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hauntedhokage · 2 months ago

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this is going to be the longest friday of your life

word count: 9.7k

warnings: references to sex explicit sexual content

[read on ao3] [masterlist] [ko-fi]

“You’re up early.”

“Could say the same to you.” You mumble back, pushing his hair back so you could clearly see him while his eyes try to focus on the new light of the room. He’d been working hard the last few days, you’re confident this is the first morning all week that he’d woken up in a bed and not his office chair or an unused gurney left in a hallway. “Sleep well?”

“Getting to sleep in bed with you is always preferable.”

“I’m glad I could inspire you to take me to dinner and to bed, then.” His smile as you speak is warm, full of adoration that makes your heart flutter with your own smile stretching across your face. “Could I possibly inspire you to make breakfast?”

“I can be bought.”

“How so?”

“Kiss tax, plus a few extra, and I’ll even make the coffee.”

You pretend to think about it, finger tracing patterns against his bare chest as his hand carefully caresses your jaw. There’s a clench to his jaw that you catch, reflective of the urges you knew he was fighting to repress for the sake of whatever moment it was that you were sharing in your bed - urges that you’d press with hope that he’d let himself go again like he had the night before. “I think we have a deal.”

His own fingers dance across your lips before he leans in, the feather light sensation replaced by his soft lips that somehow still tasted of his minty chapstick. His kiss is languid, your movements still affected by the haze of the lingering sleepiness mixed with the warm bed sheets and body heat. His hands pull you to roll with him so you’re laying on him, holding you by your hips to keep you with him.

“Does that only count as one? Or can we make that two?”

“I’ll have to think about it.”

Not that it mattered, the rumbling of your stomach was enough to cut off any escalation of your physical intimacy with Zayne for a while. He carefully sits up, keeping you in his arms until you’re both upright before he’s depositing you to sit beside him so he can stand then help you to your feet.

“You always look so cute when you steal my clothes.”

You look down at the green long sleeve you had picked up on your way back from the bathroom last night, one of Zayne’s oversized shirts that he slept in but was now serving a higher purpose - not just keeping you warm, but also keeping you cute for your boyfriend. Cute wasn’t a normal word for Zayne, but you were going to take it and savor it because you liked being cute for him.

So cute that he keeps you perched on the counter, passing a mug of coffee between you that you have to turn around and refill as he cooks. Your kiss tax for breakfast is paid in full at least twice over by the time he’s helping you down so you can make your way to the table with your plate and coffee to eat.

“Thank you for cooking, Zayne.”

“It’s never a hassle for you.” His assurance has you smiling as you bite into your toast, warm with the knowledge that he enjoyed taking care of you. “Is there anything you’d like to do today?”

“Not really. Let’s just see where the day takes us and, if it’s just laying on the couch then that’s fine by me.”

The faint sound of a ringtone can be heard from the bedroom, and you pause mid-bite as you focus your hearing on the noise. That was your phone, and Zayne nods when you tell him as you stand from your chair so you can half-jog to the bedroom to see who was calling. Your hope that it was just someone inviting you out is squashed when Jenna’s name lights up your screen, and you can only redirect your hope in the direction that she’s only checking on you instead of needing you in the field.

That hope is squashed as soon as you hear her tone on the other line, laced with apologies unspoken for calling on your day off. But apparently Xavier needed your help with a Wanderer he’d been tracking, and that was a big enough deal for having your day interrupted.

“...If Xavier wasn’t specifically requesting you, then-”

“Yeah, I know Captain. I’ll be out there ASAP.”

And you know that he knows exactly what had just happened, knows what you’re about to tell him when you reappear wearing your usual combat pants, but you still have to brace yourself for the words to leave your mouth.

“I hate to dine and dash, but-“

“I know, duty calls.” He doesn’t look surprised nor disappointed, only shooing you towards your bedroom as he stands from the table. “Go finish getting ready, I’ll make some coffee for you to take with you.”

You nod, starting to head that way but quickly doubling back to steal a kiss from him. “You’re the best.”

“I try to be.”

“Hey Xav,” you greet, sneaking up on him for once and laughing when his startled expression meets your own smug grin.

“I hope you’re proud of yourself.”

“Extremely. Even more proud that you requested my help.”

“I stole your kill yesterday, this is a courtesy.”

“Sure, whatever you say.” You check your gun one last time, nudging him with your elbow to signal that you were ready to move. “You just like spending time with me.”

“I won’t argue that, partner.”

You listen as he tells you about the wanderer he’d been tracking this morning, now aware of why he’d requested your backup as he explains that this wanderer was being drawn to a Luminivore that he’d been trying to pin down for about a month. He didn’t want to risk letting it go, and after this long it would be strong - better to get the help than not and risk it getting even stronger by feeding off more wanderers.

When you do find it, the battle is difficult. The creature was more unpredictable than any wanderer you’d come face-to-face with, moved faster and was all around nasty - even Xavier had been caught off guard a couple times and was reliant on his speed being greater and trusting in your aim being steady and not shooting him by accident. Aiming at blurry subjects was never easy, and you're grateful that you hadn’t come close to hitting Xavier even once throughout the battle despite what you felt were a couple close calls.

“This restaurant just opened today.” Xavier tells you as you walk through the city, having relaxed from the tough battle. “I figured it was something we could try together.”

You nod, not looking up from your phone while you texted Zayne to let him know your mission had gone well and that you were going to get lunch with Xavier. You don’t expect an immediate response so you pocket your phone so you can give Xavier you full attention.

“I was given a flier the other day on my way to the no-hunt zone.” It’s a simple explanation that makes perfect sense, and you nod again while teasing him for being able to sniff out a new restaurant in town without the help of a promotional flier. He rubs his neck as he agrees, earning some nudges from your elbow to his side as you enter the building.

He orders a roast beef sandwich while you go with the waitress’ recommendation, and you’re pleasantly surprised by the chicken salad that’s put in front of you just ten minutes later. There’s discussion between you and Xavier about the fight, as you need the additional reassurance that you hadn’t come close to hitting him with any of your shots while he’s happy to make you feel better about that. Next you talk about any plans you might have for the rest of your day off, since you both already know that he’s going back to sleep after exerting so much energy on the wanderer.

When you leave you’re happy

“Careful.” Xavier comments, his hand tugging you back by your collar to get you out of the narrow crosswalk just in time to avoid the truck barreling through the intersection. A good call, since the vehicle was huge and probably would have killed you if he hadn’t pulled you out of the crosswalk.

“Katie!?”

You both turn at the sound, your eyes seeing the woman rushing into the intersection before they find that she was rushing towards. A young girl, no older than twelve, was laid in the center of a growing group of people. Xavier is already calling for help as you move in to push the crowd back to give the girl and her mother space, but the whole time you can only think about the fact that it was almost you in that position.

Maybe it should have been you? Better you than a kid, right?

The thought haunts you through the rest of your day. You’d come home to an empty apartment, a text from Zayne telling you that he’d been called in to the hospital to assess a cardiac patient admitted from the emergency room but he’d ordered you dinner in advance that would be delivered around six. You text him asking if he’d heard anything about the girl that he could share with you before you get into the shower. Your shoulder aches, and your fingers find blood from a small wound that you’d have to wrap up on your own and ask Zayne to look at in the morning. You weren’t going to the hospital today, you just needed to lay down now.

DAY TWO

This felt unusually similar to the last day, but you shake the unease as you watch Zayne continue to sleep - or at least pretend to be sleeping.

“What time do you need to be at the hospital?”

A smile as he knows he’s been caught, and your hand gently caresses his cheek as he sighs into your pillows before telling you, “Not at all. I’m yours all day, if you’ll have me.”

There wasn’t a single place you’d rather be than with him, and the way his cheeks develop a pink tint makes you smile as you lean in to kiss his nose. You swear you’ve had this conversation before, down to the way Zayne bashfully presses his face deeper into the pillow to try and mask the normally uncharacteristic smile - but that was your smile and you weren’t going to let him hide it.

“Stop hiding your handsome little face from me right now.”

“Is that a request or a demand, miss hunter?”

“A…req-mand,” you respond with a grin, sitting up in the bed so you could look down at him. “If I may make another?”

“Yes, I’d happily cook our breakfast.”

“You’re a blessing and a doctor and a wonderful boyfriend.”

“Anything else?”

“You’re also great in bed, but you knew all of that already.”

“I still like to hear you say it.”

Your phone rings as you’re eating, and you sigh as you stand to retrieve it from the bedroom. It seemed you never got a day off, even when you were supposed to have one. Two days in a row wasn’t fair, and you have half a mind to complain to Jenna about it after she explains the situation but hold off in favor of keeping your job.

Zayne had followed you to the bedroom, and you’re disappointed at the slight frown that graces his usually stoic features, but he was just in demand as you were so you know he understood your situation. It still sucked though.

“Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” you assure, leaning against the doorframe as he presses his forehead to yours. The strong hand on your hip keeps you in place, three little words weighing down the tip of your tongue as he leans in to capture the kiss he’d been seeking. “It’d just be nice to have a day with you.”

“There’s always tomorrow,” he assures, kissing you again in something much more weighted with the adoration he held for you - a true parting kiss that you needed to be able to leave comfortably. I’ll see you later, I hope.”

“Yeah, I should hopefully be back around dinnertime so you can make sure I eat something.”

“I’ll be looking forward to it.”

It had to have just been deja vu. That made the most sense as to why you felt like you’d been to this exact area with Xavier telling you it was him wanting to make up for stealing your kill. This entire morning felt familiar, down to the way the wanderer swung at your left shoulder. Any closer and it would’ve gotten your skin instead of just slicing through your shirt and you’d be gang lectured by Xavier, Jenna, Tara, then Zayne in that order.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. Lunch?”

“Lunch.”

He tells you about the little diner he’d found and wanted to try, and you nod along as you walk back towards the city. Walking with Xavier was always refreshing, even when you felt uneasy- as if you’d been in the exact situation before. But it was possible that after how long you and Xavier had been partners that every battle felt like a repeat of one before it.

When you go into the dinner you pause, looking around only to realize that you’d been here before. There was no way this was the first day they were open, and Xavier only shakes his head as you take your seat across from him in the booth.

“Maybe you’d been to whatever was here before,” he starts, tilting his head when you shake yours. “This building has been closed for the last year while they remodeled for this restaurant to open.”

“I swear we were just here yesterday.”

“We didn’t see each other yesterday, remember? I had the day off and you were with that artist.”

You had been with Rafayel, but that was two days ago. Yesterday you had been with Xavier in this restaurant. He ordered-

“I’ll have the roast beef sandwich.”

That.

“And you, miss?”

You weren’t ready, too busy staring at your menu in disbelief at being correct. Xavier was impossible to guess when it came to a menu that didn’t have hot pot, and you were able to get that? How?

“I’ll have whatever you recommend.”

You’d done that yesterday, too. This waitress would likely bring a salad like she had yesterday, and it would be a damn good salad.

“She’s going to bring a salad, and I know this because we were here yesterday.”

“Here yesterday but she didn’t recognize us?” Xavier retorts, leaning back into the booth as you cross your arms over your chest. “Did that wanderer hit you? Do I need to get you to the hospital?”

“No it didn’t, but thanks for your concern. Maybe it’s just deja vu, then.”

“Or maybe you need to buy a lottery ticket.”

It was possible that you should’ve bought a lottery ticket, as you find yourself an hour later in the same intersection trying to keep the crowd away from the horrified mother and the daughter who’d been hit by a truck. But this time you don’t go home, you call a taxi to take you to Akso Hospital where the girl had been taken for emergency care.

You just weren’t expecting to see Zayne crossing the reception area when you walked in, needing to be redirected by a receptionist to see you.

“What are you doing here?” He’s carefully inspecting your body for injuries, even carefully gazing into your eyes to look for signs of head injury. You let him look until he’s satisfied, knowing that if you didn’t he’d just continue to worry and check you out as discreetly as possible - even holding your hand a particular way so he could check your pulse for any irregularities.

“I promise you I’m fine. A girl was brought here after being hit by a truck,” you start, something that has Zayne instantly registering who you were talking about. “I wanted to see how she was doing.”

He adjusts his glasses, and you know that he wasn’t going to have an answer for you that would feel satisfactory. But there was also very little that he could actually tell you, due to patient privacy laws and the like. But even hearing that she was projected to be okay would be enough for you.

“She’s in surgery now.”

That was better than being dead on arrival, but you’re right in not feeling satisfied by the answer. He wasn’t even supposed to be here, so you can’t fault him for not texting you from the operating room about a kid you had no obvious connection to.

“Why are you here?”

“Cardiac patient admitted to the emergency room displaying signs of protocore syndrome. I needed to come in to operate with the goal of stabilizing their condition.”

“Dr. Zayne the elite cardiac surgeon.”

“Specialist, not elite, but I appreciate the compliment.”

“Yes, yes, ‘medicine is about helping people, not being popular’,” your impersonation of him earns a smile, his hand catching yours before you could back away from him. But something is tugging at your heart, your repeated close calls enough to remind you that life was very fleeting. “Zayne?”

It’s not the right time, the hospital reception area had too many eyes on you and so many listening ears courtesy of the receptionists and passing nurses that watched with interest as you talked. “You look tired, I’m sorry to have kept you up last night.”

“I’m hoping for a repeat tonight, Doctor.”

“I hope I’ll be able to leave in time to give you that.”

You did too, but for now you were content with just the kiss pressed to your forehead and a whispered request that you text him when you got home so he knew there weren’t any other truck incidents. You just attracted trouble, and you knew that worried him but there wasn’t anything you could do about it - it’s not like you were intentionally seeking it out but you trusted that he knew that.

DAY THREE

“You’re acting strange,” Xavier points out, a hand on yours to stop its anxious tapping against the table top. “Tell me what’s wrong?”

You only shake your head at first, weighing your options before you settle on, “You’re going to think I’m crazy.”

“That ship sailed a few months ago. I do watch you throw yourself into danger at every possible corner, y’know.” His teasing does exactly what it was meant to do: make you feel better about telling him what had been bothering you. Now that you’d thought about it, he had a bunch of experience with Wanderers and their abilities, maybe he knew how to help?

“This is my third Friday. I’ve woken up three days in a row, and it’s been Friday. Every. Day.”

“I thought time loops only existed in comics and movies,” he mumbles, bringing his finger to his lips as his face settles into something much more serious. Your hope that he would know something about the cause dissipates quickly, and he also deflates a bit when he sees your dejected slump back into the booth. “Everything was the same both days?”

“For the most part. Yester- I guess the last loop is a better description - I had a slightly different conversation with Zayne but that didn’t change anything about waking up this morning.”

“You have to figure out what it is you need to change to break the loop.”

“Do you think this could be the effect of a Wanderer?” you ask, leaning forward on the table once more as Xavier also leans in a bit. Asking directly would likely get you to where you wanted to be information-wise. “That one yesterday was a little weird.”

“It was weird, but not time-manipulative kind of weird. I haven’t heard of a Wanderer who could do that.” That has you slumping back into your seat, a pout on your face as he sighs. “What happens next today?”

His question makes you check your watch, seeing 1:47 looking back at you has you rushing from your seat and out the door of the restaurant. If you could prevent the girl’s accident, maybe that would break the loop? It happened at 1:49pm on the opposite corner of the restaurant you were eating at, and you see the bright floral sundress of the young girl approaching the corner as you use your evol to boost your speed just that much more so you can pull her out of harm’s way just in time.

“Are you alright?”

“I’m fine! Thank you Miss Hunter!”

“Be more careful crossing streets,” is what you leave the girl with before making your way back to the restaurant.

Xavier is still sitting patiently at the table, an amused smile on his face at how winded you were after the show of talent to save the girl from getting hit by a car. It’s all you can do to simply shrug when he asks, “You knew exactly when that was going to happen?”

“The last two loops we were out of here at 1:45, then you pull me out of traffic but she gets hit. Today, neither of us got hit.”

“Loop broken?”

“Let’s hope so.” To celebrate, you order a dessert for you and Xavier, trying to relax but unable to shake the feeling that something still didn’t feel right. It could just be that the loop was truly broken, and now your universe had shifted just that much to create a strange feeling, but you supposed you’d find out when you woke up the next day.

“Where do you go next?”

“I’m not sure. The first time in went home, last time I went to the hospital.”

“I think we’ll need to go to the hospital again,” Xavier comments, pointing his fork at your shoulder where red was blooming under your white blouse. “From this morning?”

“Probably made it worse when I grabbed the girl. I can get myself there, though.”

“Let me at least make sure you get there in one piece. Then you can do whatever and I’ll go home and sleep.”

You reluctantly agree, and find yourself sitting next to your partner on the train as it speeds towards the hospital. Outside the doors you perform your little handshake with Xavier before he leaves you with a request to check in and update him on your status throughout the evening, something you agree to with a smile before thanking him for listening to you and giving you his own advice.

Regardless of the day or time, there is always at least one receptionist working who knows exactly who you are and has sent a message to Zayne indicating your arrival and the state in which you walked through the door. You know this time there is a new receptionist available to greet you, ready to have you redirected to the urgent care area until Theresa - a long time receptionist very aware of your relationship with Zayne - tells her not to bother since your primary care physician would be seeing you shortly.

Three minutes and twenty two seconds. That was likely a new record, something you tease him about as Theresa lets him know that an appointment had been booked for him. She always looked out for him in her own little ways, safeguarding the time he’d get to attend to your health without interruption was just one of those things she did for him.

He’s always so composed as he leads you to the elevator, a composure you do your best to mimic for his sake despite knowing that wasn’t necessary. The security of the elevator is when that composure crumbles a bit, and he’s turning to face you properly as he asks, “How deep is it?”

“Not sure.” You’d shrug if you could, but all you’ve got is leaning against the wall of the small elevator. “I didn’t know I was hurt until half an hour ago.”

“What made it open up more?”

“I rushed to pull a girl out of traffic before a large truck could hit her.”

“Always the hero,” he comments with a smile, hand on your back to guide you out of the elevator when the doors open. “My daring Hunter.”

A kiss grazes the top of your head as he leads you to the exam room that he’d use to stitch you up. That’s the only purpose this white room would serve, you know the rest of your appointment time followed by whatever free moments he potentially had would be spent in his office to ensure true privacy as you enjoyed each other's company.

His fingers are nimble as they traverse the familiar road that was undoing the straps of your protective gear then continue into the buttons of your blouse. His eyes always drift to appreciate your skin as he gets the honor of exposing it, a crack in the perfectly crafted mask of professionalism that Zayne always wore in the hospital - a crack only you could’ve created and only you get the pleasure of looking into to see Zayne without the title of Doctor in front of it. His fingertips drag along your skin as he helps you remove your blouse without further agitating your wound, allowing himself to touch you ever so slightly in the way a lover should rather than a doctor, and you can only reach up to cup his cheek once your healthy arm is free to move.

“I worry about you when you’re out of my line of sight.” A tilt of his head to kiss your palm, his hand coming to hold yours to his lips while also giving a small squeeze. “I know that you’re capable, and trust that you aren’t throwing yourself around recklessly, but I still worry. Seeing you hurt like this, it’s a smaller wound but I never want to see your blood.”

“I know,” is all you can say, continuing to hold his eye contact despite how small that focused gaze made you feel sometimes. “I try my best.”

“That’s all I can ask for. Let’s get you patched up.”

You were as good of a patient as you could be, given the situation you’d found yourself in. Stitches were never an easy procedure to sit through, and the location of your injury meant that you got to look at Zayne as he did it. He was so focused, eyes locked onto his task with minimal room for distraction. That hand that wandered previously to graze at your chest as he cleaned the wound was perfectly still as it helps to hold you still while his other hand handled the sutures. His eyes didn’t even move to look up at you, not until he was done and bandaging your fresh stitches.

“Please go home and rest. Don’t lay on it, no alcohol, but eat before you take any medications.”

“Yes, Dr. Zayne.”

“I’m serious. If they call tomorrow you need to say no.”

“I know, and I will,” you assure, hand on his chest as he sighs.

You’re not sensitive enough to think he’d be mad at you, you both knew the risks involved with your career and he wasn’t foolish enough to believe that you’d always be out of harm’s way. You were damn good at your job but you weren’t resistant to wanderer attacks nor were you able to truly predict their moves before they were made.

“I know. You’re quite the capable patient.” His praise as he helps you get your shirt buttoned back up makes you smile. “We’ll both take a real day off tomorrow.”

You weren’t confident that he wouldn’t get called in again tomorrow, but it sounds so nice to hear him say it anyway. He didn’t promise, which is how you know he’s not confident either, but that was a concern for tomorrow and not this moment where Zayne is helping you down from the table. The air still feels heavy, even as he meads you out of the room and turns to leave after a kiss.

“Zayne, I-” You stop short when he turns to look at you, biting your lip as you try to look away from his dissecting gaze. “I’m sorry for worrying you. Thank you for always taking care of me.”

He smiles, closing the distance between you two and taking your hand in his own. “It’s my job as your primary care provider. Will you be heading home?”

“You don’t have time for dinner?”

“Not anymore. The emergency room has seen quite a few patients get fully admitted, it’ll be a busy night tonight.”

“Oh, then I can bring you something so you’ve got some protein when you’ve got a few minutes to breathe. I’ll just leave it in the little fridge you keep in your office.”

“You’re too kind to me. I love-“ he stops to clear his throat, and you’re ready to say it back until he finishes with, “Excuse me. I appreciate how much you want to take care of me.”

“It’s my job as my primary care provider’s care provider.” You’re grinning at him despite the dull ache in your shoulder, and he leans in to sneak a chaste kiss before you start to back away. “Will you come by when you’re off shift? Give me something nice to wake up to?”

“If I get out of here in time. If I don't, will you come see me here?”

DAY FOUR

You wake up surprised to feel that Zayne had made it to your home last night with how busy the ward was. But it was still nice to have his warmth encase you and keep you hidden away from the evils of the world for as long as you could stay in this bed with him - and even more relieving that he was resting after such a busy afternoon and evening.

It was still a day off for you both, at least it was supposed to be, so staying home all day was definitely required. You had a balcony with decent chairs, so you’d get the sunlight that you know the doctor will suggest and that would suffice for one day - it had to after the last three Fridays you’d been forced to experience.

You lift your phone to send a text to Xavier, excited that the loop had been broken, only to pause when you see the time and date over the picture of you and Zayne that was your background.

06:52

Friday

You want to throw it, you really do. Anything to make it feel like it was any different day. But you can’t, since phones were very expensive to replace - as if that would matter if you lived the same day anyway.

“Fuck me,” you groan, sinking back under the covers and burrowing yourself into Zayne’s waiting arms.

“I’d be glad to, but what’s the occasion?”

“You’ll think I’m crazy. Hell, I think I’m crazy.”

A thoughtful hum leaves the doctor, followed by a kiss to the top of your head as he pulls you in closer. “For the record, I’ve thought you were crazy since we were children. Second, I like that you’re a bit…eccentric at times.”

“I’m stuck in a time loop.”

“Repeat that?”

“I’m stuck in a time loop. This is Friday round four, Zayne.”

You don’t even want to look up at him, can’t bring yourself to see the face he was making before he asked if you’d hit your head while out on assignment yesterday. Zayne was a man of logic and science, a time loop did not follow any real logic. It sounded crazy saying it to Xavier before, but saying that to Zayne makes you feel batshit nuts.

“I know, it’s ‘wanderer ate my baby’ nuts, but I know what I’m experiencing.”

“Then you’ll stay home today. I have today off as well, so we’ll stay in and keep you out of trouble.”

“You believe me?”

“I have no reason not to.” That had you looking up at him in surprise, confusion clearly etched on your features when he shrugs as he sits up. “There’s a lot you would mess around with me about, but I know your tones well enough to know that this isn’t a joke. So we’ll stay home and hope that breaks this vicious cycle you’ve managed to find yourself in.”

“But it’s-“

“It’s absolutely ‘wanderer ate my baby’ crazy, and I don’t understand the logic, but still if this is happening we’ll figure it out.”

“And if we don’t figure it out today, and tomorrow I wake up and it’s still today and you don’t remember?”

There’s only a moment of hesitation, a slight furrow in his brow as he considered the fact that if this didn’t work then he’d forget about all of this. But he relaxes, a smile on his face as he assures, “Then you’ll tell me again. I believe you today, don’t I?”

“You get called in at around one.”

“That’s a problem for the afternoon. It’s only seven.”

“Jenna calls at like eight fifteen.”

“Then we have time. Just lay back and let me take care of you.”

These were doctor’s orders that you would never ignore, and you watch as he moves to the end of the bed to have the room you needed to shimmy back into a lying position with him between your legs. The hem of his sweater that you wore is bunched up near your belly button, allowing him full access to see what had become favorite treat. Those eyes are almost dissecting you as he takes you in, long fingers carefully parting your folds so he could see his handiwork from the night before.

“You’re already so wet,” he starts, bringing his thumb into his mouth to wet it. That thumb is then gently rubbing circles against your clit as he watches your body react to the pleasure. “But more is always better.”

It takes everything for you to keep still, keep looking at him as he watches you. They said that the eyes were the windows to the soul, and Zayne believed that which was why he’d always watch you so intently. He thrived on eye contact, needing it as his way of assessing whether or not he was succeeding in his goal of pleasuring you.

“Please don’t tease,” you whine, reaching down between your legs to catch his free hand. “I’ve been through too much, Zayne.”

He only gives your hand a squeeze, kissing the inside of your thigh then leaning in to lick at your tender clit. His fingers graze the inside of your labia, teasing the edges of your already fluttering hole before two long digits easily slide in. A third joins quickly after, Zayne clearly wanting to stretch you out some more than he had the night before. His eyes have left yours, now more enamored by his fingers disappearing inside of you and how sweet your breaths sound as your hips rock up to meet his pace.

“Think you can take one more?”

You’re nodding without hesitation, although your brain doesn’t register just what you’re agreeing to until you feel his hand shift to allow his pinky to join the other three fingers that were stretching you out. The initial discomfort quickly dissolves into pleasure, and you’re struggling to keep your legs open as you feel your stomach tighten with your impending orgasm. His head disappears between your legs again, lips suctioning to your clit in a way that sends you toppling over the edge with a cry of his name. He just holds your thighs that now hold his head in place, letting you ride out your orgasm against his tongue that was eagerly lapping at your essence. There’s a pleasured groan that leaves him at your taste, the vibrations against your clit causing your legs to tighten around his head until he’s gently prying your thighs apart so he can sit up to look at you.

“I think you’re ready, are you ready for my cock?”

You nod, but you know he wants to hear you so you gather yourself just enough to give him that verbal confirmation. He’s pleased, hands caressing your thighs before he moves up along your body while pushing his sweater up as he goes, leaving the occasional kiss to your skin as he exposes it.

“My beautiful girl,” he whispers, tossing the sweater to the side once it’s over your head and smiling when you grin up at him. “I’m incredibly lucky that you chose me.”

“Every day I’ll make the same choice.”

The air between you grows heavy; a sentiment that you can’t voice lingering on your tongue, just waiting to be captured and held by him. The look in his eyes is one you’re familiar with but unable to decode, the only thing you’re certain of is that it’s an affectionate gaze and nothing less, a gaze that betrays his evol and sets your heart ablaze and makes your fingers tingle with the intensity held in those green irises.

The strong vibration of your phone against your nightstand has you sighing, pushing your head back into the pillows as Zayne whispers for you to ignore it. You weigh you could, but you know what time it is and that it means Jenna is calling to let you know that you will need to meet Xavier to complete a mission, and failure to answer the call would mean that someone would be sent to you to make sure you were okay and instead would walk in on Zayne fucking you on some surface in your apartment. Your attempt to reach for it is stopped by Zayne as he starts to push his length into your waiting cunt.

“It’s Jenna,” you inform, struggling to keep your eyes open when he starts to push his cock past your slick folds. “I can’t ignore it.”

“Give it here.”

The exchange is brief, but Zayne catches your hand before you could pull away to kiss your palm as he settles into the base of his length. You feel so full, so content when he’s inside you like this regardless of how often you had sex with him. He completed you, you always knew that he did and that no other partner would compliment you as Zayne did. He truly was perfect, despite all of his perceived flaws. You’re so caught up in the feeling that you almost forgot that he was supposed to be answering your phone, but he didn’t.

“Yes good morning,” Zayne greets, lowering his fingers to play with your sensitive clit to keep you occupied while he spoke to your captain. “Yes, she’s still in bed under my care. Running a high fever of over a hundred degrees with severe nausea, I wouldn’t recommend her leaving home today.”

His finger moves faster, the pattern becoming recognizable the more you feel it. Only now he’s moving, something that has you biting your knuckle to keep from moaning at the sensation of his cock stretching you open more.

Z-A-Y-N-E-Z-A-Y-N-E-Z-A-Y-N-E

His name, over and over again against your clit until your body is tightening around him while he nods along to whatever it was Jenna was saying to him. But he’s proud of himself, watching the fingers of your left hand curl into the pillow under your head as your nails dig into the taut skin of his thigh. He's proud that he’d made you cum now for the second time when he was just getting started.

“I will pass along those sentiments and let her know to reach out once she’s feeling better ... Yes, and to you as well.”

He tosses your phone to the side, promising to buy you a new one when he hears it bounce off of your bed and hit the floor with a harsh smack that lands in time with the first full meeting of his hips against yours. Not that you really cared; the phone was replaceable, these moments with Zayne were not.

“How do you recommend treating this high fever, Dr. Zayne?”

“Careful attention from your primary care provider. There is also a special medicine I can provide, but it’s internal.” You only quirk a brow at him, knowing that dirty talk wasn’t his strongest skill when it came to sex but proud of him for trying. “That didn’t sound sexy, did it?”

“Not exactly,” you respond, a smile on your face as you rub his thigh. “But I could listen to you read a medical textbook and still get off, so don’t worry.”

“You’re too kind,” he murmurs, taking one of your thighs into his firm grip to bring it up and around his hip. “Be a good patient for me.”

You follow the doctor’s orders for once, very pleased with the praise he gives you as he fucked the stress of the time loop out of your system. It was still a bit awkward, given that he wasn’t the most experienced or really comfortable being vocal in bed, but that was Zayne and you wouldn’t have him any other way.

“Feeling any better?” He asks when he returns from the bathroom, washcloth in hand so he could help you clean up.

“A bit. I feel better that you know and are just as bamboozled as I am, but it’s still a weird situation.”

“You’ll figure it out. You always do.” His assurance makes you feel a bit better, the gentle nudge to your cheek with his knuckle getting a smile out of you as he carefully cleans up the mess he’d made of you. You were so in love with this man it was unreal, but it didn’t feel like the right time to tell him that.

“I’ll go make breakfast now, you’ve got to be starving.”

“Let me,” you request, something that has him looking at you in surprise. He always made breakfast since you preferred the way he cooked your eggs compared to your own, but you were desperate to force any change to the routine in hopes it would break the cycle. “Trying to break the loop.”

“Right. I’m going to take a quick shower, I should be out by the time you’re done cooking.”

You nod as you pick your robe up from the bedroom floor, giving him a wave as you leave your bedroom.

The breakfast you cook is the same as the previous ones he’d made, only instead of coffee you opt to pour some orange juice for the both of you. A small change that could have a huge impact, like a butterfly effect in time travel.

After breakfast Zayne pulls you to lounge on the couch with him, putting on the drama you’d been watching together in hopes that it would distract you from your predicament. You’re comfortable between his legs with your head on his chest, his fingers gently massaging and scratching at your scalp making you drowsy halfway through the episode.

“Relax and get some rest, we can always restart it when you wake up.”

DAY FIVE

This time when you wake up you’re mad.

Why would the loop reset when you’d only laid down for a nap?

What did the universe want from you? If it wasnt avoiding reckless combat, or saving the girl, or letting the girl be injured - what the actual fuck did it want from you?

It’s with a sigh that you pull yourself from Zayne enough that you can sit up, leaning back against your headboard while trying not to look at your phone. The date and time would only make you cry, you’re sure of that fact, so you only tilt your head back to stare up at the ceiling.

You might as well get your morning started.

“I know you’re faking,” you tease, gently poking Zayne’s cheek when he smiles. “Doctor faker.”

“Good morning to you too.” His greeting comes with a hand on your side, pulling you into him but laying across him slightly due to your previous positioning. “How’d you sleep?”

“Pretty good. I’m still kinda tired but I don’t want to go back to bed. You?”

“I also slept well. Going to sleep with you helps me sleep better.”

“Is it me or the sex?” There’s a dusting of pink across his cheeks, something that has you grinning as you pull back to sit up again. “I know I wear you out both in and out of bed.”

“You do, but you’re the sweetest cause of exhaustion,” he murmurs, sitting up and stealing a kiss from you. His hand slips under your shirt, warm against your skin as he tries to nudge you into his lap. But his attempt at getting more than just a kiss from you is thwarted when you pull away and roll off of your bed - landing solidly on your feet while flashing a thumbs up at him. “You’re cruel, honey.”

“Maybe you can dip into your honey pot later.” You suggest with a smile, though you know that he likely wouldn’t get the opportunity since Jenna would be calling. But he didn’t need to know all that since clearly it didn’t make a difference in the time loop if he did or didn’t know. As frustrated as you were with this situation, you would simply let it be and enjoy the little variations of this morning with him. “Breakfast time, Doctor Zayne.”

The day has the same elements every other Friday has had.

Breakfast.

Call from Jenna.

Hunting a wanderer with Xavier.

Save the girl.

Hospital for stitches.

You’d probably be able to do the whole day with your eyes closed, including shooting at the high-speed wanderer. You felt like a hamster on a wheel, destined to do this forever while chasing a reward that didn’t exist. How this ended, you fear you’d never know, and that is disheartening at best but heartbreaking at worst. You were looking forward to a lifetime with Zayne, but instead you were likely to live the same Friday forever. Maybe this was your forever?

“You’re thinking hard, are you alright?” Zayne asks as he fixes your shirt, eyes scrutinizing your expression in a way that tells you that you won’t get away with lying to him but you were going to try anyway.

Telling him about the loop doesn’t help you at all, so why waste the breath? All you can muster is an “just tired” that he certainly doesn’t buy, and that has him inviting you to sit in his office with him for as long as he can avoid his duties without being negligent.

You choose to stand by the window, looking out at the hospital courtyard to see a couple children attempting to fly kites despite there being no wind. If you had an evol that could create the breeze they needed, you’d do it in an instant to provide them that joy of flying kites together.

“Alright, what’s bothering you? Was it the-”

“Wanderer was fine, and the girl is okay so that’s not on my mind.” You assure, finally looking at him as you turn to lean against the windowsill. “It’s just been a long day and my shoulder hurts. I’ll be okay.”

There’s a lot of unspoken emotion hanging in the air around you, creating a tension that wasn’t unbearable but only because this was standard for these moments with him. After the day you’d had with the abrupt exit in the middle of breakfast to meet with Xavier, his own call into the hospital to perform an emergency surgery, your injury made worse by pulling that girl out of traffic - it was quite a bit stacked onto itself and that was without considering your additional stress that was the time loop. He’s boxing you in against the windowsill, hands on your hips with thumbs gently massaging into your skin beneath your shirt, it seemed like there was always something that he looked like he wanted to say, and you had your own sentiments that you wanted to share but never felt like it was the right time. Another mission, another patient - just too many distractions that ruined the moment.

The realization hits you like that truck almost had earlier in the day - and you feel stupid at the fact that it took five rounds to get to this point.

There was only one thing you hadn’t done, the one thing you’d been terrified to do, and you were going to be brave and just say it. He already knew, you were sure of it, but you couldn’t let it go unspoken any longer. Two near death experiences in a day clearly meant that you needed to just get it off your chest before you couldn’t and you were going to do it now. Potential disruption from another doctor or nurse be damned - you had to do this before you lost the resolve. You’d been stuck in this stupid time loop for far too long, you had to see if this would break it.

“Zayne,” you start, hands carefully holding onto the lapels of his lab coat to keep him close to you - as if he’d be going anywhere with how wedged between your legs he’d made himself. “I love you, and I’m sorry that it took me so long to just get the words out.”

“You know that you can’t hide anything from me, right?”

“You’ve known this whole time?”

“You mumble it when I leave in the morning and you’re still sleeping. I’ve always said it back.”

“Doesn’t count if I’m sleeping.”

“You’re right,” he states, his nose brushing against yours as he leans in. He’s looking at you through his lashes, and you’re grateful that he’d pocketed his glasses so you had a clear view of the deep green irises. “I love you, and I’m very grateful to have you love me in return.”

You’re in his place of work, the door to his office only providing a slight protection of your privacy for this intimate moment with him, but still he kisses you. Large hands moving from your hips to carefully cradle your face and keep you close to him as his lips coax yours into opening for him. He has work to do, patients to attend to and nurses to provide medicinal instructions to, but he’s standing here kissing you against the window without reservation for your location. Your hands move up his shoulders to wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer as you relish in the taste of bitter coffee and mint on his tongue.

His pager beeping forces you to separate, the sound bringing a disappointed sigh from your boyfriend as his hand has to leave your warm cheek to check the notification. “Surgery patient just woke up.”

“I suppose you need to go handle that,” you murmur, smiling when his lips reconnect to yours in a much more chaste affair. “I’ll allow it.”

“You’ll be rewarded for your sacrifice. I should be able to leave in about an hour, if you’re willing to wait.”

“You wanna take me home?”

“Every night for the rest of our lives together,” he whispers, stealing another kiss from you. “Get comfortable here. I’ve got to finish up some rounds and check on my patient, but we should be heading home soon.”

“I’m looking forward to it.” And you are, there was plenty to do with him - mostly catch up on lost sleep and exchange some more words of love and affection to make up for the weeks of intended exchanges left unspoken. “I love you.”

A smile, small and shy with cheeks red and radiating a warmth is what you get from Zayne - uncharacteristic given the location and his need for a collected personality at work. He needed to be as cool as his evol, but with a kindness that kept patients calm and comfortable in his presence. But that was your smile, your bashful boyfriend who exposed his emotions to you as if he were a painting in a museum, a private collection with only your name on the invite list.

“I love you, too. Stay out of trouble and please don’t shift items slightly to the left while I’m gone.”

You hadn’t planned on it, having seen the book you’d left last time you visited sitting on his desk and ready to sit and read that, but now you’re inspired to shift a few things to the right this time. Maybe move his pen cup and other things that were more convenient being on the side of his dominant hand. He hadn’t said anything about moving things to the right, bringing a mischievous grin to your face that makes him shake his head as he backs away from you with just a warning to behave.

DAY SIX

Another morning comes, sunlight sneaking in through a crack in the curtains that is perfectly positioned to hit your eyelids. Just bright enough to be annoying, so you turn to hide your face into the warm chest at your back while pulling the duvet over your head for good measure.

You’re terrified to open your eyes, not wanting to have to relive yet another Friday since you weren’t sure what would break the loop if telling Zayne that you loved him didn’t do the trick. You were tired of learning a lesson, you’d been through enough.

“You’re too tense for just waking up.”

…that was different.

Now that you were thinking about it, this wasn’t your bed. Your bedroom smelled sweeter, vanilla and spice courtesy of the incense Zayne had bought you for your last birthday. This was bergamot, mint, and sandalwood, an earthy scent that was unique to Zayne and his bedroom - and when you open your eyes you come face to face with the picture of you both that he kept on your nightstand and the Wasabi Octopus that sat beside it. The picture had you both with arms full of plushies because you’d gotten much too lucky one afternoon, the octopus on the nightstand balanced perfectly atop Zayne’s head but he didn’t look perturbed in the slightest. He was excited to have all those plushies, but more excited at how happy you were - he was looking at you rather than the camera.

This wasn’t Friday morning, there was no sun to assault your eyes but there were gentle fingers tapping Mary had a Little Lamb along your side - light enough that it wouldn’t have woken you but noticeable enough for you to make out the pattern. The only song the doctor’s fingers could perform, a pattern your skin could never forget and a song you’d never tire of. This wasn’t your bedroom, this wasn’t your bed - this whole morning was different.

Finally, a change in the loop.

Your head almost slams into his in your haste to sit up, Zayne barely dodging by laying back on the bed as you move.He can only watch as you scramble to grab your phone from the nightstand, only to groan when you see that it was dead courtesy of you forgetting to plug it in, then turn to lean over him to grab his. Your elbow knocks into his ribs a bit in your scramble, pulling a pained grunt from your lover that is met with your apology as you frantically tap on his phone screen to wake it up and check the time.

ignoring the fact that you were naked since every other Friday you’d woken up in Zayne’s very comfortable green sweater that he’d worn when he met you for dinner on Thursday night.

07:34

Saturday

“It’s Saturday?”

“That is the day that comes after Friday, is it not?”

“Zayne, it’s Saturday.” You could honestly cry, having never been happier to see Saturday than after experiencing five Fridays in a row that were tragically nearly identical to the other. You can only stare at the date and time that covered the landscape of his lock screen, the image perfectly placed to avoid blocking your face at the last festival you’d gone to. “It’s Saturday, and we love each other, and-and-“

You’re overwhelmed with emotion as you pull him in for a kiss, his very confused hands settling on your back and carefully rubbing your skin as he kisses you back. It doesn’t take long for you to be straddling him, continuing to make out with your now accepting boyfriend as his hands move to get your body ready for the inevitable conclusion to your early morning.

“I’ve never seen you so excited for Saturday,” he mumbles when you give him time to breathe, his hand leaving your breast to wipe at the tears that had fallen down your cheeks. “Are you alright?”

“Yesterday just sucked, aside from the love confessions.”

His promise to wash it away is mostly successful, his touch tender but delivering exactly what you had needed to lose yourself in him and his love for you, only for him to do it again in the shower before carefully scrubbing at your sensitive body and freshly stitched shoulder wound to properly clean you up. You then get to sit on his countertop, watching as he cooks a simple breakfast that would tide you over until your lunch reservation.

“What made your Friday so awful, if I may ask?”

“It was…” You trail off as you consider your choice of words, reaching out and cupping his cheek as he smiles at you. Explaining the loop of Fridays didn’t seem worth it when you’d come out of it on top, especially since you know Zayne wouldn’t want you to spare a detail So he could understand it better. “Just extremely tedious.”

“We’ll just have to make sure your Saturday is anything but.”

“I love you, Zayne.”

“And I love you. Now let's have breakfast and then we can visit the arcade before lunch.”

#zayne x mc #zayne x reader #zayne x you #love and deepspace zayne x reader #lads fanfic #lads fic #lads smut #lads x reader #lads x mc #zayne li smut #zayne li fic #zayne li x reader #zayne li x mc #zayne lads x reader

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loveanddeepdick · 4 months ago

Note

hear me, lads men when mc puts on pheromones perfume 🫣

xavier would keep his cool, or at least, he would try to. the moment he smelled the perfume, he’d stay in a certain radius of you, watching as you moved around your apartment. after you were done with whatever task you’ve taken up, he’d run his hands up and down your waist as he buried his face in your neck from behind.

“is this new perfume? don’t tease me”

rafayel, unlike xavier, would be on you in an instant. he’d push you onto the nearest surface and push his nose into your neck and collarbone, inhaling the smell as he nearly got drunk on it. his hands never leave you either, exploring underneath your shirt as he continued smelling you.

“wear this every day, please.. ‘smells like heaven”

zayne wouldn’t notice right away. after all, he’s a busy man with lots of things in his mind. he’d be lounging around with you on your couch, reading articles on his phone when you slightly shift to get up and the scent hits him like the truck. he grabs your wrist, pulling you down onto his lap as he moves your hair slightly, leaning in to smell you.

“i was right, your scent is different today. it’s intoxicating, dear”

sylus already knows you bought the perfume, after all, he knows everything about you. he smells it right when you walk into his room. he was buttoning up his tux when you walk in with your tight, black dress, ready to leave with him when he caught your scent. he subtly smiled, keeping his thoughts to himself, teasing you with the false guise of him not acknowledging the new scent. it only took you two hours until you were pouting, giving him a silly silent treatment until he chuckled, spilling his secret.

“sweetie, i’ve known the entire night that you were wearing that perfume. don’t think it didn’t drive me crazy, too”

#lads rafayel #lads x reader #lads zayne #lads sylus #lads xavier #love and deepspace sylus #love and deepspace rafayel #love and deepspace x reader #love and deepspace #sylus x reader #sylus qin x reader #rafayel x reader #zayne x reader #zayne li x reader #xavier x reader #rina thinking 📝

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beneathashadytree · 6 months ago

Text

ENAMORED - ZAYNE LI X READER

Warnings : chubby!reader, slightly suggestive at the start, making out, body image issues & insecurities, autistic!Zayne, mentions of sex, reader is AFAB and uses she/her pronouns!

Genre : hurt/comfort for the soul 🫶🏽🫶🏽🫶🏽

Word count : 1.6K words

Additional notes : This was commissioned by one of my lovely mutuals, and I’m so thankful for the opportunity to discuss self-love and portray more diverse body types. As someone who’s on the heavier side, I’d always struggled with my own perception of my attractiveness, often stopping myself before anything because I worried too much what my partner would think. So writing this was pretty therapeutic🥹💗

Commissions are open here!

Tip jar!

Masterlist

It was impossible for her to think straight when Zayne’s all-consuming presence permeated all her senses. Not when she could smell his cologne and body wash all over her. Not when his hazy eyes, half-closed with pleasure as they met hers, drove her mad. Not when every single low sigh and impassioned whisper of her name was akin to casting a spell on her. And especially not when his soft lips were on hers, swallowing her every moan and tasting like sugar and every sweet thing she could’ve ever imagined, and yet something so distinctly him.

He was everywhere, his weight on top of her both reassuring and stimulating to the point of bringing her nerves to the fraught edge. Every inch of him that brushed up against her barely-clothed self warmed her skin and deepened her flush, and she was impossibly aware of how his calloused palms stroked her hip and her jaw like he couldn’t bear to be parted from her. And he kissed her like her absence was sin; like breaking apart for air would rob him of his own senses.

She’d never seen him so wound up and yet so molten. It was hard to believe that this was Zayne, the same man she’d once thought to be frigid. Now, when he was chasing her lips then nuzzling into her neck to sharply inhale with a rattling breath—as if she were his undoing—she knew that he was a raging inferno, and that she’d be the only one to see him like this, so rattled by how much he needed her.

“Zayne, closer,” she mumbled into his ear, her eyes hot with emotion. She craved him just as much, her hand reaching behind him to tug at the back of his shirt, pushing him closer and closer against her, crying out loud as his teeth grazed against her pulse point in her neck. Zayne’s tongue was quick to soothe that ache, though she wondered if he knew just how much he kindled the one between her thighs. Merely kissing was never enough; could never be enough when she desired him to the depths of her.

He pulled back momentarily to squeeze her hips, hungrily kissing her again and caressing his way back up her sides, deft fingers toying with the strap of her nightgown. She couldn’t hold back her shiver, his ghost of a touch more enticing than anything ever was. His tongue, twining with hers, spelled out her name, and she twirled the soft strands of hair at the back of his neck in an attempt to ground herself.

Then his finger had swiftly pulled the thin silk strap down to her arm, her heaving breasts beginning to spill out of the flimsy fabric, and with the slight chilliness of air on every inch of skin exposed, she quickly sobered up and stilled in place, her joints almost instantly locking. Zayne—sweet, observant Zayne who’d always had his eyes on her and knew her like he knew himself—frowned a little and broke their halted kiss, a look of concern washing over his face.

“Everything alright?” His voice was rougher than usual, and his face was a burning red she’d never get accustomed to, but the worry he’d always had for her was still there.

Stiffening at his question, she angled herself away from his gaze. After all, how does one explain that the whole idea of sex was still daunting? How do you voice something like that, without causing your partner to misunderstand it as rejection of their advances—or worse, a lack of attraction?

Because gods, did she find him otherworldly beautiful. How could she not, when she had eyes and a heart to see him with? How could she not, when he spoke her name like a prayer, and worshiped her at the altar like a goddess divine? How could she not, when his muscles rippled even beneath layers of clothing, and his eyes burned like they only ever saw her?

But then how could she explain how foreign the concept of sex was to her, not out of a lack of wanting—because she knew he was the one thing she’d ever wanted to fully claim, possess even with a maddening love—but out of a deeply-ingrained fear?

“Darling,” he called out to her in a voice ever-so-soft, and only then did she notice that she’d completely frozen up, and that he’d pulled back from on top of her, just one hand carefully brushing at her cheek as he regarded her with all the care in the world. “Is something wrong?” Pausing in his ministrations, a hesitant look made its way on his face. “Have I done something?”

Struggling to find her voice, she cleared her throat once, then twice. “No, no. Not you, honestly. Just… me. Something in my head, ‘s all.”

Again that uncertainty flashed in those hazel eyes, and he simply said, “If you don’t want this—”

“I do,” she breathed out, her voice a little reedier now. She didn’t want him to deny her love for him, the sheer need she’d always carried like a precious flame in her heart. Closing her eyes for a few seconds, she tried to silence the scattered noises in her head. “Stupid self-consciousness. That’s all.”

Zayne’s expression shifted to one of genuine confusion. “Of what? I’m not exactly experienced either, given that you’re the only person I’ve ever been with, or wanted, for that matter. I don’t expect things to be perfect.”

“Not that,” she whispered, discomfort tingling underneath her skin at the prospect of unpacking what she’d stowed away in a corner of her mind, hoping to will it away as time went on. “Just about my body, my appearance… things like that.”

Something akin to incredulity made Zayne’s eyes grow wide for a few seconds, as though he couldn’t believe what he was hearing; couldn’t imagine that she could have thoughts like these. His expression was then schooled to its placid calmness as he cupped her jaw. “I told you that I think you’re the most beautiful person in every room. I wouldn’t lie to you.”

She chuckled weakly, her eyes refusing to meet his. If they did, she knew she’d lose all the courage she’d barely mustered in the first place. “It’s one thing to see me dressed up, another to see my stomach rolls and big thighs in person and still find me attractive.”

Zayne simply shook his head, and a lump formed in her throat at the affectionate look in his eyes and the slight upwards quirk of his kiss-swollen lips. “All the more to love, but no less beautiful.” Perhaps he was doing it subconsciously, but the way his thumb drifted to gently caress underneath her breasts—like even the folds and creases underneath the silk there were worthy of his reverence—made her feel so seen, wholeheartedly.

“Does it,” she faltered, then went on as she glanced at his hands tracing her curves with all the fondness in the world, her own resting on his chest over his racing heart, “Does it really not matter to you?”

“If it doesn’t matter, then I’m not acknowledging it in the first place.” Zayne huffed out a chuckle, pressing lazy, open-mouthed kisses to the exposed top of her breasts, humming into her skin and sending her brain into a frenzy with every searing kiss and every languid stroke of his palm against her tummy. “Which couldn’t be further from the truth. I’m too aware of your body. Just… for an entirely different reason.” His voice was barely more than muttering now, intense eyes like green aventurine seeing her right to her core that yearned for him. “Being that it makes me want you more, all the time. Does that upset you?”

Something ignited at his words, something long dormant that she’d almost given up on, and she rushed to shake her head. She couldn’t put a finger on what it was that made her heart swell to twice its size, nor could she name that feeling of being so utterly overwhelmed with the unconditional love she’d dreamed of at night, seeing his eyes and his precious smile all for her when she closed her eyes.

Whatever it was, Zayne read it in her vulnerable expression and her pliant softness in his hands. Humming contentedly, he pushed himself back up to press fleeting, impossibly tender kisses to her eyelids, thumbs swiping at the tears dotting her lash-line and leaving feather-light kisses there too. “Then I’ll prove it to you some other day. For now, let’s sleep.”

For a moment, her eyes flitted downwards, and she worriedly began to protest. “But Zayne, you’re still—!”

A chaste peck to her lips silenced her, and he shook his head before settling into the mattress beside her, his voice carrying the weight of an unspoken vow. “We’ve got the rest of our lives for that.” Zayne’s fingers found her brows, brushing them back to ease the frown off her face, and somehow—like his touch was magic ensnaring her—it melted away into what she knew was a lovesick expression. Her heart was hammering away in her ribcage, half disbelieving of how he’d managed to make her love him even more. “I won’t want you any less in eight hours, when I can indulge in you for a longer time.”

And though the night had ended with a layer of clothing between them, with significantly less escalation than she’d predicted as they curled into each other’s warmth under the sheets and their breaths evened out, this was perhaps the most intimate she’d ever been with another person. Slipping into a deep slumber, her fingers curling into his scarred palm, she felt beyond grateful for the idea that of all people, it was with Zayne she’d fallen hopelessly in love with.

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b-ibilly · 2 months ago

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Are we seeing this zayne girlies?!

AND THE BUSINESS PROPOSAL SCENE ?!

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oncasette · 1 month ago

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𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗠𝗢𝗢𝗡 𝗗𝗢𝗘𝗦𝗡'𝗧 𝗠𝗜𝗡𝗗

xavier shen x fem!reader, boyfriend!zayne li x fem!reader

summary: 1.1k

His gaze shifts to the window. The heavy moon sits and leers at him. The light of it mocks him, pouring into the hospital’s waiting area in the same vein as it was showering over you. Too late, he thinks, to be wondering if you were looking at it, too.

or the one where xavier is surprised to see you already at the hospital when he comes into the emergency room for a fractured wrist.

content: jealousy, unrequited love, broken bone (wrist)

masterlist | beat you to it masterlist

It’s already night when Xavier arrives at Asko. He should have come in earlier, the pain in his wrist nearly blinding as he stumbles his way through the waiting area. He’d been so pumped up on adrenaline earlier that he hadn’t thought much of it, but the moment he’d gotten home, it became unignorable. Hence why he was holding it up to the lady at the front desk with a desperate look in his eye.

Had you been at work that day, he wouldn’t have heard the end of it. He would’ve been rushed to the hospital as soon as the wanderer had been dealt with. He can picture it now, your gentle hands running a sling over his shoulder to keep him from agitating it further, your worrying eyes tracing over the rest of his features. It wouldn’t have happened in the first place, had you been at work, he thinks. He’d been so distracted with ideas of what you were doing on your off day that he hadn’t seen the wanderer coming up on him until it was too late.

“I’m sorry, we don’t have any available beds right now,” the receptionist says, a hair less sympathetic than Xavier had been expecting from the hospital staff. He nods helplessly as gives him his options, opting to sit in the waiting room until he could be seen. It’s not like he even needed a bed, really. He wouldn’t mind being seen in the hallway if it meant he could get something to deal with the pain shooting up his arm now.

Still, even with the ache and the uncomfortable chair, it doesn’t take incredibly long for Xavier to feel his eyes start to droop under the luster of sleep. He’d never admit–maybe under the guise of alcohol, maybe–but he tends to dream of you more often than not. He dreams of your nose scrunched up in displeasure, a food you don’t like being poked at in front of you, dreams of your voice as you whisper sweet nothings in his ear, dreams of your fingers prodding at his cheeks early in the morning with the sun cascading over your features and making you look like something hand-crafted by the divine. He dreams of your lips coasting across his nose, his eyelids, his jaw. He dreams of your voice.

“Xavier?” you ask. He curls into the sound, cheeks growing rosier. A pleasant pressure growing on his shoulder. Your voice, again. Louder this time. “Xavier.”

He wants to live in your warmth, to drown in the way your mouth cradles the vowels of his name.

A shake this time, that draws him from his slumber. Bleary eyes take in his surroundings only to lock onto you in an instant. You were here. He calls your name in a drowsy rasp as you help him sit up further in his seat.

“What happened, Xav? Why are you at the hospital so late?” you ask and he preens under the attention.

“My wrist,” he mumbles. “No beds.”

“Oh, gods, what hap-” a gasp cuts you off as you look down at the black discoloration that had marred his skin. Your fingers hang out in the air beside him, and he wishes you would just touch him, even if it would sear pain up his side.

Then you’re turning and a swath of cold rinses through him. His gaze follows you like a puppy’s would, begging for your notice.

“Zayne, you wouldn’t mind checking him, would you?” you ask, looking up at the doctor behind you. Xavier’s brow knits together. You know him?

“He’ll need more than I can do for him,” Zayne says, but he’s already moving closer to Xavier and sitting in the chair on the opposite side of him from you. “I can’t decipher much just from an external examination.”

Xavier doesn’t look at the man beside him as he grabs his wrist. He keeps his eyes on yours and traces the slope of your nose.

“It’s broken,” the doctor says. “That much was obvious, already, but he’ll really need to stay and get an x-ray for further information. I’m sorry, love.”

That gets his attention.

“That’s alright. Thank you for looking at least,” you hum, running a comforting hand over his shoulder that leaves Xavier keening into you. Or, it would have, if he wasn’t so hyperfocused on the name the doctor had called you. You move to stand, your hand coming up to cup Zayne’s cheek briefly. Xavier suddenly doesn’t care about the pain in his wrist, a different strain of fire seeping through him. The ire in his blood licks at the back of his eyes until all can see is splintering shards of scarlet and maroon.

“I’ll meet you at home, alright? I should stay with him for a little while, see if he needs anything,” you say, pressing your lips against the corner of the man’s lips.

“Of course,” Zayne nods. “Thank you for bringing me dinner. If you wait around long enough, we might be able to ride home together.”

You nod, bidding him goodbye before moving to sit beside your partner. Xavier dodges the hand that comes out to rest on his uninjured wrist, dropping it in his lap in spite of the screaming urge within him to let himself collapse fully into your hold.

Home? Your home? How long had another man been occupying your space, how long had you both been calling it home?

“I don’t need anything,” he spits petulantly. He watches you flinch in his periphery, and guilt surges through him.

“Are you sure? I don’t mind staying, really. I feel horrible that you got hurt, especially since I wasn’t there,” you say softly, your fingers twiddling themselves in your lap. He shakes his head. He doesn’t know how long he’d been in the waiting room, but it surely couldn’t be that much longer for a room to open up for him.

“You should go home,” he huffs, though the soft lilt nearly betrays his lingering emotions. “I’ll see you at work.”

After a beat or so of watching him you whisper, “Okay. If you’re sure. Please text me if you need anything, alright?”

He nods again, turning his head away from you fully as you leave him there. He couldn’t bear watching you leave, walking away from him as if you weren’t taking the rest of his world away with you. Like you hadn’t stomped all over his dreams by kissing a doctor and waiting for him to come home.

#xavier #xavier love and deepspace x reader #xavier x reader #xavier shen x reader #xavier shen #love and deepspace #zayne li x reader #zayne x reader #lads #xavier lads #lnds #xavier lnds #l&ds

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erensfeed · 2 months ago

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THE PARALLELS ARE INSANE.

I LOVE ME SOME OF WHATEVER THIS IS/WHATEVER CALEB AND ZAYNE ARE (GONNA BE) TO EACH OTHER

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aomiiine · 16 days ago

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somnophilia, sexting, creampie

older bf! zayne who takes care of your needs, day and night, without fail. Working overtime at the hospital doesn’t stop him either. He’s using every opportunity to check his phone, searching for your name on his notifs. And when he does, he opens it to see an attachment. It was a photo, of his pillow squished between your bare thighs, skirt hiked up just enough to see the blooming wet patch of your cum on the cover.

older bf! zayne who sends quick texts asking you were able to take good care of yourself in his absence. Except, he knew damn well you were frustrated beyond belief. Struggling to replicate the feeling of his thick calloused fingers rubbing your clit in slow, caring circles with your own or his pillow. He could imagine it, really. You laid on his bed, hair sprawled on the pillows with your legs taking up his spacious bed, toes curling on the sheets as you played with your messy pussy, unable to sleep without your loving, more experienced boyfriend taking care of you.

older bf! zayne who hums in amusement at your reply to his message, words mostly misspelled, no doubt holding your phone with one hand. He teases you further, fingers flying across the screen to spell out a brief yet blunt text saying ‘you shouldn’t bother me at work, dove. You know how noticeable my boners are.’

older bf! zayne knew the mere mention of his cock would send you into a frenzy, getting you to form a mental image of his bare, heavy dick being pumped by his fist lazily before he plunged it into your tiny cunt. And he absolutely loved it—knowing you’d only add yet another digit into your pussy that cried for his girth to stretch you open.

older bf! zayne who’d come back home past midnight to see you passed out on the bed, nightgown bunched up above your midriff, exposing your drenched panties that hung low enpugh to give him a glimpse of your pussy. Just one look at you in the dark of his bedroom was enough to rile him up more than he already was after getting off his phone. Now, he knew he had to take care of you. He wouldn’t ever dream of leaving his girl unsatisfied no matter how long he left you hanging.

older bf! zayne who’d scoop you knees under his hands, pushing your legs up to your gently heaving chest, belt and zipper left open to let his pants hang low, cock standing at attention. He didn’t have to do much with the thin fabric of your panties, merely tucking it to the side enough for his bulbous tip to delve past your folds to notch into your entrance. He tries so hard not to force it all in with one swift thrust, willing his entire body to restrain his flexing muscles as he held your legs in place.

older bf! zayne who’d bottom in and out of you so fucking good, his fat cock nestling deep into your fluttering pussy with needy throbs that would lull you back to sleep. He’d shush you back to sleep softly, voice tight yet soothing still even as he worked to satisfy both of your needs. He’d hiss curses underneath his breath, mumbling and cooing tender praises into the dead of the night, hoping your slumbered self could hear him in your dreams.

older bf! zayne who’d pick up the pace when he feels himself getting dangerously, the coil in the pit of his stomach tightening with each slap of his balls against your plump ass. You weren’t far off either and he could tell—hands prying up for the covers of the pillows beneath your head, balling up to fists with needy mewls leaving your parted lips, your brows knitting into a look or pure ecstasy—the same look you’d have whenever you’re about to cum too, he notes.

older bf! zayne who plunges his spurting cock deep inside your spasming cunt when he cums, jets of thick hot semen spraying your womb white. Your whines grew louder, strands of your hair sticking to your sweat sheened skin. He’d stay still even when his orgasm fades, thrusting shallowly to prolong your pleasure—and hear the lewd squelches of the mess your cum made on his cock, the nest of hair below his pelvis glistening with your nectar.

older bf! zayne who pulls out slow, careful to not wake you up from your resuming slumber. He’d put your legs back down, getting off the bed while tucking his dirty cock back into his pants half-heartedly, not bothering to zip himself up. He’d walk over to the wardrobe, picking one of your clean panties to slip back up your legs, making sure it’s cups your dripping cunt snugly, not wanting a single drop of his cum to ooze out of you in your sleep.

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xavierfan · 6 days ago

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p-links of zayne [L&DS]

summary: p-links that reminded me of zayne :3

notes: i think you need to be logged into your twitter to see the videos :) also apparently i just think zayne is the biggest eater

warnings: sexually explicit & graphic content linked below the cut!

he's just making sure everything is in order

him punishing you for not listening to doctor's orders

taking care of you before he leaves for the hospital

zayne finally gets a day off

zayne after a long day at work

he likes to take his time with things

your gift to him

he'll need to change before he goes to work

physical check-up

after you guys get home from a work party of his

punishing you again

physical check-up part 2

taking care of you

not dessert but a close second

he loves him some dessert

dessert part 2

you regift his gift

he's always taking care of you

seriously, i mean always

real eater

dessert part 3

physical check-up part 3

your gift to him after he returns from back-to-back surgeries

average dessert enjoyer

he can't sleep the night before a big surgery :(

he'll buy you a new pair

you shave him while he's tired, apparently he really loves acts of service

in his office between surgeries

taking care of him

in his office still :3

punishing you AGAIN

he wants your eyes on him :(

you bought some pretty lace for him

water works

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always-just-red · 5 months ago

Note

A multi-headcanon request please. How the boys react when they discover their s/o has been hiding a wound from them because she had it under control and didn't want to give them something else to worry about

Hi! Thanks so much for the request and all the support! Have written a little fic for each of the guys, starring... - Xavier, Deepspace Hunter extraordinaire ✨ - Linkon's worst best baking partner, Zayne 🍪 - Drama queen Rafayel 👑 - King of self-care, Sylus 💅

Putting On A Brave Face

L&DS Boys x Reader

Summary: Sometimes, a certain hunter likes to say things are fine when they definitely aren't...

Genre: A lil bit of angst, mostly fluff + comfort!

Warnings/Additional tags: female reader, established relationship, swearing, canon pet names, some injury details/blood mentioned, teeeeency bit of suggestion (I'm looking at YOU, Sylus...)

| Word count: 4k (1k each!) | Masterlist | Opt-in to my taglist here!

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Love and Deepspace. All work is my own, so please don't repost or plagiarise!

Xavier ⭐

This is bad. Not ‘end of everything as we know it’ bad, but definitely ‘an obscene amount of paperwork’ bad.

You clutch one of your pistols to your chest— deep breath— and you listen carefully, your head leant back against the rock you’re using as cover. Your mind latches on to every sound: each growl, each rumble of earth that marks the movements of the Wanderers that have trapped you here.

You’ve fought worse odds, but then again, you don’t usually have to do it with a broken leg.

Or maybe just sprained? You shift a little, trying to move, and the pain that sears through you settles the debate in an instant. Your teeth sink into the back of your hand to keep you from crying out.

You hope Xavier’s ok. You sent him your co-ordinates minutes ago, and the lack of response has worry gnawing away at the deepest parts of you. You check your hunter’s watch.

Still nothing.

Another deep breath, and you readjust your position as much as you can. Balancing on your good leg, you manage to peer over the top of the rock to get a visual of your surroundings.

There’s four, no— five Wanderers. Stupid no-hunt zone; you’re never not outnumbered.

You can see your second pistol, abandoned in the middle of the clearing where you’d dropped it. There’s flickers of movement, too: further in the woods. More Wanderers. Shit.

You duck behind the rock you’re starting to think might be your new home. Then your watch flickers, broadcasting a map of the area, and there’s the co-ordinates of another hunter, closing in fast.

Something flashes in the clearing, lighting the dark of the forest like a stutter of lightning. Then again. Then again. There’s a blood-curdling roar, and it ends— abrupt— with another flash.

Everything goes silent, save for a familiar voice calling your name.

“Xavier!” you call back.

You peek over the rock to see your partner jogging towards you, dead Wanderers littered behind him. “Are you alright?” he asks, his voice soft as always, but his sword is still dripping blood.

“I’m ok.” You clamber up, using the rock as a seat when the small effort almost breaks you. “You?”

Xavier draws close— his gloved hands on your face, cupping your cheeks. His thumb grazes over a shallow scrape on your brow. “Yeah,” he answers.

“Did you find that weird Wanderer?”

He shakes his head: no. Steps back to check his watch. “It’s probably moved on to a different zone by now.”

“Then we should look for it,” you say, standing up. All of your weight is on one leg.

“Ah,” Xavier ponders, rubbing his neck, “really? I thought we should maybe head back.”

“No need.” And what’s the plan here, exactly? You can’t walk. You definitely can’t fight. Maybe you can wait here while he— no. He’s never going to leave you. “I told you I’m ok.”

“But you’re not.”

“I am,” you assert. You’re determined to convince him and your own, useless body. It’s just a sprain. It is just a sprain. You take a step forwards and stumble, your bad leg crumpling beneath you.

Xavier catches you, strong and solid, and he's holding you like you’re something delicate. He sets you down on the rock again. The pain is making your vision swim.

“You’re hurt,” he reasons gently, even though the truth of it is a knife that’s twisting in your heart. He seems to sense your reluctance: “There’s no shame in admitting that. It happens. Let’s go back.”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m slowing you down, Xavier!” you gush. Your heart is split open and it has to bleed somewhere. “You have no idea what it’s like… being your partner.”

He’s looking at you with so much guilt and gods, you wish that somewhere was anywhere but his hands. “What do you mean?” he asks on a shaky breath.

“I love working with you.” Soften the blow. “I love being with you, but you don’t need me. You’re this incredible hunter. This figure of legend, of everyone’s stories. You can do so much on your own and I just don’t know how to keep up. I mean, look at me— I can’t.”

You feel sick. Empty. “You shouldn’t have to hang back for me,” you finish limply. “You’re you, Xavier. You can fight like a hundred Wanderers and still come out unscathed.”

The blue of Xavier’s eyes has grown understandably more turbulent, though it settles a little. He seems to relax. “Yeah… about that,” he mumbles hesitantly.

He turns around and your mouth drops. A savage cut drapes like a crimson sash down his back, splitting the white of his uniform. It’s not deep enough to be fatal, but it’s not good, either.

“Wha— Xavier!” you exclaim, trying to surge forwards, but your pain keeps you rooted. “You said you were ok!”

“So did you,” he frowns, bewildered. “Can we get out of—”

“Yeah, yeah.” You let him take your arm and help you to your feet.

He leads you through the clearing and into the forest, supporting your weight as you hop along beside him. There’s a murmur about how he should carry you, but you’re quick to reassure him he’s doing enough. You’re both hurting; you both just need to survive the short walk out of the no-hunt zone, where a med team can take over.

“You don’t slow me down, you know,” Xavier says quietly, after a minute of silence. “You’re the reason I can keep going.”

You squeeze his arm affectionately, mustering a smile even though you’re nauseous with pain and the idea that he’s been dwelling on your speech this whole time. “Well,” you chuckle through gritted teeth, “you’re gonna have to learn how to get by without me.”

“Huh?” He gives you a curious look.

You glance down at your leg. “Zayne’s gonna kill me...”

Zayne ❄

“I’m a doctor.”

You stop what you’re doing to fix Zayne with a questioning stare. “Ok…?”

“I’ve published dozens of research papers. Pioneered new surgical techniques. My work on Evol-based regenerative properties still has lasting implications for my field, and I’ve the accolades to show for it. The Starcatcher Award. The Linde Award, too— I was the youngest ever recipient.”

None of this is news to you, and you can’t help chuckling at this change in your usually-humble physician. You humour him: “The youngest ever recipient, huh?” There’s a crack as you split an egg on the side of the bowl in front of you. “That’s very impressive.”

“Is it?”

Zayne stands from his seat at your kitchen table: you hear the chair draw back. You feel his presence arrive behind you as you continue to stir your soon-to-be cookie dough. “Yeah,” you lilt with a smile.

“Really?” he pushes again, and his arms wrap around you as he bends to speak into your ear. “Because someone seems to think I can’t even recognise a—” he nips at it— “sprained ankle.”

His breath is warm on your neck and you let out a giggle. “Keep speaking to me like that and these cookies are never making it into the oven. Or your stomach.”

The man relents. He releases you, not returning to his seat but opting to lean against the kitchen counter instead. You glance up at him; he stares back, waiting for an actual answer.

“My ankle is fine, Zayne.”

There’s a sigh as he crosses his arms.

“It is,” you insist, even though you did sprain your ankle at work today, it does hurt like hell, and you do just want to sit down. You reach for the flour you’d measured out previously, tipping it into the larger bowl. “If it wasn’t, would I really be here— making you cookies?”

“Yes,” he says plainly.

“You’re delusional.”

“Ok.”

Well, that was a little too easy. Don’t overthink it, and definitely don’t read into the fact that he’s standing there oh-so-smugly, like he knows something you don’t. You finish stirring the flour into the mixture, then add the last of the ingredients. Just a pinch of salt, and then…

Where did you put the chocolate chips? You glance about yourself but they’re nowhere in sight. “Hey, Zayne? Have you seen the—”

“This cupboard,” he indicates with an upwards nod of his head. His eyes are relentless. “Top shelf.”

Ah. That’s ok. You’ve totally got this. You move beneath the cupboard, opening it and gazing up into the contents. You can see the pack of chocolate chips. You can get up there somehow, right?

“Would you like me to—” Zayne starts, but you cut him off:

“Nope.” You put your hands on your hips. “Please— if I can climb the back of an alive, awake, and very angry deluge wyrmlord to put a sword through its skull, I think I can make it onto the kitchen counter in one piece. Lemme just…”

Your knee lifts. You make it about a centimetre from the floor before Zayne’s hands are on your waist, grounding you. “Stop,” he instructs, and it's not a tone that allows for any rebuttal. Satisfied by your silence, he brings the chocolate chips down to you.

“Thanks,” you say quietly as they’re placed on the counter.

“You’re welcome."

Sheepishly, you spill a generous amount of chocolate chips into the cookie mixture. Your throat hurts in the way that keeps you from saying anything more. You already feel like an idiot, and your eyes are watering, threatening to make you look like even more of one.

Zayne’s hand appears in front of you, hovering over the bowl. You laugh in understanding: giving the half-empty bag another shake so chocolate chips fall into his palm.

“You… don’t have to explain yourself,” he says as he lifts them to his mouth. His next words are muffled: “But you can tell me anything, my love. I never want you to feel as though you can’t.”

You chuckle again; you can’t help yourself. Look at him: your oh-so-serious doctor shovelling chocolate into his mouth. He raises an eyebrow at you, his lips still on his palm.

“I know I can tell you anything,” you smile, the ache in your throat receding, however much the rest of you hurts. “I did sprain my ankle. It’s not that I wanted to hide it from you, it’s just—” you stop stirring the mixture— “it’s just that your whole life is taking care of people at the hospital. You should get a break from it. You should get to be Zayne, here… at home. Just Zayne, not Doctor Zayne.”

Zayne’s hazel eyes have taken on a hue of regret. He pushes his glasses further up the bridge of his nose, buying himself a few seconds as he contemplates. “Are you a doctor?” he asks after a moment.

“No?”

“And yet, here you are, taking care of me.” He reaches for the abandoned packet of chocolate chips. “Tell me, does it feel like work to you?”

“Yeah,” you tease, drawing the packet away from his stretching fingers in explanation; you’re both grinning.

“Well, it never feels like work to me. Just Zayne likes taking care of you. And right now? He wants to bundle you up on the sofa and finish these cookies for you.”

You purse your lips: that’s some dubious wording. “Zayne, hell will freeze over before I leave you and this cookie dough unsupervised.”

He shushes you, pulling on the cord of your apron until the bow at your back comes loose. Before you can protest, he’s wearing the apron himself.

“Zayne, I’m not kidding. I know what you’re gonna do. You’re gonna get rid of me, and then you’ll—”

“Shh,” he coos again, whisking you carefully off your feet, because it’s time for a taste of your own medicine. “You’re delusional.”

Rafayel 🔥

“Mmhmm. Mmhmm.”

“Raf, who are you—”

He holds out a finger to shush you. “Mmhmm.”

You cross your arms impatiently. Who is he even talking to, anyway? His lilac eyes are locked on you as he continues humming away, apparently very invested in whatever the person on the phone is saying; you’ve never seen him go this long without talking.

He narrows his eyes at you. You narrow your eyes right back.

All around you, guests of the exhibition are milling about, all dressed to the nines and minding their business, however much they want the attention of the man in front of you. A few of them linger as they pass him, like they want to say something, like they’re going to say something…

But they don’t.

It’s a wonder that Rafayel stands out in the crowd as much as he does. You’d seamlessly located him, back from your third trip to the bathroom to check on the bandages you’ve managed to conceal beneath this dress. He’s still holding your purse for you, his phone in his other hand, except—

That’s your phone. That’s your phone! “Rafayel!”

He shushes you again. “I understand,” he says solemnly, notably not to you, “thanks for letting me know.” The call is ended. He takes a deep, collected breath, then looks at you. “I knew it!”

“Knew what? Who was that?”

“Zayne.”

“You called Zayne?”

“Like I had a choice!” Rafayel retaliates. It is true; he’s spent the entire evening trying to get you to admit something was wrong, and you had no intention of giving him that pleasure. “You’re supposed to be in the hospital! What kind of idiot breaks out of the hospital?”

The lack of irony in the question almost breaks you. “Umm… you?! Like every other week?!”

He shrugs. “That’s different.”

“Rafayel, I swear, I’m gonna— ah!” you gasp in pain. You’d stepped forwards too quickly— maybe to strangle him, but that’s neither here nor there— and the wound on your side is clearly on his side. It stings like hell: punishing you, and you know the pain is self-inflicted.

Rafayel frowns in concern, maybe even guilt, and that’s why you didn’t tell him. “C’mon, we should go,” he insists gravely.

“It’s fine, Raf. It doesn’t even—”

“Stop lying! You said you wouldn’t hide stuff like this from me. You promised, remember?”

You’re losing track of all the promises you’ve made to the Lemurian, but you do remember that one. Guilt has its teeth in you, too. “I know,” you grumble, “I’m sorry, ok? I just knew—”

“What?”

“That you’d act like this! You’ve been working on this exhibition for months, Raf. Tonight is supposed to be about you. Not me— you. And I want it to stay that way. Everyone’s here to celebrate you and your work, and that’s how it should be. That’s what I want. To support you. To be here for you.”

Your voice has gone timid. You finish meekly: “Can’t you let me do this for you? Please?”

Rafayel’s eyes are wide and still the prettiest things you’ve ever seen, even in a room full of masterpieces and jewels you could never afford. They shine with uncertainty, but soften as he smiles, full of fondness and affection. “That’s sweet. But also? Really dumb.”

“Raf—”

“The only— and I mean only— reason I’m here tonight is because you are. I don’t care about what anyone thinks about me or my paintings. Just you. And you can see this?” He gestures around the gallery. “Anytime. My life’s your private exhibition, cutie. Exclusive access, 24/7, and I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

He steps closer to you: close enough that he can see the tear that’s made it halfway down your cheek. He wipes it away with a chuckle. “Plus,” he adds, “I know you know I’m amazing. You don’t need these old sourpusses to tell you that, do you?”

You laugh tentatively. “No, I don’t.”

Your injury protests as you use the lapels on Rafayel’s blazer to pull him closer; you have to stand on your tiptoes to kiss his cheek. He’s still grinning as he draws away, a light blush on his cheeks, but the sweetness of the moment vanishes as his gaze drifts lower.

“My eyes are up here, Rafayel.”

“Yeah…” he concedes mindlessly, but then he points: “you know you’re like, bleeding, right?”

You glance downwards to where the red of your dress is turning darker. There’s just a small splotch, but it’s growing. Shit. You must have reopened the wound.

“Thomas?” you hear Rafayel call, and then he’s stuffing a silk handkerchief into your hands— helping you apply pressure. “We have to get out of here,” he explains as a figure joins you.

His agent folds his arms; this is not dissimilar to stunts you and Rafayel have pulled before. “Fake blood, guys? Really?” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “You can’t leave, Rafayel. I can just see the headlines tomorrow…”

“Dashing artist selflessly flees exhibition to save devoted bodyguard,” Rafayel concurs with a nod.

Thomas groans. “That’s not what they’re going to—”

“Help me out with this, cutie?”

“Yes, sir,” you mock salute.

A moment later, Rafayel has scooped you up into his arms. Your hero; he gives you a conspiratorial wink before glancing about frantically. “Quickly!” he cries out. “Everyone out of the way, please!”

“For the love of—” Thomas starts.

“Oh, gods!” you shout in agony. “It hurts. It hurts!”

Heads turn. Cameras flash.

Tomorrow morning, half of Linkon will be talking about one of their favourite celebrities and his long-envied bodyguard. A news article will pop-up on her doctor’s phone, and he’ll see the pictures and sigh.

Sylus 🩸

“It’s not too late to back down, sweetie,” Sylus sneers.

“Aw, but you got all dressed up for the occasion.”

Your eyes rake over the outline of the man’s abs, courtesy of the tank top he’s wearing, and it does take the sting out of the fact that he’ll be trying to hit you. He holds his wrapped hands before him, ready to defend, ready to attack. He’ll probably attack, right?

“Last chance,” he growls.

“Is it, though?” This is the third ‘last chance’ you’ve been given in the five minutes you’ve been teetering on combat. You beckon him with a curl of your fingers. “Come on, Sylus. This is getting old.”

He scoffs: “How do you think I feel?”

“Like you’re about to get your ass kicked?”

“Alright, enough.” His hands drop and it feels like you’re back at the academy, about to be scolded for not taking something seriously. Sylus turns his back on you. Moves to the edge of the boxing ring so he can retrieve a stool from outside of it and sit down in a huff. He starts peeling the wraps from his knuckles, and— wait, is he mad? Like, actually mad?

“What’s wrong, Sy?”

He laughs as though you’re missing something dreadfully obvious. Maybe irony.

“Sylus?”

“You really are heartless, sweetie. You know that?”

The words steal your breath away, if only for a moment. Yours is a relationship of pulled punches, but he won’t meet your gaze and that one was real, wasn’t it? He wanted it to sting. “Why—”

“I could have hurt you,” he snaps, his dishevelled, snowy hair falling to cover his eyes. His discarded wraps slide from his hands, pooling by his feet like blood. “You were going to let me hurt you.”

He looks at you, finally, but it’s not in the way you want. His gaze is cast low, trailing over your body and making you feel every bruise, every closed cut that wants to reopen and every ache, rooted almost to bone. You’d done your best to hide it, even going so far as to press make-up hastily over your purpled skin.

That Wanderer really did a number on you yesterday.

“You should have told me,” Sylus says, since you’ve made it onto the same page. “Honestly, kitten. Why would you—”

“Because Luke and Kieran told me, ok?”

Oh, they’re going to kill you. It was supposed to be a secret, and here you are, spilling like a fresh wound because you can’t stand the thought of Sylus being upset with you. You step closer, scrambling to dissect what you’ve done right in front of his eyes— holding it out to him: this is why. This is why. “They said you had a rough week. Some deals of yours had fallen through or something. And I’ve been too busy. I haven’t called, I haven’t even texted, and…”

You need him to understand, but the truth is a mess in your hands and how do you even start to explain it to him?

“You wanted to do something for me,” he finishes for you, and you don’t have to explain a thing.

“Yeah…” you confirm, bittersweet and still sad. “You do so much for me, Sylus. I just wanted to do what you wanted, for a change.”

Maybe it’s a round of boxing. Maybe it’s a dozen illicit dealings where he needs you to play enforcer— it doesn’t matter. As long as he’s happy.

“Come here,” he orders gently.

You close the rest of the rift between you, letting him reach for you and pull you closer. His knees have spread so you can slot against him, and his arms circle around you— trapping you— as he nuzzles into the warmth of your stomach.

“I’m sorry I called you heartless,” he speaks into you, his voice muffled as he gives you a chaste kiss. He then cranes his head upwards, resting his chin against you so he can profess more clearly: “I do worry about you, kitten.”

“I know—” your hands move to his head— “I’m sorry too. I shouldn’t have lied to you.”

“Mmm,” he hums in accordance, maybe even forgiveness, and his eyes close as your fingers card through the soft of his hair. “I lied too.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he confesses on a contented sigh. “I didn’t want to spend today… boxing.”

“What do you want to do today, Sy?”

His eyes flicker open and his hands find your hips. “What I really want…” he contemplates, as his thumbs slip under the hem of your shirt to rub circles on your skin, “is to take care of you.”

There are lifetimes of need in his gaze.

“Won’t you let me take care of you, sweetie?”

…

“If he finds the terms so disagreeable, then he’s more than welcome to take his business elsewhere. Although—” Sylus’s voice is cold— “he might find his other options less… amenable than when he saw them last. Less communicative, too. You can tell him I said so.”

He ends the phone call. Smiles. “Sorry about that, sweetie.”

“Are the boys ok?”

The smile widens, even though you can’t see it. “They’re fine.”

Phone set aside, Sylus carries on with the important business Kieran’s call had distracted him from. You’re half asleep, your head in his lap as he brushes your hair: rose-scented and soft from the bath he’d drawn for you, hours ago. Every bandage is fresh and clean. Every ache has been dulled with a lazy massage and more chaste kisses, for good measure.

“Perfect day,” you mumble blissfully.

“Perfect day,” Sylus agrees.

#��rach is actually writing #xavier x reader #zayne x reader #rafayel x reader #sylus x reader #love and deepspace #lads x reader #lads x mc #shen xinghui #li shen #qi yu #qin che #lads #lnds #l&ds

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queen-quintonz · 8 months ago

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What the actual fuck.

The desperation… both hands cradling your head… his voice crack… his urgency.

“I need you. I have never denied that” OH LORDDDDDDD

#zayne x reader #lads zayne #love and deepspace x reader #zayne love and deepspace #love and deepspace #zayne imagines #dr zayne #l&ds zayne #zayne smut #li shen #lads #zayne headcanons #zayne x you #zayne x mc

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ughbrie · 28 days ago

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converging threads | zayne

part one | part two

⤜ ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ- “And I know what that loneliness feels like.” His voice was rough, raw. “Because when I had nightmares of his life… he dreamt of mine.”

A chill ran through you.

“He dreamt of Linkon. Of Akso. Of—” He swallowed hard, his grip on you unyielding. “You.”

The word hung between you, heavy and fragile at the same time.

“Now, he’s clawing his way into my thoughts, trying to make sense of a life that isn’t his to have.” Zayne’s hands curled into the fabric of your clothes, as if anchoring himself to something tangible. “And every time I look at you—” His voice cracked, his hands shaking as he clutched you. “He’s reaching for you. And I don’t know if it’s me who wants you or if it’s him bleeding through.”

(Or… after the events of Chansia City, Zayne had started to avoid you. More than a week later, in the dead of night, he's outside of your door, struggling with his sense of self—blurring between two worlds.)

⤜ ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ- zayne x female reader

⤜ ɢᴇɴʀᴇ- angst, smut, & fluff

⤜ ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ- 8k

⤜ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ- nsfw, mdni, softdom!zayne, references to zayne's third anecdote (still in the dark), spoilers to zayne's main story branch (thorns under the moon) and four star memory (fragmented dreams), mentions of childhood trauma and violence, too much angst, oral sex (blowjob), dirty talk, penetration (p in v), clothed sex, riding, breast play, emotional sex, unprotected sex, and creampie.

⤜ ɴᴏᴛᴇ- As a dedicated Zayne main, I've always had a soft spot for Dawnbreaker!Zayne, I just want to give him the biggest hug! While he never explicitly took control of main story Zayne’s body, their connection through dreams and nightmares allowed them to see into each other’s lives. And so, I wanted to explore what it would be like if that connection blurred even further after the events of Chansia City, and how Zayne would react to it. I hope you enjoy reading!

The knock at your door was soft, barely audible over the hum of Linkon City outside. You might have missed it had you not been awake, staring at the ceiling, unable to shake the restlessness clawing at your chest. Something felt wrong.

Hesitating for a moment, you peeled the blankets away and stepped towards the door. When you opened it, Zayne stood there, still as a statue. The warm glow from your apartment barely touched him; he lingered in the shadows of the hallway, his expression unreadable, like he was caught between two worlds—one where he stood before you and another far beyond, too distant to reach.

“Zayne?” Your voice was uncertain, your fingers tightening around the doorframe. He looked normal—his crisp shirt unwrinkled, his coat still shielding him from the cold. But his posture was rigid, like he was torn between memories, caught between the man you knew and something far more elusive, far darker. His breath came slow, controlled, but his fingers twitched at his sides, as if holding onto something unseen, something slipping away from his grasp.

It had been more than a week since you last saw him—more than a week since you clawed your way out of his dreamscape, fighting against the twisted phantoms of his nightmares and the suffocating pull of his uncontrollable evol. More than a week since he began avoiding you, and you couldn’t understand why.

You had searched for him—at Akso Hospital.

You pushed open the door to Akso Hospital, the sterile scent of antiseptic filling your nose as you made your way down the familiar corridors. The sight of the bustling staff, the low murmur of nurses giving reports—it should have been comforting. But it wasn’t. Every step you took felt heavier, the weight of worry pressing down on your chest.

You were looking for Zayne. It had been a week since you’d seen him, and the silence between you was suffocating. You had tried calling, texting, but there was no sign of him.

You found Greyson near the nurses’ station, chatting with a few other doctors. He noticed you first, a flicker of surprise in his eyes before his usual, easy smile appeared.

“Hey,” he greeted, his tone too casual. Too… practiced. “What brings you by?”

“I was hoping to see Dr. Zayne. Is he around?” You tried to keep your voice even, but the question felt like a weight in your chest.

Greyson shifted on his feet, glancing toward the hallway where Dr. Zayne’s office was. “Oh, you know how it is,” he said with a shrug. “He’s been buried in surgeries lately. Really busy.”

You frowned. “Busy? He hasn’t been answering my calls. I’ve tried everything.”

At the sound of your words, Greyson’s gaze flickered uncomfortably, and before he could answer, Yvonne appeared beside him, her bright smile almost too wide.

“Hey, I didn’t expect to see you here today!” Yvonne chirped, her voice all sweetness, but there was a subtle edge to it. “Greyson’s right. Dr. Zayne’s probably just deep in work. You know how he gets, don’t you?”

You nodded, but the unease in your chest grew. “But… I haven’t been able to reach him. And he’s been avoiding me. I’m starting to get worried.”

There was a beat of silence before Yvonne glanced at Greyson, then back at you. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, the motion almost too practiced. “Oh, you know Dr. Zayne,” she said, her voice a little too smooth. “He’s a bit of a workaholic. And, well, he’s been dealing with some… personal things lately. I’m sure he’ll be in touch when he’s ready.”

Greyson cleared his throat. “Yeah, I’m sure he’s just focused on… other things right now.”

You felt a knot form in your stomach. Something wasn’t right. Both of them were too evasive, too careful with their words.

“So he’s just been… avoiding me because he’s busy?” You asked, your voice thick with skepticism.

Yvonne’s smile didn’t waver, but her eyes shifted just a little. “Exactly! He’ll reach out when he’s ready. Don’t worry.”

But you weren’t convinced. You couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something they weren’t telling you. Before you could press further, Yvonne’s phone rang, and she quickly excused herself with a bright, almost rehearsed smile.

Greyson rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “I wouldn’t worry too much, Zayne’s just… well, Zayne. He’ll be back to his usual self soon enough.”

The words felt hollow, like a lie wrapped in a smile.

You turned to leave, the knot in your stomach tightening. Something wasn’t right, and you were more determined than ever to find out what was going on.

You even went to his home not two days after. You had been patient, given him space, but the silence between you was gnawing at you, and you couldn’t ignore it anymore.

You arrived at his place and paused outside the gate, your heart sinking. The house sat dark and still, as though no one had been home for hours. The front door was locked, the quiet expanse of the yard untouched. No sign of Zayne’s car in the driveway. No movement behind the windows.

Frowning, you reached for your phone, calling him once more. It rang, and rang… and rang. But there was no answer. No familiar voice on the other end. You tried again, and again—each unanswered call tightening the knot of anxiety in your chest. It was unlike him. Even when he was busy at work, he always answered your calls. You thought things had changed between you—gone beyond just childhood friends, past the barriers you once had.

You hadn’t been able to ignore the way things had shifted between the two of you, how you’d shared more, laughed more, and even kissed—moments that felt like stepping into something real, something undeniable. And yet now, in the silence, you felt that connection fraying, slipping out of your grasp.

You reached for the gate, testing it, but it was locked tight. The metal was cold beneath your fingers, the weight of it pressing down on you in a way you couldn’t quite shake. You knocked gently on the gate, your hand hesitant against the metal, but there was no answer. No sound from inside. No footsteps echoing in the distance. Just more silence.

You stood there for a moment, staring at the door, wondering if you were missing something, if you were just being paranoid. But there was no denying the gnawing sense that you were being shut out.

Yet now, here he stood, unannounced, uninvited. The sight of him should have brought relief, but something was off, like he was a mere shadow of the man you knew.

“You should’ve let me in sooner,” he murmured, a wry attempt at a smile barely forming before fading just as quickly. His voice was softer than usual, almost exhausted, like the fight had been taken out of him. You stepped aside instinctively, letting him in. He didn’t move right away. Instead, his gaze lingered on you—as if memorizing every detail, confirming that you were real, that this wasn’t just another one of his nightmares.

Then, finally, he stepped through. The door clicked shut behind him, sealing the two of you in the silence of your small apartment. He exhaled, but this time it was unsteady—as if releasing a breath he’d been holding for far too long. His hands trembled, and he shoved them into his coat pockets, a feeble attempt to mask the unease rolling off him in waves.

“Zayne, where have you been?” The question came out before you could stop it. His avoidance had gnawed at you, making every second of silence between you feel like it stretched on forever.

He hesitated, his gaze dropping to the floor for a brief moment, like he was trying to find the right words. Then, finally, his voice broke through, hoarse and fragile, as if he’d been swallowing down too many words for too long. “Every time I close my eyes, I see a world where you don’t exist.”

The confession hit like thunder in your chest. Your breath caught, eyes wide with confusion, but something else too—fear, a strange sense of loss, creeping in. You stared at him, unable to comprehend, yet knowing there was so much more buried beneath the surface.

“It’s not just nightmares anymore,” he whispered, voice barely audible. His eyes flickered with something raw and unfamiliar—something you hadn’t seen in him before. “It’s bleeding into the day. I can’t… separate it. Separate me.”

You frowned, confusion tightening around your thoughts, heart pounding. “Separate what? Zayne, what are you talking about?”

He stiffened, jaw tightening as if he’d realized he’d said too much. He shook his head, dismissing the words before they could fully escape. “Ignore what I said.” he muttered, but the tension in his voice betrayed him.

“Zayne…” You stepped closer, cautious but firm. “Just tell me what’s wrong.”

A bitter chuckle escaped him, but there was no humor in it. His hand drifted to his temple, pressing hard as if trying to force something out of his mind. “I don’t know how to explain it.” His voice wavered slightly, a rare crack in his composure. “I don’t even know if it’s mine to explain.”

Your stomach twisted at his words. Zayne was rarely uncertain. But now, he looked lost, like he was trying to hold onto something slipping through his fingers. The man who had always been in control, who always had an answer, was unraveling in front of you.

“Then let me help,” you said softly, reaching for him.

He exhaled sharply, his hands clenching into fists before loosening just as quickly, as if even that took too much effort. “I don’t think you can,” he muttered, barely above a whisper.

You reached out, your fingers brushing against his sleeve. He tensed, but didn’t pull away. The warmth of his body under your touch should have felt familiar, comforting, but there was something cold in the air around him that you couldn’t ignore.

“I’m here,” you reminded him gently, voice steady despite the knot in your stomach. “I’m not going anywhere.”

His shoulders sagged just slightly, his resolve faltering under the weight of something neither of you could name.

You guided Zayne to the couch with a soft insistence, his steps heavy, like each one was taking him further away from something he couldn’t quite grasp. He didn’t resist, but his hesitation was palpable. You noticed the subtle tremor in his shoulders as he sat down, his back stiff, as if the weight of the world was pressing down on him.

You sat next to him, your fingers brushing the fabric of his coat as you settled yourself. The space between you both felt charged, yet strained, like two magnets unwillingly attracted but refusing to align.

Your hand hovered near his arm, unsure, but you couldn’t ignore the impulse to reach out. The last few days—weeks—had felt like a slow, suffocating crawl through a fog. Seeing him like this, so unguarded, was both a relief and a deepening worry.

“Zayne…” You started, your voice low, soft. You weren’t sure how to approach him anymore. He had been pulling away, emotionally distant, and now, even his presence seemed fractured.

You reached out, your fingers brushing against his sleeve.

At the first touch, his body flinched. Not an outward movement, but a sharp intake of breath, like a quiet shudder that ran through him. His hazel-green eyes were blown wide, pupils dark and dilated, swallowing the soft color until only a thin ring of green remained. For a brief moment, he looked at you—through you—like he was caught between two realities, struggling to tether himself to the one in front of him.

Then, just as quickly, his gaze flickered away, his throat working around a breath that sounded too controlled, too measured. As if he was holding something back. The air between you thickened, the weight of his restraint pressing into the space between your fingers. His jaw tensed, a sharp line of tension beneath his skin, and yet—he didn’t move away.

With a careful breath, you let your hand rest against his arm, your fingers curling gently around the fabric of his coat. You felt him tense beneath your touch, but it wasn’t from discomfort. No, it was something else. Something deeper. His body shuddered again, more pronounced this time, and you could feel his muscles ripple under the strain of holding back.

“Zayne…” You said his name again, this time softer, as though you were speaking to someone who was slipping away. You moved a little closer, hoping that your proximity would ground him somehow, though you weren’t entirely sure how.

His voice cracked when he spoke, low and hoarse, like a man speaking to a ghost. “Every time you touch me… it’s like… I feel like I’m being pulled in two directions.”

You blinked, your heart skipping a beat as you tried to make sense of his words. “What do you mean?” you asked, your hand still resting on his arm, waiting, watching him closely.

Zayne exhaled slowly, his fingers twitching at his sides as if struggling to find an anchor. “I’ve always suffered from nightmares,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “The same ones I’ve always had since I was young. But after what happened at Chansia City…” His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. “It didn’t stop when I woke up.”

Your heart clenched at his words. You knew Zayne had always been plagued by restless nights, but this—this was different. You thought back to that moment at Akso Hospital, when you had found him slumped over his desk.

His brow was creased with the weight of exhaustion. His breathing had been uneven, his hands gripping the fabric of his coat as if he were bracing himself against something unseen. You had hesitated before stepping closer, unsure if you should wake him. But the quiet distress on his face made the decision for you.

“Zayne…” you had whispered, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder.

The moment your fingers made contact, he jolted awake with a sharp breath, his eyes wild with something you couldn’t name. For a split second, it was as if he didn’t recognize you, as if he were somewhere else entirely.

But then, his gaze softened, reality bleeding back into him. His breathing was still heavy, his shoulders tense, but when you knelt beside him, concern written all over your face, he didn’t pull away.

Without thinking, you had reached out again, brushing his hair back in a quiet attempt to soothe him. His body sagged under your touch, the tension in his shoulders melting just enough for him to lean forward. And before you could react, he rested his forehead against your chest, his breaths uneven as if the simple act of being close to you was the only thing keeping him grounded.

You had stilled at first, heat creeping up your neck, but you didn’t push him away. Instead, you let him stay there, your fingers threading through his hair in slow, absentminded strokes. You weren’t sure how long you stayed like that, the sound of his breathing evening out against you, his body losing some of its rigidness.

When he finally spoke, his voice was hoarse, barely audible. “Just… let me stay like this for a while.”

And you had. Because for the first time, you realized how deeply tired he was.At the time, you thought he was just tired physically, but now you realized he was tired in a way that ran so much deeper as you watched him sitting on your couch, that same exhaustion clung to him like a shadow, only now it was accompanied by something far worse. He wasn’t just tired. He was unraveling.

“I thought I could ignore it,” he continued, pulling you back to the present. “I thought it would fade eventually. But it’s not stopping.” His fingers curled into the fabric of his coat as if trying to ground himself. “It’s getting worse.”

You swallowed hard. “The nightmares?”

“They’re not just nightmares anymore.” He exhaled sharply, his hands clenching before loosening again. “They’re memories of a life that isn’t mine.” His jaw tightened, his entire body tense with something unreadable. “And the worst part?” His eyes flickered to yours, dark and conflicted. “I feel like I’m walking on air, seeing things that aren’t there, feeling emotions that aren’t mine.”

You frowned. “Zayne, what are you talking about?”

His throat worked around a response, but for a moment, he said nothing, only looking at you with something close to desperation. He shook his head as if trying to shake off the words before they could leave his mouth.

“It doesn’t matter,” he muttered, but you weren’t about to let it go.

“It does matter,” you said firmly, stepping closer. “You’ve been avoiding me for more than a week. You look like you’re about to fall apart, and now you’re telling me ‘it doesn’t matter’? What’s happening to you?”

He let out a bitter chuckle, but there was no humor in it. “I don’t even know if I can explain it. It’s… there’s another version of me. One I can’t escape. And he—” Zayne cut himself off abruptly, dragging a hand over his face. “He’s ruining everything.”

The conflict in his expression made your stomach twist. You had never seen him like this—so lost, so tangled in something that seemed beyond even his understanding. And when you reached for him again, your fingers brushing past his sleeve against his skin, you saw the way he shuddered.

At first, you thought his reactions stemmed from discomfort—that every shudder, every tensed muscle was his way of pulling away. But then you saw it. The way his breath hitched. The way his lashes fluttered shut for the briefest second, as if savoring the warmth of your touch. As if he had been starving for it.

It wasn’t rejection. It was restraint.

Your heart pounded. “Zayne…”

His fingers twitched at his sides before he finally spoke, his voice raw. “Every time you touch me…” He exhaled sharply, as if the words themselves were dangerous. “It’s like my world’s losing its sense of direction.”

His confession stole the air from your lungs.

“But it’s not just me that wants this,” he continued, his voice barely above a whisper. “And that’s what scares me.”

Your fingers curled slightly around his wrist, grounding both of you in the silence between words. Zayne’s breath was uneven, his body strung taut beneath your touch. You could see it—the war waging within him, the push and pull of something he refused to name. His fingers curled at his sides, clenched so tightly that his knuckles turned white. He was holding himself back.

But from what? From who?

The question burned at the edges of your mind, but you didn’t voice it. Instead, you did the only thing you could think of. You moved.

Slowly, you climbed onto the couch, onto him, your knees settling on either side of his thighs as you straddled his lap. His entire body went rigid beneath you, his breath stalling in his throat.

“You—” His voice broke, a warning tangled in desperation. His hands shot up, as if to push you away—but the moment his palms met your waist, he froze.

A violent shudder ran through him, his grip faltering but never leaving you. He barely held together, his fingers twitched against your sides, his body caught in an unbearable tension.

“You shouldn’t…” he rasped, but even as he said it, his hands pulled.

Pulled you closer.

Pulled you flush against him, until there was no space left to retreat.

You gasped softly at the sudden contact, at the warmth of him, the way his body molded against yours like he had been starving for this. For you.

His head dipped forward, his forehead pressing against your shoulder as his breath came out in a harsh, unsteady exhale. His grip on your waist tightened, not enough to hurt, but enough to make you feel how badly he was struggling.

“Zayne…” You whispered his name, hands lifting to cradle his face, to guide him to look at you. He didn’t resist, but the moment your fingers brushed against his jaw, his eyes fluttered shut—his entire body reacting as if your touch was something he had been craving but forbidden from having.

“Every time you touch me…” He repeated, his voice was raw, nearly fractured. “I feel like I’m slipping deeper.”

Your fingers trembled slightly against his skin. “Slipping into what?”

His jaw clenched. His hands trembled against your waist, caught between pulling you closer and pushing you away.

“Him.”

The word sent a chill down your spine.

Zayne’s eyes finally opened, and what you saw there made your breath hitch.

Something was breaking inside him.

Something was bleeding through.

Like the fragile moment before dawn—when night still clung to the sky, desperate to remain, yet the light pressed forward, inevitable. A battle between darkness and the coming sun, neither willing to yield.

You didn’t know who he was, or why Zayne was fighting so hard to keep him at bay, but you could feel it—how much hewas longing for you. How much Zayne himself was afraid of that longing.

Your hands slid from his face to his shoulders, steadying him, grounding him. “You’re still you,” you murmured. “No one else.”

His fingers flexed against your waist, his breath ragged. “Then why does it feel like every time you touch me… I’m losing control of myself?”

He was slipping, unraveling, caught between two selves—one who had you, and one who had only ever ached for you.

And for the first time, Zayne wasn’t sure which one he wanted to be.

You sighed, your fingers curled against his shoulders, gripping him just a little tighter. His body was warm beneath your touch, but the tension in him never eased. If anything, it worsened.

“Zayne,” you whispered, searching his face. “Help me ease your mind, tell me everything. Tell me about him.”

His expression darkened instantly. His hands, still gripping your waist, stiffened before pushing you back—just slightly, just enough to put distance between you.

“No.”

The refusal was sharp, final.

But you didn’t let go. “Zayne, please.”

His jaw locked, his breath coming out in harsh exhales as he tried to rein himself in. But you had already seen it—the flicker of something raw in his gaze, the weight pressing down on him like it was crushing him from the inside.

He turned his head away, his grip tightening before he forced himself to let go. “I don’t want to tell you.” His voice was quieter now, but no less strained. “Because if I do…” His throat bobbed, his hands clenching into fists. “What if you look at me differently?”

Your chest ached. “Zayne—”

“He’s not me,” Zayne bit out, his voice lower now, edged with something close to rage. His fingers dug into the fabric of your clothes as if anchoring himself. “I don’t care what I see, what I feel—he is not me.”

You frowned, your heart pounding. “I didn’t say he was—”

“It doesn’t matter,” he snapped, his fingers digging into you much harder before he wrenched them away, as if touching you made it worse. “It shouldn’t matter. Because whatever he is—whatever he’s done—I am not him.”

His voice cracked at the end, his composure slipping, and it hurt more than anything. Not because of what he wasn’t telling you, but because he was carrying it alone, letting it eat away at him like he deserved it.

Your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt. “Zayne, I don’t care what you think this means. I don’t care what’s bleeding through or what memories aren’t yours.” Your voice wavered, but you pushed through. “What hurts me isn’t who you were or weren’t—it’s this.” You gestured between the two of you, the distance he was trying to wedge between you. “It’s you shutting me out, punishing yourself like you have to carry this alone.”

Zayne let out a sharp breath, his fingers curling into fists against the curve of your waist. His grip was tense, hesitant—like he was still fighting himself.

You watched him carefully, the weight of his silence pressing against your chest. He had been resisting, keeping himself locked away behind walls you couldn’t breach. But this time… this time, something shifted.

And then you realized it.

It wasn’t your persistence that made him falter. It wasn’t even the promise that you would accept him, no matter what. It was the fact that you told him it hurt you too. That his silence, his self-inflicted suffering, didn’t just wound him—it wounded you.

Zayne’s throat bobbed, his gaze flickering, as if weighing the consequences of speaking the truth. His fingers flexed against you, his breath uneven.

Finally, he asked, “Do you know why I became a doctor?”

You hesitated. “Because you wanted to save people.”

“Partly,” He let out a bitter laugh. “But mostly because I spent my entire childhood dreaming of a man butchering them.” His hands raked through his hair, gripping at the strands.

“It started when I was twelve.” His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. “I didn’t understand it then. I just knew that every night, I saw his hands, covered in blood. I heard the screams, felt the cold metal of a blade I never held.” His fingers flexed against your waist. “And every morning, I woke up terrified that I’d become him.”

You sucked in a quiet breath.

“That’s why I became a doctor,” Zayne muttered, his voice barely audible now. “To erase him. To bury him. Every life I saved was another step away from him.” His gaze snapped back to you, and there was something close to desperation in it.

He paused, and his gaze softened just slightly as it met yours, though there was still that edge of desperation.

“And… I wanted to help you, too. Since the first time I saw you struggling with your heart… I couldn’t stand the thought of losing you, not like that.”

Your heart pounded. “Zayne…”

“But now?” His gaze locked onto yours, and you almost flinched at the intensity in his eyes. “Now it’s not just nightmares. After Chansia City… it’s like something cracked. Like I bled through him.”

You frowned. “What do you mean?”

His fingers flexed against your skin, then curled into a fist, as if the words physically hurt to say. “I used to only see flashes. His world, his sins—they were nothing more than fragments. But now? I see his everyday life.” His voice dropped lower, as if saying it out loud made it more real. “I see him waking up in an empty apartment, walking through streets that no longer have names. I see him looking for something—someone—who was never there.”

Your chest tightened. “Zayne—”

“And I know what that loneliness feels like.” His voice was rough, raw. “Because when I had nightmares of his life… he dreamt of mine.”

A chill ran through you.

“He dreamt of Linkon. Of Akso. Of—” He swallowed hard, his grip on you unyielding. “You.”

The word hung between you, heavy and fragile at the same time.

Your heart pounded.

His pain was something you could see, something you could feel in the way he held you too tightly, in the way he refused to look away, as if afraid you’d vanish if he did.

“Does it change anything?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper.

Zayne’s breath stilled.

“No, it doesn’t,” he admitted, his voice hoarse. “I want you. I do. I’ve never denied that.” His fingers curled against your skin, holding you closer. “But this… it’s never felt like this before.”

His gaze darkened, his brows drawing together. “Like I can’t go a second without feeling you, without needing you right here. And I don’t know if it’s just me—if it’s always been me—or if it’s him. But it doesn’t matter.” His voice dropped lower, rough with something unspoken. “Because either way… I still want you.”

You reached up, cupping his cheek, forcing him to meet your gaze. “You’re here, right now. Whatever he feels, whatever he wants—this moment belongs to you.”

His throat bobbed, the conflict in his gaze raw and unfiltered. His fingers twitched where they held you, as if he wanted to push you away and pull you closer all at once.

And then—finally—he whispered, “I don’t know if I can separate us anymore.”

Zayne’s breath hitched, his hands still gripping your waist like a man on the verge of breaking. His body was rigid beneath yours, every muscle coiled tight with restraint. His stormy eyes flickered between your lips and your gaze, warring with something unseen.

You could feel it—the way he was holding himself back, the way his fingers twitched against your skin like he was fighting the instinct to pull you in.

And then, just when you thought he might push you away—he moved.

His lips crashed against yours, the kiss rough, almost desperate. A sharp inhale left him as his fingers tightened at your sides, pressing you flush against him. It wasn’t careful, wasn’t measured like everything else about him. It was hurried, hungry, as if he had been drowning for far too long and you were the only thing keeping him afloat.

Yet even in his desperation, there was hesitation—a tremor in his touch, a battle within him. His grip faltered, his breathing unsteady, as if his own emotions were overwhelming him.

For a moment, he slowed, his lips ghosting over yours, softer now—less frantic, more reverent. His fingers traced up your back, like he was memorizing every inch of you, terrified you might disappear.

But then when you surged forward to deepen the kiss, something in him snapped.

His restraint shattered as his hand cupped the back of your head, pulling you deeper into the kiss. His other hand dug into your waist, as if grounding himself in the feeling of you. He let out a quiet, shuddering breath against your lips, his body trembling beneath your touch.

It wasn’t just desire—it was longing. A desperate, aching need that had been simmering beneath his skin for far too long.

And still, it wasn’t enough.

He kissed you harder, as if trying to chase away the ghosts of a world where you didn’t exist—where he had spent endless nights reaching for something that was never there.

Zayne’s breathing was ragged as he suddenly tore himself away from you, his forehead pressing against yours, his grip on your waist still firm but trembling. His chest rose and fell in unsteady heaves, as if he had just surfaced from deep waters.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he rasped, his voice thick with something raw and desperate. His fingers flexed against your waist before slowly dragging up your sides, his touch both grounding and possessive. “But I need to feel—” His words cut off, a quiet ‘fuck’ slipping from his lips as he clenched his jaw, forcing himself to stop.

You could see it—feel it. The battle raging within him. The desperate need to claim this moment as his own, to separate himself, to make sure that this—this longing, this ache, this hunger—was his, and not something bleeding over from the nightmares that haunted him.

His fingers ghosted over your arms before gripping your wrists, guiding them up to rest against his chest. You could feel the rapid beat of his heart beneath your palms, erratic and heavy, proof of his struggle. His eyes searched yours, dark with emotion, pleading for something he couldn’t voice.

“I need to know it’s me,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “Not him. Not the dreams. Just… me. But I don’t trust myself enough not to hurt you.”

His fingers brushed your skin, hesitant, reverent—like he was afraid of his own hands.

“But I trust you.”

The words felt heavier than anything else he had said tonight, laced with the weight of every nightmare, every fear, every ghost of a life that wasn’t his. He swallowed hard, his gaze flickering to your lips, then back to your eyes.

“I need you to take control,” he murmured, each syllable careful, deliberate. “I need to know this is real—that you’re real—that I’m real.” His hands curled into fists before he forced them to relax against you. “Because if I let go now… I don’t know if I’ll be able to stop.”

There was no mistaking what he meant. No mistaking the conflict in his gaze—the desperation tangled with restraint, the need warring with self-loathing.

Your hands slid up from his chest to cup his face, fingertips brushing against the sharp angles of his jaw.

“It’s you, Zayne,” you whispered, your voice steady, certain. “You.”

You tilted his face up, brushing your lips against his—a whisper of a touch, just enough to tether him to the present, to this moment with you. He shuddered beneath your touch, his hands tightening at your waist as if anchoring himself.

“I’m here,” you continued, pressing another soft kiss to the corner of his mouth, then another along the line of his jaw. “This is real. We’re real.”

A sharp exhale left him, his resolve breaking little by little as you pressed against him. His grip on your waist faltered, then returned, stronger—desperate.

“Let me take care of you,” you murmured against his skin.

He shuddered at your words, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment as he wrestled with the warring emotions inside him. When they opened again, the desperation had intensified, the dark gray irises nearly swallowed by the black of his pupils.

“Show me,” he rasped, his voice low and rough with barely restrained desire. “Make me believe it.”

You took your time, trailing kisses along his chest, feeling the hard planes of muscle beneath his shirt as your lips travelled down. You wanted to savor this moment, to make sure he knew it was him, that this was real.

As you sank to your knees before him, you looked up at Zayne through your lashes. The raw vulnerability in his expression made your heart ache. You wanted to erase every nightmare, every fear, every shadow that haunted him.

“You’re real,” you murmured, your breath ghosting over his cloth-covered arousal. “This is real.”

With a steadying breath, you leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to the bulge straining against his zipper. You could feel the heat of him, the throbbing need, and it made your own body ache in response.

You worked slowly, unzipping him with deliberate care, letting your fingers brush against his arousal as you did. He was already hard, the thick length of him stretching the fabric of his boxers.

You haven’t seen him naked before, and crossing this line made your thighs clench. Glancing up at him, you caught his gaze, holding it as you hooked your fingers in the waistband of his boxers and tugged them down. His cock sprang free, long and thick and perfect, the swollen head already glistening with need.

“Beautiful,” you whispered, wrapping your hand around the thick base of Zayne’s cock, giving him a firm squeeze as you gazed up at him with hooded eyes. “You’re beautiful, Zayne.”

Slowly, teasingly, you started to stroke him, your soft palm gliding along his hard length. You could feel every throbbing vein and ridge, committing the shape of him to memory.

Leaning in, you breathed over his swollen cock head, then, with a deliberate slowness that was almost torturous, you dragged the flat of your tongue along the underside of his shaft, tracing the thick vein that ran from base to tip. You lingered at the sensitive spot just below the head, swirling your tongue around it before giving it a firm press.

Zayne shuddered and groaned, his fingers flexing in your hair as you dragged your tongue back down to the base, your hand following the same path. When you reached the bottom, you dipped your tongue into the neat little slit at the tip, tasting the first salty drops of his arousal.

Savoring his flavor, you wrapped your lips around the swollen head, your soft mouth stretching around his impressive girth. You suckled gently, your cheeks hollowing as you began to take him deeper, inch by hard inch.

“Your mouth… it feels so g-good…” he groaned.

The praise that escaped his lips made the flush on your face more evident. As your lips moved slowly down his shaft, encasing him in the slick heat of your mouth, your tongue undulated along the thick vein on the underside as you took him deeper, until the head of his cock bumped the back of your throat.

You held yourself there for a long moment, relishing the heavy, throbbing weight of him, the musky scent of his arousal flooding your senses. Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, you began to bob your head, taking him deeper into your throat with each downward motion.

Your hand worked in tandem with your mouth, stroking and squeezing as you sucked him. You could feel him growing harder, the thick length of him pulsing against your tongue as you pleasured him.

“Fuck… just like that…”

You couldn’t help but moan around his cock at his groans, your brain committing the sounds to memory. You doubled your efforts when you felt he was close, sucking harder, stroking faster, your tongue never still as it lapped and swirled and caressed every hard, throbbing inch of him.

His grip on your hair tightened, his hips starting to piston forward, fucking your mouth as you sucked him with wild abandon. You could feel his body tensing, his breath coming in harsh pants and groans.

“I can’t… I can’t hold back much longer…”

And then, with a roar that was nearly feral in its intensity, he came. His cock jerked and throbbed as it erupted, shooting hot, thick ropes of cum down your eager throat.

You swallowed it all, working your throat to milk every last drop from his pulsing length. The taste of him was intense, the salty-sweet flavor of his essence exploding on your tongue.

As the waves of his release began to ebb, you slowly pulled back, letting his still hard cock slip from your lips with a lewd pop. You licked your lips, savoring the lingering taste of him as you gazed up at Zayne with a look of pure, sated desire.

“Zayne,” you whispered, your voice hoarse. “It’s you. This is you. You’re real.”

You placed a soft, lingering kiss on the tip of his cock before nuzzling your cheek against his thigh, looking up at him with a smile that was pure tenderness mixed with deep, abiding lust.

As the last tremors of his intense orgasm faded, Zayne reached down and gently but firmly pulled you up by your arms, urging you back into his lap. You went willingly, straddling his hips as you sat facing him.

His hands slid around to your back, one resting high on the curve of your shoulder blades, the other splayed across the small of your back, pulling you flush against his strong chest. You could feel the heat radiating off his skin, the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your palms.

Gazing into your eyes, Zayne leaned in, capturing your lips in a searing kiss that steals your breath. It was a kiss filled with gratitude, with hunger, with a desperate need to claim you, to make you his.

You kissed him back just as fiercely, your fingers tangling in his hair as you arched into him, pressing your soft curves against the hard planes of his body. His tongue delved into your mouth, stroking along yours, tasting himself on your lips and tongue.

As you both lost yourselves in the kiss, you could feel Zayne’s cock, still semi-erect and slick with your saliva, nudging against your core. The friction sent sparks of pleasure shooting through you, making you ache with a renewed desire.

Almost unconsciously, your hips began to move, grinding against his in a slow, sensual rhythm. You could feel the heat building between your thighs, the dampness of your arousal soaking through your panties.

Zayne groaned into your mouth, his grip on your waist tightening as he felt your hips rolling against his. His cock twitched and began to harden further, growing thicker and longer with each passing second.

Breaking the kiss, Zayne trailed his lips down the column of your throat, his teeth grazing your racing pulse. “Ride me,” he growled against your skin, his voice low and rough with renewed desire. “I need to feel you, all of you, surrounding me, consuming me, making me forget everything but your name.”

You shuddered at his words, at the raw, primal need in his voice. Reaching down, you pushed your panties aside, baring your slick, needy sex to the cool air and his heated gaze. You could feel your own arousal dripping down your thighs, a testament to how much you wanted him, needed him.

With a roll of your hips, you positioned yourself over his hardening length, feeling the thick head nudging against your entrance, you slowly sank down. You were so wet, so ready for him, that he slid inside you with a single, smooth thrust.

You both groaned at the sensation, your inner walls fluttering and clenching around his thickness as he stretched and filled you completely. You could feel every ridge and vein of his cock as it brushed against your sensitive flesh, igniting nerve endings you didn’t know you had.

Zayne’s hands gripped your hips, guiding your movements as you began to ride him. You started slowly, rising up until just the tip of his cock remained inside you, before sinking back down, taking him to the hilt.

“You feel so good, love.” he murmured, his lips parted open.

With each downward motion, you could feel the pleasure building, the coil of tension in your core winding tighter and tighter.

You arched your back and Zayne leaned forward, freeing your breasts from the confines of your shirt as he lifted it by the hem. He captured one straining nipple in his mouth, suckling and nipping at the sensitive bud. His free hand slid from your hip to the juncture between your thighs, his fingers finding your clit and rubbing the swollen nub in tight, fast circles.

You cried out, your head falling back as the sensations overwhelmed you. Your hips moved faster, rising and falling in a frantic rhythm as you chased your pleasure. The wet, obscene sounds of your coupling filled the room, spurring you both on.

His other hand inch upward, holding your head firmly, his fingers tangling in your hair, Zayne tilted your chin up to gently force your gaze to meet his intense, hazel-eyed stare. He let out a strangled moan, “Say my name, love. Come on…”

Zayne’s grip on your hips tightened, his fingertips digging into the soft flesh as he guided your increasingly desperate movements. His own hips surged up to meet yours, driving his thick length deeper, harder, faster into your clutching heat.

“Zayne,” you breathed, “You’re the only one I want, the only one I need.”

His breathing grew ragged, each exhale escaping through gritted teeth as he lost himself in the slick slide of your bodies joining again and again. The obscene sound of skin slapping against skin echoed through the room, mixing with the staccato cries spilling from your lips.

Zayne’s hand moved from your clit to your breast, squeezing the soft mound roughly as he pinched and rolled the stiff peak between his fingers. He leaned down, his hair falling forward as he dragged his tongue over your collarbone, tasting the salt of your skin.

“Fuck, just like that…” he growled against your neck, his voice strained. “S-Say my name again—please…”

His words sent shivers down your spine, making your inner muscles clench around him. You could feel every ridge and vein of his cock as it stretched you, filled you, owned you.

“Z-Zayne…!” you moaned.

Zayne’s thrusts became more erratic, more desperate at the cry from your lips. The hand on your hip slid around to the small of your back, pressing you flush against him as he pounded up into you. The couch creaking with each surge of his hips, the sound mingling with your cries and his grunts.

You could feel the tension building in your core, the pleasure coiling tighter and tighter as you climbed towards your peak. Your nails raked down Zayne’s nape as you held on for dear life.

With a harsh curse, Zayne slammed up into you one last time, burying himself to the hilt as his release overtook him. His cock jerked and pulsed inside you, painting your insides with his hot release.

The sensation of his release pushed you over the edge, your own climax crashing through you like a tidal wave. Your body convulsed, melting into him as your inner muscles clamped down around him while you came apart in his arms.

You collapsed against his chest, both of you gasping for air as the aftershocks of your release rippled through you. Zayne’s arms tightened around you, drawing you in close, his heartbeat steady beneath his damp shirt, grounding you in the moment.

In the quiet aftermath, as your breath began to steady, Zayne placed a gentle kiss against your temple, his lips lingering there as if memorizing the moment. “Thank you,” he whispered, his voice raw and heavy with emotion. “For this. For everything.”

You gently cupped his face, guiding him to look at you. “You have me, Zayne,” you said softly, your words steady and sure. “No matter who you are, no matter who you become—I’ll never walk away.”

He paused as his fingers brushed gently across your damp cheek.

He spoke, his voice was soft, almost hesitant. “All I know now is that… the only thing I’m sure of,” he began, his forehead resting against yours once more, “is you.” He swallowed, his grip around you tightening as if trying to ground himself in the present.

You thought that would be the end of it, but he exhaled, a shudder racking through him.

“I never believed in fate,” he added, his voice low, but without any trace of bitterness—only a quiet acceptance. “But now, I do. Because no matter where I am, or who I am… you’re the constant. The one thing that’s always been real.”

He paused, his words heavy with an ache that tightened your chest. “And I think… I think I’m meant to love you in every life, in every timeline. I’m meant to be with you. And no matter how complicated it gets, no matter what happens, I’ll always end up finding you.”

His grip on you tightened further, pulling you closer, as if to make sure you were really there. “Now… I can’t help but feel… bad for him.”

A heavy sigh escaped him, thick with weight and regret. “He doesn’t have you. He doesn’t get to have this—this connection.” His voice wavered, raw with something unspoken. “And I think that’s what hurts the most. No matter how much I try to separate myself from him, I can’t shake the feeling that a version of me is still reaching for you. That somewhere… in every universe, in every life, even if you don’t exist in it—it will always be you.”

part one | part two

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