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shoccolatine · 2 months

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Do you feel comfortable with writing stuff about mental health issues. Like, MC being depressed due to a mission going wrong or something similar and hiding it from Zayne while they spiral deeper into it until he catches them doing something bad - like idk, self-harm, looking up suicide methods, something like that. Gender neutral reader would be great <3

If you don't want to write this for any reason, feel free to ignore my ask :)

mission failure.

⚘pairing: zayne x gn!reader

⚘summary: after one too many failed missions, you reach a breaking point. zayne comes to your aid. ⚘tags: sfw, 2nd person POV, gender neutral reader, mental health issues, self-esteem issues, depression, suicidal thoughts, non-descriptive/implied self-harm, mild descriptions of morbid thoughts, hurt/comfort, angst ⚘word count: 2k ⚘a/n: thank you so much for your request, i hope i did it justice! this was a very interesting write and i enjoyed it a lot. i tried to be as delicate and vague with the s/h descriptions as i could so as not to trigger anyone, but this fic still deals with sensitive content so please be safe and take care of yourself! much love 💜

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

This was it. You just couldn’t do anything right.

Another hunting mission had gone poorly. The third in a row, now. They do say all good things come in threes, but could the same be said of misfortune? It certainly seemed so. The first two mission failures had been played off as flukes, but this time…

You made the long trek back to Headquarters with the weight of a tail dragging between your legs, bearing a few cuts and bruises to show for it. Beside you was Tara, who was not quite so worse for wear and, although disappointed, didn’t quite seem to share the same sentiment as you. After all, she hadn’t been the one to let the Wanderer get away. Again.

“Hey, don’t look so down!” she says, in her usual cheerful tone. She pats your arm in an attempt to be comforting. “Can’t win ‘em all, right?”

You give her a look and a frown. “I mean, we should, shouldn’t we? It’s our job, after all.”

“No way! Those Wanderers were tough! I’m amazed we got as far into the Zone as we did!”

But we lost our main target, you thought, yet you held your tongue. There was no changing Tara’s mind once she was set on something. This mission was above her level, anyway, but with every other Hunter either stationed elsewhere or taking a well-deserved break, and Xavier being unreachable as usual, all you had was each other. It had been up to you, as the higher level Hunter, to uphold the team morale and guide you both through a successful mission. But lately, you just kept falling short. Even the most straightforward of missions went awry. Just what was happening?

The entrance doors slid closed behind you as you and Tara headed upstairs for the debrief. Your heart pounded with every step you took. Three failures in a row… Jenna was going to fire you for sure. She might as well do it now, to make space for a newer, better Hunter to take your place and finish your missions properly.

Instead, what came of your debrief was the offering of a week-long break. "Time off to clear your head and refresh," Jenna had said with hard concern, but it might as well have been an arrow to the chest. Just fire me now and get it over with, you thought. Stop wasting everyone’s time and resources and find someone else.

You didn’t need a break. You just needed to be better.

Getting better, however, came with a steep demand you placed upon yourself like a vase upon a pedestal, delicate and teetering. If Jenna wanted to give you another chance, then you would use this week to return to peak performance. You would train, and train, and train, until you were sure to succeed at every mission she threw at you. It was flawless. You’d be back at it in no time.

But as soon as you got off the train and back into your apartment, all you wanted to do was sleep.

And sleep you did. You slept until you couldn’t think of those missions anymore, and when the thoughts inevitably returned, you slept again.

“You’re not eating enough,” Zayne said during your following check-up later that week. He stated it so matter-of-factly, like he did with any other diagnosis, never looking up from his computer as he typed something. You never knew exactly what. “Aren’t you supposed to be on a break right now?”

“How do you know that?”

“Word gets around,” he said, the beginnings of a smile etched on his face. You didn't like the idea of people knowing things like that so easily. People sure do like to talk... Zayne's hazel eyes lifted from the screen and over at you. “You need to take better care of yourself. Now is as good a time as any to catch up on your body’s needs.”

“I’m fine,” you snapped. Sometimes Zayne needed to mind his own business. Wait, but he was your doctor, and one of your closest friends… What was the matter with you? You really needed to go back to bed and stop being such a nuisance.

Maybe it’d be better if you got out of his life, too.

You met his questioning expression and the heat of your response drained out of your face. At that, you decided you didn’t want to wait for a reply. Whatever he wanted to say to you with that curious expression of his, you didn’t want to hear it. Didn’t deserve to hear it. You quickly left his office and never looked back. If he called your name as the door to his office slid closed behind you, it went unheard.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

5 missed calls.

Your phone screen blares the message in your face, blinding against the darkness of your room and blurry against the tears that threatened to fall, that had already fallen, that fell and dried and fell again. Your fingers itch to reply, to call him back or send him a text, but what’s the point? He doesn’t really care. He’s probably just going to scold you for leaving your appointment halfway and being childish and not following doctor’s orders and being rude to him.

Not only have you messed up your job, you’re messing up your relationships now, too. When will you ever stop? Can’t it ever stop?

Your phone buzzes and lights up in your fingers as your ringtone sings into your sheets once more. It’s him again. Doesn’t he know when to quit? You watch his name as it waits idly on your screen. It gets tired of waiting, as it always does, and finally disappears. You sigh as another hot tear slips down your cheek.

Something new happens this time.

1 new voicemail, your phone screen reads. You start to slide the notification away, but against your better judgment, and before you can talk yourself out of it, you give in, tap the notification, and listen.

The line is silent for a moment, and part of you hopes he gave up and left you nothing.

Finally, after what sounds like a throat clearing, he speaks.

“Hey, it’s me,” Zayne’s voice comes through the speaker. It’s got that usual muffled crackly phonecall texture laid onto it, but it sounds enough like him that it feels like he’s right there with you, underneath the blankets. “Are you alright? …Listen. Whatever it was I said, I didn’t mean it. You know that. I was going to ask if you wanted to get dinner, but you left so suddenly. Call me when you’re able?”

The silence creeps in again, and you can almost hear him consider saying something more, can almost see his expression as his thoughts thunder in his brain but refuse to leave his lips, but then there’s a click, and the call ends. The robotic voicemail message drones monotonously about saving the message, and halfway through, you hang up, too.

The back of your throat clenches and burns, and you barely fight back a sob as it wrenches itself out of you. Zayne was worried about you. You made him worry. You thought he was mad, you wanted him to be mad, but he’s not. He cares about you. Why…?

You dig the heels of your palms into your eyes, as if you could push back the sting of tears that rush, hot and salty, from your bloodshot eyes. It hurts, and you start to see flashes of bright white stars under your eyelids, but it’s better than succumbing to the pain in your chest. Your heart shares a galaxy with the stars in your vision, a dying star that’s fizzling out, or maybe even being consumed by the void of a black hole. How morbidly comforting. You suddenly want to rip it out.

You wonder, just how difficult would it be to separate the Aether Core from your still-beating flesh…?

You try to shake the thoughts from your mind but they hold fast. Throwing the blankets off of your body, you leave your room hobbling like a zombie, make a beeline for the kitchen, and pull open a drawer.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

It’s late at night when there’s a knock at your door. A slight rap of the knuckles. A sharp one, two. Once, then twice, and on the third knock there’s another sound, too. A rattling jingle. And it’s times like these when you curse yourself for giving Zayne the extra key to your apartment.

He calls out your name as he steps in. You barely hear him. You’re not sure if it’s because he’s far away, or speaking quietly, or if you’re just that far gone into your own thoughts that everything else around you is muted.

He might have called only once, or a dozen times, by the time he reaches your room and spots your hunched figure on your bed. He says your name again, and this time you do hear him.

You meet his gaze, steeled with concern, and immediately regret it.

He sees you, really sees you, and all at once your façade crumbles once more. He approaches the edge of your bed, and you turn your eyes anywhere but at him as you brace yourself for impact.

“What are you doing?” he asks, but he already knows the answer.

Zayne grabs your wrist. Yet, his touch is gentle—firm enough to grip you, but soft enough that you could pull away if you wanted. You don't. You’re far too tired to fight anymore. You continue to stare at the floor with teary eyes, but there is resignation hanging heavy on your shoulders, like a wet blanket. Zayne takes your silent compliance as an okay to pull you along with him down the hallway of your dimly lit apartment and into the bathroom.

He sits you down on the toilet. The light clack of the lid hitting the porcelain beneath from your sudden weight seemed to jolt you awake a bit; your eyes refocus and follow his movements as he shuffles through the medicine cabinet. He pulls out a few things and then returns to tend to his patient.

"Hand. Here," he says as he holds out his own. You offer yours, and he meets you halfway. He always does. He’s as meticulous and calm as always as he cleans, disinfects, and wraps your wounds, ever the doctor, but there’s a certain softness in his motions that you’re sure he reserves for only his most cherished patients.

Only for you.

The thought rolls a warm wave over you, the once wet blanket that had been dragging you down now fresh out of the laundry and wrapped carefully around you, cozy and hot and certain. There’s still a bit of damp spots here and there, but those will also dry in time. And you know Zayne will still be here when that time comes.

Your thoughts are broken when long fingers drag against your cheek, wiping away yet more damp spots and fanning through your shining lashes.

“You need to take better care of yourself,” Zayne says, repeating his words from earlier that day. Was that really only today? This day was lasting a lifetime. As with before, his tone holds no ice. You regret snapping at him when he was only trying to help. He must feel your tension, because he puffs a breath out through his nose just then, and the warm air tickles the hairs on your forehead. He places a kiss there, the barest brush of his lips on your skin. He pushes your hair back with long warm fingers, tucking a strand behind your ear. “If you need help with that, I’m here. Always. You need only ask.”

Later still and he’s tucking you into bed and giving your forehead another gentle kiss, making you feel like a kid again. He’s surprisingly good at that. You don't know how he does it.

Zayne follows you under the covers, and leaves you an open invitation to snuggle against him, if you wish. You gratefully accept, tucking your head under his chin as he envelops you. He’s very careful not to apply pressure to your bandaged skin.

Right before you fall asleep, he whispers a promise of breakfast tomorrow, and dinner, and whatever else comes next. A promise of staying, no matter what.

#soft zayne is best zayne #change my mind (you won't)#love and deepspace #zayne #zayne x reader #zayne lads #l&ds #l&ds x reader #fics

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celestialhrry · 1 year

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It’ll Be Okay

The one where Y/N, Harry’s fiancée, has bipolar disorder, and no one can bring her out of her episodes other than him.

WARNING: There is going to be mentions/actions of alcohol abuse, drug use, outbursts of anger, sudden changes in mood and domestic violence in this story. Harry does smoke in this as well. If you are not comfortable with that, please do not continue reading.

Y/N’s POV:

I sat on the couch with the bottle of vodka in one hand, and a cigarette in the other, mascara and tear stains on my cheeks. The alcohol and drugs were the only two things that made me feel at peace in this moment. Serenity.

A sudden click of the lock causes me to immediately put out my cigarette and hide the bottle of vodka. I attempt to walk up to the door, my steps going every which way. When he walks in, his face immediately changes, the scent of the marijuana pungent on my clothes and in the house, the smell of alcohol fuming off my breath.

“Oh, Harry! Hello. How was work?” I say, my voice slurring with every word I speak. I lean into his chest, putting all of my weight into him, making him tumble back a couple of steps.

“Are you okay, honey? You’re having another episode, aren’t you? Let’s get you on the couch, okay?”

“No, I wanna go upstairs! Have a bit of fun, if you know what I mean.” I say, a smirk present in my face.

“Absolutely not. You legally cannot give consent if you’re under the influence, baby. Stay on the couch, okay? I’m gonna go get you a glass of water.”

“No, no water.”

“Yes, water. You need some in your system, love.” He leaves me on the couch with a kiss to my forehead to go get some water.

I sit patiently on the couch, and after deciding he was taking to long, I grab my lighter and another cigarette. After lighting it, I take a long drag and inhale the smoke for a couple of seconds before puffing it out, when Harry walks in.

“Baby, what did we talk about? No smoking inside, right? That’s for outside only, my love.” He takes the cigarette from your lips and puts it out in the ashtray next to the couch.

Suddenly, your mood changes drastically and you feel a tear slip down your cheek. Harry immediately notices and is by your side in an instant, god knows what he did with the glass of water in his hands. For all he knows, it means nothing to him right now.

“Baby love, what’s going on? You having another episode, pretty girl? You can talk to me.” He says, his voice softening at the quick change of your emotions.

“I-I was just thinking about my past. My dad. And how he used to hit me. And I was thinking about it and I just brought the thought into my head that maybe that would be you one day and my emotions got the better of me. I know you would never do that to me or anyone for that matter, but my emotions got a hold of me. I’m sorry.” Harry sits there in silence for a second, probably out of sheer shock that I would ever think he would do something even remotely close to lay a finger on someone without their verbal consent.

“Oh, baby, my love. I would never ever do such a thing to you. I know how much you despise your father and although I’ve never met him, I despise him as well. He ruined your life. No one deserves to go through that. Especially you, my angel.” He ever so softly pecks your cheek, being as gentle as possible with you, knowing you’re at your most vulnerable right now.

You fall further into his arms, seeking for a safe haven, which he was yours. He wraps his arms tightly around you, placing a few kisses on the top of your head.

“I know that smoking helps you calm down so if you want to go into the backyard and do that you can feel free, my love. I’ll even join you this time. Stressful day at work.” Harry says and your heart grows a little more for him. You really only smoke to calm your nerves, but it turned into more of an addiction now. Harry rarely ever joins you for a smoke, it’s not really his thing but when he feels anxious or stressed about something related to his career, he’ll join you.

“That would be amazing, baby. I love you.” You peck his lips and grab the box of cigarettes and lighter from the table next to the couch, grabbing his hand with your free one and leading him outside with you to the bench you have out there.

He sits down before you and you sit down, putting your legs over his. You hand him the box and he takes one out, lighting it before handing you the box and the lighter. You watch him blow the smoke out of the corner of his mouth before placing the cigarette in your mouth and lighting it.

You adjust your position, curling up against Harry’s side, him moving his arm above your head to take another puff of the cigarette.

“Thank you for always being here for me, H. It really does mean a lot to me. I love you.”

“Of course, baby. There’s no one I’d rather be with than you, lovie. I love you so much more.”

And he locks that in with a kiss to your lips.

Sorry for not posting since like August. School started and it’s my senior year so I’ve been super busy with college apps but I finished yesterday so I should be posting more. Love you guys so much!!!!

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