evolucious

[evolucious]

A Return of Care : Zayne x Reader

For a moment, the weight of the world seems to lift from his shoulders, and he’s just Zayne—your Zayne—who’s finally allowing himself to be cared for.

pairing : zayne x reader (no gender specific terms are used to describe the reader)

prompt : Zayne is, once again, working past his limits and finds himself sick. With a bit of coaxing he just might take care himself. (aka, zayne is sick but he says "nuh uh")

genre : sfw, fluff, slice of life, zayne please get some sleep, sick fic

word count : 2,976

a/n : oh wow did i finally return after months with another Zayne one shot? I sure did.

The soft chime of the hospital’s automated door echoes in the hallway as you step into the familiar space, your footsteps light against the polished floor. The box of macarons cradled in your arms smells sweet, a gift you picked up on your way over, a small token of appreciation for Zayne. You know how much he loves these, especially after a long day of seeing patients.

As you approach the reception desk, Yvonne, the staff nurse, looks up from her station with a warm smile. She recognizes you instantly—you’re practically a regular here, visiting Zayne for your routine check-ups or just to chat when he has a free moment.

“Hello, Yvonne,” you greet her, returning the smile. “I’m here for my 7:00 PM with Doctor Zayne.”

“Right on time, as usual,” she replies, tapping a few keys on her console. “I’ll page him to let him know you’re here.”

You nod, leaning against the counter as she sends the message. The familiar hum of the station’s systems thrums in the background, a constant reminder of the vastness of space just beyond the walls. You glance around, noting the quietness of the evening shift. The lobby is calm, most patients already seen and gone, leaving behind an air of peacefulness.

Yvonne looks up, a slight frown creasing her brow. “Strange… he’s not responding.”

You raise an eyebrow. Zayne is usually so prompt, always ready to greet you with his warm smile and steady presence. “Maybe he’s in with another patient?”

Yvonne shakes her head, her frown deepening. “His last appointment ended a while ago. But I’m sure he’s just caught up with some paperwork. You can go ahead and see him—he won’t mind.”

You hesitate for a moment, but the familiarity of your relationship with Zayne pushes the doubt aside. “Alright, thanks!”

She waves you off with a reassuring smile, and you make your way down the corridor, the path to Zayne’s office as familiar as your own home. The door to his office is slightly ajar, a sliver of light cutting through the dim hallway. You knock gently, waiting for the usual, cheerful “Come in!” that always follows. But today, there’s only silence. 

Worry knots in your stomach as you push the door open wider. The first thing that hits you is the warmth—the room feels stuffier than usual, almost stifling. As you step inside, the source of your concern becomes all too clear.

Zayne is slumped in his office chair, head tipped back, eyes closed in what looks like a fitful sleep. His usually smooth brow is furrowed, lines of discomfort etched into his features. His skin has a slight sheen to it, and his usually neat appearance is disheveled. A small collection of cough drop wrappers is scattered across his desk, and the wastebasket beside it is filled with used tissues. The sight sends a jolt of worry through you.

“Doctor Zayne?” you call softly, moving closer. When he doesn’t stir, you reach out, placing a gentle hand on his arm. “Zayne?”

His eyes flutter open, and it takes a moment for him to focus on you. When he does, he tries to sit up straighter, “You’re here early,” he rasps, his voice rough and strained.

“I’m right on time, actually,” you reply, concern lacing your words as you take a glance at the clock on the wall beside him. 

Zayne rubs a hand over his face as he clears his throat. “Yes well, please take a seat. Let's get started with your check-up”. He says, swiveling his office chair to drag a stool beside his desk before gesturing for you to sit. 

Before you can protest, he’s already reaching for your chart, fumbling slightly as he tries to pull it out of the stack on his desk. You can see the strain in his movements, the way his hands tremble slightly as he flips through the papers. He’s clearly pushing himself, trying to go through the motions despite his obvious illness.

“Zayne–” you say, your voice soft but firm. Despite being a few feet away from you Zayne carries on as though he didn’t hear you. He pulls out his stethoscope, clearly intent on examining you despite his condition. “Let me just—”

“Zayne, stop.” you plead, gently pushing the stethoscope back down. “You’re always telling me to rest, to take care of myself, but you’re obviously not doing the same. I know you want to work but you’re in no shape to help others right now. Don’t be a hypocrite, Zayne. Please, let me take you home so you can get some rest.”

He hesitates before looking directly at you for the first time this evening, his eyes searching yours as if trying to find the strength to argue but there’s a crack in his resolve, a momentary flicker of vulnerability and the weariness in his eyes makes your heart ache.

But then he shakes his head, grasping for excuses. “You must have rode your motorbike here. You cannot bring me home on that.”

“I walked,” you counter, undeterred. “And I even stopped to get macarons on the way.”

His eyes shift toward the box of macarons sitting on his desk, a brief flicker of interest breaking through his exhaustion. Zayne’s sweet tooth is one of the things you’ve always found endearing about him, and you can tell that the mention of his favorite treat has caught his attention.

You smile gently, teasing him just a little. “I was going to give them to you, but I don’t think you should have sugar given your current state.”

His stoic demeanor falters, a slight crack appearing in his resolve. It’s as if the macarons are the final straw, the deciding factor in this small battle of wills. He doesn’t say anything, but the way his shoulders sag and his eyes drop back to the desk tells you he’s given in.

He lets out a weary sigh and murmurs, “Just don’t drive my car the way you drive that bike.”

Your heart lifts with relief, and you can’t help the smile that spreads across your face. “No promises,” you let out a soft chuckle, glad to see the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips.

As soon as the apartment door closes behind you, Zayne seems to deflate, all the energy he had left draining away. He heads straight for the sofa, plopping down with a heavy sigh, his head resting against the back cushions. His eyes are half-closed, exhaustion etched into every line of his face.

“You know,” he murmurs, a faint smile playing on his lips, “your driving isn’t nearly as reckless as you like to pretend it is.”

You chuckle softly, sitting beside him on the sofa. “Only because I had precious cargo this time.”

He gives a small, appreciative hum, but it quickly dissolves into another cough. You watch him with concern as the fit passes, then reach out to brush a lock of hair away from his forehead. His skin is still warm, but the tension in his body seems to have eased a little now that he’s home.

“Why don’t you rest for a bit?” you suggest, your voice gentle. “I’ll make you something warm to drink. Take a shower and we then can eat those macarons together when you’re feeling up to it.”

Zayne opens one eye, peering at you with a look that’s both amused and resigned. “Only if you promise not to hoard them all for yourself.”

You laugh, the sound light and comforting in the quiet of the apartment. “Deal.”

As you rise to head to the kitchen, you glance back at him, knowing that you’ll do everything in your power to make sure he gets better—because, after all, Zayne is worth every bit of care and more.

The space is sleek and modern, with smooth countertops and neatly arranged appliances, but as you stand there, a realization hits you—you have no idea where anything is.

Your eyes scan the cabinets, trying to guess where Zayne might keep the tea. You hesitate, fingers hovering over the handle of a cupboard, unsure if it holds cups, plates, or something entirely unrelated. A small sigh escapes your lips as you inwardly curse your lack of foresight. How hard could it be to find a simple teapot in here?

Just as you’re about to open the wrong cabinet, you hear Zayne’s voice call out from the living room. “Top left, above the stove. Teapot’s in there. Tea’s in the drawer below.”

You freeze for a moment, slightly startled that he’d known exactly what you needed without even seeing you. It’s like he can read your mind—or maybe for some reason he’s just that familiar with how people fumble around in unfamiliar kitchens.

“Thanks!” you call back, relief flooding through you as you follow his instructions.

Sure enough, you find the teapot exactly where he said it would be, and the tea nestled in a drawer below. You set some water to boil, then rummage around for a mug, the task becoming easier now that you know where to look. As the water heats up, you glance back toward the living room, half-expecting Zayne to have dozed off again, but the faint sound of his cough reminds you that he’s still awake, though probably exhausted.

When the tea is ready, you carefully carry the steaming mug back to the living room. Zayne’s eyes open as you approach, a tired but grateful smile tugging at his lips. You hand him the mug, and he takes it with a murmured “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Dr. Zayne,” you reply with a mock-serious tone, sitting down beside him on the sofa. “Though I should let you know, I’m your attending physician now. I’ve learned from the very best as an intern, after all.”

Zayne arches an eyebrow at, the corner of his mouth quirking up in amusement. “Oh? And what does this new ‘attending physician’ believe is the diagnosis?”

You adopt a serious expression, holding out your hand as if it were a clipboard. “Let’s see…” you say, pretending to write on your palm. “The diagnosis is… one very stubborn doctor who refuses to rest when he’s sick.”

He chuckles, shaking his head as he takes a sip of the tea. “I see. And what do you prescribe, Doctor?”

“I prescribe– a warm shower, cozy pajamas, and a strict order of rest. No exceptions.” you say firmly, finishing your fake note. 

Zayne’s eyes twinkle with amusement as he looks at you over the rim of the mug. “Sounds like a pretty detailed prescription. Are you sure it’s not too advanced for me?”

“Well,” you say, tapping your chin thoughtfully, “it’s a tough regimen, but I think you’ll manage. And if you don’t follow it, I might have to put you on an even stricter bedrest.”

Zayne chuckles again, the sound warm despite his rough voice. “You’re really getting into character, aren’t you?”

“Only because I had an excellent mentor,” you tease, giving him a playful nudge. “But seriously, Zayne– no more pushing yourself.”

For a moment, the teasing air between you fades, replaced by something softer, more earnest. Zayne looks at you, and though he doesn’t say anything, you can see the appreciation in his eyes. He knows you’re right, and even though he’s always been the one to take care of you, he’s beginning to let himself lean on you now.

There’s a vulnerability in his posture that tugs at your heartstrings, and without thinking, you reach out and gently place your hand on his forehead. His skin is warm beneath your touch, confirming what you already knew—he’s running a low fever.

Your hand drifts from his forehead to his cheek, your thumb brushing softly against his skin. “Zayne,” you murmur, your voice filled with concern, “I don’t like that you let yourself get like this”

Zayne’s eyes remain closed, but he leans into your touch, nuzzling his cheek against your hand in a gesture that’s both tender and weary. He lets out a low, affirming hum, a sound that’s as much a comfort to you as it is to him. For a moment, the weight of the world seems to lift from his shoulders, and he’s just Zayne—your Zayne—who’s finally allowing himself to be cared for.

After a moment, he reaches up and takes your hand from his cheek, holding it gently as he rubs his thumb over your knuckles. His eyes remain focused on your hand as he speaks, his voice soft but resolute. 

“Alright Doctor, I’ll follow your orders.”  he says, his tone carrying the weight of sincerity. “I promise.”

You smile at his words, knowing he means them, but also knowing that it might take some gentle reminders to make sure he follows through. “Good,” you whisper, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze. “That’s all I ask.” 

“Now, go take that shower. I’ll make sure everything’s ready for you when you’re done.” Zayne nods, setting the mug down on the coffee table before rising from the sofa. As he heads toward the bathroom, you can’t help but feel a surge of warmth in your chest. It’s a role reversal, but one that feels right. Zayne has always been there for you, and now, it’s your turn to return the favor, even if it means coaxing him into taking care of himself with a bit of playful banter.

As the sound of the shower starts up, you settle back on the sofa, feeling content in the knowledge that Zayne is finally letting himself rest—and that you’re the one making sure he does.

After opening the window to let some fresh air into the apartment, you stand there for a moment, debating whether you should stay and make sure Zayne gets to bed. The idea of leaving him alone doesn’t sit well with you, but something tells you that he’ll be alright. He’s taken care of you so many times before—maybe it’s time to trust that he can do the same for himself.

Your gaze drifts to the box of macarons on the coffee table. A small smile tugs at your lips as you pick up the box, thinking about how something so simple could bring him a moment of joy even when he’s feeling so run down. You can’t resist leaving a little surprise for him, so you carefully take out one macaron and place it on the kitchen counter where he’ll easily find it when he emerges from his shower.

With the rest of the macarons in hand, you head toward the door, glancing back at the closed bathroom door one last time. The sound of running water is still steady as you slip out of the apartment, closing the door gently behind you. Your steps are light as you make your way down the hallway and you can’t help but wonder if Zayne has felt this way each time he’s cared for you—leaving quietly after making sure you were settled in, with a warm heart and a lingering sense of connection.

The cool night air greets you as you step outside, and you breathe in deeply, feeling refreshed and content. The box of macarons in your hand is a small reminder of the connection you share with Zayne, and the thought of him finding the one you left behind brings a smile to your face.

The next morning, you wake to the sound of your alarm buzzing beside your bed. You groan softly, rolling over in your sheets as you burrow deeper into their warmth, reluctant to leave the comfort they offer. You’d been so exhausted when you got home that you fell asleep almost immediately, and now, the weight of that sleep is still heavy on you.

For a moment, you lie there, savoring the last remnants of drowsiness before you start your day. It’s your morning ritual—waking slowly, checking your notifications, and letting the world come into focus at your own pace.

You reach for your phone, swiping it off the nightstand and bringing it close as you scroll through the usual morning updates. Emails, a few messages, and then one that makes you pause. It’s from Zayne, sent last night after you’d already gone to bed.

With a mix of curiosity and anticipation, you open the message, feeling a small flutter in your chest as you wonder what he might have said.

The message from Zayne opens with a photo of the single macaron you left on his kitchen counter. Beneath the image is a teasing caption: “Is this how I’m rewarded for following doctor's orders?"

You can’t help but laugh softly as you read his message, imagining the expression that must have accompanied the text. You quickly type out a reply, your fingers moving swiftly over the screen.

“You know, most doctors give their patients one sticker on the way out for being good sports. What kind of doctor would I be if I didn’t give you a reward?", a smirk playing on your lips as you hit send.

It doesn’t take long for his response to come through. "Touché. When can I schedule my next routine checkup? Maybe I can earn some more."

You grin at the thought, leaning back against your pillow, you type your reply.

"I’ll have to check my schedule, I’m suuuuuuuper busy Doctor." 

With that, you set your phone aside and stretch, feeling a sense of contentment settle over you. Zayne’s message, as playful as it was, reassures you that he’s okay—and that he’s starting his recovery with a bit of lightheartedness, thanks to you.

It’s a good start to the day, and as you finally roll out of bed, you can’t help but feel a quiet satisfaction knowing that, this time, you were the one who got to take care of him

{pls dont repost i beg}

[evolucious]

My favourite animal is me when I’m playing Love and Deepspace

[evolucious]

(Job interview) "Do you have any skills that you'd bring to the team?"

Well I have big brown eyes. So.

[evolucious]

Love and Deepspace + Tumblr Text Post ↳ Zayne, Part 2

[evolucious]

I think I like Rafayel from LND because he's the trickster type of character. He makes it so easy to forget that 1) he killed ppl, 2) he's basically the last god of the sea, 3) his behavior in nest, 4) this man has A MASSIVE BOUNTY on his head and I doubt it's because he's a painter tbqh.

Rafayel lies often, he hides often, exaggerates often, and he has MASSIVE REASONS for that. The whole Lemuria falling? MC never remembering him? Being bonded with MC thru reincarnations? He has such understandable trust issues and issues with believing in MC or that things can get better because of his experience. The continuous fear that he'll be forgotten? Because that's ALWAYS something he talks about: the hospital scene, the misty invasion card, the several 4* cards. It's all about "remember me". For Zayne it's 'stay alive', but for Rafayel it's 'remember me'. I think it hits so hard.

Because, in reality, are we truly alive if no one remembers us?

I also think that Rafayel is genuinely /the/ shadiest out of all LIs in LND, moreso than Sylus. Why? Because Sylus is not hiding who he is. He's quite open about his scheming nature, his job, etc. But Rafayel? No. He doesn't open up, he hides himself best because of both being a Lemurian but also because of past experiences. I just love this dramatic artist man. I love how genuinely complicated he is and how it's SEEN that he is struggling with MC in a way that others don't. He has the potential to become bitter, and it shows, he bites and he hisses (metaphorically ofc, I know he's a fish man lol).

It's just the 'possibility' and 'realistic circumstances' that make me really admire his flawed character. Because, god damn, he IS flawed. Openly. So brightly in your eyes with his exaggerations, with his lies/deceit, with his distance, with his behaviors. And I love it. Holy shit do I /love/ that type of complicated characters. And I'm not even touching on the complicated relationship with Lemuria as a god who basically led it to 'ruin' in a sense. Good lord.

[evolucious]

🍰 🦭 🍜 🐇

#恋と深空 #LoveandDeepspace #Zayne #Xavier

[evolucious]

*opens tumblr*

*rummages around like I’m in the fridge*

*closes tumblr*

…*opens tumblr*

[evolucious]

THE CROW OF JUDGEMENT HAS SPOKEN

[evolucious]

i feel like being in a fandom long-term has a very specific repetitive cycle that kind of looks like this

[evolucious]

ZAYNE DON'T LET THIS MAN TAKE ME AWAY FROM YOU LIKE THIS PLEASE

[evolucious]

here are all the pics i took of him in the 1st chapter because this man has got me in a fucking GRIP

[evolucious]

Midnight Brew : Zayne x Reader

For a moment, you both stood frozen, caught in each other’s eyes. A surge of panic gripped you, and you wondered if he would find your silent observation intrusive. 

But then, almost inperceptibly, he smiled.

pairing : zayne x reader (no gender specific terms are used to describe the reader)

prompt : our apartments are opposite each other and your kitchen window faces my kitchen window, so we always see each other making coffee at 3am. (aka, you and zayne sneak glances at each other before you decide to do something about it)

genre : sfw, fluff, slice of life, zayne please get some sleep

word count : 1,050

a/n : heyo, i've dusted off my tumblr skills to dive headfirst into another hyperfixation. this is just a one shot i couldn't get out of my brain so i slapped my keyboard and here we are. I'll probaby post more but feel free to dm or request any prompts/pairing!

It was another sleepless night, and the quiet hum of the city was the only sound breaking the stillness. With slow deliberate movements, you wrap yourself in your robe, the soft fabric offering protection against the predawn chill. You found yourself once again in the kitchen, guided more by muscle memory than conscious thought. The soft glow of the streetlights filtered through the window, casting a gentle light over your counter as you began the familiar ritual of making coffee.

As the coffee brewed, you leaned against the counter and looked out the window. The city never truly slept, but it had moments of stillness, especially at 3 am. You had always found solace in these quiet hours, the world outside muted and calm. The soft hum of distant traffic, the occasional bark of a dog, and the gentle rustle of leaves in the wind created a soothing backdrop to your nightly ritual.

The building opposite yours had always been a source of idle curiosity. You often glanced at the darkened windows, imagining the lives inside. One window was illuminated, the soft light spilling out and creating a beacon in the night. There, just as he had been for the past few nights, stood your neighbor, a man with dark, tousled hair and a pensive expression, moving with a quiet grace as he prepared his own cup of coffee. You watched him for a moment, intrigued by the way he seemed so absorbed in his thoughts. There was something almost mesmerizing about the scene, and you found yourself drawn to it night after night. It had become a silent companionship, a shared moment of solitude.

The first time you had noticed him, it had been purely accidental. A restless night had driven you to the kitchen for yet another cup of coffee, and as you gazed out the window, your eyes had landed on the man in the opposite building. He had been so engrossed in his own routine that he hadn’t noticed you, and you had quickly looked away, feeling a bit like an intruder. But over the next few nights, your curiosity got the better of you, and you began to look for him. 

You found yourself wondering about his life. Why was he awake at such an ungodly hour? Did he suffer from insomnia like you, or was there something else that kept him up? Maybe he worked odd hours, or perhaps he was an artist or a writer, finding inspiration in the silence of the night. Your imagination ran wild with possibilities, each one more intriguing than the last. He became a character in your own personal narrative, a small comfort in the vast loneliness of the night. 

Each night, as your late-night coffee ritual continued, you would glance out the window, hoping to catch a glimpse of the man across the way. He was always there, his presence a comforting constant in the silent hours. You began to notice little details about him—the way he ran his hand through his hair when he was deep in thought, the soft smile that played on his lips as he read something amusing.

One night, as you prepared your coffee, you felt the familiar pull to look out the window. To your surprise, the man was already there, his gaze meeting yours. For a moment, you both stood frozen, caught in each other’s eyes. A surge of panic gripped you, and you wondered if he would find your silent observation intrusive. 

But then, almost imperceptibly, he smiled.

It was a small smile, but it warmed you more than the coffee in your hands. You returned the gesture, feeling a strange connection form between you in that silent exchange. From that night on, the smiles became a regular part of your routine, a wordless greeting that made the lonely hours feel less empty.

Despite the comfort these nightly interactions brought, your mind was constantly buzzing with thoughts and questions. Who was this man? What was his story? And most importantly, why did it matter so much to you? You found yourself thinking about him during the day, wondering if he thought about you too. It was strange to feel such a strong connection to someone you had never spoken to, yet the bond felt real and significant.

But tonight, as you prepared your coffee, you decided to take a chance. You rummaged through a drawer until you found a piece of paper and a marker. Your heart pounded in your chest as you scribbled a quick message:

"Couldn't sleep either? - Y/N"

Taking a deep breath, you held the note up to the window, praying that the streetlights would provide enough illumination for him to read it. For a moment, there was no response, and you felt a pang of doubt. Had you been too forward? But then, he stepped closer, squinting to read your message. A slow smile spread across his face, and he nodded before disappearing from view. When he returned, he held up his own note:

"Work keeps me up. Wanna share a cup? - Zayne"

Your heart skipped a beat. Zayne. Finally, you had a name to go with the face. You quickly wrote back:

"Meet downstairs?"

Zayne raised his mug with a nod and a smile, and you felt a flutter of excitement as you grabbed your mug and slipped on some shoes. You made your way down to the entrance of your building, your mind racing with possibilities. When you stepped outside, he was already there, leaning casually against the wall with his mug in hand. The cool night air washed over you, carrying with it a sense of anticipation and hope. He looked up as you approached, his smile warm and inviting.

"Hi," you said, feeling a bit shy now that you were face-to-face.

"Hi," he replied, his voice as smooth and soothing as you had imagined. "I suppose our midnight coffee rituals have finally converged."

You laughed softly, feeling the tension melt away. "It seems so. I hope you don't mind me intruding on your solitude."

"Not at all," he assured you, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "In fact, I was hoping we'd have a chance to talk. It's not every day you find someone who shares your unusual habits."

{pls dont repost i beg}