#dr zayne

[abbzloves]

I love Zayne, I love him.

He is such a good foil to Caleb’s character.

Watching the Heartstring Notes memory on yt and oml, his quote “the premise of recounting the past is knowing the impossibility of having a shared future together. Otherwise the future should be the topic, not what’s past. Right?”

Zayne knows he will have a future with mc, and he is willing to fight for it. Whatever he is against, a curse or a god, or even saving a patient, he will persevere. Especially when it comes to mc, he will fight tooth and claw to get to her.

Caleb and Zayne are both scared of losing her, but go about it in different ways. Caleb clings onto their past for a plethora of reasons, but that’s the thing he knows he’s already had. He can guarantee that he will have those forever, but he doesn���t fully know if he’ll be by her side in the future. All of that scares him, and because of his fear he responds with manipulation, control, and possessiveness.

Zayne is scared of losing her. Not in the same way though, he is terrified of losing her because be could lose control and hurt her. He knows they were together in the past, but instead of clinging to it, he will fight for them to be together in the future. He has not resigned himself to it, like Caleb has.

Caleb feels like he has no control over his fate, and has resigned himself to it.

Zayne knows he has no control over his fate, but he does not sit in it, he fights for the control. He fights to get what he wants.

They’re both pawns in greater games, they both know it, but one fights to become a queen and the other becomes complacent with being stalemated.

They’re such cool and complicated characters.

[zaynessbeloved]

Carved in Ice

Synopsis: At first, it feels like relief—his Evol chasing the fever from beneath your skin, cooling the fire that’s been eating you alive. You cling to it, desperate for the calm, for the cold that eases the burning ache. But it doesn't fade. The hunger stays. It deepens. With every touch, every breath of ice he gives you, it burrows further inside, until you can’t tell where the fever ends and his Evol begins. You thought he was curing you… but now, you don’t know anymore. Now you ache for him more than you ache for the relief. You crave him, not the cold. Not the calm. Him. And it terrifies you how much you want to fall further.

Content warnings: Dubious consent, psychological manipulation, addiction themes, obsession & possession, explicit sexual content, fever/illness depictions, loss of autonomy (reader is physically overwhelmed, breathless, and mentally fogged due to withdrawal and Evol effects), power dynamics, body control/Evol-induced influence

Pairings: Zayne x reader

Word count: 10k

A/n: I saw a prompt about Zayne using his Ice Evol as an aphrodisiac and couldn't stop thinking about it...I didn’t mean for it to get this intense, but here we are… (this is inspired by @minimweiii 's post hehe)

You’d always known Zayne as the cool one. Not just in temperament, but in presence—a steady, glacial calm in a world that never stopped burning. While others wore their emotions on their sleeves, while Caleb teased and your friends fumbled through chaos, Zayne remained cold and sharp, a blade of winter steel beneath a doctor’s coat.

He’d been your friend first, almost before you’d even realized it. Reliable. Precise. The kind of man who made you feel safe, even when everything else seemed uncertain. Even when he scolded you for skipping meals or forgetting sleep, there was no warmth in his tone—but there was care, tucked between the lines of his clinical chastisement.

You never questioned it. Never questioned the way his eyes lingered a second too long when you told him you’d been feeling a little off lately. Never questioned the chill of his fingertips when he brushed your pulse. Never questioned the quiet way he observed you, cataloging every response, every flutter beneath your skin.

You trusted him. How could you not? Zayne had always been the one to cool the fire when it burned too high. You just never thought the fire would come from him.

————

The first time it happens, it creeps in like a slow dawn. At first, you blame the weather. Spring days turning oddly warm, campus windows thrown open to let the breeze in. Sweat collects at the nape of your neck, beads along your collarbone, dampening your shirt.

But then it lingers. A restless, simmering heat coils low in your stomach, unfamiliar and insistent. It flushes your cheeks, tightens your chest, and no amount of iced water seems to douse it. You find yourself peeling off your jacket, rolling your sleeves up, fanning yourself as your pulse kicks up a relentless tempo.

Your skin feels hypersensitive. Every brush of fabric is too much, every stray thought turns sticky, muddled by the growing, inexplicable haze. And beneath it all—a desperate craving for relief. A chill. A cold touch against the unbearable heat gnawing beneath your skin.

Your mind reaches for the only answer it knows. Zayne.

You stagger into his clinic late in the evening, your heart fluttering like trapped wings in your chest. The waiting room is dimly lit, the antiseptic air somehow soothing against your fevered senses.

His head lifts when he sees you, and for the briefest second, something flickers behind his eyes. Not surprise. No—never surprise. He rises smoothly from his chair, coat crisp and sleeves pushed up to his forearms, exposing the pale stretch of skin that seems almost cool just by looking at it. His gaze sweeps over you, sharp and assessing, as though he’s been waiting for this.

"You're flushed," he states, voice low and clinical. But you swear—just beneath the surface—you can hear something else. Something dark, something knowing.

"I—" You swallow thickly, your throat tight and dry. "I don't know what's wrong. I just... I feel so hot. I can't—" Your breath stutters, and your knees nearly give way.

In an instant, his hands are on you. Cold. Blessedly cold. His fingers brush your wrist, sliding to your pulse point, and a shiver rips through you—equal parts relief and something shamefully close to pleasure.

His brows furrow, lips pressed in a thin line. "Elevated heart rate," he murmurs. "Elevated body temperature. Come here."

He guides you to the examination bed, his touch firm yet gentle, like ice molding fire. The moment you sit, the chill of the leather beneath you sends another wave of sensation coursing through your nerves.

Zayne’s hands linger a little longer than necessary at your shoulders as he adjusts your posture. His gaze remains fixed on you, glacial and unwavering. "Tell me everything," he instructs.

And you do. You confess it all—the heat, the need, the way you can’t seem to think straight, how you thought of him when it grew too much. His eyes darken, just barely.

"Good," he says quietly, almost to himself. "You did the right thing by coming to me."

His palm, cool and smooth, brushes against your cheek. You lean into it instinctively, craving the contrast against your feverish skin. "You trust me, don’t you?" he asks, voice dipping into something velvety and low.

Your answer is immediate. Breathless. "Yes."

A faint smile ghosts over his lips—barely there, but enough to chill your bones and set your pulse racing anew. "Then let me help you," he whispers.

The room is too quiet. Sterile white walls, the faint hum of a ventilation unit, the steady click of metal instruments laid neatly in their tray. The sharp tang of antiseptic clings to the air, but it does nothing to cut through the oppressive heat crawling over your skin.

You shift on the examination bed, damp palms curling against the edge as your breath stutters in your chest. You can feel it—everywhere—this smoldering fire, licking beneath your ribs, seeping into your bones. No matter how you try to shake it, it clings stubbornly, ferocious and hungry.

Your eyes dart to Zayne. To the calm in the storm. To the man who feels like ice against your burning, blistering need. He moves with precise, deliberate grace—rolling up his sleeves a little higher, exposing the sinewy lines of his forearms. His skin is pale, almost luminescent under the clinical lights, and you swear you can feel the chill of him from across the room.

"I need to check your temperature," he says, and his voice is a balm and a blade all at once.

You nod, swallowing down the knot in your throat, watching as he selects an old-fashioned mercury thermometer. His gaze doesn’t leave you as he approaches, a subtle glint hidden behind his calm façade. "Open your mouth," Zayne instructs, low and steady.

You obey without thinking, lips parting as the cool glass slips beneath your tongue. The chill sends a shiver down your spine, and your lashes flutter as you fight the urge to moan at the contrast. Zayne watches. He watches too closely.

His fingers brush your chin, tilting your face just so, and the ice of his skin against your overheated flesh is unbearable and addictive in equal measure. A tremor runs through you, visible, shameful, but you can’t stop it. The seconds stretch. Each one feels like an eternity. Finally, he withdraws the thermometer, eyes flicking to the mercury line.

"Too high," he murmurs, almost like he expected it. His lips press into a thin line, but the glint in his eyes betrays something deeper. Darker.

You try to speak, but your breath catches in your throat as another wave of heat crashes through you, stealing your voice. Your thighs press together instinctively, chasing friction, relief—anything to temper the ache. He notices. Of course he notices.

"You're burning up," Zayne says softly, as though it’s a terrible revelation. His fingertips graze the inside of your wrist, where your pulse thrums like a trapped bird. "We need to cool you down."

"Please," you rasp, the word tearing itself from your lips before you can stop it.

His eyes darken a shade, heavy and unreadable. "Lie back."

Again, you obey. The examination bed is cool against your back, but not enough—not nearly enough. The moment you recline, you feel the heat surge again, like your body is rebelling against your own skin.

Zayne’s hands settle at your sides, cold as glacier meltwater, guiding you with a gentleness that feels almost cruel. His touch lingers, glides deliberately along your arms, your ribcage, as if mapping the fever beneath your flesh. "Do you trust me?" he asks again, his voice a quiet murmur. A scalpel wrapped in silk.

"Y-Yes," you breathe, your throat tight and dry.

A small, knowing smile ghosts across his lips. "Good."

His palm flattens against your sternum, and the contact steals the breath from your lungs. His Evol seeps into your skin—sharp, icy threads weaving into the molten core of your fever. You gasp at the contact, your back arching instinctively.

"You're responding well," he notes clinically, but there’s an unmistakable flicker of satisfaction in his tone. "Tell me how it feels."

"Cold," you whisper, nearly breathless. "But... it helps."

It does. The unbearable heat ebbs just enough to breathe. But it’s not relief—it’s not enough. If anything, it sharpens the craving. Makes you need more of him. Makes you ache for his frostbite touch, makes you desperate to chase the chill deeper into your burning veins. His eyes gleam with something unreadable as he shifts closer.

"Your body is overheating," Zayne explains, his voice dipping lower, intimate. "If left untreated, it could be dangerous. But I know how to manage your symptoms."

His hand moves slowly—down your ribs, across your stomach, hovering just above your waistband without touching. His cool breath fans over your skin, and goosebumps rise in its wake, chasing that fleeting relief.

You nod frantically, hips shifting toward his touch. "Please," you beg, barely recognizing your own voice. Something flickers in his gaze. Hunger, restraint, and something darker still.

"Good girl," Zayne murmurs, almost indulgently. "I’ll take care of you."

His other hand cups your cheek, keeping you steady as he lets more of his Evol flow into you. The sensation is overwhelming—like liquid ice threading through your veins, fighting the fever for dominance. It cools you, yes, but it also stokes a different fire beneath your skin.

Your lips part in a soft, broken gasp as you tremble beneath his hands. His brows lift slightly, observing your response like a predator studying its prey. "Your body," he says, as if to himself, "is already learning to crave the remedy."

You don't even hear the quiet satisfaction under his words. You're too far gone, drunk on the relief of his chill, on the pull of him. You nod, dazed, desperate. Zayne leans in just enough for you to feel his breath ghost over your lips, not quite touching. "And you'll come to me," he continues softly, "whenever the fever rises."

A soft, broken sound tears from your throat, and you find yourself nodding again, unable to resist the command woven into his promise. "Yes," you whisper, helpless.

His smile sharpens, almost imperceptibly. "I know you will."

The cool relief doesn’t last. For a fleeting moment, as you rise unsteadily from the examination bed, it feels like Zayne’s touch still lingers—icy trails ghosting over your fevered skin, holding back the storm that brews beneath your flesh. You breathe easier. The haze thins just enough for your thoughts to unspool from the tight coil they had twisted into.

He watches you from across the room, arms crossed over his chest, sleeves still pushed up, the pale skin of his forearms stark against the dark fabric of his shirt. His eyes are unreadable, glacial, fixed on you like you’re a puzzle he’s already solved but enjoys assembling piece by piece. You don’t notice. You’re too busy clinging to the illusion of normalcy, too desperate to believe you’re fine now.

"Thank you," you rasp, your voice still rough from the heat that had clawed at your throat. You force a weak smile, though your legs tremble beneath you.

Zayne’s lips curve in response, a subtle, enigmatic pull that barely touches his eyes. "Of course," he replies smoothly, his voice the same steady balm it’s always been. "I’m always here when you need me."

The words settle over you with deceptive comfort. You leave his clinic under the false security of his care, the door clicking shut behind you with a finality you don't yet understand.

Outside, the air is brisk, the evening settling into dusk. The sun hangs low on the horizon, casting molten streaks of orange and red across the sky—heat that mirrors the remnants still smoldering under your skin. You draw a breath, hoping the chill of twilight will soothe you. It doesn’t.

The moment you step away from the sterile chill of his clinic, you feel it. A flicker at first. Barely there. An ember buried deep, refusing to die. Your brows knit together as you wrap your arms around yourself, rubbing at your forearms as if you can will away the creeping warmth. But it spreads—slow, insidious, like ivy winding its way up your spine.

No. No, it’s just residual. It has to be. You shake your head, almost laughing under your breath. Surely it will fade. But each step away from him feels like peeling ice from a burn—revealing raw, blistering skin beneath. The further you go, the more you feel it unfurling again, this need, this ache that begins low in your belly and curls upward like smoke.

Your breath catches. Panic prickles at the edges of your mind, but you shove it down with shaky logic. No, no, he cooled you down. He helped you. This is just... residual. It’s fine. It’s fine. But it’s not fine.

You barely make it to your apartment before the fever flares back to life, worse than before. Your skin feels too tight, too hot, as if flames lick at your bones. You press your palms to your cheeks—they burn under your touch. Sweat beads along your collarbone, tracing a path down your sternum.

Your heart pounds. Wild. Unruly. A trapped bird thrashing in your chest. The hunger—the craving—returns with a vicious, undeniable sharpness, and this time you feel it with terrifying clarity. Your mind splinters beneath the weight of it. You need relief. You need him.

You stagger to your phone with trembling hands, swiping to your contacts. Your thumb hovers over his name.

Zayne. Cold, steady, safe Zayne. The only one who knew what to do. The only one who could cool the blaze gnawing at your insides.

Your lips part on a shaky breath as you tap the screen, bringing the phone to your ear. It rings once. Twice. Then—his voice. "You're feeling it again, aren’t you?"

His words slice through you like ice, and a shudder wracks your frame at the sound of him. He knows. He always knew.

"Y-Yes," you whisper, almost a sob. Shame coils in your chest, but it’s swallowed by desperation. "It’s worse—Zayne, please, I don’t—"

"Shh," he soothes, the soft cadence of his voice curling around your frayed nerves. "I told you this might happen. It’s part of your body's adjustment period."

You nod, breathless, though he can’t see you. "I—I can’t handle it. What do I do?"

His pause is brief but deliberate. When he speaks again, there’s a subtle thread of satisfaction woven beneath his calm exterior, so fine you almost miss it.

"Come back to me," he murmurs. "Let me take care of you."

Relief floods you at his words. Relief so sharp it almost feels like pleasure. "I’m on my way," you breathe.

You don’t even realize you’re already moving. Feet sliding into shoes, fingers fumbling with keys. You’re halfway out the door before you even register what you’re doing—drawn to him by something primal, something conditioned. And he knows. Oh, he knows.

As you step out into the night, the fever thrumming through your veins, your thoughts spiral in hazy, desperate loops. He’ll help me. He always helps me. He’s the only one who can.

You don’t see the trap tightening around you. You only feel the heat. And the promise of his ice.

The night swallows you whole. The air is cold—too cold—but it isn’t enough. It brushes over your burning skin like a whisper, a lover’s breath, but it only sharpens the ache crawling under your flesh. Sweat beads along your brow, your temples, sliding down the column of your neck, and your heart thunders in your chest as if trying to outrun the fever consuming you from within.

Your steps falter down the empty street, shoes clattering too loudly against the pavement. Streetlights flicker overhead, casting harsh pools of light that only make your shadow tremble at your feet. Every pulse, every breath feels tight, strangled. Your throat is parched, your skin unbearably sensitive to even the brush of your clothes. Your body thrums with restless energy, your thoughts circling like vultures around a single, terrible need.

Zayne.

Your fingers tighten around your phone, still clutched in your damp palm. His voice echoes in your mind like a mantra, cold and smooth, promising salvation. Come back to me.

Your legs carry you faster. The clinic’s lights glow like a beacon against the darkened street. Glass panes gleam under the artificial white fluorescence, too sterile, too sharp against the night’s soft shadows. The door is unlocked, almost like he knew you’d return. You push it open with a trembling hand, and immediately the sterile chill of the room folds around you, wrapping you in icy arms.

You inhale sharply, your chest tightening—not from the fever this time, but from relief so profound it nearly buckles your knees. "Zayne," you gasp.

He is already there. Waiting. Poised at the center of the room, sleeves still rolled up, the glint of his pale forearms catching the harsh light. His gaze lifts, sharp as shards of ice, locking onto you with a precision that steals the breath from your lungs. For a moment, he says nothing.

He simply watches you—eyes trailing over every tremble, every flicker of desperation you wear like a second skin. You think you see it again—that flicker in his gaze, dark and predatory beneath the practiced calm.

Then, he speaks. "You came back." His voice is low, smooth as frost curling over glass.

Your throat works around a swallow, words scraping raw. "I—I need you," you confess, the truth clawing free before you can stop it.

His lips curl at the edges, just the faintest, almost imperceptible smile. "I know."

He crosses the room in measured steps, each one echoing in your chest louder than your racing heart. When he reaches you, his hand lifts to cup your cheek, and the blessed cold of his palm against your fevered skin draws a shuddering moan from your lips. His eyes narrow slightly, as if cataloging every sound, every response, committing it to memory.

"Your symptoms have progressed," Zayne observes clinically, though his voice carries a dark undertone. "The craving is stronger now, isn’t it?"

You nod helplessly, pressing your cheek further into his palm, desperate for more of his icy relief. "Yes," you whisper. "Please—make it stop."

A quiet sound escapes him, somewhere between a hum and a breath of amusement. "Your body is adapting faster than I anticipated." he murmurs, tilting your chin to study you better.

His thumb brushes your lower lip, slow and deliberate. You tremble beneath the gentle pressure, lips parting instinctively, chasing the cold touch.

"You’ll need a stronger dose this time," he continues, as though discussing medication rather than your unraveling.

"I’ll do anything," you breathe. "Anything, Zayne—just make it stop."

His gaze darkens, pupils dilating slightly as he watches you crumble beneath him. "I know you will," he replies softly.

Guiding you back to the examination bed, he seats you with the practiced ease of someone who has done this a thousand times. His hand never leaves your skin, trailing cool paths along your throat, your collarbone, the trembling line of your jaw. "Lie down," he commands.

You obey without hesitation. The leather of the bed is blessedly cold against your back, but still not enough—not without him. You arch into his touch, breath stuttering as he slides his palm down the center of your chest, letting his Evol seep through his skin into yours.

The sensation is instant. Liquid ice flooding your veins, rushing to meet the fire clawing at your insides. You gasp, your back bowing off the bed as relief and desire crash together in a tidal wave that leaves you breathless.

"Z-Zayne," you pant, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes from the intensity. "More—please, more."

"Greedy," he chides softly, but there’s no true reprimand in his tone—only satisfaction.

He moves closer, close enough that you can feel the chill radiating from his body like a winter storm kept barely at bay. His breath brushes over your fevered skin as he leans in, and your body trembles with anticipation, craving every drop of the cold that only he can offer.

"I’ll give you what you need," Zayne promises, his voice low and dark and certain. "But you must understand—your body will come to depend on my treatment. Without it, the fever will return. Stronger. Each time."

His words barely register through the haze clouding your mind. You nod frantically. Desperate. Willing. Anything. "Yes," you plead. "Yes, I don’t care."

A soft, dangerous smile ghosts over his lips. "Good."

His Evol floods into you then, deeper, colder, sharper than before. It bites into the heat of your fever, the two forces crashing together in a brutal, exquisite clash that has you gasping, arching, clawing at the sheets beneath you.

Your body sings with the unbearable relief of it—your mind drunk on the addictive contrast, helpless against the way it sinks its claws deeper into your flesh. And as you tremble beneath him, lost to the storm, you don’t see the way his gaze sharpens with quiet triumph. You don’t see the way his smile lingers, dark and knowing. You’re his now.

————

Time passes. You tell yourself it has. Days blur into one another, but you know it’s been days. You measure them by the dull throb under your skin, the ache blooming deeper with every sun that rises and sets without him. At first, you thought you could endure it. You convinced yourself that the first treatment was an anomaly, the second a mistake you would not repeat.

You were wrong. So desperately, tragically wrong.

It starts with a flicker. A subtle warmth in your chest, nothing more. You ignore it, pulling your cardigan tighter around your shoulders as if the layers can ward it off. But it grows—slow and insistent, a quiet smolder that fans itself into flames each time you try to pretend it isn’t there.

Your mouth goes dry. Your skin prickles, hypersensitive to every brush of fabric, every breath of air against your flesh. The walls of your apartment feel too close, too stifling, like they’re pressing in on you from all sides. You pace the room, barefoot on cold tile, hoping the chill will ground you. It doesn’t.

Your body remembers. It remembers him. His hands, like sculpted ice, skimming over your fevered skin. His voice, steady and smooth, threading through your veins like a sedative. His Evol—oh god, his Evol—sinking into you, wrapping around your heart and lungs, cooling the fire to a bearable ember.

Now the fire is a raging inferno, and you are trapped inside your own body. You clutch your arms around yourself, nails biting into your skin, but it does nothing to quell the need. The fever coils tighter, a snake constricting around your ribs, stealing your breath.

Your mind fractures beneath the strain. You need him. You need Zayne like you need air, like you need water, like you need life itself. But you fight it.

You fight it because you must. Because some part of you still believes you can. Some tiny, flickering part of you clings to the hope that you are stronger than this. You’re not.

The realization crashes over you in a tidal wave of agony, dragging you under until you choke on it. Your legs give out beneath you, and you collapse to the floor, trembling. Sweat slicks your skin, soaking through your clothes, your breath coming in ragged gasps. Your eyes sting with tears, not from sorrow—but from helpless, animal desperation.

Your fingers fumble for your phone. You hesitate. For one, precious heartbeat, you hesitate. But you already know you’ve lost. Your thumb moves on instinct, tapping his number. The call barely rings once before his voice answers, low and expectant.

"I was waiting," Zayne says. The sound of him splinters something deep inside you.

"I—I need you," you confess, your voice ragged and broken.

"Yes," he replies simply, as though this was inevitable. As though he knew. "As always."

You don’t remember the journey to his clinic. It’s as if your body moves without your mind, driven by need so deep it feels like marrow. The fever clouds your vision, turns the world to liquid heat and shadows. But when you cross the threshold of his domain, it all sharpens into painful clarity.

The air is cold. Blessedly cold. You stumble inside, your knees buckling beneath you, and he is there—of course he is—catching you in his arms with a gentleness that feels cruel in the face of your desperation. His Evol brushes your skin in the faintest caress, and you keen at the contact, clinging to him like a lifeline.

"You lasted longer this time," Zayne murmurs, his breath cool against your fevered cheek. "I’m impressed."

You can’t speak. Words crumble into whimpers as you bury your face against his chest, your fingers clutching at the fabric of his coat.

"You’ve been very brave," he soothes, guiding you to the examination bed with quiet authority. "But you must understand—your body craves what it cannot produce on its own. You’re dependent now."

The words should frighten you. They should. But all you feel is relief when his Evol seeps into you once more, cold and sharp and perfect. You gasp, arching into the sensation, your mind unspooling under his touch.

"Yes," you breathe. "More—please—more."

His gaze darkens, a shadow flickering behind pale irises. "This time," Zayne says, "we go deeper."

He presses his palm flat to your bare skin, directly over your heart. His Evol surges—not in a gentle wash, but in a forceful flood, sharp and relentless. Ice blooms beneath your skin, curling through your veins, branding you from the inside out.

You cry out, not from pain—but from the overwhelming collision of relief and pleasure as his mark sinks into you. His gaze never wavers. "You will carry me with you," he whispers, his voice wrapping around you like velvet chains. "No matter where you go. No matter how far you run. You will feel me, here."

His fingers press harder over your pulse, and you feel it—feel his Evol embedding itself, etching invisible patterns beneath your skin, claiming you in a way no one else will ever see, but you will always feel. "I am under your skin now," Zayne breathes, lowering his mouth to your ear, his cool breath shivering over you. "Inside you."

A sob tears from your throat, but it is not sorrow. It is surrender. He seals the mark with a final surge of his Evol, and you shudder, your body going limp beneath him as relief crashes through you like a wave.

"You are mine," he says softly, with quiet finality. And in the haze of your fever, your desperate, addicted mind offers no resistance. Yes. You are.

————

Time is a cruel, mocking thing. You thought you could measure it by days, by hours—but now, you measure it by absence. By the absence of him.

It has been long. Too long. Long enough for the relief of his last treatment to dull to memory. Long enough for the mark beneath your skin to throb like an unhealed wound, a phantom touch that never quite fades. You try—you try so hard—to resist it.

You wrap yourself in blankets of ice packs. You draw cold baths that leave you shivering, your teeth chattering against the fever burning through your veins. You sleep with your windows open, despite the winter wind that cuts across your exposed skin.

None of it works. Because the cold you crave isn’t the chill of air or water. It’s him. It’s Zayne. It’s the cool brush of his fingers skating across your fevered skin, the merciless flood of his Evol plunging into your bloodstream, quelling the inferno that devours you from the inside out. Without him, the fire grows wild. Raging. Untamable.

You wake from restless sleep tangled in your sheets, your body slick with sweat, your pulse a frantic drumbeat against your ribs. Night after night, your dreams are invaded by him—icy hands parting the heat of your thighs, cold lips tracing the fever beneath your skin, his Evol branding you deeper each time.

You feel him, inside you, even as you writhe alone in your bed. And you ache. You ache so badly it drives tears to your eyes, your hands shaking as you clutch at yourself in the dark, but no matter what you do, you cannot replicate the precision of his touch, the accuracy of his relief.

You are starving. You are hollow. You are his. You fight it longer than before—out of stubbornness, out of terror of what you’ve become. But your body is no longer your own. It belongs to him now.

The fever pulls you under like a riptide, drowning you in molten need. Your breaths come in shallow gasps, your skin burns to the point of agony, and your mind fractures into splinters of craving. You give in. You have to.

With trembling fingers, you reach for your phone. You don’t even have the strength to swipe—your vision swims with heat haze, your chest tight with suffocating hunger. But the moment your thumb brushes his name, the screen illuminates, and the line connects before it can even ring.

His voice, low and cold, slides into your ear like salvation. "I was waiting for you," Zayne murmurs.

Tears prick your lashes, your breath catching on a sob. "Please," you gasp, no longer ashamed of the begging in your voice. "Please—help me."

There’s a pause. A pause heavy with dark satisfaction. "As always," he replies, voice smooth and glacial. "Come to me."

You don’t remember how you arrive at his door. Your fever-addled mind pieces together fragments of the journey: the burn of the cold night air against your cheeks, the tremble in your legs as you stagger through the streets, the way your body pulls you toward him like a moth to flame.

No—like a moth to ice.

The moment you step into his clinic, the chill embraces you like an old lover. And there he is. Zayne. An immovable force of winter at the center of your storm. His eyes rake over you with quiet hunger, taking in the flush of your cheeks, the fevered brightness in your gaze, the way you sway unsteadily on your feet.

"You lasted longer," he observes, a note of dark pride threading his voice. "But not long enough."

"Please," you rasp, your voice a tattered thing. "It’s too much. I—"

His finger presses against your lips, silencing your plea. "I know," he breathes.

Before you can collapse, he catches you—lifting you into his arms with effortless grace. His body radiates cold, glorious cold, and you cling to him, trembling, as he carries you to the examination bed like something precious. Like something owned.

But tonight, he does not lay you down as before. No. Tonight, he sits with you straddling his lap, your fevered body pressed to the iciness of his chest, your thighs trembling on either side of his hips. His Evol thrums just beneath his skin, aching to touch you, to claim you.

"You’ve fought me for too long," Zayne whispers against your ear, his breath fanning over your burning skin, sending waves of shivers down your spine. "I think it’s time we deepen the treatment."

His hands glide beneath your damp clothing, palms flat against the small of your back, against your ribs, against every curve of your trembling body. When his Evol flows into you this time, it is not the steady flood of relief you remember. It is intimate. Possessive.

It curls around your heart like icy vines, wraps around your lungs, threads through your very marrow. It brands you from the inside, seeping into places no one else can reach, etching himself into the map of your body. Your head falls back on a strangled cry, your back arching as his mark spreads beneath your skin.

Zayne watches, his eyes burning with cold fire, as your body surrenders completely to him. "Feel it," he commands softly. "Feel me inside you."

You do. God, you do. You feel him in every beat of your heart, every breath you take, every inch of your overheated flesh. He is there—he is everywhere—and you never want him to leave. You couldn’t survive it if he did.

His lips brush the damp curve of your throat, and for one breathless moment, it feels like a kiss. But it is not tenderness—it is claiming.

"You’re mine," he whispers, the words sinking as deeply as his Evol. "No one else will touch you like this. No one else will cool your fire."

Your answer comes in a desperate, breathless moan as you press closer to him, begging without words. Yes.

He floods you again, deeper still, until you see stars bursting behind your eyes, until you collapse against him, limp and pliant, your breath broken and ragged. Zayne cradles you in his arms, his Evol thrumming beneath your skin like a second heartbeat.

"There," he murmurs, satisfied. "Better."

And as you drift into a fever-dazed haze in his embrace, you know there is no escape. You don’t even want one.

————

It’s been weeks. Weeks of brittle cold mornings and sleepless nights that boil beneath your skin. Weeks of pretending you still belong to yourself. You don’t. You haven’t—not since his Evol carved itself into you like frost seeping into bone. No matter how tightly you wrap yourself in blankets, no matter how many times you plunge your trembling body into ice water, the fever is there. Waiting. Growing.

There are days when you almost feel normal. You cling to them like brittle glass, fragile and thin. You tell yourself, I can make it through this day. But nights are cruel. Nights turn your apartment into a tomb of restless shadows, and in those hours, the mark beneath your skin pulses like a second heartbeat. Your hands press to your chest, feeling the phantom echo of his touch.

No relief comes. Sleep evades you. When it does take you, it drags you into nightmares sweetened with seduction—dreams so vivid they steal your breath. You see him in the dark. You feel him. Always. His hands skating over your burning flesh, his breath icy against your fevered skin. His Evol, slipping beneath your ribs, curling around your heart. Branding you deeper, deeper still.

You wake gasping. Every time. Your sheets are damp with sweat, your throat hoarse from pleas whispered into the empty room. "Zayne," you beg the silence. No answer. Only the whisper of your pulse, frantic and fast.

You pace the floor until your legs ache, until your knees tremble and threaten to collapse beneath you. Your fingers tremble as you clutch the edges of your shirt, tugging at the fabric like it’s a snare choking the heat from you.

It hurts. Your skin hurts. Your bones feel too tight for your body. Every nerve ending burns with a hunger you can’t satisfy, not alone. Tears spill over your lashes, hot and hopeless. No. I won’t call him. I won’t. You almost believe it. But the fever, it’s clever. It waits. It coils and tightens and starves you of breath until your pride cracks like brittle porcelain.

Your phone sits heavy in your palm. His number is already open. You stare at it. You tremble. Your lips part in a soundless plea. Please. Your finger brushes the screen. The line doesn’t even have time to ring before his voice melts into your ear like ice sliding across fevered skin.

"I knew you would call."

The shiver that runs down your spine is violent. Full-bodied. Immediate. His voice alone cools you, slightly—just enough to leave you shaking for more. You close your eyes, your knees giving way beneath you as you slump to the floor, your breath stuttering between sobs.

"I c-can’t—" Your voice fractures. "Zayne, please."

A low exhale filters through the receiver, like winter wind across frozen glass. "You’re burning up again, aren’t you?" he says softly. "You fought so hard. But you know there is only one way to stop it."

Tears streak your cheeks, hot as the fever in your veins. "I don’t want this," you choke out, even as your body betrays you—pressing your palm to your chest, to the place where his mark thrums beneath your skin, aching for him.

His reply is silk and steel all at once. "That is no longer your choice."

The clinic is quiet when you arrive. Silent, except for the relentless pounding of your heart, and the fever crackling under your skin like wildfire. You don’t remember the journey. You only remember need.

He stands in the doorway, waiting for you as though he had known the exact moment you’d cross his threshold. His pale eyes rake over you, sharp as ice shards, his gaze darkening with something dangerous, possessive.

"You’ve lasted longer than I expected this time," Zayne observes, his voice smooth and clinical, but you catch it—the low thrum of hunger beneath the surface.

You sway on your feet, the fever licking up your spine, and your voice is little more than a broken whisper. "Help me," you beg. There’s no pretense anymore. No pride. Only desperation.

He approaches slowly, deliberately, until his cool hands are cradling your flushed face, his Evol already seeping into your skin through the contact alone. Your breath shudders. His thumb brushes beneath your eye, catching a tear before it can fall. His eyes soften, but it is not kindness—it is possession.

"You’re mine," Zayne murmurs, the words curling around you like chains forged from ice. "You always will be."

You don’t resist as he lifts you into his arms, cradling you against his chest. The moment your fevered body meets the chill of his, relief tears through you like a thunderclap. A sob escapes your throat—half pain, half ecstasy.

But this time, it is different. This time, he carries you not to the examination bed, but deeper into the clinic—into a room you’ve never seen before. The air here is colder. The lights dimmer. It feels like stepping into a frozen cathedral, built for the sole purpose of worshiping him.

He lays you down, and his Evol follows, flooding your senses before his hands even touch you. But when they do—God. This is not treatment. This is not relief. This is claiming.

His fingers trail beneath your clothes, cool and unhurried, tracing the lines of your body with clinical precision. His Evol follows every path, sinking deeper into you, coiling in intimate places no one else has ever touched. You arch beneath him, a helpless cry spilling from your lips.

"Zayne—"

His gaze drops to you, molten with cold fire. "Hush," he soothes. "Let me in."

And you do. You let him in. His Evol floods you completely now, carving itself into every nerve, every vein, every trembling muscle. You feel it searing paths beneath your skin, wrapping around your heart, your lungs, your womb. You feel him marking you. Claiming you. Owning you. Your breath catches, your eyes fluttering closed as the sensation consumes you whole.

"Deeper," he commands, as if your body could obey him without you, as if your very bones could open to receive him further. They do.

The fever finally breaks, but the relief is no longer clean. It is tainted with something dark. Addictive. You don’t feel free. You feel his. And worst of all—you don’t want to let go. As you collapse against him, your body still trembling from the force of his mark, Zayne draws you into his arms, his breath cool against your fever-warmed temple.

"There now," he whispers. "You see? You are never truly alone."

Your tears are silent. But they fall, nonetheless. Because you understand the truth in his words. You will never be alone again. Not while he lives inside your skin.

————

Time is meaningless now. You cannot tell how many days have passed. Only that the fever is worse than it has ever been.

It sears through your veins like molten iron, curling tighter with every heartbeat, branding your insides with relentless hunger. No ice bath soothes you now. No desperate, trembling hand pressed to your chest can cool the fire burning beneath your ribs.

His mark, buried deep beneath your skin, throbs. It pulses like a living thing, as if it knows the moment is near. As if it calls to him.

You wake fever-drenched, soaked in sweat, your sheets tangled around your limbs like restraints. Dreams haunt you—so vivid you feel them in your bones even when your eyes are open. You feel him. You feel him everywhere. His breath at the back of your neck. His Evol coiling inside your chest. His touch—phantom, but unmistakable—skating down your fevered spine.

You press your thighs together, but it only sharpens the ache, only twists the knot of craving tighter until it hurts to breathe. Your body remembers him. Your body misses him. You don’t even try to fight it this time.

You reach for your phone, your vision blurred with heat and tears. Your thumb trembles as it hovers over his name, but you know—you know—he is already waiting. The moment the call connects, his voice slides into your ear like ice poured over fire.

"I felt you burning," Zayne murmurs, soft and sure. "You’re ready."

You nod, tears slipping free, your breath caught in your throat. "Please," you whisper. "Please, Zayne. I can’t—"

"I know," he soothes, voice dark silk. "Come to me. Let me end this."

Your heart stutters in your chest. A flicker of fear. A final, fleeting hesitation. But you’re past the point of no return. You have been his from the beginning.

The world outside is a blur of shadows and flickering lights as you stumble through the streets, the fever carving tunnels of heat through your vision. You feel the pull of him, like gravity, like a tide you cannot resist.

By the time you reach his door, you are shaking with need. Zayne is already there. His eyes meet yours, sharp and pale and hungry. He takes you in at a glance—the way your chest heaves with ragged breath, the fever-bright flush on your cheeks, the way you tremble for him.

Without a word, he steps aside, allowing you into his sanctuary. The air inside is frigid, a frozen oasis that kisses your fevered skin and drags a broken moan from your lips.

"Zayne," you beg, reaching for him. His Evol hums in the air around you, alive, waiting. You don’t run. You fall. Into him. Into his arms. Into his frozen pull. He catches you effortlessly, pressing your burning body to his cool chest. His Evol pulses between you, a living thing that slithers beneath your skin, answering the call of the fever.

"You’re ready," he breathes against your temple. "Let me make it permanent."

Your heart trips in your chest, your breath hitching. "Permanent," you echo, your voice raw, torn from you like a confession. "Please. Anything."

His lips brush your cheek, a glacial kiss that sends tremors rippling through your entire frame. "You’ll never burn alone again," Zayne promises. "You’ll carry me always."

Your answer is a desperate, breathless plea. "Yes."

He carries you deeper into the clinic—into the room that feels like an altar built for your surrender. The chill is bone-deep here, but it no longer stings. It soothes. It prepares you.

He lays you down with reverence, as though you are something sacred to be claimed. His hands trail your fevered skin, and you arch into his touch, helpless beneath the burn and the craving. His Evol floods you, but this time, it isn’t just relief. It’s possession. It curls into you like a lover's embrace, slipping into every crevice, every hollow place in your body. You feel it sinking beneath your skin, threading through your veins, twining around your heart.

But you want more. You need more. Your hands clutch at his shirt, your fevered body seeking his like a dying ember craving oxygen.

"Please," you beg. "Zayne, I need—"

The fever roars in your blood, a relentless tide rising, cresting, ready to pull you under. His Evol is already inside you, curling along your veins, but it’s not enough—not anymore. You ache for more than cold relief. You ache for him. His touch, his presence, the way he looks at you now—like you are already his, already marked, already claimed.

Zayne’s gaze never leaves yours as he lifts his hand, his cool fingers brushing along your fevered cheek. The chill of his touch makes you shudder, but you lean into it, helpless to do anything else.

“You’ve suffered long enough,” he murmurs, voice like velvet laced with steel. Your breath stutters. Your lips part, not for words—there are no words left—but for him.

And then he kisses you. God—his lips are cold, so cold, and it steals the breath from your lungs as they press against yours, soft yet unyielding. The contrast is a jolt to your fevered senses, like plunging into ice water after drowning in flames.

Your eyes flutter closed as you sink into him, the world narrowing until there is only the press of his mouth and the thunder of your heartbeat in your ears.

Your fingers find the front of his shirt without thinking, clutching at the fabric with desperate need. The fever clouds your thoughts, makes your movements clumsy and frantic, but you don’t care. You need him closer. You need the chill of his skin against yours, now.

Your hands fist in the material, tugging, pulling at the buttons with shaking urgency. A frustrated sound rises in your throat as your fumbling fingers struggle, but Zayne catches your wrists gently, guiding you. He pulls back just enough to speak, his breath cool against your swollen lips.

“Go on,” he encourages, his voice a low purr of permission. “Take what you need.”

His words unlock something wild inside you. You surge against him, your trembling hands sliding under his coat, pushing it back over his shoulders. He shrugs out of it with ease, letting it fall to the floor unnoticed. Beneath, the fabric of his shirt clings to his frame, and you claw at it, desperate for the skin beneath.

Zayne watches you, his pale eyes darkening with something that coils tight in your stomach. Hunger. Not hunger for sustenance, or even relief—but for you. He is letting you undress him. No, more than that—he welcomes it.

His hands move in kind, cool fingers skimming under your fever-damp clothes, raising goosebumps in their wake. He peels the layers from your body with infuriating slowness, as though savoring every inch of revealed skin. The fabric catches at your shoulders, and he draws it down with a reverent touch, his lips finding the curve of your neck as he does.

A breathless cry escapes you. Your fingers finally slip the last buttons free, and you push his shirt apart, baring his chest to your greedy gaze. His skin is as pale and flawless as marble, smooth and cold beneath your trembling hands. You press your palms against him, chasing the chill, letting it seep into your fevered flesh. Relief flickers through you, sharp and immediate, but it only stokes your craving higher.

It’s not enough. It’s never enough. Your mouth follows the path of your hands, lips parting against the hollow of his throat, tasting the coldness of him like ice melting on your tongue. Zayne’s breath hitches. His hands tighten at your waist, guiding you closer, until your fevered body is pressed full-length against his icy frame.

“Good,” he murmurs, his voice roughened now, strained with desire barely leashed. “That’s it. Take more.”

Your need surges, untamed and wild. Your fingers slide lower, skimming his abdomen, feeling the ridges of muscle beneath his cool skin. You want—no, you need—to strip away every barrier between you, to feel his Evol pour into you without anything between.

Zayne’s eyes smolder as he watches you fumble at his belt, your fever-blurred vision making the task difficult. “Let me,” he offers, but you shake your head, breathless.

“No—please—I need to,” you rasp.

A shadow of a smile touches his lips, dark and knowing. “As you wish.”

He lets you continue, your hands shaking as you finally free the buckle, your fingers clumsy with desperation. His slacks loosen, and you push them down, baring more of him to your fevered touch. Your mouth waters. Your heart pounds. You are drowning, but this time, you want to drown.

Zayne does not stop you. No, he mirrors you. With slow, sure movements, he strips you of your remaining clothing, baring you to the icy air. His Evol ghosts over your newly exposed skin, curling into the places that throb with heat and want. You cry out at the sensation, your body arching into his touch as if drawn by gravity.

“You’re beautiful like this,” Zayne breathes, his gaze raking over you with reverence and possession entwined. “Fevered and desperate for me.”

Your lips tremble. “Zayne—please—”

He silences you with another kiss, deeper than the first, his tongue cool and claiming as it sweeps into your mouth. His Evol flares in response to your surrender, flooding you with icy relief that coils with your heat, tightening the knot of your desire until you are trembling in his arms.

Your nails bite into his skin as you pull him closer, wordless in your need. Closer. Closer still. You need him inside you. Now. Deep. Permanent. Zayne breaks the kiss only to murmur against your swollen lips, his voice rough and raw. “I will give you everything.”

And you believe him. Because he already has. Your breath is a ragged thing in your chest, fractured and uneven, as if the fever has stripped you down to something raw and desperate.

Zayne watches you from beneath his pale lashes, his eyes heavy with hunger so sharp it slices straight through your haze. The air between you crackles with tension, alive with the thrum of his Evol pulsing in waves, weaving around your naked body like a lover's caress.

It feels everywhere. Over your fevered skin, under your ribs, between your thighs where the ache has become unbearable. His Evol touches you in places no hands could reach, and you gasp—your spine arching, your hands flying to his shoulders, clawing at him as if you could pull him inside you. Your nails dig into the hard lines of his body, and something dark flashes in his gaze.

“You need me so badly, don’t you?” he murmurs, voice low and smooth like flowing ice. His fingers wrap around your hips, strong and unyielding, as he lifts you effortlessly into his lap. A startled, breathless cry escapes your throat as he settles you astride him, your knees pressing to either side of his thighs, your fevered skin scorching against his cool frame.

But it is nothing—nothing—compared to the shock of feeling his arousal, thick and hard, nestled against the ache between your legs. Your breath stutters, your eyes fluttering closed as a tremor tears through you.

“Zayne—” you whisper, broken and wanting. His Evol tightens around you, coiling like a serpent, pressing in from every angle. Beneath you, against you, inside you.

It brushes across every nerve ending, stroking the fever into wild, unbearable peaks. You shudder, grinding down against him, chasing the friction instinctively. A dark, satisfied sound rumbles in his chest.

“Look at you,” Zayne breathes, his hands flexing on your hips as he presses you down harder against him, grinding his arousal against your slick heat. “So eager to be filled.”

His Evol slides between you, wrapping around your core, teasing you, cooling you—driving you mad. You writhe in his lap, a helpless, fevered thing, clawing at his chest, his shoulders, desperate to pull him closer, deeper, inside.

“Please,” you gasp, your voice hoarse with need. “Please, Zayne—”

His lips curl into something between a smile and a snarl, sharp and possessive.

“You’ll beg me properly,” he replies, his tone a whip-crack of command, even as his Evol teases your entrance, brushing against the throbbing bundle of nerves that makes you whimper and cling to him harder.

Your head falls forward, your forehead pressing to his shoulder as your hips rock against him, chasing the relief only he can give.

“Zayne—please—I need you,” you sob, your voice fractured, desperate, your body trembling in his grasp. “I need you inside me.”

A low growl escapes him at your plea, primal and raw. Without warning, he grips your hips tight, manhandling you with effortless strength, adjusting your position until you feel him right there—poised at your entrance, the swollen head of him nudging against your slick, aching heat.

His Evol surges, flooding into you as if sensing how close you are to breaking. It wraps around your chest, your thighs, your neck like a collar of ice and want, chilling you to the bone even as your skin burns hotter. You gasp, your nails raking down his back, desperate for more.

“Zayne,” you cry out, nearly incoherent. “Please—”

He kisses you again, devouring your pleas, and as your mouth parts for him, he thrusts up into you in one, smooth motion. You break apart in his arms. A strangled scream rips from your throat as he fills you completely, stretching you wide, the cold of him an exquisite contrast to your molten need. His Evol surges with him, rushing inside you, curling around him where your bodies are joined.

You feel everything. Every pulse of his length inside you, every throb of his Evol, every icy thread weaving deeper into your fevered core. You sob into his mouth, your body trembling violently as pleasure shatters through you.

“Yes,” he breathes against your lips, possessive and dark. “That’s it. Feel me inside you.”

You do. You feel him. His hands guide your hips, rocking you against him, making you take every inch, every pulse, every relentless stroke of his Evol filling you from the inside out. Your head falls back, your breath broken and gasping, your body a fevered wreck in his arms.

“You’re mine now,” Zayne growls, his thrusts slow and punishingly deep. “Say it.”

“Yours,” you sob, desperate and raw. “I’m yours.”

He rewards you with a surge of his Evol, a flood of ice and power that coats every nerve ending, painting you from within, claiming you completely. “You’ll never burn alone again,” he promises, his voice a rough whisper against your skin. “Because I will always be inside you.”

His words crack something inside you, and your climax crashes over you like a tidal wave, tearing through you with blinding force. Your body convulses around him, your nails digging into his shoulders as you scream his name, your mind splintering under the force of your release.

Zayne follows you over the edge, his own climax seizing him, his Evol bursting inside you in a final, binding claim. You collapse against him, trembling and spent, your breath coming in broken gasps. And as you drift in the aftermath, you feel him—still inside you, still surrounding you, still claiming you. Forever.

The storm of it leaves you undone. Your body trembles in the aftermath, muscles lax and pliant, breath caught between broken sobs and shallow gasps. You cannot move. You cannot move.

You are liquid in his arms, your fever extinguished—but the heat beneath your skin remains, dulled into an aching throb that pulses in rhythm with the relentless hum of his Evol still coiled inside you.

Zayne keeps you close, as if afraid you might drift away if he loosens his hold. But you’re not going anywhere. You couldn’t, even if you wanted to.

Your legs are draped across his lap, your body curved into him, your cheek pressed to the chilled expanse of his chest. His heartbeat is a quiet, steady thrum beneath your ear—cold and controlled, so unlike the frantic thunder of your own.

His Evol lingers beneath your skin like smoke in your veins, curling tight, refusing to leave. You feel it—every pulse, every gentle flex of power—tasting of ice, tasting of him. It isn’t relief. It is possession. His possession.

Your eyelids flutter, heavy with exhaustion, as he brushes damp strands of hair away from your fevered temple. His fingertips are cool. Always cool. And your body aches for that touch, even now, even in the hazy bloom of aftershocks.

“So sweet,” Zayne murmurs, his voice a velvet rasp against your ear. His breath fans over your flushed skin, and you shiver beneath him. “So beautiful, like this.”

Your lips part, but no words come. There is nothing left in you but trembling breath and the hollow ache of completion.

“You’re mine,” he whispers next, softer this time, but no less sharp. His words weave into you, burying themselves beneath your ribs like thorns laced in silk. "My perfect match. My patient. My possession."

Your heart stutters at the way he says it—not cruelly, not triumphantly. But reverently. As though you are something he treasures beyond reason.

His Evol shifts inside you in lazy swirls, stroking over your sensitive nerves. You whimper, your fingers twitching weakly where they rest against his chest.

"You feel me, don’t you?" His lips graze your temple, cool and soft. "Even now. Even after I’ve filled you, you still feel me inside you."

A strangled sound escapes you—half a breath, half a moan. You do. You feel him everywhere. You feel him like a second skin, like a shadow you can never shed. Your body no longer belongs to you. It belongs to him.

Zayne hums low in his throat, pleased by your helpless response. His hand skims down your spine, lingering at the base, possessive and sure.

“You were always meant to be mine,” he continues, his voice a quiet vow against the shell of your ear. "From the moment you first burned with fever, your body called for me."

His Evol shifts again, subtle but insistent, as though echoing his words, curling deeper into your very marrow. "Even now," he breathes, "it still calls for me."

Your breath catches as his Evol brushes against the core of you, teasing where you are still stretched and filled, so sensitive it draws a shudder from your frame.

“Z-Zayne…” you whisper, voice barely there, broken beneath the weight of your exhaustion and need.

“Yes,” he answers immediately, as if he’s been waiting for you to speak his name again. His lips brush down your throat, slow, deliberate. "Say it again."

“Zayne…”

His Evol pulses in answer, rippling through you like a lover’s caress. “You belong to me,” he murmurs, a dark tenderness in every syllable. “Say it.”

You swallow, your throat tight, your chest rising and falling with ragged breath. And then—your surrender comes soft, quiet, final. “…I belong to you.”

His smile is not cruel. It is not victorious. It is satisfied. Utterly, darkly satisfied.

"Good girl," he whispers, the praise curling through you like liquid ice, setting your nerves alight all over again. "You always have."

His lips press a lingering kiss to your fevered skin, as if sealing the truth of your words into your flesh. His Evol does not withdraw. It stays coiled inside you, pulsing in steady rhythm with his breath, with your heartbeat, with the final threads of your unraveling.

"You’ll never burn alone again." he promises, his voice a promise and a chain all at once.

Your eyes drift closed, not from weariness—but from surrender. From acceptance. From the quiet, terrible relief of belonging. Your last breath before sleep is not yours. It is his.

And it always will be.

© zaynessbeloved 2025

.ᐟ✧ THIS IS MY ONLY ACCOUNT. I WILL ONLY POST HERE AND ON MY AO3.

.ᐟ✧ translations or reposts of my work on tumblr, ao3, or other sites ARE NOT permitted. please do not ask. do not reuse my blogpost headers, dividers, or layouts. these are original designs of my own. thank you!

taglist: @syluslittlecrows

[twmz-03]

Relieving stress -A Zayne Story-

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

18+ story, handjob, very intimate, uhhh making out and public sex

Zayne went through a busy and stressful day at work. There were so many patients and for some reason they all had attitudes. He was used to busy days and people having bad attitudes. I mean its the doctors office. Who even likes going? All he could think about was you. He missed your warmth, how soft you spoke those kind loving words that calmed him down instantly. He misses your touch, your kisses and how he felt inside of you.

He was so happy that it was time for you to pick him up. He grabbed his items and left his doctor coat behind. He walks fast so excited and enters the elevator. As he goes down, he checks his phone to see that you messaged him “here” He finally walks down to the last floor entering the parking garage. It was late at night so there werent many cars left. It made him feel bad that he had you there picking him up in his car instead of having you at yalls home sleeping.

As soon as you see him coming towards the vehicle, you get off and get into the passengers seat. He runs over to the drivers side and closes the door shut. “Hey baby how are yo-“ You say as he interrupts you by kissing you hard. You get surprised but kiss him back. He finally lets go and says “I missed you so much. You occupied my mind every single second of the day.” You look at him and smile. “I missed you more. My day only started getting better now that you’re here.” You pull him into a kiss again and he reciprocates it back. His hand holding you by the back of your neck and slowly moves down to your waist. Long passionate kisses are exchanged between you and him. Your hand on his chest as it slowly goes down to his lower abdomen and then to his hard bulge. Zayne moans into the kiss as he feels your hand slowly caress him where he feels the most sensitive. “Mm, dont stop..” he says quietly.

Your hand movements are slow but have a decent amount of pressure to get him going. He intertwines his fingers with your other hand, squeezing it every time he feels good. He thrusts up only a little bit, squeezing his eyes shut, panting your name. You smirk seeing him like this but you decided to spice it up. So move your hand closer to his belt, un buckling him and unzipping his pants. Zayne opens his eyes watching your every move. He leans in closer to your ear whispering “Please, help me out..?”

“Of course baby.” You say as you kiss him and move your hand taking his hard throbbing cock out from his pants and boxers. You start slowly stroking him up and down watching as his chest goes up and down every time he breaths. Zayne forgets about everything that goes on and how bad his day went. The only thing he thought about was how good youre making him feel. How your hands felt so soft around him. “God… im so close.” He moans as he thrusts into your hands trying to reach his orgasm. You go at a faster pace, rubbing the tip every now and then. Finally zayne releases his warm load on your hands with a final thrust, slouching into the cars seat. His face is red and his breathing fast as he comes back to reality on what just happened. “Thank you, i really dont know what came over me just now. Ill pay it back once we get home.” He says as he fixes his pants and you clean your hand with a tissue you got from the glovebox.

“Id gladly help you any time my love.” You say as you kiss him once more. “Lets go home.” Zayne intertwines your fingers with his, holding your hand as he drives back to your house.

Guys i hope yall like this Zayne x reader! Its my first time writing this kind of story so i hope yall enjoyed it. If you enjoy this kind of story please send requests on more x reader scenarios and which lads man you wanttt! I love writing and am down for anything. SO again enjoyyyy!

[popgoesthekfan]

Can I be your study buddy, Dr. Zayne?

[scorpyuu]

✨ Nightly rendezvous ✨

Before 🍎 comes home.

Which one is your favourite?

[b-ibilly]

Are we seeing this zayne girlies?!

AND THE BUSINESS PROPOSAL SCENE ?!

[ilovemitsuya]

How he used to look at MC vs now.

his smile<333

[aikkyuu]

How LADS men say “sorry”

Sylus’ black card works, but I’d settle with Xavier’s for now.

permission to post from: keiyaa.aa on tiktok!

[strawb3rryhachi]

LOVE AND DEEP SPACE TWT LINKS

Sylus:

☆ he likes to take the long way back to the N-109 Zone

☆ such a pretty mouth <3

☆ he has to stretch you out first ):

☆ feeding your desire (:

☆ showing you how much he misses you when you’re gone

Caleb:

☆ teasing caleb

☆ what he sends you from Skyhaven

☆ you knew what you were doing teasing him in that short skirt (:

☆ eye contact

☆ this video is how he makes it 2 weeks without seeing you ):

Zayne:

☆ desk pet

☆ all he has left after you help him through the frenzy enhancer ):

☆ just a routine exam <3

☆ how annoying, he’s the one who prescribed you birth control

☆ visiting him on his breaks (:

Xavier:

☆ after a long day of missions <3

☆ neighbor wellness check

☆ oral fixation

☆ helping him get better at games (:

☆ he’s just so big ):

Rafayel:

☆ Rafayel’s favorite way to paint

☆ he said it was for… inspiration?

☆ making Raf into an art piece

☆ God of Tides

☆ showing him how proud you are during his art show <3

[moodiimellow]

I'm on my knees and ready to repent father

Art by @eliasgeit on twitter

[khioneee]

zayne hates the way you look in a hospital bed.

the sheets are too white, the room too sterile, and the iv in your arm makes his stomach twist in ways he won’t admit. you look smaller like this.

too still, too quiet. it doesn’t suit you.

‘you should get some rest,’ he says, his voice even, professional. detached, like a doctor should be. but you know better. you always have.

‘you’re here again,’ you murmur, tilting your head just enough to meet his eyes.

he doesn’t answer. instead, he adjusts the blanket over your shoulders, making sure it covers you properly. it’s a useless gesture because the room is warm, and you’re not shivering.

but he does it anyway.

a ghost of a smile tugs at your lips. ‘you should be more careful, doctor,’ you tease, voice quiet but laced with something familiar, something warm. ‘the others might think i’m your favorite patient.’

he should roll his eyes. scoff. say something sarcastic like he always does. but this time, he doesn’t. instead, he just shakes his head, something unreadable passing through his gaze before he looks away.

for a second, you swear he almost says something. but then he pulls back, his hand leaving your blanket, his presence retreating ever so slightly.

you let it go.

it’s late when he comes back. the overhead lights are dimmed, the quiet hum of machines the only thing filling the room. you’re half-asleep when you hear the soft click of the door, but even in the haze of exhaustion, you know it’s him. you always do.

‘you should go home, zayne,’ you mumble, voice thick with sleep. ‘get some rest.’

‘i was.’ his voice is quiet, careful. ‘didn’t feel right.’

‘you care for me too much.’

‘nonsense,’ he said instead. ‘there’s only way too much or none at all.’

you force your eyes open, blinking up at him. he’s standing at the foot of your bed, hands in his pockets, his coat slightly wrinkled like he’s been running on autopilot all day.

‘zayne—’

‘you said something earlier,’ he interrupts, and there’s something in his tone—hesitation, maybe. or something heavier. ‘about being my favorite patient.’

you let out a tired huff of laughter. ‘what, did it offend you? i can take it back.’

he exhales sharply through his nose, not quite a laugh, but not quite nothing. then, after a beat, he moves closer, just enough for his voice to drop into something barely above a whisper.

‘you’re my most important patient.’

the words settle between you, sinking into the space where exhaustion lingers, where unspoken things have always gone unsaid.

you study him, taking in the way his jaw tightens, the way his fingers flex at his sides like he’s resisting the urge to reach for you.

‘yeah?’ you murmur, softer this time.

his gaze flickers to yours, steady and certain. ‘yeah.’

you don’t say anything after that. but you don’t need to.

instead, your eyes drift to the chair beside your bed. ‘you’re staying, aren’t you?’

he doesn’t answer, but he doesn’t have to. with a quiet sigh, he lowers himself into the chair, shifting slightly to get comfortable. not that he ever will. the chair is stiff, unforgiving, and he’s been running on too little sleep for too many days.

but he doesn’t complain. he never does.

you watch him for a moment longer, the steady rise and fall of his chest, the way his eyes linger on you even as he leans back.

‘go to sleep,’ he murmurs, closing his eyes. ‘doctor’s orders.’

you want to argue, to tell him he should be the one sleeping somewhere comfortable, but the weight of exhaustion is already pulling you under. the last thing you see before you drift off is zayne, slouched in that uncomfortable chair, his breathing steady, his presence unwavering.

and for the first time in a long time, you don’t feel alone.

because you never knew it. never realized it.

but zayne became a doctor for you.

when you were little and scraped your knee, he was the one who pressed plasters to your skin, his hands careful, his touch gentle. when you sniffled from the sting, he’d ruffle your hair and say, ‘there. all better.’

when you climbed trees too high and got stuck, it was zayne who came running, scolding you under his breath as he helped you back down. and when you fell, because you always fell, he was the one who knelt beside you, wiping the dirt from your palms before you even had the chance to cry.

when you got sick, he was the one who snuck into your house with soup he swore wasn’t that bad, sitting by your bed even when you told him to go home. he would press the back of his hand against your forehead like he had seen adults do, frowning like he could will the fever away just by staying close.

when you started training to be a hunter, he was the one who patched you up after every battle, every wound, every brush with death.

he never once told you to quit, but every time he stitched a cut or wrapped a bandage around your wrist, his hands would linger, as if memorizing every scar.

and now, when the world threatens to break you, he’s still here.

still taking care of you. still choosing to stay.

you wake up hours later, the room still cloaked in soft, early-morning silence. the first thing you notice is the warmth around your wrist.

zayne.

he’s asleep in the chair, his head tilted slightly, dark circles visible beneath his eyes. his hand is wrapped around your wrist, fingers loose but still holding on, like he fell asleep taking your pulse.

like he needed proof that you were still here.

still breathing.

you shift slightly, just enough to tighten your fingers around his. he stirs for only a second but doesn’t let go.

and neither do you.

[misaamoure]

𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭:

𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐭 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐬 𝐚 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐝…!

⋅ ˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅

𝐒𝐲𝐥𝐮𝐬:

“Yes,” Sylus threw his head back, exposing his adam’s apple. “Just like that.”

Things had gotten a little heated on the couch in the living room.

You two had been watching this old ass movie tied to a soundtrack in Sylus’s vinyl collection as a pastime, and had clearly gotten distracted.

He had been very periodic and methodical with his caresses and touched, before finally leaning over and whispering in your ear, “instead of watching a movie, why don’t we make one?”

Stupid. How predictable.

Sylus was beyond hot though, so you let it slide.

Turning away for a moment to roll your eyes, you swing your leg over his lap to straddle him.

And that’s how you two ended up here.

You’d never had a makeout session so intense.

You felt his hands all over you… you felt like you were on fire.

You were also more than positive that your wetness had leaked all the way through your panties and pants.

“Oh!”

Your train of thought was interrupted when Sylus thrusted right up into you.

It felt so good… you could feel his hard dick pressing right into your clit.

“You shouldn’t give away what you like so easily, sweetie,” He gave one last squeeze to your tits before moving his hands down to grip your waist. “You’re giving me such a large advantage.”

Jesus Christ he talks too damn much.

You didn’t particularly feel like arguing with him today. Sure, it could be fun, but what you really wanted was to shut him up.

Deciding to take the initiative, you repositioned yourself to sit right on his hard dick, and started to roll your hips back and forth.

Sylus inhaled sharply, something you didn’t miss.

Grinding on him slowly and sensually, you feel his hands twitch on your waist as you kissed down his jawline to give his neck a sharp bite.

The sound of Sylus’s heavy breathing and moaning only egged you on further.

“Fuck, kitten,” He shut his eyes tightly, throwing his head back. “Wait…”

Sylus was going fucking crazy.

Why did it feel so good? It was just a little kissing and grinding.

He suddenly felt like a horny teenager all over again.

But it felt so fucking good… you felt so fucking good. Rarely did you ever have the chance to get on top like this.

Maybe he should let you do it more often.

It was so out of character for him, to be moaning and panting like this. His head was a mess.

His boxers were a mess too, all the precum he had been leaking.

The electrifying feeling of your wet cunt dragging over his cock was driving him over the edge quicker than he’d like to admit.

“Wait, please,” Sylus felt fucking neurotic, begging like this. “Y/N… wait…”

It wasn’t long after that Sylus felt himself cum in his pants. Hard.

Holding you tightly by the waist and panting up a storm.

Oh my god… there’s no way he…?

You quickly sat up on your knees, lifting yourself off of his lap to see with your own two eyes.

And he did! There was an unmistakable wet spot right where his dick was.

Fuck… it was so erotic.

𝐙𝐚𝐲𝐧𝐞:

Unintentional dry spells. It was common between you and Zayne.

He was always busy at the hospital and you were constantly running around to kick wanderer ass.

But you two always made that lost time up.

In fact; you can say with full confidence that you preferred the sex after the build up.

There was a particular intensity that came with it that simply couldn’t be replicated.

Nobody else saw Zayne with this level of passion but you.

It was his day off and he had invited you over.

While you two had been once sitting on his couch, things had began to get heated after Zayne initiated a kiss with you, stating how much he missed you.

It was rare for him to verbalize exactly what he felt so boldly.

Oh he was so sweet. The sweetest man you’d ever met.

Cut to you being on top of him with him laying on the couch below you.

You don’t even remember when you got on top of him. Well… not that it mattered.

Not when he was making you feel this good. He was the only thing on your mind at the moment.

“Y/N… please,” You felt his grip on your waist tighten as he squeezed his eyes shut. “Wait…”

Hearing him beg and plead with you was making you unbelievably wet.

You didn’t want to stop. You couldn’t stop. It was too good. And you’d been waiting for him for hours.

With every pass of Zayne’s hard cock over your clothed clit you became more and more aggressive.

“I’m not going to last like this,” He said breathlessly. “Please, my love, enough…!”

Oh my god was it your birthday?

Making Zayne cum in his pants sounded maddening.

He was under you losing his mind.

Zayne could feel how wet you were through all the layers you two were wearing.

The delicious friction of how perfectly you were grinding on him was bringing him to his climax all too quickly.

“Y/N… I’m-”

Digging his fingers into your hips, Zayne came all into his boxers.

Shit… you drove him crazy.

[fayfaygoes]

I am sorry I am still shock

But I am in awe too

ZAYNE IS SUCH A GENTLEMAN

The way even as him "loses control" he is protecting her from discomfort.

Topping her over but making sure the edge of table doesn't hurt her in impact

Throwing the books away so SHE can sit comfortably

Because to him that is more important than any books

Pushing her against the wall but putting his hand first for her head to hit on

Also shoving glass away if you consider how that would be uncomfortable for both parties

it’s the way Zayne is always prioritising MCs comfort to ensure she doesn’t get hurt or feel any discomfort.

It was never him acting out of character . He is still the gentleman he would be in any other given moments omfg zayne

ZAYNE THE MAN YOU ARE .

[cosmiic-world]

jealous, jealous, jealous girl — love and deepspace men

when someone tries flirting with your boyfriend in front of you. or when someone tries flirting with his girlfriend.

content: fluff, jealous!reader, rafayel gets jealous, very lighthearted, sylus’ is slightly suggestive toward the end, maybe kinda ooc?, some might be longer than others i do have favorites unfortunately, sorry 😞, colonel caleb mentioned EHEHHEHE

sylus

sylus had invited you to accompany him to an auction in the N109 Zone, to which you had agreed. of course, he already had a dress picked for you, fitted perfectly with all your measurements.

it was a beautiful black dress with red accents, totally sylus. you were adorned in stunning red jewelry, from blood red teardrop diamond earrings, to a stunning red heart pendant necklace.

as you walked beside sylus through the hall of the auction place, his arm was around your waist the entire time, not one second spent away from you.

unfortunately, that wasn't stopping any of the women there from staring at your boyfriend. nor did it stop one from approaching.

you watched silently from sylus's side as she tried talking to him with stupid small talk.

"you're so tall!" the woman squealed annoyingly. her voice was like glass shattering in your ear drums. "how tall are you exactly?"

"i believe his height is none of your concern..” you spoke up finally, fed up with her attitude. seriously, you were literally attatched to him and she’s paying you no mind at all! your eyes hardened, glaring at her with the most nasty look you could conjure.

sylus watched with an amused smirk, his heart almost skipping a beat at how possessive you were being.

“and who are you?” the woman says, crossing her arms as she finally looks at you.

“i’m his wife.” you said, lifting your hand which was adorned with a ruby ring. though it was just for show, she didn’t have to know that.

sylus’s smirk widened, if that was even possible, as his heart soared. he could’ve sworn his pants were suddenly a tad bit too tight now.

“i don’t appreciate you flirting with my husband right in front of me, so i’m kindly asking you to leave.” you said, using two fingers to flick them in her direction as an act of dismissal, as if she were staff.

you grinned triumphantly as the woman scoffed and stomped away.

“my wife, hm?” sylus said, leaning down to mutter in your ear. you could just tell he was so turned on just from his tone alone. “what a feisty kitten.”

“she couldn’t tell who you were here with. i had to make sure she knew.” you said, giggling as you cupped his cheek with one hand and kissed him deeply.

sylus couldn’t help but groan against your lips as you pressed your body against his. his hand grabbed your waist tightly, almost desperately, as he kissed you in the middle of the room. “we’re leaving immediately.”

“but what about the protocores? the auction?” you said as he grabbed your hand and began to drag you out of the building.

“there are more urgent matters to attend than protocores.” he said, almost growling mid sentence.

rafayel

another “masterpiece” painted by rafayel, another boring exhibition he had to attend. it was all the same. he had to talk about his pieces, what inspired him, what the story is behind the piece, blah blah blah.

this exhibition was different because he had you by his side to distract him from all the boring stuff. he stood by on the side, watching as you walked around, admiring each of his new paintings, which were all inspired by you.

all was fine until a man approached his girlfriend. his eyebrows instantly furrowed and his smile turned into a deep frown. just who was this guy??

“big fan of art?” the man said as he stepped into the spot beside you, a little too close for your comfort.

you looked at him slightly wide eyed, a bit startled from the sudden interaction. you smiled politely and nodded as you slightly stepped away from him, putting space between you and him. “yeah, i’m uh, close to the artist, you could say.”

“oh really? i happen to love rafayel’s works.” he said, smiling at you widely.

you nodded with a small, “ah, nice.” as you looked back at the painting in front of you which showed the silhouette of a woman standing in front of the ocean, capturing the essence of joy and warmth. little had you known the woman was yourself and rafayel had painted it simply from his memories alone.

“i’d like to take you out sometime-“

“sorry babe, i got held up with talking to some people back there.” a familiar voice sounded from behind you.

you turned and smiled widely as your boyfriend wrapped his arms around your waist. you couldn’t see but rafayel was glaring daggers at the man behind you, forcing him to walk away.

“rafayel! hi, i missed you.” you giggled as you hugged him. “say, who’s that in the painting?”

“you seriously don’t recognize her? come on, you of all people should know who that is.” he said with a chuckle.

“i should?” you said, blinking owlishly as you racked your brain to who that could be.

“it’s you, silly.” he said, kissing your forehead.

“really?! when did you paint it?” you gasped, looking back at the painting and leaning your head against him.

rafayel rested his chin on top of your head, smiling fondly as he recalled the memory. “i painted it a couple days after i took you to the beach. remember? you almost got stung by a jellyfish.”

you gasped and giggled at the chaotic memory. “oh i remember now!”

zayne

a friend from the association had invited you to a party and you were able to bring zayne with you. though he usually didn’t like to spend his days off like this, if it was for your enjoyment, he’d do anything. even if it was sitting through slightly drunken babble of hunter work.

zayne knew you could handle your alcohol, way better than him, but he still mentally counted how many glasses of wine you’ve had before it was time to call it quits for you.

unbeknownst to him, one of your female colleagues was staring at him, watching his every move like a hawk. it wasn’t until she sat next to him that he paid any attention to her.

“hello~ i’m ava.” she said, smiling and practically beaming at him.

“hello.” he said with a curt nod, before turning his attention back to you who was engaged in a conversation with other hunters, listening.

“oh my god, i’m so sorry. i don’t mean to be so rude! what’s your name?” the male hunter asked zayne.

“i’m zayne. i’m her boyfriend.” he said with a small polite smile.

“you’re the boyfriend we’ve heard so much about? wow!!” he said, astonished.

zayne chuckled softly. “it seems so.” he said, looking at you with adoration.

“you’re one lucky girl!” he said to you, giggling before turning back to zayne. “i’m tyler, her colleague.” he introduced himself.

you looked at him and smiled widely, wrapping your hands around his arm and leaning against him affectionately. “he’s a doctor, so he always takes care of me. especially when i get injured from pesky wanderers.” you said, smiling.

“can you take care of me too~? my doctor is too busy sometimes.” ava said from beside zayne, pouting and slightly leaning towards him.

zayne’s expression steeled as he turned to her. “maybe you should get a different doctor then. i too am busy most days so it wouldn’t be any different, if i were your doctor.” he said in his usual formal tone.

you whipped your head to look at ava, glaring at her. you never got along with her, and zayne knew. she was usually the topic of your conversations when zayne listened to your end of the day rants.

tyler began to ask zayne questions, moving the topic away from her, though it didn’t stop her from butting in and making her own comments, to which you were quickly getting fed up with.

“how long have you two been together for?” tyler asked you both.

“almost a year. our anniversary is coming up soon.” zayne said, holding your hand in his, his thumb gently rubbing your hand.

“a year is practically nothing! i bet i can make you happier than she ever could.” ava remarked, taking a sip of her wine.

everybody quieted down at the comment.

as zayne opened his mouth to speak, you stood up and slapped ava.

“i’m getting sick of you flirting with my boyfriend, right next to me. but disrespecting our relationship? nobody likes you ava, and i suspect this is why. i gave you a fucking chance because i wanted to be nice, but i have had enough.” you spat out, the anger sobering you up a good amount.

you immediately grabbed your things from your chair and zayne followed suit. “i’m sorry tyler, but i have to go. i’ll see you at work, yeah?”

“y-yeah..” tyler said, almost stunned. you could tell he was trying not to laugh. “see you at work, girl!” he said.

“come on zayne, let’s go.” you said, grabbing his hand firmly and walking out of tyler’s house.

once you were outside of tyler’s house, zayne had stopped you. “let’s rest here for a bit. you’ve had a lot to drink and i don’t want you to fall and hurt yourself.” he said softly, holding you by your waist as he leaned against the wall of the house.

you smiled widely as you leaned against him, your hands resting on his shoulders. “my zayne.. you always know how to take care of me.” you giggled out.

“of course. as your boyfriend, it’s my job to make sure you’re okay.” he said, smiling softly.

“you’re a bit too charming though,” you said with a pout, “you make women swoon too easily.”

“ah, but i have a very skilled ms. hunter to make sure they know i’m happy in my relationship.” he said, his hand coming up to cup your cheek.

you couldn’t help the giggle that escaped you as you put your hand over his, your fingers feeling his bare ones which made you pout. “maybe i should get you a ring so even when i’m not around, they know you’re taken.”

zayne chuckled softly, nodding. “i assure you, they know. but we can still go get rings, if you’d like my love.”

“i would like that very much.” you said, smiling widely before kissing him.

xavier

you knew xavier was a very jealous man, but he couldn’t help it! almost everywhere you went together, he kept you close to him, an arm always around you. what he didn’t expect was for you to be the same kind of jealous, almost worse than his even.

you were out grocery shopping with him when you had separated from him to look for something you needed for tonight’s dinner plans. he was strolling down the produce section when a woman walked up to him, seemingly lost.

“excuse me sir, do you know where i can find the meat section?” the woman asked him, her painted lips fixed in a pout.

xavier looked at her, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. the meat section was right behind her. he simply pointed behind her with his finger. “it’s right behind you.” he said with an almost dumbfounded look.

“oh silly me! thank you, mister…?” she trailed off, discreetly asking for his name.

“xavier.” he said, with a small nod and a polite smile.

“what a cute name for a cute guy!” she said, giggling.

“oh, thank you miss. but i have to get back to m-“ she cut him off before he could finish.

“i’m stella! say, would you like to accompany me to dinner?” she said, smiling widely and batting her eyelashes.

“oh, i-“

“he would not like to accompany you anywhere.” a familiar voice rung out, and suddenly the atmosphere became chilly. xavier almost startled as you sauntered up next to him, wrapping your hands around his arm.

“he’ll be too busy with his girlfriend.” you said, shooting an icy glare at the woman.

“oh! i didn’t know he had a girlfriend. sorry.” stella said before walking away from you both.

xavier let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, thinking he was finally in the clear. but he wasn’t. “thank-“

you cut him off, pressing a finger to his lips. “don’t. speak.” you said coldly, grabbing the shopping basket from his hands and walking to the check out lines.

“did i do something wrong?” xavier asked.

“you talked to her. you might as well have been making out with her or something.” you said as you sulked.

“my love, it didn’t mean a thing.” he said, trying to reconcile. “i promise you.” he said, wrapping his arms arouns your waist.

“i’ll poison your food as revenge.” you said, pouting angrily.

“i’m sorry, i really mean it.” he said, pouting back at you.

you sighed as you turned to him. “no fair!” you said before shaking your head. “fine. i forgive you. but i’m still angry with you!”

xavier couldn’t help but laugh softly. “i’m perfectly fine with that.”

caleb

after making up with him after his sudden reappearance, you found yourself at home, missing caleb more than ever. how could you not?

so you decided to pay him a visit at the farspace fleet headquarters. you got there once, you could do it again, right? right. and you did, with ease.

what you didn’t expect was a cadet in front of his quarters, folded note in her hand, her other hand in a fist, hovering over the closed door. “excuse me, cadet. what’s your business here?” you spoke with authority you didn’t have. (but she didn’t have to know that.)

her head snapped toward you, fear flashing in her eyes for a brief second before venom replaced it. “i came to give colonel xia an important document.” she said, shoving the piece of paper behind her.

you couldn’t help but let out a condescending chuckle. “a document so important it had to be folded like a love letter?” you said, trying not to laugh.

at your teasing tone, her expression soured further. “who even are you? i’ve never seen you around here.” she spat out, looking you up and down.

“i’m colonel xia’s girlfriend.” you said matter-of-factly, crossing your arms and pointing your nose up.

the cadet suddenly burst out into a fit of laughter, making you falter slightly before you felt irritated. how dare she laugh in your face like that??

before you could mutter another word, you felt a strong presence appear right beside you. “cadet.”

the girl in front of you stopped laughing almost immediately, her body rigid as she looked up at the man who just walked up next to you. “c-colonel xia..!”

“care to share what’s so funny, cadet?” you looked up to see caleb practically glaring at the now shaking girl in front of you, his jaw tense. you swore you could see his blood vessels about to burst.

“it was nothing, colonel xia.” she said quickly, her eyes now set toward the floor.

“get out of my sight cadet. the next time i catch you disrespecting my girlfriend, i will find a suitable punishment for you.” he said coldly before dismissing her, grabbing your hand and taking you into his quarters.

as soon as the door closed, caleb hugged you with the most warm smile that you’ve come to known, as if nothing had happened. “what are you doing here, pips?” he said, relishing in your giggles as he buried his face into the crook of your neck.

“i missed you, silly. isn’t it normal for a girl to visit her boyfriend at work when she misses him?” you said, smiling as you wrapped your arms around him tight.

“boyfriend, huh? now i like the sound of that.” he said, kissing your cheek gently.

“i have to fend off these girls somehow.” you said, smiling widely.

i’m sorry if this is lowk ass, i didn’t know what to write for caleb 💔💔

[ikchos]

feat. zayne (l&ds)

cw. dubcon, smut, breeding kink, impregnation, period / ovulation tracking, unprotected sex (be safe evb).

zayne was a doctor. your doctor, specifically. it was nice to have a sweet boyfriend like him who was also a licensed physician. whenever you were sick, he'd nurse you back to health. if you accidentally burned your hand when trying to cook, he'd go above and beyond to help you. he paid more attention to your health and body than you did.

sometimes he'd pay a little too much attention. he wasn't an obgyn but he'd keep track of your periods but... don't all loving boyfriends and physicians do that? zayne would also take note of when you were ovulating... a little strange but hey, he was just doing his best to take care of you.

your boyfriend seemed to act a little funny during your ovulation cycle, though—touchy-feely, desperate, hungry. his kisses were so heady, getting you so intoxicated that you had no choice but get drunk on the taste of his mouth. hands that were once featherlight now rough and wanting to touch every part of your body.

you just assumed that he had a hard time at work and needed to release some frustration... oh, how wrong you were. all zayne could think about was how pretty you'd be with a swollen belly. you, the love of life, carrying his baby and him taking care of you both. the thought made him crazy.

he laid you down with fervent kisses and fingers curling inside of your cunt. he couldn't wait; he needed you. and when you looked up at him, all laid out and pretty, he knew you needed him too. your hole was a sticky, wet mess—see, even nature was telling him to make you a mother.

the sounds you made were so sweet—nothing but strangled praises and whines whenever he would split you open with his cock. any other time, zayne would be tipsy on the feeling of your pussy gripping around him but now he was practically black out drunk. he was going to fill you with his cum twenty times over until you got knocked up and your body didn't seem to reject that idea. you would like that, wouldn't you?

his hips stuttered and he kept a firm hold on your throat as he stuffed you full with his cock, a mix of grunting and whining as he finally stilled himself as close to your womb as humanly possible and let his warm seed fill you up until your fluttery cunt couldn't hold in any more. you'd be the perfect mother.

zayne hoped that this was finally the time he knocked you up for real. but if not, that's okay... you had a full two weeks in your cycle and he was going to make every single day count.

[pearlymel]

Absolute Zeal

Sum. It was finally your turn to take care of your boyfriend, until everything twists around and you both end up a mess.

Warnings. NSFW, smut, fem reader, whiney zayne yes, unprotected sex, rough sex kinda, fluff. 2.2k words.

Notes. my exams are not stopping me (yet) from releasing yet another feral zayne.

Your boyfriend was absolutely out of it.

It wasn't long before Zayne noticed the effects of the chocolate, a slow warmth coursing through his veins, a slight sluggishness creeping into his movements.

He grinned lazily at you as you helped him outside, a slight wobble to his step. You were struggling, sure. But you kept up the tough act.

The cool air outside seemed to help clear his head a bit, but he was still far from sober, "my hero," he said, his voice still slightly slurred, "taking me home in my... slightly tipsy state. You're too kind.”

“Mhm, careful as you get in.” you instruct and Zayne obliges as he stumbled into the taxi, slumping against the back seat, trying to steady himself.

His gaze remained fixed on you as you climbed into the taxi after him. His eyes roamed over your face, “thank you," he murmured, "for taking care of me tonight.”

A hand smoothens to his cheek, up to his hair to comb it with your fingers before you tilt your head to peck his cheek, your hand encouraging him to rest on your shoulder.

He closed his eyes, a contented sigh escaping him, feeling safe and cared for in your presence.

…

“wake up, honey.” you whisper into Zayne's ear to wake him up from his light slumber. His eyes blinking slowly to get back to his senses.

He leaned against you heavily, allowing you to guide him out of the taxi, a quiet murmur of thanks escaping him.

The taxi driver watched the whole interaction silently after you payed him. ah, the young. "I miss my wife." He sighed to himself before driving off.

Meanwhile, you were pitifully watching Zayne entering the wrong passcode to his own home.

His fingers fumbled against the keypad as he tried to input his passcode, his normally steady hands betraying his current inebriated state. He let out a frustrated grunt, his brows furrowing in concentration as he tried again.

"Just... need to get this thing right..."

"Let the person who actually remembers the passcode of your home to enter it." you successfully entered the passcode, the lock clicking open with a satisfying sound.

Zayne let himself be led onto the plush couch by you after taking off his coat for more movement, a deep sigh escaping him as though he were sinking into heaven itself.

He let his eyes close briefly, revelling in the comfort of the soft cushions. He cracked one eye open lazily, a soft chuckle escaping him as he watched you fuss over his coat, gently removing it and draping it on the back of a nearby chair.

And with a gentle tug, he pulled you down onto the couch with him, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you close.

You frown, “i should go get the hangover medicine—”

But his arm tightened around your waist in protest, pulling you closer to him before you could move. "No need," he shook his head, his voice huskier now. "Stay with me," he whispered, his voice low, filled with a yearning that went beyond simple physical attraction.

"After i get the medicine, hm? You'll regret it later," though he seemed too insistent. You couldn't budge, even when he was drunk, his strength was impressive.

Zayne groaned softly, his grip on you unrelenting. He rested his head on your shoulder, his face nuzzling against your neck, "later,"

"how much more?" you ask, your fingers tracing his jawline to sort of soothe him.

He drew in a slow, steady breath, his body relaxing against you. "Just a moment more like this."

Zayne leaned into your touch, his head slightly tilting as though seeking more of your caress. His arm around your waist remained securely wrapped, holding you close, holding you like you were a precious treasure, something to be cherished.

You continue caressing his skin, moving down to his messed up buttons and tie, making him flutter his eyes shut.

Despite the alcohol, a part of him was still very much aware, very much receptive to your touch. The way you undressed him, unbuttoning his shirt to help him breathe better, felt like a gentle, loving caress.

This is no good. “On a second thought, I'll just shower," he said, attempting to smooth out his disheveled hair. "A shower will help clear my head.” Zayne stood up after taking his arms away from your body, a bit unsteady on his feet, but adamant to make it to the shower on his own. He staggered slightly, leaning against the nearest wall for support.

…

You head to Zayne's study room in the meantime to explore it a bit out of curiosity while the shower is running in the background. Your fingertips brushed over the snowman displayed on the desk neatly which makes your lips curve.

It was not long after until you hear him in the living room, opening his laptop to answer an urgent call. Listening to him speak a few words. Even in this state, Dr Zayne is working hard.

Once the call ends, you show yourself from your hiding spot, “Even Dr Zayne's showers are hurried.” you comment in amusement.

Zayne's lips quirked into a wry smile as he acknowledged your observation. "In my profession, efficiency is key," he replied, “but," he added, his tone softening slightly as he drew closer, "I can assure you, I wasn't rushing for anyone else but you." He reached out to tenderly cup your cheek, his touch gentle but firm.

“It seems that.. The shower did not clear your head.”

"I suppose," he murmured, "you're quite intoxicating even without the alcohol.”

Zayne's next sudden advance caught you by surprise.

The unexpected aggression of pulling your arm towards him made you gasp. But as his lips pressed hard against yours, a surprised sound escaping your lips before you clung to him tightly, your arms wrapping around his neck as you returned the kiss, matching his hunger with your own.

Your fingers tangled in his hair while his hands cupped your cheeks, pushing you back until you were stumbling against his desk where he caught you in time to prevent you from completely losing your balance.

His glasses steamed slightly with each gasping breath. He looked down at you once your lips part, his eyes darkening until your fingers nudged at his glasses which tipped them over slightly, yet Zayne impatiently brushed aside your hand's attempt to fix his glasses and instead took his glasses off in one swift motion.

Hot.

His lips sought yours once more, his kiss hungrier, more urgent than before as he pushed you back against his desk. The sound of books and papers scattering echoed and falling with a loud thud that you couldn't seem to care about for now.

His lips traced a path down your neck, his teeth grazing your skin there, and your chew slightly on your lower lip. His teeth nip along your collarbone, his tongue soothing the slight sting, then repeating the action again and again.

This won't do.

"… You're drunk," you bluntly state, trying to stand from the desk to walk towards the drawer, "I'm getting the hangover medicine—"

His hands darted out to grab your wrists, gently yet firmly, preventing you from moving any further, “please." His grip on your wrists remained steady, his thumbs stroking the insides of your wrists as he leaned against your chest as if you just rejected him.

“I never let myself touch alcohol,” he breathed heavily, and that's when you recognize the slight snowflakes surrounding you both.

“But for you, I broke that rule. Because of you, everything is spiraling out of control...”

…

Zayne kicked open his bedroom door, the force of it slamming against the wall and bouncing back slightly. Without breaking the heated kiss, he carried you to his king-sized bed, the plush comforter and silken sheets welcoming as he lays you down gently.

His hands were almost shaking when he pulled your top off and tossed it carelessly to the floor. His fingertips traced the swell of your breasts, the delicate curves, before cupping them gently.

He dipped his head, pressing open-mouthed kisses along the column of your throat before he's almost whimpering while rubbing his cheek against your cleavage, the warmth seeping through your skin and it's impossibly hard to stop the soft moans when his fingertips brush mindlessly along your nipples.

You were both almost a panting mess when his hands slid down to your hips, gripping them tightly as he ground his own against yours. Even through the fabric of his pants, you could feel the evidence of his arousal, the hard length of him pressing and rubbing against your clothed cunt with such hurry.

"Wrap your legs around me," he commanded, his voice low, almost raspy before he's kissing you messily, all tongue and teeth clashing together combined with his quiet whines when he continues rutting into you.

His body shifts, an arm extending towards the drawer but you stop himself from taking anything out, grabbing his hand and intertwining your fingers together instead.

He feels dizzy, and his hand squeezes yours before his other hand reaches for a pillow to place underneath your hips.

comfort comes first before he starts pounding into you.

Everything was gone. your panties, his belt and boxers all discarded away from his sight while he whispers your name as he grips his shaft to push his already leaking tip into your cunt to take whole.

“O-oh zayne—” A long, drawn-out moan spilled from your lips as Zayne filled you completely, stretching you around his hard, throbbing length. Your back arched off the bed, pressing your chest flush against his own, fingers digging into the muscular expanse of his back.

He was feral. He began to move, pulling nearly all the way out before slamming back in, setting a rough, fast paced.

The bed creaked beneath you, the headboard slamming against the wall with each thrust, and your eyes roll all the way back as whines combined with his heavy breaths and whimpers fill the air.

“A-ah, fuck, honey—” was all you managed to spill out before he's thrusting into you harder when he felt every clench and flutter around his aching cock, the velvet heat driving him to new heights of ecstasy.

“Zayne, zayne, zayne!” you chant in repeat breathlessly, his lips tries to connect with yours when he also feels his impending release drawing too close.

“Y-your zayne is here—” he practically breathes out as he manages to peck your lips, “Mmhn c-coming—” Zayne tries to muffle his whines against your skin when his hips jerked erratically as he emptied himself inside you, wave after wave of searing hot seed spilling into you.

The feeling of Zayne's thick, pulsing cock throbbing and twitching within you made you cum instantly. Your walls clamped down around him like a vice as you rode out your shared climax, hips continuing to rock slowly into you before coming to a halt.

For a moment, there was silence, broken only by the sound of your shared breaths, the rustle of sheets, the soft thump of his heart against yours.

…

You woke up in Zayne's bed, wrapped in his arms, a soft, contented sigh escaping you as you shifted slightly, feeling his warmth against your back.

The sunlight streamed in through the curtains, casting a warm glow over the room. As you turned to face him, you see zayne breathe peacefully, and it brings a faint smile to your face.

He looked younger, almost boyish in sleep, his lashes casting delicate shadows on his cheeks.

His eyelashes are really long. you think, fingertips brushing over his eyelids delicately.

Zayne's eyelids soon fluttered at the light touch of your fingers, and a low, appreciative hum escaped him. He leaned into your touch, seeking more of your warmth and comfort.

Slowly, his eyes opened, a sleepy, warm look in them as he regarded you with a slow, drowsy smile. "Good morning, love,"