squeaked against the entryway tile as he stepped inside without waiting for permission.

“Y/n?” His voice was low, a warning growl beneath the syllables.

You froze halfway to the door. The air seemed to thicken, every breath catching in your throat.

“She’s not here,” Solana said firmly.

“You’re lying.”

Your heart slammed in your chest. You could almost hear it echo in the kitchen tiles. You pressed your palm against the cabinet, willing yourself invisible.

“Zayne, maybe you should–” Thomas started, muffled through Solana’s hand.

“Silence,” Zayne snapped, his voice sharp enough to cut glass.

The silence that followed was unbearable. You felt yourself moving before you even decided– your body choosing for you. One step, then another, until your bare feet kissed the cool linoleum by the back door.

You wrapped your hand around the knob.

“Don’t.”

That one word, barked like a command, froze you again. You turned your head just enough to see him standing in the doorway to the kitchen now, his eyes locked on you.

Zayne looked disheveled– hair mussed, shirt wrinkled, shadows carved deep under his eyes. Not the man you’d built your life with, not the one who used to leave you notes on the fridge or make coffee just the way you liked it. This version of him was raw, desperate, and terrifyingly unfamiliar.

“Y/n,” he said, softer this time. “Come home. Let’s talk.”

Your throat tightened, but Solana’s voice cut in sharp and steady.

“She’s not going anywhere with you.”

For a moment, it was like a standoff– your best friend squared against the man you thought you loved, Thomas fidgeting helplessly behind her.

And then Mia’s small footsteps padded down the stairs.

“Daddy? Why is Uncle Zayne yelling?”

Everyone turned.

Mia tugged at her mom's hand, oblivious to the storm in the room.

“Go sit down, sweetheart,” you whispered, forcing a smile. She obeyed reluctantly, curling on the couch, turning the TV back on.

Zayne’s gaze never left you. His presence in the doorway filled the room like a storm about to break.

“Y/n…” His voice was low, controlled, but there was a hardness to it that made your stomach twist.

You stepped out from behind the island, hands trembling slightly, forcing your voice to stay steady. “We need to talk.”

You nodded at Solana and she nodded back, pulling Thomas away.

Zayne raised an eyebrow, the faintest smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Do we?”

“Yes. You’ve been acting… distant. Secretive. And I know you’ve been seeing her.”

The words hit the air like a slap. Zayne’s face didn’t change– not a flicker of guilt, not a tremor of denial. He just watched you, calm, as if you’d accused him of something ridiculous.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Your jaw tightened. “Don’t lie to me, Zayne. I see the messages, the calls. I know something’s going on. I just… I need the truth.”

He sighed, leaning back slightly against the doorframe. “You need the truth? Are you sure you do?”

“Yes,” you said, almost shouting now. “I can handle the truth. But I can’t handle this– this silence, the pretending everything is normal when it’s not!”

Zayne’s eyes darkened, just a fraction, enough to make your chest ache. “Silence isn’t pretending.”

“Then what is it?” You swallowed hard, struggling to keep your voice even. “Why won’t you just say something? Anything?”

He shook his head, as if the question were too heavy, too trivial, too dangerous all at once. “Because some things… aren’t yours to hear.”

You felt the room tilt around you, your heartbeat loud in your ears. “So that’s it? A whole month of suspicion, anxiety, walking on eggshells… and you’re going to give me nothing?”

“I give you what matters.” His tone was steady, almost chilling. “What matters is right here. Not outside speculation. Not whatever story you’ve built in your head.”

You took a step back, anger and heartbreak colliding. “You don’t get to decide that for me!”

Zayne didn’t move. Didn’t answer. The silence stretched between you, taut and suffocating.

You pressed your lips together, tears stinging the corners of your eyes. “I can’t do this anymore.”

He didn’t try to stop you as you turned and left. The front door closed behind you, and the weight of unspoken words, unanswered questions, and raw suspicion pressed down on your shoulders.

Outside, the street was quiet, the morning air sharp against your skin. You didn’t look back. Zayne remained in the doorway, silent, inscrutable– a riddle you couldn’t solve, a wound that had just begun to fester.

Your fists clenched at your sides. Every step away from the house felt like pulling yourself out of quicksand. You wanted to run, to scream, to throw your phone into the nearest gutter, but you didn’t. You just kept walking, letting the sound of your own breathing fill the silence.

➷➷➷➷➷➷➷➷➷➷

You walked barefooted down the sidewalk, for God knows how long, but it did little to steady your racing heart. The streetlights turned on, one by one, flickering across your path, but all you could see was him– Zayne– standing there, perfectly composed, perfectly infuriating.

Your mind replayed the conversation, each word cutting deeper than the last. “Some things… aren’t yours to hear.”

What did that mean? What was he hiding? Was it the truth of his betrayal, or was it simply a wall he had built around himself that you would never breach?

The city around you blurred as tears finally slipped down your cheeks. Anger mixed with heartbreak in a bitter swirl. You had loved him– trusted him–with everything you were, and he had left you in the dark like you were nothing more than a spectator in your own life.

You stopped at a quiet corner and sank onto the curb, pulling your knees up to your chest. Your phone lay in your lap, the messages from him still unanswered, flashing reminders of everything you wanted to deny.

I won’t be home til midnight.

I’m disappointed you didn’t tell me where you were.

You pressed your palms to your face, trying to erase his voice from your head. But it lingered, like a shadow that followed you everywhere.

A car passed slowly, its headlights illuminating the street. You ignored it. It didn’t matter if someone saw you crying. You didn’t care anymore. You had to make a choice– walk away, or confront him again and risk everything.

Your chest heaved as you exhaled sharply. The truth was, you didn’t trust yourself to confront him. Not tonight. Not with your heart still tied to him in ways you couldn’t untangle. And maybe, deep down, you knew that confrontation would only make the wound worse.

After a long moment, you stood, brushing the tears from your cheeks. You walked the rest of the way home in silence, the night swallowing your footsteps. Each step was heavy, but steady. You couldn’t fix him, you couldn’t fix what you didn't know– and you didn’t want to try.

➷➷➷➷➷➷➷➷➷➷➷➷

By the time you reached your house, the first hints of dawn were brushing the horizon. His car wasn't in the driveway. You leaned against the door, taking a shaky breath, letting yourself feel the grief and anger in full. Tomorrow, you’d pretend you were okay. Tomorrow, you’d go through the motions of life while carrying this pain in your chest.

You were determined to end things.

Packing some of your things, you called Solana.

What was the point of being married with all this secrecy and lies?

➷➷➷➷➷➷➷➷➷➷➷➷➷➷➷➷➷

And somewhere in the back of your mind, you knew– this was far from over.

Because Zayne didn’t speak. He didn’t deny it, didn’t admit it. And that silence… that silence would follow you for a year.

A year of unanswered questions. A year of waiting. A year before the coatroom.

➷➷➷➷➷➷➷➷➷➷➷➷➷➷➷➷➷➷➷➷➷➷

After a year, here.

Thanks for reading <3

✦ STRWBRRY'S GOT A GUN

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purplecandygerl · 6 days ago

Text

SURE, WHATEVER YOU SAY, HANDSOME !

✩ synopsis: lads men reacting to you complimenting him in the middle of an argument to get out of trouble ✩ pairing: all lis x reader ✩ a/n: inspired by this one screenshot of a tweet from pinterest based off nanami kento teehee

xavier.

"why did you follow me to the no-hunt zone?"

you shrug him off, removing the buckles of your uniform and tossing it to the empty table beside you.

"i told you to not follow me, something could've happened to you."

"something could've happened to you, xavier!" you argue, turning on your heel to face him, "i followed you because you were so adamant in going there alone without any help from anyone," you continued, eyes scanning up and down his features. xavier is adorned in his usual white combat uniform, grime and oil smeared on his pants and arms, his usual stoic expression is plastered across his face.

however, you see the glint behind his eyes that show guilt and slight anger. angry from what—you don't know. huffing, you pivot away from him, continuing to remove your gear from your body.

"i didn't tell you i needed the help because i don't think it was necessary. it wasn't something i can't handle," xavier says, peeling off his gloves. you ignore his words and proceed to the other side of the room, plopping yourself down on the chair, focusing on the laces of your shoes.

"and you not telling me that you were joining me is just the same with me not telling you too," he retorts, as if what he says makes it even better.

you roll your eyes, grumbling under your breath, "i am not going to apologize to that."

he frowns, "why don't you talk to me properly?" he asks, almost pleadingly, taking slow and steady strides towards you.

you scoff disbelievingly, shaking your head, "whatever," you mumble. before you can even kick off the shoes from your feet, xavier kneels across you and gently takes off the boots wordlessly. his calm demeanor render you speechless, his fingertips softly massaging your sore soles.

then, he looks up at you, "what was that? i didn't catch that," he asks.

"i-i said, 'whatever!'" you exclaim with a roll of your eyes, looking away.

xavier merely raises a brow at your behavior, mouth slightly agape, "wha—"

"i am not arguing with a calm, soft-hearted, loving man!" you huff, "whatever you say, handsome!"

his jaw grows slack at your words, taken aback by the 180 of the situation. xavier props one knee up, leaning close to your space, "i thought you were angry?" he asks.

"i thought you were angry," you bite back, refusing to meet his gaze.

he shakes his head, "just upset. but never angry at you. especially with what you said earlier. what was that again?"

blush creeps to your cheeks, turning away from him, "i'm not repeating that!"

you miss the way his lips curl into a smile and his fingers trailing the exposed skin of your legs comfortingly. you don't know it yet, but he already plans something intimate in his head after your words tumble out of your mouth. but for now, he grins up at you lovingly, heart swelling at your random compliment and mind completely forgetting why he was upset in the first place.

rafayel.

he won't budge.

no matter how many times you call his name, ask him about his art he was working on, or even bribe him with dinner, rafayel would not give you the time of the day. and so, you thought of the best way to deal with the situation—give him space.

but the minute he finds you alone in bed, scrolling through your phone, he frowns.

"oh so what happened to accompanying me the whole day? going back to your word again?" he begins, arms crossed across his chest with an evident pout on his face.

you sigh, "rafayel, i've been calling you for hours and you wouldn't spare me a glance!"

he rolls his eyes animatedly, "maybe it's because you promised you would accompany me throughout the exhibit only for you to arrive by the time the show's about to end?"

"i told you, there was an emergency—"

"since when was 'tara needing to run to the vet clinic to pick up medicine for her sickly cat' an emergency?" he retorts.

"uhh since she called?" you reply, plopping your phone down to your chest. rafayel huffs in response, tempted to turn his back to you, and sulk again in his studio. but when he sees the lack of remorse on your features, he feels like his feet were glued to the floor.

it's not like you didn't feel bad for leaving rafayel out to dry during one of his most important events, it's that you found his pouting amusing.

you've been wanting to apologize properly to him for the past two hours but when he refuses to drop the paintbrush for you, you got the signal.

"i only ask you once to join me in my exhibit and you... my beloved bodyguard…. betrays me for a cat?" he says, voice almost raising and in a disbelieving tone.

you blankly stare at him, face pulled tightly as he places his hands on his hips. “and now what? you’re giving me the silent treatment?”

you examine his eyes under the faint glow of the fluorescent light, his irises gleaming with what seems like grumpiness and hurt. you hate to admit it especially when your boyfriend seemed devastated with your actions earlier, but the way he stands from across the room idly makes your heart skip a beat.

ignoring the butterflies in your stomach, you pick up your phone with a roll of your eyes, “ugh, whatever,” you reply.

rafayel couldn’t believe the words that tumble out of your tongue, his mouth slightly ajar, “wh-what?” he asks, brows raised.

“i said, whatever!” you repeat, voice slightly raising, “i’m not arguing with a tall, handsome, kind-hearted man!”

rafayel blinks once.

twice.

then his hands slowly fall to his sides, “what did you just say?”

heat rises to your cheeks as you ignore his question, scrolling through hundreds of posts in your moments account with a shrug.

you hear his light footsteps padding through the expanse, then as soon as he reaches your side, he snatches your phone away.

“hey!”

“i’ll give it back to you once you repeat what you just said, cutie,” rafayel replies with a teasing lilt.

“you already heard me!” you exclaim, kneeling on the cushion of the bed to reach his height but he pulls away further, a hand pressed on your décolletage.

“nope,” he said popping the ‘p’, “say it again!”

your eyes flit to the ceiling in feign annoyance, “ugh. i said, ‘i am not arguing with a tall, handsome, kind-hearted man!’ now will you give it back?”

rafayel’s lips tug into a smile, flipping your phone in his hand before shoving it to his back pocket, “no.”

“wha—“

“cutie thinks she can get away with trouble just because she complimented, huh?” he says, leaning into your space.

you fight back the smile wriggling in your face, “hmm, why not?”

he inches closer to you until his breath fan across your cheeks, “silly girl. i think you can get away with it if you do something for me," rafayel whispers, eyes glancing down from your lips to your eyes.

hesitantly, you ask, "what is it...?"

he hums, "don't babysit that cat ever again."

"no."

zayne.

"how many times have i told you already to stay out of trouble?"

"it's my job, zayne. being a hunter means being in trouble all the time," you reply, holding back from rolling your eyes. you understand where your lover is coming from, especially when you could only imagine the panic settling in his chest when he sees you rush in the emergency room for the third time this month.

but at the same time, it's the third time this month he has given you an earful of being too reckless and going out of your way to face danger itself.

zayne shuts the curtains from your space, blocking you from every other patient's view, "i am aware of what your job entails, but it seems you're so hard-headed that you never listen to a word i say," he retorts, removing the medicated cotton ball from your arm and instead starts pulling out a lengthy gauze, "is there something wrong with being careful or do you just prefer to risk your life every time you're out there?" he continues, snipping the cotton in its desirable length. he refuses to make eye contact with you, his brows furrowed and a permanent scowl on his lips from the minute you step foot in the hospital.

you just managed to catch him merely passing by the ER when tara rushed beside you for help.

"because i prefer to not seeing you in this ward again covered in blood and yet it seems you find it amusing with your sheepish smile when i tend you," zayne comments as he wraps your wounded skin with the bandage, "your stubbornness never ceases to amaze me."

he then turns to his side, tossing out the bloodied pads to the bin with a harshness that you never saw from him before.

you scoff and zayne's glare hardens, his hands growing heavier and the clanking of metal together echoing loudly across the ward, "i'm not arguing with a tall, soft spoken, kindhearted man," you say with a roll of your eyes, "whatever you say, handsome."

zayne pauses from his actions, slowly turning to you questioningly, "what did you just say?"

you ignore the cold shivers running down your spine and shrug, "you heard me."

he takes a step towards you, and another, then another, before successfully removing any space between you two, "you think flattering me will get you out of trouble?" he says, raising a brow at you.

you purse your lips, "why not?" you reply as nonchalantly as you can despite the wild hammering of your heart against your chest.

you didn't miss the tug from the corner of zayne's lips, "that is very unprofessional, miss hunter. i'd like to keep our relationship strictly doctor-patient."

"it was unprofessional the moment you shut the curtains, dr. zayne," you say with a teasing lilt.

"is that so?" zayne replies, tilting his head in curiosity, "well then," he says, fist curled to the fabric of the curtains, "please go home and get plenty of rest before you give me any other bad ideas and have me refrain from scolding you any further."

you pout, "you won't drive me home?"

"aren't you a spoiled little thing? you try to escape from my reprimands and you want a ride home?" he says, dropping his hands to his sides.

you merely nod, looking up at him with the biggest doe eyes you can muster. zayne ends up sighing, fingers massaging the bridge of his nose.

"you are one very clever girl," he murmurs, turning back to you, "but i will say this one last time, i do not want you to come here bloody again, got it, my love?" he says in a low tone with his hazel-green eyes piercing yours, "i just don't want to get used to seeing the girl i love get hurt."

you smile at him, wrapping your bandaged arms around his shoulders, "i got that dr. zayne, i'm sorry."

zayne replies with a peck to your forehead, fingers threading to your hair, "okay, let's get a certain hasty hunter home."

caleb.

"haven't we discussed already that you will just stay at home today?"

"caleb, i'm a grown woman. i can take care of myself with simple errands outside the house."

"that's not the point and you know that," caleb retorts, his arms folded across his chest as he stares at you from across the room with disappointment written across his features. "you made a promise to me and you deliberately broke it. you didn't think i would catch you, huh?" he continues, his back leaning against the column of your shared house.

you bite back your tongue from talking back to him, knowing it would escalate into something uglier. arguing with caleb has always turned into a fight on who can resist the other one better and it never turns out well.

"it's not that i want to keep you in this house for myself, i'm just upset that you specifically told me that you will be at home the whole day. what happened to keepin' our word?" caleb says, "and what if somethin' happened to you while you were out and i didn't know where you were?"

"you always know where i am," you argue.

"regardless. what if i didn't had my phone on me and you were in danger?"

"are we forgetting that i'm a hunter and i can take care of myself?"

caleb clicks his tongue in annoyance, "not the point. i'm just sayin' that it would be best if you would be honest to me so that i know where you are goin' and what to watch out from."

you heave a sigh, darting your gaze elsewhere.

"do you understand me, babe?" he says, a little gentler than before. but you refused to reply, only resting your elbow on your knee and plopping your chin to the palm of your hand.

"you're not listenin'," he says in a low tone, gaze darkening.

"whatever," you scoff.

"what was that?"

"i said, whatever!" you exclaim, throwing your hands up in the air, "i'm not arguing with a tall, caring, and hot man. whatever you say, handsome."

caleb's brain feels like it short-circuited. he couldn't produce a single, coherent thought.

blinking rapidly at you, he takes long strides to the couch, "repeat that for me again, babe."

"no," you affirm, refusing to look at him. the next second, you find him kneeling across you and his hands wrapped around yours, a bright smile across his features, "c'monnnn," he drawls, "say it again!"

you couldn't fight back the smile stretching across your lips as you turn to him, and you swear you could see the halo around his head and a tail wagging on his back.

"i'm not saying that again!" you giggle and caleb leans closer to you, hands gripping firmly over yours, "you think you can just say those words to get away from trouble, huh?"

you feign innocence, looking up at the ceiling, "what? i don't know what you mean!"

caleb smirks up at you, head tilting to the side, "you're a sly woman, aren'tcha?"

"i learned from the best," you shrug.

then, his eyes look up at you longingly, "you know i can never stay mad at you," he mumbles, "but i'm serious, you should always tell me where you're goin'."

"sure, whatever you say, handsome."

"hey."

sylus.

"what happened to going to the n109 zone this weekend? it seems you want to do whatever you want, sweetie."

"something came up at the hunter's association that i had to take care of," you grumble under your breath, kicking off your shoes at your doorway, unsurprised at the intruder in your home that you call your lover.

"oh?" sylus replies indifferently, one brow raised at your passiveness at the situation. "are we going to act like you didn't read my last five messages and purposely left it like that?" he continues, arms folded across his chest as he leans back at your couch.

"yes," you hiss, storming off to your room in annoyance. you didn't mean to give him the sourest attitude you can muster tonight but with the frustration from the earlier missions still lingering in your chest—you just can't help it.

and you just know sylus is not happy either with the way you are acting around him, especially with his numerous unanswered messages to you.

"someone's being a feisty kitten tonight," he calls, trailing behind you with larger strides. without hesitation, sylus gently snatches your wrist and turns you to him, his eyes boring into yours. you could see the exasperation behind his irises, but you ignore it with the way his other hand creeps up on your back. then, he tugs you closer to his space until your hip rests against his and his breath fans across your cheeks, "now tell me what happened," he demands, his voice an octave lower.

you couldn't even process a thought in your head with the way he is cradling you right now, let alone answer him.

he tilts his head at you expectantly, lips inches away from yours. you could feel the heat rising to your neck with the way his fingers mindlessly trace along your back. swallowing thickly, you gather all the strength in your hands and shove him away, "no," you assert, turning your back to him so he wouldn't find your crazy blush.

you miss the way sylus frowns and mouth agape in shock with the way you act like a brat.

"sweetie," he only says with a stern voice. but before he can continue, you cut him off, "no!"

you shake your head, "i am not arguing with a tall, gentle, and understanding man! whatever you say, handsome!"

you don't even know where you plucked the courage to say those words out loud.

but with the way he pauses and then suddenly laughs have the words finally sunk in your system. you whip your head back to his direction, finding his sly smile and one hand resting on his hip, "is that so?" he says.

"wh-what?" you stammer.

"is that why you are so feisty tonight, hm?" he says, brow raised at you and his weight shifted to one of his foot. before you can even answer him and deny of his accusations, he takes a full step towards you. sylus grabs your waist in one swift movement and pulls you taut to his chest, "i'll forget that you were being naughty earlier, sweetie," he murmurs under his breath.

"just give me one thing," he continued.

"...what is it?" you mumble, ignoring the close proximity between his lips to yours.

"i think you already know, kitten."

"i'll just go back to ignoring you now, thanks."

"sweetie."

cosmoszyn's masterlist.

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purplecandygerl · 8 days ago

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*pls keep in mind my blog is 18+ !!! 🍡 pls read my rules bfyi

i don’t think you understand just how clingy zayne is until you come home to him wrapped in your cozy blanket on your shared couch. it’s not his fault that it smells just like you:( your sweet comforting aroma is beyond intoxicating. but you’re home now, and he can hold the real thing. before you know it you’re in his lap and his nose is tucked away in the crook of your neck, drunkenly inhaling that saccharine scent of yours.

and it’s not long before he’s peppering kisses along the length of your neck and shoulders, his slender fingers dimpling the pudge of your soft waist as he holds you tighter in his embrace. he whispers his devotions sweetly in between kisses, his lips moving towards your own. they’re parted and a bit puffy, and his eyes… practically begging, no pleading for a kiss. just a little one…or three. hi baby you coo at him, giving him exactly what he wants with a smile that makes him fall deeper in love. he can’t help but melt in the palm of your hand as you caress his cheek. he’s been waiting all day just for this, just for you.

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purplecandygerl · 9 days ago

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⤷ ゛watching tiktoks in bed with zayne .ᐟ ˎˊ˗

zayne x reader

fluff, silly, slightly suggestive if you squint, established relationship, fem reader ☺︎

wc: 1k

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

you and zayne wrap yourselves into bed to have your last few hours of pillow-talk before you go to sleep. zayne isn’t someone you’d exactly describe to be “caught up with the times” social media-wise, so you figured it’d be interesting to open up tiktok to see his reactions to the things you usually watch. you slot your back against his chest and he puts his weighted arm around your waist as instinct. he rests his nose in the crook of your neck, taking in your scent. you hold the phone up so that the both of you can see. normally, zayne would lecture you on looking at screens right before bedtime, but he let you off the hook tonight since you seemed excited to show him.

➤ the first thing that appears on your page are satisfying slime videos and stimboards. the person in the video crushes, molds, and slowly chops up the slime with a knife.

“is this what you normally watch in your free time? this appears to have the same psychology as jingling keys in front of a baby.”

“it’s meant to stimulate and relax your brain, zayne! don’t you want to take a bite out of it?”

“perhaps this method of relaxation only works for those who act spoiled and childish,” he teases in his typical deadpan manner.

he’s quiet for a rather long time while you’re watching slime videos. you assume he’s asleep, and you’re about to turn off your phone when you turn around and see that he’s watching even more intently than you are, even making subtle hand motions as if he’s actually holding the slime.

➤ you point at a very doughy and bouncy slime.

“can i squeeze your face like this slime? i bet its just as moldable.”

“feeling satisfying sensations often can stimulate the release of oxytocin and dopamine,” he takes your hand and places it against his cheek.

➤ you see an asmr video of a small cup being filled with colorful whipped cream using a piping bag. it creates an enjoyable, crunchy, staticky noise.

“that’s what you should do to me,” you say, absentmindedly making an absurd joke.

zayne is quiet, it seems like he didn’t understand for a moment.

after a while, he responds with a perplexed tone,

…

��what?”

you stifle your laughter at his realization of what you just said.

➤ a video of a couple comes up. the girl turns to her boyfriend and hastily exclaims, “smile if you want a new girlfriend!” the boyfriend tries his hardest not to smile under the pressure.

you turn to him and exclaim the same thing. his already invisible smile turns into his most serious “doctor” pokerface in an instant. you laugh at him and squish his cheeks, which causes him to smile a bit.

you fake gasp, “zayne, you smiled! do you have something to tell me?”

➤ an edit of your favorite fictional character appears. you have to explain fancams to chronically offline zayne.

“you display one’s brilliance by showcasing the same four videos of them?”

…

“…in that case, it shouldn’t be difficult to make a ‘fancam’ of you, yes?”

➤ you come across an ad for a micro bikini, displayed on a curvy mannequin. you’re about to quickly skip it, but you figure it’s the perfect opportunity to say something silly and unexpected.

“you would look great wearing that, zayne,” you say while pointing with a grin.

“i may need a size up.”

➤ you keep scrolling to the next video only for him to scroll back to a video of a chocolate cake being made for the third time.

➤ you’re watching someone recreate a yummy stir fry recipe that makes your mouth water.

“we should make this together, zayne!”

before he can respond, he instantly scrolls to the next video as soon as he sees carrots being added to the pan.

➤ you’re watching cute animals. every time a dog or cat appears you have to exclaim “dog!” or “cat!”, it’s a reflex to do so at this point.

“you know zayne, sometimes when i see your face, i have to resist the urge to say ‘cat!’ to you.”

“why so? do i look that much like a cat to you?”

“well yes, but i think it’s more because seeing you turns on the same part of my brain as when i see an adorable kitten.”

➤ you enjoy watching those animal spa videos where the owners give their cats and dogs full treatments as if they’re humans.

“if i was a dog, would you give me this special treatment, zayne?”

“i didn’t realize you needed to be a dog to receive such care.”

“well, i don’t see you massaging my paws and moisturizing my snout!”

“…i suppose there’s an anatomical issue preventing me from doing so.”

➤ you see a video of two seals that look like they’re kissing. you point at the screen and say “us.”

he nods in agreement, “yes, but i believe we’re far more affectionate than seals.”

“zayne, did you know that biting each other’s flippers and blowing bubbles at one another is the ultimate technique to show affection as a seal?”

“do you mean to say that we should take a leaf from their book and start biting each other’s flippers to surpass them in the affection-showing game?”

➤ there’s a video of a pretty black cat with green eyes. you instantly associate it’s features with the equally “feline” zayne.

“he looks just like you. he’s very handsome too!”

he scrolls to the next video before it even ends. “i’m not as fluffy as him.”

you take the hint that he got a little jealous. you giggle. “don’t worry zayne, i’d take you over a million fluffy kittens any day.” you turn around to face him and pinch his cheek.

➤ watches streamer/youtuber clips with you even though he doesn’t understand about 90% of the words they’re saying.

➤ you like watching medical fact videos because you like to ask zayne which ones are right and wrong. (they’re usually wrong.)

❤︎

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purplecandygerl · 9 days ago

Text

Love Between the Lines (Pt.2)

⚜️Pairings: Zayne x Non! Mc Reader

⚜️Content: Hurt/ Comfort

⚜️Other works: Masterlist

Part 1 Part 2

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The moment the last suture was tied, Zayne didn’t stay for the post-op debrief. He stripped off his gloves and muttered something about clocking out. His heart was pounding harder than it ever had in an operating room.

The automatic doors of the hospital slid open with a sterile hiss, but the cold night air hit him like a slap. He didn’t slow down. His shoes barely touched the pavement as he crossed the parking lot, his ID badge swinging violently against his chest.

Every step was a drumbeat in his head.

I shouldn’t have left. I shouldn’t have left. I shouldn’t have left.

Three hours in the OR felt like years. The whole time, her face had been there — the way her eyes didn’t quite meet his that morning, the small, tight smile that wasn’t really a smile at all. The soft way she’d turned her head when he’d tried to explain. He could still see her standing in the kitchen, back to him, shoulders pulled in like she was holding herself together.

By the time he reached their house, his palms were slick with sweat, his throat bone-dry. His key scraped the lock from how hard his hand trembled.

“Y/n?” His voice was too loud. Too desperate.

The moment he stepped inside, he knew something was wrong.

No rustle of movement from the bedroom.

No faint hum from the TV she always left on low when she waited for him.

Just silence — thick and cold, like it had been sitting here for hours.

“Y/n? Love, I’m home—” His voice cracked. “We… we need to talk.”

Still nothing.

He moved through the living room, his eyes darting everywhere — couch cushions still in place, blanket neatly folded, shoes lined up by the door. The order of it all made his stomach twist.

That’s when he saw it.

On the dining table.

Two plates.

Two sets of cutlery.

Garlic rice, stir-fried vegetables, grilled fish — her favorites for nights when she wanted to make something warm, something that would remind them both that home was more than just a place.

His chair was pulled out slightly, like she’d been sitting there, waiting.

The sight hit him so hard he had to grip the back of the chair just to steady himself. The food was cold now, the shine of oil on the fish dulled, the rice clumped together. But the care was still there. He could see her hands in every detail — the way she’d cut the vegetables, the way she’d placed the plate closer to his side of the table because she knew he always sat there.

He swallowed hard. His throat felt tight, like there wasn’t enough air in the room.

“Y/n…” The name left his mouth as a plea.

His phone was in his hand before he even thought about it.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

Straight to voicemail.

“Y/n, please,” he whispered into the phone, pacing the room like a man trying to outwalk his own panic. “I’m home. I—God, I should’ve said more this morning. Please… just… come back.”

He hung up and tried again. And again. Each unanswered call was another crack splintering through his chest.

He searched the bedroom next. The bed was neatly made, not slept in. Her sweater was gone from the back of the chair. The closet door was ajar, and one of her favorite bags was missing.

His pulse spiked. He felt like he was standing at the edge of something he couldn’t come back from.

By the time he made it back to the dining table, he couldn’t breathe right. The room suddenly felt smaller, the air heavier. He braced both hands on the table, fingers pressing into the wood until his knuckles whitened.

And then it broke.

The tears came without warning, hot and unrelenting, sliding down his cheeks faster than he could wipe them away. He bent forward, pressing the heel of his palm to his eyes like it could stop them, but it didn’t.

Zayne was not a man who cried. He’d stitched arteries without a tremor, delivered devastating news without so much as a crack in his voice. But here, surrounded by her absence, by the cold meal she’d made for him, he unraveled completely.

“Y/n…” Her name left him in a hoarse whisper, again and again, each time softer, as though saying it would somehow make her appear in the doorway, arms crossed, angry but still there.

His voice echoed in the empty apartment, a sound swallowed by walls that had never felt this quiet before.

The cold food sat between them like a reminder of everything he’d been too late to say.

And in that stillness, the truth landed hard and cruel in his chest.

She was gone.

The phone was still pressed to his ear when he shoved his arms into his coat and stumbled toward the door. His fingers fumbled with the lock, breath uneven, chest tight.

“Come on, pick up… please, just pick up,” he muttered under his breath, his voice shaking in a way that was unfamiliar and unwelcome.

The door swung open and the night swallowed him whole. Cold air biting his skin, streetlights painting everything in a dull, yellow haze. He didn’t even bother locking the door. He just ran.

Down the block. Around the corner. Past the closed pharmacy where she used to wait for him after late shifts.

He called again. Voicemail.

Again. Voicemail.

Each time her recorded voice played, his chest clenched. She sounded so calm in it — so warm. The sound of her, even from months ago, made his knees feel weak.

He went first to the small coffee shop two streets over. The barista looked up when the bell above the door chimed, and Zayne’s voice came out in a rush.

“Have you seen her? This tall—no, shorter—uh, hair like this—she’s usually here in the evenings—” The barista shook her head with a sympathetic frown.

He didn’t even thank her. He was already moving.

Next was the restaurant they always claimed as theirs, the one with the flickering neon sign and the mismatched chairs. He scanned every table, hope clawing its way up his throat, but the place was empty except for a couple in the corner, leaning close and laughing.

The sound cut into him like glass.

He could still remember her laugh here — the way it would spill over the table like sunlight, the way she’d lean her chin on her hand and just look at him like nothing else in the world mattered.

Now there was only the clink of cutlery and the low hum of a love that wasn’t his.

He turned before anyone could see the wetness gathering in his eyes.

The city felt colder tonight, as though it knew what he’d done — or rather, what he hadn’t done. Every street he walked down, every empty bench he passed, whispered the same thing in the back of his mind.

You’re too late.

He tried her number again, leaning against a lamppost when his breath came too fast from running. His fingers were stiff from the cold, but his hands still trembled as he pressed the phone to his ear.

Ring.

“Please, love,” he whispered, voice breaking. “Just tell me where you are. I’ll come get you. We can— we can fix this. I’ll say everything I should’ve said. Just… don’t disappear on me.”

Voicemail.

The sound of the beep crushed him.

He walked without aim after that, checking the little bookstore they’d duck into on rainy afternoons, the park bench where she’d once fallen asleep against his shoulder, even the bus stop she’d wait at before they lived together.

Nothing.

Every place they’d once shared was now just a hollow shell. The outlines of their life together with her missing from the picture.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The café was quiet now, only the low hum of the refrigerator behind the counter filling the space.

Y/n sat at the farthest corner table, her untouched cup of tea growing colder by the minute.

She didn’t even like tea that much, Coffee had always been her comfort. But tonight, she didn’t want comfort.

She wanted distance.

The phone on the table lit up again.

His name.

Zayne.

Her breath caught, and for a fleeting second, her hand almost reached for it. Almost.

But she didn’t.

She just stared at the glow until it dimmed again, the silence that followed pressing heavy in her chest.

The tea had gone completely cold now. She didn’t mind. Her gaze drifted to the window, where the streetlight cast a lonely cone of light onto the empty sidewalk. It was the same street they used to walk together after late dinners, his coat draped over her shoulders because he always claimed she “shivered too easily.”

She bit the inside of her cheek, forcing down the memory. She had told herself she wouldn’t cry tonight — not in public, not where anyone could see. But her eyes burned anyway, traitorous, and she had to look away from the window.

The phone lit up again.

Her fingers curled into the hem of her sweater.

Don’t answer.

She repeated it in her head like a mantra.

If she heard his voice now, she knew she’d falter. She knew she’d forgive him too quickly, and he wouldn’t understand the weight of her hurt.

Because it wasn’t about Adriana. Not entirely.

It was about the empty dinners.

The way his shoes would arrive at the door hours after she’d gone to bed.

The way his eyes, once so eager to find hers in a room, had grown tired… distracted.

It was the quiet in their home that had become louder than any argument they’d ever had.

She had loved Zayne for his steadiness, for the way he carried the weight of the world without letting it spill onto her. But somewhere along the way, she realized he wasn’t just carrying the world — he was keeping it locked away, and she was outside the door, knocking, asking to be let in.

And tonight, she was too tired to knock.

She turned her phone face down on the table, shutting out the glow. Her thumb traced the rim of the mug as she swallowed the lump in her throat.

She wanted to go home.

She wanted to walk through the door and find him there, coat tossed on the couch, that rare smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

She wanted him to say her name like it meant something more than a passing thought between surgeries.

But she also wanted him to feel it — the hollow ache of missing someone who was still alive, still breathing, but not there.

The café owner glanced her way, wiping down a table, the lights flickering in that subtle, closing-time way. She pulled her sweater tighter around her and stood, her legs heavier than they should’ve been.

As she stepped out into the cold, the phone in her pocket vibrated again. Her heart gave a painful twist. She didn’t check it.

The city was nearly silent now, and for once, she let it be.

Somewhere, she knew, Zayne was looking for her.

And the cruel truth was… she wanted him to find her.

But not tonight.

Tonight, she needed to know if he’d still be searching tomorrow.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The night air bit into Zayne’s lungs as he ran, his breath coming fast, uneven — nothing like the measured control he had in the operating room.

In the hospital, he never trembled. He never let his hands falter.

But now, under the dim streetlights, his hands shook so badly he could barely scroll through his contacts to call her again.

No answer.

Again.

No answer.

He swallowed hard, trying to keep the panic from swallowing him whole.

He told himself she was okay, that maybe she had just needed air, space… but the way she had looked at him earlier — the wall in her eyes — made his chest tighten until it hurt to breathe.

Then, as he rounded the corner, he saw it.

The café.

Their café.

It was where they’d once spent rainy Saturday afternoons, where she’d stolen sips of his coffee and teased him for drinking it too sweet.

The warm glow spilling from its windows made something in him ache. If she was anywhere tonight, it would be here.

He crossed the street in long, urgent strides, his eyes scanning the inside through the glass.

Empty.

The last of the chairs were being stacked by the owner, the counter already wiped clean.

For a moment, he stood frozen on the sidewalk, heart hammering against his ribs. He pressed his palm to the glass, absurdly wishing he could somehow rewind time by just being here.

A thought gripped him suddenly — maybe she’d already left. Maybe she was walking home now, cold and alone, her phone in her pocket ignoring every call.

His eyes swept the street.

Zayne saw her.

It was a fleeting glimpse across the street — a familiar figure in a pale sweater, her hair tucked messily behind her ear the way she always did when she was deep in thought. For a split second, the world stilled. All the noise from the city — the hum of cars, the distant chatter, the faint drizzle tapping on the pavement — faded into the background. His heart kicked hard against his ribs, a sudden, raw jolt of recognition and hope.

“(Y/n)!”

He shouted her name, voice cracking in a way he wasn’t used to. It wasn’t the commanding tone of a surgeon calling orders in an operating room — it was desperate, ragged, almost childlike. He pushed forward, weaving through the thin trickle of pedestrians, his shoes splashing against shallow puddles as he crossed the street without caring if the light was red.

But when he reached the spot… she was gone.

The empty sidewalk greeted him with the scent of rain and a faint echo of her presence. His eyes darted left, then right, scanning every corner, every moving figure, his chest tight and his breaths coming faster than they should. He swore she had been here just seconds ago.

“Dammit… no, no, no—” he muttered, running a hand through his damp hair before breaking into a jog down the nearest side street.

He didn’t think. He just moved.

Every shadow became her silhouette. Every woman with the faintest resemblance made his stomach lurch with anticipation, only for it to twist painfully when he realized it wasn’t her. He ducked into every coffee shop they’d been to, pushing the door open with too much force, scanning the tables for that familiar curve of her shoulders, that way she would cradle her mug in both hands. Each time he came up empty-handed, the disappointment cut deeper.

“Have you seen a woman — about this tall — hair like this?” His voice trembled as he asked the baristas, the street vendors, anyone who looked like they might’ve noticed. His usually calm, even tone was replaced by something raw, restless. Some people shook their heads with polite confusion. Others barely looked up from what they were doing.

He kept calling her phone.

Once. Twice. Ten times. Twenty.

Every time, the same thing—the dull, mechanical voice telling him the call couldn’t be completed, or that it went straight to voicemail. Her name glowed on his screen, mocking him. He tried leaving a message once, but his voice cracked halfway through, and he hung up, feeling pathetic.

By the fifth missed call, his hands were trembling. By the tenth, he could feel the burn of panic in his chest — the kind that no deep breath could control.

The streets felt larger without her. Too wide. Too empty. He moved from block to block, his pace quick but aimless, because what if she had turned in the opposite direction? What if he had walked right past her?

The drizzle had turned into a light rain now, beading in his hair and sliding down the back of his neck, but he barely noticed. His mind was a loud, looping litany:

Please be somewhere safe. Please don’t be mad enough to just disappear. Please let me explain. Please… just give me the chance.

But he knew. Deep down, he knew this wasn’t just about tonight. This was about every night he’d come home late, every time he’d sat silently at the dinner table while she tried to make conversation, every time he’d prioritized another surgery over the promises he made to her.

He passed another familiar coffee shop — one that stayed open until midnight — and shoved the door open, startling the lone barista wiping down the counter.

“She was here earlier,” the barista said slowly, when Zayne described her.

His pulse spiked. “Where did she go?”

The barista hesitated. “I… think she left with a taxi. Sorry, I didn’t see where.”

Zayne’s mouth went dry. A taxi. She could be anywhere now.

His legs felt heavier with every step after that, but he didn’t stop. He moved through the city like a man chasing a ghost, retracing places that held their laughter, their arguments, their quiet moments.

The bench at the park where they once sat watching the fountain lights. Empty.

The bookstore where she used to linger in the romance aisle. Closed for the night.

The small bakery that always packed an extra pastry “on the house” because the owners adored her. Dark, shutters drawn.

By the time his watch read 11:45 p.m., his phone battery was nearly gone from the constant calls, the dampness from the rain had seeped through his clothes, and his breaths came in shallow, uneven bursts. His heart ached — not the dull fatigue of a long shift, but something sharper, heavier, like it was straining against his ribs.

When he finally stopped walking, it wasn’t because he wanted to. It was because he didn’t know where else to go.

He stood in the middle of a quiet street, shoulders sagging, looking up at the dark sky as if it might hand her back to him. His chest rose and fell in quick, uneven motions, the panic refusing to fade.

For the first time in years, Zayne felt small. Completely powerless.

His voice came out hoarse when he spoke into the empty air. “Come home, please… just come home.”

The words were swallowed by the rain, by the hum of the city that didn’t care about the way his world had tilted. He looked down at his phone, her name still on the screen, thumb hovering over the call button again — even though he knew she wouldn’t answer.

He called anyway.

Zayne didn’t even know how long he stood there.

The rain pattered against his shoulders, soaking into the collar of his coat until it clung uncomfortably to his skin. Cars hissed by in the distance, but the street around him was nearly empty now — just the occasional figure rushing past with an umbrella, faces blurred by the low streetlight glow.

He finally moved when a cold wind swept through the street, rattling a loose sign overhead. His legs felt like lead, but they carried him back through the twisting grid of familiar roads. He didn’t have a plan anymore — his earlier frantic energy had given way to something slower, heavier, like his body had realized it was chasing someone who might not want to be found.

He still called her. Even when his phone battery dipped to a dangerous sliver of red, he pressed her name again and again, listening to the same hollow ring until it cut to voicemail. Once, he thought he heard someone answer — his heart jumped, breath catching — but it was only the rain slipping into his ear, playing tricks on him.

He passed their building more than once, unable to bring himself to go inside. What if she was in there, packing the last of her things? What if he walked in and found the apartment stripped of her completely? The thought made his stomach twist painfully, so he kept walking past, circling the block, scanning every passing taxi as though one might miraculously open and she’d step out.

When midnight finally crept close, the streets had gone almost silent. Storefront lights were dimmed, and the only people left outside were the ones hurrying home from late shifts or lingering under bus stop shelters.

He stopped in front of a small convenience store, staring through the glass at the fluorescent-lit aisles. A couple stood by the instant noodles section, laughing over something one of them said. The sight stabbed him — quick and mean — because that used to be them. Late-night snack runs, whispered jokes over cheap food, her hand slipping into his without thinking.

Now his own hand hung cold and empty at his side.

By the time he finally walked toward their building, the rain had tapered to a fine mist. His footsteps echoed in the stairwell, too loud, the kind of sound that reminded him how alone he was.

He unlocked the door to the apartment slowly, almost as if bracing for impact.

The first thing he noticed was the quiet. Not the usual peaceful quiet of a late night, but the kind that felt wrong — hollow, like the walls themselves were holding their breath.

His throat tightened. He sank into one of the chairs, elbows on the table, staring at the plate in front of him. He could picture her here earlier, carefully arranging the food, glancing toward the door with that small, hopeful smile she always wore when she was waiting for him.

And he hadn’t come home in time. Again.

He reached for his phone. Out of habit now more than hope and called her one more time. It went straight to voicemail.

Zayne let the phone drop onto the table. His hands were trembling.

He’d been in operating rooms where the air was thick with urgency, where a patient’s life hung in the balance and every second mattered — but this? This felt worse. Because in those rooms, at least he knew exactly what to do. He had training, a clear path forward. But with her… he didn’t know how to fix this.

He looked toward the couch, where her throw blanket was still crumpled from that morning. The mug she’d used for coffee sat on the counter, a faint ring of dried liquid at the bottom.

Everywhere he looked, there she was — and yet, she wasn’t.

His chest ached in a way he couldn’t ignore anymore. Not the tight, temporary pang of panic, but something heavier, bone-deep. He pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes, willing the burning there to go away, but it didn’t.

For a man who rarely spoke more than necessary, Zayne had always believed in actions over words. But tonight, words — the ones he’d left unsaid — were the things suffocating him. He’d never told her enough, never shown her enough, and now he was sitting alone at a table meant for two, whispering into the empty room:

“Please… just come back. I’ll do it right this time. I swear.”

The silence that followed felt louder than any rejection.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The apartment felt colder than it should have.

Zayne stayed at the dining table long after his phone finally died in his hand, the screen going black without ceremony. He didn’t move. The food sat untouched, congealed in the dim light.

He wanted to sleep — no, he wanted to wake up from this — but the idea of lying down alone in their bed felt unbearable. That bed had her in it. Her side still faintly smelled of her shampoo, and he knew the moment he turned over and found nothing but empty sheets, it would hit him again like a punch.

So he stayed there, head in his hands, the slow hum of the refrigerator filling the room.

Somewhere else in the city, (Y/n) sat cross-legged on the edge of her best friend Lily’s couch. She wore an old oversized hoodie Lily had shoved into her arms earlier — not because she needed it for warmth, but because it felt safer to be wrapped in something that wasn’t his.

Her phone was face-down on the coffee table. She hadn’t turned it off, but she couldn’t bring herself to look at it either. She knew the calls would be there, stacked one after the other, and she wasn’t ready to hear his voice through the line. Not tonight.

Lily watched her from the kitchen, stirring a mug of chamomile tea. “You don’t have to explain anything,” she said gently. “You can stay here as long as you need.”

(Y/n) gave a small nod. Her throat was tight. She wanted to say thank you, but the words stuck. She kept seeing Zayne in her mind — not any one version of him, but pieces, flashes: the way he adjusted her scarf when she forgot, the sound of his laugh when she caught him off guard, the look in his eyes when he was lost in thought.

And yet… lately, those moments had been fewer and farther between. She had been speaking to a closed door for months, waiting for him to open it. Tonight, she’d stopped knocking.

Back in the apartment, Zayne finally stood when his legs cramped from sitting too long. He walked toward the bedroom and stopped in the doorway. The faint scent of her shampoo was there, just like he feared. It made his chest ache.

He sat on her side of the bed, head bowed, fingers clutching the blanket as though it were the only thing tethering him.

“I can’t… do this without you,” he murmured, the words breaking in the quiet. His voice was hoarse, almost unrecognizable to himself.

When he finally drifted into a shallow, restless sleep, it was still dark. He woke to the pale light of dawn spilling across the floor. His clothes from yesterday clung uncomfortably, still damp from the rain. His phone was dead, but he plugged it in instantly, watching the battery icon crawl to life.

The missed calls screen filled in quickly — almost all to her. None returned.

He didn’t waste time. He left the house, heading first to Lily’s café. The door was locked; they wouldn’t open for another hour. He knocked anyway, ignoring the odd looks from early pedestrians.

Lily’s younger brother was inside prepping for the day. He unlocked the door just enough to peek out.

“She’s not here,” he said before Zayne could speak.

“Do you know where she is?” Zayne’s voice was low, controlled — but the urgency bled through.

The boy hesitated. “I’m not supposed to—”

Zayne’s jaw tightened. “Please.”

Before the boy could answer, another familiar voice came from inside — one of (Y/n)’s other friends, Callie, who must’ve been helping with the morning shift. She glanced up, caught sight of Zayne, and frowned. “She’s staying with Lily,” she said bluntly.

The boy shot her a look, but it was too late.

Zayne didn’t wait. He was already moving before she’d finished the sentence, his footsteps quickening into a run.

The city blurred around him. He barely registered the cars honking as he crossed against the light, or the way people turned to look at him — a tall man in yesterday’s clothes, hair still slightly damp, running like the only thing that mattered was what waited at the end.

He had one thought, pounding in rhythm with his footsteps. Don’t let her leave again.

Zayne didn’t slow down until Lily’s apartment building came into view. A modest gray structure tucked between a small convenience store and a laundromat. His lungs burned, his legs ached, but none of it mattered.

He took the steps two at a time, heart pounding loud enough to drown out his thoughts. By the time he reached the third floor, his breaths came in ragged pulls, his throat dry. He didn’t knock right away. He pressed his palm against the cool metal of the door, as though touching it might bridge the impossible distance between them.

When he finally knocked, the sound echoed hollow down the hallway.

It was Lily who opened the door. Her brows immediately furrowed. “Zayne—”

“Is she here?” His voice was hoarse, a rasp dragged over gravel. He wasn’t looking at Lily, his eyes searched the space beyond her shoulder like he could will (Y/n) into view.

“She doesn’t want to see you right now.” Lily’s tone was firm, protective — but there was a flicker of pity there too. “You need to give her time.”

He shook his head. “I don’t have time. Not for this.”

Lily crossed her arms. “Zayne, you—”

“Please, Lily.” His voice cracked. It startled them both. The last time he’d sounded that unguarded, (Y/n) had been in the hospital for a high fever, and he had stayed by her bed all night.

Something in Lily’s expression softened. She stepped aside reluctantly. “She’s in the living room. But if she tells you to leave, you leave.”

He nodded quickly, stepping past her like a man heading toward a precipice.

The moment he saw her — curled up on the couch, knees drawn to her chest, wearing a hoodie too big for her frame — the air left his lungs. She didn’t look at him right away; she was staring at a mug of tea on the table, her hands tucked into the sleeves.

“(Y/n),” he breathed, the name trembling in the space between them.

Her head turned slowly, and when her eyes met his, it was like being punched in the gut. There was no anger there — worse, there was distance.

“I’m sorry,” he started, the words tumbling out in a rush. “I’m so—God, I’m so sorry.”

She blinked once, expression unreadable. “You should go home, Zayne.”

“No,” he said instantly. He stepped closer, and when she shrank back slightly, it made something inside him twist painfully. “I’m not leaving. Not until you hear me out.”

“There’s nothing to hear,” she said quietly. “You made your choice.”

Her words hit harder than any shouted accusation. He dropped to his knees without thinking, the sound of it hitting the hardwood sharp in the small room.

“I didn’t choose—” He broke off, his breath hitching. He scrubbed a hand over his face, but the moisture gathering in his eyes betrayed him. “I didn’t choose the hospital over you. I chose the hospital because I thought you’d understand. I thought you knew that I—” His voice faltered again, cracking under the weight of everything he hadn’t said in months.

Her silence was a wall he couldn’t climb.

“I was wrong,” he whispered. “I thought… if I just kept my head down, kept working, I’d be building something for us. But all I was doing was… leaving you behind.” His shoulders trembled. “And now you’re gone, and I—” His voice broke entirely this time, the sound raw, desperate.

She closed her eyes, but not before he saw the faint glimmer of tears she wouldn’t let fall.

“I can’t lose you,” he said, leaning forward until his hands braced on the floor. His head hung low, like he couldn’t bear to meet her eyes. “I’ll do anything. I’ll walk away from surgeries, from the hospital, from everything if it means I get to keep you. Just—please—don’t end this.”

Her lips pressed into a thin line. “It’s not about one night, Zayne. It’s about every night before it. Every time I waited, and you didn’t come home. Every time I felt like I was… asking for too much just by wanting you there.”

Each word landed like a blade. He flinched, but didn’t move from the floor. His knees ached, but he stayed there, grounded by the ache, as if it was the penance he deserved.

“I know,” he said, voice low and shaking. “I know I made you feel like you weren’t worth my time, and that’s… the worst thing I’ve ever done. But you are. You’re worth more than my time, more than my career, more than anything else in my life. I just—” He sucked in a breath that caught painfully in his chest. “I just didn’t tell you enough. I didn’t show you enough.”

Silence stretched between them, heavy and suffocating.

When she didn’t respond, he shuffled closer on his knees, ignoring the sharp bite of the floor against them. “Please look at me,” he said, his voice so soft it was almost a plea to the universe itself.

She did. And the sight of her eyes, glassy but guarded, made something inside him splinter.

“If I have to spend the rest of my life proving to you that you come first, I will,” he said, the words fierce despite the tears now streaking down his face. “If I have to beg every day, I’ll beg. If I have to crawl—” His voice wavered, but he didn’t look away. “I will. I’ll crawl as far as it takes to bring you back home.”

Her breath hitched, but she didn’t move toward him.

“Zayne…” she started, and for a moment, hope flared. But then she shook her head slowly. “It’s not that simple.”

He closed his eyes, and two tears slipped free, hot against his chilled skin. “I know. But I’ll be here, however long it takes. I’ll be here until you believe me.”

For the first time that night, she looked away. Not out of dismissal, but because her own composure was cracking.

Y/n stared at him, her hands gripping the blanket tighter around herself. The way he was looking at her. Eyes swollen and glistening, lips trembling with words he seemed terrified to say — should have made her want to pull him into her arms. But the ache in her chest was still too sharp, too fresh.

“Zayne,” she said finally, her voice quiet but steady, “you can’t just walk in here and expect me to forget weeks of feeling invisible.”

He flinched at the word invisible, like it cut deeper than anything else she’d said all night. “I don’t expect you to forget. I don’t even expect you to forgive me right now. I just—” His throat tightened again, forcing him to swallow before he could speak. “I just need a chance to prove that I can be the man you thought I was.”

Her eyes narrowed. “And what happens when the next emergency call comes in? When another patient needs you? You’ll go, and I’ll be left behind again.”

“Yes,” he admitted, voice low, raw. “I’ll go… but I’ll come back to you. Every single time. And when I’m there, I’ll be there. Not just sitting beside you thinking about work. Not just a shadow in the same room. I’ll be yours, the way I should’ve been all along.”

She looked away then, as if she couldn’t bear to see the sincerity in his face. “You say that now.”

He shifted closer, still on his knees, his hands resting on her knees with a hesitation that told her he was ready for her to push him away. “I’m saying it because it’s the truth. And if I have to spend the rest of my life proving it to you, I will. If I have to tear myself apart and rebuild into someone who never makes you doubt me again, I will.”

Her eyes flicked back to him. “You think it’s that simple? That a few promises and tears will undo everything?”

“No,” he said immediately, shaking his head. “It’s not simple. It’s going to take time. And I’m going to earn back every single piece of your trust until there’s nothing left broken between us.”

The blanket slipped from her shoulders, revealing the slight tremor in her hands. She hated that his words stirred something in her. A dangerous longing to believe him. But she’d been here before, hoping things would change.

“I don’t know if I can go back to how we were,” she whispered.

Zayne’s voice was hoarse when he answered. “Then let me give you something better. Let me give you more than how we were. Just… let me try.”

He sank even lower until he was fully sitting on the floor, his hands gripping hers before she could pull away. “Y/n, I swear on everything I am — on every life I’ve ever saved — that I will not lose you. I can’t… I can’t breathe knowing you might not be mine anymore. I’ve faced death without shaking, but tonight—” His voice broke, and a sob tore through him, unrestrained. “Tonight I was terrified. Because for the first time, it wasn’t a patient I was losing. It was you.”

Her lips parted slightly, but she didn’t speak. The sound of his crying filled the small space between them, each uneven breath pulling at something deep inside her.

He pressed his forehead against her knees, his voice muffled but still desperate. “Please, Y/n… I’ll beg as many nights as it takes. I’ll sleep outside your door if I have to. I’ll do whatever it takes to make you see that I can be better. Just… don’t let this be the last time I’m close to you.”

Her chest ached painfully at the sight of him — this man who had always been so composed, so unshakable, now reduced to trembling hands and tear-streaked cheeks. And yet… she stayed silent, because the hurt in her hadn’t loosened its grip.

Zayne looked up at her again, his voice quieter now, almost pleading in its fragility. “I know I’ve lost the right to ask for anything. But if you can give me even the smallest chance… I’ll take it. I’ll fight for it. I’ll fight for you until you don’t doubt me anymore.”

The room seemed to hold its breath with them, the only sound the faint hum of the refrigerator in the background and Zayne’s uneven breathing. “Love,” he pleaded softly, almost unsure.

(Y/n) didn’t answer right away. She sat there, eyes searching his face as though weighing the truth in his every breath. The silence stretched between them, filled only by the quiet hum of the rain against the window and the uneven rhythm of Zayne’s breathing.

He didn’t move closer. He didn’t dare. All he could do was hold her gaze, afraid that if he blinked, she’d slip away again.

Her lips parted, and for a moment he thought she might say no. That she might walk past him and leave him standing there with his heart in his hands. But instead, her voice came—soft, careful, as if testing the weight of each word.

“One chance, Zayne.”

His chest constricted.

“That’s all I can give you right now,” she continued, her tone steady but fragile. “Don’t… don’t waste it."

It was not forgiveness. It was not the warmth they once shared. But it was something, and to Zayne, it was everything. His head bowed, a tear slipping down despite his effort to hold it in.

“You won’t regret it,” he whispered, more to himself than to her, as though making a vow to the only person who mattered.

And as she turned toward the window, Zayne stayed on his knees a moment longer—because even in this sliver of hope, he wanted to remember the cost of nearly losing her. He wanted the ache to stay, to remind him every day of the promise he had made.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The first few days back in the house were… different.

(Y/n) was there, but not entirely. She moved through the space like a quiet visitor, her touch never lingering, her eyes never meeting his for longer than a second. Zayne noticed every shift in her—how her voice was softer, how she avoided their bedroom for hours, how she laughed only when speaking to Lily on the phone.

She hadn’t forgiven him—not yet. And he didn’t expect her to.

The first night, he took the couch. Not because she asked him to, but because he couldn’t imagine lying beside her when she still carried the weight of what he’d done. That didn’t stop him from lying awake, staring at the shadows on the ceiling, listening for the faint rustle of her moving in the bed they once shared.

Every morning, he left something for her on the counter. Coffee brewed exactly how she liked it. Warm pastries from the bakery she loved. Handwritten notes, his normally confident script shaky with hesitation,

I’m sorry.

I’m here.

I love you.

She never responded to the notes. But she never threw them away either.

The change in Zayne came in the quiet acts of devotion.

He shifted his schedule, trimming away the overtime he used to drown in. If an emergency called him in, she heard it from him first. Between surgeries, he sent short messages—never overbearing, always steady: Thinking of you. Get home safe. I miss you.

One rainy Thursday, she came home to find the dining table set. Not with takeout, but with her favorite home-cooked meal. The kitchen was a battlefield of flour and spilled sauce.

He didn’t say look what I made. He just pulled out her chair, offering the smallest smile. She hesitated, but sat.

Halfway through, his hand brushed hers as he reached for her empty glass. She didn’t move away. He didn’t say anything, but in that brief contact, he felt hope stir in his chest for the first time in weeks.

The thaw was painfully slow.

Late one night, she found him sitting at the edge of the bed, head bowed, his fingers curled against his knees.

“You’re awake?” she asked quietly.

“I can’t sleep.”

“Why?”

He looked at her then, his eyes unguarded, heavy with something deep. “Because every time I close my eyes, I see the night you left and how I couldn’t breathe.”

She didn’t answer. But something in her chest cracked, just slightly.

The shift came on an ordinary evening. They were on the couch, a muted movie playing. Zayne kept to his side, until her toes brushed against his leg under the blanket. His head turned toward her, but he didn’t speak. He simply slid the blanket so it covered her completely. Their hands touched. This time, she didn’t pull away.

He looked at her then—really looked—and the air between them shifted. Her eyes flickered to his mouth for just a heartbeat before she caught herself.

That was all it took.

When the kiss came, it wasn’t gentle.

It was sharp with longing, desperate from weeks—no, months—of silence and restraint. Zayne’s hands cupped her face like he was terrified she’d disappear if he let go. Her fingers fisted in his shirt, pulling him closer until there was no space left between them.

He kissed her like he’d been starving, like every second without her had been a slow death. She kissed him like she hated him for making her want him still, hated herself for never stopping.

Their breaths tangled, fast and uneven, the kiss deepening until she felt dizzy. He pulled back just enough to press his forehead against hers, his voice breaking.

“I’ll never stop making this right,” he whispered, the words brushing her lips. “Never.”

Her eyes searched his face—every scar, every shadow, every piece of him she once thought she’d lost. And though her heart was still cautious, it betrayed her with the way it beat against her ribs, hard and aching.

It was instinct more than thought that made him reach for her. His hands cupped her face like she might break if he held too tightly. Her skin was warm beneath his calloused palms, her lashes lowered in something halfway between fear and surrender.

It wasn’t careful. It wasn’t polite. It wasn’t the restrained brush of lips they’d once shared in the quiet mornings before work.

It was desperate. Hungry. Starved.

Zayne kissed her like a man who had been dying of thirst and finally found water, like every second without her had carved a deeper hollow in him that only she could fill. His lips moved against hers with a feverish urgency, tasting the salt of her lingering tears, memorizing the curve of her mouth as if he could imprint it into his soul.

Her hands were pressed against his chest at first, a barrier, a silent reminder of the distance he’d created between them. But his mouth softened, then deepened again, his breath ragged against her cheek, and that wall began to crumble. Slowly, her fingers curled into his shirt, gripping it like she wasn’t sure whether to push him away or pull him closer.

He tilted his head, deepening the kiss, his thumb brushing along her jaw in a tender counterpoint to the ferocity in his mouth. He kissed her like every apology he couldn’t put into words, every night he’d left her waiting, every “I love you” he’d failed to say.

When she finally kissed him back, truly kissed him back, he nearly groaned against her lips, a sound pulled from somewhere deep in his chest, equal parts relief and ache. It wasn’t forgiveness, not yet. It was something rawer, messier. A fragile thread pulling them together despite the wreckage between them.

He pulled back just enough to look at her, his forehead resting against hers, his breath still trembling.

“I’m not letting go again,” he whispered, voice breaking. “Not now. Not ever.”

(Y/n) closed her eyes, her grip still tight in his shirt. She didn’t tell him she believed him. She didn’t tell him she forgave him. But she didn’t step away either. And for Zayne, in that moment, it was enough — enough to keep fighting, enough to hope.

He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her into his chest like he could shield her from every hurt, including the ones he’d caused. And though the road ahead would be long, uncertain, and riddled with the work of healing, Zayne held her as if they’d already survived the worst. And he intended to make sure they never went through it again.

Outside, the city moved on, lights flickering in distant windows, cars passing on wet pavement. But inside their humble abode, in that single, breathless moment, it was just the two of them. Still standing. Still holding on.

And maybe — just maybe — that was their first step back home.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

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