withrafayel

[withrafayel]

HE CAME HOME IN THE FIRST TEN FREE PULLS WHAT THE HELL. WHAT THE HELL !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[withrafayel]

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[withrafayel]

jen. 25. she/her. intj-a. ♡ ⤷ following from @jeonqkooks-main holy trinity — rafayel, caleb, sylus.

all rights reserved © withrafayel. reposting, translating and/or modifying in any way is not permitted. minors dni.

updated: june 5, 2025 · latest: waves (zayne)

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♡ = fluff  ·  ♤ = angst  ·  ♧ = smut

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XAVIER.

ZAYNE.

⤷ waves ( ♤ ) ·  0.6k

RAFAYEL.

SYLUS.

CALEB.

[withrafayel]

waves.

pairing: zayne x reader genre/warnings: mild angst, hurt/comfort if you squint i guess?? word count: 0.6k note: yay my first lads piece after weeks of debating whether or not i should start posting for lads. pretty self-indulgent bc i am skraight up going through a shitty time lmao

as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

MASTERLIST / KO-FI

Despite what Zayne does for a living, the most rewarding part of his day is always coming home to you.

Maybe it shouldn’t be, and maybe it’s not something he should admit out loud to anyone at the hospital, but he can’t lie. It’s the truth after all.

Today was a long day, such as most days are for him.

11:48PM, it’s not unusual for him to stroll into a quiet and darkened apartment, accompanied only by the gentle whirring of the refrigerator and the faraway sound of cars passing by the adjacent street. It’s peaceful and calm, and it’s exactly what he needs when he knows that just a few steps away, hidden by a closed bedroom door is you, the only safe haven he's ever known.

On most days, you’d either already be asleep by now, or sleepily watching videos on your phone while waiting for Zayne to come home so you could kiss him goodnight. It’s routine, it’s how he expects to find you.

But instead, tonight he finds himself frozen outside your shared bedroom, a hand hovering over the door handle when he hears you shuffling inside. Tissues being pulled from their designated box on your nightstand. Sniffles and choked out sobs, like it’s impossible for you to hold back anymore.

The ache blooms instantaneously, just listening to you on the other side of the door. Knowing that you’re crying all alone in the dead of night, that he’s part of the reason why it’s come to this — because you don’t want him to have to shoulder your burdens too.

So you hold onto them by yourself, bearing the weight alone until it becomes to colossal to hold.

Zayne supposes you’re similar in that way — both too stubborn to share your troubles with the other. It’s how he knows that if he were to walk in right now, you’d be embarrassed thinking you’ve been caught doing something you shouldn’t. Hastily wiping away your tears and pretending that everything is fine for his sake, only for the same affliction to come bubbling up to the surface another day.

He stays rooted to the spot, simply waiting. Sometimes, these are the motions that you have to go through, a cleanse of sorts so that you can start anew again.

But even then, it hurts him too, merely listening to how it hurts you. The sharp intakes of breath between uncontrollable sobs, the crumpling of tissues, some incoherent mumbles to yourself that he can’t quite make out.

A question strikes like lightning. How many nights have you been doing this? When he’s not around, how many times have you curled up into yourself, crushed by burdens you would never speak aloud? While the rest of the world is on pause and at peace, his love is here, unravelling all alone.

Zayne waits some more, until the sobs die down and the sniffles fade away and he’s sure that you’ve fallen asleep. The door opens with not so much as a creak. His heart twists again when he catches sight of you, with the duvet pulled up to your shoulders and tears staining your cheeks.

It’s a particular kind of heartbreak, bearing witness to this.

He makes quick work of freshening up for bed in the en suite bathroom, and when he finally slips under the covers with you, his moves are calculated. A careful arm sliding around your body to pull you closer, soft lips ghosting over your swollen eyelids so you wouldn’t wake, then gentle hands tucking your face into the crook of his neck. Like he’s trying to piece you back together. Like this is all he can do for now.

“Sleep well,” he whispers, barely audible at all, “my love.”