i-am-a-bad-influence-writes

[i-am-a-bad-influence-writes]

Ordinary Chapter 8, Barely lucid

Masterlist Word count: 1.8k Zayne x Fem!Reader

Summary: After seeing his best friend getting married to the love of her life, Zayne can't help but be a little jealous. He never had this feeling before. It's almost like he's longing for someone to love. At the wedding, she introduces him to a colleague who instantly forces him out of his comfort zone. Could this be love?

∘₊✧───────────────────────────────────────✧₊∘ 

What was supposed to be helping with a four hour surgery turned into an unending shift. Zayne isn't exactly sure if he's still alive or walking in limbo. His body feels like it's giving up, only running on caffeine and muscle memory.  

“This is not a healthy state to be driving in,” he thinks to himself as he unlocks his car, "but I don't have another option right now." 

There are no taxi's driving at this hour, no Uber, no nothing. And the one person he would call is angry at him, with good reason too. (He could also call Sylus but he's on a trip with his wife and nowhere close to Linkon) Luckily, the roads are empty. Most people are sleeping and those who are not are insane, like Zayne. 

Eventually, the car seems to be driving itself home. It parks itself crooked and weird, but good enough to not be in anyone else's way. He gets out, finds his keys, and tries to jam them in the lock. However, the lock does not turn. No amount of jiggling makes his key fit properly either. 

Then, suddenly, the door swings open to reveal... you.  

You, bathed in warm light, clothed in paint-splattered sweats and some kind of sports bra. The sight is achingly familiar and completely disorienting at the same time. 

Zayne blinks at you, then at his key, then to you again. His exhausted brain short-circuits as he tries to piece everything together. 

'You live... with me?' His words are slurred and genuinely confused. 

You sigh, anger and anxiousness dissolving at the sight of him still in his wrinkled scrubs, hair sticking in all different directions, the shadow of tiredness making itself at home underneath his eyes. This is not the prim and proper doctor you know. 

This is Zayne, the man who completely loses himself in his work, who does too much and forgets himself, who will sacrifice everything to safe others. And it is the man you fell in love with. No matter how hard it is in moments like these when you can see his work destroying him, knowing full well he'll go back as soon as he's rested. 

'Come on,' you say, tugging him inside. 

∘₊✧───────────────────────────────────────✧₊∘ 

Zayne sits on the edge of your bathtub, swaying ever so slightly as he fights the sleep in his eyes while you grab his toothbrush and put some toothpaste on it. 

'Can you brush your own teeth?' He nods, but on the last nod he doesn't get his head back up. Another sigh slips from your lips. Gently, you put one hand on his forehead and push his head back. 'Open your mouth for me.' Docile as he is right now, he obeys your every word. 

He's barely lucid, if lucid at all, and you have to admit it's kind of adorable seeing him like this. Apparently, he trusts you fully. Or at least enough to let you brush his teeth. 

You jolt a little when you feel his hands on your hips as if they're anchoring him to this world. It's gently, but desperate. 'Bite down for me,' you mumble. He does so and shows his teeth to you like a little child. You can't help but smile as you continue your work. 'Spit it out in the tub.' 

He shakes his head and tries to stand up, but you put your hands on his shoulders. 'It's fine. I'll rinse it.' He groans and finally does it. You reach out for a towel to clean his face, but his arms wrap around your waist and he buries his face into your stomach. Toothpaste spreads on your skin with a strange cooling sensation.  

'Zayne,' you yelp, trying to push him off. He looks up, his chin resting on your stomach, with the biggest puppy eyes you've ever seen and toothpaste all over his lips and chin. He's so tired, but he looks so sweet. You run your hand through his hair and wipe his face with the towel in his other hand. 'Let's get you to bed.' 

'No, I have to wash up,' he protests, still in his low voice, but his words sound like a whiny child. Seems sighing has become your second language. 

'Okay, let's get you under the shower. Do you have clean clothes with you?' 

'In the car.' 

'Where are your car keys?' 

'... in the car.' 

A beat of silence and a silent prayer that he means his car is still unlocked. 

'Get undressed. I'll be right back.'  

You rush out the bathroom, downstairs, slip into your slippers, run out to his car. Thank whatever is above that it is indeed unlocked. In fact, he didn't even take the keys out of the ignition. Seems he's more tired than you thought. 

As you stand outside in the cool early spring night, you take a second to digest this situation. Zayne was so tired that he drove to your house instead of his. Why? Does he feel bad about today? Does he like you this much? Or is there something else? But you find no excuse to stand here and dissect the situation while he waits in the bathroom.  

With the keys in hand, you find his bag in the booth and run back inside while rummaging through it. There's clean underwear, clean clothes for tomorrow, even some deodorant and a spare toothbrush. Seems he is well prepared for long shifts. 

When you reenter the bathroom, Zayne is already standing in the shower with your bodywash in his hand, but he's not washing himself. All he's doing in smelling your bodywash, the same one you told him not to use last night. 

After a few seconds, he notices you're back and looks guilty. 'I'm sorry, I wasn't planning on using it.' 

'You can use it,' you muse as you put his bag on the sink, trying hard not to look at his naked body through the fogged-up glass. He looks at you with wide eyes, as if to check if it were really ok. He's so expressive when he's tired. You haven't seen him like this before.  

A gentle nod seems to put him at ease, but it seems he can't get his body to work with him. 'Do you need help,' you ask, softly. He nods back at you, his head hanging a little. 

You take off your socks and take a deep breath before stepping in with him, trying not to get wet. He hands you the bodywash and you squeeze a generous amount in your hands. First, you instruct him to turn his back to you. He does as you say. 

Your heartbeat pulses in your throat as you touch his naked skin with your hands. A jolt of electricity goes through you, but you shake it off. This is not the moment. This is a different kind of intimacy. 

As you work your way down, Zayne's soft groans and sighs merge with the sound of falling water. His muscles seem to relax under your touch and when you instruct him to turn, you notice that his eyes are closed. They only open for a second, and then he leans forward to rest his forehead against the top of your head. 

He's so close, so tired, so sweet. 

This evening was hell, constantly wondering if he would opt out of dating you because you wanted to confront an ex, but this moment makes all those worries melt away. You should've known that it was just his cold front, that he would come back to you when he was ready. 

Your hands continue their work, but with his head resting against yours you can't really do a thorough job. His groans and sighs turn into soft snores and you can't help but smile. A warm feeling spreads through your body as your lover completely leans on you. Both emotionally and physically. 

'Zayne,' you say with a soft push to his chest. He hums a response. 'You need to wash the soap off. Then we can get you to bed.' 

'Okay,' he mumbles as he raises back up. You quickly step out of the shower and get him a towel. 

∘₊✧───────────────────────────────────────✧₊∘ 

You couldn't get him to put on anything else than his boxers. The second he got those on, he wrapped his arms around your waist from behind and refused to let go. A fit of giggles came over you as you started waddling towards your bed, lugging the tired man with you stumbling. 

After about five minutes, you mange to turn your back towards the bed so he can sit down but he refuses to let go of you. 'Zayne, I have to turn the lights off and put something else on. Go lay down.' 

'Don't leave,' he grumbles into your neck. 'I need you to stay with me.' 

With great difficulty, your turn around in his arms and manage to sit him down. Like he did when he sat on the tub's edge, he pulls you close and presses his face against your stomach. Your hands tenderly cradle his cheeks, turning his face up to yours. 

'I am not leaving,' you state. 'I just have to turn the light off and put my pajamas on. That's all.' 

'Promise?' You have to bite down a smile. He is so utterly adorable like this, with that twinkle in his eyes, his cheeks still red from the warm shower. You wish you could take a picture of this moment, remember it forever. 

'Promise.' 

Finally, he lets go but he doesn't get under the covers. Instead, his eyes follow you as you walk towards your dresser to take out an oversized shirt to sleep in. Curious to see what he'll do, you decide not to turn around when taking off your sports bra.  

As you slip your head through the shirt, you look back at him. His mouth is agape, cheeks even redder, ears burning. A chuckle escapes you. You shouldn't tease him right now, not when he's like this. 

The light turns off and you hear him slip under the covers in the pitch black. When you join him, it's not even a second before he reaches out for you and pulls you against him. Limbs tangle within seconds and his warm body is flush against yours.  

Silence falls over you as you listen to the birds starting to chirp outside. It must be getting close to dawn. Zayne must be exhausted. 

'You are beautiful,' Zayne suddenly mutters into your hair. 'I didn't mean to look, but I'm glad I did.' 

'It's only fair,' you respond. 

'How so?' 

'I saw you naked.' Silence. Complete and utter silence. 

'Did you... like... ... it?' Another beat of silence as something shifts in the air. Something that isn't supposed to be here right now. Zayne is tired, barely lucid, he should sleep. This is no time to think about all that. 

'You should sleep.' 

'But did you?' 

A deep sigh leaves your lips as you realize it doesn't matter anymore. He's allowed to know what you think of him and his body.  

'I don't think there's a single inch of you that's less than perfect.' 

∘₊✧───────────────────────────────────────✧₊∘ 

Previous - Next

∘₊✧───────────────────────────────────────✧₊∘ 

General taglist

@carbs-need-more-love

∘₊✧───────────────────────────────────────✧₊∘ 

LADS general taglist

@brekkers-whore

@mcdepressed290

@fvcknwww

@floofycookie

@peachystea

@mysticmyth

@syluslittlecrows

@merodis

@astudyoftimeywimeystuff

@sapphic-daze

∘₊✧───────────────────────────────────────✧₊∘ 

Ordinary taglist

@xxfaithlynxx

@ladyparamount

@beaconsxd

Want to join the taglist? Go here

∘₊✧───────────────────────────────────────✧₊∘

[i-am-a-bad-influence-writes]

Hiii I’d like to be added to the lads tags!

For sure <3

[i-am-a-bad-influence-writes]

Hi Liz, I loved your P*rn series, and I just binge read my way through The Ordinary. I'm suffering happily, could you add me to your general tag list? There's some fandoms you write for I'm not in, but I like how you write, so I want to keep an eye out for future works :D

Omg, thank you so much for reading.

You'll be the first on my general taglist <3

[i-am-a-bad-influence-writes]

Ordinary Chapter 7, Rush

Masterlist Word count: 2.4k Zayne x Fem!Reader

Summary: After seeing his best friend getting married to the love of her life, Zayne can't help but be a little jealous. He never had this feeling before. It's almost like he's longing for someone to love. At the wedding, she introduces him to a colleague who instantly forces him out of his comfort zone. Could this be love?

∘₊✧───────────────────────────────────────✧₊∘ 

Zayne woke up once during the night, to use the bathroom. 

The room wasn't as dark as he expected it to be, but then again he hadn't really paid attention to the curtains when he joined you. They're slightly sheer and not fully closed. The moonlight pools through them, illuminating your sleeping form.  

You had been right. The bed is big enough for the two of you to spread out and not touch each other once. A fact that seems slightly annoying now – and a stark contrast to when they laid down - but when Zayne returns from the bathroom it seems solved. 

In the minute he was gone, you rolled to the middle of the bed. He'd still have enough space to sleep had it not been for you hogging the majority of the blanket. A great excuse to get what he desires. 

Careful not to wake you, he slips under the covers. You are curled up, back towards him, but at the feeling of his body heat radiating off him, you turn. In a manner of seconds, you are getting comfortable laying nearly fully on top of him and he can't say he minds. 

A shiver goes through his body as he feels your hand slip under his shirt and up to his ribs. He looks down to check if you're still asleep or gleaming like a cat who got the cream, but you are truly asleep. Peaceful breaths leave your slightly parted lips, your cheek smushed up adorably against his chest, hair all over the place.  

It's the most beautiful thing he's ever seen. 

∘₊✧───────────────────────────────────────✧₊∘ 

The morning isn't as peaceful.  

Zayne jolts awake to golden sunlight pooling across the room. He blinks at the unfamiliar ceiling and turns to see that all the curtains are open now. Groaning, he reaches for his phone on the bedside table to check the time. 8:34 AM. 

He bolts upright. It must've been the first time in a decade he's slept past 5:30AM. But surely you'll still be sle- 

No, your side of the bed is empty, but still faintly warm. The sheets are tangled and messy from where you laid. Zayne feels himself panic ever so slightly. What if you left? What if you thought this was too much? What if you didn't want to go slow anymore? 

Then... humming? Humming, faint sounds of the radio, the gurgle of the coffee machine, the clink of a spoon against ceramic. Sounds from the kitchen drifting up to the loft. He takes a deep breath, his muscles relaxing. 

She's still here. 

With that confirmation, his clinical brain starts working again. He should get up, take a shower, put on yesterday's clothes. But then there's this little voice he hasn't heard before. One that takes over. And instead of doing what he should, he sinks back into the pillows that smell like pear, tonka beans, and something uniquely you, and waits. 

No more than five minutes later he hears the pitter patter of your footsteps on the stairs. He can't help the smile that thugs on his lips. 'Good morning,' you muse happily, two mugs in hand. Zayne squints against the sunlight haloing your messy hair.  

He watches her as she perches herself cross-legged beside him, handing over a violently pink mug with some orange detailing. He takes a small sip from the steaming cup. It's perfect. Exactly how he likes it.  

'Did you sleep well?' Better than he'd like to admit. He's not sure he's ever been this rested in his whole entire life. It's strangely comforting. 

'Fine.' She tilts her head a little like a puppy, urging him to say more. 'Your mattress is nice. Though the sheer amount of pillows is smothering.' She chuckles. An angelic sound in the early morning. He takes another sip of his coffee and as he lowers the mug, he realizes three things in rapid succession. 

He'd shed his shirt. Possibly because you were laying on top of him like a cat. 

Your gaze is tracing every line of his body as if you were reading a book. 

His ears are burning. 

As casually as he can, he reaches for the blanket and pulls it up to mid-chest while pretending to adjust his position. Your lips twitch amused. 

'Cold?' Your question sounds innocent but there's a flicker of mischief in your eyes. One that Zayne recognizes. 

'A little,' he deadpans. 

'Shame,' you note as you take a sip from your mug. 'I was enjoying the view.' 

'I’m sure you were.' His ears seem to burn up even more as he sees the smirk on your lips. Your teasing worked and you're quite pleased with yourself. Not every day you can make the doctor blush. 

'Relax,' you stretch out, giving Zayne even more reason to compare you to a cat. 'I'm just looking. Unless you'd like me to help with that.' You point at the bump in his lap and Zayne's face goes bright red. He tries to play it off, pulling a pillow onto his lap, but you saw it twitch. 

'I would not,' he replies, the lie tasting even bitterer than coffee. 

You shrug and gracefully hop off the bed, the dark liquid in your mug swirling dangerously close to the edge. Not that you would mind judging by the coffee stains on your sheets. 'I'll go get started on breakfast. You go do what you have to.' 

With those words, you disappear down the stairs. 

Zayne sighs to himself. "If only it were that easy. A cold shower should work." Just as he wants to slip out from under the covers, his phone rings. It show's Greyson's caller ID. He quickly picks up. 

'Speak.' 

"The cardiac surgeon for today called out, we have a heart transplantation that has to be done right now." 

'I'll be there as soon as I can. Shouldn't be more than an hour.' 

"Alright, we'll get everything ready." As the call drops, Zayne holds the phone tightly to his chest. He doesn't want this day to end but he has other responsibilities. He has to get home, shower, get his scrubs, his work things. 

A few deep breaths and he's off, slipping into his dirty clothes and rushing down the stairs to explain to you. When he gets to you, you look a little disappointed. 'Work?' He nods, you nod and turn back to the breakfast you were making. Eggs, bacon, etc.  

As quickly as you can, you get some bread and make the breakfast into a sandwich he can eat in the car. After all, how can he perform well on an empty stomach. When you turn back to him with a lunch box in hand, you can almost see him tear up. He crosses the kitchen in one step and presses a kiss on your forehead like it's a promise. A promise he'll be here again soon. 

'I'll bring you lunch,' you tell him meekly as you wrap your arms around his waist. He gladly accepts the embrace and pulls you against him. 

'I might not have time to eat with you.' 

'You don't have to. I just want to make sure you're fed.' 

'Don't bother, I can eat the cafeteria food.' 

'Just let me do something nice for you. You've been so nice to me.' 

Silence... and then. 

'Alright.' 

∘₊✧───────────────────────────────────────✧₊∘ 

This is a new feeling. It's not nerves nor fear and you fear it is care. You care for Zayne, but not like you care for your mother or your father or your sibling or your friends. It's something gutteral, something instinctive, almost primal. 

You know he is safe where he is. Safer than he would be in most other places. 

At the same time, you know he does not take care of himself. He gets lost in his duties and the unspoken responsibilities laid upon him by others and himself. And thus, you find yourself clutching the steering wheel of your car as you drive to Akso hospital to bring your... to bring Zayne lunch. 

About halfway through the drive, your phone starts buzzing and the car display shows an unfamiliar number. Over time, you've gotten used to answering unfamiliar numbers as most of them belong to gallery owners or people interested in buying what you make. So you pick up after only a second of hesitation. 

'Yes?' 

"This is Nurse Yvonne from Akso Hospital. You're listed as the emergency contact for-" You tune out the professional sounding female at the sound of his voice. Your ex still hasn't changed his emergency contacts? This is insane. "-passed out at his place of work. He's stable but not in any state to get home on his own, so we decided to notify you." 

The highway blurs in front of you. It has been two wonderful years since you've last heard that name. Two years after he walked out of your home calling you "too much" and "a brat" with a strange kind of anger you didn't understand back then. Now you know he wanted control and you didn't give it too him. You were too much of a free soul, so he was grasping at straws. 

'I'm sorry,' you say, your voice tighter than intended, 'this must be a mistake. I haven't seen him in two years. Do you have anyone else you can call for him?' 

"We do not. You are the only contact listed." Sly motherfucker. He probably didn't intent this to happen now but he surely did try to create this situation back when he walked out on you. 

'I'm sorry, I can't help you.' 

As you press the button to end the call, the hospital comes into view. Your hands tremble as you try and refocus on your driving to get to the parking lot safely. Instantly, your mind goes to Zayne. You should text him. Explain. But what is there to explain? A bureaucratic oversight? 

Still, some stubborn, masochistic part of you needs to see him for yourself, to confirm this isn't another of your ex’s games. On the other hand, why should you. You've no real reason to do so, but what if he's there because he found out about Zayne. What if he's pitting him against you. 

You have to check. You just have to. 

∘₊✧───────────────────────────────────────✧₊∘ 

The waiting room in the hospital hums with quiet urgency. People crying, people hurting, nurses moving between rooms with practiced efficiency. You hesitate as you stand at the reception desk. Zayne's lunch almost burns in your bag. You should be there for him, not some lowlife ex you haven't seen in years. 

'Hi, I just got a call from this hospital. From Nurse Yvonne?' 

The woman in front of you looks up from her computer screen. 'That's me. What's your name?' Her fingers type along when you spell it out for her and she nods. 'Consult room 3, down the hall to your left. Doctor Li should be in there with him now.' 

You follow her instructions and find the room easy enough. After a few knocks, you open the door and step inside to reveal a sight you didn't really want to see. Zayne in his scrubs, his broad back to you as he studies a chart. And sitting on the examination table... 

It's him. It really is. The man who made you feel less than. He looks paler than he used to, thinner too. Despite that, he still tilts his head in the same arrogant way when he spots you. 

'Why are you here,' he sneers. 

'You never changed your emergency contact, asshole,' you snap back. At the sound of your voice, Zayne turns. His eyes are cold, annoyed, but when they meet yours there is a second of something unguarded and raw. The moment passes and his professional mask slips back into place. 

'Miss.' His voice is too calm. Too controlled. 'A word outside.' 

The door closes as the smell of the hallway envelops you. Antiseptic and stale coffee. A smell that has become strangely comforting in the last few weeks. Zayne always carries a bit of it with him as he does not wear cologne when he works. 

Zayne's posture is perfect, his voice measured, but his grip on the clipboard is turning his knuckles white. You're not quite sure what he's feeling, not quite sure what you're feeling, but it isn't nice. 

'What is he to you?' 

He's not angry. Not yet. But the chill in his tone makes your stomach twist and you swallow. 

'An ex. I got a call from he hospital on my way here to drop of your lunch. He still has me listed as an emergency contact.' 

'And you came.' 

It's not an accusation, but it feels like one. A simple observation that cuts deeper than anger ever could. 

'I wanted to ask him to remove me from his emergency contacts,' your voice is barely above a whisper now. Zayne adjusts his glasses, a gesture you've come to recognize as his tell when he's thinking something over. You reach into your bag and hand him the lunchbox you prepared for him. 

'Of course. Thank you for the lunch.' 

Polite. Professional. Distant. 

You know he has all the right to be upset. Or at least he has the right to take a second and think the situation over. It's not something he expected, not something you expected either. Yet, the clinical detachment in his voice makes your throat ache. 

'Okay, I'm heading out then,' you manage before turning away and rushing out of the hospital. You can hear him call after you, but you keep walking. His voice becomes more urgent the more ground you cover. 

He catches you just outside the hospital. His hand gripping your arm tightly to keep you with him. When you turn to him and he sees the hurt in your eyes, he instantly regrets it. You see his eyes soften, but that was not okay. 

'Please.' 

'Not now.' You pull your arm loose and turn to keep walking, your eyes burning. 'You're working. I'm upset. This isn't the time.' 

His hand hovers near your arm again, but this time he doesn't touch you. 'Later, then.' 

You nod without looking back. 

∘₊✧───────────────────────────────────────✧₊∘ 

Previous - Next

∘₊✧───────────────────────────────────────✧₊∘ 

LADS general taglist

@brekkers-whore

@mcdepressed290

@fvcknwww

@floofycookie

@peachystea

@mysticmyth

@syluslittlecrows

@merodis

@astudyoftimeywimeystuff

∘₊✧───────────────────────────────────────✧₊∘ 

Ordinary taglist

@xxfaithlynxx

@ladyparamount

@beaconsxd

Want to join the taglist? Go here

∘₊✧───────────────────────────────────────✧₊∘ 

[i-am-a-bad-influence-writes]

Ordinary Chapter 6, An invitation

Masterlist Word count: 1.7k Zayne x Fem!Reader

Summary: After seeing his best friend getting married to the love of her life, Zayne can't help but be a little jealous. He never had this feeling before. It's almost like he's longing for someone to love. At the wedding, she introduces him to a colleague who instantly forces him out of his comfort zone. Could this be love?

Author's note: It has been a while ya'll. Sorry to keep you waiting. Life was crazy for a while, but things have settled down. Hope this makes up for it a little <3

∘₊✧───────────────────────────────────────✧₊∘ 

Dusk paints the skies in golds and purples as Zayne navigates winding roads down the countryside towards the city. You sit next to him in the passenger seat, your sketchpad open on your lap as you try to fight sleep and are failing miserably. At a stoplight, he glances over. 

There, among the flower studies you drew in the garden, are sketches of him. Bent over his notebook with his glasses slipping, smiling at the ducks in the pond, completely relaxed laying down on the picnic blanket. But the one of the picnic blanket is different. He's not drawn with the clothes he is wearing today. It's the clothes he wore when you brought him lunch. 

His chest aches slightly as he feels warmth spreading on his cheeks. You've been drawing him for weeks. The fondness he has for you only grows every day he sees you, even more so when he learns little things like this about you. 

Today he learned so many little things that his mind is overflowing. He learned how deep your love for art (and art supplies) goes, he learned you like to draw flowers but always get frustrated by them after a while, he learned you can sketch in a few different styles, but what he liked most was what he learned when you two stopped at a fast food restaurant for dinner on the way back. 

You love pickles. He watched you take the top of your bun off and do the tiniest happy dance when you saw there was more than one slice of pickle on there. When he gave you his pickle, your eyes where wide with love for him. It was like he had just given you the world. Then you smiled like a little kid. 

He realized he'd do anything to see you smile like that again.  

A true, genuine smile. 

But there comes an end to everything, even this day. He pulls up to your house and parks the car. When the engine dies down, you see to stir awake. 'We're home?' 

Zayne feels his heart skip a beat. Of course the implication of your question was simply to ask if you were back, but the thought of going home together to a place you live in together made him shiver. He wants it more than anything. 

'Zayne?' 

He turns to you. You, who still has eyes full of sleep but still looks a little worried. 'What is it?' 

'Stay.' Your voice is soft, comforting, but there's more there. Almost as if you're begging him to stay with you. 'It's too late to drive back and you look tired.' 

He has to admit, he is tired. It's been a long day, a fun day, but a long day. 'Alright.' 

∘₊✧───────────────────────────────────────✧₊∘ 

'It has to be here somewhere,' you murmur as you dig through a drawer in your bathroom that holds all kinds of knickknacks and things you should probably throw out, but you know there's a toothbrush in there somewhere. You lean over the drawer more and feel your wet hair create a wet patch on the back of your shirt. 

Zayne stands leaning against the doorframe with a pair of old paint-stained sweatpants that have always been way too big for you in his arms. He watches your chaotic mind move through your space lovingly. It's truly fascinating to him how different you two are, but it works. 

'Got it,' you cheer as you triumphantly hold a sealed bubblegum pink sparkly toothbrush. 'See, I knew I had one laying around.' 

Zayne accepts it, his fingers brushing against yours. 'Is every drawer in your house a junk drawer?' 

'To you, probably, but there's a method to my madness,' you tell him with a wink. 'Okay, so there's towels over there, like, five different soaps in the shower – just don't use the pear one, that's my favorite – and the toothpaste is over there.' 

You're out of the bathroom in a flash. Zayne locks the door and lays the pair of sweatpants and the toothbrush on the sink. A deep sigh slips from his lips as he takes a moment to let it all sink in. 

Just a few minutes ago, he had walked up the stairs to your bedroom, aka the loft. None of it had surprised him, but for some reason he still felt shellshocked. Maybe it was because it is such an intimate place. It is where you wind down, where you rest, where you walk around in your underwear. 

His face goes bright red at that thought. 

The shower is still warm from your earlier use and smell of pear lingers, mixing with some tonka bean and bergamot fragrance sticks that reside next to the sink. His eye keeps flickering to the body wash you used, a strange warmth spreading in his chest and stomach. It's lewd for him to think about you in the shower. That's what he tells himself. 

To ground himself, Zayne tries to focus on the real things in the room. The great water pressure from the shower, the tile grout in desperate need of recaulking, the sound of your hairdryer outside the door, the mismatched bottles of soap haphazardly strewn about... Suddenly, he finds himself with the pear scented body wash in his hand, uncapped. He just wants to smell it. That's all. And shit, it's you. It's unmistakenly you. He had wrongfully thought the tonka bean was from the fragrance sticks, but it's from your body wash. The scent is bright, fresh, comforting, with an undercurrent of something addictive. So, so addictive. 

He quickly puts the soap down and grabs a different one. 

∘₊✧───────────────────────────────────────✧₊∘ 

It's quite the sight. Doctor Zayne wearing sweatpants that are on their last leg and are way too short. Besides that, no nice shirt, no button up, no tie, just his undershirt. You almost want to commemorate this moment with a picture but decide against it. 

He finds you perched on the couch arm wearing an oversized tee and shorts that can barely be called shorts. 'You're not sleeping on the couch.' 

'It's fine.' 

'It's not. The couch is terrible for sleeping. The springs are like a medieval torture device,' you argue. Your motive has two sides. For one, you do not want your dear doctor to wake with sore muscles because you refused to let him drive. On the other hand, you kind of want to test the waters. 

Zayne tests the springs with one hand. 'Feels fine.' 

You groan and hop off the couch. 'You are impossible.' You grab his wrist and drag him towards the staircase. 'My bed is huge. We could both starfish and never touch.' 

Zayne allows himself to be pulled, an amused smile playing on his lips, though his voice stays firm. 'I'd rather sleep on the couch.' 

Dramatically, you roll your eyes and let go of his wrist. He watches as your expression changes to a slight pout and you take a few steps closer, putting your hands on his hips. 'Fine.' 

He wraps his arms around your shoulders and presses a kiss to your forehead. 'I'll see you in the morning.' 

∘₊✧───────────────────────────────────────✧₊∘ 

The couch is truly awful. At about 1 am, Zayne realizes why you had compared it to a medieval torture device when a spring keeps jamming into his kidney. He stares up at the ceiling, listening to the loft's nocturnal sounds. The hum of the fridge, the creak of pipes... and your voice, floating down with theatrical clarity. 

'Most boring sleepover ever.' An exasperated sigh. 'I thought we'd at least braid each other's hair.' A gasp. 'Or cuddle. The horror.' 

Zayne pinches the bridge of his nose. He knows you have a point and he figures you have experience with sleeping on your couch. As it is your couch. He swings his legs over the side of the couch and weighs his options. 

'Guess I'll just hug this pillow instead,' you continue, your voice dripping with faux pain and suffering. 'It's fine.' 

A floorboard creaks as Zayne teaches the top of the stairs. You are a silhouette under the sheets, curled around a pillow as promised, but your surprise is visible even in the dark. It is clear that you had not expected him to actually act on your teasing. 

'You're insufferable,' he informs you as he walks closer to the bed. 

A smile spreads across your face as you lift the covers in invitation. 'But you like me.' 

The mattress dips under Zayne's weight as he slips under the covers and lays down stiffly on his back, hands folded on his stomach like a man waiting to be buried. You waste no time getting comfortable. In your mind, he'll push you off if he doesn't want it. 

You roll over and lay your arm across his chest, your leg between his, your head on his shoulder. He adjusts, his arm moves to wrap around you, his other hand intertwines with yours. Every point of contact burns. 

'Mmm, better,' you sigh, the air tickling his collarbone. 'You smell good.' 

Zayne swallows as he starts to notice your smell as well. The pear and tonka bean scent sticking to your skin, the strangely androgenous smell in your hair. 'It's your soap.' 

'True, but you used the boring one.' You nuzzle closer, trying to crawl into his skin, or just have as much skin-to-skin contact if that isn't feasible. 'Next time, steal the good one like a normal person. I know you want to.' 

Zayne starts to feel himself relax, strangely so. He had shared a bed before, but never like this, never so carefree. Her weight against him is warm, her breathing steady against his ribs. No one has ever fit against him so perfectly as you do, as if his body was designed just to fit you. 

You move your intertwined hands to your lips, pressing a kiss to his wrist and nuzzling against his hand. 'Still overthinking?' 

'Always.' 

You chuckle softly. 'Me too.' You turn your head up and press a kiss to the underside of his jaw. 'But this helps.' 

As you turn your head back, Zayne turns his just enough to press his lips to your forehead. 

'It does.' 

∘₊✧───────────────────────────────────────✧₊∘ 

Previous - Next

∘₊✧───────────────────────────────────────✧₊∘ 

LADS general taglist

@brekkers-whore

@mcdepressed290

@fvcknwww

@floofycookie

@peachystea

@mysticmyth

@syluslittlecrows

@merodis

@astudyoftimeywimeystuff

∘₊✧───────────────────────────────────────✧₊∘ 

Ordinary taglist

@xxfaithlynxx

@ladyparamount

@beaconsxd

Want to join the taglist? Go here

∘₊✧───────────────────────────────────────✧₊∘ 

[i-am-a-bad-influence-writes]

Ordinary Chapter 5, Preplanned spontaneity

Masterlist Word count: 1.7k Zayne x Fem!Reader

Summary: After seeing his best friend getting married to the love of her life, Zayne can't help but be a little jealous. He never had this feeling before. It's almost like he's longing for someone to love. At the wedding, she introduces him to a colleague who instantly forces him out of his comfort zone. Could this be love?

∘₊✧───────────────────────────────────────✧₊∘ 

The car ride is strangely quiet. 

Zayne had expected you to talk his ear of excitedly as you had the last few times, but you seem more reserved. Maybe he shouldn't have kissed you, maybe he crossed a boundry, but you hadn't told him no. 

Though there's a nervous energy coming from you, you still radiate warmth and comfort in your silence. And despite the silence, there hangs no awkwardness in the air, no urge to make the silence go away. It might not be perfect, but it's fine. 

Zayne glances over at you and his grip on the steering wheel tightens. There you are. Elegant, effortlessly you. The sunlight streaming through the window illuminating the specks in your eyes, your glowing skin, your beautiful figure. How could he be so lucky? 

In the back of his mind, he's still waiting for the other shoe to drop. Strangely though, his mind has gone to the other extreme. Loving vigorously until he can't anymore. He just gets so lost in you. It's so alien to him, but he has to admit there's something undeniably addictive about stepping out line. 

Your words from before still echo in his skul, short-circuiting his usual front of clinical detachment. No one had ever called him beautiful before – competent, yes, reliable, sure – but never something so tender. The way you'd said it too. Like it was the simplest truth in the world. 

His stomach swoops dangerously. All these feelings all the time, they're a problem. 

'You're thinking very loudly over there,' you muse, glancing at him. 'Penny for your thoughts?' 

"I'm terrified I'll ruin this. I'm terrified of my own feelings. I'm terrified I'm overwhelming you. That I'm already ruining this by being too much or not enought. Terrified that you'll realize-" 

'Just focussing. We're close to our first stop.' His mind will be the death of him. All these fucking feelings, going from one extreme to the other the whole damn time. It's not healthy, not normal. 

Your lips quirck into a smile. 'Alright.' You stretch your arms above your head, the movement makes your sweater ride up and exposes a sliver of your ribcage peeking out above your high-waisted pants. 'You know, you're being awfully mysterious.' 

Zayne adjusts his glasses, his focus returning to the road. 'Patience is a virtue.' 

'So is honesty,' you shoot back. There's something double about your tone, but your eyes sparkle. It's as if you know something is going on in his mind. 

He doesn't have to think too long about it as the GPS announces they've reached their destination. Zayne parallel parks the car with surgical precision (a point of pride, honestly) before killing the engine. He gets out first and walks around the car to open your door for you. The gleaming smile on your face as you take his hand to help you get out is one he will remember for years to come. At least he's doing something right. 

You look up at the awning of the shop you're standing in front of. Faded gold lettering proclaims "Artistic Supplies". 

'You're kidding,' you say slowly. 

Zayne allows himself a small, satisfied smile. 'No, I'm not.' 

'You do realize you're enabling my addiction, right?' 

He shrugs, 'I'd prefer to say I'm trying to do something that makes you happy.' 

This man... You grab his hand and drag him inside, but he seems completely content following you. How he knew you have never been to this particular art store is a mystery to you, but he seems to be enjoying watching you awe like a kid in a candy store. 

The place smells a little musty between the smells of different mediums and paint thinners. Wooden display cases and apothecary style storage closets reach up to the ceiling. Sunlight illuminates paper dust particles that float around everywhere. Jars and jars and jars of brushes litter the store's every flat surface. One display case has every type of sketchpad with every thickness and kind of paper you can imagine for every medium you can imagine.  

They've got pure pigments, acrylic paints, oil pains, guash, watercolor, oil crayons, charcoal, watercolor pencils, normal pencils, fine liners made for alcohol markers, fine liners made for other types of markers, markers of every kind... pfff, you're nearly out of breath naming all of it in your mind let alone if you tried to for real. 

And you see Zayne holding a basket. You almost curse the man for it, but then he gives you a quest. 

'I'd like you to get me some essential supplies. Things that you like.' For a moment you just stare at him, something unreadable to him flickering in your eyes. Excitement mostly. Then you take his hand and start walking around the store with him. 

An hour passes in a heartbeat as you go through the store like a whirlwind. You dart between aisles, pilling supplies in th basket. Sketchpad, different types of graphite pencils, charcoal, kneadable eraser. And those are just the things you are picking up for Zayne. In your hand are a few small jars of pigment, three brushes you hadn't been able to get at your regular art store, a sketchpad under your arm. 

What you did not notice was that Zayne was putting a second of every item you picked for him in the basket. 

At checkout, you want to pay but Zayne takes the things out of your hands and puts them on the counter. 'My treat.' 

'Zayne, my stuff is easily over a hundred bucks or something. Let me-' 

'Why don't you wait outside? I'll be right there.' It sounds like a suggestion but feels almost like a command. You still feel a little bad making him pay, but he seems happy to do so. 

'Alright.' 

'Thank you,' he says as he pulls you into him for a second and presses a kiss on your forehead. Your cheeks heat and you almost rush out of the shop, Zayne's chuckle following you out. 

It feels strange to be taken care of. You've always been on your own, or with men who let you carry the full load of the relationship. You were fully prepared to do that now too because his insecurities, but he planned a date and he's paying for your things. Why does it make you feel incompetent? Why does it feel like you're less than? Why do you not allow yourself to enjoy good things that come your way? 

∘₊✧───────────────────────────────────────✧₊∘ 

You had suggested to Zayne to leave the art supplies in the car, but he was dead set on taking a leisurely stroll to the botanical gardens close to the art store. Apparently, the cashier was raving about it but you're not quite sure.  

Zayne is gleaming, walking a little too close to you. Your shoulder keeps brushing again him, your hands touching every few steps. For some reason, you are determined to let him make the move of holding your hand but you're desperate at this point. You want him so bad. You want to hold his hand so bad. 

The next time your hands bump together, you hook your pinky onto his. It's innocent, innocuous, something else starting with in... intimate? You hear a breathy chuckle coming from him as his hand moves to weave his fingers between yours. His grasp is firm but gentle. 

Slowly, the scenery of the street changes. It becomes quieter, serene, beautiful as lush greenery appears on every corner. You stop at the entrance where Zayne shows the staff his phone and they scan something on his screen. You presume it's tickets. Seems you were right about this not being so spontaneous. 

The staff member tells him something you don't quite focus on. He nods and turns to you. 'Are you hungry?' You can almost hear your stomach rumble. It's far past 12 and though you normally eat much later than that, walking around has gotten you quite peckish. 

'Starving,' you say with a smile. He leads you through the garden, seeming to know very well where he's going. Maybe the staff member told him about some lunchroom inside the botanical gardens? But no. 

You arrive at a willow tree on the edge of one of the many manmade lakes in the botanical gardens. It's a stunning sight, with lillies and lillypads covering the lake, lush gras surrounding the pond, and all sorts of butterflies and dragonflies darting around. And under the tree is a picnic blanket with a wicker basket. 

'You arranged a picnic for us?' 

He simply smiles and sits down on the blanket. You watch as he unpacks the basket. There's wine, juice, fresh bread, olives, quiche, some spreads for the bread. Zayne starts slicing up the bread and puts one of the spreads on a piece. 'I might have pulled some strings.' 

'You,' you point at him as you sit down, 'are secretly a romantic.' 

'It's basic planning,' he argues gently as he hands you the piece of bread. 

'Sure it is,' you tease. He watches you as you take a bite from the bread. Your smile makes his heart melt. That's what he did all of this for. To see that smile again. 

He keeps offering you food and wine whilst you talk his ear off about this and that. He wonders if this is what bliss feels like. 

When you are sated and leaning back on your elbows on the blanket, you sigh. The sight in front of you is so beautiful, as is the sight beside you. Zayne laying on his back with his hands folded under his head, eyes closed, looking completely at ease. 'I wish I could draw this.' 

'Good thing we stopped by the art store then,' he answers and hands you the bag with the stuff he bought without even opening his eyes. 

'These are supposed to be for you.' 

'I bought extra, just in case.' He can't help the grin that spreads on his face. You look in the bag and see doubles of everything you recommended to him. 

'Are you kidding? Zayne, when did you become such a romantic?' 

After that, you spend hours teaching Zayne some basic techniques for drawing a scenery in perspective and some basic portrait sketches. He pretends he doesn't notice the edges of your pages filing up with small sketches of his face and his features, but he secretly tries to do the same though his drawings look a lot rougher. Not much else of the gardens are explored as you stay on the picnic blanket until you realize it's almost seven pm and your stomach is rumbling once again. 

∘₊✧───────────────────────────────────────✧₊∘ 

Previous - Next

∘₊✧───────────────────────────────────────✧₊∘ 

LADS general taglist

@brekkers-whore

@mcdepressed290

@fvcknwww

@floofycookie

@peachystea

@mysticmyth

@syluslittlecrows

@merodis

@astudyoftimeywimeystuff

∘₊✧───────────────────────────────────────✧₊∘ 

Ordinary taglist

@xxfaithlynxx

@ladyparamount

@beaconsxd

Want to join the taglist? Go here

∘₊✧───────────────────────────────────────✧₊∘ 

[i-am-a-bad-influence-writes]

Ordinary Chapter 4, Petrichor

Masterlist Word count: 2k Zayne x Fem!Reader

Summary: After seeing his best friend getting married to the love of her life, Zayne can't help but be a little jealous. He never had this feeling before. It's almost like he's longing for someone to love. At the wedding, she introduces him to a colleague who instantly forces him out of his comfort zone. Could this be love?

∘₊✧───────────────────────────────────────✧₊∘ 

"Please." 

That was the whole text. It felt so desperate, like a cry for answers. A cry gone unanswered too long by Zayne. You would've sent a longer text to arrange a time to meet, but it hurt. Being left like that hurt. 

For the longest time, whenever you had a potential suitor, you would go so incredibly fast. Sex was a date one or date two occurrence. None of them ever stayed long enough to properly get to know you and most of them left you after you'd have sex. You know that, in part, this was a problem on your end but none of them ever gave you the impression that they wanted to go slow.  

Besides, most of them called you too much or too clingy and called it a day. 

And now there's Zayne, who fears his feelings, spontaneity, and chaos. All things that you have and do in abundance. Seems like a match made in hell, but it works so well. You can see the effort he puts in, how much he wants this. On your end, you want to match his pace and let him take over the rhythm. In a way, there's a certain control you both have that you need to let go of. 

It's terrifying, but you feel it's worth it. 

∘₊✧───────────────────────────────────────✧₊∘ 

It's no more than fifty meters from his car to your front door, but it feels much longer than it should be. Partly because of the rain, partly because Zayne's mind is racing with half-formed apologies and explanations. He had rehearsed this conversation in his head a dozen times while driving over, but now, standing on your doorstep, every word has evaporated. 

He knocks – once, twice – before the door swings open. 

There you stand, your hair tied up messily, wearing paint-splattered clothes and those ugly sandals from last time that are starting to grow on him. You look soft. Warm... Like home. 

'Come in, it's pouring,' you say, stepping aside to let him in. Zayne hesitates on the threshold, his polished shoes hovering over the familiar, paint-speckled floorboards. You tilt your head, studying him. 'You're gonna catch a cold if you don't come inside. Or do you want to do this on the porch?' 

'A cold is a virus. Unless you have a cold, I'll be fine,' he states nervously. Medical stuff seems the only thing his brain can form right now. However, he does manage to step inside. The warm scent of dried flowers and scented candles welcomes him in like a warm hug. The loft is just as he remembered. Cluttered but cozy, rain gently tapping against the huge windows making beautiful shadow figures on the mismatched furniture. 

You motion to the couch. 'Do you want anything to drink? Coffee, tea?' 

'I'm good.' He sits down, back rigid, hands clasped in his lap. You take the upholstered chair he had been awing at last time, pulling your legs up to sit cross-legged. For a long moment, silence stretches between the two of you. Nerves run wild, but it's not uncomfortable. Merely tense. 

Finally, Zayne exhales. 'I owe you an apology.' 

You raise your brows ever so slightly. 'What for?' 

A faint smile tugs at his lips despite himself. 'For kissing you and running.' He fidgets with his fingers for a second. 'I panicked.' 

'I noticed.' Your tone is light, but your eyes are searching his. 

Zayne's throat tightens. How could he possibly explain the fear that coiled in his chest when you looked at him like he was something special with a kind of certainty that he has never seen before? How could he explain that he became terrified you'd find something wrong with him, that you'd realize he wasn't worth the patience you keep offering? 

'I'm not...' Zayne's voice cracks unexpectedly. He clears his throat, fingers digging into his thighs. 'I'm not sure how to do this. All of this is new to me. And the way you look at me like I’m...' His jaw locks up for a second before he forces out the terrifying word he's been trying to avoid: 'worthwhile.' 

It feels like a slap in the face to you. How could you have missed that he is going through the same thing as you, just a little differently. When you look up at him again, your eyes are glistening. Tears on the brink of spilling out.  

He looks confused when you get off your chair and kneel in front of him. His eyes watch your movements intently as you reach your paint-stained hands out to his and gently pull them away from digging into his thighs. 'You think I'm not scared?' Your whisper is raw, almost painful. 'Every time you walk away from me, I wonder if it's the last time I'll see you. If today's the day you decide I'm not worth the trouble, that I'm too clingy, too much.' 

Zayne's breath catches in his throat. Your words are like a blade between his ribs, poking straight through is heart. 

You continue, your hands gently intertwining his fingers with yours. 'I want you so much I can barely contain myself, but I wait. Because you're...' You swallow down your tears quietly. 'You're the first person in years who makes me want to go slow.' 

The admission hangs between you, fragile as crystal wine glasses. It feels as if Zayne's eyes are opened. He feels the faint tremor in your fingers, hears the flutter in your throat, sees the longing in your eyes. You weren't just patient; you were restraining yourself. For him. 

In a way it terrifies him even more. How far could you go if he gave you the go ahead? Would he be able to keep up with you? Would you take his hand and drag him along? Would you want to keep walking this pace with him until he feels comfortable enough to run? He doesn't know, but in a way it's comforting not to know. 

His voice comes out rough. 'What if I break your heart?' 

A tear finally escapes down your cheek, and you let it fall. 'What if you don't?' 

The simplicity of the question shatters him. His carefully constructed defenses – the distance, the clinical analysis of every outcome, the running – crumble under the weight of her hope. 

Zayne gently reaches out, his thumb catching the next tear before it can drop. Your skin is burning, a blush slowly creeping up underneath his touch. 'I don't know how to be what you deserve.' 

You turn your face into his hand, pressing a kiss to his palm. 'Just be Zayne. That's all I need.' With your words, you raise to your feet and climb onto his lap, carefully watching his eyes for any sign of restrain or refusal. You see none. All you see is the same longing you have reflected in his eyes. 

Instead of pulling away, he presses his forehead against yours, breaths mingling in the space between you.  

'I'll mess this up,' he warns. 

'I'm sure you will,' you smile, 'but I will too.' 

Zayne smiles, reaching up to cup your face. The tip of his right finger traces your brow, committing the little details of your face to memory. 'I'll take you out this Sunday,' he murmurs, 'I've got the whole day off.' 

Your bright smile warms him up from the inside out, your excitement is so big it's almost a physical thing he can reach out to and touch. 'I'm looking forward to it.' 

And suddenly, his lips are on yours. Warm, desperate, scared, all things all at once. There's electricity in his touch, fire in his chest, but it's still restrained. He doesn't allow himself to go all out. When you break apart you get the beautiful sight of his blown pupils, a sight that you will never forget.  

He wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you into his chest. Your arms are over his shoulder, wrapped around his neck. His chest moves up and down steadily with his breathing against your chest. It's so much more intimate than you expected him to be ready for at this point, but you're not complaining. 

'Still scared,' you tease, your voice a little unsteady. 

'Terrified,' Zayne admits, brushing his nose against yours. 

∘₊✧───────────────────────────────────────✧₊∘ 

Sunday comes way too fucking soon. You've done a total of one loads of laundry in the last few weeks and have virtually nothing to wear. Great. Doesn't help that it's spring, which is basically impossible to dress for if you're going out a whole day. 

As you rummage through your closet you discover some clothing items that should never see the light of day again and one thing you thought you lost. A pretty little cropped sweater that goes perfectly with a pair of pleated, straight-leg pants you've got. Perfect. 

Your phone buzzes. 

"ETA 10:30am." Perfect. 

That's another one and a half hour to take a shower, dry your hair, put on the only makeup look you know how to do, and get dressed. You sent a quick text back. 

"Great, I'll be ready." 

And suddenly it hits you. 

Zayne is picking you up for a date. The same Zayne who tried to avoid his feelings for you. The same Zayne who finally decided to take initiative and talk to you. The same Zayne who... kissed you. 

Your face goes bright red at that thought. He kissed you. He actually kissed you. It was only once, but he kissed you. And then he held you for nearly an hour. You actually fell asleep in his arms, and he kept holding you. He might've also fallen asleep, you wouldn't know, but he looked perfectly content when you got off of him. 

It feels like a dream, but you beg to the gods above to let you sleep forever if this is what your dreams are like. Your whole body feels warm at the thought of him. You wish you could glue yourself to his side and never let go, but that might be a little too much for him at this point. 

But he's trying and that's enough for now. 

∘₊✧───────────────────────────────────────✧₊∘ 

Zayne is exactly on time as you expected him to be. If he hadn't been, he would've texted you. He's organized like that. Funnily, he didn't dress as neat as he normally does. It's nowhere near what you'd call casual, but you figure it's casual for him. Just a simple blouse – still very much pressed and neat – with two buttons open at the top and slacks – also very much pressed and neat. 

'You look beautiful,' you say in awe. Zayne freezes, almost as if his head has shut down. 

'Beauti- What?' 

'Yeah,' you answer, a little more confidently this time. 'Let me quickly grab my bag.' You turn to head back in, but Zayne grabs your wrist and pulls you into his chest. With wide eyes, you look up at him. His eyes are ever so slightly darker than they were when you opened the door. 

'You can't just say things like that and walk away,' he states. Then, he leans down to press a kiss to your lips. It's hungrier than last time, more desperate. And as much as you'd like to continue this, you know he'll regret it if you let him and you can't risk that right now. Not when he's coming out of his shell like this. 

With your hands gently pushing his chest, you manage to free himself - well, there's not much to "free" if you wanted to be there, but whatever) - and take a good look at him. There's something different about him. You can tell he's really trying to let his defenses down, but he's gone a bit overboard. 

You kind of get it. In a world where you only know too fast and he only knows too slow, it's hard to find the middle ground. It's almost like you're switching sides right now. 

'Zayne, we've got all day. No need to rush.' 

'You're right. I guess I got a little lost in the moment.' He lets go of you and straightens himself out while you grab your bag. 

'I like you getting lost in the moment,' you admit when you come back to the door, 'I just don't want you to regret it later. And like I said, we've got all day. More than enough time for another kiss.' 

∘₊✧───────────────────────────────────────✧₊∘ 

Previous - Next

∘₊✧───────────────────────────────────────✧₊∘ 

LADS general taglist

@brekkers-whore

@mcdepressed290

@fvcknwww

@floofycookie

@peachystea

@mysticmyth

@syluslittlecrows

@merodis

@astudyoftimeywimeystuff

∘₊✧───────────────────────────────────────✧₊∘ 

Ordinary taglist

@xxfaithlynxx

@ladyparamount

@beaconsxd

Want to join the taglist? Go here

∘₊✧───────────────────────────────────────✧₊∘ 

[i-am-a-bad-influence-writes]

Wasn't tagged, but this is too cute. I couldn't stop messing with it.

here’s a sweet picrew to help you end your weekend on a bright note! open tags, as always 🤍

[i-am-a-bad-influence-writes]

I'm on my period and dying. Anyone got any Love and Deepspace fluff recommendations for me? I need it.

[i-am-a-bad-influence-writes]

Hello! I just started reading your Ordinary series, and I absolutely adore it! I would love to be on your LADs tag list if possible 😊

Awww, thank you so much that's so sweet. I'll add you <3

[i-am-a-bad-influence-writes]

Loving Ordinary so far!! Can I be tagged in all your lads writing 🤗

Definitely, I'll add you <3

[i-am-a-bad-influence-writes]

Ordinary Chapter 3, Coffee "date"

Masterlist Word count: 1.1k Zayne x Fem!Reader

Summary: After seeing his best friend getting married to the love of her life, Zayne can't help but be a little jealous. He never had this feeling before. It's almost like he's longing for someone to love. At the wedding, she introduces him to a colleague who instantly forces him out of his comfort zone. Could this be love?

Author's note: This one's a little shorter. I got into a flow and wanted to get this one up so I can continue writing. (I write chapter by chapter)

∘₊✧───────────────────────────────────────✧₊∘ 

Two days. It had only been two days since Zayne ran out on you, but he feels like he's going insane. His work seems harder, days seem longer, sleep seems sleepless. He didn't want it to get to this. This was what he was trying to avoid! But here he is, sitting in his office with a patient's file in front of him, unable to properly read the words on the page. He checked for his glasses twice today because it felt like he had forgotten them. 

With a deep sigh, he leans back in in his chair, the file slipping from his hand and landing on his desk with a soft thud. As he looks up at the ceiling, all he can think about are your eyes. He groans, annoyed at his own feelings, and runs his hands through his hair in frustration. 

His eyes flicker to his phone on the table, hoping for it to light up and show a text from you but you're way too respecting of his boundaries for that. After the whole ordeal, you had only sent one text the next morning. 

"I hope you got home safe. I'm not sure what happened last night, but I'd like to know where we stand. Let me know when you're ready to talk. Or just send me a text." 

He can't function like this and strangely he can only think of one person who could help him right now. He picks up his phone and sends a text. 

"Can you meet me at the coffee shop tomorrow at 13?"  

The response comes almost right away. 

"I'll be there." 

∘₊✧───────────────────────────────────────✧₊∘ 

The bell above the door jingles as Zayne steps into the coffee shop. He is hit with the warm aroma of coffee beans and pastries. A welcome scent. The afternoon light streams through the large windows, casting geometric shadows across the mismatched furniture. He immediately finds Sylus working on his laptop at their regular table. Not that the giant is hard to spot. Zayne walks over and takes a seat across from him on a slightly lobsided chair that somehow becomes more comfortable the longer you sit on it. 

Sylus looks up from his laptop, raising an eyebrow at Zayne's appearance. 'You look like hell.' 

'Thanks,' Zayne mutters. To a stranger he'd probably look pretty put together, but Sylus knows him better than that. His blouse has clearly not been ironed this morning but yesterday before the first wear, his hair isn't as neatly done as it usually is, his glasses are smudged, and then there's the matter of the bags under his eyes. 

A server approaches the table wordlessly. 'Caramel latte, please. And a cinnamon bun.' Zayne then gestures over to Sylus who orders another black coffee before he shifts in his chair, the wood creaking against his large stature. His eyes study Zayne intensely. 

'Bad shift?' 

'Not work.' Zayne's fingers tap an uneven rhythm against the worn tabletop. He can feel Sylus waiting, as patiently as you are. However, with Sylus Zayne doesn't feel uncomfortable. He knows Sylus and he knows his intentions.  

That is normally the case. However, Sylus keeps looking at him without a single word spoken until the coffee and cinnamon bun arrive. Zayne takes a deliberate sip and a bite from the bun before speaking. 'I walked out on her last night.' 

Sylus doesn't react beyond a slight tilt of his head. 'Before or after you kissed her forehead?' 

'I see the word has already spread,' Zayne hums as he brings his coffee cup back to his lips. Sylus nods in response. 

'From what I was hearing, you two got along quite well. She had hope for you this time.' 

Zayne sets his cup down with a little more force than intended. 'She really shouldn't at this point.' 

Silence falls between them, filled with the gentle clinking of ceramics, the sound of the coffee machine, and chatter of other patrons. Zayne feels himself getting worked up while he really shouldn't, but Sylus just... waits. 

'I panicked,' Zayne admits. 'She looked at me like... like I was worth something. And all I could think was how badly it would destroy me when she realizes I'm not.' 

Sylus exhales slowly through his nose, the way he often does when choosing his words carefully. 'You say “when she realizes”,' he starts, 'doctor, for someone who sees so much worth in others-' He stops himself for a second and looks Zayne in the eyes. 'Zayne, who says you have no worth? From what I've heard, you are worth a whole lot to her.' 

Zayne opens his mouth, ready to spew a rebuttal, but Sylus raises his hand slightly telling him to stop. 'When I was doing terrible, when I thought I was worth less than street dirt, you convinced me that I was worth something. Now I'm married to the love of my life. If it hadn't been for you, I might not have been alive at this point. You are worth so much to the people around you.' 

'But that was trauma. This is not-' 

'It is.' Sylus’ statement is firm, no room for arguing. 'You have been told so many times that you are not worthy of love because you have devoted your life to saving others. At this point you believe it and don't even try anymore. That sounds like trauma to me.' 

Zayne sighs deeply, looking down into his half empty coffee like it holds the answers to all of his questions. Then, he picks up the cinnamon bun. 'All of that might be true, but she is still too good for me.' 

Sylus sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose, trying hard not to get annoyed. 'Zayne, you are the smartest person I know.' A pause as Zayne takes a bite. 'And the stupidest when it comes to yourself.' 

The cinnamon bun suddenly tastes like ash in Zayne's mouth. Silence as Sylus waits for a response. Anything. Outside, a delivery truck rumbles past, a kid chases his friend on a bike, a woman walks past. Zayne's eyes are fixated on anything else than Sylus. Just to get away a little bit, but he asked for this. He asked Sylus for advice. 

Sylus pushes his chair back from the table and closes his laptop. 'I need to get home.' He stands up, his bulk clocking the sunlight momentarily. 'But Zayne?' His tone is careful and kind. That catches his attention. 'Don't make her pay for other people's mistakes.' 

The bell at the door jingles as Sylus leaves. Zayne remains, surrounded by plants, vintage decor, and the lingering scent of caramel as he stares at the cooling remains of his coffee. After a few seconds, he pulls out his phone and sends a text message before dropping it on the table like it's burning hot. 

"You're right, we should talk. Can I come over?" 

∘₊✧───────────────────────────────────────✧₊∘ 

Previous - Next

∘₊✧───────────────────────────────────────✧₊∘ 

LADS general taglist

@brekkers-whore

@mcdepressed290

@fvcknwww

@floofycookie

@peachystea

@mysticmyth

@syluslittlecrows

∘₊✧───────────────────────────────────────✧₊∘ 

Ordinary taglist

@xxfaithlynxx

@ladyparamount

@beaconsxd

Want to join the taglist? Go here

∘₊✧───────────────────────────────────────✧₊∘ 

[i-am-a-bad-influence-writes]

Ordinary Chapter 2, Paint-stained hands

Masterlist Word count: 2.5k Zayne x Fem!Reader

Summary: After seeing his best friend getting married to the love of her life, Zayne can't help but be a little jealous. He never had this feeling before. It's almost like he's longing for someone to love. At the wedding, she introduces him to a colleague who instantly forces him out of his comfort zone. Could this be love?

Author's note: Hello hello, I am back. Kinda. My life is in a fucking roller coaster right now, but I'm still kicking. Here's another chapter. I hope ya'll like it!

∘₊✧───────────────────────────────────────✧₊∘ 

It had been a few days since the lunch in the garden. Zayne had told you he would text you when he'd be available, but he hadn't yet. At this point, you've already realized that you should be the instigator if you want this to work. 

It hurts you sometimes, but Zayne is distrusting of you, of his feelings in general. You really shouldn't feel offended, and you don't, but the truth is that it does sting a little bit. However, the two times you've met him so far he's always managed to bandage up that sting and let it heal. He doesn't want to hurt you, that much you can tell. He's just too scared to hurt himself. 

So, you extend an olive branch in the form of a text. 

You make yourself comfortable in the corner of your living room couch. The room smells of scented candles, dry flowers, with the faint hint of turpentine that you just used to try and get paint stains out of your clothes. Unsuccessfully so, you might admit. Another pair of pants to add to your painting clothes pile. You pull out your phone and pull up the chat between you and Zayne. 

"Hey doctor, when would you like to come over?" 

Nice, open ended. He has all the control in the situation. A response comes no more than a minute later. You wonder if he had been considering texting you because of his quick reply, but you decide against asking him about it. 

“I've got a really full week, but if all goes well, I should be off at three today. Would that be alright?” 

"That'd be perfect. I'll send you the address. If you need to wash up or anything before, I'm available all day. Do you want to stay for dinner?" 

"That’d be great." 

Excitement courses through you. It's been a damn long time since you've had a potential romantic partner over. Not that anything will happen today. Zayne is far too scared of his own feelings for that and you're not about to push him past his limits. That'd only scare him off. 

However, now that you look around, you realize you may have let your creative spirit get out of control a little bit. Right now it's 12:03, you should have enough time to tidy up at least a little bit before 15:00. But you also have to get groceries, as your fridge is as empty as the one you had when you were in college. 

You really should've thought this through before extending the olive branch. 

∘₊✧───────────────────────────────────────✧₊∘ 

17:23. Zayne stands in front of a brownstone house that looks an awful lot like an old factory. Huge paned windows with black metal trims, tall ceilings, lots of decay. Yet, it still looks quite good. It looks like it would fit you perfectly. 

Zayne almost wants to beat himself up for being late again as he rings the doorbell. Although, the did not set a time for this date. Not an exact one at least. And he did text her when he left the hospital and when he left home. All she sent back was that she was excited to see him again. 

Despite all that, his shoulders still feel tense. Not that they should be. She was the one who told him to freshen up before heading over if he wanted to. The shower he took was supposed to take away both the hospital smells and the tension in his body, but it left the tension and seemed to worsen the lingering fatigue in his mind. 

The door swings open to reveal you, your hair tied up messily atop your head, wearing paint splattered jeans and the ugliest sandals he has ever seen with some paint streaks on your face. It is messy, but it is unmistakably you. In a way, it kind of feels like coming home. 

It also is a perfect opposite of how he decided to present himself. He wears a nice, pressed shirt, neatly ironed slacks, and dress shoes that match his belt. The one thing that shows he's trying to unwind is his glasses. He had taken his contacts out before his shower and didn't want to put them back in again. However, you don't seem to mind in the slightest. 

'You made it,' you cheer, stepping aside a bit rushed, 'come in, come in. Oh, I like the glasses. They suit you. Make yourself comfortable, I really need to check on dinner.' And then you're gone, slipping away like a sunset. 

Zayne hesitates in the doorway, his polished shoes hovering over the threshold of her house. What if she prefers him to take his shoes off, what then? Then, he takes a good look inside.  

There is no hallway. You step straight into the house with the living room part of the space on the left and the U-shaped kitchen right in front with bar stools in various colors. Next to the kitchen is an archway that looks to lead into your studio and against the wall on the right are stairs leading up to the loft.  

It's clear you've tried to tidy up, but it seems a little bit of chaos remains. Not surprising, seeing the person that you are. He decides you probably won't mind either way if you didn't tell him and this is not the hill to die on.  

He steps inside, stepping into your world. The smells and colors are overwhelming and so contrasting to what he's used to in his own house. The walls are all the same brown stone that he saw on the outside, almost every wall is adorned with a piece of art, different types of lamps, candles, and plants litter every free surface. There is a clear color scheme of terracotta, olive, some sandy shade of beige, and a kind of burned red. It is an unapologetic representation of you, and yet there's something strange about it.  

When Zayne first met you, you were talking about doing murals when money was tight but your apartment is full of designer furniture. Most strange to him is that it doesn't look cold like it does at his house.  

One chair he recognized right away. It's the same leather chair he has, and he remembers it only coming in black, but it seems you got it upholstered with warm brown leather. But even after spending all that money on it, you can tell it's thoroughly used. There's paint splatter on the back, scratches on the seat, and coffee rings on the armrests. 

Despite all of it, the space doesn't scream Money, it whispers. In fact, it almost looks like you just got really lucky at a fancy thrift shop. 

And Zayne still finds himself standing on the doormat behind the door, just watching. 

You look up from your cooking and smile. 'Don't worry about your shoes,' you call across the room, 'this place has survived worse than street dirt.' 

Zayne nods and hangs his coat on the tree of bags and coats that he assumes is your coat rack. His eyes keep scanning the space as he walks over to the kitchen to take a seat at one of the barstools. 

'I hope you're hungry,' you grin as he takes a seat. He finds a set of mismatched china and cutlery in front of him, but it strangely fits. 

'What's on the menu,' he asks, still trying to get comfortable in your environment. 

'Chicken, mashed potatoes and brussels sprouts with a bit of gravy. I thought you'd appreciate a hearty meal after your long shift.' His eyes are a little wider when you look at him again, as if he's surprised that you think about him and his wellbeing. 

'That's very kind of you.' 

'Do you like that kind of food, or do you prefer something else?' His mind races. How is he supposed to answer that question when you're almost done cooking this meal? He likes this kind of food, yes, but not all the time. Is that okay to say when you're working so hard to feed him? 'I can see the cogs in your brain turning,' you tease. 'I won't be mad if you say you like other foods. I like cooking for people. It's one of my favorite things. I know all my friends’ favorite foods so I can make it for them when they're feeling down.' 

∘₊✧───────────────────────────────────────✧₊∘ 

Dinner got him a little looser. Slowly, Zayne felt more and more at home in your space. It's different from his place, but his mind keeps wandering what his place would look like if you were part of his life. Would you bring him plants to litter empty shelves like they do at your place?  Would you make him artworks to hang on his empty walls like they do at your place? Would you brighten his place just by being in it like you do at your place? Wait... 

Zayne quickly checks his watch before you can notice the blush he caused for himself. It's 18:40. He doesn't want to get home after nine pm because he has an early shift in the morning, but he knows you'll understand. However, he is still curious about the studio. 'So, about the studio tour-' 

'Right!' You jump up. 'Let me quickly get these plates.' With the plates in hand, you rush to the sink and dump them in there with little regard for their gentle nature. He watches you run around quickly tidying up in the few seconds it takes him to get off his stool. 'Oh, you should probably take your shoes off in the studio though. There's a lot of paint on the floor. I have some slippers at the door. Maybe some'll fit you.' 

He follows your instructions and find the slippers... They're all themed around Miffy. Each and every single pair has some kind of Miffy- or Boris reference on them. Seems you've got a favorite in the franchise. Surprisingly, one of the brown pairs with Boris’ face on them fit him alright. They're a little small, but they're house slippers. It doesn't matter much. 

As he walks back, he notices the way you're looking at him. Your cheeks are ever so slightly pink and your eyes look a bit glazed over. He doesn't know you were imagining domestic bliss with him, instead he worries you might have a fever. Zayne in those slippers with his pressed pants and wrinkleless shirt next to you in paint covered clothes. It's a perfect picture in your mind. 

He follows behind as you walk through the archway and enters a world of color. The bright and chaotic space makes the living area minimalist by comparison. Canvases lean against every wall, some finished, others halfway done or less. Mason jars with brushes line the windowsill like bouquets of wildflowers, their handles encrusted with specks and spots of dried paint. 

Zayne's breath catches at the sight of the genius that is your artistic talent. 'This is...' 

'Me,' you finish and for the first time since he met you, he sees you look a little nervous. For some reason unbeknownst to him, as he stands by your side, his hand reaches for yours. His pinky finger hooks on yours, warmth spreading through his arm and into his heart. The vulnerability you show him without too much effort confuses him so much. For some reason, you just want him to know you. You want him around you. It is mind boggling to him. 

'Can I draw you?' 

Zayne stiffens a little, the hold of his pinky on yours faltering the slightest. 'What?' 

'Just a sketch. It's alright if you don't want to, but I'd just like to...' The silence hangs heavily in the air as he waits for you to speak. He looks down at you and sees you look up at him. Your eyes big as saucers, looking at him as if he's the most beautiful thing in the universe, so pure and raw. 'Draw you. Just you.' 

'I'm not exactly-' 

'You are,' you cut him off. 'You're beautiful.' 

His heartbeat speeds up, his cheeks flush, he feels strange. So strange. This is just a second date, what if you think about him differently once you have a third date? His feelings might be developing, but what if you think about him as a friend? Are these even dates to you? Are you just a patient person who likes getting to know new people? A nervous rush goes through Zayne's body. It's all too much. His hand slips away. 

'I'm sorry, I have an early morning tomorrow. I really should get going.' Suddenly, he starts to leave. One last flicker of his eyes on you show such a different picture. There's despair in your eyes, yearning, fear. Why fear? He doesn't understand. 

'Zayne, wait.' You trail after him as he starts walking towards the door. 

'Again, I'm sorry, but I'm tired and I need to get some-' 

'Zayne, stop that. Why are you running away from me?' His name still sounds angelic rolling off your tongue. Every word you say makes it harder to leave, but he can't stay. He can't feel these feelings and continue his life as is.  

'I'm not running, I just-' 

'You are,' you argue, but your voice is soft, broken, scared. And he realizes that the fear is a fear of him leaving you. Maybe because you are as scared as he is of these feelings growing in his chest, but he can't assume a beautiful person like you is as broken as he is. It's depraved. 

'I've got to go.' 

'It's barely seven.' He slips out of the slippers and into his shoes. Despite your arguing against his departure, you still hand him his coat. The act confuses him. Do you not want him to stay or are you respecting his boundaries? But if you were respecting his boundaries, then why are you fighting against his departure? Or could it be that you just want him to speak the truth? 

He has one foot out the door when he freezes again. This is insanity. When did he get so scared of intimacy? So scared of admitting to his feelings? So scared of a woman that seems to like him a lot? He turns and you bump into his chest as you were still following him. 

In a second of admitting to his feelings, or insanity, he leans down and presses a kiss on your forehead. He isn't sure why, but he's sure he can't stay after that. Not when you look as wide-eyed and confused as you do.  

'I'm sorry.' 

∘₊✧───────────────────────────────────────✧₊∘ 

Previous - Next

∘₊✧───────────────────────────────────────✧₊∘ 

LADS general taglist

@brekkers-whore

@mcdepressed290

@fvcknwww

@floofycookie

@peachystea

@mysticmyth

@syluslittlecrows

∘₊✧───────────────────────────────────────✧₊∘ 

Ordinary taglist

@xxfaithlynxx

@ladyparamount

@beaconsxd

Want to join the taglist? Go here

∘₊✧───────────────────────────────────────✧₊∘ 

[i-am-a-bad-influence-writes]

Hi! I câmera from ao3 and p*rn is one of the best fics I've ever read. Usually, we don't see a vulnerable side of Sylus, and this makes him look like a shallow character, but in your view, he also has his insecurities and things he needs to get of his chest. It was truly beautiful. Thank you!

Thank you so much! As someone who likes Sylus, I always get annoyed when fics describe him as a red flag. He has so much more depth than just being a bad guy and I really wanted to try and write something that would make him feel like a real person with flaws and fears.

[i-am-a-bad-influence-writes]

Guys, be careful what you manifest.

i NEED someone to leave hickeys under my tits, on my ass, and all over my thighs right fucking now.

Me, just now, after seeing the 1000th edit of the new banner on the clock app.

[i-am-a-bad-influence-writes]

I would Like to be taged in all works with Lads of that is possible

Of course!

[i-am-a-bad-influence-writes]

Will you be continuing Proper Etiquette? 🥺🥹

Heyhey,

Yes, I will be but I lost inspiration for the fic. So right now I'm focusing on Ordinary and after that I will come back to Proper Etiquette. Maybe earlier if I get inspiration again. <3

-Liz