trunktrash

[trunktrash]

Uncoded

Warnings: ANGST, slow burn, self-deprecation, general sadness, NO SMUT Summary: Stuck in Linkon City, you never thought you'd be someone other than the MC. What happens when you spawn in the game as an NPC? WC: 8.8 K A/n: Hello everyone! I know it's been a hot minute since I wrote a oneshot, and thank you to all the kinds folks that reached out after I said I was let go a few weeks ago. I'm taking a break after being burnt out at that job, and planning my next moves, but I do want to get back into the joy I found while writing. And who is this girl, there's no smut?! *gasps*

The operating room was cold, and the bright overhead light caught on sterile surgical tools that gleamed under the fluorescent bulbs. The regular beeping from a heart rate monitor, the hissing and mechanical thunks of the machines that supported the delicate task of the operation filled the room, broken only by the shuffle of surgical gowns and the clink of metal as the used tools were discarded into a separate bowl after their use. 

"Bovie," Zayne says, his voice low but clear.

You passed it to him carefully, your gloves brushing against his briefly, and still, despite the dozen or so times you had done this seemingly insignificant act, it sent little tingles of electricity down your spine. Zayne doesn’t flinch. He never does. He was laser-focused on his patient, the cautery moving with robotic precision along the patient’s heart, the pungent smell of charred tissue mingling with the clean air of the operating theatre. 

Your gaze lingers on him longer than intended. The surgical mask hid most of his face, but his eyes were narrowed in utmost concentration. He always looked like that when he operated, calm and unwavering. Nothing outside the human heart he held in his gloved hands mattered. It was admirable, but you couldn’t stop the sharp pang of longing that lodged itself in your chest every time you assisted in the operating room. 

He doesn’t see me.

You don’t know when the thought first curled into you like a parasite, but it lived there now, quiet, constant, gnawing away at your insides. 

“Retractor,” Zayne requests.

Your hands automatically move, anticipating his needs. As the operation theatre grows quiet again, your mind wanders. 

It had happened three days ago.

You had gotten home from another long day. The world was dark, work sucked, and you had no desire to do anything. After reheating a bowl of leftovers and doing your nighttime routine, you had curled up in bed under the warmth of the comforter, and logged in to the only thing bringing you any semblance of relief from your otherwise shitty reality. The dim glow of your phone screen bounced off the white walls of your bedroom as a familiar cafe suddenly bloomed into life, and a man dressed in a black shirt and black slacks made his appearance.

“You’re here.” He extended his hand towards you, and you’d tapped his palm, wishing he were real. 

You tapped the relax time icon and chose the option for holding hands, feeling warmth spread into your chest as he intertwined his simulated fingers with yours, before kissing the back of your hand. 

“Thank you for being my stress relief.” He released your screen hand and took a few steps back. You zoomed in to focus on his face, admiring the sharp amber-green eyes, the straight curve of his nose, and the black hair that fell softly onto his forehead. You tapped his lips.

"If your hands keep being mischievous, I can show you how surgeons tie knots."

You giggled, and repeated the action before he finally got fed up, and turned his back to you, during which time, you amused yourself by poking his bottom, watching as he tensed up and shook his head in disapproval. You played the claw machine with him, then tenderly tapped his face one last time before logging out of the game. 

“If only.” You’d murmured into the darkness, as his handsome face consumed your thoughts again, as sleep overtook you. 

“Zayne…” you sighed his name, aching for him, even though you knew it was ridiculous, pining over a fictional man that didn’t exist. 

And then…You awoke abruptly. You squinted against the harsh lights that filled your vision and realized you were in a sleeping pod, like the ones in the game. How had you ended up here? Even stranger, why did the guy who had woken you up look like…

“Greyson?” You’d asked as he pulled you up by the wrist.

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you! Dr. Zayne is about to operate on an unstable patient. OR 2 stat!” You followed along clumsily as Greyson escorts you, and soon you’re in the atrium outside of the OR. 

Greyson presses the intercom button. “I found her, Dr. Zayne. Good luck.” 

You’d glanced around in panic, wondering what to do when your body acted on its own accord. Suddenly, you’re scrubbing with the surgical soap, washing up to your elbows, a voice in your head counting the seconds, then drying off. You walked into the OR and an assistant held out gloves, which you dipped your hands into, marveling at how they were the right size. Your feet automatically carried you towards the operating table, where you could just make out the lead surgeon, completely covered by his mask and cap, sharp eyes glaring at your approach. You’d assumed the position in front of the surgical instrument tray.

“Thank you for joining us.” There’s a bite of impatience and obvious sarcasm, and your heart jolted as you recognized the voice.

“Beginning anasthesia, Dr. Zayne.” One of the medical staff members calls to him. 

“Scalpel,” Zayne stated simply, his hand extending towards you in expectation. 

And your hands moved in response, gloved and steady, body responding like you’d done this your entire life.

You’d glanced up several times during the procedure, trying not to pass out from the giddy way your heart fluttered, and your stomach flipped each time he asked for another instrument. There he was…Zayne. 

Alive. Breathing. Not pixels. Not a script. A man.

Your breath had caught in your throat as you observed him. Sweat had gathered on his brow as he’d operated, and when he’d turned to face towards you, your hand had reached for the designated towel to gently pat his brow clean, feeling like you could melt at how intimate the gesture felt. It was like a dream come alive. And for the duration of the surgery, you’d felt like the luckiest woman on the planet. It was only after that that your dream had quickly turned into a nightmare. 

You’re jarred back to the present as Zayne makes a quiet sound in his throat. “Forceps.”

You quickly handed him the pair. 

“Good,” he murmured, more to the heart he was holding than to you.

You had tried to understand the rules of this world. You weren’t a scrub nurse, not in real life. You didn’t know the first thing about being in an operating theatre. 

But here, your body is moving like it has been trained. You knew his surgeries by heart, knew what he would ask for next, and had knowledge about how long each surgical procedure would run. Everything was scripted, everything was clean.

A background NPC.

It had been humbling to realize it. Yet you couldn’t help but hope anyway. Hope Zayne would see you. Would realize how much you had yearned for him, separated by a screen, memorizing every microexpression on his face. 

“Closing sutures,” Zayne says briskly, and you hand the needle holder, locking eyes with him briefly over his mask, before he looks away. Another successful surgery. Thanks to you. But you’d already known what would happen the moment Zayne left the OR.

He didn’t say thanks, didn’t even acknowledge your presence. And the reason why was obvious. Glancing up at the large viewing gallery, you saw someone sitting in the front row of seats, someone you knew intimately, despite having never spoken in this world. 

Her eyes were exactly like yours. She had the same mouth and nose, features you’d painstakingly crafted while glancing into a mirror every few seconds, and her hair was styled in a cut that you would have loved to have, but were too unsure to try. She was wearing the distinct Hunter’s uniform and was gazing intently at Zayne.

You tried not to let the wave of envy swallow you as you looked at her. She was you after all. Or rather, the version of her you’d created in the game; the all-important MC. 

And Zayne had eyes for no one but her, his view fixated on her form. She smiles and gives him a thumbs up, and you see the effect she has on him. His shoulders, which had been tense and bunched, grew slack. He raises ten fingers, and points to the operation theatre door, and your MC nods, getting up to meet him. 

He brushed past you, and you felt your stomach lurch, silently following him to scrub out. Your mind was chewing away at the thoughts inside your head, and even though you knew what to expect, you still couldn’t stop the first pang of pain that hit your heart when you Zayne and your MC in the staff lounge. You quickly ducked into the fridge, pretending to grab some yogurt. 

Zayne, real, impossibly tangible Zayne, was leaning towards her, their body language too comfortable with each other to suggest this as a recent development. His face had softened, and his voice, when he spoke, carried a tone of warmth you had never heard when it came to addressing his surgical staff.

“Glad you waited,” he said, an almost imperceptible quirk in his lips that has your MC grinning at him as she shakes a paper bag in front of Zayne’s face. 

“I brought those steamed buns you like. Thought you could use something warm after three back-to-back cases.”

You had imagined this very scenario several times when you had been playing the game, being the MC and handing Zayne a snack after his surgery had finished. At that time, it felt like anything was possible.

Zayne takes the bag from her and lays a hand on her shoulder.

“Thank you.”

That’s when it hits you. 

This wasn’t the beginning of the relationship between Zayne and your MC. He already knew her, had allowed her to become part of his life, and sought her out after a hard day.

In this world, this prewritten, coded dream, Zayne already loved her. 

The realization steals the breath from your lungs, and suddenly, you feel like you are intruding on a private moment. You quickly close the fridge and sprint out of the lounge. 

The game texts you had been replying to, believing it was you, were actually being sent by your MC. The confessions Zayne sent, which you had thought were meant for you, were for her. 

Your MC was the one who got his late-night messages and accepted his coffee invitations. She got his time, his kindness, his smile. And it felt like the world was crumbling beneath your feet.

You had always known the game version of yourself was awesome. Of course, she was. She was smart, a professionally trained hunter with a badass job. She had hobbies and a fit body. She was witty and sassy, and everyone loved her, including you. Which was why you had tried your best to model her after yourself.

But she’s not me. She’s everything I’m not. 

The awful truth of it all sinks in. 

She’s the better version of me. Of course, he doesn’t see me. Why would he?

You reach the hospital’s rooftop, which was covered with rows and rows of potted plants, Linkon’s attempt at creating a calming environment. You slink away between the rows of tall trees, which engulf you, creating the perfect hiding spot.

Hot tears spill down your cheeks as you sob quietly.

Zayne had been your comfort character, the one you wanted to see at the end of the day, even if he wasn’t real. But now he was, and somehow, you wished you could go back; back to the days when you could delude yourself into believing Zayne could love you, not the MC version of you, but the real you.

Yet he was blissfully unaware of your existence, cozying up with the MC you had made, while you sat alone, the cool night air whipping your face, drying the salty tracks that covered your cheeks. 

I’m not someone he would love. I’m nobody. Nobody. 

ʚ‎‏ ͜ ̩͙ ︵ ̩͙ ୨ ♡ ୧ ̩͙ ‏︵ ̩͙ ͜ ɞ

In the days that followed, you tried to make yourself known. Your MC was amazing, but only because you had designed her so. After the misery of the previous night, you decided that despite the game dynamics, there might still be hope. 

You couldn’t help it. Like a moth drawn to a flame, despite knowing he didn’t perceive you in any meaningful way, you couldn’t help but want to attempt to leave an imprint, some kind of trace to make him aware of your existence. 

You tried to carry yourself with purpose as you strutted down the halls of Akso Hospital, straight-backed and buoyed by the small chance of possibility. The tablet in your hands had been opened to the patient scheduled for surgery today, a casual way to open a conversation, in your opinion. You spied Zayne at the nurses’ station and made your way over. It would appear like small talk, a tiny opening into his field of vision.

“Dr. Zayne.” You say his name quietly as you approach. That turn as he heard his name, the brief blink of surprise, followed by recognition. Your breath caught as his gaze fixed on you, almost driving the entire premise of the conversation out of your mind. His eyes fall on the tablet you’d pushed towards him, and he looks at you expectantly. 

“I had a question regarding today’s surgery.” You manage to say, trying not to sound breathless. Another blink, followed by a nod. 

“Yes, go on.”

“I see the patient was a smoker. He’s due for a transplant. I wanted to know if there are any precautions I should take, or any steps of the procedure I should exercise more caution. Or perhaps stock more supplies for.”

And there it was: a brief, almost imperceptible quirk to his lips, like he’d nearly smiled at you. How long had you stared at the screen of your phone, watching and tenderly memorizing every micro expression he made? 

“A very astute question,” he says with a touch of praise, and it instantly triggers a million butterflies in your stomach, wings beating rapidly inside you. “You’ll want to make sure we have extra clamps, and notify the blood bank ahead of time to ensure we have some in case of an emergency. Double check his blood type.” 

You nod, hanging onto every word like a smitten schoolgirl. “And…should I prepare OR 2?” 

“Yes, please do.” The sharp lines of his face have lessened. “It is my preferred OR after all.”

“I’ve noticed,” you reply, unwilling to lose the flow of the moment. “May I ask why?”

Zayne is about to respond when his gaze suddenly fixates on something behind you. You turn to look over your shoulder, then feel your heart drop to your knees as your MC makes an appearance again. The moment shatters like glass. 

“What are you doing here?” Zayne steps around you to greet your MC, like you were a tree obstructing his view. 

“You left your charger at my place,” you hear her reply, and your heart sinks another inch or so towards the floor. If he had left the charger at her place, then that must mean…

You stop yourself. It was too painful to imagine. You were barely two feet away, the tablet lying on the counter, forgotten. Neither of them notices as you pick it up and leave. 

A few days later, you tried again. You had convinced yourself that the last time had been a coincidence, that the arrival of your MC had been the only factor that had deviated from what had been an otherwise positive conversation. 

It was lunchtime, and you saw an opportunity to maybe try bonding with him over a weakness of his. 

“Dr. Zayne.” You call out as you meet him near the elevator. He turns, clearly not expecting you. 

“I heard they’ve made that chocolate mint cake today in the cafeteria. Maybe we should try to snag a slice before it’s all gone?”

This time, a genuine glimmer of interest in his eyes, followed by a huff of what appeared to be amusement.

“Word certainly seems to spread around the hospital.”

“Of course. Besides, it’s not like it’s a secret, right?” You banter back carefully. “Your fondness for sweets?”

Zayne fixates on the panel of buttons in the elevator and remains quiet, but you observe the way his ears turn red, an endearing sight indeed, something you’d loved about him since seeing it in the cafe screen interactions. 

“No, I suppose not,” he says after a beat, and you try to suppress your smile. It was the closest you had been to him outside the operating room. “But I’ll admit it’s a bit disconcerting that people have noticed this about me so easily.”

“Or maybe,” You boldly begin, then push on. “They notice these things because they want to get to know you better. It creates reasons to interact, you know?”

He considers this, then nods in agreement. “I suppose that’s a more flattering way to look at it. I think it’s nice that people want to get to know me.”

Your heart feels like it might burst from your chest, and just as you’re about to ask him if he takes coffee with his cake, the elevator doors ping open, and you feel the air rush out of your lungs. 

There stands your MC, and in her hands is a little paper plate carrying a slice of the cake you had been talking about seconds ago. Zayne’s eyes light up, little fireflies against the dark backdrop of his irises before he approaches her, and you once again, fade into the background.

You can hear the warmth in his tone, the way his movements are casual as he draws her away from the crowd. Passersby look at them with smiles on their faces. Look at the young, happy couple. Look at them stealing away to enjoy a small moment of privacy, the intimate exchange too obvious to ignore. You step hollowly out of the elevator. The cafeteria was out of cake by the time you arrived. You buy a cold slice of pizza and eat it alone at the table in the farthest corner of the room. 

The final ditch attempt to get his attention was quiet. A fragile action in the hope that he would at least remember your name, or show some form of acknowledgement. You made a cup of tea, his favorite one, your hands trembling as you steeped it in the lunge, carefully cradling the cup as you brought it to his office. The door was open, but he wasn’t in, so you’d placed it on his desk with a sticky note, nothing fancy, a simple “Till your next surgery.” Part of you, the foolish little part that refused to believe Zayne wasn’t yours, had made this last-minute decision, but your mind was already braced for the crushing rejection. 

You exit his office and are a few feet away when you hear footsteps, and you glance back to see Zayne and your MC enter his office, the door clicking shut. You’re unable to stop yourself from walking back, placing your ear against the door, hoping to hear what you so desperately wanted. 

Inside, Zayne lifts the cup and sniffs it, little rifts of steam still arising from it, frowning. He glances at your MC, and you hear his question muffled through the door.

“Did you leave this?” he asks your MC, who looks puzzled. 

“No, but it’s your favorite, right?” She asks in your voice, the voice you’d spent so much time customizing in an attempt to make it sound like you. And it did sound like you. A more musical, attractive version of you. Just like the rest of her. 

You hear Zayne take a sip, followed by a hum of appreciation, before your MC starts teasing him about how absent-minded he’d grown, brewing tea himself and forgetting about it. 

The door felt like it put dimensions between you. You were always the outsider, trying to find a way in. It wasn’t meant to be. The comfort you used to find from Zayne was long gone. It had been crushing to let go of the one final thing you’d used to escape from your crappy reality. Now, the thing that gave you joy was the source of your angst. 

You’d escape this world if you knew how. But you were trapped, forever the wallpaper, never given more than a second’s glance before people moved on. Even if you went back to reality, how were you supposed to cope, knowing you had been so close to the love of your life, yet unable to make him open to your presence? 

That the man you’d idolized was in love with another version of you, who had been crafted so perfectly that you almost wanted to scream at the injustice. You felt the betrayal keenly, resentment welling up inside you. The MC was you. YOU. How could a fictional version of yourself outdo you so astoundingly?

You wanted nothing more than to put a universe's worth of distance between yourself and Zayne. To disappear into the vast region of Linkon City and never reappear. But the game dynamics limited your mobility. You had an apartment (surprisingly like the one your MC had), which your programmed self knew how to enter, and the route between there to Akso hospital was the standard routine. 

Like a never-ending loop, against your will, you had to join Zayne in the operating theatre no matter how much it hurt you. And you hated it. Hated him. Well, not really. You loved him. And the sharp razor blade sting you felt inside your chest every time you looked at him, while he looked at someone else, was all you had. 

ʚ‎‏ ͜ ̩͙ ︵ ̩͙ ୨ ♡ ୧ ̩͙ ‏︵ ̩͙ ͜ ɞ

You withdrew as the days went by. Like a chameleon, blending into your surroundings, inconspicuous. Somedays, you felt like a ghost, certain that if you stood in someone’s way, they’d walk right through you and not notice a thing. 

With no way out of the game, you performed your surgical tasks robotically, not looking at Zayne unless it was necessary, handing the instruments and backing away until he asked for the next one. 

He, of course, was unperturbed. Zayne continued with his surgeries, consultations, and his regular meetings with your MC. Since the day of the teacup incident, you’d tried your best to avoid noticing their interactions, but the hospital seemed to be smitten with them.

All the nurses would giggle whenever she dropped in and asked if Zayne was in a meeting, or when Zayne would change into a set of fresh clothes before leaving the hospital in anticipation of a date night.

During one surgery, you had been close enough to observe a faint, pink hickey on his neck, and had looked away, resisting the urge to stab his awaiting hand with the scalpel you were meant to hand him. Prim, proper, Dr. Zayne, who should have been so professional and discreet, was now unbothered about turning up to work with hickeys on his neck. The damn man had no shame. That’s what you’d told yourself as you’d quickly run to scrub out after the surgery had ended. And shouldn’t your MC have known better than to do something so brazen? She was a wild little freak as far as you were concerned, and it helped to believe this narrative rather than to accept the inevitable: that they were a young couple falling in love. 

“DeBakey foreceps.” Zayne’s hand appears in front of you again. 

You’re about to comply, the game coding driving your hand towards him, when you feel a pull of defiance bubble inside you. What would happen if you didn’t promptly hand him what he needed? Wilful restraint stilled your hand, satisfaction flooding your veins when the game seemed to freeze at your unwillingness to oblige the scripted system. You hadn’t asked to be an NPC; you had sentience, and the rebellious act was sweet. Your hand jerks as the code tries to make you submit, but you persevere, savoring the little control you have. 

“DeBakey foreceps,” Zayne repeats, and this time, you notice something strange; a small ripple distorts the room, the occupants becoming temporarily distorted, pixelated shapes, before order is restored. The retractor in your hands fades away, reappearing in Zayne’s, and he continues his surgery as though nothing has happened. 

No one had seen it. Your heart hammered in your chest as you started to piece together what had happened. Had the code simply overrode your attempt at defying the game's logistics? You had a theory; you wait until you were out of surgery to test it.  

There were no deviations in the route of an NPC. Once the day had ended, you always took the same train to the apartment. Today, as you stepped outside the hospital, you make a cautious step in the opposite direction of the train station. When you had tried this before, the game pixelated and reset you back at the entrance of Akso Hospital.

Today, nothing happens. Your small act of noncompliance had changed the dynamics. You take a few more steps, feeling the rush of freedom soar into your heart before breaking into a sprint. You were no longer bound by the rules of the game; an unchained NPC. 

ʚ‎‏ ͜ ̩͙ ︵ ̩͙ ୨ ♡ ୧ ̩͙ ‏︵ ̩͙ ͜ ɞ

The days that followed were a giddy fantasy. The game could no longer call upon you to do your fixed role. You put the liberation to good use, exploring much of Linkon City, using whatever gold the game gave you to space out your time at the various cafes, bookstores, and amusement parks. 

Although the pain of being jilted by Zayne still lingered, it was easier to ignore now that there was distance between you and him. Your heart ached whenever you walked past a dessert place, old memories of your imaginings coming alive, of taking Zayne and doing a tasting menu with him.  

Now you ate the desserts alone, appreciating the macarons, cakes, and delicious mocha lattes as the richness flowed on your tongue. Some days, you could convince yourself that things were ok. That you would heal and that you’d eventually move on from Zayne.

It still ached deep within that you had the perfect man in your palm, only to realize he was just that; a man, and despite the game’s premise, men didn’t go for the mousy bookworms. Even in fantasies, they went for the cheerleader, and nothing could change the balance of that system. 

Besides, you thought, as you sat on the rooftop of your apartment building, watching the sunset, Zayne probably wouldn’t have noticed anyway. There would be a new scrub nurse, one who didn’t love him, who would have replaced you, like slipping a brick into an open spot in a wall. His world wouldn’t stop at your absence.

But sometimes you wish it would. 

ʚ‎‏ ͜ ̩͙ ︵ ̩͙ ୨ ♡ ୧ ̩͙ ‏︵ ̩͙ ͜ ɞ

Back at Akso hospital, Zayne had in fact continued with his routine as expected, but with one small change; he had started to notice things. 

The first few days after you had walked out of Akso Hospital had been the same; there had been no issues getting through his surgeries, and he’d proceeded just as he always had. The voices and faces of the other staff had always been insignificant to him. It didn’t matter. Per NPC rules, they merely stood there to ensure game function continued. He’d done his rounds, completed his charts, and met with your MC as usual.

But a few days after the incident, he’d glanced at the scrub nurse handing him the tool and squinted, feeling a little unsettled. He could’ve sworn the scrub nurse that assisted him was different, the features of your face fuzzy in his mind, but he was confident he wasn’t mistaken. 

Sensing his hesitation, the replacement NPC asks, “Is everything all right, Dr. Zayne?”

“Yes, yes,” Zayne murmurs, accepting the tool from her, but he can’t shake off the feeling that something is amiss. “Did you ask me if we could get cake together in the cafeteria?” he asks.

The NPC’s eyebrows raise, and she shakes her head no. 

“Never mind then.” Zayne refocuses on his patient, but there’s a nagging feeling that this wasn’t the order of things. Your MC floats into his mind, yet he feels like he’s seeing differences in his memory. 

Your MC’s eyes, so symmetrical and large, yet another almost-identical pair replaces them, not quite so symmetrical, but still quite pretty. The perfect, glossy little Cupid’s bow of your MC’s lips fades to be replaced by ones that are pressed into a line of attention while poring over a medical chart, dry from the lack of self-care. 

Why was he thinking of these things? He was in love with who he needed to be per the code. And his girlfriend was perfect, a vision of beauty. Yet all he could focus on now were the small imperfections he thought he remembered, and finding them more attractive than he thought he did. 

“Was there someone before you?” he asks the new scrub nurse, hoping the answer would be no. The new scrub nurse nods, and Zayne feels a little lurch inside his stomach. 

“I’m not sure what happened to her. Perhaps a game update made her obsolete?” The NPC suggests, and Zayne tries to appear nonchalant. 

“Perhaps. It doesn’t matter. Let’s focus here, please.” He redirects the room’s attention back onto the patient, and silence falls once again, leaving him alone to mull over his thoughts and misgivings. Even if there was someone different before, why did it matter? The routes were on track, he was performing as he should be. It absolutely made no difference. 

Once the surgery was over, he scrubbed out and prepared for a follow-up appointment. The patient smiles at him as he enters his office. 

“No pain since the transplant?” Zayne asks as he inspects the fading incision in the man’s chest.

“None at all! And your scrub nurse was so kind to me post-op. Kept checking in to make sure I was comfortable.”

“My scrub nurse…?” Zayne falters, and suddenly he recalls a tablet being pushed towards him, and questions about precautionary measures to be taken before a transplant surgery. He purses his lips, and the patient grows silent, noticing the pensive look on Zayne’s face.

“Can you remind me…what did my scrub nurse look like?”

The patient looked taken aback at the question, but answered politely, and it did nothing to satisfy Zayne’s curiosity. For all that mattered, he had described the MC in almost striking detail. Yet he knew it couldn’t have been the MC…she had left the hospital after giving him his charger…and he’d gone into surgery with…

As Zayne becomes increasingly broody, the game ripples like it had the other day, only this time, he sees it; all the crisp objects and the patient in his office becoming pixelated before the world seems to snap like a whip, and all is well again. Shaken, Zayne stares at the patient who seems oblivious to what has occurred.

“Your incision is healing well.” Zayne moves away as the patient rebuttons his shirt and presses his fingers to the bridge of his nose, trying to clear his head. “Let’s schedule another follow-up in a month. You can make your appointment with the receptionist.”

Zayne is almost impatient as he waits for the patient to leave, and once he’s exited the office, Zayne quickly gathers his belongings and drives home. The house was silent, and when he went to his bedroom, there was the MC, snug under the covers, exactly how things should be.

But he’s restless as he slips into bed, trying his best to remain neutral as the MC turns to snuggle into him. Even as everything felt right, it felt like he was doing this simply because he was told to do it. A puppet, all his actions triggered by little prewritten things inside the game’s engine. 

Zayne sleeps fretfully, and when morning arrives, he’s dreading the day for some unfathomable reason. He did not need to feel this way. Wasn’t everything working like it should? He had his career, MC was humming in the kitchen, and he was in love. Or, something resembling love. 

What was love anyway? A neurochemical response in the brain. Were his responses to love also coded? Did the game begin the neurochemical cascade inside him when MC made an appearance? Or was it more so, the game ensured MC was always around him, thus ensuring he developed some sort of attachment to her? What was love, really?

Unbidden, a neglected, steaming teacup filled with his favorite, freshly brewed tea, comes into mind, and he jerks up in bed, his heart racing.

This can’t be it. He was doing it right. He was with the person he was supposed to love. He shouldn’t be fixating on teacups and tablets, and quiet eyes that observed him intently during all his surgeries. These were mere background elements, required entities to move the game forward. He shouldn’t be recognizing them, much less feeling this jittery sensation in his stomach when he thought of them. No. No, clearly he must be coming down with something. Perhaps this was due to the pending update. Yes, once the update is installed, this would go away, and everything would return to normal. It was a glitch, surely. He gets ready in haste and kisses MC goodbye. 

“Meet you for dinner!” She says sweetly, squeezing his hand. He smiles wearily at her, hoping she doesn’t notice and goes about his day.

But as he wandered the halls of Akso Hospital, he was further disconcerted at the fact that things that were supposed to remain as insignificant attributes were now starting to become quite conspicuous. Was Greyson’s hair always brown? Had Yvonne always had bangs? He keeps noting these small things in various other characters as well, and a few hours into his shift, Zayne is visibly shaken.

“Dr. Zayne, are you all right?” Greyson asks concernedly. Zayne had been spacing out, his eyes glassy and unfocused as Greyson spoke to him about a paper.

“Greyson…” Zayne shakes his head and makes a split-second decision. “Do you remember the scrub nurse who assisted on my last heart transplant surgery?”

Greyson looks nonplussed, but takes it in stride. “Yes, I do. Why do you ask?”

“She hasn’t been at work for a while. I wanted to check in on her. I suppose there isn’t a way to get her phone number or address, is there?”

This wasn’t something Greyson had been expecting from Zayne, but he decides not to pry, not when Zayne looked like he’d been dragged through the dirt. 

“She lives in that large apartment building about 20 minutes from here. It’s the same building where Yvonne lives. If you want, I can-”

Greyson is cut short as Zayne quickly turns and makes his way to the nurses’ station. 

“Ask her,” Greyson completes, his words falling into empty air. 

ʚ‎‏ ͜ ̩͙ ︵ ̩͙ ୨ ♡ ୧ ̩͙ ‏︵ ̩͙ ͜ ɞ

You’re startled as your doorbell rings. No one visited you. No one knew you lived here. Certain that it was a delivery sent to the wrong apartment, you opened the door only to be dumbstruck by your visitor.

Zayne looked haggard, his fingers twiddling with the hem of his sleeve as he stared at you. Your heart hammers in your chest, and you’re waiting for the game’s auto reset to pull him away because surely, this must be a glitch? Because it simply wasn’t possible for Zayne to break the game’s coding and take the route to arrive at your apartment.

There was no script to support this or trigger action that could have caused it. Yet here he was, at your doorstep, like you’d wanted all this time. You stiffen, your heart keenly smarting as you remember the humiliation of his repeated rejections. 

“Dr. Zayne,” you say stiffly, refusing to move. “Why are you here?”

“Please let me in.” It was not a demand. It was a request, and his soft voice carried the subtle tone of a man about to crack. 

A lump forms in your throat, your instinct warning you this can only hurt you, but you relent and allow him inside, the door clicking quietly as it shuts.

As both of you enter your living room, Zayne’s eyes fixate on you with such intensity that you feel naked. Like his vision was X-raying you through your clothes, probing your thoughts, peeling away layers of your skin until he reached the tender and delicate version of you that ached underneath. Your pride forces you to look at him despite the overwhelming intensity to look away, and your heart jolts at what you see. 

As your eyes meet, you see the undeniable response; his pupils widen, swallowing the ring of amber surrounding the green. Zayne is stunned; it wasn’t possible. There was only one MC in this world. How could you stand there, bearing so much similarity to her, yet not be her? The MC in his memory overlaps with you, yet he sees the differences. 

Compared to her, you were a sharp patch of light, crisp and alive, and somehow, despite her perfections, the MC appeared blurred in his mind’s eye, like an unfinished graphic, still in the works of an unpublished designer. He saw what the game had masked: the texture of your skin, the not-so-straight line of your lips, the little imbalances of your eyelids. Yet they made him yearn, something poignant welling inside of him. 

Zayne’s throat closes up from the emotions bubbling up inside him. The sensation was alien, like something was trying to claw its way up from his gut. It was raw and uncomfortable, something he had never experienced before. The MC made him calm, and he’d assumed that was what it meant to love someone. He didn’t want to feel this hot, pulsing entity that was grappling with the lines of existence, forcing him to acknowledge it. 

“You’re not her.” He states it plainly, unable to fathom what was happening inside him. 

“Took you long enough,” you retort, feeling the irony; Zayne in your apartment, finally seeing you, just like you’d always wanted, but now you were too hurt to accept it. “I kept waiting. Trying, hoping for the tiniest scrap of your attention.”

Satisfaction burns in your veins as you notice the look of anguish that comes on his face. The strange delight of seeing him like this, of rubbing the raw truth of your feelings in his face, even as you felt your own heart clench painfully at the thought of hurting him. 

“I watched for a sign that you saw me as anything other than an NPC. Even though I was practically right in front of you, with my MC a few feet away, you still only saw her.”

“I noticed when you were gone,” Zayne begins, and you let out a derisive laugh. 

“Oh, did you now, Dr. Zayne? You noticed when I was gone. So it took my absence for you to notice.”

“Yes damn it!” Zayne’s voice is loud, contrasting with the calm, cool way he typically speaks. “So what if I was a little late? I did notice! And it’s been pretty miserable ever since! I notice things in the game I never did before. It’s like you opened a gate between realms, and now I have no understanding of the world I live in!”

“Oh, I’m soo sorry, Dr. Zayne,” you chide mockingly. “Made you a sentient game character, that must suck. Good thing your feelings weren’t hanging in the balance.”

“But they are now!” Zayne nearly shouts, and you flinch at the tone, and he immediately checks himself. He continues in a level manner. “Look, you disappeared. And ever since you did, it feels like the system broke. I’m questioning everything now, especially-” He cuts off abruptly, realizing what he was about to admit. 

Your breath hitches, but you know your curiosity will never be satisfied if you don’t hear him say it. “Especially?”

“My love.” The words fall out in a confused whisper, and Zayne swallows, trying not to appear unhinged. “I picture you everywhere. At first, I thought it was the MC, but no, it’s you.”

He closes the gap between you and pulls you into his arms. Frozen, your fight or flight instincts vanishing, you allow yourself a moment of weakness, pressed against the warmth of his chest, his cologne filling your senses. Everything about him screamed comfort, the only thing you looked forward to after a long day. You squirm, trying to break free, but he only holds you tighter.

“Let go. Please…” you request pathetically, but you know it’s futile. Like a bird that had become accustomed to captivity, you couldn’t find the presence of mind to push him off, even though you were certain he’d let go if you did. You stood there, drowning in his presence as silent, hot tears tracked down your cheeks. 

“It’s not fair,” you whisper into his jacket. “It’s not fair that you get these feelings for me now. Not when I was trying to figure out how to survive without you. Because the reality is, even if you loved me, so what? This is a game. I’m bound to go back to reality someday. And what was I supposed to do with this digital love? I’m already so unlovable.” You sniff and continue brokenly. 

“If my fictional crush doesn’t love me, then what hope is there in the real world?”

“Why do you think you’re unlovable?” Zayne’s hands rest on the small of your back, his cheek resting on your hair, feeling the texture and softness on his skin, his heart heavy. 

“I…I’m not that amazing.” You don’t know why your tongue is loosening, but you couldn’t bring yourself to stop. “I guess I’m average. I’m not ugly, but I’m not super pretty either. I’m not toned or muscled, but I do exercise and try to take care of myself. I’m not stupid, but I’m not that smart either. I’m the average. Common. Overlooked. Unremarkable.”

Your deepest fears spill out of you, and your head hurts along with your heart now. Your eyes flutter closed, trying to savor this moment because you know it could end at any moment. If this was all you got of him, you weren’t about to spend it thinking about your shortcomings and imperfections. You wait for the inevitable moment Zayne would release you, and this little dream foray would vanish.

But Zayne sighs, his breath caressing your hair, before gathering you impossibly closer. When he finally talks, it sends a shiver down your spine.

“You say average like it’s a flaw. But maybe it just means you’re real. Not exaggerated. Not manufactured. Just… honest. Do you know how rare that is? Especially in a world like this?”

He takes a small step closer, his voice getting quieter with each word.

“I’ve spent so long surrounded by perfection that was never true. Flawless beauty, brilliance on cue. But none of it ever stayed with me when the code started to break. You did.”

His large hand cups the back of your head, and you hear his heartbeat, the rush of his breath as he gets closer to your ear, causing goosebumps to erupt over your skin. 

“If average means someone who shows up, listens, cares, and stays when no one’s watching... I think average is a wonderful thing.”

Your entire body still as you feel his lips graze your hair. “You don’t have to try to shine so hard to be noticed. Even at your average, you’re already like the north star. Brilliant, consistent, unwavering. Those are qualities to be appreciated. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.” 

His reassurance takes root inside you and you hide your face in his chest as it screws up, a sob wrenching itself from the deepest parts of your pain. The world seems to stop spinning, levitating in this moment, as though trying to prolong it as much as possible.

“And you’re not unlovable,” Zayne murmurs into your ear. “Because I love you.”

You blink back tears as you look at him. “What?” 

“I love you.” Zayne cups your face between his palms, and your entire body comes alive, tingling like a live wire under his touch. 

Before you can reply, the world suddenly blurs. Ripple after ripple forms and vanishes inside the apartment, everything alternating between pixels and cohesivity. You cling to Zayne as the world starts to shake. Alarmed, Zayne looks at you, and you look back at him fearfully. The familiar theme song of the game begins to play, accompanied by a loud, computerized voice echoing through the chaotic din. 

“Resources not verified. Corrupt elements detected. Beginning immediate update and reboot.”

The message is repeated twice, and the world around you dissolves. Outside your window, you can see the buildings, cars, and people beginning to vanish, pixelating before turning into dust and floating away into nothing. You look at Zayne, who hasn’t let you go, but a look of comprehension dawns on his face. 

“This is my fault,” he says over the roar of destruction. “I broke a majority of the codes when I ventured off my path.”

“So what does that mean?”

When he doesn’t reply, you shake him urgently. 

“Zayne, what does that mean?” Your eyes are brimming with tears. His fingers grasp your chin, and when you make eye contact, there’s sorrow in his expression, but he’s smiling gently at you. 

“You’ll be all right,” he says softly. “The update only removes abnormal elements. This isn’t the end for you.”

“What about you?” His lack of worry is beginning to fill you with dread, and you wait for an answer. 

But instead, Zayne dips his head down and covers your mouth with his. You shiver, then yield, the sweet feeling of his lips on yours flooding your body. A heady spiral of heat shoots through you as you kiss him back, trying to convey everything you feel for him in that kiss. Your first kiss with Zayne. You focus on him, trying to commit everything about him to memory: the softness of the kiss, the taste of his tongue, and his heated breath on your face.

When he lets go, he brushes your cheek tenderly. “Be the average. I promise you everything will be fine. Don’t stop offering to get cake, or making tea for someone you like.” His smile is calm, and you realize what was about to happen a split second before it does. 

Zayne begins to dissolve in a blur of colors, little squares consuming his shoes, crawling up his legs, and towards his torso. 

“Zayne!” You’re hysterical as you watch, yet helpless to prevent it. “Zayne, don’t go!”

His hand was still holding yours, and he squeezes it tightly. “I love you. You are not unlovable. Remember that.”

“Zayne!” He’s nothing but an incohesive blob of pigment now as the pixels consume the remainder of his face, and the hand holding yours turns to dust as he’s carried into the abyss. Looking down, you see the game has deconstructed most of you as well, the portion below your waist a confusing flash of light and pixels. 

“Zayne…” Your voice fades into a whisper as your consciousness fades, and you’re consumed by blinding white light until you see no more. 

ʚ‎‏ ͜ ̩͙ ︵ ̩͙ ୨ ♡ ୧ ̩͙ ‏︵ ̩͙ ͜ ɞ

When you wake up, you’re in your own bed in the real world. Blinking, you try to focus, then with a jolt as the haze fades from your mind, you scramble to find your phone, which was resting on the nightstand beside you. 

You launch the game, impatiently drumming the screen as the update pushed through, slowly filling the status bar up bit by bit. After what seemed like a decade, the launch screen appears, and you punch the ‘enter game’ button harder than intended. The cafe loads, and there he was. 

“Only you’d use me as an ice cream maker,” Zayne says with a disapproving shake of his head. Numb, you watch him on the screen. Everything was back to normal. You were back in reality. And Zayne…Zayne had been reset. Back into his coded routine, like nothing had ever happened.

As the truth of it falls around you, you curl up into a ball and cry, sobs wracking your body. Zayne loved you. Had chosen to become an uncoded element and risk it all to love you, even if it had been for a brief moment.

How on character for him. The irony isn’t lost on you; sacrificing, punished if he loved, that was Zayne’s entire persona, wasn’t it? Even as a scripted character, he hadn’t been able to defy his fate, his memories probably wiped and reset to love the MC just as it should have been. 

“My love,” you whisper brokenly, tracing his face with your fingertip. “I guess…It was never meant to be.” 

Acknowledging it didn’t help. You wept until you passed out from exhaustion, feeling like your heart had been split into two, spilling its pain into your system until you were bled dry. 

You didn’t go to work. When your boss called, you said you weren’t well. How do you recover from losing the love of your life?

“I love you.” Zayne’s voice echoed in your dreams at night, and you’d wake up covered in sweat. 

“I love you.” You heard it when you uninstalled the game, unable to pine over his face any longer.

“I love you.” His words lingered when you finally returned to work. 

“I love you.” It served as a reminder when you were building your dating profile, and were about to swipe ‘yes’ on a questionable match. 

“I love you.” It hurt so bad, but it was the only thing keeping you together.

That for a brief moment, he had shown you that you were worthy of being loved. That it existed, even if it was short-lived. 

Sometime after the incident, you found the energy to not feel irritable on the weekend when the cheerful sunlight crept into your room to rouse you from sleep.

You found the state of mind to dress up, spending time indulging in matching your outfit and accessories. You decided you needed a haircut, not a trim, but perhaps a new look, something you wouldn’t have dared to try before. The stylist had been thrilled when you showed her the reference photo and had expertly snipped and layered your hair into a head-turning look.

Feeling dandy, you’d all but skipped out of her chair, admiring her work in the window reflections as you walked towards a coffee shop a few blocks away. As you’d placed your coffee order, you looked at the dessert display and ordered the last slice of mocha caramel cake, imagining how it would melt in your mouth and pair with the coffee you’d ordered. 

“Was that the last slice of that cake?” A deep, strangely calming voice asks behind you. Your heart skips a beat at how familiar it sounded, and you whip around to see who the stranger is.

Your heart thuds as you take in a tall man standing behind you, looking disappointed at the now-empty cake display. His dark hair had been neatly combed, and his glasses were slightly askew, sitting almost on the tip of his nose. 

“Yes,” you say slightly breathlessly as you try to calm your racing heart. Even as logic takes over, you couldn’t help but stare at him. He looked so similar to Zayne…but you could tell it wasn’t him. Just a normal human, bearing an uncanny resememblence.

“Unfortunate. It’s one of my favorites.”

Before you can reply, the barista calls your name, your coffee ready and the cake on a small plate. You wet your lips, then gather courage.

“Would you like to split the cake with me?” you ask, and you can see the man is surprised at the offer. A smile graces his lips.

“Do you often offer to share your cake with strangers in coffee shops?” he asks with a touch of amusement, and you laugh. 

“No, but desperate times call for socially awkward solutions,” you quip back nervously, and the man huffs at your banter. 

“I see. Well, in that case, allow me to reimburse you for your coffee. After all, I was raised right. And mildly suspicious of free cake.”

You can’t stop the giggle that escapes your throat. You take the plate and coffee and choose a table before the stranger sits down opposite you. Looking more closely at him now, you see the differences: code vs reality.

“What do you do?” you ask him politely as you offer him a fork. 

“I’m a doctor.”

Your smile widens. “Of course you are.”

© unintentionalseductress original work | no copying, plagiarizing or translating

flashing dividers by @cafekitsune, banner by me using Canva

@tokyorevengersrin @brekkersgf @ladyparamount @otomegamesforlife @shddyboo @supernaturalbaesduh @sweets-kozume @theimmortalbuns @venussakura @prisjean @laddelulu30 @ravenclaw-jojo @redactedbimbo @crypt-0rchid @fattybattysblog @xinnn6 @xiaoderrrr @evansdmitri @decileste @thesoftuglywrites @belt0-0 @snatched-bubblegum-bitch @wynter-lily @cordidy @delphiakira @ibreathesmut @thedeepspacecadet @mcdepressed290 @plzdonutpercieveme @arsenicjuice

[trunktrash]

Siren’s Reflections (Siren!Shin x Reader, Part 2)

Happy Shin’s Daylight release day! My apologies for the long wait with this one but it is finally here!

This one shot takes place alongside Siren’s Call (which I would strongly recommend you read before tackling this one), rather than acting as a sequel as I wanted a chance to explore Shin’s perspective. I do intend to write a part 3, which will act as a direct continuation of the events in Siren’s Call but there are a couple of other fics I want to finish before getting to it. That’s enough rambling from me, enjoy~

Potential triggers include: some violent imagery, mention of consumption of human flesh and magical compulsion, If anyone needs me to add any other warnings then please let me know!

Shin hated the lagoon. He hated the calm, gentle waters that felt like a mockery of the roaring ocean he’d been born in. He hated the dull, placid fish, so slow nearly all of them had been ripped apart and feasted on by his kin after only a couple of nights of them being contained. He hated all of it, almost as much as he hated the Mer King for sealing him there. 

And that was before the wasting sickness had struck.

Keep reading

[trunktrash]

Siren’s Call (Siren!Shin x Reader One Shot)

It’s two months late but my Mermay one shot is finally here! Apologies for how long it took but this one shot is over 12k words so I hope that makes up for it!

Quick warning: this one starts out a little dark although it’s nothing worse than anything you’d get in the games.

Potential triggers include: choking, discussion of drowning, discussion of consumption of human flesh, magical compulsion, very mild body modification and just generally Shin being kind of awful. If anyone needs me to add any other warnings then please let me know!

You didn’t think the phrase ‘sleepy seaside town’ had ever fit anywhere quite as well as it did your hometown. Even calling it a town seemed like a bit of a stretch, with its single row of shops and lone pub that could house around half of the local population, and usually did so on Sunday afternoons. It was the sort of place where everyone knew everyone else and most of the housing consisted of little thatched cottages with pretty white window boxes.

And then there were the folktales. For as long as you could remember, you’d heard stories of mermaids and mermen that swam in the waters by your home. Some were like fairy tales, stories of the merfolk saving sailors from shipwrecks or granting a wish in exchange for a single human tear. Others were considerably darker, mainly accounts of people upsetting the mers and getting drowned for their troubles.

Keep reading

[trunktrash]

[Rafayel x Reader] [Synopsis] 》 Despite any apprehensions, you agree to help Rafayel with his paintings by modeling for him. Three hours later the two of you both find yourselves at your wits end. Who'll snap first? [Content] 》 Angst to Fluff : Comfort : Guilt tripping

[Still as a Statue]

"My legs are starting to hurt.", A soft mumble escapes your mouth. A slight grimace pulls at your top lip and nose.

You stand in the middle of Rafayel's living room, surrounded by his piles upon piles of half finished paintings. You're posed quite gracefully, set like stone. It's actually a pose you had come up with on the spot after Rafayel had asked you to be his model on one random morning.

Given how rarely he liked to paint people you didn't want to waste the opportunity to be his muse. Even if it was just once.

The windows are open, and the sun glares through the unblocked glass. Bathing your form in a sheet of warm light. You can feel a bead of swear move down from of your neck to your back to even lower. Its coolness against your heated skin makes you shiver.

Moments pass by, and with no response you feel your skin heat up even more. Whether that's due to your rising impatience or the sun, you don't know.

"Rafayel?" You call out, your voice has a slight tremble. For a moment, there's no answer. The only sound in the room is your small breathes and the soft scrapes of your lovers paintbrush against the canvas.

And then he sighs, a tired, grating sigh. It's the kind you hear all the time when he has to deal with long phone calls from Thomas, the kind that releases the annoyance slowly building inside of him.

You want to flinch at the sound, you don't though, thankfully.

Instead, a weight pull at your chest and a cold wave of guilt washing over you. The feeling akin to rock sinking to the bottom of a lake.

Setting down his paintbrush, Rafayel looks to you, his dear love and bodyguard. And he frowns..

"I did warn you earlier.", he says finally,"I said you'd likely experience some aches if agreed and you still did." He brings a hand to his face, the one previously holding the paintbrush, and pinches the bridge of his nose.

"Now you've broken my concentration and not only that, you've been fidgeting this entire time." His tone is harsh, impaitent. No different than the Rafayel you're used to. So you don't understand why tears suddenly prick at the corners of your eyes.

"I'm sorry.", you barely manage to push the words out of your throat. Your knees shake and your muscles twitch in discomfort. You show the weakness in your heart, and you hate yourself for it.

"I swear-"

Rafayel stops mid-sentence, finally looking up at you. Something snaps the gears within his mind into place and he realizes something.

You are weak.

You are fragile.

And it's only because of him.

In a single moment, Rafayel practically leaps from his stool. Dropping his painters pallette, and tripping over his easel. He pays no mind to the damage he causes to the painting he spent the past three hours on. His focus solely remains on you.

You didn't let go of your pose, you couldn't, not until you felt Rafayels desperate hands reach for you. His frantic mind searching to feel you against him. To know that you were with him.

The moment his cold fingers touched your heated skin you feel every ounce of strength, every wall you had built, all come tumbling down. Like he had pulled out the singular brick that held together the impenetrable fortress that was you.

Sinking to the floor, the tears you'd silently been holding back fell onto your cheeks. And the once silent whimpers turned into full sobs and tremors.

Rafayel fell with you, not daring to look away, not once leaving your side. His eyes widen and his stomach twist sickeningly.

Oh how he hated your tears, and the spew of emotions you'd put into his chest. It weighed down heavy upon his heart, seeing you ache.

Slowly he wrapped his arms around your torso, pulling you into his chest. Your head nestled just above his heart. With every tear that wetted his expensive cotton shirt, and every hiccup that clawed through your throat he could feel his own throat begin to close up.

In an attempt to soothe both you and himself; Rafayel began to rock back and forth, humming a tune his mother would sing to him when he was a young guppy.

Gradually, he could feel each and every muscle in his body relax, including his heart. In turn making yours do the same. At the same time he could hear your sobs turn into cries, to whimpers, and into mere sniffles.

Lifting your head up to look at him in the eye, your dear painter, you can't help but sniffle. Which elicits a small chuckle from him. Before his expression becomes more somber, his eyes harden into something much more serious.

"Are you okay my love?", his voice is soft. Likes he's scared you'd break at anything louder than a whisper. "It's okay if you're upset at me, I shouldn'-"

You plant a hand his chest, the motion freezing him in place. "Rafayel.", your voice is raspy from crying, "You know I love you very much, correct?"

"Yes? But what does-"

"Shhh.", you put a finger to his lips,"Let me finish."

He quickly nods, and you start to speak once more.

"Rafayel, my love, you are my light. You're the most creative yet curious peron I've ever had the pleasure of meeting. You're able to capture and hold others attention without even trying. You make my day better without even trying, you just smile and all else disapears. . .", There's a pause, "So the idea of disappointing you, or becoming an inconvenience to you is...", you trail off softly. Allowing the thoughts in your head swim with millions of possibilities and "What-If's"

Rafayel snaps you back into reality, with his palms cupping each side of your face.

"Don't. Don't ever think that." His tone is firm, demanding. In way that you'd never heard before, you almost don't understand it.

"I will love you always. No matter what. You're worth more than any art I could dream to create.", he becomes more breatheless which each word, "Do you even realize why I wanted to make a portrait of you?" His eyes search yours, looking for a response, an answer.

He looks into your eyes he can't find it, instead he sees pool's of confusion, twinges of fear flicker inside them.

Sighing softly to himself, he brings your head to his chest once again. Your face smashes against the cotton shirt as your ears pick up the sound of his lungs and heart. They move steadily, not in tandem with one another but each their own unique rhythm.

"Everytime you leave for a mission", his is so soft you almost don't hear it,"I-..I worry you won't come back. I'm scared you'll leave me." There's a solemn look in his eyes.

The confession makes the air within your lungs disapate. "Raf..", you can only stare up at him.

Rare do you find that your painter is able to be honest about his emotions with you, much less himself.

Reaching up, you cup his cheeks with your hands and you stare into his eyes. "I'm sorry my love.", his gaze softens, " I think we both mean more to each other than we let on."

He shifts his eyes, thinking to himself for moment, before nodding, "Yeah.."

"And I promise you this.", you take one hand off his face, and hold up your pinky to him, "No matter how hard the mission is, I will always come home to you. If I don't, you have every right to hate me."

A spark lights in Rafayels eyes, and he can't help but laugh at the situation you two were in. Before quickly regaining his composure, "I don't think I could ever hate you.", He says as he wipes his face, "But..I would like that."

A sweet smile graces his faces, lifting a hand he holds out his own pinky and intertwines with yours.

"And I promise you, no matter what, my love and my heart will always belong to you.. Mrs. Bodygaurd."

A giggle erupts from your throat, "You still call me that?"

"What? You don't like it?" Rafayel sounds hurt but you know by the look on his face it isn't real. You laugh a bit more before pressing your forehead to his.

"No, it's perfect."

[trunktrash]

Welcome To my Blog

Hi, I'm Trunktrash, or T.T. or just Trash for short. I write in my spare time, and thought that I might as well make a side blog to show off my writings for some of the odd stuff I'm interested in. Unfortunately I might not be posting much, as I do have a very busy schedule IRL. With my school, home, and work life taking up most of my time. Doesn't mean I still don't try to post though!

[Requests] 》 Closed [however if you'd like to share something me I'd love to see it]

[Fandoms] 》

Love and Deepspace

Diabolik Lovers

[Masterlist] 》

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