lavlynyan

[lavlynyan]

MC: No, no. I should be the bigger person, I'm too good for revenge.

Sylus: I'm not. Give me the gun.

[lavlynyan]

MC: Come on, we’re a team! We’re in this together!

Zayne: Exactly. I fear a jury will see it the same way.

[lavlynyan]

Caleb: Ooh, if they have your phone, we can track where they’re going. I have "Find My Phone" set up to track you!

MC:

Caleb: What? I do that for all my friends not just you.

MC: Show me.

Caleb:

MC:

Caleb: There’s no time! Look-

[lavlynyan]

Caleb: Would you love me if I was a worm?

MC: Of course. But I have to be an apple.

Caleb: Wait, why?

MC: I refuse to live in this world if you can't be inside me.

Caleb: Aww, honey!

Gideon: Alright both of you need to shut the fuck up.

[lavlynyan]

Solana: If I was a gardener, I'd put our tulips together!

Thomas: Aww, my wife is so sweet.

MC: If I was a gardener, you'd be my hoe!

Rafayel: Thanks, babe.

[lavlynyan]

Keep It Icy [Zayne + Son ★ 3428 words ★ Masterlist ★ Series Index ★ AO3] 5 times Zayne’s son used him like a personal portable A/C + 1 time his son helps relieve his stress. A/N: I promise I love Zaynie. He’s my snookums. 🥹 Tag list: @lavlynyan @alfredosaws @solifloris @nezuswritingdesk @valkyyriia @natimiles @yourlocalcatscammer @callilypso @likewhyareyousoobsessedwithme @qyuin @asiaticapple @rainbowsnowflake @jasmines-greentea 【 request to be added 】

one month old.

The weather forecast had predicted this July Linkon City was going to experience the hottest heat wave in decades. Citizens were advised to stay indoors and keep cool whenever possible, and as much as Zayne wanted to adhere to such warnings, his home air conditioner had decided just the other day to break down.

“There’s no available repairman at this moment,” he said, walking into the kitchen to see you struggling to comfort your newborn son who had been crying nonstop for hours now. The baby had just celebrated his first month since being born, but there was little joy in the household right now with everyone feeling miserable because of the unbearable heat. Zayne continued, speaking a little louder over the baby’s cries, “They’re all booked and the earliest appointment I could make would be for next Wednesday.”

“Next Wednesday?” you questioned, shocked, “That’s still over a week away and it’s just gonna get hotter…”

He nodded in agreement. He looked worried when he noticed the exhaustion on your face. Immediately, he stepped closer with his arms outstretched. “Give him to me,” he said, reaching for the baby. Before you could protest, the baby was out of your arms and into Zayne’s. He rubbed his son’s back soothingly. “Go take a cold shower. You’ll feel more refreshed afterwards.”

“But the baby…”

“I can take care of him,” he said.

You looked at him unsure and Zayne answered with his own pointed look.

“What? Have I done anything in the past month to prove I wasn’t capable of caring for my son?”

You immediately shook your head. “Quite the opposite actually,” you said with a small smile. You eventually relented. “Alright, sorry, it’s just… new mother’s instinct, you know?”

He nodded and leaned over to kiss your cheek. “I know. Now, go. Take as long as you need to, my love.”

You kissed him back in thanks before making your way to the bathroom.

Meanwhile, Zayne looked down at his crying son and sighed sympathetically. He paced around the kitchen with the newborn resting over his shoulder, rubbing his back and bouncing him gently. “I know, I know, it’s so hot, isn’t it?”

The baby rubbed his face into Zayne’s shoulder in frustration before crying louder. He started to hiccup and Zayne instantly patted his back gently as he calmly shushed his son. “Easy, easy now…”

He found himself walking to his bedroom. He could hear in the adjacent bathroom the shower running.

He settled down into bed, letting his son rest on top of his chest. He thought for a moment and then he used his ice Evol, regulating the temperature around him. It felt much nicer than before. The sudden cool temperature calmed the crying baby, his cries slowly easing before he relaxed on top of his father. As Zayne rubbed his back gently, his soft, soothing voice lulled the exhausted baby to sleep.

His own eyes drifted close, but only for a few minutes. Distantly, he heard the shower turning off and a few minutes later, he opened his eyes when he sensed your presence nearby.

You settled into bed next to him with wet hair still dripping water droplets down your top. You sighed happily. “It feels so much cooler now.”

“Indeed,” he answered.

“Maybe we don’t need that repairman then,” you teased, leaning in to wrap your arms around Zayne’s waist.

He peered down at the top of your head, quipping with mild annoyance, “I’m not an A/C that runs 24/7 you know.”

“I know,” you said breezily, not appeasing his sudden mood change. “But for now, I prefer this over our home air conditioner.”

“Oh, really…”

You giggled and nodded. You reached over and gently caressed your newborn son’s cheek, careful not to wake him. “And it looks like I’m not the only one who prefers your Evol.”

“Why do I feel like you two will be troublemakers for me to handle in the future?”

You grinned, completely delighted. “Yeah? You think he will take after me?”

You both glanced at the sleeping baby boy on Zayne’s chest with so much adoration. You sighed wistfully. “He’s still so tiny… I can’t imagine him getting bigger.”

“I know,” Zayne whispered back fondly. “Is it wrong that I almost want him to stay just like this?”

You shook your head, understanding your husband’s sentiments completely. “I can’t believe it’s already been a month since he was born,” you said softly, adding with a laugh, “I still can’t believe we’re both parents now…”

Zayne hummed back in agreement. “I can’t believe he’s really ours…”

“What if we mess up?”

“Hmm?”

“What if we make mistakes with him…”

“Are you spiraling again?”

“Zayne, I’m serious!” You pouted at him. “What if…”

“No more ‘what if’s’,” Zayne interrupted firmly. “We will probably make mistakes. It’s only natural. We’re new at this and also… we’re just humans.”

“You’re right…”

“But we’ll do our best in raising him,” Zayne continued, “He will turn out fine.”

He leaned over and kissed your forehead, his arm snaking around your waist and pulling you closer to him. You rested your head in the crook of his arm, feeling his hand patting your side soothingly. You smiled as you watched your son sleep on top of your husband’s chest.

“We’ll all be fine,” Zayne whispered, and you relaxed in his arms, his protective presence always seeming to chase away your fears and anxieties.

“Yeah… we’ll be fine.”

twelve months old.

Zayne couldn’t believe a whole year had passed since his son was born. He paced around the nursery with the newly-turned one-year-old resting over his shoulder. The boy was quietly sucking his thumb, showing no sign of sleepiness despite it almost being midnight.

Each time Zayne had tried to put the boy down to bed, his son would start to fuss and cry until he was picked up again. Zayne signed, knowing the exact reason for his son’s fussiness.

It was going to be another blistering hot June, matching the previous year when his son was born. Even though it was nighttime, the temperature had only cooled down to being tolerable, but to a one-year-old, it still felt unbearable.

“You’re just like your mother,” Zayne said, pretending to be upset, “You only see me as a personal portable air conditioner, don’t you?”

Not quite understanding his father, the boy giggled and pressed a wet kiss to Zayne’s cheek before dropping his head back down on his shoulder and sucking his thumb again. He idly swung his feet and clung to his father tighter.

“Okay, okay,” he laughed, “I won’t mind if this is the type of payment I will receive for my service.”

Zayne resigned to his fate of pacing the nursery for a while longer, but he didn’t want to complain too much as he was quite honestly thoroughly enjoying this quiet moment of bonding with his son.

eighteen months old.

“And down,” Zayne said, carefully setting his toddler son down on a beach blanket.

Immediately, the boy turned around and scrambled to his father’s legs, his arms held up as he hopped in place, upset. “No, no, no, no!”

“Hm?”

“Up, up!”

“I’ve already carried you all the way down here,” he calmly remarked to the upset child. “Don’t you want to try walking on your own now?”

The boy furrowed his brows in frustration, not understanding why his father refused to listen to him.

You walked over and laughed, settling down next to the young toddler. You pulled your son into your lap. “Oh, Zaynie, don’t pretend like you don’t know what he wants.”

Zayne sighed. “This is your fault.”

“My fault?” you pretended to glare at him. “What did I do?”

“He takes after you.”

“Excuse me, the only thing he decided to take after me was my hair color,” you said, gesturing to your son’s full head of hair. “Nine months I carried him only for him to be a near perfect clone of you.”

Zayne sat down next to you both and immediately the toddler crawled out of your lap and over to his father’s instead. You pretended to look betrayed.

“See that? No loyalty to his mother at all.”

Resigned, Zayne picked up his son and let him settled comfortably in his lap. The boy leaned against his father’s stomach and his eyes started to close before he just as quickly drifted off to sleep.

“So much for his first dip in the ocean water,” Zayne quipped with a fond smile. “We’ve wasted those plane tickets for nothing.”

You reached over and rubbed your son’s cheek affectionately, giggling. “I don’t blame him. Your Evol comes in quite handy on hot days like this.”

“See? He takes after you.”

“You’re right,” you agreed, “He is smart, just like me, knowing how to use his father.”

“That’s not—fine.”

You giggled at your husband’s scowl. You leaned over and gasped when Zayne pulled you down to lay with him and your son on the beach blanket. With your toddler on Zayne’s chest, you wrapped your arm around your husband’s waist and settled comfortably against him.

“This is nice,” you remarked.

“Mmhmm,” Zayne hummed back in agreement, his arm pulling you in closer.

“Nothing can beat having a hot husband with delicious abs and his ice Evol to keep me cool.”

“You really are something.”

“I’m not wrong.”

“I—fine.”

two years old.

“Do you see the koala bears?” Zayne asked as he knelt down next to his two-year-old son, who had insisted he could walk through the zoo by himself. Laughing, you and him allowed the toddler his freedom, staying closely to the little boy who toddled his way through the crowd, unaware of all the people who paused and smiled at the cute child who was the spitting image of his father.

You and Zayne had nodded politely at the compliments and sped along after the toddler who seemed determined to get away from you both.

“Hold still,” Zayne said lightheartedly with one arm wrapped gently around the little boy’s middle.

“B-bear!” the boy repeated, giggling as he pointed at the sleepy marsupial while his other free hand was excitedly patting his father’s forearm.

“Mmhmm,” Zayne hummed. “A koala bear. They’re not the same as your teddy bears at home, though.”

Suddenly, Zayne heard the sound of a shutter clicking and a very familiar giggle. He looked behind him, seeing you were crouched low to the ground with your phone aimed at him and your son. Instantly his eyes met your own mischievous gaze, and when he raised a brow in question, you giggled again at his perplexed look.

“Sorry,” you said, completely unapologetic, “My two boys just looked so cute. I had to take a photo.”

Zayne sighed and shook his head. “That was also what you said when we were looking at the seals earlier.”

“And I meant it then, too,” you insisted with a pout, holding your phone up again, “Now smile, Zaynie.”

Zayne laughed and pulled his son closer. He knelt on one knee and with the other leg bent, he settled his two-year-old atop, holding him steady as he pointed a finger toward your phone camera. “Now smile for Mommy, son.”

The boy smiled brightly and clapped his hands just as you took the shot.

“Perfect,” you chirped, “These will be great new photos for my desk at work.”

“Alright, son, now off you go,” Zayne said and picked his son up. He paused, frowning when he noticed the toddler seemed to resist. “What’s wrong?”

“Too hot, Daddy,” the boy whined and looked at him pleadingly. He suddenly held his arms up.

Zayne sighed. “Who was it who said he could walk through the whole zoo by himself?”

The boy shook his head furiously. “Not me! Not me!”

You and Zayne laughed. You approached the two and knelt down next to the boy. “Do you want Mommy to carry you then, darling?”

The boy immediately shook his head again, his brows furrowing as he frowned at you with a look almost akin to annoyance. You feigned hurt and pretended to be shocked, asking him, “You don’t want Mommy anymore?”

As if he could sense your feigned hurt tone, the boy looked guilty, but only for a second before he held his arms out to his father again, completely ignoring you. “Daddy, Daddy, up, up!”

“I can’t believe I lost my only son’s love to a portable A/C,” you quipped dramatically, earning an instant glare from your husband. “Oh, Zaynie, take care of our son while I use your credit card to buy some ice cream to help me in the healing process.”

“Ha ha, very funny,” he remarked, already reaching for his wallet and grabbing the credit card to hand off to you.

You leaned over and kissed his cheek, consoling him instantly. “Be right back. I’ll make sure to get you something extra sweet for today.”

Once you were out of sight, Zayne turned back to the toddler on his knee. “Mommy’s gone, aren’t you sad?”

The boy thought for a moment and then nodded quietly.

“Do you want to go after her then?”

The boy nodded excitedly and raised his arms again.

“You’re going to walk to her, right?” Zayne teased.

The boy shook his head furiously. “No, no, Daddy carry!”

“But you’re a big boy now,” Zayne reminded him solemnly, “This morning you said you could walk all by yourself.”

“But… but…”

“But?”

“…too hot, Daddy…”

Zayne laughed again at the sight of the boy’s pitiful pout. He gave him a quick hug before lifting him up into his arms, smiling at his son’s instant giggles. “Alright, alright,” Zayne said, acquiescing, “Your personal portable A/C is in service now.”

“Yay!”

He laughed helplessly at his son’s enthusiastic cheer. “Sometimes I wonder if you see me as your father or just a portable A/C…”

“Mm… both!” the boy answered, not understanding his father’s sarcasm.

Zayne laughed again and leaned down to nuzzle his cheek against his son. “Thank you for your honesty,” he said, “Now, let’s go find Mommy and those ice cream she had promised us.”

“Ice cream!” the boy cheered and hugged his father tighter.

Along the way, Zayne couldn’t help but noticed numerous passersby pointing at them both, hearing the occasional delighted remarks about their physical similarities or the boy’s bright personality. He knew he should be a little more discreet, but his expression was one full of pride. It seemed ever since his son was born, Zayne was always finding each new day with his child a rewarding joy, this happiness so indescribable and infinite, he wanted to hold onto the feeling for as long as he could.

three years old.

Zayne wondered if he ever had as much energy as his three-year-old son when he was the same age. He found it doubtful. An afternoon in the park had somehow lasted for hours well past the boy’s usual naptime, and now suddenly there was the twilight glow quietly ushering in nightfall.

“Daddy!” the boy called out to his father as he slid down a slide and into his father’s waiting arms. He laughed and clung to his father tightly as little beads of sweat glistened down the side of his head. It had been a long, hot afternoon of running, climbing, and jumping from one playground equipment to the next. He hummed happily and buried his face into his father’s shoulder.

Zayne chuckled and lifted him up, carrying him easily in one arm. “What’s this? Are you doing what I think you are doing?”

The boy smiled cheekily at him in response. “Daddy feels so cool.”

He smiled helplessly at his son’s honest response. “I’m still nothing but a portable A/C to you, aren’t I?”

He tickled his son and the boy laughed and wriggled in his arms, though Zayne just tightened his hold. “N-no, no, Daddy!” he cried out amid his giggles.

As he held his son, still tickling him mercilessly, Zayne couldn’t help but noticed how much time had passed already and how big the little boy in his arms was getting. Each day, he seemed to take on more of Zayne’s appearance, the same shade of green in his eyes always looking at his father with such happiness and admiration.

Normally more rational, Zayne couldn’t help the silly thought that came suddenly. It wouldn’t be that silly of him—or even selfish of him–if he wished time could just slow down a bit, wanting his little boy to stay little for a while longer.

Unwittingly, he held the boy tighter that evening as the sun began to set, missing the toddler’s confused look under the darkening sky. Slowly, one by one, the lamps in the park lit up along all of the pathways. Zayne remained quiet, lost in his bittersweet thoughts, unaware of his son’s worried look.

Quietly, the little boy leaned in and kissed his father’s cheek, surprising him and breaking him out of his sudden trance, with that little assurance in spite of not understanding why his father seemed sadder now when just a few moments ago he was smiling and laughing.

His small arms wrapped around his father’s neck. “I love you, daddy.”

Zayne breathed in sharply, almost surprised, before he laughed softly and hugged his son back, his cheek nuzzling against his son’s hair. “I love you, too, my sweet little boy.”

+ one

He was finally done.

Zayne sighed as he closed an email he had just finished responding to. It was the last one out of the numerous emails he had spent the past two hours reading and responding. On top of that, he still had some medical reports to review and an important phone conference to attend to at one in the afternoon. The day was far from over, but even he could feel the beginning of a migraine settling in.

He leaned back in his chair, his eye peeking behind to the door of his home office, noticing it was opened ajar. He swiveled his chair enough to glance at the door, catching sight of the small shadow disappearing with a surprised gasp.

He swiveled his chair around again, pretending to sigh dramatically. “I’m so tired all of a sudden… If only I have my little doctor here to treat me…”

“Here I am, Daddy!”

Zayne turned his chair full around this time, laughing when he saw his three-year-old son pushing the door open and rushing into his office while carrying a small plastic briefcase.

“What’s this? A personal house call?”

He picked his son up, settling him comfortably on his lap. “And you’ve brought your briefcase?”

The boy nodded happily.

“What do you have in your briefcase, doctor?” he asked, “Will it cure me of my current ailment?”

“Uh huh.”

“Well, then, let’s check together, won’t we?” Zayne set the briefcase on his desk next to his laptop. He opened it and pretended to gasp. “Now, what do you have to treat my exhaustion, doctor?”

The boy hummed and peered into his toy briefcase before grabbing a plastic snack bowl. “Teddies!”

Zayne took the snack bowl from his son, opening the plastic lid on top and stared at the little teddy bear-shaped graham crackers. He laughed. “I see, and how many should I take, doctor?”

The boy furrowed his brows thoughtfully before holding up two chubby fingers.

“Two? Alright,” Zayne answered and grabbed two crackers, popping them both into his mouth to eat. He set the snack bowl aside. “Okay, is there anything else, doctor?”

“Uh… this…!” The boy pulled out a small cloth and proceeded to wipe his father’s brows, making Zayne laughed.

“Okay, okay, I think I’m good now.”

The boy smiled proudly and dropped the cloth, letting it fall to the floor. “One more, Daddy!”

“One more? One more what?”

Suddenly, his son leaned in and kissed his cheek, surprising Zayne.

He smiled at his son, touched by the little boy’s thoughtfulness and concern. He hugged him a little tighter. “Doctor… I still don’t feel well. Perhaps, I need a few more kisses to cure me of my ailment?”

Without any hesitation, his son started to kiss his cheek repeatedly in quick successions, making Zayne laughed after each peck. After a minute, he stopped the toddler with a smile and his own kisses, overjoyed at the sound of his son’s sweet little giggles.

“Thank you,” he whispered, kissing his son’s temple, “for being my stress relief.”

[lavlynyan]

[lavlynyan]

HE’S HOME!!!

[lavlynyan]

𝗛𝗘𝗔𝗥𝗧 𝗢𝗙 𝗚𝗟𝗔𝗦𝗦 ━━━━━━ 黎深

— it wasn't your place to dictate what his heart wants but sometimes you wished his affections were directed to you — just once. was it difficult to spare you crumbs of affection or when Zayne noticed how you start to pull away from him and it was too late for him to realize how damaged the relationship was you desperately trying to build and you got tired of wanting him. can he still get you back? or must he turn to drastic measures?

notes. requested by @itsmearia01 . to be continued in part two

content warnings. angst + unrequited love + arranged marriage + emotional neglect + emotional cheating + non mc reader + insecurities + doubts + lack of affection + slow burn + drinking + clubbing.

READ PART TWO HERE.

It is said the most successful of marriages comes from respect and it shall evolve to mutual understanding for the parties involved.

That's what you thought to yourself when you come of age that you were informed of a arranged marriage to your childhood friend, Zayne.

It had come to that arrangement for Zayne's parents have saved your mother from the complications of birth just to have you and upon your birth comes the arrangement that their child and you shall be brought to union later in life. It was a fine match indeed. That's what your parents and Zayne's agreed.

Thus, it came hurting you later at life.

Zayne is respectful and never treated you different from others. Although he ignored you most of the time and feels like you didn't exist in his life. Well, who could blame him. It wasn't a match he chose for himself, it was his parents and yours. It was unfair that he didn't have much of a choice.

Blinded by your admiration for him — it didn't deter you how cold he was to you. Zayne's heart was made of ice and maybe you can melt it. You knew Zayne was a softie after all. Cold and stoic he may come, he did care. He likes animals, children too that's why he's close to his patients. He's also fond of sweets! That's why you pack him extra sweets and learned to make macarons, his favorites.

That's why it never bothered you when he treats you like air. At least he knows he have a fiancee. That's what you say to yourself. Convincing that one day, Zayne will look at you in your eyes.

It was far fetched dream though but you could dream. Looking positive.

Not until she came in the picture and oh, how you wished you were her. What efforts that you poured just for him to say a word about you takes her for only a second. Zayne looks at her eyes. Zayne compliments her and he always noticed her first.

You did try but all it takes for her was to come and melt the frozen heart of Zayne. His heart wasn't totally frozen, it was incapable of being thawed when it comes to you. He's sweet on her and that's when you realize — you lost the battle, a long time ago.

He was with you but he's mind was with thoughts of her. You knew he wasn't going to pursue cardiology if it wasn't for her. She's sick. A heart syndrome but Zayne spent his studies understanding the human heart and the Protocore Syndrome. It was all for her. His achievements was for her.

How could you also compete? Zayne fondly mentioned her that she's a deepspace hunter and possesses a rare type of Evol — Anhaunsen Class: Resonance. Amazing! Good with kids, cheerful, and she's pretty with her pale skin, long straight dark brown hair and she's thin too. You were not.

You can't even get the same response as Zayne would have spoken to her. He deeply cares for her. Why wouldn't he be? Zayne even took as being her primary care physician.

It doesn't matter though, you still support him for you were going to be his wife and he as your husband. If he doesn't want that, he should have called off the engagement a long time ago.

And as soon-to-be-his wife, you can endure it. That's how a marriage should work when another one endures for the comfort of the other.

It doesn't matter when he prioritize her. She's sick, what could be your reason. He's her physician.

It didn't hurt when he forget to eat the lunch that you prepared for him. He's a doctor, he's busy with operations even you later learned that they had lunch together.

It didn't hurt you when he gave you a plushie knowing that it was a duplicate and she owned one too.

It didn't hurt when he's uninterested to you, he could be obvious about it but he didn't.

It simply didn't hurt cause you were used to it and then one day, you stopped caring. You didn't even have the strength to cry and if you did, you'd be joining Heartbreaker crying near the trash bins.

The clock read one pm. It's lunch time for Zayne and he didn't have the time to grab food in the cafeteria when it's only thirty minutes away for the next scheduled operation and he remembers you always brought him lunch. It's usually placed in his desk. Wrapped in pastel blue square cloth, dotted with snowflakes and a snowman in the middle but there was nothing. Yvonne hasn't informed him earlier of your presence so maybe you forgot it.

Checking his phone, there wasn't a message too. He ignored it. He presses his phone off and decided he will just grab a bite later.

At first, it didn't bother him.

How your messages were a rare occurrence nowadays. A casual — how's your day? Or a simple good morning. Usually when he wakes up it's the influx of messages coming from you. Texting him what he wanted for dinner or what how's he feeling for the day or the simple cat video that you know he likes. Now, he's staring at the screen. The last message were a week ago.

Then, how you don't speak anymore with mirth.

The café was nice. She recommended it. The atmosphere was cool and he doesn't hear your voice anymore. Quietly sitting while sipping your drink — your gaze fixated on a distance. You casually hum and that's the end.

“Is something bothering you?”

Wow. A full question. That's a first.

The ice in your drink clinks as put it in the table. Absentmindedly stirring the cold liquid with a straw. “It's nothing of concern.” Your gaze focused on the table. It wasn't wiped properly. You barely glanced at him.

“I won't push you to say something but I'm here to listen to you.” How assuring. Zayne notices how you didn't much respond. Casting a side eye glance, your eyebrows raising a bit and your lips pressed in a thin line.

He was about to say something when his phone rings. “Go on.” You weakly drawled. He swipes the phone to the left declining the call. “It's my day off. I shouldn't be bothered with work.”

A humorless chuckle left your mouth before you can stop it. Work. It's her. “I'm sorry, you don't reject calls like that, Zayne. Don't let me hinder your work.”

“No, my day offs are reserved for you.” He said with a small smile.

It was more like a obligation than willingness. He doesn't enjoy being with you. He rather prefers being with her.

“If you say so.” You finished your drink. Grabbing your shoulder bag, you stand up. “I shall not occupy much of your time. I'll be going.” Ignoring his comment, you pushed your chair.

“(Y/N), did I do something to upset you?”

You shaked your head in dismissal. “You didn't do anything to upset me. I have urgent matters to attend to, have a good day.”

“Do you want something for tonight.” He attempts again to offer you. Something to ease your mind.

“Don't bother.” Is what you said before leaving.

Later that evening, the doorbell rang. You were finishing the last touches of your makeup and you pat your brush down before putting the final touches of your makeup.

Opening the door, you were greeted by Zayne and usually, you've gone ecstatic. Always eager with him being in the room and you can only look at him indifferently.

“Zayne, I didn't know you were coming.” Opening the door wider to let him in. He took his coat and puts it in the rack. You noticed he was holding multiple plastic bags containing the contents of your grocery list. You ignored it.

The cardiologist followed you with his gaze. Noticing your all dolled up appearance. Your tube denim dress layered with a white shirt. “Are you going somewhere?”

“Yeah. Clubbing with a few girlfriends.” Your voice clipped and you went back to your room to grab your bag.

“You don't like nightclubs.” He casually commented. Putting the groceries in their rightful places in the cupboard.

“I don't but it's a nice change. You know, you didn't have to stay here. You can go if you want.” Tapping the heel of your platform boots in the floor.

“It's fine. Do you want me to drive you there?” Zayne offerers. Loosening his tie.

“No.” You shortly replied and slammed the door.

It was a weekend. The club was packed with sweaty bodies crowding in the middle of the dance floor. The neon lights bouncing at the rhythm of the loud music. This wasn't your scene and yet, he sees you happily dancing with a friend. Laughing under the lights when your friend whispered.

Zayne have followed you. Concerned of your well-being.

It feels different and Zayne wasn't used to seeing you like this. Unexpected for someone who acts so proper and prim. He knows that everyone have pleasures but this was different.

He watches you drink. Downing a glass, shots after shots. Drinking the burning liquid like it was water. Zayne's brow furrowed, lips pressed in a thin line. He approaches you.

The brightly colored glass looks tiny in your fingers. You admired the liquid sloshing as you tip it back and forth before bringing it to your lips but before you can drink it. A voice popped besides you.

“That's enough.” His tone firm, grabbing the shot glass from you and putting it on the table. You blink lazily, your movements light and your mouth looser. “Who do you think you are to say that it's enough?” It wasn't a question. You tried to grab the drink again but Zayne holds your wrist.

“You're drunk.”

“I'm not.”

“That's what people say when they're drunk.”

Zayne pulls you away from your table. Picking your handbag on the way as he excused you from your friends. You didn't even struggled when he dragged you away from them.

His black Audi A6 is parked and he opens the door to put you in the passenger seat before turning around to sit in the driver's seat. He rolled down the windows in your side. Zayne pulls the seatbelt, making sure you're properly strapped in your seat before doing his.

There's a purr coming from the car after he starts the engine. You remained silent. Eyes glossy and your lips curled. Silently staring at the city lights. You glanced at him and you never felt so resigned at a person. Is this how people felt when they got tired of chasing the person who remains so distant from them — cause if it is — you were done.

Zayne stole a glance at you. Your head propped in the window of his car. He can see the city lights twinkling in the reflection of your eyes. You were in no doubt at the edge of drunkenness. Has he not interfered you were probably wasted with a major hangover. He continued driving. His eyes on the road, his hands on the steering wheel.

The vehicle stopped in front of the building where your loft is located and you didn't bother to wait for him to open the door. Yanking your seatbelt and letting it slide to its place, you popped the door open and slipped. Walking towards the entrance in small wobbly steps.

Zayne followed you behind. Keeping up with your pace. “Careful.” He steadies you up when you almost tripped. His expression remained neutral even you recoiled from his touch.

You messily swiped your card before punching the numbers before stumbling inside. Your shoes felt incredibly tight. Your fingers fumbling over the laces. Zayne kneels in front of you. Easily undoing the laces of your boots before pulling the zippers down in the side. He holds your ankle before tugging your boots. He did the other part.

You stare at the man in front of you. Zayne was like a snowflake in your palm — melting. Slipping from your fingers and only to be returned to something new. Different but the same. Sucks he's not that in form to be with you.

“You should rest now. You don't want a hangover in the morning.”

“I told you, I'm not drunk.”

“Then can you tell me what I did something to upset you?”

“For being a party pooper.”

“It's not like you to act that way. Your well-being is my concern.”

“Come on, don't give me the doctor crap.”

“I'm your fiance. I should look after you. You're my priority.”

Priority. Hah.

A hollow laughed escaped your lips. Giggling as you stand up and finding your footing. You stumbled in the living room. Your shoulders shaking in laughter. It must be the alcohol.

Zayne looks at you — confused.

“I'm not your priority, Zayne. I'm an obligation. Something you keep cause it is needed and we both know it.” You look at him in his eyes and your heart breaks a little.

You exhaled before letting out a shaky gasp. Tears brimming at the corner of your eyes. You hated being weak. You hated being hurt.

“You started being concerned when I stopped bothering you.” Then the spiel of you being ignored. Of being hurt began to unveil.

“Don't you ever talked about me being your priority? I'm your priority? Is that so? Cause the last time I checked — ” You brought your finger to your lips, the habit you do when you're thinking before looking at him. “I wasn't for the last time - No, wait. I wasn't for the last years. No, no, no. I wasn't in your whole life.”

A tear slipped out and you furiously wiped it away in frustration. Mad at yourself for trying, for being such a fool.

“You are drunk and you must rest now.” Zayne went to approach you but you slapped his hand away.

“I'm sober as I can be and don't you dare ask me again why I'm upset. I'm upset all of the things. I'm so sick of trying! Of trying to chase after your affections.!”

“You should have said in the first place that you didn't want to do anything with me rather than ignore and act like it's your obligation to be with me! I can understand it! I'm not so dumb, Zayne!”

The words rings in the space of the room. Zayne remains impassive. His green eyes staring right back at you and you felt pathetic. A outburst is all you needed for him to look at you.

Blinking back the tears, your fists clenched on the side. You have lost your words. One must act a fool to be noticed. You lost the strength to speak one more word. The rush of blood pumping in your veins felt like drops.

A beat of silence passed. His jaw clenched and his eyes narrowed at you.

“(Y/N), I—”

“I'm glad you still remember my name.” You said dismissively before running back to your room and slamming the door shut.

[lavlynyan]

be my eternity, say my name [Caleb/Reader ★ 2725 words ★ Masterlist ★ Series Index ★ AO3] The secrets only you and Caleb would ever know. A/N: ;~; I've been working on this on-and-off since January. I'm so happy it's finally done. Title is referencing a verse in two TXT’s songs, Deja Vu and Run Away (9와 4분의 3 승강장에서 너를 기다려), but for this fic, I drew more inspiration from Deja Vu (I will probably write something using Run Away in the future, because I have ideas, hehe) @deepspacenova I'm also tagging you because this is one of the Caleb song-inspired fics I mentioned to you last night <33333 Tag list:@solifloris @natimiles @callilypso @likewhyareyousoobsessedwithme @miudle @alfredosaws @nezuswritingdesk @valkyyriia @yourlocalcatscammer @qyuin 【 request to be added 】

It was a secret.

That you fell for Caleb first.

You couldn’t explain when it had happened, when you finally saw him in a different light, knowing he was someone much more precious than a mere friend. You knew, though, that since that one afternoon long ago when you both came into each other’s lives, you took his hand and never wished to let it go ever.

(I’m Caleb. I’ll always be by your side.)

It was a secret.

In the dark of nights, under thick cover, your hand wandered, slipping in between your legs, driving into your folds, curling just so as your thumb brushed over that sensitive clit as you thought about him just a few doors away asleep in his own bed, unaware of the shameful act you had submitted yourself to, unable to ignore the desires to have him unconditionally, claim him solely for yourself.

All of those close instances, seemingly innocent in the way his body hovered so close to yours, or the way sometimes his arm would wrap around your waist when he teased you, unaware of the effect it was having on you. He never knew how the warmth of his breath teasing against your neck would have your heart skipping several beats faster, how there would be a tightening in your belly when he loomed near you, or the way how sometimes when your playfighting would lead to you tumbled atop him, so close to him physically and yet you felt the vast distance from his heart.

You fantasized of his large hands behind you, resting on the small of your back, his eyes locked with yours, searching almost desperately for permission, an invitation to cross this invisible line between you both. You thought of his lips, seeing the way they trembled, see his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, looking like a man starved, salivating at the sight of the glorious indulgence before him. You thought of treading first, stealing his lips experimentally, swallowing his surprised gasps as you grinded down on him, feeling his growing arousal brushing against your own.

You imagined his restraints broken, picturing him yielding to temptation, his hands fumbling over your body, his hips thrusting up, needing to feel you through the clothed barriers between you both. Your name spilt from those lips, the rasp in his voice more noticeable as he groaned in pleasure, growing more and more delirious as this lust heightened between the two of you.

You panted harder. You wanted his calloused hands on your smooth skin, trailing over secret places he had never known until this moment. You wanted to discover together with him all of the places on both of your bodies that would have you buckling, your toes curling, a hungry desperation for more and more.

You quickened your pace, fingers rushing as you imagined how he would have you come undone fully clothed on top of him, hearing that sweet, sweet voice of his urging you, praising you, coaxing you until you were trembling and crying against him.

Just a little bit more.

So close. So, so close.

Almost there.

With a few more rushed strokes and you were crying out your orgasm, his heavenly name spilling from your lips. For several minutes, you lay in bed, panting and shaken by the pleasure you had just experienced. There wasn’t much thought left in your head, a sudden wave of drowsiness seeming to wash over you.

You sighed.

When you stared at your hand, chest still heaving from the adrenaline, you wondered what it would be like to be filled by him. You couldn’t seem to stop imagining his body against you, wanting to be pinned underneath him, trapped beneath the heavy weight of him, his forearms resting on either side of your head and his face so close to yours, and those soulful eyes imploring you to want him, need him in a way only lovers would ever know.

Your breathing grew shaky again. You wondered how big he was, wondered how well your body could take him. You couldn’t help but imagined this time his hands just gripping your thighs, prying them apart, letting him see just how wet and willing you were for him. That burning need to stretch around him stirred within you again, your hips unwittingly squirming, feeling nothing but also everything.

Inadvertently, you moaned his name again, your body writhing beneath the sheets, the ache inside you renewed. You tossed and turned, your face buried into your pillow to muffle the way you cried out his name over and over again, feeling like you were humping against nothing, your fingers barely able to satisfy you, not like how you knew his own could.

Caleb’s long, thick fingers filling you, thrusting in and out as he made sure you would be ready to take more of him later. You clenched, voice strangled, as you cried harder, feeling your climax approaching again.

“Caleb… Caleb… please… please… Caleb…!”

There was a noise outside your room. You froze in that instance just as your second climax arrived and you bit down on your lip to stifle your moans. Someone was in the hallway. Was it your grandmother…  or was it Caleb? You didn’t know, too scared to even peek at the shadow beneath the crack in the door. Stay silent, you ordered yourself, your hand clamped over your mouth to muffle any sounds that could slip through. You could still feel the lingering shocks of pleasure coursing through your body.

You squeezed your eyes shut, curling up under the cover. Even after it was safe to stir again, you stayed still.

You almost wished it was Caleb who came into the room to check in on you. You almost wished he would discover the dirty secrets you kept from him, the way you pleasured yourself many nights thinking of him. You wondered how he would react seeing you in your bed with reddened cheeks flushed hot and fingers wet with your own arousal from the way you shamelessly touched yourself to dirty fantasies of him. You wondered if it would destroy your precious relationship with him, or just maybe, he felt the same.

Maybe he also felt the same about you. Maybe he had his own dirty secrets. Maybe he also carried lewd thoughts in his mind, thinking of you in ways he probably shouldn’t.

If he did, you couldn’t wait to uncover them, wanting his secrets exposed to you alone and yours to him.

(Mornin’, pipsqueak, did you sleep well?

…You could say that.

What is that supposed to mean—never mind, we’re going to be late for school. Hurry up and eat.)

It was a secret that you made the first move.

If there was ever a forbidden line between the two of you, you crossed it without a care, unable to ignore the growing feelings and desires within you. You could never entertain the idea that Caleb would be with anyone but you. He was yours from the beginning and you wanted him to the very end.

One warm afternoon, he was napping on the couch, a book facedown on his chest. You knelt on the floor next to him, drawn to how handsome he looked, peacefully slumbering away like an angel of God seeking respite for just one instance. Such long lashes, you admired with slight envy before smiling as you looked at his lips. They were just barely parted, his breathing soft and slow.

You swallowed, suddenly nervous, before you leaned in, pressing your lips to his, light and a little awkward, but that immediate tingle you felt was already an exhilarating rush that chased away your earlier coyness.

He stirred, but before you could pull away, his hand was behind your head, keeping you in place to your shock. He didn’t say anything, but you felt him kissing you back, and you yielded to him, savoring this moment like a sweet forbidden fruit you had shamelessly coveted.

When he opened his eyes, beautiful pools of violet stared back at you in relief. You smiled back, thinking you could drown in them forever if he would let you. His book dropped to the floor with a dull thud and you were dragged on top of him in seconds. You stared down at his smiling face, a warmth spreading over your cheeks, suddenly coy again now that it was apparent his feelings were identical to yours.

One hand reached up to cradle your cheek, your own two hands covered his as you gazed down with fondness in silent understanding.

The house was empty. It was just the two of you, in your own little world, your own little Eden.

Just like how it had always been, it seemed.

(Mm, are you… are you sure?

Never been surer in my life, Caleb… You?

If I’m dreaming, don’t wake me up.)

It was a secret how soft Caleb’s lips were, how quickly addicted you became, wanting and needing all of his kisses, wanting to greedily pocket them all for yourself. The short, fleeting ones, just barely there, stolen lips in passing when no one could see, or passed off as just a trick of the mind. The long, drawn-out kisses, both your feelings poured out in intense sessions that would leave you breathless but unable—unwilling—to stop, always yearning for more.

Fast, messy kisses, rushed with frantic hands grabbing at one another, bodies pressed together in secrecy, hidden away in dark corners or under covers.

The way he would kiss you all over. Gentle, tender forehead kisses. Playful pecks on the tip of your nose. Sweet, chaste cheek kisses. He would get bolder, kissing along down your neck, in the crook, along your shoulders, leaving not a spot untouched by his lips.

He would be more sensual, worshipping you all over. Down your chest, leaving you gasping and squirming against him, trapped beneath him in surrender.

Such lascivious kisses he would leave along the inside of your thighs. Heavenly lips seeking your intimate area, a secret place only he would ever know as he hungrily tasted you, devouring like a man starved and worshipping like a sinner seeking salvation.

Caleb was always smart, so it didn’t take him long to learn your body, discovering all of the ways he could make you cum for him. He could be the sweetest man when he wanted to be, but those little moments when he was just a little more taunting in his words and in his ministrations had a way of driving you wild, finding him even more desirable than you thought was possible.

(Ah… Caleb… I’m going to… ah… wa-wait…

Cum for me, my pretty girl.

Oh, fu—)

It was a secret how delicious you tasted afterwards on his lips.

(So pretty. So, so fucking pretty like this.)

It was a secret how warm Caleb’s mouth felt around your nipple, how the way his tongue swirled over the sensitive nub had you bucking shamelessly against him, his hands automatically forced to grip your hips to keep you in place on his lap. Even when your small hand grabbed at his hair, tugging and whining, he suckled harder on one nipple while he let one hand squeezed and groped your other breast, kneading the soft, supple mound with experimental strength, relishing in the way that you gasped out his name and how under your skirt, he could feel your panties getting damped, the soaked fabric brushing over his thigh had his mind racing, growing delirious with ideas of what he could do to you.

It wasn’t just the mere imaginary ideas of what he could do to you that had him going wild, but the very knowledge that you would willingly let him had him hardening, his control and self-restraints weakening as all he wanted to do was give in to his desires—give in to you.

(You make such pretty sounds. Is it only for me?

D-don’t tease me… Ah…!

I’m not teasing. I want to hear more.

Ca-Caleb!)

It was a secret how Caleb pressed you into his mattress, how you always and willingly spread your legs for him. This was always where he was meant to be, between your legs, his body looming above yours. No matter how many times he had taken you, it always felt like the first.

With Caleb, everything always felt like the first time, as if you and he were always restarting from the beginning, never letting the story of you and him end.

(Already this wet? I haven’t even done anything yet. Naughty, naughty.

I… I… can’t help it… you…

Tell me. Tell me how I make you feel.

Caleb…! Ah…!

Tell me. Did you get excited—thinking about my cock pounding this needy pussy?

Wai-don—yes!

Do you always think about me like that? Answer me.

…Yes…

Louder.

Yes! Yes, yes, Caleb, always!

Ah—oh fuck—)

It was a secret how you always would come so sweetly around him, muffled moans suppressed under his large hand, under his intense smoldering amethyst eyes before they closed as he filled you full with thick, heavy spurts of his seed, his own groans stifled, burying deep into your shoulder.

(Shh, we don’t want anyone hearing us, alright?

…Mmph…

I’ll spoil you next time. I want you to scream my name next time.)

It was a secret how many times Caleb had filled you. How full you felt as your belly bulged, the sight always clouding his mind with dark lust, the need to always keep you like this, completely ruined by him, made for him.

He kept you flushed to him, your body heat exchanged and shared. He kissed you soundly as he softened inside of you, but he showed no sense of urgency about parting, still wanting to stay buried in your warmth. He seemed reluctant to break the kiss, the sounds of both of your heavy breathing filled the room as he gazed down at you, wanting to keep you locked within his gravity.

(It’s like you were made for me. All mine.

And you for me?

Right. Yours. I’m all yours. No one else’s. Yours.)

It was a secret how you dreamed of a life of just you and him, hidden away in a paradise of your own making. There would be no sorrow, no anguish, or judgment from others. You dreamed of long summer days, basking in the day’s warmth with his fingers intermingled with yours.

You dreamed of laying on green grass, him on top of you with the blue heavens above as witnesses of your love for him, and within his vibrant violet eyes, there was a promise of eternity, his life was yours—was only ever yours and no one else’s.

(Pipsqueak… go to sleep.

No… I want to keep watching you.

Silly girl… You can watch me tomorrow.

I want to watch you now. And I’ll watch you tomorrow, too. Caleb…

Hmm… So greedy.

Only when it comes to you.

…

…Caleb?

I feel the same. I want to keep you all to myself. Forever mine.)

It was a secret.

That you and Caleb belonged together.

The world would never understand.

A bond this sacred was meant to last for eternity, your souls bounded together long ago when you took his hand first but he was the one to hold on tight, promising himself to you for all of your lives together.

(Caleb… I—

Wait—let me… just let me…)

Such heavenly secrets stayed hidden away from nonbelievers.

No one would ever know of him the way you did, just as he had uncovered all of your secrets, stealing them away to be his and his alone.

His hand on your cheek, eyes always finding yours, you knew already the words that were to come, but you waited in anticipation with bated breath.

In the next instance, his sweet smile filled your vision and you were pulled back into his orbit, locked within his embrace. When you looked up, his warm breath intermingled with your own, your heart beating quietly for him. He cradled your cheek, guiding your lips to his, and he breathed a secret to you, a promise of eternity only for you.

(I love you. I’ll always be by your side.)

[lavlynyan]

Ok I'm gonna throw this plot bunny here but feel absolutely free to ignore it

I was wondering when the kids are a older, maybe around 8 or 10, and say they get themselves in done serious trouble, maybe they go somewhere they know they shouldn't because it's dangerous, lots of wanderers sights there and they end up getting hurt, which of the dads would get super mad--after the initial panic and eventual relief once they make sure their kid is alright--who do you think would get so mad they'd be shaking? Of course it's all because they're scared, they could've actually lost their kid...

I'm basing this on my own experience cause my dad's very calm and rational so whenever he got really mad it was lowkey scary 😂

In my opinion, Raf losing it and scolding his kid would be scary cause he's probably the kind of dad who's always finding excuses for his baby and saving him from MC's scolding, so him being so mad would be unsettling. He's already the most emotional of the guys, so afraid of losing MC, I can't even imagine how terrified he'd be in that situation, almost losing his little treasure, he warned him so much to be careful...

And Zayne who's always keeping his cool and being very rational--seeing him being distraught and mad at the same time would be scary too. You know when he yelled at the prisoners in his card during tomorrow's catch 22?? that took me out, never heard him so angry, he never raises his voice...(and I loved it very much, holy shit)

Anyway, this is just something that popped in my head and I value your headcanons and writing a lot so I thought I'd ask ♥️

Love this prompt. I'm incapable of simply yapping lol but while thinking about their reactions, I ended up imagining little scenes instead oops <333

Zayne –

His father is yelling at him. His father never yells. Ever.

He had messed up completely. There was a lockdown in Linkon due to an influx in wanderer attacks, and as per city order, all residences should remain at home, with only a few exceptions allowed. His mother is a hunter, and with a shortage of manpower at the Association, she has been working around the clock. Likewise, his father is on active duty at the hospital as both civilians and hunters are rushed into the wards nonstop.

His father had left him with only one instruction: Stay home.

He couldn’t sit still. He just had to go outside. He wanted to go to the arcade, wanted to see his friends, eat his favorite desserts, and do all of the things that he usually did prior to the lockdown. It was only for a few hours, he had said to himself. A few hours out and he would be back home and neither of his parents would ever have to know he had disobeyed them.

This district is safe, he had thought. There hasn’t been an attack here.

Yet.

There was a sudden scream. Human.

And a screech. A Wanderer. Two wanders. Three, four—

It had all happened in a flash, but the last thing he had remembered was suddenly seeing his mother’s shocked face as she shielded him from an attack.

And now. Now he is sitting on an exam table in a private room, bandaged up, and hearing his father screaming at him.

There are such dark, heavy bags under Zayne’s eyes. The little nine-year-old boy couldn’t help but wonder when his father had last slept. His mother had also looked slimmer than normal. They are both worn down, sacrificing their own wellbeing for the sake of others.

And he was selfish, wanting to play some arcade games. There are games at home. He wanted to eat desserts. There are desserts at home. He wanted…

“I’m sorry…”

Zayne pauses.

“Dad… I…” He isn’t sure what to say. Normally, so quick-witted and sharp-tongued, this tense moment has robbed him of all words. He just looks down at the white tile floors in shame. He knows he deserves his father’s beratement.

A minute passes before this awkward silence is broken and Zayne sighs. He walks over and hugs his son gently. He presses his lips to the top of the boy’s head.

“Your mother and I… had thought at the very least, you would be safe at home, and we wouldn’t have to worry about anything in our absence.”

He feels even more guilty now.

“When this lockdown is over,” Zayne says, “you are volunteering at the hospital after school for three months.”

“Th-three months?”

“Do you want to make it four?”

“N-no, sir…”

“Good boy.”

Zayne hugs his son again, feeling the embrace returned much tighter.

Rafayel –

The ocean could be calm and playful, but within an instance, it could also do a switch, turning violent and unforgiving.

To the little nine-year-boy, that’s what he saw happened in his father. He is knelt on the shore, wet and cold and shivering as his father is yelling at him. His father is bleeding after sustaining a wanderer attack while protecting him, but it seems Rafayel isn’t even fazed by the injury.

His eyes are dark and stormy, bearing so much rage, the little boy actually feels fear.

“Even if there wasn’t a wanderer in the water, a storm was coming in!” Rafayel is yelling, his mind racing with all sorts of scenarios that could have happened, and none of them were good. “You could have been swept away by the waves and just—”

He pauses, seeing his son was trying to hold his tears back.

“Dad… your shoulder…”

Rafayel blinks, his rage momentarily forgotten. He glances at his shoulder. He’s still bleeding.

“We’ll talk at home—”

Rafayel gasps when his son stood up and ran to him, hugging him tightly. “Y-you…” He sighs helplessly and kneels down to his son’s height, returning the hug immediately. “My little fishie… are you hurt anywhere?”

The boy shook his head furiously, but he quickly points at Rafayel’s shoulder. “Dad…”

“Yeah, yeah, let’s head back,” he says, suddenly picking his son up, to the little boy’s surprise. “I’m sure your mother will have some words to say to you as well.”

Xavier –

Xavier doesn’t even raise his tone, but there is a clear edge in his voice that leaves the little eight-year-old girl trembling. She is his little princess, his whole universe, and while she has never been the exact definition of a daddy’s girl that Xavier hoped for, she is still his everything and up until now, she could do no wrong in his eyes.

This time it’s different. Even he couldn’t look past her recklessness.

In the midst of his reprimands, he stops suddenly when she hugs him, crying and apologizing profusely.

“I’m sorry, Daddy, I’m sorry, please don’t be mad, please, I’m sorry,” she’s crying nonstop, because she has never seen her father mad at her the way he is now. He’s not yelling, but the steadiness of his voice, the way his words come out so clipped and terse made her more scared than if he was screaming at her in anger.

Xavier sighs helplessly. He hugs her back and picks her up in his arms. “I know you’re sorry,” he says, “But… but we can’t let this go unnoticed… What if something had happened and I wasn’t there to protect you?”

The girl nods in agreement and buries her face in her father’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry, princess, but… this time I am siding with your mother.”

She kisses his cheek.

“Nope,” he responds, “Kissing my cheek will not get you out of your mother’s punishments.”

She kisses his cheek again, in quick successions.

“It won’t do any good. If your mother finds out what you are doing, I’m sure she’s going to double your punishment.”

The girl sulks, her pout disappearing when her father kisses her cheek back.

“Let’s go home, princess.”

The girl smiles back when she sees a little bunny made of light sitting on her father’s shoulder next to her cheek. She hugs him back tighter, and Xavier sighs in relief.

Sylus –

She was confident she could take on any wanderer. Her father had been training her to box since she was three, began using a firearm at five, and with a mother who is a skilled hunter, it’s in her blood, right?

No. She’s only nine, and her first sighting of a wanderer has left her frozen in fear much like a deer caught in headlights. She shouldn’t have entered this no-hunt zone. It was a stupid dare from her classmates, saying they didn’t believe she knew how to fight. She’s just a spoiled little rich girl who was lying for attention.

Am not!

Then prove it. Film yourself taking down a wanderer. It can even be something stupid like Lemonette.

Except this isn’t Lemonette.

It was a swarm of six Elysian Lupulus, and they were in a frenzy.

One charges at her and she drops her phone, the device instantly crushed under a heavy paw. She’s shaking on the forest floor, all thoughts gone as she stares into soulless eyes, and when it lunges at her, she screams.

Nothing happened.

She opens her eyes, shocked to see…

“Mephie?”

The mechanical crow she has known all her life is shown to be more than just a long-suffering over-glorified babysitter. She watches in fascination as it takes down one of the wanderers. Suddenly, she hears a branch snap and realizes the other wanderers are closing in on her. She scrambles to her feet and as she runs in the opposite direction, she recognizes the approaching swirls of red and black mist rushing at her, gasping as it engulfs her and within seconds, she is safe in her father’s protective embrace. In just mere seconds, he has dissipated the remaining wanderers, and when she tentatively looks behind her, she only sees the remnants of red particles floating in the air before disappearing entirely.

She hears the sound of wings flapping, which is immediately followed by her father’s deep voice, “Well done, Mephisto.”

And then, his attention directs to her. That same voice now carries a different tone. Fury.

“What were you thinking? What would you have done if Mephisto wasn’t watching over you?”

She flinches. Sylus didn’t raise his voice, but he had never spoken to her like this before. There was this uneasy tranquil fury in his voice that didn’t sit well with her. She doesn't like it.

He is still berating her, the calmness slipping away the more he spoke, until he’s nearly shouting now, “Your mother and I were panicking looking for you! Do you know how many children your mother had witnessed killed by wanderers? If I had been just a few seconds lat—”

She starts crying and Sylus pauses, realizing he had lost control. He could see fear in his daughter’s eyes, something he’s not used to. She has never feared him.

He drops to his knees and just wraps his arms around her. “My little birdie, I didn’t mean to rais—”

She hugs him back tighter, surprising him, and she is just apologizing over and over again, completely word-vomiting about everything that had led to this moment. “I’m sorry, Daddy, I’m sorry, I won’t do this again, I won’t disobey you or Mommy. Daddy… I want to go home…”

He sighs and easily picks her up in his arms, just like when she was a toddler. He hugs her back and nods. “You’re safe now,” he whispers, kissing her temple, “We’ll discuss this later. Let’s get out of this place now.”

All actions have consequences, and for the darling of Onychinus, Sylus has decided to start off with her doing 50 laps around the bases’ gym. Every day, for three months straight.

Caleb –

For as long as Caleb could have remembered, his son has always had a restless, adventurous spirit, getting into many different reckless situations again and again, except this time, the eight-year-old boy had soared too close to the sun and it nearly costed him more than just a few broken bones.

“What am I going to do with you?” Caleb is shouting. “I’ve been too lenient with you, is that it? And now you think you could go wherever you want and do whatever you want?”

“Dad—” the boy’s voice is more feeble than normal. He had messed up big time. His father had never exploded at him the way he is now. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know there would be wanderers in that fores—”

“You weren’t even supposed to be in that forest!”

The boy flinches. “I… just wanted to be like you… Be strong like you… And… And…”

Caleb pauses, his anger disappearing suddenly. He looks at the little boy in front of him, seeing his head lowered in shame.

“C’mere,” Caleb says softly, keeping his temper under check this time. With one hand behind his son’s head, he gently pulls the boy to him, hugging him in comfort. “You’re already like me in so many ways—just ask your mother, it annoys her so much, you know—you don’t need to get into dangerous situations to prove anything.”

His son relaxes.

And then he freezes again at his father’s next comment.

“Since my little co-pilot wants to be like his good ol’ dad so much, then starting tomorrow, you are waking up at 4 AM and running 5 miles with me.”

“F-four AM?! F-five miles?”

Caleb nodded, grinning. “For six months straight.”

“D-Dad!”

“Let’s go, you little rascal, your mother will have her own punishment for you.”

“…Crap…”

“What was that?”

“N-nothing, sir!”

[lavlynyan]

Raf needs to stop stressing Thomas out. That man has a wife and a child to come home to everyday 😭

[lavlynyan]

Apple of My Eye [Caleb + Son ★ 2k words ★ Masterlist ★ Series Index ★ AO3] A silly morning making breakfast together. A/N: ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡ MY BOY DAD CALEB SHENANIGAN IS STARTING YAY. I’ve been yapping about this since November lmao Tag list: @lavlynyan @miudle @alfredosaws @solifloris @nezuswritingdesk @valkyyriia @natimiles @yourlocalcatscammer @callilypso @likewhyareyousoobsessedwithme @goddessnyx216 @qyuin @asiaticapple 【 request to be added 】

Caleb had always thought the best day of his life was marrying the girl he had been in love with for nearly their whole lives.

He was wrong.

It turned out it was actually the day she gave birth to his son and made him a father.

Before that, it had always been him and her against the world, his hand in hers from then until eternity. From the moment he had first held his son in his arms, his shocked face staring down at the little baby cradled in his arms, unable to fathom that this was his child he had with her. However, the moment his son’s tiny hand grasped his finger, holding on tight with all of his strength, Caleb knew he could never imagine a life without his little co-pilot.

The sun wasn’t out yet, but Caleb had already begun to stir from sleep, completely conditioned to waking up early for as long as he could remember. However, there was one other person in this household who was adamant about being the first to wake up.

Caleb remained in bed, laying on his stomach facedown, his cheek pressed to his pillow as he lounged lazily, hearing from down the hallways the rushed soft pitter-patters of little feet on hardwood floor. He could hear his bedroom door creaking. It was never closed completely, always left opened slightly ajar so his son could come in whenever he needed to.

The little boy peeked in before pushing the door opened further and proceeded to toddle his way to his father’s bed. He attempted to climb up, the sounds of his incessant grunting and whining nearly made Caleb burst out laughing, but he managed to quickly compose himself, remaining as still as possible in bed to not rouse suspicion from his son.

The little boy continued to try to climb, his small hands unable to grasp the mattress and pull himself up. He whined in frustration before crying out, “Help! Daddy, help!”

Caleb stifled his laughter. He pretended to still be asleep.

“SOS! SOS! Daddy, SOS!”

This finally broke him.

Caleb rolled over onto his back, his arm clutching his stomach as he shook and laughed hard to the point his sides were hurting.

“Daddy!”

“Okay, okay,” he answered as more laughter unwittingly escaped. “Distressed signal received, my little co-pilot.”

With a gentle curl of his finger, he manipulated his Evol, the gravity around his son lightened and suddenly the little boy floated up giggling and kicking his feet in delight. He was lured closer to his father before dropping into Caleb’s waiting arms.

The little boy was still in a light blue onesie with little yellow airplanes all over, the soft fabric of his sleepwear brushed against Caleb.

Caleb peered down gently into a pair of identical violet eyes. His son really had taken after him in all aspects from physical appearance to his personality and even mannerism. Sometimes, Caleb couldn’t help but teased his wife about how her genes didn’t even try, their son a perfect replica of him.

The only difference Caleb saw was the sweet innocence of a child still remained in his two-year-old, and he was determined to safeguard that for as long as he could, wishing his son to always be bright-eyed and happy.

“Daddy?”

It was like looking into a mirror.

“Hm?”

“I miss Mommy…”

Definitely a copy of him.

Caleb hugged his son a little tighter, sympathizing with the child completely.

“I miss her, too,” he said, “but she is away helping other small children like you affected by a wanderer attack.”

The boy pouted, not completely understanding his father’s explanation. He didn’t know why he had to share his mommy, but he wanted her home with him again. He raised his head, his cheek puffing in frustration as his eyebrows furrowed in serious contemplation. “Can we make Mommy not go next time?”

“Huh?”

“I want her to stay with me…”

“Selfish little rascal, aren’t you?” Caleb teased. “We can try, but she would probably be disappointed in you.”

“Disap… Disap…” The boy’s brows furrowed even more as he struggled to repeat that odd word his father had just said.

“She would be unhappy with you,” Caleb explained gently.

The toddler immediately looked guilty, his pout disappeared the moment he heard his father’s explanation. “I don’t want her to be unhappy…”

“Then be a brave good little boy for her,” Caleb said, his hand smoothing his son’s disheveled hair back. He continued in a soothing tone, “Can you do that for her?”

“Yes!”

Caleb smiled, amused by the determination in his son’s eyes. He settled more comfortably in bed with the toddler laying on his chest. “Okay, let’s sleep for a while longer,” he said, letting a yawn slipped through. “Daddy will make breakfast for the two of us in a bit…”

“But I’m not…” the little boy yawned as his father rubbed his small back gently. He nuzzled his face against his father’s chest. “…sle…epy…”

“I know,” Caleb responded agreeably, his own eyes closing at the same time as his son’s. In minutes, the room was filled with the sound of gentle snoring, both father and son slipping back to dreamland in the dark, cool room.

About an hour and a half later, Caleb and his son were both fully awake. After washing up, they both headed for the kitchen with the little boy sitting on his father’s shoulders, his small hands grasping Caleb’s hair as if they were reins as he “steered” his father into the direction of their destination.

“Are we ready for landing, my co-pilot?” Caleb asked, his eyes darting up to check.

“Ready!”

Caleb smiled and used his Evol to lift his son into the air, always delighting in the little boy’s sweet giggles. “Alright,” he said, “You are cleared for landing.”

Caleb’s smile widened as his son squealed happily as he guided the boy to float gently down, letting his feet lightly touch the kitchen countertop. He steadied the boy and helped him sit down. “And how was your flight today, sir?”

“Good, Daddy!”

He laughed and leaned down, his forehead touching his son’s. “Okay, let’s get breakfast ready, buddy,” he said, “I don’t know about you, but Daddy is so hungry, he’s probably gonna end up eating his plate, too.”

“Your plate?” the boy repeated, astonished, making a face at him. “Daddy is so silly…!”

“Silly, am I?” he countered back in mock-surprise. “No, not sillier than you?”

“Yes, sillier!”

“I dunno,” he repeated, heading to the fridge to retrieve some ingredients. He set on the counter a couple of eggs, green onions, tomatoes, and a container of shredded cheddar cheese. “Who’s the silly little boy who dunked his cotton candy into water and watched it melt away after being told not to do it?”

The boy pouted and shook his head vehemently. “No, no, no, Daddy is sillier!”

“Yeah?” Caleb asked, grabbing a small cutting board and a knife from a drawer. He proceeded to finely minced the green onions and diced the tomatoes. “Sillier than a certain little boy who didn’t want to come inside for naptime, because he was too busy holding a leaf to shade his new frog friend he found outside?”

“Daddy is sillier!” he cried out in response to his father’s teasing.

“Okay, okay,” Caleb laughed, relenting, “Daddy is sillier than you.”

He leaned over and pecked his son’s cheek. “But I don’t see it as a bad thing, do you?”

He gazed down into identical violet eyes, seeing the same mirth reflected back to his. Caleb grabbed the eggs he had set to the side, bringing them over to his son along with a medium-sized bowl. “Okay, can you crack these eggs for Daddy?”

His son grinned and nodded enthusiastically, carefully grabbing the egg Caleb handed to him. He followed his father’s instruction and carefully cracked the egg on the side of the bowl and with Caleb’s guidance, he broke the egg.

“Good job, buddy,” Caleb praised, smiling softly as he could see the little boy brimming with pride. “Three more eggs to go.”

After the last egg was cracked, the toddler held up his small hands to his father, frowning as he said softly, “Daddy… my hands are yucky…”

Caleb chuckled in amusement and picked up his son to carry him over to the kitchen sink. “Not a problem,” he said, turning on the faucet, and holding his son close to the running water so the boy could wash his hands. He set the boy back over to the counter. “All good now, partner?”

“All good!” the boy cheered. “Daddy, Daddy, I can do it!”

“Hm? You want to beat the eggs?”

His son nodded eagerly.

“Okay,” Caleb said, handing the boy a pair of chopsticks. He chuckled as his son gripped them firmly in his small fist. “Just like how you usually see me do it. That’s it. Keep going, we want to break all of the yolks and have everything mixed evenly.”

He added in the earlier vegetables he had chopped along with a generous helping of shredded cheese. He urged his son to continue mixing. He could see the toddler was quickly tired out by the task. “Little buddy, permission to take over?”

“Granted!”

“Thank you, sir!” Caleb responded and took the pair of chopsticks from his son. He heated up a frying pan with oil over low heat as he vigorously beat the eggs. Once it was mixed to his liking, Caleb slowly poured the beaten egg mixture into the fry pan, hearing it sizzled gently. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught his son trying to stand up and tutted disapprovingly. “No, buddy. No standing while I’m over here. It will be over soon.”

The boy pouted and sat back down obediently. He still tried to peer and watch his father make their breakfast.

Caleb moved the egg around slowly, letting it cook gently while he turned to place some sandwich slices into a toaster. It wasn’t long before everything came together and he dished everything out onto two plates: one adult-sized and one child plate, shaped like an apple with three divided segments.

They both sat down to eat together and Caleb smiled again as he watched his son happily eat his scrambled eggs and cutup pieces of toast.

“Is it yummy?” he asked, taking a bite of his own.

The boy nodded brightly. “Daddy’s food is always yummy!”

“Well, thank you, buddy,” he quipped. “Much appreciated. What should we have for lunch later then?”

“Daddy’s chicken.”

“And dinner?”

“Chicken…”

Caleb laughed. “2 AM snack?”

“Chicken!”

“I can make so many things,” Caleb said with an amused smile with faux exasperation in his tone, “Don’t you want to try other things, too?”

“Okay, Daddy,” the little boy answered, easily swayed by his father’s persuasion. He added innocently, “But I also like Daddy’s chicken…”

Caleb smiled and leaned over, his cheek nuzzling against his son’s before giving the toddler a quick peck. “I know you do,” he said lightheartedly, continuing with a laugh, “Your mother made me make it for her for six months straight while you were in her tummy.”

The boy smiled, not quite understanding his father’s quip. Instead, he grabbed his father’s face and blew a wet kiss against Caleb’s cheek, giggling nonstop.

“You little rascal,” Caleb said with feigned irritation.

“Who, me?”

“Yes, you.”

The boy smiled back cheekily and Caleb couldn’t help but wondered if he had ever smiled or laughed as much as he seemed to ever since his son was born. His eyes widened a little when his son grabbed his hand, the vast difference in size clear as day.

“Daddy’s my best friend.”

Caleb breathed in quickly before he sighed happily. He smiled back.

“You’re mine, too,” he responded as he leaned over to press a gentle kiss to his son’s temple. “So happy you came into my life, my little co-pilot.”

[lavlynyan]

Hearbreak Anniversary with Rafayel

Summary: It was your anniversary with Rafayel. One year of togetherness. But what if he does not show up when you expect him to? What if he was spending it with MC? Pairing: Non MC! Reader x Rafayel Note: MC in this fic goes by the name Lina (my name... so if you are angry, you can be angry at me :3). This oneshot was based on this request. I will write this for the other LADS men too. Content Warning: Fear of abandonment, self worth issues, angst, hurt and slight comfort, Rafayel grovelling, Rafayel POV

Rafayel version | Zayne version | Sylus version

The soft glow of the sunset filtered through the gauzy curtains of Rafayel’s studio, painting the space in warm hues of gold and orange. The place smelled faintly of him—a mix of turpentine, salt, and the faint trace of his cologne. You had spent hours here today, your hands busy arranging the decorations you’d so carefully prepared for this special occasion. Sea shells, shimmering like iridescent pearls, lined the edges of the room, their opalescent beauty a nod to the ocean he once called home. Candles flickered softly on every surface, their flames dancing to an unseen rhythm. You’d even managed to find strands of silken seaweed and glass ornaments, hoping to evoke the beauty of his heritage, the beauty of him.

Every corner of his art studio had been dusted, tidied, and then transformed with touches of magic, warmth, and care. You even placed the tiny trinkets and mementos you had kept from your shared moments—little souvenirs from your adventures together, knickknacks that held meaning between the two of you. You wanted him to feel at home, to feel the same sense of belonging that you had with him. You even wore your best clothes, the ones he had once complimented.

Today was your first anniversary. The thought alone sent your heart fluttering, and you’d poured all that love into this space, into this moment.

A few months ago he had told you this was just another day for him. A god’s sense of time was different, fleeting, perhaps even insignificant. But to you, it meant everything. It was a celebration of love that had somehow defied the odds—of a mortal heart tangled with one belonging to something far greater. So you ignored the whispering doubts that crept into the back of your mind, choosing instead to focus on trust. Rafayel had chosen you, not her. No matter how many stories tied them together, no matter the whispered inevitability of their connection, he had assured you. It was you he loved now.

But as the hours passed, that fragile trust began to tremble.

You sat in the chair by the window, smoothing down the dress you’d picked especially for today. Time crawled. The soft golden light of day gave way to a dark, yawning sky, and still, Rafayel didn’t come home. The anniversary dinner, meticulously prepared and carefully plated, sat untouched on the table. Each tick of the clock became a cruel reminder of his absence.

Worry gnawed at you. What if something had happened to him? Perhaps the art sale ran late, or he was caught up with his patrons. But he always came back home, right?

Your heart twisted as you reached for your phone, dialing a number you didn’t want to use but needed to.

“Thomas?” you asked hesitantly, your voice trembling.

“Oh, hey,” Rafayel’s manager greeted casually. “Everything okay?”

“Is Rafayel still at the sale?” You tried to keep the panic from seeping into your tone, but the silence on the other end was damning.

“Uh… no, he left hours ago. Said he was going to grab dinner. Lina was with him.”

Your grip tightened on the phone, your knuckles turning white.

Lina.

The name struck like a knife.

“Thanks, Thomas,” you whispered, hanging up before he could ask anything more.

You sat there, staring at the flickering candles, their light casting long shadows across the studio walls. He was with Lina. On your anniversary. You had trusted him, convinced yourself that you were enough despite the insecurities that had clawed at your heart since the day you met him.

But now, they came roaring to life.

You had known, of course, who Lina was. She was the one linked to the sea god, his past, his history—his heart. You tried not to let it affect you, tried to bury the insecurities that rose whenever she came up in conversation. Rafayel always assured you there was nothing between them. But then why was he with her, of all people, on your anniversary?

Tears blurred your vision as your chest tightened painfully. Lina.

She was everything you were not. Strong, beautiful, a part of Rafayel’s past, his first love. How could you compete with that? How could you compete with someone who had shared so much more with him, someone whose bond with him was carved in the very fabric of his existence? She was a part of him, woven into the his story, while you were… just someone who had stumbled into his life, someone insignificant in comparison.

Lina... The woman who was forever tied to his past. The sea god's bride. The one he’d loved for so long, the one who had always been there, time after time. You had told yourself, time and time again, that it was nothing. That Rafayel was different with you. He had assured you that there was nothing between them anymore.

But if it’s nothing, why is he with her now? On our day.

Your fingers trembled as you held the phone to your ear, but you couldn’t even bring yourself to ask any more questions. The answers were irrelevant now. His absence, her presence, they were all you needed to know.

Tears pooled at the edges of your vision before spilling over, streaking your face like tiny rivers tracing paths through dusted cheeks. It wasn’t fair. Nothing felt fair. He had promised you. He had promised. But promises were like ocean tides, weren’t they? Sweeping away whatever they could, leaving only bits of broken shells behind.

Lina was everything you could never be. She was strong, beautiful, powerful—everything that Rafayel deserved. She had the sea god’s heart, had always had it, and here you were, just a fleeting ripple on the surface, barely a mark to him. She was woven into the fabric of his past, his future. What are you to him? What have you ever been?

The memories of your relationship, the quiet moments of closeness, the laughter shared under the soft, flickering light of his candles, all those moments seemed so... fragile now. Fragile and fleeting. You were nobody. Just a distraction, a place holder. Nothing more.

You stood up abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor like the scratch of claws on stone. The studio, his studio, filled with remnants of him, was suffocating. His scent lingered in the air, the faint trace of his cologne mixing with the oils and paints scattered everywhere. His taste still clung to your lips from the last time you’d kissed him, the memories of his touch branded into your skin. It was all too much. Too much. The studio, so full of him, was now a suffocating reminder of what you had lost. You didn’t want to stay. You couldn’t.

You tried to hold the tears back, but it was useless. Every doubt, every fear you’d bottled up over the months came crashing down, drowning you in their suffocating weight.

This wasn’t love. This was a cruel game, one you couldn’t win.

You couldn’t breathe. You had to get out.

Your legs moved before your mind could catch up, carrying you toward the door. The wind hit your face the moment you stepped outside, cool and biting, but it wasn’t enough to quell the storm raging inside you.

You ran.

The streets blurred into one indistinct smear of light and shadow as you ran aimlessly, your feet pounding against the pavement, carrying you farther and farther from that studio. From him.

Eventually, the pavement gave way to sand, and the sharp tang of the ocean filled the air. The moon hung high above, casting a silver glow over the beach. Your chest heaved, your lungs burning as you collapsed onto the sand, letting the waves crash against the shore in a soothing rhythm that mocked your turmoil. You kept running, further and further away from whitesand bay, along the beach.

You stumbled, falling to your knees in the sand, clutching your arms around yourself. Your chest heaved as the tears fell freely, the sound of the ocean mixing with your sobs. Lina. You could picture them together, her hand in his, the same way they had been for so many years before you. The seagulls cried above you, indifferent to your pain. And in that moment, you realized that the world didn’t stop for you. It never had. You stared out at the endless sea, the dark horizon stretching in front of you.

How could I have been so blind?

The waves crashed against the shore, each one louder than the last. You are nothing to him. The thought echoed in your mind over and over, relentless, until you could barely breathe under the weight of it.

And just when you thought the world couldn’t get any colder, the tears started again. They fell freely now, salt mixing with the salt of the sea.

You had wanted to be enough. But maybe that was a joke after all. But even as your body trembled with the weight of the heartbreak, you knew one thing: You could never go back. Not to him, not to that studio, not to any of it. You were just a wave, crashing onto the shore, and he was the sea god.

The night wrapped itself around you like a suffocating blanket. The cold air bit into your skin, but it wasn’t enough to numb the ache clawing at your chest. Each crashing wave seemed to echo the bitter truth you couldn’t escape: you were never going to be enough for him. You curled tighter into yourself, trembling as the tears continued to flow. The sand clung to your dress, to your damp hands, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. The world had narrowed to the storm raging inside you—a tempest of betrayal, doubt, and misery.

The sharp chill of the ocean breeze whipped your hair against your tear-streaked face, but it was nothing compared to the icy grip of despair coiling around your heart. Every promise he’d made, every word of reassurance, felt like shards of glass now, cutting into the fragile hope you’d built. The waves surged closer, the cold spray dotting your skin. Your sobs mixed with the crashing tide, swallowed up by the vast, indifferent sea.

You hugged yourself tightly, your body shaking as the cold seeped deeper into your bones. Yet, you stayed there, rooted to the spot, as if the ocean could somehow wash away the ache inside you. But no wave could reach that far, no tide could touch the place where your heart ached. You wanted to scream, to shout at the world for the injustice of it all, but the air in your lungs wouldn’t let you. You were too small for this world, too insignificant for him. You would never be the sea. You were just a small wave, lost in the expanse of the tide.

Rafayel’s POV

The door to the studio swung open, and Rafayel stepped inside, laughter trailing after him. “You should’ve seen the look on that shopkeeper’s face when I said we’d take both cakes,” he said, his voice warm and light. He turned to Lina, who chuckled softly as she followed him, holding one of the carefully boxed pastries. “He probably thought we were insane.”

Rafayel kicked the door shut behind him, balancing his own box of confections, his grin still in place. “I can’t wait to see my cutie’s face when she tries these. She’s going to love them.”

But the moment his gaze swept across the room, his laughter faltered and then stopped entirely.

The studio was transformed. Soft candlelight flickered, casting golden hues across the walls. Seashells glimmered like scattered pearls, carefully arranged along the edges of the space. Strands of delicate seaweed draped like garlands, their green silkiness catching the light. Trinkets, small but unmistakably meaningful, dotted the surfaces—each one an ode to moments he had shared with you. The table was set with plates of untouched food, lovingly prepared, and the air held a faint, tantalizing aroma that now felt unbearably heavy.

He froze, the pastry box slipping slightly in his grip. His throat tightened as his eyes roved over every detail, taking in the love and care you had poured into the space. The decorations, the mementos, the effort—it was overwhelming.

“Rafayel?” Lina’s voice broke through the silence. She stepped forward, her brows knitting in concern. “What’s wrong?”

“I…” His voice cracked, and he set the box down on the nearest surface with trembling hands. “I fucked up,” he whispered, barely audible. His fingers grazed one of the seashells, its surface smooth and cool. He trailed his hand over a string of seaweed, the soft texture almost mocking him. “I fucked up bad.”

Lina’s concern deepened. “What are you talking about?”

Rafayel turned toward her, his expression stricken. “The anniversary. Our anniversary. It slipped my mind.” His voice was a low, shaky whisper as he glanced back at the table, the untouched plates, the flickering candles. “She did all of this… for me. For us.”

He called out your name, his voice echoing through the space. “Are you here? Cutie?” His steps quickened as he moved through the studio, searching. The bathroom. The bedroom. The small corner where you sometimes curled up to read. “Are you asleep?” he called, though he knew better. Each empty room was another blow to his gut.

Panic clawed at him as he returned to the main room, his gaze darting to the table again, the small trinkets, the soft glow of candles still burning. The room felt haunted, filled with the ghost of your hope and effort.

“Shit,” he muttered under his breath, running a hand through his hair, gripping it tightly. He grabbed his phone and immediately dialed Thomas.

“Thomas, did she—did she say anything to you? Did she mention where she might go?” Rafayel’s voice was taut with desperation.

Thomas hesitated. “She called me earlier. She asked if you were still at the sale. That’s all she said.”

The weight of Thomas’s words slammed into Rafayel like a wave. You’d called, searching for him, only to learn the truth he had tried to ignore. It had slipped his mind completely. He didn’t know you were setting all of this up. For him. For the both of you.

“Thanks,” Rafayel muttered, ending the call and immediately dialing your number. He paced the studio, his heart racing as the line rang once… twice… three times—

And then he heard it. The faint buzz of your phone, abandoned on the sofa near the window.

“Shit!” Rafayel cursed, grabbing the device and staring at the darkened screen as if it could offer him answers. “Shit, shit, shit!”

He collapsed onto the chair you had once sat in, his head in his hands. Where were you? His gaze drifted to the table again, the untouched dinner, the carefully arranged decorations.

How could he have been so blind? So careless? You had given him everything, and he… he had been too wrapped up in himself, too foolish to see what truly mattered.

Lina hesitated before taking a few careful steps toward Rafayel, watching his every move with growing concern. She’d never seen him like this before. His usual confident, almost cocky demeanor had vanished, leaving only raw distress in its place. He sat slumped in the chair, his phone clutched tightly in his hands, his chest rising and falling with each shaky breath.

"Rafayel..." she began softly, her voice gentle but concerned. "What’s going on? What happened?"

Her hand brushed against his shoulder in an attempt to comfort him, but the instant her fingers made contact with his skin, he flinched as though struck. His body jerked back, his eyes flashing with something wild—something dangerous.  His eyes, usually a mischievous swirl of pink and blue, flared into a startling, unearthly bright blue before he clenched them shut, his jaw tightening.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, his voice hoarse as he pulled away, his fists curling. “Lina, I—sorry. I didn’t mean to—” He forced himself to inhale deeply, reigning in his emotions as the scales receded and his eyes returned to their usual hue. “I’m fine,” he lied, though the tension in his shoulders betrayed him. “I just... I need to find her.”

Lina’s hand hovered uncertainly before falling back to her side. “Rafayel,” she began gently, “her phone’s here. Her purse. Even her car keys. Where could she have gone?”

“I don’t know,” he snapped, the sharpness in his voice born of self-directed frustration. “And that’s what’s driving me insane.” He ran a hand through his hair, tugging at the roots as if the pain could ground him. “She’s out there somewhere, without her coat, without her phone... and it’s freezing tonight.”

Lina straightened, crossing her arms. “Then let me help—”

“No.” His interruption was immediate, his tone brooking no argument. He turned to her, his expression pained but resolute. “This is my fault. I need to fix this myself.”

“But—”

“Please, Lina,” he cut in, softer this time. “If she’s out there, you’ll hear from me. Just… if you see her, let me know. But I have to do this alone.”

After a long, hesitant pause, Lina relented, her lips pressing into a thin line. “Fine. But don’t do anything reckless. I’ll keep my eyes open and let you know if I find anything.”

Rafayel nodded, murmuring his thanks before grabbing his coat and storming out into the night.

The cold air bit at his face as he ran through the streets, his breath forming short puffs in the frigid night. He clutched his phone tightly, the screen glowing as he swiped to a recent photo of you, showing it to every passerby he stopped.

“Have you seen her?” he asked a bewildered man on the corner. “This woman? Please—it’s urgent.”

The man shook his head, muttering an apology before hurrying off. Rafayel grit his teeth, suppressing the wave of panic threatening to consume him. Where are you?

The thought repeated like a drumbeat as he made his way to the beach. The icy wind off the water made him shiver, but he pressed forward, searching desperately. He called your neighbor, pacing along the shoreline as he waited for an answer.

The voice on the other end was soft, a little worried. “No... the lights are off. The door’s locked. I haven’t seen her since this afternoon.”

His heart skipped a beat, the silence that followed pressing like a weight on his chest. Where were you? Where could you have gone? You were working so hard fore him, for the both of you since the afternoon and he wasn’t even there to experience it with you together. He could imagine it, the smile on your face as you placed those shells, the excitement in your movements as you cooked his favorite food. His eyes darted to the horizon, a dark line of water stretching out before him, and his legs moved faster, pushing him toward the shore, toward the place where you sometimes went to escape.

The beach was empty when he arrived, the wind biting at his skin, the waves crashing softly against the sand. He scanned the shoreline, dread filling him as he searched. There was no sign of you, but his heart refused to let go of the hope that you might be here.

He walked for what felt like hours, the weight of the cold creeping into his bones as the night deepened. The autumn air turned chillier, the first hints of winter brushing against his skin. You hadn’t taken your coat. You hadn’t taken anything. What was he thinking? You’d never leave without saying something. So why was he—

His breath hitched as his gaze landed on something ahead. A small lump on the sand.

His heart stopped, the world narrowing down to that single, fragile form crumpled against the cold ground.

“No!” he whispered, his voice raw with emotion. He ran towards you, his legs moving faster than they ever had before, fear propelling him forward. His feet barely touching the ground as he pushed forward, his every step frantic. He reached you within seconds, his pulse hammering in his ears. He knelt beside you, his hands trembling as he gently touched your shoulder.

“Cutie?” he called, his voice cracking. His knees hit the sand as he reached you, and his heart twisted painfully at the sight. You were curled in on yourself, your arms hugging your knees, your face hidden. Tear tracks glistened on your cheeks, even in the dim moonlight, and your body trembled from the cold.

“Shit,” Rafayel hissed, his voice barely a whisper as panic surged again. You were cold, so cold. Damp from the wet sand, your skin pale as if the very life had been drained from you. He pulled off his jacket, draping it around you as gently as he could, his hands still shaking.

Why didn’t I see it? Why didn’t I see how badly she needed me?

He slid his arms around you, his heart aching as he pulled you into his lap, cradling you as though you might break into a thousand pieces. He brushed the strands of hair from your face, his thumb gently caressing your cheek as he whispered your name over and over, praying that you would wake up. That you would hear him. “Fuck,” he breathed, feeling a wave of guilt crash over him. “What did I do? What the hell did I do…”

But he couldn’t. Not now. Now, all he could do was hold you, his arms wrapping around you protectively as he rocked gently, trying to warm you, trying to make everything okay.

“I’m here, okay? I’m here. I’m so sorry, cutie.” he whispered, his voice breaking. His mind raced, but nothing could erase the hollow ache in his chest. The thought of losing you, of failing you—he couldn’t bear it. He wouldn’t. “I’m sorry,” he choked out, the words tumbling from him like a confession he had never intended to make. ���I’m so sorry. I fucked up. I messed this up, I—I’m here now.”

He clutched you tighter, trembling with the weight of his regret. The wind cut through the beach, but he barely noticed, too consumed by the sight of you—so still, so fragile, in his arms. His mind raced, scrambling for something, anything, to fix this

Your eyes fluttered open weakly, barely meeting his. You were too exhausted to respond, your body utterly spent.

“Hey,” he whispered, his voice unsteady as he gently tucked his coat tighter around you. “I’ve got you. I’m so sorry.” His thumb brushed the tear-streaked curve of your cheek, his chest aching at the evidence of your heartbreak. “You shouldn’t be out here. It’s too cold...not like this. Not alone,” Rafayel murmured, his voice thick with emotion. His hands trembled as he tried to warm you, his arms sheltering you from the relentless chill of the wind. “I should’ve been there. I should’ve—” He broke off, his throat tightening painfully. Words felt so useless now, but he couldn’t stop them. He needed you to know. “I’m the biggest idiot in the world. I forgot something so important, something that should’ve been at the center of my mind.” His arms slipped beneath you, lifting you effortlessly despite your protests—if there were any.

Your lips moved faintly, but the sound was lost in the cold wind. He leaned closer, his ear near your mouth. “What is it? I’m here. Please... say something.”

“I thought... maybe you'd care,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. The words struck him harder than any physical blow ever could. He felt the sting in his chest, his breath hitching as guilt twisted the knife deeper.

“I do care!” he exclaimed, his voice desperate. “More than anything. I was just... I was so caught up in everything else, and I—I didn’t realize how much you needed me. How much you’ve always been there for me. I messed up, cutie. I know I did.”

You shivered against him, and he shifted to shield you better from the biting wind. “Let me take you home,” he pleaded, his voice softer now. “We’ll fix this. I’ll fix this. I’ll make it right, I swear.”

For a long moment, you didn’t respond, and his heart hammered in his chest. Finally, you gave the faintest of nods, your head resting against his chest. You shivered in his arms, your eyes fluttering shut again, too drained to muster a response. Panic surged in Rafayel as he felt how cold your skin was against his. He shifted, standing with you carefully cradled in his arms, his coat wrapped tightly around you.

“Hey, hey, stay with me,” he pleaded, his voice urgent but soft. “I need you to hold on, okay? Just a little longer. Let’s get you somewhere warm.” He pressed his cheek to your temple for a moment, as though the simple touch might reassure you—and himself—that you were still here with him.

Rafayel didn’t waste a second. He scooped you up gently, careful not to jostle you. The warmth of his jacket wrapped around your frame and the steady rhythm of his heartbeat seemed to soothe some of the tension in your body. He murmured quiet reassurances as he carried you, his voice a constant presence in the cold, empty night. His normally cocky demeanor had shattered into shards of raw vulnerability, replaced by a frantic urgency to get you home—his home. Your breathing was shallow, your limbs slack in his hold, and every uneven step he took felt like walking a tightrope with everything he valued most precariously balanced in his grasp. He adjusted his hold, cradling you tighter against his chest. “Look, I know I’m an idiot sometimes. Fine, most of the time,” he admitted, his words a jumble of nervous energy and shaky humor. “But this isn’t the time to prove me wrong, alright? Just hang on a little longer. I’m taking you home.”

By the time you reached the studio, the candlelight had dimmed, but the room still held the warmth of the love you had poured into it. Rafayel carried you inside. By the time he reached the threshold of his room, his shirt clung to him, drenched from sweat and your tears. He nudged the door open with his shoulder, careful not to jostle you, and hurried inside.

The room was cold and dimly lit, the heater long dormant. He set you down on the bed, fumbling with the blankets to cocoon you in their warmth. Your body trembled, and his chest constricted as he watched you stir faintly before slipping deeper into unconsciousness.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, barely audible at first, as if the walls themselves might condemn him. Then louder, more desperate, his voice cracking. “I’m so damn sorry. I was stupid—so, so stupid. I should’ve seen this coming. Should’ve kept you safe. Should’ve—” He stopped himself, biting down hard on the inside of his cheek to stifle the sob building in his throat. His eyes flickered between his usual hues and that unearthly blue every now and then.

His hands hovered over your face, fingers trembling as he brushed damp strands of hair from your skin. “You’re too good for me, you know that? Too good for someone who screws up as much as I do. But I promise—” His voice broke, the words spilling out in a frenzied rush. “I promise I’ll make it up to you. Il love you, cutie. I love you so much.” And then, because even in his rawest moments he couldn’t help himself, he added with a weak, self-deprecating chuckle, “I am lucky I’m this charming, or I don’t think you’d ever put up with me.”

He turned on the heater, pacing back and forth as he muttered under his breath, berating himself in every way he could think of, his brattiness peeking through as he cursed the broken world that had led to this moment. He glanced at you repeatedly, as if reassuring himself you hadn’t vanished, that you hadn’t slipped through his fingers.

When you stirred, your eyelids fluttering open, he froze mid-step. His usual confident smirk was gone, replaced by wide, guilt-stricken eyes. “You’re awake,” he blurted, his voice filled with relief but tinged with apprehension. “I know I screwed up,” he admitted quietly, his lips brushing against your temple. “But—seriously, who let you do this to yourself, huh? Oh wait, that’s me. Fantastic job, Rafayel. Bravo.” He huffed out a shaky laugh, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, sitting at your bedside. The words spilled out before he could stop them, over and over again. “I’m so, so sorry. This—this isn’t how it was supposed to go. You’re supposed to be mad at me, not like this. Not…” His voice cracked, and he scrubbed a hand down his face, frustration bubbling beneath the surface.

Then, almost instinctively, the mask of bravado slipped back into place. “But, hey, look at you, stealing my bed like it’s your right. I mean, sure, I offered, but still.” His smirk faltered, his voice softening. “You better not make a habit of this, you know? Making me worry this much.”

You shifted, your eyelids fluttering completely open, and the sight of your weary gaze meeting his nearly unraveled him.

“Raf?” Your voice was weak, barely audible, but it was enough to snap him upright.

“Hey, you’re awake!” He forced a grin, though it couldn’t hide the guilt pooling in his eyes. “Good, because I was just about to start serenading you with an apology song. Don’t ask for a refund… the lyrics are terrible.”

You tried to sit up, but he was on you in an instant, gently pressing you back down. “Whoa, whoa, no sudden moves, alright? Just... stay put for once. Let me handle it for a change.”

"Handle what?" you asked, your voice edged with exhaustion and confusion.

His grin wavered, giving way to something more honest, more afraid. “Everything. All of it. I... I screwed up, okay? I’m the idiot who let you get like this, who didn’t see—who didn’t stop—” His words tangled, and he exhaled sharply. “I’m sorry. I’m so damn sorry, and I’ll keep saying it until you believe me. Or, you know, until you tell me to shut up. Whichever comes first.”

Your lashes fluttered weakly again, and a barely audible sound escaped your lips. “...Rafayel...?”

His heart soared and broke all at once at the sound of your voice. “I’m here,” he said quickly, leaning closer so you could hear him clearly. “I’m right here. I’ve got you.”

Tears welled in his eyes as you looked up at him, your gaze heavy with exhaustion and something he couldn���t quite name—hurt, maybe, or disappointment. It cut him deeper than any blade ever could.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, his voice a choked whisper. “I know that doesn’t fix this, but I swear, I’ll spend every moment making it up to you if you let me.”

For a moment, silence hung between you, broken only by the hum of the heater and the soft whistle of the wind outside. Finally, you whispered, your voice trembling, “I waited...”

“I know,” he whispered, his tears falling freely now. “You shouldn’t have had to. You deserve better than that, better than me—but I’m begging you, please give me another chance. Don’t give up on me yet.”

Finally, your voice, though weak, broke the quiet. “You forgot... something that meant so much to me.”

Rafayel’s throat tightened, but he nodded, accepting your words. “I know. And I’ll spend as long as it takes to make it up to you. I’ll show you how much you mean to me. I love you,” he whispered against your skin, the words soft but raw with sincerity. “More than anything. More than I can even say. I don’t deserve you, but… please, let me try. Let me make it up to you.”

“Don’t leave me,” he repeated, his voice a breathless whisper, “Not like this.” His voice cracked on the last word, and for a moment, you could see the mask slip—just for a second. Rafayel was scared. Scared of losing you. Scared of failing you. It was the one thing he had never let you see, the one thing he kept locked away in the deep recesses of his heart, but now, it was clear as day.

As you looked at him, something shifted between the two of you—an understanding, perhaps. You could see his desperation, the way he clung to the edges of his composure, trying to hide the vulnerability he never allowed anyone to witness.

I thought... I thought this was everything I could give. Everything I could be..." your own voice cracking.

He shook his head again, his grip never loosening. “You’re so much more than all of this. I’ve been blind, cutie. And now I can see it—see you.” He gently cupped your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing over your cheeks as if to erase every doubt that had taken root there. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for making you feel invisible.”

You closed your eyes for a moment, the tears still staining your face, but the weight of his words was a strange kind of relief. He was here. He saw you now. The storm of emotions inside you hadn’t dissipated, but his presence, the raw sincerity in his voice, made you feel something close to safety.

Rafayel kissed your forehead softly, the gentle pressure of his lips a tender promise. “I’m here, cutie. And I’ll do everything I can to make this right. You won’t feel invisible again.”

You nodded slowly, the tears still flowing, but there was a flicker of hope, however faint. "Just... don't forget again," you whispered.

“I won’t,” he promised, his voice firm, but his eyes were full of vulnerability. "I won’t. Never again."

You didn’t respond immediately, your eyes closing as if you were too weary to respond. But when Rafayel reached for your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours, a faint squeeze answered him. It wasn’t forgiveness, not yet, but it was enough—a thread of hope that he clung to with everything he had. For now, you didn’t pull away, and that was a start.

AN: reblogs, feedback and opinions are appreciated!

Rafayel version | Zayne version | Sylus version

[lavlynyan]

Hearbreak Anniversary with Zayne

Summary: It was your anniversary with Zayne. One year of togetherness. But what if he does not show up when you expect him to? What if he was spending it with MC? Pairing: Non MC! Reader x Zayne Note: MC in this fic goes by the name Lina (my name... so if you are angry, you can be angry at me :3). This oneshot was based on this request. I will write this for the other LADS men too. Also I don't think any of these men would ever be the type to actually willlingly forget it. Especially Zayne. So I had to adapt the request a bit. Content Warning: injuries, panic, insecurities, self worth issues, Zayne POV

Rafayel version | Zayne version | Sylus version

Zayne’s apartment smelled like him—clean, crisp, and faintly of the eucalyptus-scented candles he kept on the shelves. You sat on the edge of his couch, smoothing the fabric of your dress down your thighs, nerves making your fingers tremble slightly. The dim light of the chandelier cast a soft glow over the room, illuminating the carefully planned surprise you had for him —flowers, his favorite treats, elegant scarves, and jackets you had spent weeks picking out. The final touch was the flexible weekend getaway tickets, somewhere warm and far from the sterility of hospital walls. A place where he could finally rest.

You had gone all out for tonight. The garden-themed restaurant was supposed to be the perfect setting—a quiet, intimate place where vines curled around twinkling fairy lights, and the soft scent of fresh blooms would fill the air. And you had dressed accordingly with something elegant, something that made you feel beautiful for him. The deep navy-blue dress you wore clung to your form just right, the intricate lace details at the sleeves soft against your skin. You had taken your time getting ready, styling your hair to perfection, slipping on a pair of delicate earrings he once admired absentmindedly. A spritz of white jasmine perfume, the one he once said reminded him of spring mornings. You wanted to look like someone worthy of being by his side. You wanted to be beautiful for him, for the man who had somehow, impossibly, fallen for you.

Because, truth be told, there were times you weren’t sure you were.

you still didn’t understand how this happened—how Zayne, the prodigy, the man who could save lives with his hands and mind, had chosen you. He was brilliant, disciplined, and deeply compassionate. And you? You were just… you. Ordinary in comparison. He never made you feel small, never belittled you, but standing beside him you felt you were just lucky to be there. His world was one of brilliance, filled with extraordinary people—Lina, the fearless Deepspace Hunter; his late friend Caleb, a DAA pilot whose loss still lingered in hushed conversations; his esteemed mentors and fellow doctors who spoke in a language you could only ever grasp at the edges. Compared to them, compared to him, you felt so small.

But tonight, none of that mattered. Tonight, was supposed to be about the two of you.

You had fallen for him in the quietest of ways—through the gentle cadence of his voice, through the moments he noticed things others didn’t. How he’d pull a chair out for you before you could do it yourself, how he’d check the temperature of your tea so you wouldn’t burn your tongue, how he’d listen, really listen, to your ramblings even after a 48-hour shift. He had nestled himself into your heart without you even realizing it.

And tonight, he had insisted he wanted to be with you, even with the chaos of the hospital weighing on his shoulders.

The call came two hours before your reservation. You already knew what he was going to say the moment you saw his name flash on your screen.

“Hey, sweetheart…” Zayne’s voice was warm, familiar, but there was an edge of exhaustion to it. “I’m so sorry. I can’t make it tonight.”

Your heart sank, but you swallowed it down, forcing your voice to remain even. “It’s okay, Zayne. I know you’re busy.”

“It's been a long shift, and the surgeries…”

You nodded even though he couldn’t see you. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll cancel the reservation. Take some breaks and rest, okay? You sound tired…”

“I am fine, sweetheart. I’ll make it up to you,” he promised. “I swear.”

"It’s fine, Zayne." you whispered, even if it wasn’t. “We’ll just celebrate it another day. No big deal.” Even though it felt like one at the moment.

Still, you weren’t upset. Not really. You understood. You always understood.

You hung up and exhaled slowly, pressing your palms against your lap. It wasn’t his fault. He was working back-to-back shifts, saving lives, doing what he was meant to do. And yet, you couldn’t quite keep the disappointment from settling in your chest.

You exhaled slowly, stripping away the dress you had so eagerly put on just hours ago. You slip into into one of Zayne’s oversized sweaters instead, the one that still smelled like him, the sleeves swallowing your hands. You wear leggings underneath and slip on your shoes. You took your time packing the gifts back into the car, moving slowly, as if dragging out the moment would make it hurt less. Maybe when he was finally done, you could pick him up from the hospital. At least you’d get to see him and surprise him. This was what occupied your time for the next three to four hours.

Once everything was back in the car, you plopped yourself on his plush but ergonomic couch. You scrolled through your phone while waiting, mindlessly tapping through social media, until one post stopped you cold.

Lina’s story.

A picture of her sitting across from Zayne in a small restaurant outside Akso hospital, the caption lighthearted:

When you have to drag out your doctor because he won’t follow his own advice about resting. (-_-)

Zayne looked amused in the photo, tired but still composed, his lips slightly curved in a small, rare smile. He looked… content. His gaze focused on her as if she had just said something ridiculous.

Your fingers trembled as you stared at the screen.

It was stupid. It was so stupid to feel like this. Lina was his childhood best friend. She had never given you a reason to be insecure, and yet, the sting of it hit you like a slow, creeping ache. He had time to go out for a meal with her. He had time to smile like that, even after canceling on you. You knew you were being irrational, that he had only stepped out for a quick bite in his busy shift, yet you felt betrayed.

Tears pricked at your eyes before you could stop them. You wiped them away quickly, but they kept falling, silent at first, then turning into quiet, shuddering sobs. You felt pathetic. Childish. He wasn’t doing anything wrong. You knew he wasn’t. But it hurt anyway. Because you would have taken anything—just a few moments, even just a simple meal at that tiny restaurant, if it meant spending time with him today.

It hurt in a way that made your chest feel tight, made the lump in your throat impossible to swallow. The sting of it crept under your skin like a wound you hadn’t realized was open, raw and aching. The disappointment bled into something uglier, something heavier. Why, after everything, did it feel like you were always on the sidelines of his life? No, Zayne never made you feel that way. It was your own spiraling thoughts.

A loud sob choked its way out, your hands gripping the fabric of his sweater as if that would somehow ground you. You wanted to hate yourself for crying over something so petty. He was saving lives. He was exhausted. He didn’t mean to hurt you.

But it hurt.

You needed to go home. You needed to collect yourself before the ugly thoughts swallowed you whole. You stood up, tears streaming down your face, as the weight of it all seemed too much to bear. You didn’t want to sit here anymore. You didn’t want to wait. You needed to go home, to clear your head, to get away from the overwhelming sense of inadequacy.

You sniffled, grabbing your keys and heading out. The highway would be the fastest route home—less traffic, a straight shot. You rerouted, pressing your foot on the accelerator, trying to breathe through the tightness in your chest. You wiped at your tears quickly, trying to focus on the road.

The road stretched out before you, a wide expanse of concrete and asphalt that felt like it would swallow you whole. The tears wouldn’t stop, and you wiped them away, trying to steady your hands on the wheel, trying to focus on the road ahead. But it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter that you understood, that you were rational about his work. The reality of it, the empty seat next to you, the disappointment of seeing Zayne happy in a photo with someone else, it all felt too much.

And then—

Headlights. Too close. Too fast.

A car jumped the signal, trying to merge into the highway.

You slammed the breaks, the scream of tires against pavement rang in your ears.

The impact was instant. A violent, sickening jolt that sent your body forward, the seatbelt snapping against your chest, the airbag exploding in front of you. The windshield cracked, splintering into a spiderweb of broken glass. Your vision blurred, the world spinning.

Pain.

Your chest burned, lungs straining to catch a breath. Your limbs felt heavy. You reached for the seatbelt, your fingers fumbling, but it was jammed.

Fuck.

Your head lulled forward, resting against the deflated airbag. Your head was heavy, your thoughts slipping away like sand through your fingers. The distant wail of sirens reached your ears, but they felt so far away.

Your vision swam, the edges darkening.

I hope the other person is alright.

The thought barely had time to settle before everything faded into black.

ZAYNE'S POV

The fluorescent lights of the hospital buzzed faintly, casting an artificial glow over the chaos of the emergency room. The air was thick with the scent of antiseptic and the undercurrent of blood—familiar, almost routine, yet tonight it gnawed at Zayne's nerves in a way he couldn't quite shake. He hadn’t left since he stepped through those doors, yet somehow, the guilt weighing on him had nothing to do with the lives he saved today. It was you.

He was tired. God, was he tired. His body screamed for rest, his temples throbbed from the strain of back-to-back shifts, but the hospital was understaffed, and there was no room for exhaustion when lives were at stake. As a cardiologist, his expertise lay in the intricate mechanics of the human heart, but duty demanded flexibility—especially in the ER. Cardiologists weren’t meant to be dealing with blunt force trauma and lacerations, but tonight, none of that mattered. They needed doctors. He was a doctor. So, he worked.

Even through the fatigue, his mind kept drifting back to you. He could still hear your voice from the call earlier, soft and understanding despite the disappointment laced beneath it. You didn’t deserve this. You had every right to be upset, to be frustrated that he had broken his promise, yet you didn’t even complain. That hurt more than if you had yelled at him

God, he loved you. And he hated himself for testing that patience again and again.

His hand tightened around the pen he was holding. He had plans—plans to make it up to you. The necklace in his office drawer, nestled in a velvet box, had been meant for tonight. Something small, perhaps, compared to everything you did, but a token of his devotion nonetheless. He could still salvage this. Maybe he could call you later, ask if you were still awake—

His device beeped, pulling him back to the present.

MVA on the highway. ETA: 5 minutes.

Multi-vehicle accident. Paramedics on site, victims en route.

Zayne exhaled sharply, shifting into work mode. He stepped into the ER just as the first stretcher was wheeled in. The radio chatter from their comms filled the space.

"Female, mid-to-late twenties, restrained driver, T-bone collision from a vehicle that ran a red light. Airbag deployment, but impact trauma to the chest from seatbelt. BP slightly low, likely from pain response. Tachycardic at 112. GCS is 14. Possible wrist fracture, mild concussion. No signs of internal bleeding from the ultrasound, but needs further imaging to rule out any complications."

He nodded briskly, slipping into the detached, clinical efficiency that had been drilled into him for years. It was only as he stepped forward, pulling the curtain aside, that his breath caught in his throat.

His world stopped.

There, on the hospital bed, was you.

Lying on the hospital bed, your hair disheveled, your skin pale against the stark white sheets. His breath lodged in his throat, the world narrowing to a pinpoint focus on the rise and fall of your chest. He couldn't move. Couldn't think. There was dried blood at your temple, your lower lip swollen where you must have bitten down upon impact. The sight of the IV line in your arm, the faint bruises forming along your collarbone—he couldn’t breathe.

No. No. No. No. No.

"Dr. Zayne…" Yvonne’s voice cut in, sharp and urgent. A warning. He was frozen. This wasn't just a patient. This was you.

He blinked, his hands suddenly trembling as he reached for his gloves. Breathe. He had to focus. Had to push past the sheer, gut-wrenching fear threatening to paralyze him.

This is her. She was waiting for me. She—

"Dr. Zayne!!" Yvonne pressed, handing him the updated chart. "She needs you."

That snapped him out of it.

The moment his hands touched you, they were steady again. His voice was even as he examined you, the motions automatic, controlled. He checked your pupils, gently palpated your ribs to assess for fractures. He was a doctor. He was your doctor right now. He had to move. Focusing, he reached for his stethoscope, pressing it against your chest to listen for abnormalities. The rhythm of your heart was steady, but your breathing was just slightly labored—likely from the seatbelt trauma.

"You’re going to be fine." he murmured, more to himself than anyone else.

You were stable.

"Her left shoulder—check for AC joint separation," he murmured, voice steadier than he felt. "Get a CT to rule out any internal injuries. And…" He swallowed. “Get me images from the crash site.” He needed to see how bad the collison was. He had to.

The hours blurred. He monitored your scans, adjusted your IV, checked your vitals more times than necessary. Each time his eyes drifted to you; his chest ached. He had seen the accident reports—your car, your windshield shattered, the crumpled hood. And the contents scattered across the scene…

You had planned everything.

For him.

And he wasn’t there.

Zayne clenched his jaw. Flowers were scattered, crushed against the upholstery. The pastries you must have picked out for him were ruined; their boxes torn open from the force of the crash. And gifts. There were so many gifts. He hadn’t even known you had planned all this.

He felt like he was going to be sick.

You had so much waiting for him. And where had he been? At a hole-in-the-wall restaurant, eating with Lina because she forced him to take a break. He had been smiling in that photo while you were—

God.

He ran a hand down his face, exhaling shakily as he sat by your bedside. He should have been with you. If he had just—

The monitor beeped steadily, a quiet reminder that you were alive.

Now, he sat beside you, watching the slow rise and fall of your chest, fingers curled into his palms to keep them from shaking.

"Wake up, sweetheart." he murmured, voice barely above a whisper. "Please, just wake up."

And for once, Zayne—brilliant, composed, always in control—felt utterly powerless.

The beep of the heart monitor was steady, rhythmic, but Zayne found himself gripping the edge of his chair every time you stirred, waiting for that moment when your eyes would finally open. His body was stiff from staying in the same position for hours, but he didn’t dare move. He didn’t want to miss it.

Then, a small shift in your breathing. A twitch of your fingers.

Zayne leaned forward just as your lashes fluttered, your eyes cracking open, only to squeeze shut again at the harsh fluorescent lights. You groaned softly, shifting against the sheets. Instinctively, you tried to sit up.

"Hey—stay put," Zayne said immediately, pressing a hand against your shoulder to keep you down. His touch was gentle but firm, his fingers warm even against the hospital gown. "Don’t move too much yet."

Your body resisted for a moment, muscles tensing as if you wanted to argue, but the disorientation dulled your fight. Your gaze finally settled on him, hazy with the remnants of sleep and confusion.

Then you frowned.

“…You look tired,” you murmured, your voice soft, still groggy. “How long have you been here?”

Zayne’s heart clenched so tightly it hurt. Even now, even when you were the one lying in a hospital bed, barely recovered from an accident, your first thoughts were about him.

His throat felt tight, but he exhaled sharply, forcing himself to speak. “You should look at yourself first, sweetheart.”

Your gaze flickered down, taking in the IV in your arm, the bruises along your wrist, the faint soreness that no doubt ached across your body. Zayne exhaled sharply and reached out, his fingertips tracing the side of your face before cupping your cheek fully. His thumb brushed lightly against your skin, as if grounding himself with the warmth of you. His eyes were moist, though no tears fell.

“I’m sorry,” he said, voice low, raw in a way that stripped away every layer of his usual composure.

You parted your lips, breath hitching as if you were about to reassure him—to do what you always did, to let him off the hook, to tell him it wasn’t his fault.

But he didn’t let you.

“No,” he cut in firmly, shaking his head. “Not this time. This is the one time you shouldn’t be so understanding.” His jaw clenched, something bitter twisting in his expression. “I should have been there. We should have been celebrating our relationship. End of discussion.”

Silence settled between you.

After a beat, he exhaled, running a hand through his hair before looking at you again. “Why didn’t you demand my time?” His voice was quieter now, tinged with regret. “You had every right to.”

You hesitated, glancing away. “…I didn’t want to bother you.” Your fingers twisted into the hospital blanket, grip tightening slightly. “You’re important, Zayne. You save lives. I didn’t want to pull you away from that.”

Something in him snapped.

He let out a sharp breath, then reached for your hand, gently prying your fingers from the blanket. His grip was warm, grounding.

“Shh… And you think you’re not?” he murmured, shaking his head. “Don’t ever say that again.” His gaze bore into yours, unwavering. “You are important to me.”

"You’re important to me," he repeated, voice steady but almost desperate. "Just like my work makes demands of me, you are more than entitled to make demands of me, too."

Your eyes searched his, uncertainty flickering beneath the lingering haze of exhaustion. But Zayne’s gaze didn’t waver.

"I know I should have been there," he said again, quieter this time. He hesitated for only a fraction of a second before brushing a thumb over the edge of your jaw, tilting your face slightly. “When I saw you on this bed when I entered the ER… pale, unconscious… I haven’t felt fear like that before," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "Not in all my years of doing this. Not like that."

You didn’t say anything, but your hand came up slowly, resting over his.

He closed his eyes briefly, exhaling.

This—this was what he almost lost.

His jaw clenched, then loosened as he exhaled. “I don’t want to ever feel it again.”

Another pause.

Zayne inhaled deeply, steadying himself. His hand still cupped your cheek, his thumb tracing absentminded circles against your skin, as if reassuring himself that you were still here. That you were warm. That he hadn’t lost you.

“I know I say I’m sorry a lot… and it probably has lost meaning to you.” he murmured; his voice rough with emotion. His lips pressed into a thin line, as if struggling to put his feelings into something more tangible. “I should have been there. And I will be. Every step of the way until you’re fully recovered and after....”

His eyes flickered downward, scanning you like the doctor he was, but this was different. This wasn’t just clinical analysis—this was personal. "You got lucky," he admitted, exhaling through his nose. "Blunt force trauma to the ribs, a mild concussion, and a broken wrist. Some lacerations on your arm and leg, but nothing deep enough to require surgical intervention. The worst was the head trauma, but the scans came back clear. No bleeding, no swelling. That’s the only reason I’m not having a complete breakdown right now…" His fingers ghosted over your arm, careful not to apply pressure. "Nothing life-threatening or with lasting consequences. But still… you shouldn’t have had to go through that alone." His jaw tensed. "Not when you have me."

You gave him a small, tired smile at that, and something inside him twisted.

He pulled back slightly, just enough to reach into his pocket, his fingers closing around the small velvet box. He’d gone to his office to clock off for the day to be beside you when he picked it up from his drawer. The very box he wanted to give you today. The one that was supposed to be given in a far more joyful setting. This was supposed to be today. A night spent celebrating the two of you—not this. Not hospital beds and IV drips and the hollow fear that had nearly swallowed him whole.

But none of that mattered now.

What mattered was that you were here. And this… this was still yours.

His throat felt thick as he flipped it open, revealing the necklace inside—a delicate silver chain holding a white jasmine pendant, smooth and polished, its petals carved with intricate detail. And behind it, barely visible, were his initials.

His fingers trembled just slightly as he took it out.

"I was supposed to give this to you today," he admitted, voice lower now, almost guilty. "Before all of this. Before I let my own priorities get in the way of what really mattered." He glanced up at you, and for the first time in a long time, he looked vulnerable. "I don’t want you to ever think that you come second. Because you don’t. You never have."

Gently, he reached around your neck, his touch featherlight as he fastened the clasp. The cool metal of the pendant settled just above your collarbone, resting against your skin. His fingertips lingered there, just briefly.

Then he let out a slow breath, tilting your chin up just slightly with his knuckles. His mind still reeled with everything that had happened, with everything he should have done differently.

"I love you," he said, and this time there was no hesitation, no wry smirk to mask his emotions, no half-hearted deflection. Just honesty, raw and unguarded. "Even when I do a crappy job at showing it." He didn’t need you to say it back—he just needed you to know.

For a moment, silence stretched between you. Then, his lips quirked, just slightly, into something softer. "And since I’m apparently on mandatory bedside duty, I hope you’re ready to be completely spoiled. I’m talking fresh coffee, extra pillows, a ridiculous number of medical advices—"

A small, breathy laugh escaped you, and Zayne felt something in his chest loosen at the sound. Then, slowly, you lifted a hand, brushing your fingertips over the pendant before reaching up to cup his cheek.

Zayne leaned into your touch instinctively, exhaling softly. He smiled, finally, pressing his forehead lightly against yours. "Yeah," he murmured. "We’ll be just fine. I've got you sweetheart... I'll always be here for you."

AN: reblogs, feedback and opinions are appreciated!

Rafayel version | Zayne version | Sylus version

Taglist: @cordidy, @natimiles @leighsartworks216 @notisekais @raining4food @fallthelong @pomegranatepip @juliuscaesarsstabbedback @krystallevine @lemurianmaster @nenggie @loverindeepspace @sinsodom

[lavlynyan]

Hearbreak Anniversary with Sylus

Summary: It was your anniversary with Sylus. One year of togetherness. But what if he does not show up when you expect him to? What if he was spending it with MC?

Pairing: Non MC! Reader x Sylus

Note: MC in this fic goes by the name Lina (my name... so if you are angry, you can be angry at me :3). This oneshot was based on this request. I will write this for the other LADS men too. Also I don't think any of these men would ever be the type to actually willlingly forget it. So I had to adapt the request a bit.

Rafayel version | Zayne version

Content Warning: injuries, panic, insecurities, self worth issues, blood, death, Sylus POV

It had been a year since you and Sylus had been together.

How this man, leader of Onychinus, with all his power, wealth, and the infamous reputation that made the N109 Zone bow at his feet—had fallen for you, of all people, remained a mystery. Perhaps it had been one of those dangerous, untraceable things, like the slow bloom of a wildfire, unpredictable and impossible to stop once ignited.

And yet, it had happened.

Sylus had told you he’d be back today. You remembered the way he’d said it, smug as ever, like he was indulging you in some little fantasy. “I’ll be back before you have time to miss me, sweetheart.”

That had been a week ago, before he left for a deal abroad. He had taken Luke and Kieran with him—his most trusted men, twins who seemed to share a single mind between them. And, of course, Lina, the Deepspace hunter who should have been arresting him, but somehow always ended up tangled in his orbit instead.

You hadn’t mentioned your plans to Sylus. If there was one thing you craved, it was the rare chance to catch him off guard for once.

The base was quiet today. You had given the chefs the day off and spent the better half of the afternoon in the kitchen yourself, cooking a meal that was hearty, rich—something that would remind Sylus that despite his empire of steel and blood, he had something warm waiting for him here.

And the gifts—what could you give a man who had everything? Who could have anything in the world with the mere curl of his fingers?

So, you made something with your own hands.

A hand-stitched crimson silk tie, embroidered subtly with black thread in the shape of a feather—your own nod to his empire. A custom-made pocket watch with an inscription hidden on the inside, words only he would ever see: Come home to me. And a small leather-bound notebook, filled with notes, half-written thoughts, and memories of the past year. A private piece of your heart, wrapped up in ink and paper. Next to the plates, a black velvet box rested, holding custom cufflinks shaped like crimson feathers, mirroring the streaks on his shirt.

The air in Sylus’ study was thick with the scent of the meal you’d spent hours preparing, rich spices and slow-cooked flavors meant to fill the room with warmth, with care. The table was set for two, lit by the soft glow of candles, the dim golden light reflecting off the dark mahogany of his desk. It was a quiet contrast to the usual sharp edges of the space, the atmosphere softened just for tonight. Just for him.

You had even opened a bottle of wine, anticipation humming in your chest like a live wire.

But the hours stretched, the evening creeping into the depths of night.

Sylus never came.

You tried calling him. But the line never connected.

How could that be? You had spoken to him just yesterday.

A cold unease coiled in your gut.

You tried calling Luke. Then Kieran.

No response.

The silence pressed in, thick and suffocating. The air smelled of rich spices, of the meal you had made, but the warmth had long since bled from the room.

Your fingers curled into the fabric of your dress as you paced.

Had something happened? Had the deal gone wrong? He never left you waiting without reason. And Luke and Kieran? They never ignored your calls.

A dozen worst-case scenarios flashed through your mind, none of them pleasant.Your heart pounded, and just when the thoughts threatened to spiral into something unbearable—

Your phone rang.

The screen lit up with Luke & Kieran. Relief surged, and you answered in an instant.

“Where the hell have you been? Are you all okay? Where’s Sylus?” The words rushed out, tangled with worry.

A beat of silence. Then, as expected, Luke spoke first, his voice carrying its usual playful lilt.

“Whoa, slow down, boss lady. We’re fine. Everything’s fine.”

Kieran’s voice followed, grounded and even. “Change of schedule. We’re flying back tomorrow instead.”

Tomorrow?

Your fingers tightened around the phone. “What? Why? Where’s Sylus?”

Another pause. You could hear Luke hesitate, which was never a good sign. “Ahh… yeah, about that—”

“Kieran,” you pressed, “where is he?”

There was a sigh on the other end before Kieran answered, blunt as always.

“Miss Hunter came down with a fever.”

You blinked. “Lina?”

“She was being fussy about seeing a doctor,” Luke added. “So, naturally, Sylus decided to stay and look after her.”

You heard Luke let out a nervous chuckle, the kind he only did when he knew he had just stepped into a landmine. “Y’know, the usual—boss being boss. Can’t have our little Deepspace hunter collapsing, right? He’s making sure she’s alright.”

Something in you twisted.

“He—” Your voice caught. “He’s staying behind for her?”

“Yeah,” Kieran confirmed. “We figured it’d be easier than dragging her onto the plane half-conscious. You know how she is.”

Luke chuckled. “Yeah, stubborn as hell. Kind of endearing though—”

The rest of his sentence faded into white noise.

Sylus wasn’t coming home.

Not tonight. Not for you.

Not for your anniversary.

Your fingers went numb around the phone as something heavy lodged itself in your throat. The carefully prepared meal, the handmade gifts, the effort you’d poured into making this night special—it all felt meaningless now.

Your free hand curled into a fist, nails digging into your palm. You swallowed, forcing your voice to stay steady.

“I see,” you said, quiet.

“Oh—wait, did you need something?” Luke asked, oblivious.

You almost laughed. Did you need something?

No. Apparently, you didn’t.

“Nothing,” you said. “Just… fly back safe, all of you. I’ll see you when you are back.”

You ended the call before they could say anything else.

Silence filled the room once more.

The meal on the table had gone cold. The wine in the glasses sat untouched.

And in the quiet, you stared at the chair where Sylus should have been—where you had thought he would be.

But he wasn’t.

It wasn’t fair to be angry.

You knew that.

Lina’s sickness wasn’t something Sylus could have accounted for. If you had been in his place, you would have done the same—of course you would have. You would never leave someone behind in that condition, never abandon a friend in need.

But you weren’t Sylus. You weren’t a man who could summon entire fleets at a whim, who could command the world to bend at his feet.

Sylus had resources. If he wanted, he could have had her taken care of in the best medical facility in the world and still made it home to you. But he stayed. And you?

You didn’t even know where they were.

The thought stung, sharp and unrelenting, digging into the marrow of your bones.

You pressed your palm against your eyes, swallowing back the rush of emotions that threatened to consume you. Anger. Hurt. A rational voice in the back of your mind whispered that none of this was Sylus’ fault. That you were being unreasonable.

But emotions weren’t reasonable.

You had spent hours preparing this night. Thought of every detail. A meal made with your own hands. Gifts carefully chosen, stitched, inscribed. Every little thing was meant to remind Sylus that despite the world he ruled, despite the empire of steel and blood he had built, he had something warm waiting for him. Someone waiting for him.

And yet.

A soul-bound connection...

You weren’t stupid. You had known about it, ever since Sylus told you—told you about a past life that Lina had no recollection of, about a sorceress and a dragon bound together by the threads of fate itself.

Not this life. Not this Sylus. Not this Lina.

But it didn’t matter, did it?

Your eyes burned, and you pressed your fingers against them, as if you could push back the rising sting of tears. No, this wasn’t Sylus’ fault. It wasn’t Lina’s either.

But that didn’t stop the pain.

Because it wasn’t just tonight, was it?

It was the lingering shadow of a story you had no part in.

But it didn’t matter, did it?

No matter how much you tried, no matter how much love you poured into this relationship, how could you ever stand against something forged by the universe itself?

It wasn’t just about tonight. It wasn’t just about the cold meal or the untouched gifts.

It was about that feeling—that sick, awful feeling twisting inside your chest.

You were inadequate.

You were nothing compared to a bond that had been written into the very fabric of fate. And what were you against that?

Mortal. Fleeting. A blip in the vast, endless history of what they had once been.

It made you feel so small.

No matter how much you tried, no matter how much you gave, the universe had already decided. Sylus belonged to someone else. Even if he chose you, even if he kissed you and whispered your name in the dark, you would never have what they had. You would never be the one his soul cried out for in the quiet.

The thought carved something deep inside you, raw and aching, a wound without a name.

You turned away from the dining table, from the abandoned dinner and the untouched wine, and picked up the plates with numb fingers. The weight of them felt heavier than it should have, or maybe it was just the weight of everything else pressing down on you.

The kitchen was silent save for the quiet clatter of porcelain as you methodically began packing the food into containers. Your movements were mechanical, automatic—store the food, seal the lids, stack them away. You barely registered what you were doing, lost in the storm raging inside you.

You loved him.

God, you loved him so much.

But was love enough? How was that supposed to stand against bonds forged by souls?

Your chest ached, your vision blurred, but you kept going. Container after container, hands moving with purpose even as your mind spiraled. You didn’t let yourself cry. Not now. Not yet.

It wasn’t until a cold gust of air brushed against the nape of your neck that you realized something was wrong.

Your hands stilled.

The air was different.

Off.

The base was secure—always. Layers of defenses, reinforced doors, security measures that made it near-impossible for anyone to slip in unnoticed. And yet, something in the stillness of the space sent a prickle of unease down your spine.

Slowly, you turned your head.

The lights above flickered once. Twice.

Your heart slammed against your ribs.

You weren’t alone.

SYLUS' POV

The hum of the engine thrummed beneath Sylus’ fingers as the aircraft carved a path through the night sky. Outside the reinforced glass, the neon-soaked cityscape of the N109 Zone flickered like dying embers. His grip on the armrest was tight, his jaw set in a firm line as unease coiled in his gut.

Something was wrong.

He had tried calling you earlier, more than once, but each attempt had ended the same—no connection.

That wasn’t normal.

You always answered, always picked up on the first or second ring, even if it was just to snap at him for being an overbearing bastard. But tonight? Silence.

Kieran’s voice cut through the cockpit. “Dropping Lina off now. Shouldn’t take long.”

Sylus barely spared the exchange a glance as Luke helped the girl out, her feverish form was leaning against Kieran. He should have been relieved—getting her to the edge of N109 Zone meant she was going back to Linkon and being cared for.

Minutes later, when Kieran and Luke rejoined him, Sylus barely waited for them to strap in before he barked, “Move. Now…” as they drove towards the base.

Luke shot him a sidelong glance but, wisely, didn’t ask questions.

The base wasn’t far. They reached the outskirts in record time, but the second Sylus stepped off the vehicle, his pulse sharpened to a blade’s edge.

The air was wrong.

Too still.

And right now, his own base felt foreign.

A flicker of movement caught his eye. His security grid had been tampered with. Not shut down—no, that would have triggered failsafes—but rerouted, bypassed just enough to avoid raising alarms.

Luke and Kieran noticed it at the same time.

Sylus turned to them, his red eyes gleaming under the low lights. One look was all it took.

They spread out, moving like shadows.

Kieran’s voice was calm, but there was an edge to it. “Boss lady was here yesterday.”

A muscle in Sylus' jaw ticked.

His gaze snapped to Kieran, but the man was already continuing. “Yesterday. Security logs picked her up before the system went dark.”

That cold feeling coiled into something heavier, denser. His gut twisted in a way he didn’t like.

Was she safe? Was she hurt?

You  had been here.

And now you weren’t answering your goddamn phone.

He moved faster, his long strides carrying him through the halls with terrifying purpose. The first guard he saw was sprawled on the floor, unconscious, a dark bruise spreading along his jaw. Another lay slumped against the wall, barely breathing. Sylus crouched briefly, checking their pulse. Alive. But taken out efficiently.

Someone had gotten in.

And you—

A sharp exhale through his nose. He didn’t let the fear settle in his chest. Didn’t let it slow him down.

His mind burned through every logical step as he stalked through the base, checking rooms, searching for any trace of you. When he reached your shared room, his heart kicked up—only for it to plummet at the sight.

The door was ajar. The air inside was stale.

And everything was a mess.

The bed was unmade. The belongings scattered. Drawers left half-open. It looked like a fight had broken out—or someone had torn through the space in a rush.

Sylus never rushed. Never panicked. He was in control—always.

And yet, something dark and frigid curled in his chest as he pivoted, moving toward his study.

The moment he stepped inside, the scent of melted wax and aged wine hit him first. His gaze dropped, cataloging the scene in an instant.

Candles, burned low.

A bottle of wine, uncorked.

Two glasses. One untouched.

The weight of realization hit him like a fist.

You had been waiting for him.

Something curdled in his stomach.

The back of his mind supplied a thought he refused to acknowledge. Had you left because of it? Had something snapped in you before someone else got here first?

Before he could spiral further, a voice crackled through his earpiece—sharp, panicked.

“Boss!” Luke’s voice. “Kitchen—now.”

Sylus was already moving before the transmission cut.

The moment he stepped in, his breath stilled.

The smell of food, faint and lingering, mixed with something coppery.

The table was overturned, food scattered, porcelain shards glinting in the dim light. A glass had shattered, its crimson contents smeared across the floor like blood—except there was blood.

Not just wine. A dark stain, drying.

Your phone lay cracked on the floor, its screen splintered beyond recognition.

And next to it—two men.

Not his.

Two unfamiliar men lay motionless nearby, their bodies in a puddle of blood where they had fallen. Not his men. Intruders.

You fought.

Sylus’ blood turned ice-cold.

You had fought.

His fingers curled into fists, his Evol humming beneath his skin, barely restrained.

He should have been here yesterday.

That thought seared through Sylus’ mind like a molten brand, burning deeper with every heartbeat.

He should have flown back yesterday. Should have shoved Lina into a damn transport and sent her straight to Linkon without a second thought. Should have been here with you. Should have spent the night with you. Should have protected you.

Instead, he’d played nurse, wasted hours hovering over a feverish girl, while you—

His gut twisted as he moved through the wreckage. The kitchen was a battlefield, overturned chairs and smeared blood marking the violence that had taken place. His boots crunched over broken porcelain, and his breath came shallow, ragged.

He should have been here.

His study flickered in his mind—the candles, the untouched glass of wine, the boxes of presents you had set up. Always a step ahead of him. Always anticipating what he needed before he even realized it. You had been waiting for him. And he hadn’t come.

He failed you.

A sharp exhale hissed past his teeth, and he forced his focus back on the blood trail. It smeared across the floor, fading and reappearing in uneven patches—dragged footsteps. It wasn’t enough blood to be fatal, but it was too much for him to ignore. His pulse was a war drum in his ears as he followed it, every step carving another layer of dread into his spine.

Then—

A door. Slightly ajar.

The closet.

Sylus barely registered his own movement as he wrenched it open.

And there you were.

Curled in on yourself, hidden between crates and spare supplies. Your limbs were tangled awkwardly, one hand clutching your side, the other barely shielding your face. Your breathing was shallow, uneven. A dark stain spread across your shirt—blood.

His stomach plummeted.

Fuck.

His knees hit the floor before he even processed it, his hands reaching, trembling. He never trembled. But now—

His fingers brushed your cheek.

His jaw clenched as he took in the bruises, the way your body remained so still, so eerily still—

Then you moved.

It was slight, barely a twitch at first, but then—your breath hitched sharply, and before he could say a word, you jerked awake.

Wild, terrified eyes locked onto him.

And in the space of a heartbeat, you struck.

A flash of motion, a blade in your trembling grip—his grip shot out, catching your wrist before you could drive it into his throat. Your strength faltered, but your panic didn’t. Your chest heaved, your breath ragged and erratic. Fear clouded your gaze—real, visceral. You didn’t see him.

You saw an enemy.

“Hey!” His voice was lower, rougher than he meant it to be. He forced himself to ease his grip on your wrist, slow and deliberate. “It’s me.”

You were still rigid, still shaking. He watched as your pupils dilated, as reality reassembled itself behind your exhausted eyes.

His heart clenched.

“It’s me, sweetheart...” he repeated, softer this time. His thumb brushed against your pulse point—too fast, too frantic.

A shudder passed through you, and then, slowly—finally—your body sagged. The tension bled out of your frame as your vision cleared, as recognition settled in.

Sylus caught you before you could slump forward.

His arms wrapped around you, pulling you against him, his body coiled with a thousand emotions he couldn’t untangle. You were hurt. You were bleeding. And he hadn’t been here.

His voice came quieter, steadier, even as everything inside him screamed. “I’ve got you, sweetheart.”

Sylus could feel the erratic hammering of your heart beneath his fingertips, the warmth of your blood seeping through his gloves. His mind was screaming, a cacophony of rage, grief, and self-recrimination, but none of it mattered—not when you were here, small and shaking in his arms.

And then, in a voice so quiet, so broken it shattered something inside him, you whispered:

"Where were you?"

Sylus stilled.

"Why weren’t you here?"

The words weren’t an accusation. That would’ve been easier. No, they were worse. They were raw. A desperate, wounded thing, frayed at the edges. And gods, he would’ve taken a blade to the heart over this—over the way your voice cracked, over the way you curled into yourself, as if trying to make sense of the void he had left behind.

"I—" The word caught in his throat. It wasn’t enough. Nothing would be enough. He exhaled sharply, his grip tightening as though he could somehow hold you together when you’d already been torn apart.

"I’m sorry." The words rasped from him, raw and guttural. He pressed his forehead against yours, his breath uneven. "I’m so fucking sorry."

You swallowed thickly, the barest shudder rocking your frame. "I was waiting," you whispered. "I waited. But you never came."

Sylus squeezed his eyes shut. He had known—known—the moment he saw the candles in his study, the untouched wine, the careful arrangement of gifts, that you had been waiting. That you had planned this night, had prepared for him. And he had never told you he wouldn't be there.

And now you were bleeding in his arms.

"I should’ve told you," he murmured, his voice cracking. "I should’ve—fuck—I was too far up my own head. I was wrong. I was so goddamn wrong."

Your fingers curled weakly into the fabric of his coat. He could feel the way you were holding yourself together, could hear the pain in your ragged breathing, and yet—

"Is Lina okay?"

A sharp exhale hissed past Sylus’ teeth, his jaw tightening. Even now, even after everything, you were asking about someone else. Worrying about someone else. His fingers trembled as he brushed your hair back from your face.

"You should be worried about yourself," he murmured, his voice softer now, almost chiding. "Lina’s fine. She’ll be fine. But you—" His throat tightened. "You’re the one who needs help right now, sweetheart."

Your breath hitched, and he felt you sag against him, whether from exhaustion or relief, he couldn’t tell.

"I saw the study, with the candles and the presents" he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper now. "I saw the kitchen with the food."

His fingers brushed against your cheek, reverent, as if touching something fragile, something he didn’t deserve.

“You were waiting for me.”

A small, broken nod.

“I should have been here…” he whispered.

A sharp inhale from you, barely audible. “The food is ruined…”

"I know. But you did what you had to, sweetheart. You were brave," he murmured, pressing his lips to your temple. "So damn brave." His hands curled against your back, his grip steady, anchoring. "But you never should’ve had to be."

His voice shook then, something fractured bleeding through. "I should’ve been here. I should’ve been protecting you. I should’ve been celebrating with you, not—" He swallowed hard, his breath shuddering.

Not finding you like this. Not watching you bleed.

He tilted his head forward, burying his face against your hair, his breath unsteady.

“I failed you.” The words tasted like rust on his tongue. “I should have been here. I should have been protecting you instead of being away. I should have been celebrating our time, our love with you, not—” His jaw clenched, his grip tightening. “Not finding you like this.”

Another shudder passed through your frame. Then, slowly—hesitantly—you curled against him, your body giving out, trusting him to hold you up.

Sylus did.

He held you like you were something sacred, something irreplaceable.

And for the first time in longer than he could remember, he felt his own confidence falter.

He had always been the one in control. The one who planned ahead, who anticipated every threat, every move. But now, kneeling here with you trembling in his arms, beaten and bleeding because he hadn’t been there—

He wasn’t in control of a damn thing.

And he hated it.

But more than that—he hated that you had ever felt alone.

Never again.

Sylus gritted his teeth as he slid his arms beneath you, carefully lifting you against his chest. The moment your body shifted, a sharp, barely-there whimper escaped you, and his stomach twisted violently. His hold tightened instinctively, as if he could somehow absorb the pain for you.

“I know, sweetheart,” he rasped. “I know it hurts. I’m sorry.”

Your breath was shallow against his neck, but you didn’t resist when he pulled you closer, cradling you against him as he rose to his feet. You were too weak to fight it. Too hurt. And that realization cut through him worse than any blade ever could.

He had let this happen.

Not again.

Never again.

“You need medical attention,” he said, his voice low and firm, more for himself than for you. “And I need to get you somewhere safe.”

His mind was already burning through possibilities. Where to take you. Who to trust. The fastest route, the safest location, the cleanest supplies. But beneath the cold, calculated thoughts was something else—something raw and unbearable, curling tight around his chest like barbed wire.

“You’re too damn patient with me,” he murmured, his voice thick. “I’m a fool. A goddamn fool, and I don’t deserve it.”

Your fingers curled again weakly against the fabric of his coat. He nearly stopped breathing. Even now, after everything, you still reached for him.

His throat ached.

“I’ll make it up to you,” he promised. “Until my last fucking breath.” His heart slammed against his ribs, his mind spiraling with everything he hadn’t said, everything he hadn’t done. Every moment he should have been here, instead of lost in his own head, buried in responsibilities that suddenly felt insignificant compared to the weight of you in his arms.

“I love you,” he admitted, the words slipping free before he could stop them. “Too much to lose you. Do you understand?” His grip on you firmed, as if anchoring himself to the reality of having you here. “You are the only light in the perpetual darkness of N109. The only light in my life.”

He exhaled sharply, steadying himself, steadying you.

“And I will never lose that.”

His grip on you was secure as he carried you forward, out of the wreckage, away from the blood and broken glass

“You found me…” you whispered, barely more than a breath.

His arms tightened around you. “I’ll always find you.”

You shifted slightly in his arms, your voice weak but steady as you met his gaze, eyes glistening with the faintest hint of something like trust.

“I know you’ll make it right,” you whispered, your fingers brushing his cheek, a soft touch amidst the chaos. "You always do."

Sylus paused, his breath catching at the warmth of your words, a flicker of relief sparking through the storm of guilt that had clouded his chest. “Sweetheart, I never want it to get to this point, ever again and I never will let it come to that.”

"I don't need you to be perfect," you murmured, your eyes meeting his for a moment, steady despite the pain. "I just need you to stay."

Sylus' heart twisted, and he swallowed thickly, the weight of those words pressing down on him. He had never been the kind of man to believe in redemption—not for someone like him. But in that moment, he could almost taste it. The possibility.

He leaned his forehead against yours once more, his breath shaky but filled with something that burned a little less than guilt.

"I’ll stay, sweetheart," he vowed softly. "I’ll stay. And I’ll fight for us... for as long as you’ll have me."

The future between the two of you, uncertain as it was, seemed a little less dark. There were wounds to heal, scars to mend—but there was also time. Time that, for the first time in a long while, didn’t feel like it was running out.

Maybe, just maybe, there was something worth fighting for after all.

AN: reblogs, feedback and opinions are appreciated!

Rafayel version | Zayne version

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[lavlynyan]

I love the beef between the MC and Mephisto 😆