#zayne love and deepspace x reader

[oncasette]

biting the lads men

sylus, zayne, rafayel, xavier, & caleb x gn!reader

how each of the love and deepspace men react to an s/o that bites them as a way of showing their love.

content: affectionate biting (non-sexual)

sylus loves when you bite him. the first time you did it, he hadn't even batted an eye. simply smiled and moved his bicep closer for you to chomp down to your heart's content.

you tend to use your teeth when you're forced to sit quietly beside him, likely when he's doing something related to onichynus or a business deal he needs to finish up before he gives you his undivided attention for the night. you'll sit either in his lap, curled up in his shoulder, or just next to him under his arm. he doesn't mind if you ramble, but you know better than to expect him to answer all of your hypotheticals while he's focusing.

instead, when you've had your fill of talking to mostly yourself, you'll lower your head against his shoulder and bite down. you don't latch on very hard, but it's enough for sylus to know you're using your teeth.

"am i boring you, kitten?" he asks, setting his pen down in favor of cradling the back of your head. you dislodge yourself at the sensation, allowing him to pull your face up to look at him. he's got that knowing smirk on his face, his other hand tightly wrapped around your hips to keep you from falling as he shifts you to straddle his thighs.

“no,” you hum, tilting your head to nip at his wrist. he laughs, the sound vibrating through your body.

“no? just being… frisky?” a hand slides up under the bottom hem of your shirt to rest on the small of your back. you nod, biting a bit harder when you reach the base of his palm. he hisses.

“are you almost done with your work, sy?” you whisper. you gently kiss the indents your teeth had left.

“i’m all yours, sweetie.”

zayne doesn't really comment on it. after the first few incidents, and the round of questions that had followed, he knows you don't mean any harm by it. rather, he knows it's a way for you to express yourself to him when words seem to elude you.

it always seems to happen when zayne’s already settled down for the evening. unlike when you’re trying to lure him away from his work—when you use lingering touches and gentle kisses to pull his attention toward you—zayne always seems to find you biting him when he’s already got his sights set on you.

the two of you will be spread out on the couch, you sat between his thighs with your back to his chest and his arms around your shoulders, when your teeth latch into his forearm. he doesn’t move, doesn’t shift, just smiles softly with a kiss to your temple as he continues to watch the move you’d put on.

“react,” you huff, biting a bit harder near the junction of his elbow.

“what would you like for me to say, darling?” he says, the ghost of a laugh seeping out of him. you shrug, snuggling back further into him with your lips pressed against his bicep.

“i’m bored,” you huff.

“i can tell,” he says softly. his hand slides down your arm to intertwine your fingers together, bringing the pair up to his mouth to kiss the back of your hand. “would you like to do something else?”

“no,” you say, shaking your head. your tongue peeks out to swipe across a recently bitten patch of skin. you always tended to bite him more when there was more skin at your disposal, he’d noticed, leading him to wear short sleeves around the house.

“alright, then,” he says. he settles back down into the cushions and tightens his hold on you. when you latch down on his arm again, all he says is, “i love you, too, darling.”

rafayel pretends to hate it. he'll get all whiny and pouty each time you do it, threatening to kick you out of his studio for abusing him, but he secretly revels in it. he gets this pretty pink flush on his cheeks whenever your teeth make contact with his skin, despite whatever nonsense spews from his lips.

“hey! meanie,” he huffs, yanking his arm out of reach from your mouth. he cradles it to his chest, running his thumb gently over the barely-there indent your teeth had made in his skin. it’s the most offended you’d seen him. almost.

you continue to do it, though, a lot gentler, until one day his protestations actually manage to break through to you.

he fully rolled away from you, turning so that his back was facing you. when you attempted to warm up to him again, placing your face into the crook of his neck and sliding your hands around his waist, he swatted at your fingers until you pulled away. you could hear him pouting, the dramatic sighs and whines.

after that, and after you’d made it up to him the following morning with plenty of kisses, you stopped biting him. rafayel had assumed it was only for the day, making only a comment or two about how he was “bite mark free” for the first time, but when you withheld your teeth from him for a week and a half, he started to get whiny again.

at first, it’d been silent gestures. holding his arm close to your face when you cuddled, making sure you were angled toward his shoulder when you watched something.

then, “why don’t you bite me anymore?”

“you don’t like it,” you say, turning your head slightly to look at him. he’s sitting on the couch beside you, a sketch pad laid open over his lap. it’d stayed blank for the last thirty minutes.

“i never said that,” he says.

“yes, you did,” you laugh. “you called me a meanie and didn’t talk to me for a day.”

“are you sure about that? i probably just called you cutie like i always do and then got… laryngitis or something,” he huffs, his bottom lip protruding out. he drops the sketch pad onto the coffee table before he scoots closer to you. “will you just bite me again, cutie?”

“you want me to?”

if he had any reservations before—which he didn’t— the way your face lit up at the idea was enough to erase them completely. he nods, holding his hand up to your lips, allowing you to nibble as you pleased.

xavier is confused by it, but lets you do as you please. his brows will knit together and he’ll stare at you with those big eyes he always gives you, but he never protests or gives you any indication that he wants you to stop.

the first time you did it, he thought it was an accident. he flinched slightly, but didn’t make a comment besides that. once it started becoming a regular thing, he began to have more and more questions about your motivations.

“starlight?” he asks softly, not moving save for the slightest tilt of his head. your teeth are still latched into his shoulder. you hum in reply, nipping your way across his shoulder and down to his arm. “did i do something?”

“no? why do you ask?”

“you’re biting me,” he replies.

“yeah? i always do that,” you hum, mixing in a couple kisses with your bites before you pull back. you shift so that you’re facing him more. “do you want me to stop?”

he grabs your wrist when you start to pull further away. “no. you can keep doing it.”

“yeah?” you ask, immediately leaning in to bite down on his cheek. his face scrunches, a soft pink hue dusting over the skin beneath your lips.

he's not entirely sure of why you bite, but you never bite down enough to hurt him, and you always seem so happy after you've done it, so who is he to prevent you from latching down every once in a while?

caleb bites you back. he takes it as a challenge. you always bit him when you were kids when you were angry, or, god forbid, he was holding you down for any reason. if he was tickling you, or tackling you, your first instinct was to sink your teeth into the closest body part you could find. he went to school one day with a huge mark on his ankle once, and you never heard the end of it.

now, when you do it, he's prepared. it's almost as if he goads you into it, knowing he'll be able to do it back.

he'll wander around your apartment with a sleeveless shirt on, practically lording his arms in your face, and you have no choice but to chomp down on his bicep.

the moment you sneak behind him, your arms linking around his hips, he's on guard. he knows all your tactics. despite the otherwise gentle touches, he knows the minute your lips wander anywhere close to his arms, he's going to be feeling more than your lips.

he says your name in warning moments before it occurs. within a second of you latching down, he's spinning you in his grasp and attacking your skin with nips and bites of his own. he starts at your neck before traveling down to your shoulder and biting down with the same intensity you'd used on him.

"caleb!" you squeal, pushing his face away despite the stream of giggles leaving your lips.

"what?" he asks, softening his movments. "i'm just giving you a taste of your own medicine."

"only i'm allowed to bite," you counter.

"is that so?" he asks, lifting his head up to look you in the eye again. you nod as he leans forward to rest his forehead against yours. within a second, though, he's sliding back down to bite down at your shoulder. "i don't think so, pipsqueak."

[beneathashadytree]

ROCK THE BOAT - ZAYNE LI X READER

Warnings : sex, slight possessiveness, nipple play, implied overstimulation of himself, Zayne is pretty much drunk on sex, reader is gender-neutral!

Genre : filthy smut but they’re SO in love I promise <3

Word count : 0.9K words

Additional notes : I got Zayne’s new card in the first 10 pulls, and suddenly all I could think of was Zayne fucking me freaky style in the early morning🫶🏽 This is inspired by Aaliyah’s song, Rock the Boat!

Tip jar!

Masterlist

“Mmm… slow down… Zayne,” they cried out in his lap, hands desperately seeking purchase on his shoulders, as he gasped out a shuddering breath.

Hazel eyes were glazed over, the pupils nearly completely overtaking them. He couldn’t see straight; couldn’t think straight, and couldn’t get past the haze of a lust so overpowering that it knocked all breath from his lungs. A dizzying surge of passion churned inside him, and he couldn’t help pulling them closer by the small of their back, almost scrambling to drag them higher on his lap. “I-I can’t. Can’t… stop. Sorry, I—Fuck, I need more.”

“You have me. Shit, ‘m all yours,” they whimpered out, swallowing thickly as their fingers dug into his flushed skin, the sharpness of their nails contrasting against their plush warmth and somehow bringing him even closer to that edge he yearned for now.

Zayne’s mind was swarmed with the flashing images of the sheer temptation ontop of him. So much so, he couldn’t say anything coherent, save for harsh whispers of their name tinged with desperation he would’ve failed to conceal—though his back arching to meld their bodies into one, and his fingers almost bruising against the fat of their hips, gave his needs away. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from everything about them.

The glistening skin of their chest pressed up right against his nose to breathe in their sweat-tinged scent; his cock disappearing inside them with every frenzied thrust upwards; seeing the thick ring of their combined arousal at the base of his cock everytime they raised their hips off of his… he couldn’t help the staggering moan that escaped him. “Close. You have to…” His eyes blew even wider open, an almost-crazed glint to them as their walls fluttered around his length, knowing just what he needed without him verbalizing it.

Throwing his head back as the euphoric feeling burned his skin, he could only muster a squeeze of their hips before he began sloppily fucking up into them. Like he would die if they pulled away; if their breathtaking teary eyes looked away from his. They almost began to squeeze them shut, and with just one whisper of his name in that sweet voice of theirs, he found himself burying his face into their chest again, all reason thrown out the window.

No control whatsoever remained, and his teeth grazed against their skin, tongue slowly laving at the dewdrops it caught. Zayne’s lips chased a trail only he could see, one that he’d memorized in every night he spent aching for them. He sucked blooming red marks onto their chest, marking them up as his cock pistoned in and out of them like he couldn’t bear to even pull out halfway.

Another dulcet moan left their parted lips, broken with the force of his thrusts that they tried so helplessly to meet. “You—!” A keen broke off that thought as his lips finally wrapped around their nipple, sucking with a fervor he never even knew he could possess. It was like some sort of fever had washed over him, drained him of any rationality he used to pride himself on.

But what use was rationality in the sheer intensity of a want like his? How could he even have any, when their nails almost broke the skin of his shoulders and their tight walls took inch after throbbing inch? When he was rolling their sweet bud between his teeth and moaning around them?

Their taste robbed him of his sense, and stripped him of all propriety he could’ve feigned. There was no going back after feeling their softness on his lips, knowing that he’d be the only one to ever feel their incomparable warmth like this; the one person who’d feel them clenching around his cock; the one person to hear their stuttered curses with every move he made inside them.

“Gonna cum,” they cried, a teardrop dripping down their cheek, “Mmm, fuck, Zayne, harder!” And there it was, their true desire slipping past their babbled words and pleas for more. His eyes trained on their angelic face, the intensity of his gaze pinning them down in a whirlpool of shared pleasure, mouth still worshipping their nipples with the attention they so desperately needed.

He was watching every flutter of their eyelashes as their hips ground into his, their body giving a small jerk in his firm grasp when a particularly harsh thrust tipped them over the edge and had them making a mess of him. And just feeling them tighten around him—knowing he’d so easily fucked them so good to orgasm—sent his own release crashing after them.

With a low groan as he pulled away from their swollen nipples, he couldn’t stop himself from almost instantly spilling his cum inside them, filling them to the brim until it dripped past their fluttering entrance and down their quivering thighs.

Clearly unable to hold themself up any longer after their mind-blowing half-clothed impromptu session, they collapsed onto his chest, both of their out of sync breaths heaving as they clambered to bring each other closer. It was an immediate want; a deeply-ingrained need that Zayne could feel between his ribs. He’d be damned if he had to get up any time soon.

Not when he knew he’d need at least another two rounds before the fog could clear from his head.

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[nightplvmes]

*.⊹˚ ZAYNE | "zayne's girlfriend"

── ◜zayne x fem!reader — mini one shot 0.6k words ◜someone at the hospital accidentally calls her "Zayne's girlfriend"author's note here ★ masterlist here

She could hear the whispers behind her again. Or maybe she was the one who was overreacting, maybe it was just people talking and going about their lives in complete silence. But she wouldn't be surprised if they were talking about her. It was the third time this week she had been there and it was only Friday.

She knocked on the door in front of her. She was nervous, looking over her shoulder every two seconds as if everyone was watching her and judging her.

She was exaggerating, she was exaggerating, she was exagg… The door in front of her opened. Zayne stood before her in his typical robe that she was so in awe of.

"You're here." Zayne stepped aside so she could enter. She quickly did so, entered into the office as if she were running away from someone. "Are you okay?" he asked after closing the door.

"I brought you lunch," she ignored his question. She handed him a small bag where she had kept the toppers the previous days.

"Are you okay?" Zayne asked again. He could see the way she was tense and the way she had entered the office like she was running from something.

She sighed, leaving the bag on the desk and running her hands over her face in frustration. It took her a couple of seconds to compose herself and look at Zayne without feeling nervous, she had taken a couple of steps towards her but without getting too close yet.

"When I got to the hospital a guy came up to me asking if I was looking for something and… I asked if he knew where you were." She looked away in embarrassment. "He asked me if I was Dr. Zayne's girlfriend and told me you were in your office." She let out the breath held in her lungs, her own nails digging into the palm of her hands nervously. The mere memory made her cheeks turn slightly red.

Zayne nodded as he took off his glasses. He understood, he understood her nerves, the entire hospital had seen her there for most of the week. They weren't a couple but they weren't friends… they had just been dating.

"Does it bother you?" He asked, he wanted to make sure she was comfortable with the situation, otherwise he would go himself and tell every single person in the hospital to never call her like that again.

She raised her eyebrows in confusion but shook her head. It didn't bother her, it had made her nervous because she thought it was something that Zayne would be upset about since they weren't officially anything yet. "No… but I thought it would bother you.

Zayne fell silent as he walked behind the desk. He took off his glasses and looked at her with his intense eyes.

"It doesn't bother me either," he replied so naturally that it made her frown. Zayne had always been too reserved but she was surprised by the naturalness with which he had said those words.

She watched as he sat down, ready to begin his lunch hour that he always shared with her. She knew that they weren't official yet and that they had just been dating, if Zayne told her that it bothered him, she wouldn't feel offended.

She sat in front of him, starting to take out what she had brought for their lunch. She looked at Zayne for a few seconds, he seemed totally comfortable with her presence and with what he had said. Had he indirectly told her that he was serious about her? Letting hospital staff call her that even as a joke was something… too important.

Yes, it was his indirect way of letting her know.

[sserpente]

A Routine Check-Up (Kinktober #2)

Your phone buzzed. A message from Zayne showed on the display.

Your bi-annual gynaecological health exam is due. Can you come in this week?

A/N: *cough* I'm just gonna leave this here. Have fun!

Words: 2578 Warnings: you guessed it—smut ;)

Your bi-annual gynaecological health exam is due. Please schedule an appointment with your primary physician as soon as possible.

Oh. Your heart skipped a beat when you read the message that popped up on your Hunter’s Watch. Damn it all, you’d rather fight a horde of Wanderers than put yourself through that. You were, of course, very well aware of how important these regular check-ups were. Under any circumstances, they wouldn’t be a problem. But it wasn’t just any doctor that—

Your phone buzzed and you pulled it out of your pocket. A message from Zayne showed on the display.

Your bi-annual gynaecological health exam is due. Can you come in this week?

Alright then…the sooner you made an appointment, the sooner you could get this over with. You weren’t necessarily nervous about the exam itself; it was uncomfortable, sure but other than that… Ugh. It was the fact it was Dr. Zayne—your Dr. Zayne—who would be performing it. There was something you’d wanted to bring up. A little problem, so to speak.

Sure thing, Dr. Zayne! I’ll be off the clock tomorrow afternoon?

He read it. Mere seconds later, the three dots indicating he was typing a reply popped up at the bottom of your screen.

Come see me at my office at 5 PM then.

Right. You’d do that. You glanced at your bathroom door. Perhaps you should get trimmed a little down there before that.

Thinking about anything other than that fateful exam in the evening, you spent the whole day whiling away. The pile of paperwork—reports on Wanderers you defeated and the Protocores you’d retrieved—didn’t grow any smaller.

Damn it, you’d feel more comfortable walking straight into the N109 zone rather than Zayne’s office. You hesitated when you finally stood before his door, your fist hovering mid-air. You’d count to then and then you’d knock.

One, two, three, four, five…with a start, the door opened, revealing Dr. Zayne in his usual medical attire. He was wearing his glasses and he looked a bit tired around the eyes. Perhaps he hadn’t slept well either. Presumably, however, not for the same reasons as you.

You smiled. “Hello, Dr. Zayne.”

“Come on in.” Reciprocating your smile, he stepped aside. He’d already prepared the room. Normally, these types of exams were conducted in the treatment rooms but given you were a Hunter and Dr. Zayne was your primary care physician, no such arrangements had been necessary.

You took a deep breath, eyeing the gynaecological chair he’d set up.

“You seem nervous. Are you alright?”

“Me? Nervous? N-no, why would I be?”

Zayne tilted his head. His scrutinising gaze was full of worry—it often was when you discussed your health with him. “I’ve been doing your gynaecological health exams for many years now. You were never nervous before. What changed?”

Many years ago I wasn’t in love with you yet, you thought. Besides, we still haven’t talked about that kiss the other night…

“I guess I’m just a little anxious,” you lied, “Tara told me they found two cysts in one of her friends’ ovaries once.”

Zayne frowned. It was the last thing you saw before you moved behind the makeshift medical curtain to undress. Your skirt came off, and your panties soon followed.

“Have you been experiencing any pain or abnormalities?”

“I haven’t.”

“Then I don’t see any reason for worry. Have you been tracking your menstruation?”

“I have.” Timidly, you reappeared from behind the curtain and tiptoed over to the chair in your socks.

“Anything out of the ordinary? Any bad cramps or other symptoms?”

You shook your head. “No.”

“Alright then. Sit down on the chair for me so we can begin.” He was always so calm, so reassuring, so…collected. Come to think of it, you had never seen him lose his temper. Even that one time he was so angry at you for dismissing yourself from the hospital early he’d been quiet—almost eerily so. It was a trait that drove you mad in the best ways possible.

Biting your lower lip, you climbed on the gynaecological chair and crossed your fingers over your belly, scooting forward until Zayne had you where he needed you. You watched him prepare a speculum and cover it in lube, his hands hidden by a pair of medical gloves.

Your heart was pounding when he moved between your legs. Knowing that this wasn’t the first time he was seeing you…down there and that there was nothing to worry about barely helped your situation.

It was different this time. You longed for his touch, longed for his presence. But…you took a deep breath when Zayne inserted the speculum into your opening slowly and carefully. But if he could stay professional, then so could you.

“I’m going to do your pap smear first. It might feel a little uncomfortable.”

You hummed by way of a response, bracing yourself. Zayne was so gentle you barely felt anything though. You almost closed your eyes. Almost.

“Alright…” he said when he was done. “Everything looks normal. No infections, no discolouration…” You were pretty certain he was talking to himself and working through a protocol in his head. You nodded regardless, resisting the urge to flinch when his hand grazed your outer lips when he removed the speculum again.

“I am going to feel inside you now to check for any abnormalities. I need you to tell me if anything hurts.”

“O-Okay.” Shit, he was going to do what now? You bit your lower lip when he inserted to fingers into your warmth. They slid inside with ease due to the lube he’d used earlier…although at this point you weren’t so sure anymore if it was just the lube that helped him.

Zayne pressed down gently on various parts of your lower body, supporting his movements by placing his palm on your abdomen.

“You’re breathing heavily. Are you in pain?”

“No. No, I’m fine, Dr. Zayne!”

“Hmm…” He paused as if he couldn’t decide whether he believed you or not. “Alright. Let’s do the ultrasound and then we’re almost done.”

You nodded yet again and pressed your lips together to a thin line.

You almost whined at the loss of his fingers inside of you. The ultrasound wand wrapped in a condom didn’t feel nearly as nice when he inserted it, his gaze fixed on the little screen next to the chair.

“Your ovaries look healthy…I can see no cysts. Your bladder looks fine too and your uterus…yes. Everything’s alright.”

He looked at you and blinked once, eliciting a shy smile from you. Good god…it was almost over.

Zayne removed the ultrasound wand and began to clean it up. “Do you have any questions for me? Or perhaps…” He hesitated. “Are you planning on getting any birth control?”

“D-Do I have to run that by you if I do?”

“Not all birth control pills or other methods might be compatible with the medication you need for your Protocore Syndrome.”

“I see…no, I…I don’t think I need anything…right now.”

“Alright. You can sit up. If you’d just remove your shirt for me so I can check your breasts for any knots…”

Your eyes widened. “Oh yeah! O-of course.”

Shit. You’d give anything to have Zayne caress your breasts under different circumstances. Embarrassment due to your obvious romantic affinity for him aside, you almost wished…

You sighed and did as you were told. Timidly, you lifted your shirt and kept your arms tucked in.

“That…that is not going to work, I’ll need to feel the side of your breasts too. Perhaps it’d be best if you remove it completely. I know it’s a little cool in my office, it won’t be for long.”

It’s not about the cold, Dr. Zayne. It’s not about the cold.

“S-Sure.”

You pulled your shirt over your head quickly. You hadn’t bothered to wear a bra today knowing the exam was due, and it was just easier that way. You were left wearing only your skirt before him now, your nails digging into the soft leather of the gynaecological chair and almost tearing the protective cover on top of it.

Zayne’s expression remained stoic. After putting on a fresh pair of medical gloves, he examined your breasts one by one. Your chest was heaving.

“Have you noticed anything unusual?”

“What? Uh, no, no, nothing unusual.”

“Good.” He retreated. “That concludes the exam. Are you sure you don’t have any questions?”

Yes. No. God, you couldn’t ask him what’d been on your mind for the past months…could you? Not anymore, not now that you and he…

A shiver went through you when he said your name—calmly but sternly. “Do you remember when I asked you to always be honest with me, especially when it comes to your health?”

“I do but—”

“But what?”

You felt your eyes heating up and sucked your lips between your teeth. “It’s…it’s embarrassing… Doctor Zayne, perhaps…perhaps I should be speaking to a female physician or a nurse about…this?”

“So there is something that troubles you.” He spoke your name yet again and damn it all, you wished he would stop being so considerate and caring for a moment. That would make things a lot easier for you right now. “Even if you do speak about this with a female physician, they are obligated to enter all accumulated data into your e-file. As your primary care physician, I have access to that file. Whenever something gets added, I am either the one who entered it or the first one to find out.”

“O-oh…”

“Tell me what’s wrong.” He placed his hands on your bare knees, his gaze respectfully glued to your eyes rather than your exposed sex right before him. “There is nothing you need to be ashamed of around me.”

“Zayne, I…just…I’ve been having trouble, uh…well…getting there lately.” Oh god, this was so embarrassing. Where was this pit to swallow you whole that everyone always talked about? You felt like you were in some cheap porn movie…

“Getting there?” He sounded genuine. Great. You had to spell it out.

“I’ve been having trouble…reaching orgasm when I…you know.”

Zayne remained quiet for a moment. Not a single emotion escaped his neutral expression—you did not, however, miss the slight twitching of his jaw.

“Prolonged stress can impact the ability to relax enough for acceptance, for lack of a better word, of sexual stimulation,” he began matter-of-factly, “and ever since you finished training at the Hunter’s Academy, your stress levels have almost constantly been alarmingly high.”

“How do you know that?”

“Heart rate variability analysis and regular hormonal testing during your monthly check-ups.”

“Ah…But…a-are you sure it’s just that? I’ve…I’ve tried everything. I even bought…” A vibrator. You stopped yourself and bit your lower lip.

“If you are worried about any physical causes, I can take a look. But, your Protocore Syndrome aside, you are healthy. It is highly unlikely you are affected by Anorgasmia or similar orgasmic dysfunctions that I have missed to diagnose. Have you always struggled? Or have you been able to bring yourself to climax before?”

You didn’t need to see yourself in the mirror to know you were as red as a tomato at this point. “I…no, this did start a while after I passed my Hunter’s exam…”

Zayne nodded. “There you have it. But if you want to be sure, I can go through a couple of tests with you.”

“T-tests?”

Another nod. “To make sure there are no physical restrictions to your ability to feel pleasure.”

Your lips parted. You…didn’t know you’d needed to hear the word pleasure out of Zayne’s mouth. But even so…this annoying little problem had been on your mind for weeks. What if there was something wrong with you? Something new that neither Zayne nor you had yet discovered?

“Then…then let’s do the tests. I want to be sure it’s nothing serious. How… How will you be doing that?”

“The best way would be through direct stimulation of the erogenous zones. We’ll work from there.”

You nodded. “Okay.”

“Sit back on the chair for me.”

You obliged and watched him mutely. Zayne applied some of the lube he’d used earlier to his thumb and moved back between your legs. You spread them wider hesitantly. With your heart in your mouth, you bit down hard on your lower lip when he pressed his thumb against your clit and began to caress it with slow and deliberate circular motions, his fingers cupping your pubic mound.

A gasp escaped your lips before you could stop yourself.

“You are responding right away. That is a good sign.”

Fuck…it…it did feel good. So good. Too good. So much better than when it was your fingers playing with your pussy. Perhaps it wasn’t the stress after all. Perhaps it was the fact that you were longing. For him. Perhaps your thirst could not be quenched unless it was…with him?

But…no! You couldn’t possibly…exploit him like that…he was…genuinely caring and…wanted…to make sure that…fuck…

Zayne applied a bit more pressure.

To make sure that…you were okay…he…he…

There was no way to hold back a moan when he used his other hand to slide two fingers inside of you. He curled them just right, quickly finding what he was looking for. And as he started stimulating your g-spot, you realised that it indeed wasn’t the lube that made you wet, receptive and responsive.

Zayne looked up, his lips slightly parted. Surprise reflected in his hazel green eyes—almost as if he caught himself…enjoying your reactions. Could…could that be?

He kept going nonetheless but his gaze now remained fixed on you, watching you intently.

“Z-Zayne…” You knew what you wanted to tell him. You knew what was going to happen. He knew that too, it seemed.

“It’s alright. Let go.”

“I…oh…oh God…Zayne…” You couldn’t have disobeyed the doctor’s orders even if you had wanted to. You came undone around his fingers, your tight walls clenching around him rhythmically as your orgasm washed over you. You arched your back, bucking your hips to meet his attentive touches. Zayne did not let up. He kept his hands on you to help you ride out every last wave of pleasure he’d bestowed on you.

Your eyes locked with his once you came down from your high, embarrassment crawling up your spine. But Zayne…he was breathing heavily. His eyes were glazed as if…had…had this aroused him too? You didn’t dare look down for evidence.

“There. Are you okay?” he asked gently.

“I…I am. I…”

“It’s the stress that is keeping you from relaxing without a doubt. I…I believe I might have to describe more of this treatment to you just to be sure.” Wait, what? “Especially given how the excessive release of endorphins during an orgasm can help reduce stress levels.” He chuckled. He actually chuckled!

“I…you…we…” It was no use. You were at a loss for words.

“You were my last patient for today,” Zayne announced. “Let me drive you home.”

You nodded, still dazed from what had just happened. Your cheeks were flushed, your ears hot. Between your legs, there was a waterfall you’d have to bring back under control before you put your panties back on.

This evening was far from over. Because if there was one thing you knew despite both your twisted emotions and feelings for one another, this bi-annual gynaecological check-up had just moved your relationship to a new level.

[mybigsnowman]

my sweet vet

pairing vet zayne x gender neutral reader

summary Despite your awkward first encounter with Zayne at the animal shelter, your friendship blossoms beautifully. From acquaintance to veterinarian to friend, your rapidly changing relationship leaves you both confused and wanting more.

tags second-person pov, meet-cute at animal shelter, pre-relationship, getting to know each other, some hurt/comfort, animal death, zayne being super cute, and reader overthinking a crush

word count 4.2k

note SFW fic, animal death is non-descriptive but blood is mentioned. reader is left vague, no physical descriptions or gendered words used so that anyone can enjoy it. it can also be read as mc, for all i know this could be another flower in his garden.

cross posted from ao3

“Is it weird to ask my vet out on a date?”

“Well, he's not your doctor…” Tara answers after giving it some thought. “He treats your cats.”

“Sure, but is it weird?” You sigh and place your forehead down on the table. “What if he's just nice to me ‘cause it's his job?”

“Then he’ll tell you that.”

You raise your head to glare at her, she really was no help. You’ve been stressing over this for weeks. You even started searching online forums out of desperation. The consensus was that it would probably end up badly, apparently, vets were nice to all their clients—it came with the job.

But, you weren’t sure if calling Zayne your vet was right. He wasn’t just a vet to you when you first met at the animal shelter. You were a volunteer long before Zayne showed up.

The day you met him was quiet. You’d just shown around some school kids who were interested in walking the dogs before heading back to the main building to check up on the kittens. Someone had dropped off a box of week-old kittens and they were on a strict feeding schedule. As cute as they were, it was exhausting, and the shelter was already understaffed. 

You opened the door to the isolation room quietly, trying your best not to wake the kittens up, but it was pointless as someone was already in the room trying to feed them. You watched from behind as the man struggled with the kittens. Two of them were scaling his body. One was already on his head, and another was sucking on the fabric of his trousers. 

You held back a laugh as you approached him. “Hey, do you need some help with that?”

“Please.”

“Let me get them off you.” You reached out for the one on his head, and untangled the small paws from his hair, trying not to hurt either of them in the process. 

Once you'd gotten all but one of the kittens in the crate, you turned back to him. “You should probably keep them separated and feed them one by one.”

“They didn’t give me a chance.”

He was funny. 

“I didn’t get your name.”

“Zayne.” 

You introduced yourself to him and began demonstrating how to properly bottle-feed the kittens. “Make sure to keep them on their stomach while you feed them, and angle the bottle like this, it mimics the way the mothers feed them. Just open their mouth with your finger gently if they’re refusing, they don’t have a choice, they have to drink this.”

After your demonstration, you handed him the bottle. “Here, you try.”

He held the kitten carefully and copied you perfectly.

“Good job, you're a natural.” You grimaced at the tone you’d used to praise him, you typically helped out younger people but surely it was embarrassing for an adult to be spoken to that way.

He made no comment about it and you both continued with bottle-feeding the kittens. You showed him how to stimulate the kittens and you both worked at making sure they all used the bathroom before placing them back in their crate to sleep.

Once you were done, the place was a mess. The heavy smell of kitten formula filled the room as drops of it covered the floor and both of your clothes. 

“Don’t worry, it’s always this messy,” you said as you stood up. “I’ll get you a towel.”

You left the isolation room and made your way to the storage room to grab a few clean towels. You returned to see Zayne making little snowflakes for one of the older cats in the room. You watched him from behind, not wanting to disturb the moment. As the snowflakes subsided, he hesitantly reached out for the cat, who in turn backed away. There was a shift in his shoulders, he was dejected, but he withdrew, not forcing an interaction. It was sweet—he was sweet.

-

A few days after your first meeting you’d seen his name on the doctor’s volunteer list and felt embarrassed. You’d talked his head off while teaching him how to feed the kittens but he’d already known all of it. It made sense, minus the out-of-control kittens, he was good at it.

You confronted him about it once you finally found him in the storage room. He was organising the cleaning supplies, going by with his day like nothing was wrong, like he hadn’t tricked you.

“Hey, I saw your name on the doctor volunteer list,” you started, your tone accusatory. “Why didn't you say anything when I was acting like such a know-it-all?”

“I appreciated your help.”

“Sure, sure,” you said as you leaned against the shelf. “Must’ve been annoying.”

“I assure you it was not. You’re very knowledgeable.” His deep voice was earnest as he complimented you. He wasn’t trying to embarrass you at all. 

Still, you were embarrassed, both by his compliment and your first meeting, and you looked down, not wanting to meet his gaze. Your eyes drifted to his hands, and you watched as he folded the towels with ease. His large, skilled hands got through them faster than you ever could.

You felt awkward just standing there so you spoke up again, “Let me help you.”

“You really like helping, don't you?”

You huffed in amusement, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of a proper laugh. Your conversations felt too familiar, like you’d known each other for eons. You didn’t feel the need to reply or to keep up a charade of unnecessary social interactions, so you fell into a comfortable silence as you helped each other out with cleaning the storage room. The ease of your actions was apparent, you flowed with each other, never colliding. It came easy. It felt natural. 

-

Although most volunteers tend to come and go, Zayne was diligent. He’d attend every Saturday and help around until the sun had set, and despite your awkward first encounter, you found yourself drawn to his company. You’d even plucked up the courage to join him for lunch after seeing him alone all the time. 

You discovered a lot about him from your first shared lunch. It was an unbearably hot day and you could feel the uncomfortable sensation of your shirt sticking to your sweaty skin. The heat dampened your mood and you were miserable. However, that instantly changed once you saw a familiar figure having lunch at one of the picnic tables. 

You approached him carefully, a part of you hoping to scare him but you held back. “Hey, mind if I join you?” 

“Go ahead.” You barely noticed the small smile on his face.

You took a seat across from him, placing your bag down on the bench in the process. Your eyes drifted to his lunch, it was clearly homemade, and surprisingly very cute. You started to wonder whether someone made it for him; there was no way he made those octopus sausages for himself. Perhaps he had a partner, or maybe even children. You were so lost in thought that you didn't realise you’d been staring at his food for a solid minute.

“Would you like some?” Zayne asked as he moved his lunch box towards you.

You shook your head. “Oh, no. I've got my own food.”

You pulled out your own lunch and started picking at it. The question kept running through your mind and you felt so incredibly nosy but you needed to know whether someone had made Zayne’s lunch. 

“Did your partner make that for you?” The words left your mouth before you could stop yourself.

“What?”

“Your lunch,” you clarified.

Zayne looked down at his lunch, furrowing his brows in confusion. “I made it myself.”

You'd never seen him look that confused—he looked cute. And, for a reason unknown to you at that time, you felt relieved by his answer, you could finally fall back into the loose rhythm of your conversation. 

“Even this?” you asked as you pointed at the sausages with your chopsticks.

His ears turned red as he glanced to the side. His voice was quiet when he finally replied, “Is it strange?”

You shook your head, hoping you didn’t overstep and unnecessarily embarrass him. “Just didn't expect that from you. They're very cute.”

You both went back to eating in shared silence. Your concentration was on the phone in front of you as you aggressively searched things up.

Zayne noticed that you look troubled. “Is something wrong?”

“It’s nothing, I’m just looking for a new vet clinic.” You glanced up from your phone and it hit you—you had a professional right in front of you.

He saw your eyes widen before your phone was shoved in his face. He glanced down at it and raised his brows, unsure of what exactly he was looking at. You’d zoomed in so much that the map was indiscernible. 

“Do you know any good clinics in this area?” You zoomed out on the map and waved your phone around. “I’m moving there soon.”

He took the phone from your hand, his fingers brushing against yours in the process, and moved around on the map before handing it back to you. “My clinic is close by.” 

He took out his cardholder and you couldn’t help but smile when you noticed the snowflake design on it. His taste was surprisingly cute for someone who typically appeared so serious. You didn’t know him well enough at the time, but that side of him became less shocking as you got closer. 

“Are you allowed to advertise your services to other volunteers?” You teased him as you flipped his card, examining it with pretend scrutiny. 

“Why wouldn't I be?” He teased you back, his tone flat. “I can give you a discount since we're acquaintances.”

“Acquaintances?”

Zayne continued, not realising what he said wrong. “Just make sure to ask for me when you book your appointment.”

You were caught up on the acquaintance comment. At that time you’d assumed you’d gotten closer. You’d seen him every weekend for three months and you’d hoped you were at least friends. But perhaps he was joking, you really couldn’t tell sometimes. 

“Right, I will.” You replied after a moment, trying to fall back into the light rhythm of the conversation and hoping you didn’t sound too hurt. “Thank you, Dr Zayne.”

You tucked away his business card in the back of your phone case—somewhere close and safe. It felt like a key to a different door in his life and you made sure to never lose it.

-

Zayne technically became your vet the day you finally visited his clinic. It was four months after meeting him, you’d finally settled into your new apartment and your cat's yearly vaccines were due. 

You arrived at the clinic with your pet carrier in hand. After registering at the front desk, you sat down in the waiting area and looked around. The place was small and modern, with a jarring white-on-white scheme that was typical for most clinics, but you noticed a personal touch in every corner. There were drawings behind the reception desk, probably left there by some kids. You saw one that was clearly of Zayne and smiled. You could tell he was loved. 

While in a daze, you heard Zayne call your cat’s name. You turned to face the sound of his voice and an inexplicable feeling emerged when your eyes landed on him. Seeing him outside the confines of the shelter felt strange, as if you’d crossed a threshold. He looked different. He never wore his glasses at the shelter. And he looked good in his scrubs. You stood up and walked over to him before your thoughts trailed off any further.

“Please come in,” he said as he held the door open for you.

“Thank you.”

“Here, let me take her.” He reached for the carrier once you entered the room. 

You handed her over to him and he placed the carrier on the examination table. 

“I didn’t expect to see you here so soon.” 

“I really wanted to see how you are at work,” you answered back, your tone too light. 

He cleared his throat, pushing his glasses up his nose bridge before abruptly changing the subject. “So, you’re here for a check-up and vaccines.”

The obvious deflect of your words caused your face to heat up. You shouldn’t have teased him at work, he wasn’t your friend, he was just doing his job. You should've been serious; you should've played the role of the client without disrupting his work. You answered his question and stiffly stood there as Zayne shifted his attention to the cat in the carrier.

He opened the door of the carrier and peeked in. “Don't be scared, I won't hurt you.”

You’d told yourself you’d be serious—a good client—but the way he talked to animals, the subtle shift in his tone, was so sweet that you couldn’t help but smile. 

Zayne reached into the carrier to get your cat out. She was always nervous at the vet and would cling to the carrier with all her strength, but he managed to take her out swiftly. His focus fell fully on her as he started the examination. “How has she been at home? Any unusual behaviour?”

“Nope, she's acting normal. She’s eating normally and playing around like usual.”

He hummed in reply as he placed her on the scale. “Perfect weight, good job. Let's check your heart now.”

You watched him closely as he worked. He always carried himself well, his movements confident and precise. Anyone could recognise that he was capable at his job. He was just like this at the shelter, always working hard even on the menial tasks assigned to him. He finished the examination quickly and vaccinated your cat with ease. Once it was over, he assured you that your cat was healthy and gave her a quick pet before placing her back in the carrier and seeing you out.

You hesitated before leaving the room, a part of you afraid that you’d ruined something by coming here. You’d acted too familiar at his workplace and you weren’t sure if you’d overstepped, it was hard to tell where you stood in his life. 

“I’ll see you this Saturday?” You asked tentatively, hoping his answer would quell the sudden unrest in your heart.

“Of course. Take care.”

-

Despite your so-called status as a mere acquaintance, Zayne always seemed to overextend himself when you were in need of help. You’d rushed into the vet clinic one night with an injured dog in hand. It was past closing time and with no other staff left in the building, Zayne had every right to turn you away—but he didn't. He'd seen you from behind the glass door and let you in immediately. 

“I'm sorry I know you're closing up but I had nowhere else to go,” you spoke quickly, your knuckles white as you gripped the cardboard box that had the dog in it.

Wordlessly, Zayne reached out and took the box from your hands. It was heavy. 

You started explaining yourself again, “There was a wanderer and—” 

“I’ll take a look,” he cut you off before you could finish the sentence. 

You tried to follow him but he blocked your path. “Stay out here.”

“But—”

“Stay.” His firm voice left no room for arguments.

So you relented.

The door shut behind you and you dropped down onto one of the waiting room chairs. The place was near silent, you could hear your heart beating loudly against your chest. There was no noise coming from inside the room. Your hands were still sticky from the blood but you had no energy to get up and wash them. 

Time seemed to stretch out in the waiting room and by the time Zayne emerged from the room you were unsure how long it had been. His footsteps felt deafening as he approached you.

“There was nothing I could do,” he spoke up before you had the chance to ask.

“If I’d gotten here sooner…”

“It wouldn’t have changed anything.” His words were blunt but you could tell he was trying to rid you of any guilt.

It hadn’t been your fault; it was bound to happen.

A deafening silence stretches between you and you look away; you couldn’t bear to look at him. You should leave. You’re not sure if you announced it to him but he seemed to understand. 

“Let me take you home, you're in no state to drive.”

“I can’t leave my car here.” 

“I’ll drive you back in it.”

You would've argued back but your hands were still shaking, your body still heavy. His firm voice offered you necessary comfort, so you accepted and allowed yourself to be a burden again. You handed him your car keys, but instead of reaching out for them you felt his hand on your wrist instead.

“Your hands are dirty.”

He left you in the waiting room for a few minutes before returning with a damp towel. He knelt down, reached for your hands again and started wiping away the blood. You let him, your hands heavy in his as he worked gently at getting you clean. You stared at him, a part of you envious of how calm he seemed, another part grateful for the anchor.

He told you to wait in the car as he closed up the clinic. You tried to pay before leaving but he wouldn’t let you; he wouldn’t let you do anything. So you sat in the passenger seat and waited. Your eyes drifted to the steering wheel, the blood on it had already dried up, you couldn’t have him touch that so you tried your hardest to clean it with whatever you had in the glove box. 

The car door opened just as you finished cleaning. Zayne got into the driver's seat and adjusted it before asking where you lived. You put the location on the in-car navigation and sank back into your seat. The air in the car felt heavy as he drove you home. Your body became sluggish as the events of the day caught up to you. You were tired so you let your eyes close for the rest of the ride.

The car came to a stop.

“We’re here.” 

“How’re you gonna get home?” A part of you wanted to ask him to stay. But it was too much, and far too soon. 

“I’ll call a taxi.”

“Let me pay for it,” you insisted even though you already knew his answer.

“There’s no need. Just head inside.” He sounded just as tired as you. 

You felt bad; he should’ve been home already but he had to deal with you. So you try to pay it back with any sort of favour, it's the only thing you know how to do. “I’ll wait with you.”

You both got out of the car and stood beside one another in the humid night air. You tried to fill the silence with anything but all you could muster up was a quiet thank you. Minutes passed before the light of an approaching taxi came into view. It was time for him to leave.

He turned to you and placed the car keys in your hand, “Make sure to send your car in for cleaning.” 

You thanked him again before he left—not that it would ever be enough. And as you made your way to the entrance, you felt his eyes on you. The taxi took off once the door closed behind you. The hallway felt unbearably dark. You were exhausted.

-

And when you stopped showing up to the shelter, Zayne was the first one to reach out. 

You received a text from an unknown number, an ominous “Are you alright?” that left you confused. You ignored it initially but then the same number called you and you had to pick up. You were prepared to hear a stranger but the voice that greeted you was familiar—it was Zayne. He sounded worried, but still, he didn’t push you to talk. He could tell that you were hesitant to do it over the phone so he invited you out to a coffee shop to talk instead.

You arrived at the meeting spot early but Zayne had you beat. You saw him from the glass windows already sitting on one of the corner tables. Luckily, the place was barren. An old establishment that barely got any visitors and never played any music; it was a perfect place for a conversation. You hesitated slightly before opening the glass door. 

“Hi,” you said once you reached his table. 

He greeted you back.

There were already sweets on the table, two cakes and some fruit tarts. You could feel his eyes on you as you settled in your seat. You shifted your bag around in your lap, trying to distract yourself from the heavy atmosphere. It’s quiet for a bit, both of you unsure of what to say. 

“I didn’t know what you’d like so I ordered a few things.” Zayne broke the silence as he pushed a plate towards you. “I got us some tea as well.”

“Thank you, you really didn’t have to.” 

He poured tea for both of you; an absurd amount of sugar in his mug and a smidge in yours. He mixed it for you and placed the mug down in front of you.

“How have you been doing?” He asked, his tone mindful as if he was afraid to hurt you. 

Your answer was vague, you said you were alright but Zayne could tell you weren’t being honest. The conversation stagnated again, both of you unsure of what to say. You picked at the cake in front of you before taking a small bite. You could barely taste it. 

“You can talk to me,” he offered, hoping it was the right choice. 

“I'm not sure what to say.”

“Anything is fine.”

You tried to organise your thoughts, to form them into a single coherent sentence, but it was difficult. He’d come out here just to see you, so you had no other option but to try harder. 

“I can't sleep.” Your hand held onto the mug in front of you, seeking some semblance of security, anything to ground yourself. You couldn’t say anything else. It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t everything. You were afraid. Despite your frequent volunteering you’d never seen or touched an animal that was injured to that extent, the most you’d seen were sick ones. Animal death wasn’t unfamiliar to you but it was never that violent. 

You felt Zayne’s fingertips brush against your hand and you stiffened up, suddenly conscious of his touch. It wasn’t foreign to you. You’d had passing moments in the shelter, instances where you sat too close together. He’d even bandaged you up when a particularly scared cat had scratched you up. He’d washed your bloodied hands. But this felt different. You could tell that he wanted to hold them for a different reason but he was too afraid. Seeing him try brought you enough comfort.

“It’s not easy to experience these things.” 

“Even for you?”

He nodded and took a sip of his tea. He didn’t offer you any advice, you appreciated it. Knowing that he understood was more than enough.

He helped the conversation shift to something easier. He caught you up with things you missed at the shelter and told you about the amusing pet names he’d seen at work. You could tell how hard he was trying so you leaned into it. You let yourself fall into a comfortable conversation as you told him about your week. You ate one of the tarts. You could finally taste it.

When it was time to leave, he mirrored a question you’d asked him before—one you’d asked when you needed reassurance. “Will I see you this Saturday?”

It was your turn to offer it.

“Yeah. See you.”

-

Your emergency meeting with Tara had been useless. You’d spent the entire walk home recalling every moment between you and Zayne. And now you lay in bed, twisting and turning as you wrack your brain for a decision. Tara told you it wasn’t weird. There technically isn’t any conflict of interest and Zayne does seem to like you, or at least you hope he does and you aren’t reading him wrong. 

The moments you spent together were good. The past eight months were nice but having your meetings restricted to either the shelter or the clinic left you yearning for more. You want to break this ordinary routine. You want to see him more than once a week. You want to invite him over. You want to visit his home.

You aren’t sure why you’re still hesitating. 

You pull out your phone, hands shaking slightly as you open up your messaging app. You smile once you see his usual default profile picture, still not set despite you telling him how to a few weeks ago. You’ll remind him next time you see each other. You have a lot to tell him. Your fingers hover over the keys as you think of what to type. Something simple; something easy. You won’t hesitate anymore.

Can we meet up tomorrow?

[seoliee]

ZAYNE ENTRY 1 ; INJURY

For the Zayne stans out there. This is a very short one and wrote it in under 30 minutes or so. Just a lil fluff for a sweet treat from yours truly.

Word Count: 485 words

Pairings: Zayne x reader

• You looked away, unable to return Zayne's scrutinizing gaze from across the other couch as both of you sat in silence. For you, it's a very uncomfortable and eerie silence of what's about to come.

• You involuntarily flinched when you heard a frustrated sigh coming from him and soon he spoke. "What do you have to say for yourself?" It's a simple question and yet you couldn't think of a proper response due to the thick atmosphere.

• "Um.. I did.. great?" Zayne's forehead immediately furrows upon hearing your answer. You shrinked back into your seat, keeping your eyes down and fidgeting your fingers. You decided to shut your mouth after that.

• Zayne decided to cut off work upon hearing the news of your accident during one of your missions. It was just right after a surgery when he was told about you and immediately rushed into the emergency room. He saw you sitting on one of the beds, the nurses treating your other wounds and a cast is on your right arm.

• Zayne felt relieved seeing that you're alive and only got off with a broken arm, but he still felt a bit frustrated that you were being careless. He is aware that your job is filled with danger in every corner, and that every mission should be held with the topmost priority. But, isn't prioritizing your own safety important as well? Really. He can't fathom to understand hunters.

• Zayne knocks on your bedroom door, waiting for a response before letting himself in. A few seconds and there wasn't any sound coming from inside. Worried, he turns the knob and sees you on the edge of your bed, struggling to take off your shirt with one hand.

• You turn your head towards him, unsure of what to react at the given situation. You snapped out of it when he started to walk towards you. You, instinctively scoot farther, asking him. "W-What do you want—"

• "You look like you're struggling. Let me help you undress." Zayne reaches out to the hem of your shirt, but stops him by grasping his hand out of panic. "N-No! I'm fine! I can do it myself." You quickly said, cursing yourself from stuttering at the beginning. You knew it's merely an innocent act and out of concern, but for some reason his words were able to make your heart skip a beat and it's not good.

• Zayne observes your red cheeks, chuckling softly as he finds your reaction as adorable. "I can't let my patient be in distress. This is a doctor's order."

• "Only as a doctor?" You asks softly, unknowingly giving him the doe eyes and a slight pout. In return, Zayne's hand reaches up to caress your cheek, leaning in a bit.

• His hand slowly travels downward, grasping the hem of your shirt. "Then, as your significant other. Let me take care of you."

[xfgpng]

GOD I CANT STOP THINKING ABOUT HIM?? 100% self indulgent.

he can’t help it. he knows he shouldn’t be this smitten but but he is. y/n is just too pretty and she’s even prettier in zayne’s sleep shirts that seem to be look even better on her. it reaches just above her knee and her collarbones are more visible like this. zayne can admit that he’s in love and he isn’t ashamed of it either.

“good morning baby” zayne says and y/n flushes, hiding her face in the crook of his neck when she comes up to hug him. zayne just grins, wrapping his arms tightly around y/n’s waist.

“mornin’ doctor zayne” she mumbles shyly and he knows no one on she worked with would ever believe him if he told them about y/n being this soft and shy but then again, he liked knowing he was the only one that ever saw his girlfriend like this.

he grins when he notices the slight limp in the way she walks when she walks back to their kitchen. he has to take a deep breath when he catches a glimpse of their matching tattoo, their anniversary date, on her shoulder when the shirt slips down.

“you’re staring” y/n says and she doesn’t have to turn around to know zayne is, in fact, staring with his signature grin that would make anyones knees weak. she doesn’t want to embarrass herself so early in the morning even if zayne has seen almost every side of her and loves her all the same.

“i’m merely admiring baby” zayne chuckles. he doesn’t think he’ll ever get enough of her and as annoying as his girlfriend can get, zayne was so smitten that y/n could probably get away with murder and that should be concerning but it wasn’t.

tara, her coworker and best friend has warned him about spoiling y/n too much but there was just no way he could say no to that adorable face. he loved making y/n happy and hearing her delighted giggles was always worth it. it wasn’t like zayne couldn’t afford to give his girlfriend whatever she wanted.

[thatanonymouschocolate]

I tried…

Lately I just haven’t been feeling all that great about my art…idk what to do anymore sorry

Here’s this stupid unfinished thing of Zayne and the MC I was working on but yea I’ll still try to at least upload on Patreon but idk…don’t know if I wanna post art anymore

[v3x-y0urs3lf]

Love and DeepSpace x closeted trans MC.

Zayne: Okay, Last time I checked him and Mc have known each other for like.. years(?) I feel like he'd know something is off.

Like, Mc looking at their hospital reports that very obviously state (Male/Female) or some sort of ID that states their assigned gender at birth. I feel like he'd notice how focused they are but OF COURSE there isn't really a time or correct place to really talk about that sort of stuff (especially with how busy the two of them are.) and so MC doesn't mention it.

Which leaves Zayne to have to.

The next time the two get some downtime he asks about his suspicions, starting off with something like 'You've been off lately' or 'Have you been alright?' thinking at first it was about 'the attack' or about their job.

I want to say that asking him to call them by a 'nickname' is how this would go just because of the stress of trying to come out but.. I'm not exactly satisfied with that so let's say you actually tell him about what you've been thinking.

First off, Supportive. I don't think (Nor do I want to think) any of the characters are homophobic/transphobic. Zayne is a doctor for gods sake. He is not new to same sex relationships nor the concept of transgender people.

He's actually pretty cool with it (hah, get it?) He just asks whether you've decided on a new name, pronouns and if you're planning on any body modifications (Testosterone, Oestrogen, top surgery, bottom surgery, etc etc.)

I don't think Zayne would be all that knowledgable himself on how to do certain surgeries, but he would totally recommend you to other doctors/surgeons who he knows and trusts to be able to.

ALSO, VERY STRICT ON MAKING SURE YOU'RE NOT OVER-BINDING/TAKING CARE OF YOURSELF AFTER SURGERY. It's either he takes time off to help you recover(surgery) or he's constantly checking in through texts if he can't miss work.

Xavier:

Gonna be honest, don't have too many ideas for him. I want to say he wouldn't exactly bat an eye at anything Zayne would think was 'SUPER OBVIOUS' hints. He'd notice if you suddenly took on a new 'nickname' or if you started asking everyone else to call you by said 'nickname' and notice if you suddenly cut your hair/started growing out your hair.

He just wouldn't notice certain things like trying to dress closer to your preferred gender or if your voice started to gradually change (Whether it's from hormone supplements or vocal therapy.).. or he would and just wouldn't ask because 1. Those are pretty normal and tame things or 2. Because it's a gradual change and he just doesn't question it.

It's not until he thinks about it a little longer, let's say he's focusing on you that he starts to notice all the little things he missed. The way you've overall grown as a person and taken a liking to being seen as more feminine/androgynous/masculine.

I don't think he'd ask you directly, instead wait for you to bring it up to him. He doesn't want to overwhelm you or make you uncomfortable so.. he waits until you're ready. It's not like it isn't you just because you're finding out your gender after all.

I don't know how knowledgable he'd be on transgender people but he's definitely supportive. You could literally just tell him "I'm a ___, please call me __ and use __/__" and he'd just give you a thumbs up and continue about his day.

Raphael:

.

..

After Zayne I just got 0 ideas but I want to try and fit everyone in this so..

I want to say he'd notice certain changes like if you started growing out your hair, cut your hair, your voice was changing, etc.. thing is he'd forget and just think it was a normal. As in 'your voice was always that high' or 'you always dressed that way.'

If you started asking other people to start using certain 'Nicknames' then I'd imagine he'd start to notice after a while, He'd also be pretty annoyed if it was a name that he originally thought was just an 'us thing'. y'know? But he'd get even more annoyed and jealous if you got everyone else BUT him to start using different names for you, like, How DARE you? Did the two of you not have something special?

I don't think he'd notice if you started presenting differently(Dressing/acting more feminine/Masculine/androgynous.) and if he did then he wouldn't mention it. So what? you're just exploring different styles. That's fine.

It's not that he doesn't know what transgender people are / anything about queer people but he just.. doesn't really care? Like, He cares about you. Yes.

But your gender doesn't play into your worth.. why would he care? He'll respect your pronouns and decisions for yourself but unless you come out to him then he might not be too present in your transition.

He would try to help out with recovery, though. You might have to tease and pester him about it but at the end of the day, he cares and doesn't want you to hurt yourself by doing something you aren't supposed to during recovery.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I feel the need to mention I haven't finished the story, I mainly got most of the plot of tiktok and stuff but I really like the game.

This is in no disrespect to the original mc, I understand the game was originated in China so we're more than likely not going to get any queer rep from this one.

I also wanted to add Tara and Caleb, I just got incrediblyyy lazy. Sorry.

Again. Sorry if these characters seem mischaracterised at all, This is just how I viewed them.

[his-lune]

☾ love and deepspace masterlist ☽

☾. xavier

ᯓ★ masterlist

☾. zayne

ᯓ★ masterlist

☾. rafayel

ᯓ★ masterlist

☾. caleb

ᯓ★ masterlist

[oncasette]

zayne blurb bc i'm in love with him but writer's block is not my friend. also, zayne's a sweets thief.

“Tell me a secret,” you whisper as you nuzzle further into the crook of his neck. Your nose grazes his pulse point and you can feel the way it jumps slightly.

“A secret?” he hums, amused.

You hum in response. Zayne’s arm tightens its hold around your shoulders, seemingly burrowing the two of you deeper under the plush duvet. 

“A secret,” he parrots. You can tell he’s thinking, can hear the squint in his eyes and the gears turning about in his brain. Neither of you are exactly sure why the other is awake right now. The sun wasn’t set to rise for another hour and there hadn’t been an alarm between the two of you to wake you. Still, as it were, it didn’t seem like either of you were going back to sleep at the moment. 

“Alright,” he sighs after a beat. The soft pitter patter of rain beats against the window. It’s not heavy, but it’s noticeable. “I was the one that ate your cookie when we were six.”

“What?” you scoff, jumping up from your spot to gape at the man. His smile was far too smug for your liking. “I blamed Caleb for that for ages! I made him buy me a new one with his allowance!”

You gently smack at his shoulder, a movement that Zayne catches with ease. He pulls the hand up toward his mouth before he begins to trail gentle kisses up along your palm and wrist.

“I know,” he laughs and you have half a mind to bite him. He manages to lower you back down against his side, coaxing your nose to rest against his pulse once more. “I couldn’t bear the thought of you hating me. Even then.”

“I wouldn’t have hated you. I would’ve made you buy me a new cookie,” you huff. A kiss lands against your temple.

“It’s a good thing I’ve bought you several since then, hm?”

“Whatever you need to tell yourself to heal your obviously depraved conscience, mister,” you say, though you struggle to mask the lilt of affection that taints your words. 

[beneathashadytree]

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!

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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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[nightplvmes]

*.⊹˚ ZAYNE | christmas eve (christmas special)

── ◜zayne x fem!reader — mini one shot 1.1k words ◜Zayne has to work on Christmas, so she decides to surprise him with their little Christmas dinner. — author's note here | christmas specials from the rest of the LI on my profile ★ masterlist here

She hated that Zayne worked so much without resting, but if there was one thing she hated more than that, it was he had to work on Christmas Eve. It was her first Christmas with a boyfriend and her boyfriend had to work.

According to Zayne, those days were actually pretty busy. People were slipping off the roofs while putting up decorations or having accidents while making dinner. She didn't say anything when Zayne told her he had to work, she should actually be proud that her boyfriend is saving lives! But while her boyfriend was saving lives, she was home alone… a little sad. She had actually lied to Zayne, saying she had plans with her friends because didn't want him to worry about her.

She had to do something, mainly because she didn't want her boyfriend to spend Christmas Eve alone in a hospital room… That's why almost two hours later she found herself leaving her apartment, a small bag at her side as she got into her car.

The ride to the hospital was smooth and quick, she expected there to be more cars on the streets, but it was the opposite. She confirmed her suspicions when she passed by the waiting room later: there were barely three people. She knew the reason Zayne was there that day was as a precaution, but why couldn't they just ask another doctor to stay? She was being selfish perhaps.

"Zayne?" She knocked on his office door, looked over her shoulder but the hallway was completely empty. She had passed the surgery board on her way there and Zayne's name wasn't there. Maybe he was with another patie…

The door in front of her opened. Her face lit up as she saw her boyfriend with his brow slightly furrowed in confusion. "What are you doing here?" he asked with that softness in his voice he always used with her.

"I brought Christmas dinner." She smiled lifting the small bag in her hands, Zayne let her in seconds later, still a little confused.

"I thought you had plans with your friends."

"Yeah, well… I lied." She smiled shyly, not wanting him to get upset with her even though Zayne seemed to lose his patience… never. "I thought we could have dinner together."

Zayne was silent for several seconds. He knew his girlfriend had preferred not to mention anything and let him work, she did that all the time lately, but she was here anyway. She had cooked something for both of them and now she was here, giving up any last-minute plans she might have made to spend time with him on Christmas.

"You didn't have to do that." Zayne approached her, wrapping his arms around his girlfriend. She smiled slightly and shook her head, not wanting him to feel guilty.

"I don't mind. Let's eat." She placed one last kiss on his cheek before turning to start unpacking the food she had made for them.

She didn't mind the fact that she had to be there. After all, it was Christmas Eve, they could spend the day together tomorrow, right?

★

Over an hour later, she plopped down into the chair in front of Zayne's desk. She felt like she had eaten too much and now she couldn't move.

"Mmm… I think I'll take a nap on your couch" she whined, shifting in her seat. Zayne smiled at his girlfriend's exaggeration.

He glanced at the watch on his wrist, he knew she hadn't noticed but it was almost midnight. He knew she wasn't the biggest fan of Christmas but at least it was important enough as anyone else.

Zayne's hand slid down to one of his desk drawers to pull out the small box he had been hiding for almost two weeks. His girlfriend was too focused on complaining to notice. He hid it in one of his pants pockets and continued acting normally, clearing his throat to get her attention and getting up from his chair.

"Come on, it's almost midnight." She stood up quickly at his words and looked around for a clock. She hadn't even noticed the time, she only knew that her stomach was starting to hurt a little.

"Where are we going?" She asked, reaching over to grab her jacket. Maybe it had been a bad idea to wear such a thin jacket.

"Let's go to the roof," he murmured, wrapping one of his arms around her waist. He knew how much his girlfriend loved the snow and he didn't want midnight to arrive locked in the four walls of his office where she spent most of her lunch breaks anyway.

Five minutes later she felt the cold air hit her face, she had to narrowed her eyes. Zayne took one of her hands and directed her close to the edge, causing snowflakes to begin shower her hair.

She smiled excitedly. She loved the snow and even though she was sure she would start shivering in a couple of minutes, she loved the feeling of the cold against her face and the snowflakes in her hair.

"What time is it?" She asked turning to face Zayne and looked at the watch on his wrist once more.

"11:59."

She smiled excitedly. Her hand slipped into her jacket pocket to pull out a small mistletoe she had brought from home. She had almost forgotten it was there.

She smiled as she tried to stand on her tiptoes to put the mistletoe under both of their heads, but Zayne was quite a bit taller than her so she could barely do it. Zayne smiled when he noticed what his girlfriend was doing, he didn't need an excuse to kiss her anyway.

"Where did you get that?"

"I brought it from home." She shrugged. "Now you have to kiss me." She didn't have to tell him twice.

His arms wrapped around her gently, closing the small distance between them. She had suddenly forgotten all about the cold she had felt when they had reached the rooftop.

Zayne pressed his lips to hers without thinking, He deepened the kiss, holding her more closely to his body. He took the time to enjoy the warmth of his girlfriend, the way she let him explore her mouth… As if they had all the time in the world.

A loud bang in the distance separated them. She frowned, somewhat confused, she was expecting fireworks on New Year's but certainly not on Christmas. Bright colors flooded the sky for a few seconds before fading away. It was Christmas.

She turned excitedly, her nose had turned red due to the cold and her hair was now covered in snowflakes. The most adorable picture Zayne had ever seen.

"Merry Christmas, Dr. Zayne."

"Merry Christmas, my love."

[bibbysstuff]

Mc in Lingeries, Li addition

[aleksatia]

10 Ways You Ruin His Day (and 10 Ways You Ruin His Self-Control)

I originally made this list as character notes for future stories — I love digging deep into their dynamics and really breaking them down. But honestly? I couldn’t not share. Would love to hear your thoughts too: what do you think drives them absolutely mad, and what turns them into helpless fluff puddles? 🖤

🍎 Top 10 Things That Make Caleb Absolutely, Irrevocably Mad

1 He doesn’t know where you are Even when it makes sense. Even when you’re safe. Even when he’s on the far side of a tunnel with no signal and too much time to think. The silence eats at him, turns every breath into a countdown. By the time he’s back, no one on the base dares talk to him until you’re in his line of sight again.

2 You come home with a bouquet of flowers from another man It’s not jealousy, really. It’s… fury dressed in olive green. You’re standing there, smiling, saying some poor man gave you flowers because you saved his life. Great. Fantastic. Caleb’s thrilled that his girlfriend is both competent and accidentally irresistible. But now he has to pretend this isn’t bothering him while mentally comparing the man's face to strategic punching surfaces.

3 You climb on unstable furniture to reach something You know, nothing fancy—just a stack of books on top of a chair that’s on top of a bench. And you? Balancing like a gremlin in fuzzy socks. He walks in and suddenly the war flashbacks begin. You think it’s funny. He thinks it’s a workplace hazard, and you are the HR violation.

4 You rearrange his model planes He adores you. Worships the ground you walk on. Would throw himself in front of an oncoming dropship for you. But if you dust his shelf and dare to reorder his starfighters and aircrafts by vibes instead of model number? He's already rewriting his will. In blood.

5 You do something reckless and then smile about it You say “relax, I had a plan.” He hears: “I almost died, and I’d do it again, because I’m cute and unstoppable.” That smile? That grin you give when you know exactly what you did and you’re proud of it? That’s why he needs stress meds. And maybe a punching bag with your face on it. (Lovingly.)

6 You casually mention the girl he used to date You say it with a smirk, like it’s just some harmless teenage memory. But he doesn’t see her—he sees you. You, standing in the doorway that day. You, catching him with her, both of them half-undressed. And you looking at him like something cracked between you. Back then, you were off-limits. You were the girl he wasn’t allowed to want. So he wanted someone else. Easier. Safer. And now, years later, you bring it up like it’s nothing—while he’s still trying not to remember how badly he wished it had been you.

7 You weren’t his first kiss—but worse, he wasn’t yours It never comes up. Not out loud. But he remembers. Vividly. The hallway. The way your face lit up. The boy leaning in. You smiling. And Caleb—watching from across the room, fists clenched, jaw tight, playing the role of older brother when his whole body screamed mine. You never talk about it. But he never forgot. Never will. Because that moment should’ve been his—and someone else took it first.

8 You walk away during a fight, or shut down emotionally You call it “space.” He calls it “psychological warfare.” You shut down. He short-circuits. Nothing drives him more insane than trying to fix something while you’re actively ghosting him across the living room. He’d rather you screamed. Threw something. Anything. But this quiet? This distance? That’s the one thing he doesn’t know how to fight.

9 You cry—especially if it’s because of him And then he’s done. Game over. His spine straightens like he’s under military command and his entire soul just went through the paper shredder. You cry, and suddenly he’s the villain. You say “it’s not your fault,” but that doesn’t matter. He’s already rewriting the past and taking full responsibility. And yes, he’ll suffer in complete silence. Like a man.

10 You secretly try to uncover what he’s hiding from you You call it curiosity. He calls it a breach of protocol punishable by full emotional lockdown. You think you’re clever. He thinks you just walked into classified territory barefoot, blindfolded, and with a target on your back. You were never supposed to see that side of his world. And now that you have? He doesn’t know whether to yell, hold you, or lock you in a room with military-grade firewalls and a blanket.

🍎 Top 10 Things That Turn Caleb Into a Complete Fluff-Mess

You wearing his dog tags / uniform shirt / flight jacket Instant puddle. No chance. He sees you in his gear and his brain just... shuts off. All he can think is mine mine mine, and he gets this dumb, soft little smirk like he’s trying so hard not to combust.

You falling asleep on him—especially mid-conversation You’re curled into his side, mumbling something about dinner plans, and then: silence. He looks down, sees you asleep on his chest, and that’s it. Whole day ruined. Cancel all missions. He’s not moving.

You bringing him coffee exactly the way he likes it—without asking That quiet, thoughtful act? Hits him right in the soldier-shaped heart. He doesn’t even know how to process being taken care of, so he stares at the cup like it just proposed to him.

You absentmindedly touching him—fiddling with his fingers, tracing scars, playing with his hair He pretends he doesn’t care. He does. He cares so much he forgets how to breathe. Just turns into a warm, red-eared statue trying not to whimper.

You whispering “I trust you” or “I feel safe with you” in a soft moment Core memory unlocked. He stores that one like sacred intel. Will literally whisper it back to himself at 3 AM when he’s lying awake, missing you. It breaks him in the best way.

You clinging to him in your sleep / pulling him closer without waking up Caleb.exe has stopped functioning. He will lie perfectly still for HOURS if it means not disturbing that moment. Bonus points if you mumble his name while doing it.

You defending him when someone questions his methods or past He’s used to being the shield—not having someone stand in front of him. The second you raise your voice on his behalf? He falls in love with you all over again. Might even cry. Secretly.

You gently helping him out of his gear after a long day Soft hands on his buckles. A kiss to his shoulder. A low “You’re home now.” That’s how you make a Colonel melt. His fingers twitch like he wants to worship the ground you walk on.

You surprising him with something dumb and heartfelt, like a handmade gift or bad sketch of him He acts gruff—says “the hell is this, Pips?”—but then puts it in his locker or keeps it in his chest pocket for missions like it’s sacred treasure. Because it is.

You calling him “baby” / “handsome” / “sweetheart” when he least expects it He acts like it’s annoying. It is not annoying. It turns him into actual butter. If you do it with a teasing smile? He short-circuits. Might drop something. Might combust. Definitely blushes.

🩺 Top 10 Things That Make Zayne’s Calm Snap Like a Microsurgical Thread

You ignore his instructions when you're sick You had a fever of 102°F. He left explicit care instructions—bed rest, fluids, minimal movement. You, sweating and glassy-eyed, decided this was the perfect time to rearrange the furniture. When he came home and found you dragging a bookshelf across the room “because the light felt wrong,” he genuinely considered sedating you. Not as punishment. As damage control. For both of you.

You order greasy fast food instead of going somewhere “nutritionally viable” He offered to cook. You said no. Twenty minutes later, you’re eating fries from a paper bag while half of it spills on his clean table. You grin. He stares. Not angry at the food. Angry because you rejected his precision, then settled for processed chaos.

You leave wet towels on the floor after every shower He’s not sure when it started. Day three? Day five? But every time he walks into the bathroom and steps into cold, soggy cotton, something in him fractures. You claim you “forget.” He suspects a psychological experiment.

You casually mention spending time with male friends You think it’s harmless. Lunch with Caleb. Training advice from Xavier. You light up when you talk about them—and that’s the problem. Zayne doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t raise a brow. But the sudden over-fixation on his email inbox says everything.

You receive a speeding ticket. Forty miles over the limit. You wave it off like it’s a funny little anecdote. He sits in absolute silence, calculating the stopping distance of your car vs. standard reaction time at that speed. You think he’s judging. He’s actually trying not to scream.

You poke his ass. Specifically, between the cheeks. You call it “affection.” He calls it “emotional terrorism.” He flinches like he’s been electrocuted, whips around with murder in his eyes—and you’re giggling like a gremlin. Later, you regret nothing, but your thighs may beg to differ.

When you diagnose him with internet psychology You’ve read one book on attachment styles and watched three reels about emotional unavailability. Now you’ve decided he has "clinical avoidant tendencies with a hint of fear-based control fixation." He stares at you, deadpan, like he's about to perform your autopsy.

You keep spoiled food in the fridge and expired meds in the cabinet You say “it doesn’t smell that bad” or “maybe it still works.” His eye twitches. His gloves are already on. He’s not even mad at you—he’s mad at entropy. You’ve become its agent.

You watch reality shows. About infidelity. Willingly. You claim it’s “just background noise.” But he walks in and hears someone scream “that’s not even your baby, Kyle!” and your eyes are glued to the screen. His soul briefly leaves his body.

You washed his white lab coat. With your pink unicorn pajamas. It’s not just the color. It’s the betrayal. The symbol of his clinical neutrality now smells like bubblegum and looks like cotton candy. You say it’s cute. He looks personally violated by the washing machine.

🩺 Top 10 Things That Make Zayne Soft Against His Will

You bring him lunch at the hospital He never asks. You just appear—arms full of neatly packed containers, face lit up like this isn’t the third double shift he’s worked this week. He complains about the timing. The smell. The disruption. And then eats every bite with frightening focus. You leave. He stares at the empty container like it’s proof someone still believes he’s human.

You quote him back to himself like a philosopher You remember something he said weeks ago—some throwaway line about time or structure or entropy—and you drop it casually in conversation, like it’s wisdom from an ancient text. He doesn’t know how to react. You turned his logic into poetry, and he’ll never recover from that.

You wear the little seal keychain he made He didn’t think you’d keep it. Let alone turn it into your everyday keychain. But there it is—always with you, worn smooth from touch. You twirl it absentmindedly while talking to him, never noticing the way his gaze lingers. Never realizing how something so small can hit him so hard.

You put a photo of the two of you on his desk It appears one day. No fanfare. Just… there. A moment frozen in light, sitting quietly beside his surgical reports and diagnostic schematics. At first, he moves it to the edge. Then back to center. Now it lives next to his pen. He doesn’t talk about it. But it’s the only object on that desk he wipes clean with his bare hand.

His work shirt smells like you You borrowed it that morning, wore it while dancing around the apartment with wet hair and no real purpose. Hours later, when he pulls it on between rounds, the scent hits him like a loaded memory. He short-circuits mid-button. Everything feels warmer than it should.

You leave your phone with him while you shower No password. No hesitation. You toss it into his lap with a breezy “can you clear out whatever’s making it lag?” and vanish behind steam. He sits there, phone in hand, suddenly trusted with everything. He opens nothing. But the fact that you’d let him? That’s the part that shakes him.

You ask for his opinion on minor discomforts A papercut. A weird freckle. A suspicious sneeze. You hold out your hand, utterly serious, asking what he thinks. It’s laughable. Ridiculous. And it absolutely wrecks him. You could ask a dozen others—but you ask him. Like he’s the one who makes things better.

You’re on top He likes control. Precision. Strategy. But when you climb into his lap, all instinct and fire, hands braced on his chest and lips already parted—his brain stops cooperating. There’s something about you taking the lead that makes him unravel. Quietly. Violently. Completely.

You argue with him about complex theories—and mean it You don’t just nod. You push back. You challenge. You quote sources he hasn’t thought about in years. You spark. You flare. And he watches, fascinated, lips twitching with something dangerously close to pride. No one does this. No one dares. But you? You never flinch.

You whisper “I love you” in your sleep It’s not loud. It’s not even clear. Just a faint breath in the dark, like a dream half-remembered. But he hears it. Every time. And though he never says a word in return—not while you're sleeping—his fingers tighten around your waist like he's anchoring himself to the only thing that matters.

🎨 Top 10 Things That Make Rafayel Absolutely, Irrevocably Annoyed at You

You told him his painting was “nice” You stood in front of a piece that cost him three sleepless nights, a minor existential crisis, and two broken brushes—and said “Nice.” Just like that. No gasp, no poetry, no tears. He aged five years on the spot. Somewhere in the distance, a violin cried for him.

You dragged him to a cat exhibit You thought it would be cute. Enrichment. A bonding experience. Instead, he spent the entire time perched on edge, eyes darting like prey. You said “they’re just kittens.” He said nothing. He was too busy making sure none of them came closer than ten feet.

You cleaned his studio You thought you were being helpful. But you moved The Pile. The sacred, unholy, perfectly calibrated mess. Now he can’t find his favorite brush, and also he’s deeply offended by how cheerful you looked doing it.

You didn’t reply to his messages for over an hour He sent three texts, one meme, and a “thinking of you 💭” voice note. You replied 67 minutes later with “sry was showering.” By then, he’d already decided you were breaking up with him, joining a cult, or possibly dead. He had a whole monologue planned. And now you’ve ruined it.

You cut your hair He loved your long hair. Adored it. Worshipped it. You showed up with a sharp little bob and said “it’s just hair.” It is not just hair. It is the collapse of a visual era. He’s still adjusting. And by adjusting, he means mourning with wine.

You made fun of his driving You muttered “technically, you were meant to let the tram go first” He muttered “technically, silence is golden.” His driving is instinct. Vibe. Energy. If you didn’t want drama, you shouldn’t have sat in the passenger seat of a man who parallel parks like he’s in a ballet.

You woke him up too early He went to bed at 4 a.m. because inspiration struck. You woke him at 7:12 like it was nothing, and said “you have that interview, remember?” He does remember. He also remembers specifically telling you that if he ever falls asleep before sunrise, you are to let him die peacefully, cancel all earthly obligations, and throw his alarm clock into the ocean where it belongs.

You hid your phone screen when a message came in You were probably teasing. Just being playful. But now he’s spiraling. Who was it? Why the secrecy? What do you have to hide? Congratulations—you’ve just activated his inner opera villain.

You got jealous Which is absurd. He’s the one who invented possessive affection. But you being jealous? That makes him unreasonably indignant. What do you mean you “didn’t like the way that gallery girl looked at him”? Of course she looked. But he didn’t see her. He saw you.

You burned the bacon You say “it’s fine.” He says it’s charcoal. The entire kitchen smells like culinary war crimes. And now he’ll have to burn incense and replant three garden beds to recover emotionally. Who even let you near the stove? Who hurt you? Was it… the bacon?

🎨 Top 10 Ways You Accidentally Turned Rafayel Into a Purring, Love-Drunk Work of Art

You massage his head He’s mid-rant. Arms crossed. Absolutely furious about the lighting in that gallery. And then your fingers slip into his hair—and just like that, the war is over. His entire body melts like he’s been tranquilized. He’ll deny it later, of course. But the way he leans into your hand? Case closed.

You claim him in public It’s an art gala. He’s dressed to ruin people. And then you slip your arm through his, fingers just tight enough to say mine. You smile like a goddess. He pretends he’s unaffected. Inside, he’s writing vows in ten languages and considering printing matching business cards.

You actually listen to his advice He knows he can be dramatic. Unfiltered. Emotionally volatile. But when you sit there, really listening, nodding like his words matter—you destroy him. Suddenly he’s not the chaos. He’s the compass. And that? That’s love.

You share every detail of your day over dinner You talk about everything—the lady at the store, the funny email, the awful latte. You give him your day like a story, like he’s the only one you wanted to tell. He leans in, listens too closely, files away each emotion like a collector of rare art.

You’re always down for his wildest ideas It’s 3 a.m. He wants to hike 2.5 miles along the beach, take a boat to a tiny island, and watch the sunrise with wine. You say “give me five minutes.” And just like that, you become the only person worthy of his wildest, most beautiful chaos.

You let him photograph you Nothing compares. Not awards. Not praise. Nothing rivals the moment you look into his lens—bare, unfiltered, unashamed. Especially when you’re nude, glowing, and laughing like the world doesn’t exist. That’s when he falls in love with you all over again. And again. And again.

You let him choose your dress You come out in the one he picked. Elegant. Perfect. You spin for him. And the way he watches you? Like he made you. Like you’re the gallery and he’s the only one with the key. It’s not fashion. It’s trust. And he adores you for it.

You sing when you don’t know he’s home Wearing socks and earbuds, dancing with a broom, serenading your way through burnt pancakes. You’re off-key. Glorious. Real. And he stands in the doorway, silent, just watching. Because in that moment—you’re not posing. And he’s never loved you more.

You take care of him when he’s sick He has a fever of 99°F and insists he’s fading. You bring tea, stroke his hair, whisper that he’s “very brave.” You don’t mock him. You take his dramatics seriously. He will never forget it. He may also write you into his will.

You join him in the bathtub without asking He’s already halfway submerged, music playing, steam curling in the air—and then you slip in behind him, no warning. You nudge your legs around his hips, hand him your shampoo, and let him wash your hair while you giggle. He tries to act unimpressed. But when he starts kissing your toes? Yeah. You win.

✨ Top 10 Behavioral Anomalies That Triggered Xavier’s Internal Alert System

You break an agreement—even if it's “just a small one” It’s not about control. It’s about structure. You promised. And when you bend the rules—just slightly—he doesn’t react outwardly. No visible shift, no sharp breath. But something behind his eyes goes cold. Because for him, even small deviations mean recalculating everything. And that means risk. To you.

You create drama “just to get a reaction” You push. You poke. You escalate. And he gives you… nothing. No outburst, no flinch. Just that flat, unreadable stare while he mentally exits the room. He doesn’t get angry—he just shuts off the part of himself that wants to stay.

You refuse his protection—on principle You call it independence. He calls it a strategic vulnerability wrapped in pride. He won’t argue. He’ll just be one step farther back the next time, quietly cataloging how to stop caring just enough that it won’t kill him if something happens.

You call him cold—especially when he’s holding himself together for you You see stillness. He feels restraint. You accuse. He remembers what it takes to not become the darker version of himself. If only you knew how much energy it took to stay composed. If only you knew it was for you.

You’re late Five minutes. Ten. No message. No explanation. And his pulse ticks upward—not with impatience, but with pure, trained alertness. He starts looking for signs. Traffic reports. Emergency alerts. By the time you arrive, he’s smiling. But it’s the tight kind. The kind that says never again.

You skip training You’re tired. You had a long day. You say you’ll make it up later. He doesn’t argue. He just recalculates survival probabilities and mentally adds you to the list of people who might die because they were unprepared. And he will blame himself for letting you get soft.

You pull away from his touch when you're angry It’s not the rejection. It’s the meaning behind it. He reaches out—small, careful, calculated—and you shut the door in his face with a single backward step. He doesn’t try again. He doesn’t ask why. But the space you leave behind? It echoes.

You use a photo of Lumiere as a bookmark You think it’s cute. Maybe even sweet. He sees it—and freezes. He’s not jealous. Not exactly. But the idea that you might admire that version more—the legend, the mask, the sharpness—it unsettles something deep. Something he can’t name.

You secretly believe you’re not good enough for him You never say it out loud. But he sees it—in your deflections, your nervous jokes, the way you doubt his love like it’s a glitch. It doesn’t anger him in the usual sense. It just…hurts. Because you’re the only one who never had to earn it.

You throw yourself in front of him during a mission It’s instinct, you say. Split-second decision. You didn’t even think. And that’s the problem. He does. Always. Every variable, every movement, every risk is accounted for—except you breaking formation to protect him. You think it’s brave. He sees it as catastrophic miscalculation. Not because you acted without logic. But because you decided his life was worth more than yours. And that? That’s the one conclusion he refuses to accept.

✨Top 10 Things That Quietly Break Xavier’s Walls and Leave Him Unreasonably Soft About You

When you start reading the same book he’s readingYou don’t announce it. You just show up with the same title, a few chapters behind, and start casually asking questions. He plays it off. But inside? He’s spiraling. Because this—this—is how you speak his language. Silently. Precisely. Together.

When you knock on his door like you’re trying to break it downIt’s loud. Impatient. Inappropriate for the hour. But he knows that knock. That rhythm. That you. You need him. Not his solutions. Him. And somehow, that chaos pounding on his door feels more like home than anything else.

When you hug him from behindYou wrap your arms around his torso mid-task, face pressed between his shoulder blades, palms splayed across his chest like you’re anchoring yourself to something ancient and steady. He stills. Every time. Like someone just whispered a secret to his bones. He never asks why. Never moves away. He just tilts his head slightly—listening, as if your silence said everything he needed to hear.

When you touch his sword (the actual weapon, calm down)He never lets anyone handle it. Not even for cleaning. But your fingers skim the hilt, gentle, curious, reverent. And somehow… it’s okay. You’re not just touching steel. You’re touching him. And he lets you.

When you act like a little girlYou scrunch your nose. Say something ridiculous. Blush like you didn’t mean to. And he watches—utterly disarmed. Because he knows exactly what you want. You want him to carry you. Wrap you up. Keep you safe. And he will—without hesitation.

When you join him on a morning runYou complain. You lag. You swear this is “not your vibe.” But you still show up. Same hour. Same route. And when you match his pace for those few precious minutes? He doesn’t say it—but he’s proud. Painfully proud.

When you share your dreams—and say “we”You’re rambling. Light spilling from your words. Talking about the future, the maybes, the next steps. But you don’t say I. You say we. And that sound? That tiny shift in grammar? It settles deep. Irrevocable. Permanent.

When you make matching braceletsYou say it’s silly. Handmade. Slightly uneven. There’s a charm shaped like a rabbit. He never takes it off. Not in combat. Not in sleep. It rests against his wrist like a pressure point—and grounds him better than anything else.

When you remember his habitsYour shopping list always includes his cinnamon. His brand of shampoo. The exact instant noodles he pretends not to love. You don’t make a show of it. You just know. And that knowing? It destroys him in the softest possible way.

When you trust him completely in bed—even when his darker side surfacesThere’s a moment—quiet, charged—when the softness shifts. He waits. Watches. Braces for resistance. But you don’t pull back. You open your hands. Arch into him. Let him take control without fear. That? That’s what breaks him. Not the pleasure. The trust.

🖤Top 10 Things That Push Sylus Into Maximum Sarcasm and Mildly Homicidal Disapproval

Your outdated, unreliable weapon Yes, he gets it. It’s vintage. It’s “standard issue.” It’s approved by the Hunters Association. Congratulations. That won’t matter when it jams and gets you killed. Every time you return one of the sleek, upgraded firearms he hand-delivers like he’s your personal armory concierge, he has to resist asking if you've already made a draft of your death wish. Alphabetically sorted. With floral headers.

You chew gum—and pop it It’s not the gum. It’s the snap. The sudden, violent pop of sugary air bubbles that hits his trauma response like a trigger. He knows it’s just a noise. His shoulder still twitches. He’s this close to reaching into your mouth and extracting the gum like a gentleman. A very sarcastic, deeply annoyed, half-feral gentleman.

You try to shake your tail (him) You use stealth tech. You block your signal. You go dark. Adorable. You’re forgetting that the very system you’re relying on was developed by his own syndicate. The only person who ever really evades Sylus is Sylus. And maybe the cat that lives under his car. But not you. Never you.

You don’t introduce him as your boyfriend to your old classmates You panicked. He gets that. You called him “a friend.” And now he’s deeply committed to the bit. For the next seven days, every time you said anything, he replied with “Of course, as your friend…” in front of waiters, dealers, and one extremely confused ambassador. You only managed to shut it down by hastily posting a photo of you two with the caption “my boyfriend and the love of my life.” Acceptable recovery. Barely.

You refuse to use his resources His private jet? Untouched. His cars? Collecting dust. His black card? Sitting unused like some kind of insult in your purse. You say you’re “independent.” He says you’re actively offending his entire lifestyle philosophy. Do you have any idea how disrespectful it is to ignore an entire walk-in wardrobe prepared for you in his estate? Honestly, it’s almost admirable. Almost.

You once smoked a cigarette, and he saw it He didn’t say anything. At the time. Just looked at you. Silently. Like someone had drop-kicked a kitten in front of him. He’s not judging. He’s just picturing your lungs in an ashtray. And adding another page to your death wish list.

You speak in riddles and expect him to “get it” You want something—time away, a trip, his attention—but instead of asking, you sigh dramatically and murmur, “It’s fine. I guess some people just don’t want to escape the city with their girlfriends…” He blinks. Slow. Dangerous. “Was that a request, a riddle, or an emotional booby trap?” If you want something from him, Kitten, try using nouns and verbs. Not cryptic guilt puzzles.

You suggest another woman would be “perfect for him” It’s a joke. Offhand. Barely a breath. But your voice wavers—just slightly—and that ruins it. He doesn’t want her. He doesn’t want options. He wants you. And now, thanks to your charming lapse in self-worth, he has to waste the rest of the evening reminding you that this face, this power, this entire empire already belongs to someone. Guess who.

You sneak up on him You never mean to. But somehow, you're always the one person who slips past every alarm, every trained instinct, and ends up whispering behind him when his brain is still in kill mode. It takes everything in him to not react on pure reflex. You think it’s cute. He thinks it’s potentially catastrophic.

You don’t believe him when he says he’s fine Yes, he’s bleeding. Yes, his shirt is soaked. But he said “it’s a scratch,” and when he says that—he means it. His body heals like a myth. Your worried face? It makes something in him ache. Because the real wound isn’t on him—it’s in you, for thinking he’s anything less than unbreakable.

🖤 Top 10 Things That Make Sylus Dangerously Soft for You (And Yes, He’s Keeping Score)

When you finally spend his money It started with coffee. Small. Harmless. But the alert hit his phone and, for a moment, he genuinely wondered if his card had been stolen—until he saw your name. And something in him shifted. Not because of the cost. Please. He could buy the city it was brewed in. No, it was the fact you used it. You. Willingly. Now? You’re bolder—little dresses, shoes, jewelry you don’t need. And every time you do, he rewards it like you just proved you understand the assignment: what's his, is already yours.

When you give orders to his men like you're the boss You don’t ask. You instruct. Calm, certain, completely in charge. One of his men hesitates—just once—while you’re directing them to rescue a terrified kitten stuck in a tree. Sylus doesn’t interfere. He just watches, arms crossed, a grin tugging at his mouth as armed professionals scramble to obey you like you're the patron saint of lost animals. Somewhere in his mind, he’s already fitted you for a crown. With tiny cat ears.

When you secretly pet Mephisto The mechanical raven used to drive you insane. Now? You’re sneaking him treats and absentminded scratches under the jaw. Sylus sees it. Says nothing. But deep down, he knows: if you’ve accepted the bird—you’ve accepted all of him. And that’s lethal. To him.

When you make him a playlist You never explain them. Just send a link and say nothing. But he listens—every time. Alone. In his car. In the bath. Eyes closed, calculating your every choice like it’s encrypted intel. Each track? A hint. A mood. A coded message from you to him. He doesn’t ask for them. He just waits for the next one. And when it arrives, he treats it like gospel.

When you leave a trail of chaos in his car Your hair on the seat. Your gum wrappers in the cup holder. The seat so close to the wheel he practically has to fold in half. And the music? A full-volume love ballad ready to ambush his eardrums at ignition. It's obnoxious. It’s inconvenient. It’s perfect. His life, now featuring you.

When you eat from his plate You swore you weren’t hungry. You said “no carbs this week.” And now? You’re stealing fries from his hand and dipping into his steak sauce like it’s your birthright. He doesn’t stop you. He just watches you chew with that look that says: mine. forever.

When you talk and talk and talk Something happens. You spiral. Words spill. Thoughts tangle. You’re not even aware you’re rambling—but he is. He listens to everything. Stores it all. Because there’s something magical about your voice when it’s unfiltered. You don’t realize it, but he falls a little harder every time you forget to censor yourself.

When you crawl into his lap while he’s working He’s in the middle of paperwork. Calculating things. Dangerous things. And suddenly—you. Right there. Knees on either side, arms around his neck, like the world’s most beautiful interruption. He tells himself he needs to finish. But his hands are already on your hips.

When you call and ask for help A jar. A stuck zipper. A ride. It doesn’t matter. You’re a trained hunter—you’ve faced things with claws, fangs, and no name. But you still call him. Because you want him. And that? That wrecks him in ways he’ll never admit. He’s already on his way before you hang up.

When you scream his name right before you come There’s a lot he’s proud of. His empire. His power. His record. But nothing—nothing—satisfies him more than the moment your voice breaks open with his name. Like prayer. Like surrender. Like he’s the only thing in your world. Which, of course… he is.

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Dr. Zayne’s office

a hint of amusement glinted in his eyes as he watched her walk around his office as though she owned the place.

not even an hour ago, she had stumbled into the room, frowning as she held her arm tightly. she had gotten injured, again, and practically pouted and planted herself on his desk. she ignored the paper work he had been busy with or his laptop that sat open on an article about protocores he had been researching. for her sake but he’d never admit that to her or anyone.

“bored?” he muses, fixing his glasses as he flips through a patients files. a regular case for once, mild symptoms and that sort of thing.

“not at all” she shrugs, “i’m exploring”

“this is hardly the first time you’ve been in my office after hours” he rolls his eyes but he can’t help wanting to watch her closely, all the time. she was always so full of life and energy and he’d do just about anything to keep her this way..

only he knew that he couldn’t.

it wouldn’t stop him from trying.

“focus on your reports, dr zayne” she says dryly, plopping herself on the couch she often found herself falling asleep on. tonight would be no different even when she had a perfectly comfortable bed in her perfectly comfortable apartment.

“have you eaten?” he sighs, removing his glasses. he had already removed his white coat and was left in his grey slacks and a plain black shirt. despite his own body temperature being low, he had the first button undone since his office had heating and he knew she’d complain about it being too cold.

though zayne knew she never minded to cold, enjoyed it even.

“was waiting for you” she mumbles, glancing out the window as the rain began falling. it was still pretty light so she could make it home in time before it came down any harder but she also knew he’d never let her do that. not when he could drive her and not when she wanted to be with him for as long as the night would allow.

he grins, hiding it behind his hand as he walks over to sit beside her. he wondered if he should get a tv in his office just for times like these when she would insist on keeping him company. he already had an extra pillow and blanket for her.

“takeout is unhealthy but i wouldn’t mind making the exception tonight” he teases. he knew she had been craving fried dumplings all week and he could spoil her every now and then if he wanted to. it was his little secret anyway. “how about dumplings?”

her eyes lit up as she sat up straight and she smiled wider.

“you remembered!” she grinned

“considering you texted me all week about it” he laughs, “it would be impossible to forget”

he wouldn’t say that he’d never forget anything she did or said, even if it was in passing.

“could you get me boba too, please” she pouted, holding onto his bicep, “i promise i’ll be good and try not to worry you with my injuries for a whole week!”

“a whole week? wow that’s impressive” he mocks but he can’t hide his smile now even if he tried to and she knows she’s won.


she leans back and pats his back lightly as he places the order on his phone. it seemed she was happy to spend the night inside, in his office, at the hospital without any complaints.


he’d make it up to her when they both had free time. maybe the could take a few days to visit dr noah and see the snow again.