Text
sleepy

synopsis: after a late night mission, you find him fast asleep, so tired that he didn't even change his clothes.
tags: fluff
word count: 833
featuring: 黿·± zayne
zayne is always in control of everything: plane tickets, dates, routines, diets, surgeries, lives even, and yet, he often longs for someone to take it off his shoulders and let him rest. but not being in control makes him think he will hurt someone. like on that day, where he witnessed you get carried away on a gurney.
being the iceberg he is, he insists that he's okay with the weight of the universe crushing him, even if his shoulders are long pressed into calcium dust. you thought about it oftenâthat just won't do. even the hardest working bees take breaks. but when was the last time zayne did? when was the last time he let himself rest, recharge, prioritise himself?
and so, one day, after an especially gruesome midnight to evening shift and multiple consecutive surgeries without any sleep, he's fighting the sleep threatening to consume him in the middle of driving. you were on a mission and wouldn't be home until the moon will be high in the sky, so that meant he couldn't just drive to your apartment (which was way closer to the hospital) and crash there for the night.
with the automated voice "welcoming" him home, his car keys clank against the metal shelf with him stumbling in. he could feel the headache building in his temples, his eyes were so dry they were definitely bloodshot and his vision is blearing more and more with each blink. he might as well sleep on the first soft surface he comes upon, not bothering to even change from his scrubs.
with utmost effort, zayne at least brushes his teeth before going to your shared bedroom. he now understands your obsession with falling asleep on your stomach after workâhe just lies down face first in the middle of the bed diagonally, aaand he's out that very second.
finishing up your mission as fast as you can, you drive to zayne's house on your 270HM, knowing that he has probably just came back from his shift. as you get closer to the neighbourhood, you slow down to keep quietâafter all, it is midnight.
entering the house, you're surprised to see all the towels dry, since zayne always takes a shower after work unless it was a very hard shift. you find yourself worrying for the walking medical textbookâsince that's part of his unbreakable routine.
taking a quick shower and changing into "i have two days off" pyjamas, you saunter to the master bedroom, where you presumed zayne would be. expecting to see a picture of his perfectly straight posture even in the realm of dreams and a weighted blanket on top of him, you're surprised to see the doctor sleeping on his stomach, drooling, in his scrubs and diagonally on the bed, almost as if he just went "fuck it" and plopped on the bed.
you softly smile to yourself. it's such a rare sightâthe renowned surgeon dr. li has indulged in his desire. but, as comfy as he was right now, his neck will hurt terribly in the morning if he doesn't switch positions. and so, you came up with the most brilliant planâchange his clothes, wrap him in the blankets like a baby and shift him.
changing zayne's clothes wasnât a big problem since his scrubs are slightly oversized. as for the wrapping part..
after some scheming, you figure out how to tortilla wrap him. through the shuffling and the occasional stirring from the snowman, he is now cradled in your hands like the most precious treasure in the world. you take a long minute to admire his usually stern features now peaceful and resting, tousled hair, remains of saliva on his cheek. he looked so pretty and handsome, even in such a disheveled state.
you press soft kisses along his face, each one the tiniest piece of the love you held for him. you wonder what's he dreaming of, as long as it's not a nightmare. but judging by his drooly expression, he's dreaming of some lovely macaronsâhe must've been super hungry before going to bed and didn't realise it. you take a mental note to yourself to wake up early and make him a hearty breakfast. he mentioned getting the next day off as suggested by greysonâthe (surprisingly) elder was concerned by the growing eyebags under zayne's hazel eyes.
now that you think about it, maybe it wouldnât hurt to take a photo of his cute eepy face. heâll definitely get super embarrassed at the sight c:
reaching for your phone in your pocket, youâre careful not to make sudden moves. after all, zayne is a light sleeper. a few clicks later, youâre satisfied with the amount of pictures.
setting zayne back down, you reach for the backup blanketâin case one or the other (mostly you) takes the main blanket in their sleepâand set it over yourself. not before pulling him closer to cuddle, of course.
you kiss his foreheadâa simple gesture, yet you see how his frown slightly faltered.
âgood night, my big, sweet snowman.â
a/n: uhh i forgot this was supposed to be a drabble.. if youâre confused as to what i mean by âtortilla wrap himâ, hereâs the reel that motivated me into making this
#lads zayne#zayne love and deepspace#zayne x reader fluff#zayne x you#zayne x reader#fluff#lads#lads fluff
388 notes
·
View notes
Text
idk why the thought of zayne being fucked by sylus or caleb arouses me sm

i donât even go here but i saw this post and like. snowapple rights or whatever
68 notes
·
View notes
Text
actually i want to write a fic about this
Snowcrow and Snowapple but it's just Sylus and Caleb lavishing all their attention onto Zayne and taking care of him long and slow, until he's lost control of his Evol, blushing red from his ears to his chest, and whimpering for them to keep touching him even as it becomes too much
Sylus sitting on the edge of the bed. Zayne in his lap, taking his dick as deep as it'll go. Caleb on his knees in front of them, licking up the length of Zayne's dick. Sylus holding Zayne's jaw to keep his eyes on Caleb, biting and licking and sucking on his neck. Teasing his nipples with his other hand. Caleb guiding Zayne's hands into his hair as he takes him into his mouth, bobbing down until the tip hits the back of his throat
Zayne laid back in bed, Caleb between his legs and thrusting into him with all the steadiness of a colonel. Kissing him down into the pillow between praises of how perfect Zayne's feels, how good he looks leakin on his stomach like that. Sylus knelt down beside them, his cock twitching and dribbling pre, but completely ignored in favor of grabbing Caleb by the hair to pull him up and steal his own kisses from their dear doctor. Devouring him like he's been starved for millions of years. Pulling on Caleb's hair until his head is craned back, face to the sky and Adam's apple on display, mouth open around a groan. Loosening his hold just so Sylus can sit up and kiss him next, biting and warring against each other in a bid for who truly is the one in control here
Sylus riding Zayne because god knows that man loves that position. His hands caressing the doctor's side as he grinds his hips down into him, taking his sweet time with it. Caleb paying attention to Zayne's chest, circling one nipple with his tongue and pinching the other. Both of them working Zayne up until he's right on the edge, so so close to cumming, only for Sylus to pull himself off and Caleb to stop touching him. Both of them watching Zayne as he recedes from his orgasm, screwing his eyes shut and arching his back because he was right there. And once they think he's no longer close, they trade positions, Sylus helping line up Caleb and holding his hips as he sinks down onto Zayne's cock, before he lays beside Zayne, kissing and licking and working him back up again
I am having too many horny thoughts about this but you get the idea
223 notes
·
View notes
Text
i love the prompt of âfuck the workaholic senselessđ€đ€
Snowcrow and Snowapple but it's just Sylus and Caleb lavishing all their attention onto Zayne and taking care of him long and slow, until he's lost control of his Evol, blushing red from his ears to his chest, and whimpering for them to keep touching him even as it becomes too much
Sylus sitting on the edge of the bed. Zayne in his lap, taking his dick as deep as it'll go. Caleb on his knees in front of them, licking up the length of Zayne's dick. Sylus holding Zayne's jaw to keep his eyes on Caleb, biting and licking and sucking on his neck. Teasing his nipples with his other hand. Caleb guiding Zayne's hands into his hair as he takes him into his mouth, bobbing down until the tip hits the back of his throat
Zayne laid back in bed, Caleb between his legs and thrusting into him with all the steadiness of a colonel. Kissing him down into the pillow between praises of how perfect Zayne's feels, how good he looks leakin on his stomach like that. Sylus knelt down beside them, his cock twitching and dribbling pre, but completely ignored in favor of grabbing Caleb by the hair to pull him up and steal his own kisses from their dear doctor. Devouring him like he's been starved for millions of years. Pulling on Caleb's hair until his head is craned back, face to the sky and Adam's apple on display, mouth open around a groan. Loosening his hold just so Sylus can sit up and kiss him next, biting and warring against each other in a bid for who truly is the one in control here
Sylus riding Zayne because god knows that man loves that position. His hands caressing the doctor's side as he grinds his hips down into him, taking his sweet time with it. Caleb paying attention to Zayne's chest, circling one nipple with his tongue and pinching the other. Both of them working Zayne up until he's right on the edge, so so close to cumming, only for Sylus to pull himself off and Caleb to stop touching him. Both of them watching Zayne as he recedes from his orgasm, screwing his eyes shut and arching his back because he was right there. And once they think he's no longer close, they trade positions, Sylus helping line up Caleb and holding his hips as he sinks down onto Zayne's cock, before he lays beside Zayne, kissing and licking and working him back up again
I am having too many horny thoughts about this but you get the idea
223 notes
·
View notes
Text
[MIS]BEHAVE, zayne (黿·±)
one, two, twelve, youâve lost count, your ass is red, tears have dried on your cheeks, and zayneâŠzayne is nowhere near done.
NOTES àŠ the mere idea of brat-tamer zayne makes me want to act up so bad just so he can put me back in my place đźâđš
CONTENT àŠ spanking (obviously), fem!reader, brat-tamer zayne, fingering, slightly mean!zayne & aftercare bc im sensitive, reader and zayne are married, lowercase intended.
âand that makes how many?â
you hear him in the back of your mind, but his words donât properly register. your throat is raw, your cheeks are stained with tears as your chest heaves upwards. bent over zayneâs lap, it takes all your strength and focus to catch your breathâlet alone answer him.Â
another harsh, quick spank lands on your ass.Â
âah! tâtwelve? thirteen, iâŠi donâtâah!â you yelp, squeezing your eyes shut as if that might help dull the sting. his hand lifts into the air again, and you quickly stammer the correct number out. âfourteen! fourteen! iâitâs fourteen!â
zayne lets out a pleased hum, and you sigh in relief when he chooses to rub the still highly sensitive, incredibly sore, fat of your ass rather than striking it again. you wince, even the brief respite having you on edge.Â
part of you wonders if youâd taken it too far today.
âsix more to go, then,â he mumbles, eliciting a soft whine from you. it slips out on accident, born from your subconscious that was doubting whether you could take six more of his bruising hits. zayne huffs, hearing your protest. âwhat? you donât agree?â
 you choose to stay silent. a tension starts to brew within your stomach as soon as the tender rubbing stops. his hand stills on your ass, and it makes you gulp.
âbecause i, for one, think 20 is a rather fitting punishment, considering your little escapade lasted just as many minutes,â he says, matter-of-factly, with the same tone in his voice as usual. the casual dominance, the cold affection. it gets you wetâembarrassingly so, even.
ââŠiâm sorry,â you squeak out, voice soft as you hide your face in the sheets. though, you really werenât.Â
if given the chance, youâd make the same exact choices again to ensure youâd end up just like this. face down, bent over his lap, with your ass up and bared for him as his frustration gets taken out on it.Â
âare you?â zayne says, the edge to his voice sending a shiver down your spine. âsurprising me at the office after i explicitly told you i could use no distraction today, crawling under my desk when the new intern comes to debrief for the day, and daringââ he spanks you again, and the sound you let out is a mixture of a moan and a whine. ââto suck me off until he finally leaves. are you that impatient?â
âiâi just missed you,â you mumble, squeaking when he spanks you again. this oneâs harderâsharper, almost. âfifteen, sixteen, sorry, iâm sorry!â
zayne scoffs. perhaps what you did could be considered uncouth. and maybe it did piss your husband off as indented, but you know zayne, and based on the amount heâd spilled down your throatâyou know he enjoyed it. never before did he cum that much from just a blowjob, with you having to struggle to swallow it all; hastily scooping the drops that overflowed from your mouth up before it could drip onto the floor.Â
that still doesnât change the fact that you didnât listen to him, though.
âmissed me?â he repeats, almost spitting the words out. he sounds like heâs seething, and youâd be a little worried of him being actually downright angry if you didnât feel the hardness of his cock pressing against your stomach through his slacks. your cunt flutters around nothing, the so-called âangerâ rolling off him in waves only making you crave him more. âwas the load i left in you this morning not enough?â
âi didnât say thââ
he spanks you again. fast, and harsh, angled in just the right way to make you wail. âi fucked you back to sleep,â he nearly growls out. âand still.â he hits your ass again, and you feel his dick twitch beneath you as you groan. âstill it wasnât enough to make you behave.â
âiâm sorry,â you say, blinking rapidly to get rid of the tears welling up in your eyes. it feels so good, all while hurting so bad. the sting slowly starts to turn into a burn. you want more, while wanting less, but most prominently you want him. âiâŠâ zayne spanks you again, and you grit your teeth to keep a scream from coming out. âseventeen, eâeighteen, nineteen. one, thereâs one left, râright? just one more?â
zayne laughs, and the once comforting sound now fills you with a confusing mixture of dread and excitement.Â
your breath trembles as he gently places his hand on your ass. itâs blooming with clear signs of irritation, the discoloration clearly visible, and you fail to withhold a whimper as he starts rubbing circles on itâon you. he kneads the flesh in his hand, the movement both soothing yet irritating to your already sensitive skin.Â
heâs silent for a moment. a different silence compared to his usual reservedness, and you feel its difference in the air.Â
then, without a word, his hand lowers between your cheeks and a swift finger dips between your folds. heâs quick, methodical, in his movements, as if heâs simply satisfying a curiosity.Â
âah, wâwait!â you keen, caught off guard. he gathers the slick between your legs, almost toying with your pussy just because. your face heats up. âzayne, iâŠâ
âyouâre enjoying this,â he states, a barely suppressed smile on his face. his fingers travel to your entrance, having gathered enough of your wetness to lube themselves up, and you let out a long, drawn-out moan as two of them slowly slide inside of you. zayne scoffs in amusement. âtoo much, it seems. my fingers slide right in, barely any pushback. how interesting.â
interesting, but not surprising. you and zayne had tried spanking once before, but never to this extent. it was just something to try out, something new to dabble in after youâd heard one of your friends speak about it. it was good, but thisâthis was on a whole other level. perhaps, he realises now, you enjoy spanking better when his heart is in it; when the mean slaps he gives out are born from a place of true frustration. stickiness clings to your thighs, with some of it leaking down and dirtying his pants.Â
âdid you plan this?â he asks then, curling his fingers inside you. he angles them upwards, and a soft, blissful moan graces his ears as he keeps bumping them into the spot he knows will have you reeling. his fingers move in and out of your dripping cunt at a steady rythm, leaving you to squirm on his lap as you try to fuck yourself back on them each time he pulls them out. âdid you want me to lose my patience with you? do you enjoy seeing me like this?â
your pussy clenches around him, and he laughs at the feeling. itâs filled with disbelief and a hint of pride, and it makes you feel a little embarrassed, but, god, if it isnât hot.Â
âhow unbecoming,â he mutters, adding a third finger. you gasp, and frantically reach for your bedsheets as he continues to fuck you with his fingers. the pace he sets is rough, unforgiving, really, and it has you so close to the edge so quickly. itâs as if he knows, because he immediately starts to slow down as soon as the thought forms in your head. you let out a strangled whine. âriling me up at my place of work, acting out for a crumb of attention, what am i gonna do with you, hm?âÂ
âzâzayne,â you stammer, clawing at his lower arm to steady yourself. it helps a little, at first, but quickly amounts to nothing when zayne uses his other hand to reach for your clit. you immediately clench around his fingers, the way heâs pinching your clit sending waves of pleasure down your spine. âplease, please, please, iâmâso, so, ah, so close, iâll be good from now on, promise! please, just let meâ!â
âa brat and a liar,â he interrupts. the finality in his voice surprises you, and you crane your neck to look back at him. what you find makes your heart flutter. the look in his eyes is so opposite to the sound of his voice. the softness within them, the hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips, the sheer love for you that he seems to carry. âyouâre lucky i seem to be particularly fond of this brat. go on, let yourself go. cum for me. your punishment is up, anyway.âÂ
briefly, very briefly, you think thatâs not true. you only counted nineteen spanks. but zayne doesnât give you much time to dwell on it. his hand leaves your clit, and you mourn its loss for just a second before he starts grinding his thigh up against it instead. with his other hand free now, he delivers the final, punishing slap on your ass as he pushes you over the edge.Â
âfâfuck!â you wail, squeezing your eyes shut as your orgasm crashes into you. you cum, bent over his lap, soaking his fingers with your release as pain and euphoria flow through you simultaneously. âfuck, fuckingâah, fuck.â
zayne guides you through it, the movement of his fingers slowing down the more you seem to calm down. he eases them out of your pussy gently, and the downright filthy squelch that accompanies it makes your face heat up. your breathing is erratic, your chest heaving up and down, but when zayne presents you his fingers to clean them upâyou open your mouth and do so without him even having to utter a word.Â
he hums in satisfaction. âdocile, obedient, but such a crude mouth,â zayne muses. âit seems weâll have to work on that next time.â
your walls clench around nothing at the thought of a next time.Â
itâs quiet for a bit after that, save for your ragged breathing as it tries to catch up after everything that just passed between you two. the silence isnât heavy at all, it feels reverent, sacred almost, as if the world itself paused to let you linger in the aftermath a little longer. Â
zayne shifts beneath you, careful and deliberate as he reaches one arm behind himself. the motion nudges you ever so slightly on his lap, and a wince escapes you as a sharp sting ripples through the skin of your backside. you bite your lip, unable to stop the heat that rises in your cheeksâthough youâre certain the color on them is nothing compared to the vivid shades of red painting your ass.Â
you canât help but wonder if his handprint is still there, etched onto you like a mark of something far more tender than punishment. the thought alone makes you draw in a breath, deep and heady. oh, you really hope itâs there.Â
trying to break the haze with a smile, you glance over your shoulder. âso⊠whatâs the damage?â you ask, your voice light and teasing as an attempt to bring a little playfulness back after such intensity.Â
zayne glances at you with a soft look and gently adjusts you in his lap. âhold still,â he murmurs, his voice low and calm. thereâs a quiet click as he uncaps something in his hand.Â
you crane your neck, trying to peer up at him from your position. âwhatâs that?â
âa cream,â he replies, and before you can ask more, a cool sensation brushes against your heated skin. you exhale a trembling moan, the contrast of temperatures instantly soothing the ache. âi picked it up after last time,â he adds, tone almost sheepish. âthought it might come in handy, if⊠you ever wanted to go there again. it helps with the sting.â
your heart squeezes in your chest. of course he thought of such a thing. of course he thought of you. you watch him in silence, eyes soft as he applies the ointment with painstaking care. the man who, mere moments ago, unraveled you with such intensity is now so gentle, so focused, like heâs trying to put every piece of you back together again himself.Â
âyou missed a spot,â you whisper playfully, wiggling your ass just a little.
zayne pauses, looking down at you with mock exasperation. âpretty sure i hit every spot,â he says dryly. you smother your giggle behind a hand, catching the smirk tugging at his lips too. but his gaze sobers rather quickly, searching your face. ââŠare you okay?â
you meet his eyes, warmth swelling in your chest. âiâm okay,â you say honestly, reaching for his hand as he helps you ease off his lap. you shift onto your side instead, still a bit too sore to sit fully. the mattress dips beside you as he lies down, instantly reaching to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear with that same devoted gentleness.
âi wasnât too harsh?â he asks, voice barely above a whisper now.Â
ânot even close.âÂ
âtoo rough?â
you shake your head. âno.âÂ
â...too mean?â
you let out a soft laugh, pressing a hand to his cheek before bringing your forehead to rest against his. âzayne,â you murmur, voice full of warmth. âyou were perfect.â
a breath of relief leaves him. itâs quiet, and very subtle, and his lips morph into a smile right after. itâs small, just a slight quirk of his lips, but itâs more than enough. âthatâs good,â he says, and you can hear the sincerity in it; the need for him to hear those words.Â
you lean in to kiss him, slow and sweet, before muttering against his lips. âi love you,â you whisper, and peck him again.Â
he lets you, kissing you back as his arms pull you in closer. âi love you, too,â he mumbles against your lips. âeven if you do love to test my limits.âÂ
you laugh softly, and curl into his chest, letting your body melt into his. the scent of his cologne welcomes you, making you feel right at home, and you press a kiss to the sensitive skin of his neck.Â
âand, hey, who knows, maybe next time we can try degradation.âÂ
âabsolutely not.â
âyeah, thought so.â
891 notes
·
View notes
Text

PAIRINGS. . . zayne x fem!reader
CW. . . smut, sub!zayne, soft dom!reader, orgasm denial / edging, light bondage ( cuffs ), oral sex m! receiving, overstimulation, reader being a little mean and fucking zayne silly ( âĄÌ_âĄÌ)á€

zayne was trembling under you, muscles locked tight, arms flexing where they were cuffed up to the headboard, a dark flush spreading from his chest up his throat.
you had him spread wide and helpless, every inch of his body a live wire under your hands, under your mouthâslow, cruel, deliberate. you kissed down his stomach, lazy and unhurried, barely brushing him with your lips, feeling the way he tensed and twitched with every ghost of your touch.
he was tryingâreally tryingâto keep his composure.
breathing through his nose, jaw clenched so tight it looked like it hurt, trying to calculate, strategize, survive.
but he was failing, spectacularly.
your hand wrapped around his cock again, slow and so light it was barely contact at all, just a teasing brush from root to tip. he hissed through his teeth, hips bucking up instinctivelyâbut you simply tightened your grip at the base, squeezing hard enough as a warning.
"no," you whispered, voice like velvet and smoke, just to hear the way he groaned in frustration.
you stroked himâfirmer now, sliding your fist up to the swollen head, smearing the mess leaking from his tip down the length of him, slow enough to make him twitch under you. his thighs were rigid, his stomach clenching every time you pumped, but you didnât let him have it.
every time he got closeâevery time you felt that desperate, helpless tighteningâyou would stop. grip him at the base, deny him everything he needed, watch him shudder with it.
he was dripping now, needy and ruined, panting into the cool air. his eyes fluttered shut, jaw slack, the calculated genius side of him long goneâbroken down to something raw and desperate just by the soft, steady cruelty of your touch.
you shifted lower, mouth hovering just above the flushed head of his cock. you breathed over it, watching him strain toward you involuntarily, chasing the heat without realizing he was doing it.
you licked a slow, wet stripe up the underside, and he choked on a gasp, whole body jerking up.
your tongue circled the tip, slow and obscene, catching the bead of precum and tasting the bitter-sweet salt of him.
you wrapped your lips around him, sucking light and slow and shallow.
he sobbed, broken and hoarse, hips trying to fuck up into your mouthâtryingâbut you pulled back with a cruel pop of your lips, squeezing him again at the base until the orgasm receded, leaving him gutted and shaking.
zayne's hands fisted in the sheets now, sheets that were soaked beneath him from the mess leaking down his length, from your spit, from his own helplessness.
you let him edge thereâhovering on the razor's edge of pleasure, dizzy and white-hotâagain and again and again, until he was gasping your name like a prayer, forehead damp with sweat, muscles twitching under your hands.
only then did you sink your mouth down fully, swallowing him whole, slow and warm and devastating.
he came with a ragged cry, body convulsing under you, hands scrabbling for purchase, hips bucking helplessly into your mouth while you milked every last drop from him, savoring the taste, savoring the way he broke for you completely.
you stayed there for a moment, letting him twitch and shudder against your tongue, swallowing down everything he gave you. his body sagged back against the bed, chest heaving, head thrown back against the pillows.
you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand before reaching up and undoing the cuffs around his wrists.
zayneâs arms dropped limply to his sides, too exhausted to even lift them. his fingers twitched weakly when you kissed up his stomach, a helpless little aftershock running through him.
"you did so good," you murmured against his skin, voice dripping with sweet cruelty.
you straddled his hips, feeling how spent he was, soft and sensitive, his cock twitching weakly under you as you ground your soaked panties against him. zayne whined low in his throat, barely able to lift his hands to your waist, pliant and boneless and wrecked.
"poor thing," you pouted mockingly, rolling your hips slow and cruel over him. "too tired to help me out now?"
he opened his mouthâmaybe to say something, maybe to pleadâbut all that came out was a broken little gasp when you dragged your soaked core over him again, rubbing yourself off against the slick mess he was already drenched in.
you smiled, slow and wicked, rocking your hips lazily, using his ruined body for your own pleasure without a shred of mercy. his hands fisted weakly at your thighs, trying to ground himself, trying not to lose it again.
"you don't have to do anything," you whispered, voice sickly sweet as you rutted against him, chasing your own high against his overstimulated body. "just lay there and be pretty for me."
zayne moanedâhigh and helplessâand it made you clench around nothing, made you grind down even harder, chasing the friction, chasing the filthy satisfaction of getting off on him when he couldnât do a thing to stop you.
you came with a soft, shuddering moan, grinding down against him until your thighs trembled, until your slick made a new mess between you both.
zayne's hands slid up weakly, petting your waist, your ribsâstill trying to give even when he was completely fucked out.
you leaned down, kissed his sweat-damp hair, and fused your body with his until the only sound in the room was your soft breaths and his light snores.
masterlist âËê© send me a kofi !
797 notes
·
View notes
Text
this is so sweet and preciousđâ€ïž
"talking to his baby" â headcanon/short one shot đâfluff âą fem!reader âą masterlist
your head was slightly resting on the couch, and your eyes were closed. you were exhausted; making a tiny human from scratch was exhausting, it was definitely something you didn't expect from pregnancy. "you know... you don't have to talk to her all the time," you mumbled when you noticed Zayne's thoughtful face. he'd run out of ideas on what to talk to his baby about because he'd already told her his entire life. according to Zayne, babies could hear clearly from the womb and he had made sure to talk to her as much as possible so she would recognize his voice.
Zayne looked at you with those eyes that you knew perfectly well meant: he wanted to talk to his baby. you sighed, returning your gaze to the book in your hands, and seconds later, he spoke again. "I remember a surgery that lasted over seven hours. the patient's heart muscle was severely damaged from a previous surgery andâ" he stopped when he heard a gasp from you, setting off his alarm bells. "what happened?"
"she's kicking." your eyes widened in surprise. it wasn't the first time you'd felt her kicks, but it wasn't something she did often. Zayne looked at you in surprise and placed his hand right next to yours. "keep talking." Zayne nodded and went back to talking about the surgery... then you felt the little kicks again. "it can't be... do you think she'll also be a surgeon?"
Zayne smiled, and he didn't know if that made him feel a mixture of excitement and pride or some concern for his poor daughter. "probably." Zayne nodded before settling back into his story about that surgery just to confirm that yes, his daughter enjoyed hearing him talk about his work.
3K notes
·
View notes
Text
bless the authorđ
i was JUST thinking of pegging slightly shy zayne and teasing him and the very same evening i fibd this masterpiece

heaven in your eyes | zayne (li shen)
⥠tags ; afab + gn!reader, established relationship, porn/no plot, role-reversal, so much dirty talk, soft dom + top!reader (using strap), slight brat + bottom!zayne, very light d/s dynamics, orgasm denial, rimming (m!recieving), anal fingering (m!recieving), pegging, zayne-centric, 18+
⥠wc ; 5.4k (just kill me)
⥠a/n ; this is so embarrassingly self-insert and self indulgent. im going to screamdfjkgs. so sorry. i hope its a good read at least.
title from lemme know by vince staples which will be good to listen for vibes. plus the lyric after this one. anjksdkj
additional authors note at the end abt his characterization here!!!
⥠synopsis ; zayne has a hard time asking for what he wants. you have a hard time paying attention when he wears his new outfit.

âMy love. Weâre not gonna make it to ourââ A deep shuddering sigh leaves his lips as you peer up at him, your hands just at his waist - lips against the column of pale neck. ââŠour date,â Â
âHm? Oh, I guess not.â You murmur, not paying attention. You feel Zayne flush under you, the soft beat of his pulse under his skin. Â
He gives you a long look. A half-hearted attempt to sway you. Youâre almost out of the door by now, and if you donât leave soon - youâll be in a rush. All of these are fair worries. You applaud Zayne for being so considerate under the circumstances.Â
Even after youâve nearly jumped him by the doorway, hands wandering as you peer up at him. You feel a little guilty for potentially ruining your evening plans. But even if you did go to dinner now, youâre sure your patronage would be unwelcome.Â
Youâre not sure you have the self-restraint needed to not eye-fuck Zayne in a crowded dining roomâeven less that you donât pay the bill too early to lay your hands on him in the car. Â
And that has its own appeal, sureâyou think about doing it just to be polite. But itâd be all sorts of inconvenient trying to drive back home in that state, disheveled and half-way to restless so you could get what youâre really offer. Â
You nip at the junction between jaw and neck, teeth lightly scraping thin skin as you trail a kiss up to his earlobe and bite. âI feel sorry about our reservation but I canât find a good reason to go when I could just bend you over right now,â Â
His expression is charming. Thereâs an innocence to it, a novelty at his surprise hearing you speak so clearly that makes you shiver. A flush pinkness that deepens at the tips of his ears, the soft furrow of his brow. Like heâs embarrassed even though Zayne is not particularly self-conscious or coy. Â
You suppose this element of your relationship still proves to be a bit much for him. Itâs less that Zayne hates showing weakness - but more that control and the presence of it define his life. Itâs hard to give that up so easily, youâre sure. Yet you want to do it anyway, so desperately the words fail you and lead you into cornering him for it. You like that it makes him self-conscious. Itâs endearing and arousing in the same breath to watch him fall into familiar habits - unsure of himself. Fidgeting with his sleeve, thinking things over. Â
A lot of things in your relationship are new for Zayne, but he mustâve had thoughts. Ideas about what love would look like and what sort of man heâd be. You feel a little sorry youâve thrown a wrench in those plans simply by being what you are. But if he could see it from your view, youâre sure heâd understand. Â
He looks almost displeased now though - a silent plea in the small micro expressions of his face, yet he doesnât do anything to turn you down. Â
Truthfully youâre fond of this mild resistance. It fills you with a playful sadism seeing his general affect change so drastically in a heartbeat. You pull back to look up at him - kissing his jawline again. You let your hand ghost along the edge of his white blouse, tracing the folds of fabric with a thoughtful hum. Â
âWould you be more inclined if I said please?âÂ
Zayne doesnât say anything back, just looks down at you with expression nearly indiscernible from his others without the keenest eye. Fortunately youâd recognize that mild embarrassment anywhere. You grin haphazardly at him, head tilted. Â
âOr maybe itâd be better to be direct and tell even if we do leave, Iâll be thinking of nothing but fucking you until we get home anyways,â You muse. His brows raise ever so slightly. You play innocently, pretending to think. âBut if youâre feeling hungry or really want to go then Iâll wait it out. Is that alright?âÂ
His expression blooms, a bright red flushing down to his chest - avoiding your prying eyes. âYouâre being smug,âÂ
A grin splits your face. âAm I?â Â
âWe shouldnâtâŠâ He trails off, finally noticing the distant stare in your eyes as you him. Â
âProper as always, Doctor.â Â
Youâre at a stand-still. Zayne frowns, expression weary in that sweet way. A little more.Â
âMy love,âÂ
âItâs your call, sweetheart.â Â
âYou mentioned liking the outfit on me,â He says, soft and quiet. Not quite a protest - something closer to self-defense. You smile a little. Â
âI did. I do. Itâs distracting me,â You hum. âYou wore it for me right?âÂ
His blush deepens, just a little. He frowns. âYouâre rather easy to distract,â Â
Youâre kind enough to not point out his avoidance of the question. âGuilty as charged,â Â
You let yourself push forward. Your fingers dip underneath the hem of his shirt before you slide your hands underneath, palms pressing hot against cool skin. Smooth and warm to the touch, you squeeze just above his hips, to the small of his back - tracing a line down the center curve until youâre just at the waistband of his pants. You peer up at him again, standing tall enough to press a kiss to his lips as a small offering. Â
In many ways, you find this part of Zayne amusing. Heâs not shy in the least bit, not really. He can meet your flirting with his own wit so well youâd go as far as calling him smooth. Charming in all the right ways. Itâs fun to flirt with him and know heâll always match your energy. Â
But heâs surprisingly weak to directness. No beating around the bush, no euphemism or innuendos. Whenever you make your intentions as clear as you can are the few instances he seems to be sincerely surprised - almost coquettish in a way you find so charming on him when heâs often anything but.Â
This specific attention draws it out of him most, and itâs fun. You think itâs less that the attention itself embarrasses him, and more that he finds it hard to admit that he enjoys it. Maybe itâs your own disposition speaking - but you like that aspect best. That he does like it despite himself, and that you get to exploit the few moments he lets himself be caught wanting such a thing. Â
You canât be sure if this is what he had in mind but it doesnât change that he wore for you because you told him you liked it. And you do like it on him - both in memory and in aesthetics. Â
Theyâre not clothes heâd pick for himself. Long and silky, an open chest and lace choker - layered necklaces and flowers. He looks like a prince out of a fairy tale, an unusually sweet appearance. Heâs handsome enough on his own, really. Whenever you let your eyes linger too long you grow impatient. Â
He always looks good.Â
The clothes soften him is all. Itâs a different look and you like it on him. You love it really - if youâre honest. Enough that every time he wears it a thousand thoughts run through your mind and none of them are especially appropriate. Surrounded by flowers, dressed in pink and white. Pretty. Zayne is handsome by nature, but itâs rare he ever looks so pretty. Pretty in the same daisy flowers are. He leaves you half-way between wanting to preserve him, string him into something nice - or wanting to ruin him completely. Â
You pull away from the kiss, lips brushing his. A warm feeling settles in your stomach as you look at him again. Â
âWeâd better go now if you still want to,â You say slowly, eyes flickering to his as he turns the choice over in his head. Â
Zayne doesnât say anything but steps away from you. You find yourself ready to relent and go to dinner - but to your surprise he makes no move to leave. Instead he locks the door where it was unlocked and looks at you with a very faint blush. You laugh warmly at him, itâs just like him to do. Â
âGuess weâre canceling,â You hum, pulling him towards you by the wrist. âGood boy for being honest,â Â
âI was concerned for the patrons,â Â
You laugh brightly at that. âIâm sure you were,â Â
He trails behind you as you make your way to the bedroom, his hand in yours squeezed tight. You pull him without looking back, only stopping to shut the door behind you both. The room is dim as the sun gets close to setting - room painted in the warm shades of dusk. When the door closes, you crowd in on him until his back is pressed against it. Â
He breathes a long, drawn out breath. The air in the room is thick, dense with tension. You draw your hands up the nape of his neck until both of them thread through his hair, tugging slight enough to draw a breath from him. You push up on your toes to kiss him like this, a hand on your back to hold you steady but obedient enough not to ask for anymore, not to pull you closer without permissionÂ
Zayne always kisses desperately. His body is honest about his desires always, no exception to the rule. A shaky breath and a deep, murky desire , heâs eager for you when you slot your lips against his. You waste no time in stringing him along, giving him a deep kiss with tongue and teeth. You feel him melt in your grasp at the aggression, smiling into it - his sweet panting breaths like music to your ears. Â
âSo fucking cute,â You breathe, pulling away. His lips are pulled into a frown, but his eyes are something else entirely. He lets his forehead rest on yours. Â
âYouâre the only one whoâd say that about me,â Â
âIâm the only one who should,â Â
His expression is honest. Eyes widening before the flush on his face goes deeper, glassier. He likes things like this. You always make sure to say it out loud just to see it, and it never fails to fan the flames of your desire. You loosen your grip, cradling his face with both hands to look at him more closely. A face reserved for you - hazy with anticipation and so eager. Wanting for your attention so seriously you feel your core throb just laying eyes on him. You kiss him again gentler, pulling away and pressing a thumb to his lip when you do. Zayne parts his lips unthinkingly. Your thumb slides against his tongue, watching as he closes around the digit. When you pull back, you brush his saliva against his lips, wetting them before kissing him again. Â
âItâs good we stayed home,â You murmur. A kiss on the corner of his mouth as you speak. âI donât know if Iâd make it back to the car if we went to the restaurant,â Another, closer to his chin. âIâm sure Iâd take my heels off and get you hard under the table instead. Youâre good at keeping a straight face so Iâm sure weâd be fine,â One more, further down, closer to his pulse. âNo one would catch us, so thereâd be no good reason for me to stop doing it, either.â Â
Zayne lets out a soft groan, something from the back of his throat. You trail down at to his neck, stopping your wet kisses to sink your teeth. You suck a hickey into the open space.Â
Zayneâs voice is a tremble - still on the edge of even. âYouâThatâd be⊠hard for me,â Â
You kiss the bruise you leave, finger tugging at his lace choker to leave another one underneath it.Â
âRight, of course. And you canât make a mess even if you wanted to so youâd have to wait till after dinner,â You take a beat to bite down again leaving a bigger mark this time. You feel the capillaries split underneath the dull scrape of your incisors as a hickey forms - throbbing as it bruises and blooms. âYouâd have to wait until after dinner to get any relief, but I think Iâd have to leave you on edge âtill we got home,â Â
âWhy would youâ?â Â
âItâd be a waste to make you cum anywhere other than on my cock since thatâs what I wanted anyway. Of course Iâd feel a little sorry for you, so Iâd take the edge off,â You trail down lower, nose brushing against his collarbone and clavicle as you stop to leave more marks. You hear Zayne inhale underneath you - making you smile. âIâd use my hand since itâs easier to tell when youâre going to cum but I canât let you. And then, when you canât hold it anymore - then weâd have to go home,â Â
Zayne makes a noise. Itâs a soft sound, throaty and desperate as youâve set him on edge. Pleasantly needy. You kiss down his chest, over each brand new mark - adding color to the display of necklaces he already has on. You use another hand to slide down his chest, his stomach and waistband - until you settle over his cock. Itâs hard, strained against your palm as you cup and squeeze. He lets heâs head fall back, eyes fluttering closed as you keep speaking. Â
âBut youâd have to wait a little while longer even we got home. You let me in here easier now,â You slide your hands around, squeezing his ass. Zayne makes a strained sound, muffling it as best he can. âBut I canât just shove it in right? Youâre a good boy so youâd have to wait it out some more for me.â Â
Zayne pants, eyes searching for you as the room slowly darkens. âMy love,âÂ
âWhat is it, baby?â You hum. Your eyes meet as you rest, your thumb over the tip of his cock over his clothes. He lets out a shaky breath. Â
âPlease donât tease me,â He says flatly. Â
You laugh at him. It comes out a little meaner than you want, but it canât be helped. âYou donât want me to?â Â
He frowns at you. âNo,â Â
You pretend to frown. âToo bad. Youâre fun to tease,âÂ
He looks at you with his face slightly pinched. âPlease,â Â
âIâll play nice since you were a good boy for me today,â You praise. You see Zayne blush. âThink you can be good for me again?â Â
He nods. You smile, pressing up to whisper against his ear. âTake these off and bend over the side of the bed. Wait for me,â Â
Zayne meets your eyes. Obvious embarrassment has a flush crawling down your face, but he goes anyhow - waits for you as promised, as you creep to the other side of the room as you open a drawer in your bedroom. You strap into the harness first, tightening yourself into it until its snug - heavy weight between your legs secured. You take the lube next, assessing that thereâs enough in the bottle to make it work.Â
Your boyfriend waits for you like you've asked. Kind of. At the edge of his bed with his arms folded on the mattress and his knees on the floor - back arched. Heâs slipped his pants just below his thighs but his boxers are on still. You turn a dim light on to keep the room from pitch black before you settle down behind him. Zayne looks over at you from his shoulder when you do - your hands on his hips as you bend yourself over him. Â
Itâs easier this way to talk to him, your chin on his shoulder and your body pressed to his spine - voice next to his ear. âI thought I told you to take this off,â Â
Zayne tucks his chin. âI thought this would be fine,â Â
You laugh âIs that right?âÂ
You do him the favor of leaving his pants on, pulling them down to his knees before you tuck your fingers in his boxers and pull them down entirely. Zayne flinches at the sudden change in temperature. You take a second to admire him. Smooth pale skin flushed rosy as you slide the boxers off, revealing him to you completely. His cock sits heavy, tip ruddy and leaking against your bed sheets as Zayne shudders from the friction.Â
You run your finger on the underneath side of his shaft - watching his shoulders tremble at the featherlight sensation. Your lip twitches.âI barely touched you. Did you work yourself up thinking about what I said?â Â
He clears his throat. ââŠIt was very detailed.â Â
You hum. âYeah? What detail made you like this? The part about being teased or the part about being fucked?â Â
You can see Zayne blush even deeper. Itâs visible. His ears are red, but this time its all the way down his back. You donât think youâve ever seen it go down so far. Â
âNo answer?â You coo.Â
ââŠIf you already know, itâs impolite to ask,âÂ
âItâs fine to say it directly,â Your hand slides from his hips to his stomach âThat you wanna feel me right here,â Â
He shrinks underneath you, face buried in the mattress. You snicker at his reaction - nearly petulant with how he moves away. Â
âAre you that embarrassed to say it? Youâre good at dishing it out but you canât handle it at all.â Â
âItâs hard to say,â Â
âI tell you stuff like that all the time,â Â
A beat. âItâs different,â Â
âIt is? I see, I see. Think you can answer questions then? Just a yes or a no.â Â
Zayne pauses, suspicious but unsure. âI donât see why not,â Â
âDo you want me to then?â Â
âTo what?â Â
You grin.Â
âDo you want me to fuck you, baby? You havenât told me straight once even though Iâve been so direct about exactly what I want to do. I thought maybe you need more details to make you feel comfortable,â Â
You can hear him flounder. âThatâs notââ Â
âSee, Iâve got such a pretty picture of you in my head already. You look just like this but youâre getting stretched on my cock and fucked half stupid,â You trace your hand down his spine âHolding you down so you canât run away from it and making you cum until thereâs nothing left to fuck out of you. But I canât do it until you say yes, see? So itâs a bit of predicament.â Â
Zayneâs voice is hoarse. âYouâre being unfair,â Â
âYou said you could answer me right? So answer me. Just a yes or no, with your words and we can make something even prettier out of you together. Doesnât that sound nice?â Â
Heâs shaking under you. You almost feel bad. Â
Almost. Â
âY-yes. Yes, just -â Â
âItâs alright baby. Iâve got you,â You coo at him, and you mean it. And youâre sure Zayne is more than fine with keeping quiet for the time being. Â
You kiss down his spine over his clothes, not wanting to take the shirt off even still. All the way down to the small of his back, lower and lower. You use your hands to spread his ass apart, amused by the way he trembles. Â
It seems like he catches on too late to what youâre going to do. Â
âWait, wait, you donât need toââ Â
The words fall on deaf ears as Zayne falls forward with a shudder, his hips giving out almost immediately as your tongue slips against his hole. You can hear him start to say something but each time the words seem to fall flat, dying in his mouth. Replaced with what youâre certain are choked out moans that heâs trying desperately not to let out. You press your tongue flat against the tight rim until you fall into a steady rhythm, feeling him twitch on each pass. Heâs a mess above you - youâre not sure if itâs from shame or pleasure or both, but he hasnât made a single attempt to push you away from it and itâs only goading you further. Â
Youâre being relentless - for no real reason other than you want to, want to see how far he can be pushed this way. You collect your spit on your tongue before pushing into tight hole with a little effort. Zayne lets out a sound like the air has been punched right out of his lungs, his cock twitching endlessly. When you sink in with your tongue in his ass as far as you can, you use one of your hands to wrap around his shaft. Â
Zayne hisses, a broken huff forced out of him immediately. Â
âP-please, justâmm,â Â
Itâd be easy to make him cum like this, you think. You tease him with it, hand rubbing over the tip - thumb underneath the head and over the slit. He twitches hard in your grasp, and you know a little more would be enough. Â
So you stop, pull your hands away completely and watch with amusement as he chases friction, air, anything and finds none. Hips stuttering as he seeks relief you refuse him so openly - but still trying his best not to appear impatient. Â
Itâs an open secret that all Zayne has to do to get what he wants is ask. Throw away his pride for a split second, just long enough to whimper out a simple turn of phrase and itâs his. Whatever he wants. If he canât yet, then heâs still not where you want him. Â
Zayne shudders when you pull away from him completely. Hand and mouth at once, a muffled sound of displeasure at the sudden loss of friction.Â
âFelt good, baby? Seemed like it,â Â
Zayne looks at you briefly from over his shoulder. You shiver at his expression, so troubled. So frustrated. You smile at him unhelpfully.Â
âDid you have something to say?â You ask, goading. Zayne pauses. Â
ââŠNo,â Â
âYou sure?â Â
You can hear it in his voice. âIâm certain,âÂ
You shrug, wordlessly opening the bottle of lube youâve brought with you and pouring it into your fingers. Pressing yourself to his spine, you fold over him and slide your land lower. Your fingers rub a slow circle against his rim, amused as Zayne breathes shallowly. Â
âHm. Guess youâre not relaxed enough then,â You murmur, voice hot against the shell of his ear âDeep breath, sweetheart,â Â
He lets out a soft affirmative. Itâs muffled where he presses his face into the mattress, buried into his arms. Itâs easier then normal to slip your first fingers in since heâs already relaxed - though the fit isnât much less tight. Down to the knuckle in one smooth motion, Zayne groans. You pull back slightly, kissing at the expose nape of his neck as his shirt rests haphazard. Â
When youâre sure a second one will fit, you add in a second more slowly. His shoulders are trembling. Breathing heavy, thighs tensed from the sensation. You let out a thoughtful hum and scissor your two fingers until it doesnât feel like thereâs any resistance. Â
You pause, waiting a beat before pushing yourself deeper and curling your fingers up. Itâs helpful youâve done this enough time to have it memorized. Your fingers press up against his prostate with ease, knowing his body better then your own. Â
Itâs easy to tell when youâve found it. Zayne moans. Itâs loud and unabashed, the kind of sound you know is completely involuntary - no longer able to hold it in. You use your free hand to continue stretching him open - the other one reaching from his face. Your hand slips in the small space, carefully pulling him up by the chin. His expression is flushed, mildly startled - but not strong enough to escape from your grip. Â
âNo more hiding,â You tell him, sharper than before. His eyes go lidded, nodding in an absent way. His brows twitch as you rub against his prostate relentlessly. Shuddering, nearly at the tipping point of his coherence. His hands are clawing into the mattress underneath him as he does. You can see how bad he wants it, but his teeth are still firmly in his lip. âYouâre still being stubborn about it, huh? Even though it feels good,â Â
âI d-didnât say it didnât feel good,â Â
âYouâre shaking,â You point out plainly âYou still wonât tell me what what you want? Hm?â Â
Still nothing. You take a deep breath, considering your options before slowly adding another finger. Zayne gasps quietly, sweat forming at the base of his neck from the tension. With your middle, pointer, and ring finger pushed inside of him down to the knuckle, you find his prostate a second time. Without mercy, you thrust and curl and push up against it - pulling away from him to get a view of him bent over. Â
Zayneâs cock is twitching, silky strings of pre-cum pooling at the floor underneath him. So red it almost looks painful, balls tight. His cock looks heavy and strained - needy. You use your other hand to tease his length, never once getting close enough to give him any relief. Â
It takes you wrapping your hand just barely around the head to evoke a whine out of him. Â
You stop again. Zayne chokes, hips stuttering at the lack of friction. He pushes back against you, chasing the pleasure but youâre gone before he can. You tsk as you watch him strain himself, but you still give him a minute to breathe. Â
The room goes quiet, silent as you let him cool off before Zayne finally breaks the tension himself. Â
âPlease,â He begs, sounding almost helpless. Â
You put your hand on his waist. âPlease what, baby?â Â
Zayne sighs, exasperated - then hiccups. His voice sounds so different - so out of it. âPlease, my loveâitâs too much, please,â Â
âIs that so?â Â
He turns his face towards you more, eyes asking for mercy. âPlease.â Â
You wonât budge on it, though. Â
âPlease what?â Â
A beat followed by a shaky breath, voice small. Almost fragile. Â
âPlease let me cum,â Â
Without hesitation, you wrap your fist around Zayneâs cock and fall back into a smooth pace fucking him open. You feel him crumple immediately under the weight of the pleasure, his body wracking with shivers. His moans growing louder, less coherent. Â
âGood boy,â You praise, increasing the pressure as high up as you can as Zayne cries out. You feel him finally give into the touch completely, desperate and breathy as you pump his cock and fuck him open on your fingers. Your mind is occupied suddenly by the sight of him. Bent over at the waist and shaking, pushing himself into the mattress with his body clasped tight. Like heâs at an altar - vulnerable and waiting. âI wonât stop this time so let it out,â Â
His weight collapses, body slumped as you watch the orgasm heâs been chasing wash over him in a single go. His whole body wracks, thrashing as the sensations overwhelm him - swearing under his breath as you touch him through his high until heâs begging you let him off and give him a breather. Thick, hot ropes of cum cover your fingers as Zayne comes down.   Â
You use whatever left to stroke the silicone cock between your legs, rather then letting it go to waste. Once your hand is free of the mess, you lean forward and kiss the small of Zayneâs back as he re-collects himself. Â
âYou did good for me, sweetheart. It wasnât all that hard to say right? But maybe itâd be better if we kept practicing,â Â
âPlease have mercy on me,â Â
You grin. âNo can do. One more time, yeah? Tell me what you want and itâs yours,â Â
Zayne lets out a sigh, long and resigned. He looks at you from over his shoulders with a furrowed brow before speaking. ââŠPlease put it in,â Â
You pause before breaking out into laughter. He groans from embarrassment.Â
âSorry, sorry - Iâm not making fun of you. Promise. It was better this time, so good work. Just relax, alright? For me,â  Â
Zayne nods. Gives in, ultimately - pushing back up on his elbows as you line the tip of your cock against him, sliding it up and against fluttering hole before pushing in with a silent promise to clean him up after this. Zayne tenses only briefly as you push the tip in, watching with heavy eyes as he takes it. Â
âYouâre stretching for me so nice,â You hum, both hands on his ass and pulling as you watch the pink rim open up around the narrowest part. Opening slowly as you slide your hips, his body reacting instantly. Â
As much as it takes to get him to relax, this works every time. Â
The tension melts out of his body like candle wax over low flame, hot and heady. âItâs not all in yet but youâre feeling it already. Maybe this was what you wanted, wearing this for me,â You murmur. Â
âAah, aah,â Â
You slide yourself in, rocking your hips in measured beats until Zayne adjusts. All the way until youâve bottomed out completely, cock swallowed all the way down to the base. Glancing where youâre sheathed inside of Zayne, you admire the view carefully. Holding still to let him adjust to the intrusion - you slide your hand underneath the billowy fabric of his shirt. Itâs displaced - the nape of his neck and line of his back exposed. Blush-toned with a thin sheen of sweat rolling down the muscles while he hides himself away. Â
You had plans to be kinder to him but they go out of the window fast. Â
You place a hand on the back of his neck to keep him pinned down while the other one holds his hip. Your words come without ceremony. Â
âTell me when you cum, but you donât have to ask,â You say. Not particularly nice. âSo weâre even,â Â
Before Zayne can manage a single coherent reply, you press down on him firm and pull your cock all the way before pushing it back in. Itâs one swift gesture, not punishing - but quick enough to leave him off-center and clawing at the bedsheets at the sudden motion.Â
A thrill crawls up your spine at the sight of him. The sound of him. The touch, the way he trembles under your grasp. Your stomach turns on itself from the sheer elation of watching him fall apart for you without anywhere to run to. Perfectly pliant and made to take whatever pleasure you can give him. You build a pace up slowly as the flames of arousal lick at your core, grinding yourself into textured end of your strap each time. Once you find the right pace, you find it hard to focus on anything other then fucking him. Â
So you donât bother on thinking about anything else, keeping your grip firm. Consistent and deep, eager as the room fills with the sound of skin hitting skin. Zayneâs moans come out stronger now, pushed out and spilling from his lips like a broken record. You hear him swear under his breath every now and again, when it gets to be too much. A litany of cries that sound sweeter than the chorus of a songbird - you find thereâs nothing you want more then to fuck him completely out of his mind while you try and memorize the melody. Â
Zayne doesnât last long at this rate, and itâd be unfair for you to expect him too. But it surprises you just how quickly it all comes down. It doesnât feel like youâve been fucking him all that long, especially since he only came a little while ago. Â
But you can tell - from the tremble of his hips and the sudden grip on the sheets that heâs close.Â
âMy love Iâm going toââÂ
âCum for me baby. Thatâs all you need to do,â Â
And so he does, without any hesitation. Nothing comes out for it, but he does cum - and you see it in how he trembles and seizes. All the muscles in his body going taut like a bowstring before he breaks into something finer, like threads of fabric falling apart. He cums hard but nothing comes out, and he lays there in the aftermath. Â
You wait a while, but you stay. Sheathed inside of him, kissing a line up his back, at his shoulder. Â
âArenât you glad we skipped dinner?â Â
Zayne laughs tiredly. âYes, I suppose I am. I would like a break though,â Â
âOh?â Â
He sounds embarrassed but firm. âA reward, maybe. I-If itâs alright.â Â
You have the inkling that reward just means him laying between your legs. Heâs worked hard enough to have it.âMm. If you want. But Iâm not finished with you yet, so itâll be a little short-lived.â Â
âThatâs fine. More then fine,â Â
You laugh at him. âRight. Then yes. You can have whatever you want,â Â

⥠a/n ; some notes about zayne here!! i know a lot of people write him as a rather obedient sub but in my honest opinion - i think zayne has a hard time seriously relinquishing control. it's such a center-piece of his life that giving it up and really letting someone have that sort of influence on him makes him a little shy - even though he is imo notoriously forward.
so i think he can be a touch stubborn / a little bratty when he's being sincere about being submissive. rather then just playing along with you if that makes sense!!
anyhow thanks for reading!!! rbs and tags always appreciated

258 notes
·
View notes
Text
You didnât think heâd hear you.
Wellâmaybe you did. Maybe thatâs why you said it just loud enough for him to catch as he passed by.
âI bet heâs not even that big.â
Youâd said it to your friend with a smirk, pretending to be casual, knowing exactly who was in earshot. A petty taunt meant to poke the bear, to see if Zayne would snap like you secretly wanted him to.
He did.
Later, his gloved hand slams the door behind you as he corners you in his office. His jaw is tense, eyes blazing. âSay it again.â
You scoff, leaning back against the desk with faux confidence. âWhat, you mean what I said earlier? That I bet you have a small dick?â
The silence is deadly. Zayne steps forward, closing the distance until your backâs flush to the desk and his body cages you in. His voice is low, laced with something dark and heated.
âOh, you want to play it like that,â he murmurs. âTrying to rile me up just so Iâll bend you over and fuck your brains out?â
Your breath catches, heart pounding.
âW-Wasnât trying anything.â
He laughs coldly. âThen you wonât mind proving just how wrong you are.â
In one fluid movement, youâre spun around and pushed down over the desk, cheek pressing to the cold surface as he yanks your pants and underwear down in one tug. The sound of his belt unbuckling sends a jolt of arousal through you.
âLetâs see how small I feel when Iâm balls-deep in your sloppy cunt, baby.â
He pushes in without warning, burying himself in one harsh thrust that knocks the air out of your lungs.
âFuckâZayne!â
He groans, already setting a ruthless pace, hands gripping your hips like he owns you. âThis what you wanted, sweetheart? That pretty mouth of yours talks all that shit, but your pussyâs sucking me in like it knows Iâm the only one who can fuck you like this.â
Your eyes roll back, moans spilling out between ragged breaths as the desk creaks beneath you. He leans over, voice sharp in your ear.
âStill think Iâve got a small dick, huh? Say it again. Come onâsay it with my cock wrecking your insides.â
You try. You really do. But all that comes out is a broken sob of his name.
âOh? Cat got your tongue?â Zayne growls, slamming into you harder. âNo, I fucked it right outta you. Look at youâcrying, drooling, soaking my cock like the needy slut you are.â
You canât speak. All you can do is take it.
âAnd youâre gonna thank me for fucking that bratty attitude out of you when Iâm done. Because Iâm not pulling out until this desk is soaked and your legs canât stop shaking.â
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
probs gonna post another zayne fic on friday or the weekend
anyway i hate school
0 notes
Text
brat tamer zayneđ
you say he's too small â love and deepspace
including. zayne, xavier, rafayel, sylus, caleb
warnings. fem! reader, brat taming, dirty talk, rough syx, big dicks, they took it personal, petnames used: darling, sweetheart, princess, brat, pretty girl

â. đ Ì zayne
not the reaction you've expected yet zayne laughs like you've straight up offended himâ a low, vicious sound dragging through the lengths of his throat as his hands dig into your flesh, dragging you down on his cock until your breathing was caught sharp in your throat.
"you wanna run your mouth, pretty girl?" his voice sinks low, dragging through the heat between you like smoke, his gaze glinting with something cruel and sweet, "then take all of it, come on, take every inch."
he grabs your ass with roughened palms, pulling you flush against him as he fucks into you with a brutal snap of his hips, "really, so small?" he spits, "you really wanna lie like that when you're leaking down your thighs?" as he starts pounding into you like he's trying to prove a point, thrust until your slick walls take his shape, pulse around him like he's the only thing you've ever known as each thrust felt heavier than the lastâ utterly thick and brutal rubbing on your walls, so deep it made your eyes roll back.
"can't even handle me," he growls, "you keep trying to squirm awayâ where's all that bratty shit show now?" you're crying from overstimulation, in fact, everything was just way too hot and too wet, your ass tingling where his hands kept slapping it, squeezing and holding you into place.
"darling," he pants, "you said it, yeah? now you take it," and zayne doesn't stop, not until he's spilling into you with a broken groan, pressing down so you cannot move an inch, grinding through the aftershocks just to make sure it sticks.
"that feel small?" he exhales through his teeth, something like a laugh dying in his throat as he sinks deeper into your warmth, "cause you'll be leaking for me for hours."
â. đ Ì xavier
"...what did you just say?" confusion draws over xavier's facial features as his voice drops into a tone that doesn't even sound human anymoreâ turning quite disbelieving as his pupils blow wide, staring at you like he might devour you whole.
"you're really gonna say i'm small in the middle of it?" to tease him a little further, you decide to utter it once more, just to see what he'll do and fuckâ he snaps, rightfully so as he grabs your thighs, spreads you open with both hands, wide enough that it burns, so you can see the outline of him as he slides back in, "does that feel small?" he snarls, voice thick with possession and something even worseâ the urgency to prove you wrong.
"look at your pussy, baby, swallowing me like it's starvingâ look how fucking deep i am," and you do look as it ruins you, the way he stretches you, the fat base of his cock dragging against something so sensitive it made your stomach seize up, the wet squelch of your cunt fluttering around every inch he buries inside.
he draws back just enough to look, eyes gleaming like he's studying something rare and irreplaceable as his palm snaps sharp against your inner thigh, not out of rage but precisionâ a sound so wet and filthy it bloomed between you as he watches the recoil with a kind of cold interest that bordered on worship.
"don't lie, you're dripping, look, and i've barely even started moving," as he turns his head down and spitsâ right where you're joined, thumb smearing the globule of saliva into your clit and mixing it up with the filthy mess, like he wanted to make you see how wrong you were.
"i'll ruin you slow," xavier promises, voice husky, "fuck you until you can't sit without thinking of me, if this is smallâ" he thrusts deep and laughs, your vision whitening out, "âthen you better pray i never really stretch you open."
your nails dig into his back like you're trying to anchor yourself to reality, in fact, to him, to anything, reallyâ because you see, the way he fits inside you was devastating, your stomach coiling and wracked with the agony of being sprawled too rough, his cum thick and endlessly coming in white, warm ribbons as he groans with sin and need, as if your bodies were made only to drown together.
your breath catches onto every gasp as if even the air has become too much for you to endure, your hips stuttering and grinding without meaning, most importantly without will, just chasing the friction that made you feel alive as his cock was the only thing grounding you towards your pleasure.
a fractured hiss slips from him, the sound of a man too far gone as his jaw clenched, eyes wild, like your cunt was some divine punishment and he was utterly grateful to be ruined by it, "that's right, feel how big i really am, sweetheart."
"say it," xavier hisses like he's savoring it, like he wanted you to hear the desperation in his lungs, "say i'm not smallâ say you love how i fill you up," and you do, because it's true, correct? every single inch of you was wrecked by now, opened up around his cock like you were made to stay there.
â. đ Ì rafayel
"oh?" rafayel gives you an intrigued look, his eyes flicking to where you're spread wide for him, all flushed and aching and already gushing around his cock yet spelling out something so laughable, "small?" you don't get the chance to respond before he pushes in with one fast snap of hipsâ rougher than he had any right to go as he smiles when your legs begin to shake immediately.
"funny," he hums, "considering the way you're clenching down on me like you cannot let go," he stops mid thrust when you whisper it once more, his cock stilled inside within a long pause as you can hear the tick of his jaw when he exhales.
he leans over you now, hand palming your breasts hard enough to make you gasp out into his mouth, "but you're trembling," he drawls underneath his exhale with his jaw locked, like the feel of your walls tensing around him was too muchâ like it was destructive on him of how tight you were, how greedy and how bratty you were to him yet rafayel still wanted more.
the man watches you like he's analyzing a painting, "you seem to struggle from something so small?"
"you feel that, no?" he growls, hips grinding in slow, devastating circles, "that's me stretching you out, filling every fucking inchâ claiming you, so tell me again, come on, who's too small?"
at this point, you cannot even form the simplest of words, drooling down your own chin as your cunt was squelching and twisting around him loud enough to echo within your bedroom as he just grins filthily.
"that's what i thought," rafayel whispers, his tongue moves in slick circles over your tits, voice low like a secret carved out of sin as if he's telling your body what he's going to do without ever asking, like your entire soul was already promised to him, "you're gonna keep me inside for hours, sweetheart, i'll keep cumming until your body knows the shape of me."
â. đ Ì sylus
what got sylus the most was the way you've said it to himâ quite soft yet smug, with a saccharine coated pout like you're honestly disappointed in his ability to pleasure you.
what else was he supposed to do other than still himself inside you in shock, the deafening silence that followed next not really being silence, because in reality the atmosphere was chargedâ you could compare it to an animatic stillness as his grip on your wrists were slowly tightening just enough to make you shiver under him, "you know what you just said?" his voice echoes softly against your cheek, too soft, in fact, as if he was trying the words out on his tongue like a wine he's about to spit out.
the laugh he lets out next was the last warning you'll get, because sylus doesn't say anything elseâ he just grabs both of your ankles and folds you in half, hips snapping forward with a brutal slam that punches the breath straight out of your chest.
"so small?" he grits, voice breaking into something high and ragged, hips jerking as he fucks you into the mattress like he's attempting to fuck the thought straight out of your darling skull, "you're creaming all over me like you need it, and you've got the nerve to lie like that?"
your tits bounce from the force of his hips, and of course, of course, his hands are all over them, squeezing and pinching your nipples, spreading the mounds of flesh as if trying to claim every inch he's obsessed over as he leans in, biting down just under your nipple, growling, "gonna call me small when you can't even take all of me?"
"all this mess, and you still wanna lie?" and you feel itâ the tension between your legs, the burning stretch and your swollen folds, how slick your pussy sounded every time he slams himself back in, every twitch of his thickness dragging against your soaked walls, your body straining and holding, straining and holding, the sheer pressure of him inside you enough to make your vision go halo, like you're being reshaped from the inside out into something that belonged to him.
alas, you put a mental sticker inside your head to never lie to sylus againâ you simply can't, in fact, you're already crying from the rough pace he's going for, shaking so bad he has to hold you in place by your wrists just to keep going.
you feel him add additional grinds on your pussy whenever you swallowed him whole, his tip pinching against your sweet spot every time he sinks too deepâ like he's reshaping your frame, like your body was always meant to swell around the size of him.
you sob out his name while being stuffed full, thighs shaking from the pressure as he bears down on you, a rhythm built from slow destruction, the pressure inside you mounting as your belly contracts tight, your cunt milking him raw and seizing from how thick and hard he moves and shoves his hips, "there, there's your truth, not so small now, am i?"
â. đ Ì caleb
caleb pauses, his brain rewiring and blinking down at you in complete disbelief, "you really think that's funny?" he asks you earnestly mid thrust, like he didn't just bottom out and leave you totally whiny underneath his broad figure.
you nod devilishly, lips curled up into a smug little grin when, well, that's what does it, reallyâ with that he leans into you like a challenge, tucking a hand behind your head with his fingers tangled tight in your hair, fucking through the tightness of your hole, all the way until you choke up his name, your smirk suddenly crumbling.
caleb kisses the corner of your tear stricken eye, his ragged breathing warm against your cheek as he coos, "not so small now, huh? it's like your body knows who it belongs to."
the man only just begun and doesn't think your thighs shaking around his waist was enough for you to understand to never say that again, not when your mouth falls open with a strangled moan of his name, not when you attempt to whine that it's too much when he just shushes you sweetly with his soft lips.
"hm, i forgot i'm dating a comedic," he says it like it hurts him and for a second, you see it flicker in his eyes, real heartbreak, or just feigned innocence? before his gaze twists into something dark, near devotional, "princess, oh princess," he coos, grabbing your face in both hands and fucking into you slow and tender like he's trying to reach your heart from underneath, "no, you don't mean that, you're just being cruel, aren't you? just trying to get me to break?"
his cock pulses deep inside you, thick and dragging over every trembling ridge of your cunt as your toes curl and your legs kick just a little, involuntary from the stretch, "you feel that, baby? you feel how your pussy's milking me already? tell meâ does something small make your breath hitch like that?"
to caleb, there was nothing more mesmerizing than hearing your voice falling apart, adoring it whenever he's making you taste the consequences of every bratty little lie you've told him, "oh, you're perfect, you're so damn tight i can feel everything, you're gonna take it all for me, every inch, yeah? and then i'll ask if you still think it's small, okay?"
your whines come out in shattered bursts, your vision blurring as your body clenches around him, mind fraying at the edges from the slow, relentless drags of his thick cock grazing at your walls, in fact, you're shaking under him as he plays with your body, brain emptied by the way he keeps filling you up.

©2025 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify, claim as your own
5K notes
·
View notes
Text
yes
The gang is growing
ADHD Rafayel, Autism Zayne, and Depression Caleb
5K notes
·
View notes
Text
aftercare with zayne

synopsis: after squeezing out everything you've got, hetakes care of you.
tags: fluff, brief mentions of sex,praising, mentions of accidental orgasm, bathing, cuddles
featuring: 黿·± zayne
zayne is not only exceptional during intercourse, but he is also magnificent in aftercare.
youâre panting on the bed, recovering from your last orgasm with his arms wrapped around you in warm comfort, his breath hovering above your ears, filling them with praise. âyou took me so well,â âso pretty, so perfect,â âi love you.âit only made you blush more, shyly accepting the reassurance. but as tired the both of you were, neither wanted to wake up sticky and crusty with bodily fluids.
zayne pulls away first, gently removing his softened cock from your spent cunt. he reaches for the nightstand, pulling out wet tissues to clean most of the mess up. his fingers work from your thighs, sticky with your arousal, to your folds, careful not to touch your swollen and oversensitive clit. especially after that one time he was cleaning up and didnât even notice bringing you to another peak, his digits moving a bit too thoroughly.
he will 100% make sure you go to the toilet, even if youâre all sore, whiny and already falling asleep. heâs not letting you get any infections, not on his watch.Â
heâs filling a glass with water right after, handing it to you along with some tylenol. he knows how sore you can get. before you even know it, the bath is already filled and ready with a lavender bath bomb sizzling in the peace of the evening (or maybe nightđ€).
his hands gently lower you down in the tub before sinking in behind you, grabbing a sponge and your favourite shower gel. he memorised your routine perfectlyâsoak for 5 to 10 minutes, scrub with brush, rinse, shower gel, shave, lotion. although you both were too lazy for all that.
scrubbing each otherâs heads with shampoo, heâs looking at you adoringly. you donât even realiseâpoor girl with myopia (the struggle is realđ). heâs showering you with questions: âhow did it feel?â, âare you sore?â, âwas i too rough?â, âdid i bite too hard?â, and before he musters a single more word, you shush him with a tender and loving kiss, reassuring him that everything was perfect (except for the soreness partâyouâre not walking properly for the whole day).
after the bath, heâs putting you in a fresh silky nightgown, straight from the dryer, crispy clean and pulling a matching robe on himself.Â
after he gives you a massage, you spend the rest of the night cuddling. limbs tangled in each other, your head pressed against his chest and his against your hair, stroking your back with absentminded shapes as you sleep. the more he feels your heart against his abdomen, the more he gets sleepy, until eventually, both are asleep in each otherâs arms.Â
author's note: first fic, kinda nervous to post thisđ. been thinking about how zayne would take care of us, considering how much hes's obsessed with keeping us healthy(love it tho, dont get me wrong). anyways, credits to whoever made the dividers and banner, i just found them on pinterest without any credits
#lads smut#lads zayne#love and deepspace#zayne love and deepspace#zayne smut#zayne x reader fluff#zayne x you#zayne x y/n#l&ds zayne#lnds zayne
611 notes
·
View notes
Text
not what i usually reblog but this is too good not tođ
Evermore

PAIRING: Zayne x Non-MC!Reader
SUMMARY: You have spent your life inside hospital walls, your world stitched together with IV lines, late-night alarms, and the quiet acceptance that some things cannot be fixed. You've been passed from one doctor to another, another test, another trial â all chasing a miracle that never came. Somewhere along the way, you stopped waiting for tomorrow.
But life, in its quiet cruelty and unexpected grace, gives you something you never thought to ask for â a glimpse of another world. A different kind of heartbeat, steady and sure, weaving its way into your fragile one. Moments you never believed you could have: laughter, longing, dreams too big for a hospital bed.
You don't know how long it will last. You don't even know if you dare hope for more.
But when the night is quiet and the snow falls just right, you let yourself believe â for one stolen breath â that maybe your story isn't meant to end here.
Maybe, somehow, you are just beginning.
WORD COUNT: 9.5k

You're dying.
For as long as you can remember, you've known more of hospitals than your own house. It's gotten to a point where when you think of home, it's not a cozy living room or the scent of your mother's cooking that surfaces â it's the sterile, cold corridors of Akso Hospital. The beeping machines. The too-white sheets. The antiseptic sting in the air. That's home.
You've been passed from hospital to hospital like a worn file folder, a case study waiting for a miracle. Doctors, researchers, specialists â all curious, all clinical. Some of them smiled too brightly when they poked at you; others barely met your eyes as they dictated notes into recorders. No matter their faces, it was always the same: a child with a heart too fragile for the world she lived in. Congenital heart disease, they'd say, like it was a sentence you had to carry. Words like hypoplastic, cardiomyopathy, degeneration slipped off their tongues without a second thought.
Research papers had been written about you. Trials run, theories floated, hands reaching inside your chest like gods trying to rewrite fate. But there was no saving you. Not really. Only delaying the inevitable.
At some point, death stopped being a frightening monster lurking at the end of the hallway. It became a quiet fact. A gentle inevitability. Like winter following fall. Like the last leaf leaving the branch. Sometimes you even think of it fondly â a release from the endless pricks of needles and the sting of failed hope.
You don't cry about it anymore. You stopped doing that years ago.
But there are still things that ache. Things that death doesn't erase. Like the school uniforms you never wore. The scraped knees you never had from playground games. The friendships you only knew from books and half-forgotten fairy tales read to you by bored nurses. You grew up surrounded by adults: brisk nurses with kind smiles, tired doctors with far-off eyes, other patients far older than you. No childhood secrets whispered under blankets at sleepovers. No first crushes shared during recess.
Just you, and the slow ticking of monitors, and the muted conversations outside your door.
Today is supposed to be your sixteenth birthday. A milestone for most kids â laughter, cake, maybe even a little rebellion. You asked for so little. Just a single scoop of ice cream. Something sweet, something that would make you forget, just for a second, that you're broken inside.
Maybe your body decided it was too much joy. Maybe it was just bad timing. Whatever it was, the chest pain started fast and sharp, a blooming fire that stole your breath and sent the world spinning. They rushed you to the ICU, alarms blaring, voices cutting through the fog of your consciousness.
Doctor Li was there, of course. He's always there. A steady presence when everyone else felt like passing shadows. You caught glimpses of his furrowed brow, the tightness in his voice as he barked orders you were too far gone to understand. He was fighting for you. He always did.
The world blurred. Faded. You remember thinking â distantly â how strange it was to die with the taste of vanilla on your tongue.

You don't die that night. Not yet.
But something inside you, small and bright and hopeful, dims just a little more.
The next few days bleed together in a haze of machines and murmured reassurances. You drift in and out of shallow sleep, tethered to the world by the soft beeping of your heart monitor and the cool, practiced touch of the nurses adjusting your IVs. Doctor Li checks on you more than usual â lingering longer at your bedside, as if afraid that if he looks away, you might simply vanish.
You hear snatches of conversation sometimes. Fragments that weren't meant for your ears.
"She stabilized, but barely." "Should we consider moving her back to the general ward?" "Give her time. Let her rest."
Itâs strange how even in survival, you feel like a guest overstaying her welcome.
On the third day, you notice a figure lingering near the doorway. Not a nurse â theyâre always in motion, efficient and brisk. Not Doctor Li, either â this figure carries a stiffness to his stance, a sharpness that cuts into the sterile quiet.
You glance over, disinterested. A boy, maybe a few years older than you, dressed in street clothes that look out of place in the hospitalâs sanitized world. Dark hair that falls messily into his eyes, a scowl permanently etched across his face like it was born there. He shifts his weight from foot to foot, like he doesn't want to be here.
You recognize the look immediately â resentment barely contained behind a mask of detachment.
You turn your head away. You couldn't care less.
Let him glare. Let him hate. Youâre used to people looking at you like that â like youâre an inconvenience, a burden. Youâve spent your whole life apologizing for existing, even when your lips stayed silent.
He says nothing to you, and you say nothing to him.
Good. Silence is easier. Cleaner.
Later, you hear the nurses whispering about him.
"Doctor Liâs son. Came straight from his graduation. Poor kid." "Must be hard, sharing your father with the hospital." "He'll understand someday. Sacrifices have to be made."
You don't understand why any of it matters. To you, heâs just another shadow passing through your world. Another person whose life will keep moving forward, even when yours stands still.
You close your eyes and let the steady rhythm of the heart monitor lull you back into sleep.
Tomorrow will come. Or it wonât. It hardly makes a difference.

Tomorrow comes. And then the day after that.
Somehow, despite everything, you keep breathing.
You're moved out of the ICU eventually, back into the quieter, less urgent wing of Akso Hospital that has become more familiar than any childhood bedroom you never had. The walls here are softer shades of green, the windows wide and bright â an illusion of freedom you stopped believing in a long time ago.
Your days fall into a familiar rhythm: early morning blood draws, midday vitals checks, whispered conversations with nurses who treat you like a little sister they can't protect. You read when you can, mostly battered romance novels left behind by old patients, and sometimes you simply lie there, counting the cracks in the ceiling tiles like they hold some secret map to a life youâll never live.
And Zayne âhe starts appearing again.
At first, itâs just glimpses. A flash of dark hair down the corridor, the low murmur of his voice when he trails after Doctor Li during rounds. He doesnât look at you. Not directly. He keeps his gaze clipped to charts and clipboards, face tight with the kind of focus you recognize all too well: the kind born from trying to control what canât be fixed.
You wonder â briefly â why he keeps coming back.
Most people your age would run from a place like this. Wouldn't they? Chase the world outside with hungry hands, desperate to live, to feel something more than fluorescent lights and beeping machines.
But Zayne stays.
He stands at his father's side, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his lab coat, frowning at words too complicated for you to care about. He listens when Doctor Li explains your charts, your declining numbers, the latest tests they want to run. Sometimes he asks questions, voice low and rough around the edges.
You don't bother trying to hear the answers.
Youâve long stopped hoping anyone had any real ones to give.
Still... You notice things.
The way his shoulders stiffen when Doctor Li mentions your heartâs deterioration. The quick, darting glances he thinks you donât catch when you wince from another IV insertion. The rare moments his mouth tightens in something almost like frustration, or helplessness.
You pretend you don't see. You pretend it doesn't matter.
Because it doesn't. You have learned, through years of slow dying, that getting attached only makes the leaving harder.
And you â you have always been leaving.

It happens on an afternoon like any other.
The kind where the sun slices through the window just enough to make you ache for the world outside â a world youâve only seen in pictures and half-forgotten dreams.
Youâre sitting up in bed, a book resting on your lap, though you havenât turned a page in what feels like hours. Your IV pole hums faintly beside you, the only real reminder that youâre still tethered here.
You hear footsteps before you see him. Not Doctor Liâs sure, even strides. Softer. Slower. Hesitant.
You glance up without thinking â and there he is.Â
Zayne.Â
Hovering awkwardly just inside your room, clutching a thick textbook to his chest like a shield. He's not wearing his usual scowl today. Instead, his face is carved into something tighter, more uncertain, as if he isn't quite sure whether he should even be standing here.
You raise an eyebrow, silently daring him to speak.
He clears his throat. It sounds painful.
"Iâ" he starts, then immediately cuts himself off, glancing away. His hand tightens around the book's spine.
You blink at him, unimpressed.
If heâs here to offer hollow pity or awkward small talk, he can save it. Youâve heard it all before â the forced conversations, the clumsy sympathy from visitors who can't even look you in the eye for long.
You drop your gaze back to your book, pretending he isn't there. Silence stretches thick and heavy between you.
For a moment, you think heâs going to retreat, like so many others have.
But he doesn't.
Instead, after a beat of hesitation, you hear him mumble â so quiet you almost miss it â "âŠThat bookâs terrible."
You freeze, your thumb hovering over the corner of the worn page.
Slowly, you glance up again. Heâs staring at the battered cover, expression wrinkling in disdain.
"I mean," he says, awkward and stiff, like every word is being dragged out of him by force, "the plot makes no sense. The heroine falls in love with a guy who literally tried to kill her in the first chapter."
You blink once. Twice.
And then, unexpectedly, a small huff of air escapes you â not quite a laugh, but close. You hadn't realized how long it had been since someone your age spoke to you like that. Not like you were breakable. Not like you were already halfway gone.
"Yeah," you say, voice hoarse from disuse, "but it's not like I've got a lot of options."
He shifts his weight, looking vaguely guilty now. Like he hadn't meant to insult your sad little world.
You watch him for a moment longer, studying the way he fidgets â a boy trying very hard not to look like he cares, even though itâs written in every line of his posture.
Without thinking, you extend the book toward him, offering it out like a peace treaty.
"Got any recommendations, then?"
He stares at you, startled. Like he wasnât expecting you to talk back. Like he wasn't expecting you to choose to talk to him.
Slowly, almost warily, he steps forward. Takes the book from your hand, fingers brushing yours for the briefest secondâwarm and real and alive.
Something small shifts in the air between you. Barely there. But you feel it all the same.
Maybe tomorrow he'll disappear again. Maybe youâll still die before you ever really know him.
But right nowâfor the first time in a long, long whileâyou donât feel quite so alone.
The next day, you donât expect him to come back.
People make gestures sometimes â quick, impulsive things born of guilt or pity. Youâve learned not to get your hopes up. You've learned not to expect anyone to stay.
But late in the afternoon, as the sun dips low and the room fills with that golden, aching kind of light, you hear familiar footsteps outside your door. Slower, more deliberate this time. No shuffling nurses, no hurried doctors.
You glance up from your spot on the bed just as Zayne leans into the doorway, one hand shoved deep into the pocket of his jacket, the other holding something behind his back like a guilty secret.
He doesnât say anything at first. Just looks at you, frowning faintly, like heâs annoyed to find you still there. (Or maybe annoyed with himself.)
You raise an eyebrow, a silent question.
He scowls a little deeper â a defense mechanism, you think â and mutters, "You said you didnât have good options."
Before you can reply, he pulls his hand from behind his back and tosses a book onto your bed.
It lands with a soft thud against the sheets, the cover facing up.
You blink at it, surprised. Itâs thick, heavier than the flimsy paperbacks you usually get stuck with, and worn around the edges like it's been read a dozen times. A fantasy novel, from the looks of it â something with sprawling kingdoms and sword fights and impossible magic.
You run your fingers lightly over the embossed title, almost afraid it might disappear.
"I had it lying around," he says quickly, too quickly. "Figured you could use something... less stupid."
You look up at him again, and this time you catch it â the faint pink dusting the tips of his ears, the way he can't quite meet your gaze.
You almost smile. Almost.
Instead, you trace the cover one more time, letting the weight of the book settle into your lap like something precious.
"...Thanks," you say, quiet but sincere.
Zayne shrugs, like itâs no big deal. Like he doesnât care. But he lingers a moment longer than necessary, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot.
Finally, he jerks his head toward the book. "Page ninety-seven is the best part," he says gruffly. "Don't skip to it, though. You have to earn it."
And with that, he turns and stalks off down the hallway, disappearing before you can say anything else.
You watch him go, your chest feeling strangely full, like someone had opened a window inside you after years of stale, closed-off air.
You pick up the book, flipping it open carefully. On the inside cover, in faded ink, thereâs a name scribbled messily: Zayne Li.
You smile â small, private, and fleeting.
Maybe you were wrong. Maybe not everyone leaves.
â
You tell yourself itâs just a book.
One book turns into two. Then three. Each one arrives without ceremony â sometimes left on your bedside table when youâre asleep, sometimes handed over with an awkward grunt and averted eyes. Always worn. Always loved.
And every single one of them â every single page â is littered with traces of him.
Little notes crammed into the margins. Sharp, neat handwriting in black ink. Observations. Sarcastic comments. Underlined passages with a single word beside them â you. Sometimes a whole phrase: this reminds me of you or you'd probably argue about this part.
Itâs like Zayne is sitting beside you as you read, muttering in your ear.
You devour the books hungrily. You savor every messy annotation like itâs oxygen.
The strange thing is â the words, the quiet thoughts he left scattered across the pages â they make you feel something. Something unfamiliar and terrifying. A buzzing under your skin, a pressure behind your ribs, too wild and heavy to name.
You tell yourself itâs nothing. You're just imagining things.
Until the night it isnât.
Youâre halfway through another novel â a sweeping, painful story about a dying girl and a boy who loved her too much â when it happens.
Your heart flutters.
Not in the way it usually does â the panicked, stuttering rhythm that sends alarms shrieking and nurses running. This flutter is different. Soft. Gentle. Terrifying.
You freeze, book slipping from your hands onto the bed.
For a second, you can't breathe â not from weakness, but from something that feels suspiciously like hope, like longing.
You panic. You hit the pager beside your bed, repeatedly.
Within seconds, your room explodes into motion â nurses flooding in, monitors flashing to life, Doctor Li himself arriving in a whirl of urgency.
They swarm you with equipment, prick your fingers, measure your heart rhythms. Voices rise and fall in a symphony of concern.
In the middle of it all, you sit there, dazed and mortified.
Because you realize â slowly, stupidlyâyouâre not dying.
Not yet. Not from this.
When the chaos finally ebbs, when the monitors hum their steady, forgiving rhythm again, Doctor Li kneels beside your bed and presses a gentle hand to your shoulder.
"Youâre alright," he says, voice warm and steady. "It was just... an excitement response. A little arrhythmia. Nothing dangerous."
You nod, face burning.
You don't tell him it wasn't excitement about life. It was about his son.
It was the first time in your memory that your heart had jumped not from fear, but from feeling something more.
It was a start.
Time moves strangely after that.
Weeks blend into months. Zayne visits more now â under the pretense of study sessions with his father, but you both know better. He still brings you books, still pretends it's nothing, but sometimes he stays to see which parts make you smile. You argue with him over characters. He rolls his eyes when you get too emotional. You learn the patterns of his dry humor, the sharp warmth hidden under his guarded exterior.
You learn him.
And, quietly, dangerously, you start to want more.
One afternoon, you find yourselves alone. Doctor Li is caught up in surgery. The nurses are busy elsewhere. The hospital is unusually quiet.
Zayne sits slouched in the chair beside your bed, tapping a pen against his knee. Youâre thumbing through the latest book he loaned you â a nonfiction this time, something about stars and deep space, endless distances that make your small, fragile life feel even smaller.
For a while, you exist in comfortable silence.
Then, without looking at you, Zayne says, "You know youâre sick. Really sick."
It's not a question. It's a fact, laid bare between you.
You close the book slowly, pressing your palm flat against the cover to keep your hands from shaking.
"I know," you say, voice barely a whisper.
Zayne leans forward, elbows resting on his knees, his gaze fixed somewhere on the floor.
"I want to fix it," he says roughly. "Iâm studying to fix it."
You stare at him, heart twisting.
"You can't," you say, almost gently. "Nobody can."
His jaw tightens. His fingers curl into fists against his thighs.
"I have to," he mutters. "Otherwise... what's the point?"
The words hang there between you â raw, desperate, infuriatingly beautiful.
You swallow hard, feeling the sting of tears behind your eyes.
"You don't have to waste your life on me," you say. "You have your own future. Your own world."
Finally, he lifts his head and looks at you â really looks at you. And in his dark, tired eyes, you see it.
The stubbornness. The grief. The terrible, trembling hope.
"I'm not wasting it," he says.
He says it like an oath. Like a prayer.
And for the first time, you let yourself believe â just a little â that maybe, just maybe, you're not fighting alone anymore.

A rustle of cloth. The scrape of a chair being quietly pushed back.
You glance up from your book, startled to see Zayne standing by your bedside, a mischievous glint in his otherwise serious eyes.
He holds out his hand to you â palm up, steady.
"Come on," he says, voice low and urgent. "Before someone notices."
You stare at him like heâs lost his mind.
"Iâm not exactly mobile, in case you forgot," you say dryly, gesturing weakly at your IV stand and the tangle of wires monitoring your heart.
Zayneâs mouth tugs into the smallest, briefest smirk.
"I planned for that," he says.
He lifts a second IV pole from behind him â wheels it forward like a grand conspirator revealing his secret weapon. Itâs empty except for a few dummy wires and a hastily knotted hospital gown draped over it like camouflage.
You blink.
He actually planned this.
"You're insane," you whisper.
"Maybe," he says. "But so are you for trusting me."
You donât trust easily. You never have. But tonight â with the sterile hum of the hospital around you, and the fierce, reckless light in Zayneâs eyes â you find yourself reaching for his hand anyway.
His fingers curl around yours, warm and sure, and for the first time in a long while, you feel something electric under your skin â something alive.
Carefully, painstakingly, he helps you out of bed, maneuvering your real IV to look as inconspicuous as possible. You clutch his arm for balance, and he doesn't flinch or pull away. He just stands there, solid and steady, like he was built to hold you up.
Together, you slip out of your room and into the dimly lit hallway.
The hospital at night is a different world â softer, quieter, suspended in time. The usual sharp edges of sterile life blur into something almost magical.
Zayne leads you through the labyrinth of corridors, past empty nurses' stations and closed doors, moving like a ghost through his second home.
You don't ask where you're going. You trust him.
Eventually, he pushes open a heavy door, and you find yourself on the hospitalâs rooftop.
The cool night air hits you like a blessing. Linkon city sprawls out below you, lights blinking like a thousand tiny stars scattered across the dark.
Above you, the real stars stretch in endless constellations, faint but stubborn, refusing to be erased by the city's glow.
You stand there, breathing in the night, the IV pole at your side forgotten for a moment.
Zayne leans against the railing, his arms crossed over his chest, watching you with an unreadable expression.
"This," he says, tilting his chin toward the sky, "is the closest I could get to taking you out of here."
You stare up at the heavens, feeling something bloom painfully in your chest.
"Youâre not supposed to do this," you whisper, but thereâs no anger in your voice. Only wonder.
Zayne shrugs. "Sue me."
You laugh â a small, broken sound â and he turns his head slightly, like he wants to hear it again but is too proud to ask.
For a long time, you just stand there. Two kids on a rooftop. One dying, one refusing to let her go quietly.
Finally, you glance over at him.
"Thank you," you say simply.
His mouth twitches â the barest ghost of a smile.
"Youâre welcome," he mutters.
Then, after a beat:
"Youâre not allowed to die yet, by the way."
You blink at him, startled.
"Thatâs an order," he adds, looking away as if embarrassed. "Doctorâs orders."
You bite back the emotion swelling in your throat, smiling instead. Because you realize, deep down, you donât want to die yet. Not if thereâs still more of this.
Not if thereâs still more of him.
After that first night, the rooftop becomes your place.
You and Zayne never talk about it. You never plan it. It just happens â an unspoken ritual.
Whenever the nights are quiet and the staff is distracted, he appears in your doorway with a raised eyebrow and a silent question.
You always nod.
And then you're off again â sneaking past monitors, wheels squeaking faintly, IV pole rattling slightly as you creep through the halls like co-conspirators against fate.
The rooftop feels almost sacred now.
Up there, the air smells less like bleach and more like possibility. Up there, you arenât just a patient strapped to machines â youâre alive.
Sometimes you talk. Sometimes you sit in silence.
You learn more about him â the way he hates instant coffee but drinks it anyway. His ridiculous sweet tooth. The way he grips the railing a little too tightly sometimes, like heâs afraid of losing control. How his smiles are rare but real, and he saves most of them for you.
And he learns about you â the real you, the one buried under layers of hospital gowns and medical files. He learns you love thunderstorms. That you used to dream of becoming an astronaut before you got too sick to dream at all. That youâre terrified, not of dying, but of being forgotten.
He listens. Really listens.
And something inside you, long frozen, starts to thaw.

You get stronger. Not in the way that matters medically â your charts still fluctuate, your heart still falters sometimes â but your spirit grows stubborn. Fierce. Hungry.
You start pushing yourself during physical therapy. You sit up longer. You fight to stay awake through bad days just so you can catch a glimpse of him passing by.
You want more time. You want more nights under the stars. You want more him.
And even if you donât say it out loud, you know he wants it too.
But the clock is always ticking.
Some nights, the pain comes back â sharp and sudden, clenching around your ribs like an iron hand. Some nights, the monitors scream and the nurses race in, and Zayne isn't allowed to visit until you're stabilized again.
On those nights, you stare at the ceiling and try not to think about how fleeting all of this is.
You wonder if he knows. If he feels it too â the way the future presses down on you both like a heavy, inevitable sky.
And then one night, when youâre both on the rooftop again, he blurts it out.
"Youâre getting worse," he says, voice low and tight.
You don't argue. You don't pretend.
Instead, you lean against the railing, the cold metal digging into your palms, and whisper, "I know."
You expect him to retreat. To shut down the way most people do when confronted with the ugly truth of you.
But Zayne just steps closer.
"Youâre still fighting," he says roughly. "Even when itâs pointless. Even when youâre scared."
You laugh â bitter, broken.
"There's no winning this," you say. "No miracle cure. You know that, don't you?"
He says nothing for a long time. Just stands there, breathing hard, like heâs holding back something too big for words.
Then, very quietly:
"Iâm still going to try."
You turn your head, meeting his gaze fully for the first time in what feels like forever.
Thereâs no pity there. No empty promises.
Only determination. Only him.
And for the first time, you allow yourself to lean just a little closer, resting your forehead against his shoulder.
He stiffens â startled â but then, slowly, carefully, he shifts so you fit against him better.
The IV line tugs against your arm. Your heart monitor blips faintly in the background.
But here, in this small, stolen moment, you aren't a diagnosis. You aren't a prognosis.
You're just a girl. And he's just a boy trying to save you.

The night it happens, youâre both too tired to pretend you're fine anymore.
The rooftop air is thick and heavy, the heat of the day still clinging stubbornly to the concrete. You sit cross-legged on a worn blanket Zayne smuggled from the staff lounge, your IV pole parked dutifully beside you, your heart monitor muted to a low, steady pulse.
Zayne lounges beside you, long legs stretched out, arms folded behind his head as he stares up at the stars.
Neither of you say much.
Words feel too heavy tonight. Besides, you donât need them.
The sky stretches overhead in an endless velvet sweep, pinpricked with faint light. Somewhere far below, Linkon city hums and breathes without you.
You turn your head slightly, watching him.
His face looks softer in the dark â the stern lines of his mouth eased, the tension usually buried in his shoulders melted away. You can see the faint smudges of exhaustion under his eyes, the little crease between his brows he probably doesn't even realize he has.
You realize â with a strange, aching clarity â that you want to remember this. You want to burn this version of him into your memory so you can carry it with you, no matter what happens.
Your eyelids grow heavier with each passing minute.
The monitors hum quietly beside you, a gentle lullaby.
Somewhere between one heartbeat and the next, your body leans sideways â just a little, just enough â and without thinking, without planning, you drift closer until your head finds his shoulder.
Zayne goes rigid at first â like someone just pulled a fire alarm inside his chest â but after a long, tense second, he shifts carefully, allowing you to settle against him.
You half-expect him to tease you. To make some snide remark.
But he doesn't.
Instead, he stays perfectly still, perfectly steady, like heâs afraid even breathing too loudly might wake you.
You don't remember falling asleep.
But you remember the feeling âsafe, warm, suspended in something fragile and golden âas you sink into dreams for the first time in months without fear clawing at your throat.
You wake up hours later to the faintest touch â Zayne carefully adjusting your IV line, his fingers clumsy with sleep, his eyes still heavy-lidded.
He blinks down at you, caught between guilt and something deeper, something raw.
"Sorry," he mutters, voice rough. "Didn't mean toâ"
You cut him off by curling a little closer, burying your face in the crook of his arm.
And for once, he doesn't argue. He just lets you stay.
Later, when youâre both back inside, tangled in warmth and silence, the question slips out before you can stop it.
Youâre still curled under your hospital blankets, the faint beep of your monitor filling the room like a heartbeat. Zayne sits in the chair beside your bed, scribbling distractedly in his med school notebook, but you know heâs only half-focused at best.
"Zayne," you say quietly.
He hums in response, not looking up.
"If you could have anything," you whisper, "anything at all⊠what would you wish for?"
He freezes, pen hovering midair.
The silence stretches so long you wonder if heâs going to answer at all.
Then, slowly, he sets the pen down. Leans forward, elbows braced on his knees.
Looks at you.
His eyes are tired and beautiful, reflecting every terrible truth you both carry.
"Iâd wish," he says slowly, like dragging the words out of his chest hurts, "for more time."
You open your mouth â to ask with who, to demand more clarity â but he beats you to it.
"With you," he says, voice breaking just slightly on the last word.
Your heart stumbles painfully in your chest â not from illness, not from fear, but from the sheer weight of him, of this.
You canât breathe.
You donât even realize youâre crying until heâs there, wiping a thumb under your eye, the touch so painfully gentle it almost undoes you completely.
He doesnât ask for anything more. He doesnât try to kiss you, or make promises he canât keep.
He just stays.
Because he knows. You both know.
This loveâwhatever it is, whatever itâs becomingâisnât about grand declarations or fairy-tale endings.
Itâs about now.
Itâs about this fragile, fleeting moment where you are still here, still breathing, still together.
And for tonight, thatâs enough.
The days that follow feel⊠different.
Itâs subtle at first â a lighter step in your walk, a softer smile tucked at the corners of your mouth â but itâs there.
Hope.
Tiny, fragile, impossible hope.
You donât dare speak it aloud â not when your body is still betraying you at every turn, not when your doctors still whisper in careful, practiced voices outside your room â but it grows inside you anyway. A stubborn little flame.
And itâs all because of him.
Because of the way Zayne looks at you now â not like a patient heâs sworn to protect, not like a lost cause â but like a person. A girl with dreams worth fighting for.

One night, when the hospital halls are unusually quiet and the rooftop is bathed in a silver wash of moonlight, you find yourself blurting it out.
Your secret list.
The things you thought you had buried.
"I want to see snow," you whisper, breath misting faintly in the cold. "I want to dance without an IV pole dragging beside me." A soft, broken laugh slips from your mouth. "I want to eat an entire cake without someone telling me itâs too much sugar."
You glance at him, embarrassed, cheeks hot. "And I want someone to kiss me like itâs the end of the world."
You expect him to laugh. Or worse, to pity you.
But Zayne just listens â really listens â every word sinking into him like gospel.
And when you fall silent, when you turn your face away to hide the burning in your chest, he steps closer.
"So weâll do it," he says simply, like itâs the easiest thing in the world. "Weâll do all of it."
You blink up at him, stunned.
"Zayneâ"
"I mean it," he cuts in, voice fierce and steady. "Whatever time we have â we use it. Every second. No regrets."
You want to believe him. God, you want it so badly your heart physically aches with it.
But youâve been burned by hope before. You know how cruel the world can be to people like you.
Stillâstillâ
The way he looks at you now, fierce and soft all at once âthe way he says we âyou think maybe, just maybe, itâs worth believing again.
"Okay," you whisper, a little breathless, a little terrified.
He smiles then â not the small, careful smirks youâre used to, but a real, breathtaking smile that lights up his whole face.
"Good," he says, offering his hand to you like itâs a promise.
You slip your fingers into his, and the night folds around you, carrying your fragile hopes into the stars.
Later, back in your bed, curled up under warm blankets and still clutching the memory of his hand in yours, you allow yourself to dream. Tiny dreams. Stupid, beautiful dreams.
You imagine catching snowflakes on your tongue with him. You imagine dancing barefoot in a field, laughing until your lungs ache for the right reasons. You imagine frosting on your nose, stolen kisses, clumsy hands trying to twirl you around. You imagine living â even if itâs just for a little while â like you were never sick at all.
You fall asleep smiling.

The night it happens, itâs unbearably hot â heavy, clinging summer air that sticks to your skin and makes the hospital walls feel even more suffocating.
Youâre dozing restlessly in your bed when he appears at your door.
Zayne.
His hair is a little messy, his white coat half-buttoned and wrinkled like heâs been moving fast â a little frantic, a little reckless. Heâs breathing hard, cheeks flushed from the sprint through the halls.
"Come with me," he says, without preamble.
You blink blearily at him, confused.
He doesnât explain. He just strides forward, unhooks your IV pole from the wall, checks the portable monitor strapped to your wrist, and mutters, "Youâre stable. Good enough."
Before you can protest, heâs wheeling you out of the room, fast and determined.
Your heart kicks wildly in your chest â a mix of fear and excitement and confusion â but you donât ask questions. You trust him.
You always have.
â
He leads you to the rooftop.
Itâs empty, quiet â the city sprawled out below you like a glittering sea.
The sky overhead is a deep, endless blue-black, scattered with stars.
And then â
Zayne closes his eyes.
Takes a slow, steady breath.
And the world shifts.
It starts slowly â a faint chill curling into the warm summer air, the barest shimmer of cold gathering around him.
Then, with a soft, almost imperceptible hum, it begins to fall.
Snow.
Tiny crystalline flakes drift from the sky, swirling in delicate, shimmering patterns.
You gasp â a real, sharp, alive sound â and reach out instinctively.
A flake lands on your fingertip, melting instantly against your warm skin.
"You said you wanted to see snow," Zayne murmurs, voice low and a little shy. "Real snowâs impossible right now, butâŠ"
He trails off, lifting a hand helplessly, as if embarrassed.
As if this miracle heâs created isnât enough.
Tears prick at the corners of your eyes.
You can't speak. You can't even think.
You just stand there, under the impossible snowfall, heart thundering in your chest like it might break free entirely.
He watches you â watches the wonder bloom across your face â and his own expression softens, the usual tension bleeding out of his shoulders.
And thenâ
As if the night wasnât already enoughâ
He pulls something out from behind a nearby bench.
A small, messy cake.
Lopsided. Clearly homemade. Icing smeared unevenly across the top.
"I made it," he says gruffly, ears turning pink. "Donât laugh."
You laugh anyway â a bright, broken sound â and it feels good, like sunlight bursting through storm clouds.
He steps closer, offering you a plastic fork.
You scoop a big, absurdly sugary bite and shove it into your mouth without hesitation, icing smearing at the corner of your lips.
Zayne chuckles under his breath â a rare, breathtaking sound â and reaches out with a thumb to wipe the frosting away.
The touch lingers longer than necessary.
The world slows down.
And you realize â you don't want this moment to end. You donât want to forget any of it.
Your heart is pounding so hard now itâs probably setting off alarms somewhere inside the hospital.
But you don't care.
Because thenâhe sets the cake aside.
Takes your hand in his.
The snow still falls around you, shimmering under the rooftop lights.
He doesnât say a word.
He just pulls you into a slow, clumsy dance â his hand on your waist, your IV line dragging along but forgotten, your feet stumbling awkwardly in hospital socks â and you laugh again, breathless and giddy and so impossibly alive.
You sway together, turning in small circles, the city spinning lazily beyond the rooftopâs edge.
You think maybe your heart is breaking and mending all at once.
You think maybe youâre falling in love.
And when the song of the night winds down to a hush, when youâre standing chest-to-chest and heâs looking down at you with that unbearably soft expression â
You rise up on your toes.
Just a little.
Just enough.
And you kiss him.
Soft.
Gentle.
Trembling with all the things youâre too scared to say.
It isnât perfect â your noses bump, youâre both a little off balance â but it doesnât matter.
Because itâs real.
Because itâs yours.
Because itâs every wish you never dared to make coming true at once.
You pull back a fraction, resting your forehead against his, breathing in the cold he summoned just for you.
Neither of you speaks.
You don't have to.
Everything you feel is written in the way his thumb strokes over your wrist, in the way your fingers curl desperately into the fabric of his shirt.
You are here.
You are together.
For however long you have left.
And for now, for tonight, that's enough.

The plan takes a week to set in motion.
Doctor Li is cautious, of course â his worry etched in the lines around his tired eyes â but in the end, he agrees.
Maybe because he sees the way you light up now, the way your charts have stabilized just a little, like your heart has found something worth fighting for.
Or maybe because he remembers â painfully â what life is supposed to feel like outside sterile hospital walls.
Clearance is granted. Nurses fuss and fret, loading your bag with medications and emergency supplies, setting strict curfews and contingencies.
But you donât care about any of that.
Because when Zayne wheels you out the front doors into the bright, wild world, it feels like stepping into another life entirely.
The city is buzzing, golden sunlight pouring like honey over everything.
And the park â oh god, the park! It's huge and sprawling and alive, filled with the scent of blooming flowers and the sound of children laughing.
Zayneâs hand never leaves yours as he leads you through winding paths, under archways draped in climbing roses, past glittering fountains that catch the light like tiny rainbows.
Youâre breathless with wonder. Breathless and alive.
At one point he finds an empty patch of grass, drops a threadbare blanket he must have stolen from the hospital laundry, and you sit side by side under a tree, dappled sunlight dancing across your skin.
For a long time, you just exist.
Breathing.
Laughing.
Watching the clouds drift by like lazy ships.
And then â quietly, almost shyly â Zayne starts talking about the future.
"Our own place," he says, tracing patterns in the air. "A tiny apartment, the kind where you can hear the neighbors arguing through the walls. We'd have to get a cat. Or a dog. Or both."
You laugh, heart aching sweetly.
He grins, warmed by your smile, and keeps going, voice steady and dreaming.
"I'd cook. You'd probably hate it. Youâd tease me until I ordered takeout."
You close your eyes, letting his words wash over you like a blessing.
"And somedayâŠ" His voice falters, softens. "If you wanted â we could travel. Anywhere. Everywhere. Mountains, oceans. Iâd show you real snow."
You open your eyes, finding him already watching you.
Thereâs a look in his gaze thatâs almost unbearable in its tenderness.
"Youâll see everything," he murmurs, like a vow. "Iâll make sure of it."
You smile.
You don't say what youâre thinking â that youâd be happy seeing anything at all, so long as heâs standing beside you.
You just tuck the dream away, precious and impossible, into the quiet spaces of your heart.
You spend the afternoon like that.
Eating terrible ice cream from a street vendor.
Dancing barefoot in the grass even when your knees wobble and Zayne has to catch you, laughing into your hair.
Taking blurry, ridiculous photos with his phone â him pulling faces, you struggling to keep a straight one.
You are tired beyond words when you return to the hospital â every muscle aching, your chest tight with strain â but you are happy.
So unbearably, blissfully happy.
For the first time in your life, you feel like you belonged to the world.
Like maybe you could carve a little piece of it for yourself after all.

But happiness, you learn, is a fragile thing.
Easily shattered.
Easily lost.
It starts slowly.
A missed heartbeat here. A dizzy spell there.
Nothing you havenât dealt with before.
Nothing serious.
At least, that's what you tell yourself.
You donât want to worry Zayne. You donât want to darken the light heâs given you.
But soon itâs undeniable.
You canât catch your breath after simple movements.
Your fingers tremble when you try to hold a fork.
Your chest burns with a constant, gnawing ache that no amount of oxygen seems to soothe.
Zayne notices, of course.
Heâs not stupid.
And heâs terrified.
The night you collapse in your room â monitors screaming, nurses rushing in a panic â Zayne shoves through the crowd like a force of nature, wild-eyed and desperate.
Heâs the one who grabs your hand as they work frantically around you. Heâs the one who keeps whispering your name, again and again, like he can anchor you here just by speaking it.
"Donât," he chokes out, voice cracking for the first time since youâve known him. "Donât you dare give up. Not now."
Youâre so tired.
God, youâre so tired.
Your vision flickers, the world tilting dangerously, but you find his face â blurry, beautiful â and focus on him with everything you have left.
"Iâm so close," he says, begging now. "Iâm almost there. Just a little longer â I swear â Iâll find a way â"
You smile.
Small. Broken.
You feel your heart weaken again â a tangible, physical slip inside your ribcage â but you hold his gaze.
You donât have the strength for promises you canât keep.
But you can give him this:
"Iâll try," you whisper.
Itâs the truth.
Itâs everything you can offer.
And itâs enough to make his fingers tighten around yours like he can hold you here by sheer force of will.
Like maybe love alone could be enough to save you.

Itâs snowing again.
But not like before.
Not like rooftop snow under hospital lights, summoned from Evol and desperation.
This snow is real â thick, heavy flakes falling from a grey sky, the kind you can lose yourself in.
Youâre standing in the middle of a wide, open field. Everything around you is blanketed in pure white.
And heâs there.
Zayne.
Not in a lab coat. Not with tired eyes and trembling hands. But whole.
Bright.
Smiling that rare, breathtaking smile he saves only for you.
"You made it," he says, voice warm as he reaches for you.
You laugh â really laugh â the sound echoing across the empty field like a song.
Your body moves easily, no wires tethering you, no weight dragging at your limbs.
You run to him.
You run.
He catches you effortlessly, arms wrapping around your waist, lifting you off your feet in a dizzying, laughing spin.
"You kept your promise," you murmur against his shoulder.
"I told you," he says simply, "I'd show you everything."
You donât want to let go.
You donât ever want to let go.
And so you donât.
You stay like that â pressed against him, his heartbeat steady and sure under your palm â as the snow falls heavier, swirling around you like a blessing.
You close your eyes.
You dream bigger.
You see it all â the tiny apartment, the noisy neighbors, the stupid cat knocking over potted plants.
Burnt pancakes in the morning.
Train tickets to everywhere.
Laughing on crowded streets in cities you can't even pronounce.
Wedding rings slipped onto shaking fingers.
A life.
A real, messy, miraculous life.
With him.
Always, with him.
And for one shining, impossible momentâyou believe.
You believe youâll live long enough to see it.
You believe you already have.

The world is harsh when it drags you back.
Cold.
Bright.
Noisy.
You blink against the glare of fluorescent lights, the steady beeping of machines surrounding you.
The familiar, sterile scent of antiseptic stings your nose.
ICU.
Again.
You shift slightly â everything aches â and feel the tug of new wires and IVs threaded into your skin.
And then â
Warmth.
A hand.
Wrapped around yours.
You turn your head with effort.
And find him there.
Zayne.
Slumped in a chair too small for him, still in his hospital scrubs, dark circles bruising his eyes.
Sleeping.
But even in sleep, he doesnât let go of you.
His hand is firm, steady, fingers laced with yours like a lifeline.
You watch him â your heart aching with something too big, too fierce to name.
You donât move.
You donât dare wake him.
Because for now â for this fragile, precious moment â you are still here. He is still here.
And thatâs enough.
â
You donât know how long you just lie there, feeling his hand wrapped tightly around yours, listening to the steady blip of your own heartbeat on the monitors.
Youâre so tired. But you're also⊠at peace.
Eventually, he stirs.
A soft, broken noise leaves him â like even sleep canât protect him from whatever war heâs fighting inside.
And when his eyes blink open, dazed and bloodshot, they land on you immediately.
For a moment, he just stares. As if he doesn't quite believe youâre real.
As if he's terrified you'll vanish if he blinks again.
"Hey," you rasp, your voice barely more than a whisper.
His face crumples.
He surges forward, pressing his forehead against your joined hands, squeezing so hard it almost hurts.
"You're awake," he breathes, voice wrecked with relief and exhaustion. "God â you're awake."
You manage a smile â small, but real.
"I wasnât gonna miss your dramatic collapse," you joke, because you have to. Because the alternative â the raw fear in his eyes â is too much to bear.
It works, a little.
A huff of helpless laughter shudders out of him.
"You scared the hell out of me," he mutters against your knuckles, his breath shaking.
"You scare me all the time," you tease, lighter now, though your chest aches with every word. "But Iâm still here."
He lifts his head, looking at you like you're something sacred.
"You have to stay," he says fiercely. "You have to â just a little longer âplease âI'm so close âI swearâ"
Your heart twists.
Heâs been saying that for so long. So many promises. So much hope.
You wish you could bottle it up and drink it, let it heal you from the inside out.
You reach up, fingers brushing his jaw, feeling the stubble that wasn't there yesterday.
"I know," you whisper. "I know you're trying. Iâm trying, too."
Your hand falls back to the bed, too heavy to hold up.
His hand follows immediately, cradling it again like he can shield you from the whole world.
"I canât lose you," he says, so quietly you almost donât hear it.
His thumb strokes over your knuckles, desperate and tender all at once.
"You won't," you whisper.
Itâs a lie, and you both know it.
But itâs a kind lie.
The kind you tell someone when love outweighs truth.
His eyes glisten, wet and angry and afraid.
"Youâre going to live," he says, like itâs a fact. Like he can will it into existence.
"I'll make sure of it," he vows, fierce and breaking. "Iâll tear the world apart if I have to."
You smile again â soft and sad and full of all the things you don't have the strength to say.
You believe him. You always believe him.
Even now, when your body feels like itâs slipping further away from you with every beat.
Even now, when you know some promises are too big for this world.
You squeeze his hand weakly.
"I love you," you whisper before you can stop yourself.
Itâs the first time youâve said it out loud.
The first and â you know â maybe the last.
He lets out a broken, shuddering sound, and leans forward until his forehead rests against yours.
"I love you more," he whispers back, trembling.
"I love you enough to move heaven and earth if that's what it takes."
You close your eyes.
You let yourself believe it.
Just for a little while longer.
Just until the morning comes.

The days bleed together in a haze of too-bright mornings and too-quiet nights.
Sometimes youâre strong enough to sit up, to laugh a little when he brings you sweets hidden in his bag, the ones the nurses pretend not to see.
Sometimes you canât even lift your head.
But he never leaves.
Zayne is there through all of it â a constant, stubborn presence.
He drags a battered medical textbook everywhere he goes, flipping through it with growing desperation between moments spent at your side.
You catch him muttering to himself sometimes â notes, formulas, theories â a language only he and the universe seem to understand.
His eyes never lose that fierce, determined light. Not even when the others â the nurses, the doctors, even his father â start looking at you with that pitying softness usually reserved for lost causes.
Zayne refuses.
Refuses to believe you are anything less than a miracle still waiting to happen.
And for a while, you let him.
You let yourself believe it too.
You dream together â quietly, in snatches of exhausted conversation.
Little things.
Trips youâll take. Places youâll see. A life waiting just beyond the next sunrise.
You fall asleep with his hand in yours, and for a moment, you almost think youâll wake up to that future.
Almost.

It happens in the middle of the night.
At first, it's nothing.
A shiver.
A slight breathlessness.
You're used to it. You think youâll ride it out like all the others.
But then the pain hits.
A blinding, seizing agony in your chest that knocks the air from your lungs.
Monitors shriek. Nurses rush in. The world explodes into chaos.
Youâre distantly aware of Zayne shouting â your name over and overâhis voice cracking in a way youâve never heard before.
You try to find him â try to reach out â but your limbs are so heavy, your vision swimming.
You catch one glimpse â just one â of him being dragged back by hospital staff, his face twisted in a raw, desperate kind of terror that tears something deep inside you.
You want to tell him itâs okay. You want to tell him youâre not afraid.
But you canât speak.
You canât even breathe.
And as the darkness rushes up to meet you âyou think, faintly â
Iâm sorry.

Heâs still holding your hand.
Hours later, long after the machines have fallen silent.
Long after the nurses have cried quietly behind the curtains.
Long after his father stood at the door, silent and broken, and then walked away because he couldn't bear to watch his son shatter.
Zayne is still there.
Head bowed, shoulders shaking.
Your hand cradled in both of his like itâs the only thing keeping him tethered to the earth.
"Come on," he whispers, voice hoarse and raw. "Come on â you promised. You said youâd try â"
He presses your hand to his mouth, breathing you in like maybe he can still find some piece of you, some lingering spark that he can fan back to life.
"You can't leave yet," he says, broken. "Iâm not ready â Iâm notâ"
The words dissolve into a rough, gasping sob.
Itâs not fair.
You were supposed to have more time.
You were supposed to see the world, to laugh and dance and live.
You were supposed to have a lifetime â not just borrowed days.
Zayne buries his face against your cold fingers.
He doesnât care who sees.
Doesnât care if itâs undignified or messy or hopeless.
You loved him.
And he loved you.
Enough to move mountains.
Enough to break himself into pieces trying to save you.
Enough to hold onto you, even now â even when the world is cruel enough to have taken you away.
"Iâm sorry," he chokes out against your skin. "Iâm so sorry â I wasnât enough â"
It isn't true. You would have told him that if you could. You would have told him he was always enough.
But all that's left is silence.
Zayne stays there, long after the world outside your hospital room forgets.
Long after the snow he once summoned for you has melted away.
Long after the rest of the universe moves on.
He stays. Because love doesnât vanish with the heart that carried it. It lingersâstubborn and beautiful and devastating âlike the first snowfall on a summer night.
Just like you.

The rooftop hasnât changed much.
The same cracked tiles underfoot. The same rusted railings. The same battered bench, where once â a lifetime ago â two dreamers sat and imagined a future they could almost touch.
Zayne stands there now, a tall figure in a dark coat, hands tucked into his pockets against the cold.
Itâs snowing.
Soft, heavy flakes drifting down from a sky the color of mourning doves.
Exactly the way it did that night. The night he made it snow for you.
The night he watched you dance in the middle of summer, your laughter lighting up the world more than any stars ever could.
His throat tightens.
He tilts his head back, lets the snow kiss his skin.
Lets the memories wash over him â sharp and tender all at once.
"You'd hate this," he murmurs to the empty air, a wry smile ghosting across his face. "You always said snow was pretty, but cold was overrated."
The wind whistles softly around him, as if in agreement.
He closes his eyes.
He can almost see you â spinning in the falling snow, hands outstretched, that shy, luminous smile you only ever showed him.
Almost.
Zayne shifts, pulling something from his coat pocket â a small, delicate bouquet.
Not flowers.
Paper cranes.
Hand-folded, each one painstakingly creased.
A thousand wishes, a thousand promises.
He sets them carefully on the bench.
A silent offering to the girl who once taught him what it meant to dream â even if dreams donât always come true.
"I did it," he says quietly, voice rough.
"I kept my promise."
He swallows hard, staring out into the snowy city lights.
"I couldnât save you," he admits, the old grief still a raw, tender thing inside him. "But I saved others."
Hundreds of them.
Patients who would have died, now living because of the research, the surgeries, the relentless fire you lit inside him.
Because of you.
Always because of you.
Zayne breathes in deep, the cold burning his lungs, grounding him.
"I hope... wherever you are," he says, soft and sure, "you're proud."
The snow falls heavier now, blurring the edges of the world.
Zayne stands there a little longer, letting the silence wrap around him like a memory, like a prayer.
Finally, he turns to leave.
But before he goes, he glances back one last time âand for just a heartbeat âhe thinks he sees you.
Standing there in the snow, smiling. Weightless. Free.
He doesn't blink.
He just smiles back, tears blurring the world into stars.
"Happy anniversary, angel," he says.
And then he walks away, carrying you with him â in every beat of his heart. Always.
1K notes
·
View notes
Note
i dont remembet if i reblogged this or not bBUT OH GOD IM SO DOWN BAD
Dare I say edging the LaDS men.. specifically Sylus because I need that man to CRY from desperation even though he said he never does.
*Gasp* how dare you! 'Sylus' and 'edging' in one sentenceâ chain. me. DOOEEWWNNNNN!!!!
It's sooo fun to prove him wrong and break him:((
He thinks he can handle a little teasing, thinks itâs beneath him to fall apart just because youâre playing with him a bit.
He's the leader of an criminal organization afterall. Of course he loves you with all his heart but you making him cry? Oh please, spare him the fairytails.
Regardless, he humors you, letting you tie him down, cuffs and all, wrists to the headboard, just to see what his little kitten is up to.
The first time you edge him, he just scoffs.
âIs that it? C'mon, do your worst, sweetieâ, voice steady and jaw clenched, even though his twitching cock is telling another tale.
And you do just that and keep on edging him, over and over, he becomes all noise and no substance.
You ride him with slow grinds that bring him to the brink, whisper filthy things in his ear, and just as his bloated balls clench tight for the nth time tonight, cum ready to shoot out from his cockâ you stop.
And god forbid, he almost loses it when you hop off and swirl your tongue around his angry tip, but you pull off every time he gets anywhere close to the edge, leaving him a twitching mess, stroke him just right, then leave him panting, eyes wide.
His head presses back into the pillow in frustration and he begins to fight back against that uncomfortable feeling swelling at the corner of his eyes.
After some more time, his thighs are trembling, hips bucking upward involuntarily even when you're not touching him. Heâs still trying to act like heâs not desperate, but itâs slipping.
And you see it, that little shimmer in his eyes. The way he blinks too fast. The way he wonât dare look at you.
âSy',â you whisper, straddling him again, âAre you crying?â
He doesnât answer, eyes locked to the ceiling. His jaw is clenched so tight it might crack.
Now you got him.
Again and again, you stroke him slowly, thumb grazing the tip, while your other hand cups his cheek, mischevous grin on your lips as you speed up again, stopping right when his voice cracks. Again.
Fuck, fuck, fuck,âheâs breaking, heâs breaking, heâs gonnaâ
âPlease,â he whispers.
One word. One word followed by one tear. Just one, almost unnoticableâ sliding down his temple like the fall of a king.
âI donât cry,â he rasps, breath shaky, throat raw.
âNawww, you're so cute when you're in denial,â you whisper teasing smile of yours only frustrating him further.
And he comes undone once you finally let him finish, a sobbing mess, gasping like heâs been holding his breath for hours. The orgasm rips through him so hard it almost looks painful, like his whole body canât handle the release after being edged to the brink so many times.
Heâs crying through it, real tears slipping down his flushed cheeks, lips parted in a broken moan, voice cracking as he whimpers your name like itâs the only word he remembers. His thighs tremble uncontrollably, fists clutching at your shirt as he sobs into your shoulder, wet strains of salty tears clinging to your cloth.
And once you take his head in hand, fingers threading through sweat-damp hair, he canât even look at you. His cheeks are blotchy, eyes glassy and rimmed red, lips swollen from all the whining and crying. And when you tug him to face you, he sniffles like a wrecked little thing.
That poutâlower lip trembling, eyes wide and pleading like heâs begging you not to do it again, not to be so cruel, even though his cock twitches like he wants nothing more.
You squeeze the base of his cock, still leaking and line it up with your soaked, aching cunt again. He lets out this strangled, broken cry, hips twitching, thighs quivering as fresh tears well up in his eyes.
So cute.
His hands clutch weakly at the sheets, chest rising and falling in shallow pants as he sobs something incoherentâhalf your name, half a plea, you can't tell. You bottom out in one slow, aching roll of your hips, and his back arches like it physically hurts to feel this good again.
Adorable.
©ïžđđŒđđđ 2025. đđ„đ„ đ«đąđ đĄđđŹ đ«đđŹđđ«đŻđđ.
860 notes
·
View notes
Text
loveloveloveeeeeđ
âFREAK LIKE ME, YOU WANT A GOOD GIRL THAT DOES BAD THINGS.â

FEATURING: ć€ä»„æŒ CALEB & 黿·± ZAYNE
content warnings: nsfw, 18+ only (mdni), nerd!caleb and nerd!zayne (separate), possessive, overstimulation, spanking, oral (f&m receiving) , penetrative sex, brat-taming, fingering, edging, begging, mentions of âsensory deprivationâ and inappropriate use of evol.
authorâs note: soo um i love caleb n zayne đđ this is just me fantasising about them with short hcs of them as hot nerds in university.. lmk if u guys want more for them! (separate or together đł)
word count: 1.8kâŠ
hope you enjoy loves! kaori. đ
ć€ä»„æŒ áŻâ
CALEB
nerd!caleb, who yaps about his nerdy interests to you 24/7, never SHUTTING up. it could be when youâre laying in bed at night, the room pitched black and youâre more than ready to drift to sleep and engulfed in calebâs warm embrace; always insisting to be the the big spoon. he would run his large calloused hands over your body and shove his face in your neck before he starts whispering about derivatives in mathematics to irritate you. if only you werenât so comfortable and sleepy that youâd slapped his head away and fuss about him telling you unnecessary information that you didnât need for your course.
nerd!caleb, who insists that the both of you MUST study together or heâll be sad without you :((( youâre his comfort person and emotional support. he needs you around him at all times! unfortunately whenever you both try to study together he gets distracted and ends up telling you âdid you know?â fun facts about physics that makes you sigh the moment he starts.
nerd!caleb whoâs a guy that 100% has EVERYTHING written down about you in his phone and when it gets mentioned months after you told him, youâd be confused on why he knows because you forgotten that youâve told him!
nerd!caleb whoâs the type of guy to sneak up on you when you at home or appear unexpectedly on campus behind you just to quickly spin you around by the waist to kiss you. and itâs so sudden!! you always need to grasp on his sweater to ground yourself from not falling over.
nerd!caleb who lets you be independent to deal with your own problems but alwyas watches from a distance, ready to step in the moment he sees that you need him.
nerd!caleb who flexes his muscles in your face just because he knows how flustered you get and how he sees your eyes dart over his body before you turn away with a flushed face. it makes his lips curl into a boyish grin. so cute.
nerd!caleb who would buy jewelry with his initials or with some cute space trinkets just because he thinks youâd look pretty (totally not because he wants others to know youâre his.)
nerd!caleb who showers you with compliments everyday and takes care of you. making sure you eat and drink enough and that you KNOW that he is utterly helplessly in love with you and only you.
nerd!caleb whoâs stupidly smart, always topping all his classes and is the professors assistant that also helps to grade students work. how ironic that his girlfriend is barely passing the course. âno pipsqueak, i canât raise your gradeee. itâs against the rules,â he pouts. âbuuuut, if youâre willing to do me a special favourâŠmaybe i wonât mind.â he smiles cheekily. you scoff at his words.
nerd!caleb who overworks himself during finals and takes it out on you :(( he would be the MEANEST. heâd call you over for a study session but itâll always end up with him bending you over the table to fuck you stupid until you both turn into a babbling overstimulated mess. he just canât control himself either!
nerd!caleb who would reward you when you do well on your exams by making you cum over and over again on his tongue that it has you trying your very hardest to squirm away or push his head away. it never works though. he would simply just grab your wrists in one large hand and use the other to hold you down while he swipes his tongue over your clit even faster making you let out a pathetic sob.
nerd!caleb who would fuck you in missionary so that he could analyse every expression and twitch on your face, memorising every single movement with his piercing eyes as if he was trying to solve a difficult quantum mechanical equation. dont even try to turn your face away when youâre embarrassed!! he would simply just wrap his hand around your neck and force you to look at him. no, he doesnât care if your face is all flushed red or that you canât take it. he needs to study the way you look when you feel good.
nerd!caleb who starts spewing praises over and over when heâs about to orgasm. he will lean down and kiss you all over your neck and face as he thrusts harder and faster into you, ready to spill his hot, thick cum deep into your cunt. ân-ngh! what a good- ah! girl you areâ âyes yes yes princessâhnngh! cum with me please i need you.â
nerd!caleb who needs your scratch marks all over his back and practically wears it like cool battle scars but it only makes you embarrassed every time you see the red lines over his muscular biceps and back đ”âđ«đ”âđ«
黿·± ê© .á ZAYNE
nerd!zayne who is a little (just a little đ€ ) smug and egotistical about his academic intelligence because he truly is prodigious. everyone knows him for his achievements and also for having an insanely LETHALL facecard.
nerd!zayne who has fangirls who take the same course as him and try to come up to him to ask for help with their work. he doesnât even bat an eye in their direction before blatantly ignoring them before walking off to find his girl!!
nerd!zayne who surprisingly also spends a good portion of his time in the campus gym. as a future cardiologist, he has to stay fit right? unfortunately, that also means forcing YOU to work out with him. ânoo zayne, leave me alone and do your nerdy stuff by yourselfâ oh, he knows you hate it but he would throw you over his shoulder playfully and force you to come anyway. however, thatâs just because he wants to watch you all doe eyed, borderline drooling by the weight heâs manhandling so easily around the gym. (he just wants you to watch him but would never admit it)
nerd!zayne who would read every night before bed, having you curled up into his side. one hand on the book as the other holds you close to him as your eyes grow heavier and heavier.
nerd!zayne who would always help you with your homework if you were overwhelmed. no, it doesnât matter if you werenât in a medical course or not, he would always somehow know the answers or how to help you with your assignments. heâs practically your personal chat gpt..
nerd!zayne who would never admit that heâs jealous when he sees you acting friendly with other guys. and itâs obvious by the way he glares at them wordlessly that he IS possessive over his girl.
nerd!zayne who always has his arm around you in public but would never act overly PDA simply because he knows he canât control himself.
nerd!zayne who always backs you up in public even if he knows you were wont because he would NEVER talk down on his girl or scold you in front of others but oh so help him god if you were to act bratty or very unreasonable, letâs just say it makes him tick. the moment heâs got you alone, say goodbye to sitting comfortably for the next few days. he would bend you over his lap and spank you until you were crying with your arousal dripping down your thighs onto his lap. he would simply âtchâ before fucking his fingers into your cunt and rip them away before you cum and leave you like that as a punishment. my man is 100% a brat tamer.
nerd!zayne who obviously knows more about your body more than you. yes he may be training to be a cardiologist but do you really think he didnât learn about gynaecology? oh and he would not hesitate to use that against you in bed to turn you dumb and pliant for him. his fingers just know exactly where to press and prod, massaging those yummy spots inside your warm walls that leave you gasping and thighs trembling. you canât help but try to run away from the stimulation :(( âaww too much hon? itâs okay you can take it. you will.â
nerd!zayne who makes you hold eye contact with him while in the MEANESTT MATING PRESSâŠand if you look away, he would give you a firm spank on your clit that makes it even harder for your eyes not to roll to the back of your head as you cry out. he would also definitely have you on the edge and begging for it with tears in your eyes from his teasing. it just turns him on so bad that it makes him feral for you.
nerd!zayne who is the type of guy to 100% leave his glasses on as he fucks you dumb knowing that you gets so turned on by him in his framed glasses. the way they fog up as he eats you out or when fucking you and he lets out breathier pants. he would also leave his watch on while fingering you just to see your sticky juices drip down onto his forearm and turn the glass glossier. ânuh uh baby, donât hold back. you better cum all over my fingers or you wonât get my cock.â
nerd!zayne who would mark you up in places that only he can see and no one else. leaving love bites all over your inner thighs and chest. heâs a proud and firm believer that whatever happens between the both of you stays between you two. unless of course, you manage to piss him off and there might be a little hickey peeping out from the collar of your shirt.
nerd!zayne who would literally get the most enjoyment over you trying to dominate him. unfortunately, it always end up with you getting all whiny and whimpering about how youâre tired that of course heâll help his princess out by fucking her dumb :( hes more than happy to help!!
nerd!zayne who would definitely have a sensory deprivation kink. he would be into blindfolding you and using his evol on you as a type of âtemperature playâ knowing that youâre even more sensitive just to make you cum even harder by his cool touch. it brings him joy to hear your little sniffles and the slight jerks of your body.
BONUS!! something i think both of them would go insane over: đ€«
he would die to have you under his desk giving him the best head of his life whilst he tries to focus on completing his assignments but itâs just so hard when he can feel your soft sloppy tongue all over the tip of his needy cockhead while your hands pump up and down his dick.
ân-nngh!â hah! stop, angel-hnn! i canât focusâ heâd stutter with his eyes going nearly crosseyed when he looked down at the lewd state of his hot girlfriend sucking the life out of his dick while doing an assignment so important - worth 40% of his final grade!
eventually he would get tired of your teasing and grab you by the hair, dragging you up and away from his cock before pulling down your panties and stuffing you full that your tummy bulges with the outline of him side you. oh, he would fuck you so hard that you forget your own name and what you were even doing in the first place!
âalways gotta be such aângh- haah! fucking brat donât chaâ sweetheart?â
6K notes
·
View notes