i-am-a-bad-influence-writes

[i-am-a-bad-influence-writes]

Ordinary Chapter 10, Blood and Guts

Masterlist Word count: 1.4k Zayne x Fem!Reader

Summary: After seeing his best friend getting married to the love of her life, Zayne can't help but be a little jealous. He never had this feeling before. It's almost like he's longing for someone to love. At the wedding, she introduces him to a colleague who instantly forces him out of his comfort zone. Could this be love?

Author's note: Remember my breakup? Yeah, so I wrote about getting care like I want to get care right now... But I'm also still debating breaking my own heart with this story... We'll see what happens.

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Silence. 

Heavy and quiet... 

Your sobs sound so much louder than normal. Zayne stands powerless in the middle of your studio as the tears start flowing. There's a fork in the road. 

The easy path is walking out. Letting you deal with your trauma on your own, letting his own trauma consume himself while he buries himself in his work. It might not be a bright path, but it is steady and reliable. 

Then there's the hard path. That path starts at an embrace, but the future is unclear, uncertain, unanimously better than living a life of loneliness made by his own design. It's nerve-wracking, but his feelings have never been clearer before. He wants you, wants this, no matter what. 

And there you stand. Still so beautiful, even with those tears streaming down your face though he would prefer to see you smiling. You look at him expectantly yet scared and almost disappointed. As if, in your mind, he's already out the door. 

He can't have you thinking like that. 

His feet cross the unspoken barrier between leaving and staying. His hands start at your shoulders, moving up to cradle your head and pull it against his chest. The embrace is tender, soft, it gives you an escape if this was not what you wanted though he should know very well that this is exactly where you want to be. 

Zayne holds his breath when he feels your hands ball into fists clutching the fabric of his shirt at his waist. You could still push him away and it seems you're debating it. If there's anything he's learned about you, it's that you deal with things on your own rather than having someone else's help. 

But then your hands relax and slip to his back, holding him closer. Your shoulders shake as your sobs become less held back. 

And then you speak. Quiet, like admitting anything is a sign of weakness. But the comfort Zayne gives urges you to speak your feelings into existence. 

'I was so scared.' 

Zayne doesn't respond. He just continues to hold you, letting you take the lead in meeting your needs. It's comforting, but you are tired. Tired of holding your own, tired of doing everything yourself, tired of refusing help. And you admit something else. 

'I can't do this on my own.'  

You don't need to say anything else. Zayne knows exactly what you mean. 

'Why don't you go take a bath? I'll call a locksmith to change the locks tonight and I'll join you after. Does that sound good?' You nod against his chest. He doesn't make you feel small for asking help, but you still feel degraded. Maybe this is the first step. 

Zayne moves his hand from behind your head to your cheeks, holding your face like it is the most precious thing in the world. He looks down at you like your eyes are made of starlight and your thoughts hold the meaning to the universe. 

'You did wonderful.' 

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The sound of running water fills the bathroom, steam rises up from the hot water, fruity scents fill the air around you. You should be relaxed or at least trying to relax, but all you can do is look at your own face in the mirror. 

There's still fear in your eyes, traces of anxiety, and that small little girl you know is looking back at you. She has to stand on her tiptoes to reach the sink, and she looks terrified of asking you to lift her. She doesn't like asking for help in fear of receiving criticism instead of having her needs met, but her step stool has disappeared. 

You know there is no little girl. You know it is a reflection of you. You know you've grown. 

So why does it still feel so raw? Did you really spend all these years trying to please others while leaving yourself behind? Is that why you like Zayne so much? 

For the first time, you're dating someone who doesn't expect you to give everything in return for crumbs. Zayne is as head over heels for you as you are for him. You think he might take all your worries from you if you simply asked, but you can't. 

The bathroom door opens the smallest bit. 

'My love, can I come in?' You hum in response. Zayne slips through the crack in the door and closes it again. He seems surprised to see you still dressed and not in the bath. When he looks over at the tub, he moves quickly. It's not yet full but getting there quick. 

Then he turns to you, still staring in the mirror. 'Are you alright?' You shake your head. 'Can I help?' You hesitate, but nod. 

His gentle hands take your shoulders and gently guide you to sit on the edge of the tub, the same way you had guided him to sit just yesterday. 'Can I undress you?' Another nod. He starts at your shirt trying so hard not to touch you unnecessarily.  

By the time you are fully undressed, Zayne is a bright shade of red. He tries not to look when you step into the tub, but he can't. It's like you're magnetic. 

And then you look at him with those siren eyes, luring him in closer and closer. 'Join me?' 

His cheeks turn even brighter, and he feels terrible for looking at you in such a lewd way while you are not being sexual in the slightest. He starts trying to refuse, but you remind him: 'I've seen you naked already.' 

For a heartbeat, he hesitates and you feel your stomach drop as you see the look in his eyes. It's the vulnerability you fear as much as he does, but he's already stepped past it once today. And he does it again. 

He undresses efficiently, no drawn out movements or sensuality about it. His fingers tremble ever so slightly as he pushes his boxers down his hips. He steps into the tub first and leans back, hissing at the scorching temperature you prefer. Then he holds out his hand for you. 

You try not to smile like a fool, but you do. He guides you to sit against him, his chest against your back, his thighs bracketing yours, as the water rises dangerously high. He lets you adjust, lets you feel his body against you, before he gently wraps his arms around your waist pulling you flush against him. 

'Okay?' His voice is barely audible, drowned out by the sound of water moving around. 

You nod. 

He rests his chin on your shoulder. You feel his breath chill your damp skin and then his grip tightens ever so slightly. Not suffocating, but comforting. 

'I've got you,' he whispers like a promise. 

There it goes. 

Something hidden deep inside you cracks, breaks, lets all your feelings loose. You pull your knees up to your chest, your head leaning forward as sobs claw their way up your throat. It's ugly, disgusting, not something you should bother him with.  

But Zayne doesn't hush you. Instead he just holds you even tighter and presses his lips to your temple. This is how he loves. Through care. 

He doesn't move, doesn't judge. He's just there for you to lean on, to let his heartbeat calm you down.  

'You're doing great, my love,' he whispers in your ear, as if it is fact. Like he's reminding you it's okay to break down sometimes. 

You turn in the water, sloshing it over the edge. His eyes flicker dark for a second, his cheeks pink. He wishes it was just arousal, but it's truly not. It's seeing you so bare for him, all your feelings laid out for the first time. 

You rest your head against his chest and curl up against him. 'I don't know how to do this.' 

'Neither do I,' he admits, adjusting his position to be more comfortable for you. 'We'll learn together.' 

Slowly but surely, the water cools while the world outside this room feels a million miles away. Your body shivers in the slightest and Zayne reaches for the drain plug, but you stop him. 

'Not yet.' 

So he stays with you, holding you as close as he can to keep you from shivering. He understands why you don't want to leave yet. 

Inside this room you are vulnerable, and it feels good. Outside this room are all the doubts and fears you shed for just a second in his presence. 

'Alright, but I'll still be here to hold you when we get out.' 

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[i-am-a-bad-influence-writes]

I just got broken up with :'( So this can go one of two ways:

I don't write

I write stories that will break both me and you

I hope for both our sakes it's the first option.

[i-am-a-bad-influence-writes]

'. . . Are . . . Are you . . . What?'

A stunned silence falls as you take a breath and try to recompose yourself.

'Are you fucking kidding me?'

Then, suddenly, a boisterous laugh. It's much more stained that it used to be, age took the uninhibition from your laughter, but you love it nonetheless. Your question might have been serious, your shock at the teasing in such a moment was no act, but your lover... oh your lover... always finds the humor in tough times.

Their ability to lighten your load... that had been why you fell for them. Or at least, how you recognized you had fallen for them. Over time you started to like their physical imperfections, even started to adore the discolouration in their skin, their freckles, the fluffiness of their body.

Everything about them blurred together into one perfect being.

Even now, even here, whilst they are actively dying in your arms, they can still make you smile stupidly. Honestly, if they would've lived any longer you might've developed smile lines.

Maybe you already have.

It's not like you've bothered looking in the mirror much as your "human companion" doesn't give you a reason to. They've been complimenting you from the moment the day starts to the moment the sun sets for decades.

But through it all, they cannot take away the deep grief you feel with laughter because they won't be here to tease you when the new dawn comes. For all these years you've rolled your eyes every morning when you roll over and are greeted with "Good morning, hot stuff." but now you can't imagine your life without it.

The bet was a joke, but these rituals are not. They are branded into your mind, scarred into your brain.

And finally you have the answer to their question.

'I don't think either of us won.'

Your sorrow rings clear through every word but, surprisingly, they grab your jaw and turn your face towards them in a strange surge of energy and the raw need to tell you you're wrong. Seems some things never change.

'Don't you ever say that. I loved you with everything I have. Just tell me you love me before I die. Just once.' Their words start harsh, but the last little words are a beg, a cry for you to finally admit to it and you realized you have never said it back.

With a deep breath you look straight into their eyes. Grief overwhelms you as tears start pouring onto your cheeks like a sudden summer storm and you clutch onto them like they are the one and only thing keeping you sane in this endless life of yours.

Because they are. They keep you sane.

And they should know it before they pass.

'I love you.'

"i bet i can make you fall for me" said your human companion, you give small chuckle an say "challenge accepted" as a elf you don't mind spending a few decades humoring them. as you sit by them on their death bed you hear them ask "so did i win our little bet?"

[i-am-a-bad-influence-writes]

Dunno if anyone's interested in Infinity Nikki, but this is my friend code <3

2wmQMxHP

[i-am-a-bad-influence-writes]

Pearly white

Masterlist Word count: 796 Rafayel x Reader

Summary: You wake up alone. Something feels off.

Author's note: Have you been personally victimised by the new trailer? Me too! Let's put some salt in the wound. Also I wrote this in half an hour. Waking up seeing that trailer did something to me.

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Something's off... 

The bed you wake up in is not nearly as comfortable as it was when you laid down last night. Something is digging into your skin. 

The bed you wake up in is not nearly as warm as it was when you laid down last night. Someone is missing. 

Soft sunlight falls through the sheer curtains like any other day. A soft breeze enters the room carrying a salty smell from the ocean. However, when you reach out for you lover there is no one there. 

Finally, you open your eyes and look around. 

No sign of Rafayel. 

Something catches between your fingers when you sit up in the bed. You pick it up gently and hold it in front of you between the tips of your thumb and forefinger. Then you look around you and find more. 

Pearls. 

Why are there pearls in your bed? 

You slip out of bed and wrap the sheets around your shoulders. There's a soft ticking when the pearls slip off the sheets and collide with the floor. It's a strangely beautiful sound and you would take a moment to appreciate it, but there's something else on your mind. 

Finding Rafayel is not hard. It never is. He's either in the bathroom or his studio. Today is different. Today there is a trail of pearls for you to follow. You still don't know why, but you can tell that something has shifted. The house is dead silent. All you hear is the pitter patter of your bare feet on the wooden floor. 

You find Rafayel in his studio in front of a veiled painting. He sits cross-legged, his hands on his thighs, palms up, shoulders hanging, shoulders shaking, slouched over. In his lap you see the faint glimmer of more pearls. The veil over the painting is sheer and black, as if the painting is in mourning. You can just make out that it is a portrait of you. With the way Rafayel looks, it almost seems like this is a funeral. 

Are you dead or dreaming? 

'Rafayel?' Your voice is soft, carried on the breeze through the open windows. He perks up the slightest bit, just enough for you to see that he heard you, but he does not acknowledge you. It's almost as if he's abstaining himself from seeing you, as if it would physically hurt to see you. Yet here he sits, in front of a painting of you. He's torturing himself. 

'Rafayel?' You try again, taking a few steps forward. Nothing changes. Then... that sound... like you heard when you stepped off the bed. It's the sound of a pearl landing on the wood floors. Is he... crying pearls? 

'Rafayel?' Softer this time, pained, you say his name as you take a few steps until you can see his profile. He is crying and you can tell he sees you in the corner of his eye, but he refuses to see you. 

You don't know what happened to him and you know he probably won't tell you, but you can comfort him. You can be there for him, hold him, ward off this deep heavy sadness that hangs over the room. 

And so you sit down next to him. He doesn't move, doesn't even twitch. 

Your eyes rake over the portrait. It's you, that much you can tell, but there's something distorted and strange about it. The look in your eyes is something you can't recognize, something so deep and raw. Something like love, but it's more than that. It's something you don't have words for. Almost like there is no language for a feeling this pure and beautiful. 

You wonder if you'll ever feel like that. 

Some parts of the veil seem to stick to the painting, meaning the paint must be fresh. Curious eyes look down at the hands on Rafayel's thighs. They are paint stained, but they always are. Could be that the veil has stuck to the painting a long time ago. 

Either way, you can't comfort him with rational thoughts, so you lay your head on his shoulder. Instantly, Rafayel exhales deeply. It's almost as if he was anticipating you to be mad or to walk away. Strange. 

He takes your hand, intertwines your fingers, and brings them up to his lips but doesn't kiss them. 'I promise to love and protect you until the end of time.' 

You don't know what it means, but you know he is sincere, and that’s enough for now. 

Maybe even enough for forever. 

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@astudyoftimeywimeystuff

@sapphic-daze

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[i-am-a-bad-influence-writes]

Ordinary Chapter 9, Photorealism

Masterlist Word count: 1.9k Zayne x Fem!Reader

Summary: After seeing his best friend getting married to the love of her life, Zayne can't help but be a little jealous. He never had this feeling before. It's almost like he's longing for someone to love. At the wedding, she introduces him to a colleague who instantly forces him out of his comfort zone. Could this be love?

Author's note: It has been a while! I got sick, then was changing jobs, then got sick again. I've been through the wringer but I'm back and better than ever! Or at least I'll try to stick around until I finish this one.

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Zayne doesn't remember much about yesterday. How he got home, how he got into bed, why his arm feels so numb. None of that matters when he opens his eyes and sees you sleeping in his arms. He's not home, but he feels more than at home. He feels at peace. 

In a fleeting moment of butterflies rushing through his whole body he squeezes you a little tighter, breathing in the faint scent of paint and something uniquely you. It's a smell he notices whenever you're close but can never pinpoint. His heart swells as he revels in the feeling of having you close to him. 

That's when it all comes back to him in humiliating clarity. 

The argument, your ex, showing up at your door in the middle of the night, your help, your giggles, his need for your touch as if it were the only thing keeping him alive. That last one might still be the case. But he had meant to give you space, respect your boundaries, yet his traitorous subconscious had driven him straight to you. 

Just when he starts spiraling, you stir. 

Terrified to wake you, he freezes up. You simply nestle closer to him, sighing in comfort feeling the warmth of his embrace. And through tired lips, he hears you mumble. 

A soft, but distinguishable "Love you." 

Zayne feels his face flush. It is decided. This is his place, his spot, forevermore.  

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It is hours later when you wake. 

Zayne's body is sore, but he doesn't mind. He tried to stay still so you could rest, only moving when you moved in your sleep. His face is inches from yours when your eyes open and you can't help but smile. 

Somewhere in your mind you had feared he would leave. You know he is not the type to do that to you, but you worried he might've been embarrassed if he remembered the shower. Then again, he was barely lucid. Maybe he doesn't remember anything from last night. 

'I feel like I was uncharacteristically affectionate and needy yesterday.' His voice is low, gravely, tired, as his eyes meet yours. 

'Maybe a little bit,' you tease and move closer to plant a sleepy kiss on his lips. 'I didn't mind though.' 

Zayne goes a bright shade of red as he nods and takes a deep breath. 'We have a lot to talk about, don't we?' 

'We do, but don't you have work today?' Zayne picks up his phone from the nightstand. You had probably put it there. His battery is hanging on for dear life at thee percent as he checks the time and date. That's when it hits him. 

He had been at work for nearly seventeen hours. That would explain why he was as tired as he was. Just when he wants to check his schedule, his phone gives out. He carelessly tosses it back on the nightstand. 'Can I use your phone?' 

'Sure.' You reach back for your own phone and hand it over. Seemingly locked. 

'What's your passcode?' He sees a sliver of doubt in your eyes for a fraction of a second. In his mind, the question was merely functional but he gets that it has to do with trust. Trust that he broke. Trust that you broke as well. 

But then. 'It doesn't have a code.' 

'What?' You swipe your finger over the screen and he watches as the phone comes to life. 'That is highly irresponsible.' Care dipped in judgement. Suddenly you recognize it. A strange, but welcome, thing. 

'You think I want to type in a code when my hands are covered in paint or charcoal?' 

'Fair point.' Acceptance without argument. It makes you wonder why yesterday felt so different.  

As your eyebrows knit together in thought, Zayne drops the phone and looks in your eyes, searching for something. Something he can't seem to find. Not until you actually look at him instead of staring through him in some kind of haze. 

'I need to apologize for yesterday,' he states, as if there is no question about it. This is something he has to do and there's no talking him out of it. You start to open your mouth in protest, trying to admit that you were in the wrong too, but he does not let you. He is faster. 

'When you came by yesterday, I had already had a stressful shift. Daniel came in and started making very distasteful jokes about the nurses that I did not agree with. I was angry at him, but I realized it looked like I was angry at you. I'm sorry.' 

He looks at you expectantly, hopefully, as if you hold his faith in your next words, like the universe will stop existing if you say you don't forgive him. Truth is, you had already forgiven him the second he came to your door last night. The fact your home felt like home to him too, the trust he put in you to care for him, him not wanting to let you go even for a second. It already felt like an apology and your care and love was you forgiving him. 

But there is still something on your chest. 'I am not blameless either. I refused to talk to you and I'm sorry for that. It would've been better to talk it out there.' 

He nods in response and pulls you closer against him. Your phone, his schedule, everything outside the sheets long forgotten as a warm feeling grows between the two of you. 

It has only been a few weeks since you've started dating, but there's one thing you know for sure. 

'I love you, Zayne.' 

The three little words lay on the tip of his tongue. You made them sound so easy, so real. He's not sure if he can give himself into this feeling like you do. But for you, he'll try. 

'I love you too.' 

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Despite the hospital being the last thing on Zayne's mind, the second his phone booted up again after charging it started ringing. Greyson, a name you knew as Zayne slipped it into work stories every so often, called him about a surgery he had to be part of and who are you to keep your man here? 

What was different is that he seemed to doubt if he should go for the first time since you've started dating, but the look of guilt in his face was too much for you. You urged him to go, knowing how important his work is to him. 

You packed him some food while he took a shower. At the door he kissed you goodbye and promised to text you when he was done, but by the time he texted you were gone in your own world, in your studio. 

The music turned way up, curtains open letting in all the natural light, your body almost unconsciously swaying along as you focus on the work in front of you. You can't take your eyes off your canvass for even a second, afraid you'll forget the picture you drew in your mind. 

It has been years since you've painted a realistic portrait, but you felt inspired. No, not inspired. Possessed. Possessed by the spirit of this morning. Possessed by Zayne's beauty. Your fingers have a featherlight grip on your brush, as if the hairs guide themselves through the paint. Blending, adding, caressing the canvas and paint at will. 

Golden light starts falling through the window, illuminating the painting all new and gentle. It must've been hours since you started. You look out the window to see the sun setting and suddenly you realize you are hungry and dehydrated. 

The whole day came and went without as much as a second thought. Your body feels heavy, tired, sore in the shoulders. The canvass you worked on was huge. Big enough for you to have to take a few steps back to admire it fully.  

When you do, you bump into something and two gently hands appear on your arms to steady you. You don't have to look over your shoulder to know who it is. Instead, you lean back into his touch, but something is off. 

'Why the fuck are you painting my doctor?' The hairs on your neck stand up before you can even turn. That sneer you know all too well, and you realize the person behind you is not who you thought they were. You pull yourself away and turn around. 

'Daniel? What the fuck are you doing in my house?' 

'I still have the key,' he huffs as he looks past you at the canvas. 'Still playing with paint I see.' His voice drips with condescension and suddenly you feel very small. A response you've had to his words for a long time. You thought you grew past it, but apparently not. 

'You need to leave,' you state defensively, but you feel your breath hitch in your throat as if all the oxygen is suddenly sucked out of the room. 

Daniel smirks and takes a step closer. 'After you came all that way to visit me yesterday? I thought this was what you wanted. To have me back where I belong. On top of you.' 

Your stomach turns as you realize the predicament you are in. This is dangerous. 'I came to ask you to change your emergency contact.' 

'Sure you did.' He slips past you, standing face to face with your painting. 'You need someone to keep you from being a little whore. I mean, falling for a doctor? That's way out of your league, sweetheart.' He talks down to you like it's the one thing he's put on this earth to do. It's vile, sharp, meant. As if you are nothing more than a sexual object for him to use. 

Such a contrast between him and Zayne. It's like night and day. In the portrait you captured Zayne in the morning light, all soft edges and quiet intimacy lined with sleep. And in front of you stands Daniel who's smirk twists into something disgustingly ugly. Distain. 

'Pathetic. You'll spread your legs for any many who gives you attention, won't you?' He leans forward, the faint smell of alcohol masked by breath mints walms into your face. He's still a drunkard and a fool. 'I'll admit, trading up to a surgeon is smarter than your usual trash.' 

'Leave.' Your eyes fit over to the studio entrance. There stands Zayne and he looks pissed. You've never seen him like this before. His voice rumbles through the room like a command you can't refuse, but there's this strange calm in him. It's icy cold, steady, reliable, dangerously calm. 

Daniel laughs in disbelief. 'Oh my God, you've got him believing you actually like him? Shit, I knew you were a manipulative bitch, but this is a whole new level.' 

Zayne takes a few steps forward. 'Don't address her. Leave. You are trespassing.' 

'It's not trespassing if I have a key,' Daniel sneers back, taking Zayne's words as a challenge. He puffs up his chest, makes himself big, but Zayne is not impressed. He throws a quick look at you, checking in with you, but all you feel is shame. You did not change the locks after you broke up with Daniel because he had "lost the key." 

Suddenly, Zayne moves so fast it has you startled. One moment Daniel was puffing out his chest, the next he is pinned against the wall with Zayne's forearm bracing against his windpipe. 

'The key,' Zayne demands. Daniel wheezes, unable to breathe properly, but his eyes are full of malice as he throws the key to the floor. Zayne lets him go the second the key hits the floor. No need for useless violence. 'Now leave.' 

Daniel huffs. 'Enjoy my sloppy seconds, doctor. She's good at playing house until she gets bored.' 

The door slams closed and then there's just silence between you and Zayne. 

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@mcdepressed290

@fvcknwww

@floofycookie

@peachystea

@mysticmyth

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@merodis

@astudyoftimeywimeystuff

@sapphic-daze

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Want to join the taglist? Go here

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[i-am-a-bad-influence-writes]

Sorry for the hiatus, gang!

I got sick, did some job interviews, then got sick again. But I'm good now and getting back to writing!

[i-am-a-bad-influence-writes]

Ordinary Chapter 8, Barely lucid

Masterlist Word count: 1.8k Zayne x Fem!Reader

Summary: After seeing his best friend getting married to the love of her life, Zayne can't help but be a little jealous. He never had this feeling before. It's almost like he's longing for someone to love. At the wedding, she introduces him to a colleague who instantly forces him out of his comfort zone. Could this be love?

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What was supposed to be helping with a four hour surgery turned into an unending shift. Zayne isn't exactly sure if he's still alive or walking in limbo. His body feels like it's giving up, only running on caffeine and muscle memory.  

“This is not a healthy state to be driving in,” he thinks to himself as he unlocks his car, "but I don't have another option right now." 

There are no taxi's driving at this hour, no Uber, no nothing. And the one person he would call is angry at him, with good reason too. (He could also call Sylus but he's on a trip with his wife and nowhere close to Linkon) Luckily, the roads are empty. Most people are sleeping and those who are not are insane, like Zayne. 

Eventually, the car seems to be driving itself home. It parks itself crooked and weird, but good enough to not be in anyone else's way. He gets out, finds his keys, and tries to jam them in the lock. However, the lock does not turn. No amount of jiggling makes his key fit properly either. 

Then, suddenly, the door swings open to reveal... you.  

You, bathed in warm light, clothed in paint-splattered sweats and some kind of sports bra. The sight is achingly familiar and completely disorienting at the same time. 

Zayne blinks at you, then at his key, then to you again. His exhausted brain short-circuits as he tries to piece everything together. 

'You live... with me?' His words are slurred and genuinely confused. 

You sigh, anger and anxiousness dissolving at the sight of him still in his wrinkled scrubs, hair sticking in all different directions, the shadow of tiredness making itself at home underneath his eyes. This is not the prim and proper doctor you know. 

This is Zayne, the man who completely loses himself in his work, who does too much and forgets himself, who will sacrifice everything to safe others. And it is the man you fell in love with. No matter how hard it is in moments like these when you can see his work destroying him, knowing full well he'll go back as soon as he's rested. 

'Come on,' you say, tugging him inside. 

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Zayne sits on the edge of your bathtub, swaying ever so slightly as he fights the sleep in his eyes while you grab his toothbrush and put some toothpaste on it. 

'Can you brush your own teeth?' He nods, but on the last nod he doesn't get his head back up. Another sigh slips from your lips. Gently, you put one hand on his forehead and push his head back. 'Open your mouth for me.' Docile as he is right now, he obeys your every word. 

He's barely lucid, if lucid at all, and you have to admit it's kind of adorable seeing him like this. Apparently, he trusts you fully. Or at least enough to let you brush his teeth. 

You jolt a little when you feel his hands on your hips as if they're anchoring him to this world. It's gently, but desperate. 'Bite down for me,' you mumble. He does so and shows his teeth to you like a little child. You can't help but smile as you continue your work. 'Spit it out in the tub.' 

He shakes his head and tries to stand up, but you put your hands on his shoulders. 'It's fine. I'll rinse it.' He groans and finally does it. You reach out for a towel to clean his face, but his arms wrap around your waist and he buries his face into your stomach. Toothpaste spreads on your skin with a strange cooling sensation.  

'Zayne,' you yelp, trying to push him off. He looks up, his chin resting on your stomach, with the biggest puppy eyes you've ever seen and toothpaste all over his lips and chin. He's so tired, but he looks so sweet. You run your hand through his hair and wipe his face with the towel in his other hand. 'Let's get you to bed.' 

'No, I have to wash up,' he protests, still in his low voice, but his words sound like a whiny child. Seems sighing has become your second language. 

'Okay, let's get you under the shower. Do you have clean clothes with you?' 

'In the car.' 

'Where are your car keys?' 

'... in the car.' 

A beat of silence and a silent prayer that he means his car is still unlocked. 

'Get undressed. I'll be right back.'  

You rush out the bathroom, downstairs, slip into your slippers, run out to his car. Thank whatever is above that it is indeed unlocked. In fact, he didn't even take the keys out of the ignition. Seems he's more tired than you thought. 

As you stand outside in the cool early spring night, you take a second to digest this situation. Zayne was so tired that he drove to your house instead of his. Why? Does he feel bad about today? Does he like you this much? Or is there something else? But you find no excuse to stand here and dissect the situation while he waits in the bathroom.  

With the keys in hand, you find his bag in the booth and run back inside while rummaging through it. There's clean underwear, clean clothes for tomorrow, even some deodorant and a spare toothbrush. Seems he is well prepared for long shifts. 

When you reenter the bathroom, Zayne is already standing in the shower with your bodywash in his hand, but he's not washing himself. All he's doing in smelling your bodywash, the same one you told him not to use last night. 

After a few seconds, he notices you're back and looks guilty. 'I'm sorry, I wasn't planning on using it.' 

'You can use it,' you muse as you put his bag on the sink, trying hard not to look at his naked body through the fogged-up glass. He looks at you with wide eyes, as if to check if it were really ok. He's so expressive when he's tired. You haven't seen him like this before.  

A gentle nod seems to put him at ease, but it seems he can't get his body to work with him. 'Do you need help,' you ask, softly. He nods back at you, his head hanging a little. 

You take off your socks and take a deep breath before stepping in with him, trying not to get wet. He hands you the bodywash and you squeeze a generous amount in your hands. First, you instruct him to turn his back to you. He does as you say. 

Your heartbeat pulses in your throat as you touch his naked skin with your hands. A jolt of electricity goes through you, but you shake it off. This is not the moment. This is a different kind of intimacy. 

As you work your way down, Zayne's soft groans and sighs merge with the sound of falling water. His muscles seem to relax under your touch and when you instruct him to turn, you notice that his eyes are closed. They only open for a second, and then he leans forward to rest his forehead against the top of your head. 

He's so close, so tired, so sweet. 

This evening was hell, constantly wondering if he would opt out of dating you because you wanted to confront an ex, but this moment makes all those worries melt away. You should've known that it was just his cold front, that he would come back to you when he was ready. 

Your hands continue their work, but with his head resting against yours you can't really do a thorough job. His groans and sighs turn into soft snores and you can't help but smile. A warm feeling spreads through your body as your lover completely leans on you. Both emotionally and physically. 

'Zayne,' you say with a soft push to his chest. He hums a response. 'You need to wash the soap off. Then we can get you to bed.' 

'Okay,' he mumbles as he raises back up. You quickly step out of the shower and get him a towel. 

∘₊✧───────────────────────────────────────✧₊∘ 

You couldn't get him to put on anything else than his boxers. The second he got those on, he wrapped his arms around your waist from behind and refused to let go. A fit of giggles came over you as you started waddling towards your bed, lugging the tired man with you stumbling. 

After about five minutes, you mange to turn your back towards the bed so he can sit down but he refuses to let go of you. 'Zayne, I have to turn the lights off and put something else on. Go lay down.' 

'Don't leave,' he grumbles into your neck. 'I need you to stay with me.' 

With great difficulty, your turn around in his arms and manage to sit him down. Like he did when he sat on the tub's edge, he pulls you close and presses his face against your stomach. Your hands tenderly cradle his cheeks, turning his face up to yours. 

'I am not leaving,' you state. 'I just have to turn the light off and put my pajamas on. That's all.' 

'Promise?' You have to bite down a smile. He is so utterly adorable like this, with that twinkle in his eyes, his cheeks still red from the warm shower. You wish you could take a picture of this moment, remember it forever. 

'Promise.' 

Finally, he lets go but he doesn't get under the covers. Instead, his eyes follow you as you walk towards your dresser to take out an oversized shirt to sleep in. Curious to see what he'll do, you decide not to turn around when taking off your sports bra.  

As you slip your head through the shirt, you look back at him. His mouth is agape, cheeks even redder, ears burning. A chuckle escapes you. You shouldn't tease him right now, not when he's like this. 

The light turns off and you hear him slip under the covers in the pitch black. When you join him, it's not even a second before he reaches out for you and pulls you against him. Limbs tangle within seconds and his warm body is flush against yours.  

Silence falls over you as you listen to the birds starting to chirp outside. It must be getting close to dawn. Zayne must be exhausted. 

'You are beautiful,' Zayne suddenly mutters into your hair. 'I didn't mean to look, but I'm glad I did.' 

'It's only fair,' you respond. 

'How so?' 

'I saw you naked.' Silence. Complete and utter silence. 

'Did you... like... ... it?' Another beat of silence as something shifts in the air. Something that isn't supposed to be here right now. Zayne is tired, barely lucid, he should sleep. This is no time to think about all that. 

'You should sleep.' 

'But did you?' 

A deep sigh leaves your lips as you realize it doesn't matter anymore. He's allowed to know what you think of him and his body.  

'I don't think there's a single inch of you that's less than perfect.' 

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[i-am-a-bad-influence-writes]

Hiii I’d like to be added to the lads tags!

For sure <3

[i-am-a-bad-influence-writes]

Hi Liz, I loved your P*rn series, and I just binge read my way through The Ordinary. I'm suffering happily, could you add me to your general tag list? There's some fandoms you write for I'm not in, but I like how you write, so I want to keep an eye out for future works :D

Omg, thank you so much for reading.

You'll be the first on my general taglist <3

[i-am-a-bad-influence-writes]

Ordinary Chapter 7, Rush

Masterlist Word count: 2.4k Zayne x Fem!Reader

Summary: After seeing his best friend getting married to the love of her life, Zayne can't help but be a little jealous. He never had this feeling before. It's almost like he's longing for someone to love. At the wedding, she introduces him to a colleague who instantly forces him out of his comfort zone. Could this be love?

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Zayne woke up once during the night, to use the bathroom. 

The room wasn't as dark as he expected it to be, but then again he hadn't really paid attention to the curtains when he joined you. They're slightly sheer and not fully closed. The moonlight pools through them, illuminating your sleeping form.  

You had been right. The bed is big enough for the two of you to spread out and not touch each other once. A fact that seems slightly annoying now – and a stark contrast to when they laid down - but when Zayne returns from the bathroom it seems solved. 

In the minute he was gone, you rolled to the middle of the bed. He'd still have enough space to sleep had it not been for you hogging the majority of the blanket. A great excuse to get what he desires. 

Careful not to wake you, he slips under the covers. You are curled up, back towards him, but at the feeling of his body heat radiating off him, you turn. In a manner of seconds, you are getting comfortable laying nearly fully on top of him and he can't say he minds. 

A shiver goes through his body as he feels your hand slip under his shirt and up to his ribs. He looks down to check if you're still asleep or gleaming like a cat who got the cream, but you are truly asleep. Peaceful breaths leave your slightly parted lips, your cheek smushed up adorably against his chest, hair all over the place.  

It's the most beautiful thing he's ever seen. 

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The morning isn't as peaceful.  

Zayne jolts awake to golden sunlight pooling across the room. He blinks at the unfamiliar ceiling and turns to see that all the curtains are open now. Groaning, he reaches for his phone on the bedside table to check the time. 8:34 AM. 

He bolts upright. It must've been the first time in a decade he's slept past 5:30AM. But surely you'll still be sle- 

No, your side of the bed is empty, but still faintly warm. The sheets are tangled and messy from where you laid. Zayne feels himself panic ever so slightly. What if you left? What if you thought this was too much? What if you didn't want to go slow anymore? 

Then... humming? Humming, faint sounds of the radio, the gurgle of the coffee machine, the clink of a spoon against ceramic. Sounds from the kitchen drifting up to the loft. He takes a deep breath, his muscles relaxing. 

She's still here. 

With that confirmation, his clinical brain starts working again. He should get up, take a shower, put on yesterday's clothes. But then there's this little voice he hasn't heard before. One that takes over. And instead of doing what he should, he sinks back into the pillows that smell like pear, tonka beans, and something uniquely you, and waits. 

No more than five minutes later he hears the pitter patter of your footsteps on the stairs. He can't help the smile that thugs on his lips. 'Good morning,' you muse happily, two mugs in hand. Zayne squints against the sunlight haloing your messy hair.  

He watches her as she perches herself cross-legged beside him, handing over a violently pink mug with some orange detailing. He takes a small sip from the steaming cup. It's perfect. Exactly how he likes it.  

'Did you sleep well?' Better than he'd like to admit. He's not sure he's ever been this rested in his whole entire life. It's strangely comforting. 

'Fine.' She tilts her head a little like a puppy, urging him to say more. 'Your mattress is nice. Though the sheer amount of pillows is smothering.' She chuckles. An angelic sound in the early morning. He takes another sip of his coffee and as he lowers the mug, he realizes three things in rapid succession. 

He'd shed his shirt. Possibly because you were laying on top of him like a cat. 

Your gaze is tracing every line of his body as if you were reading a book. 

His ears are burning. 

As casually as he can, he reaches for the blanket and pulls it up to mid-chest while pretending to adjust his position. Your lips twitch amused. 

'Cold?' Your question sounds innocent but there's a flicker of mischief in your eyes. One that Zayne recognizes. 

'A little,' he deadpans. 

'Shame,' you note as you take a sip from your mug. 'I was enjoying the view.' 

'I’m sure you were.' His ears seem to burn up even more as he sees the smirk on your lips. Your teasing worked and you're quite pleased with yourself. Not every day you can make the doctor blush. 

'Relax,' you stretch out, giving Zayne even more reason to compare you to a cat. 'I'm just looking. Unless you'd like me to help with that.' You point at the bump in his lap and Zayne's face goes bright red. He tries to play it off, pulling a pillow onto his lap, but you saw it twitch. 

'I would not,' he replies, the lie tasting even bitterer than coffee. 

You shrug and gracefully hop off the bed, the dark liquid in your mug swirling dangerously close to the edge. Not that you would mind judging by the coffee stains on your sheets. 'I'll go get started on breakfast. You go do what you have to.' 

With those words, you disappear down the stairs. 

Zayne sighs to himself. "If only it were that easy. A cold shower should work." Just as he wants to slip out from under the covers, his phone rings. It show's Greyson's caller ID. He quickly picks up. 

'Speak.' 

"The cardiac surgeon for today called out, we have a heart transplantation that has to be done right now." 

'I'll be there as soon as I can. Shouldn't be more than an hour.' 

"Alright, we'll get everything ready." As the call drops, Zayne holds the phone tightly to his chest. He doesn't want this day to end but he has other responsibilities. He has to get home, shower, get his scrubs, his work things. 

A few deep breaths and he's off, slipping into his dirty clothes and rushing down the stairs to explain to you. When he gets to you, you look a little disappointed. 'Work?' He nods, you nod and turn back to the breakfast you were making. Eggs, bacon, etc.  

As quickly as you can, you get some bread and make the breakfast into a sandwich he can eat in the car. After all, how can he perform well on an empty stomach. When you turn back to him with a lunch box in hand, you can almost see him tear up. He crosses the kitchen in one step and presses a kiss on your forehead like it's a promise. A promise he'll be here again soon. 

'I'll bring you lunch,' you tell him meekly as you wrap your arms around his waist. He gladly accepts the embrace and pulls you against him. 

'I might not have time to eat with you.' 

'You don't have to. I just want to make sure you're fed.' 

'Don't bother, I can eat the cafeteria food.' 

'Just let me do something nice for you. You've been so nice to me.' 

Silence... and then. 

'Alright.' 

∘₊✧───────────────────────────────────────✧₊∘ 

This is a new feeling. It's not nerves nor fear and you fear it is care. You care for Zayne, but not like you care for your mother or your father or your sibling or your friends. It's something gutteral, something instinctive, almost primal. 

You know he is safe where he is. Safer than he would be in most other places. 

At the same time, you know he does not take care of himself. He gets lost in his duties and the unspoken responsibilities laid upon him by others and himself. And thus, you find yourself clutching the steering wheel of your car as you drive to Akso hospital to bring your... to bring Zayne lunch. 

About halfway through the drive, your phone starts buzzing and the car display shows an unfamiliar number. Over time, you've gotten used to answering unfamiliar numbers as most of them belong to gallery owners or people interested in buying what you make. So you pick up after only a second of hesitation. 

'Yes?' 

"This is Nurse Yvonne from Akso Hospital. You're listed as the emergency contact for-" You tune out the professional sounding female at the sound of his voice. Your ex still hasn't changed his emergency contacts? This is insane. "-passed out at his place of work. He's stable but not in any state to get home on his own, so we decided to notify you." 

The highway blurs in front of you. It has been two wonderful years since you've last heard that name. Two years after he walked out of your home calling you "too much" and "a brat" with a strange kind of anger you didn't understand back then. Now you know he wanted control and you didn't give it too him. You were too much of a free soul, so he was grasping at straws. 

'I'm sorry,' you say, your voice tighter than intended, 'this must be a mistake. I haven't seen him in two years. Do you have anyone else you can call for him?' 

"We do not. You are the only contact listed." Sly motherfucker. He probably didn't intent this to happen now but he surely did try to create this situation back when he walked out on you. 

'I'm sorry, I can't help you.' 

As you press the button to end the call, the hospital comes into view. Your hands tremble as you try and refocus on your driving to get to the parking lot safely. Instantly, your mind goes to Zayne. You should text him. Explain. But what is there to explain? A bureaucratic oversight? 

Still, some stubborn, masochistic part of you needs to see him for yourself, to confirm this isn't another of your ex’s games. On the other hand, why should you. You've no real reason to do so, but what if he's there because he found out about Zayne. What if he's pitting him against you. 

You have to check. You just have to. 

∘₊✧───────────────────────────────────────✧₊∘ 

The waiting room in the hospital hums with quiet urgency. People crying, people hurting, nurses moving between rooms with practiced efficiency. You hesitate as you stand at the reception desk. Zayne's lunch almost burns in your bag. You should be there for him, not some lowlife ex you haven't seen in years. 

'Hi, I just got a call from this hospital. From Nurse Yvonne?' 

The woman in front of you looks up from her computer screen. 'That's me. What's your name?' Her fingers type along when you spell it out for her and she nods. 'Consult room 3, down the hall to your left. Doctor Li should be in there with him now.' 

You follow her instructions and find the room easy enough. After a few knocks, you open the door and step inside to reveal a sight you didn't really want to see. Zayne in his scrubs, his broad back to you as he studies a chart. And sitting on the examination table... 

It's him. It really is. The man who made you feel less than. He looks paler than he used to, thinner too. Despite that, he still tilts his head in the same arrogant way when he spots you. 

'Why are you here,' he sneers. 

'You never changed your emergency contact, asshole,' you snap back. At the sound of your voice, Zayne turns. His eyes are cold, annoyed, but when they meet yours there is a second of something unguarded and raw. The moment passes and his professional mask slips back into place. 

'Miss.' His voice is too calm. Too controlled. 'A word outside.' 

The door closes as the smell of the hallway envelops you. Antiseptic and stale coffee. A smell that has become strangely comforting in the last few weeks. Zayne always carries a bit of it with him as he does not wear cologne when he works. 

Zayne's posture is perfect, his voice measured, but his grip on the clipboard is turning his knuckles white. You're not quite sure what he's feeling, not quite sure what you're feeling, but it isn't nice. 

'What is he to you?' 

He's not angry. Not yet. But the chill in his tone makes your stomach twist and you swallow. 

'An ex. I got a call from he hospital on my way here to drop of your lunch. He still has me listed as an emergency contact.' 

'And you came.' 

It's not an accusation, but it feels like one. A simple observation that cuts deeper than anger ever could. 

'I wanted to ask him to remove me from his emergency contacts,' your voice is barely above a whisper now. Zayne adjusts his glasses, a gesture you've come to recognize as his tell when he's thinking something over. You reach into your bag and hand him the lunchbox you prepared for him. 

'Of course. Thank you for the lunch.' 

Polite. Professional. Distant. 

You know he has all the right to be upset. Or at least he has the right to take a second and think the situation over. It's not something he expected, not something you expected either. Yet, the clinical detachment in his voice makes your throat ache. 

'Okay, I'm heading out then,' you manage before turning away and rushing out of the hospital. You can hear him call after you, but you keep walking. His voice becomes more urgent the more ground you cover. 

He catches you just outside the hospital. His hand gripping your arm tightly to keep you with him. When you turn to him and he sees the hurt in your eyes, he instantly regrets it. You see his eyes soften, but that was not okay. 

'Please.' 

'Not now.' You pull your arm loose and turn to keep walking, your eyes burning. 'You're working. I'm upset. This isn't the time.' 

His hand hovers near your arm again, but this time he doesn't touch you. 'Later, then.' 

You nod without looking back. 

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[i-am-a-bad-influence-writes]

Ordinary Chapter 6, An invitation

Masterlist Word count: 1.7k Zayne x Fem!Reader

Summary: After seeing his best friend getting married to the love of her life, Zayne can't help but be a little jealous. He never had this feeling before. It's almost like he's longing for someone to love. At the wedding, she introduces him to a colleague who instantly forces him out of his comfort zone. Could this be love?

Author's note: It has been a while ya'll. Sorry to keep you waiting. Life was crazy for a while, but things have settled down. Hope this makes up for it a little <3

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Dusk paints the skies in golds and purples as Zayne navigates winding roads down the countryside towards the city. You sit next to him in the passenger seat, your sketchpad open on your lap as you try to fight sleep and are failing miserably. At a stoplight, he glances over. 

There, among the flower studies you drew in the garden, are sketches of him. Bent over his notebook with his glasses slipping, smiling at the ducks in the pond, completely relaxed laying down on the picnic blanket. But the one of the picnic blanket is different. He's not drawn with the clothes he is wearing today. It's the clothes he wore when you brought him lunch. 

His chest aches slightly as he feels warmth spreading on his cheeks. You've been drawing him for weeks. The fondness he has for you only grows every day he sees you, even more so when he learns little things like this about you. 

Today he learned so many little things that his mind is overflowing. He learned how deep your love for art (and art supplies) goes, he learned you like to draw flowers but always get frustrated by them after a while, he learned you can sketch in a few different styles, but what he liked most was what he learned when you two stopped at a fast food restaurant for dinner on the way back. 

You love pickles. He watched you take the top of your bun off and do the tiniest happy dance when you saw there was more than one slice of pickle on there. When he gave you his pickle, your eyes where wide with love for him. It was like he had just given you the world. Then you smiled like a little kid. 

He realized he'd do anything to see you smile like that again.  

A true, genuine smile. 

But there comes an end to everything, even this day. He pulls up to your house and parks the car. When the engine dies down, you see to stir awake. 'We're home?' 

Zayne feels his heart skip a beat. Of course the implication of your question was simply to ask if you were back, but the thought of going home together to a place you live in together made him shiver. He wants it more than anything. 

'Zayne?' 

He turns to you. You, who still has eyes full of sleep but still looks a little worried. 'What is it?' 

'Stay.' Your voice is soft, comforting, but there's more there. Almost as if you're begging him to stay with you. 'It's too late to drive back and you look tired.' 

He has to admit, he is tired. It's been a long day, a fun day, but a long day. 'Alright.' 

∘₊✧───────────────────────────────────────✧₊∘ 

'It has to be here somewhere,' you murmur as you dig through a drawer in your bathroom that holds all kinds of knickknacks and things you should probably throw out, but you know there's a toothbrush in there somewhere. You lean over the drawer more and feel your wet hair create a wet patch on the back of your shirt. 

Zayne stands leaning against the doorframe with a pair of old paint-stained sweatpants that have always been way too big for you in his arms. He watches your chaotic mind move through your space lovingly. It's truly fascinating to him how different you two are, but it works. 

'Got it,' you cheer as you triumphantly hold a sealed bubblegum pink sparkly toothbrush. 'See, I knew I had one laying around.' 

Zayne accepts it, his fingers brushing against yours. 'Is every drawer in your house a junk drawer?' 

'To you, probably, but there's a method to my madness,' you tell him with a wink. 'Okay, so there's towels over there, like, five different soaps in the shower – just don't use the pear one, that's my favorite – and the toothpaste is over there.' 

You're out of the bathroom in a flash. Zayne locks the door and lays the pair of sweatpants and the toothbrush on the sink. A deep sigh slips from his lips as he takes a moment to let it all sink in. 

Just a few minutes ago, he had walked up the stairs to your bedroom, aka the loft. None of it had surprised him, but for some reason he still felt shellshocked. Maybe it was because it is such an intimate place. It is where you wind down, where you rest, where you walk around in your underwear. 

His face goes bright red at that thought. 

The shower is still warm from your earlier use and smell of pear lingers, mixing with some tonka bean and bergamot fragrance sticks that reside next to the sink. His eye keeps flickering to the body wash you used, a strange warmth spreading in his chest and stomach. It's lewd for him to think about you in the shower. That's what he tells himself. 

To ground himself, Zayne tries to focus on the real things in the room. The great water pressure from the shower, the tile grout in desperate need of recaulking, the sound of your hairdryer outside the door, the mismatched bottles of soap haphazardly strewn about... Suddenly, he finds himself with the pear scented body wash in his hand, uncapped. He just wants to smell it. That's all. And shit, it's you. It's unmistakenly you. He had wrongfully thought the tonka bean was from the fragrance sticks, but it's from your body wash. The scent is bright, fresh, comforting, with an undercurrent of something addictive. So, so addictive. 

He quickly puts the soap down and grabs a different one. 

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It's quite the sight. Doctor Zayne wearing sweatpants that are on their last leg and are way too short. Besides that, no nice shirt, no button up, no tie, just his undershirt. You almost want to commemorate this moment with a picture but decide against it. 

He finds you perched on the couch arm wearing an oversized tee and shorts that can barely be called shorts. 'You're not sleeping on the couch.' 

'It's fine.' 

'It's not. The couch is terrible for sleeping. The springs are like a medieval torture device,' you argue. Your motive has two sides. For one, you do not want your dear doctor to wake with sore muscles because you refused to let him drive. On the other hand, you kind of want to test the waters. 

Zayne tests the springs with one hand. 'Feels fine.' 

You groan and hop off the couch. 'You are impossible.' You grab his wrist and drag him towards the staircase. 'My bed is huge. We could both starfish and never touch.' 

Zayne allows himself to be pulled, an amused smile playing on his lips, though his voice stays firm. 'I'd rather sleep on the couch.' 

Dramatically, you roll your eyes and let go of his wrist. He watches as your expression changes to a slight pout and you take a few steps closer, putting your hands on his hips. 'Fine.' 

He wraps his arms around your shoulders and presses a kiss to your forehead. 'I'll see you in the morning.' 

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The couch is truly awful. At about 1 am, Zayne realizes why you had compared it to a medieval torture device when a spring keeps jamming into his kidney. He stares up at the ceiling, listening to the loft's nocturnal sounds. The hum of the fridge, the creak of pipes... and your voice, floating down with theatrical clarity. 

'Most boring sleepover ever.' An exasperated sigh. 'I thought we'd at least braid each other's hair.' A gasp. 'Or cuddle. The horror.' 

Zayne pinches the bridge of his nose. He knows you have a point and he figures you have experience with sleeping on your couch. As it is your couch. He swings his legs over the side of the couch and weighs his options. 

'Guess I'll just hug this pillow instead,' you continue, your voice dripping with faux pain and suffering. 'It's fine.' 

A floorboard creaks as Zayne teaches the top of the stairs. You are a silhouette under the sheets, curled around a pillow as promised, but your surprise is visible even in the dark. It is clear that you had not expected him to actually act on your teasing. 

'You're insufferable,' he informs you as he walks closer to the bed. 

A smile spreads across your face as you lift the covers in invitation. 'But you like me.' 

The mattress dips under Zayne's weight as he slips under the covers and lays down stiffly on his back, hands folded on his stomach like a man waiting to be buried. You waste no time getting comfortable. In your mind, he'll push you off if he doesn't want it. 

You roll over and lay your arm across his chest, your leg between his, your head on his shoulder. He adjusts, his arm moves to wrap around you, his other hand intertwines with yours. Every point of contact burns. 

'Mmm, better,' you sigh, the air tickling his collarbone. 'You smell good.' 

Zayne swallows as he starts to notice your smell as well. The pear and tonka bean scent sticking to your skin, the strangely androgenous smell in your hair. 'It's your soap.' 

'True, but you used the boring one.' You nuzzle closer, trying to crawl into his skin, or just have as much skin-to-skin contact if that isn't feasible. 'Next time, steal the good one like a normal person. I know you want to.' 

Zayne starts to feel himself relax, strangely so. He had shared a bed before, but never like this, never so carefree. Her weight against him is warm, her breathing steady against his ribs. No one has ever fit against him so perfectly as you do, as if his body was designed just to fit you. 

You move your intertwined hands to your lips, pressing a kiss to his wrist and nuzzling against his hand. 'Still overthinking?' 

'Always.' 

You chuckle softly. 'Me too.' You turn your head up and press a kiss to the underside of his jaw. 'But this helps.' 

As you turn your head back, Zayne turns his just enough to press his lips to your forehead. 

'It does.' 

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[i-am-a-bad-influence-writes]

Ordinary Chapter 5, Preplanned spontaneity

Masterlist Word count: 1.7k Zayne x Fem!Reader

Summary: After seeing his best friend getting married to the love of her life, Zayne can't help but be a little jealous. He never had this feeling before. It's almost like he's longing for someone to love. At the wedding, she introduces him to a colleague who instantly forces him out of his comfort zone. Could this be love?

∘₊✧───────────────────────────────────────✧₊∘ 

The car ride is strangely quiet. 

Zayne had expected you to talk his ear of excitedly as you had the last few times, but you seem more reserved. Maybe he shouldn't have kissed you, maybe he crossed a boundry, but you hadn't told him no. 

Though there's a nervous energy coming from you, you still radiate warmth and comfort in your silence. And despite the silence, there hangs no awkwardness in the air, no urge to make the silence go away. It might not be perfect, but it's fine. 

Zayne glances over at you and his grip on the steering wheel tightens. There you are. Elegant, effortlessly you. The sunlight streaming through the window illuminating the specks in your eyes, your glowing skin, your beautiful figure. How could he be so lucky? 

In the back of his mind, he's still waiting for the other shoe to drop. Strangely though, his mind has gone to the other extreme. Loving vigorously until he can't anymore. He just gets so lost in you. It's so alien to him, but he has to admit there's something undeniably addictive about stepping out line. 

Your words from before still echo in his skul, short-circuiting his usual front of clinical detachment. No one had ever called him beautiful before – competent, yes, reliable, sure – but never something so tender. The way you'd said it too. Like it was the simplest truth in the world. 

His stomach swoops dangerously. All these feelings all the time, they're a problem. 

'You're thinking very loudly over there,' you muse, glancing at him. 'Penny for your thoughts?' 

"I'm terrified I'll ruin this. I'm terrified of my own feelings. I'm terrified I'm overwhelming you. That I'm already ruining this by being too much or not enought. Terrified that you'll realize-" 

'Just focussing. We're close to our first stop.' His mind will be the death of him. All these fucking feelings, going from one extreme to the other the whole damn time. It's not healthy, not normal. 

Your lips quirck into a smile. 'Alright.' You stretch your arms above your head, the movement makes your sweater ride up and exposes a sliver of your ribcage peeking out above your high-waisted pants. 'You know, you're being awfully mysterious.' 

Zayne adjusts his glasses, his focus returning to the road. 'Patience is a virtue.' 

'So is honesty,' you shoot back. There's something double about your tone, but your eyes sparkle. It's as if you know something is going on in his mind. 

He doesn't have to think too long about it as the GPS announces they've reached their destination. Zayne parallel parks the car with surgical precision (a point of pride, honestly) before killing the engine. He gets out first and walks around the car to open your door for you. The gleaming smile on your face as you take his hand to help you get out is one he will remember for years to come. At least he's doing something right. 

You look up at the awning of the shop you're standing in front of. Faded gold lettering proclaims "Artistic Supplies". 

'You're kidding,' you say slowly. 

Zayne allows himself a small, satisfied smile. 'No, I'm not.' 

'You do realize you're enabling my addiction, right?' 

He shrugs, 'I'd prefer to say I'm trying to do something that makes you happy.' 

This man... You grab his hand and drag him inside, but he seems completely content following you. How he knew you have never been to this particular art store is a mystery to you, but he seems to be enjoying watching you awe like a kid in a candy store. 

The place smells a little musty between the smells of different mediums and paint thinners. Wooden display cases and apothecary style storage closets reach up to the ceiling. Sunlight illuminates paper dust particles that float around everywhere. Jars and jars and jars of brushes litter the store's every flat surface. One display case has every type of sketchpad with every thickness and kind of paper you can imagine for every medium you can imagine.  

They've got pure pigments, acrylic paints, oil pains, guash, watercolor, oil crayons, charcoal, watercolor pencils, normal pencils, fine liners made for alcohol markers, fine liners made for other types of markers, markers of every kind... pfff, you're nearly out of breath naming all of it in your mind let alone if you tried to for real. 

And you see Zayne holding a basket. You almost curse the man for it, but then he gives you a quest. 

'I'd like you to get me some essential supplies. Things that you like.' For a moment you just stare at him, something unreadable to him flickering in your eyes. Excitement mostly. Then you take his hand and start walking around the store with him. 

An hour passes in a heartbeat as you go through the store like a whirlwind. You dart between aisles, pilling supplies in th basket. Sketchpad, different types of graphite pencils, charcoal, kneadable eraser. And those are just the things you are picking up for Zayne. In your hand are a few small jars of pigment, three brushes you hadn't been able to get at your regular art store, a sketchpad under your arm. 

What you did not notice was that Zayne was putting a second of every item you picked for him in the basket. 

At checkout, you want to pay but Zayne takes the things out of your hands and puts them on the counter. 'My treat.' 

'Zayne, my stuff is easily over a hundred bucks or something. Let me-' 

'Why don't you wait outside? I'll be right there.' It sounds like a suggestion but feels almost like a command. You still feel a little bad making him pay, but he seems happy to do so. 

'Alright.' 

'Thank you,' he says as he pulls you into him for a second and presses a kiss on your forehead. Your cheeks heat and you almost rush out of the shop, Zayne's chuckle following you out. 

It feels strange to be taken care of. You've always been on your own, or with men who let you carry the full load of the relationship. You were fully prepared to do that now too because his insecurities, but he planned a date and he's paying for your things. Why does it make you feel incompetent? Why does it feel like you're less than? Why do you not allow yourself to enjoy good things that come your way? 

∘₊✧───────────────────────────────────────✧₊∘ 

You had suggested to Zayne to leave the art supplies in the car, but he was dead set on taking a leisurely stroll to the botanical gardens close to the art store. Apparently, the cashier was raving about it but you're not quite sure.  

Zayne is gleaming, walking a little too close to you. Your shoulder keeps brushing again him, your hands touching every few steps. For some reason, you are determined to let him make the move of holding your hand but you're desperate at this point. You want him so bad. You want to hold his hand so bad. 

The next time your hands bump together, you hook your pinky onto his. It's innocent, innocuous, something else starting with in... intimate? You hear a breathy chuckle coming from him as his hand moves to weave his fingers between yours. His grasp is firm but gentle. 

Slowly, the scenery of the street changes. It becomes quieter, serene, beautiful as lush greenery appears on every corner. You stop at the entrance where Zayne shows the staff his phone and they scan something on his screen. You presume it's tickets. Seems you were right about this not being so spontaneous. 

The staff member tells him something you don't quite focus on. He nods and turns to you. 'Are you hungry?' You can almost hear your stomach rumble. It's far past 12 and though you normally eat much later than that, walking around has gotten you quite peckish. 

'Starving,' you say with a smile. He leads you through the garden, seeming to know very well where he's going. Maybe the staff member told him about some lunchroom inside the botanical gardens? But no. 

You arrive at a willow tree on the edge of one of the many manmade lakes in the botanical gardens. It's a stunning sight, with lillies and lillypads covering the lake, lush gras surrounding the pond, and all sorts of butterflies and dragonflies darting around. And under the tree is a picnic blanket with a wicker basket. 

'You arranged a picnic for us?' 

He simply smiles and sits down on the blanket. You watch as he unpacks the basket. There's wine, juice, fresh bread, olives, quiche, some spreads for the bread. Zayne starts slicing up the bread and puts one of the spreads on a piece. 'I might have pulled some strings.' 

'You,' you point at him as you sit down, 'are secretly a romantic.' 

'It's basic planning,' he argues gently as he hands you the piece of bread. 

'Sure it is,' you tease. He watches you as you take a bite from the bread. Your smile makes his heart melt. That's what he did all of this for. To see that smile again. 

He keeps offering you food and wine whilst you talk his ear off about this and that. He wonders if this is what bliss feels like. 

When you are sated and leaning back on your elbows on the blanket, you sigh. The sight in front of you is so beautiful, as is the sight beside you. Zayne laying on his back with his hands folded under his head, eyes closed, looking completely at ease. 'I wish I could draw this.' 

'Good thing we stopped by the art store then,' he answers and hands you the bag with the stuff he bought without even opening his eyes. 

'These are supposed to be for you.' 

'I bought extra, just in case.' He can't help the grin that spreads on his face. You look in the bag and see doubles of everything you recommended to him. 

'Are you kidding? Zayne, when did you become such a romantic?' 

After that, you spend hours teaching Zayne some basic techniques for drawing a scenery in perspective and some basic portrait sketches. He pretends he doesn't notice the edges of your pages filing up with small sketches of his face and his features, but he secretly tries to do the same though his drawings look a lot rougher. Not much else of the gardens are explored as you stay on the picnic blanket until you realize it's almost seven pm and your stomach is rumbling once again. 

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[i-am-a-bad-influence-writes]

Ordinary Chapter 4, Petrichor

Masterlist Word count: 2k Zayne x Fem!Reader

Summary: After seeing his best friend getting married to the love of her life, Zayne can't help but be a little jealous. He never had this feeling before. It's almost like he's longing for someone to love. At the wedding, she introduces him to a colleague who instantly forces him out of his comfort zone. Could this be love?

∘₊✧───────────────────────────────────────✧₊∘ 

"Please." 

That was the whole text. It felt so desperate, like a cry for answers. A cry gone unanswered too long by Zayne. You would've sent a longer text to arrange a time to meet, but it hurt. Being left like that hurt. 

For the longest time, whenever you had a potential suitor, you would go so incredibly fast. Sex was a date one or date two occurrence. None of them ever stayed long enough to properly get to know you and most of them left you after you'd have sex. You know that, in part, this was a problem on your end but none of them ever gave you the impression that they wanted to go slow.  

Besides, most of them called you too much or too clingy and called it a day. 

And now there's Zayne, who fears his feelings, spontaneity, and chaos. All things that you have and do in abundance. Seems like a match made in hell, but it works so well. You can see the effort he puts in, how much he wants this. On your end, you want to match his pace and let him take over the rhythm. In a way, there's a certain control you both have that you need to let go of. 

It's terrifying, but you feel it's worth it. 

∘₊✧───────────────────────────────────────✧₊∘ 

It's no more than fifty meters from his car to your front door, but it feels much longer than it should be. Partly because of the rain, partly because Zayne's mind is racing with half-formed apologies and explanations. He had rehearsed this conversation in his head a dozen times while driving over, but now, standing on your doorstep, every word has evaporated. 

He knocks – once, twice – before the door swings open. 

There you stand, your hair tied up messily, wearing paint-splattered clothes and those ugly sandals from last time that are starting to grow on him. You look soft. Warm... Like home. 

'Come in, it's pouring,' you say, stepping aside to let him in. Zayne hesitates on the threshold, his polished shoes hovering over the familiar, paint-speckled floorboards. You tilt your head, studying him. 'You're gonna catch a cold if you don't come inside. Or do you want to do this on the porch?' 

'A cold is a virus. Unless you have a cold, I'll be fine,' he states nervously. Medical stuff seems the only thing his brain can form right now. However, he does manage to step inside. The warm scent of dried flowers and scented candles welcomes him in like a warm hug. The loft is just as he remembered. Cluttered but cozy, rain gently tapping against the huge windows making beautiful shadow figures on the mismatched furniture. 

You motion to the couch. 'Do you want anything to drink? Coffee, tea?' 

'I'm good.' He sits down, back rigid, hands clasped in his lap. You take the upholstered chair he had been awing at last time, pulling your legs up to sit cross-legged. For a long moment, silence stretches between the two of you. Nerves run wild, but it's not uncomfortable. Merely tense. 

Finally, Zayne exhales. 'I owe you an apology.' 

You raise your brows ever so slightly. 'What for?' 

A faint smile tugs at his lips despite himself. 'For kissing you and running.' He fidgets with his fingers for a second. 'I panicked.' 

'I noticed.' Your tone is light, but your eyes are searching his. 

Zayne's throat tightens. How could he possibly explain the fear that coiled in his chest when you looked at him like he was something special with a kind of certainty that he has never seen before? How could he explain that he became terrified you'd find something wrong with him, that you'd realize he wasn't worth the patience you keep offering? 

'I'm not...' Zayne's voice cracks unexpectedly. He clears his throat, fingers digging into his thighs. 'I'm not sure how to do this. All of this is new to me. And the way you look at me like I’m...' His jaw locks up for a second before he forces out the terrifying word he's been trying to avoid: 'worthwhile.' 

It feels like a slap in the face to you. How could you have missed that he is going through the same thing as you, just a little differently. When you look up at him again, your eyes are glistening. Tears on the brink of spilling out.  

He looks confused when you get off your chair and kneel in front of him. His eyes watch your movements intently as you reach your paint-stained hands out to his and gently pull them away from digging into his thighs. 'You think I'm not scared?' Your whisper is raw, almost painful. 'Every time you walk away from me, I wonder if it's the last time I'll see you. If today's the day you decide I'm not worth the trouble, that I'm too clingy, too much.' 

Zayne's breath catches in his throat. Your words are like a blade between his ribs, poking straight through is heart. 

You continue, your hands gently intertwining his fingers with yours. 'I want you so much I can barely contain myself, but I wait. Because you're...' You swallow down your tears quietly. 'You're the first person in years who makes me want to go slow.' 

The admission hangs between you, fragile as crystal wine glasses. It feels as if Zayne's eyes are opened. He feels the faint tremor in your fingers, hears the flutter in your throat, sees the longing in your eyes. You weren't just patient; you were restraining yourself. For him. 

In a way it terrifies him even more. How far could you go if he gave you the go ahead? Would he be able to keep up with you? Would you take his hand and drag him along? Would you want to keep walking this pace with him until he feels comfortable enough to run? He doesn't know, but in a way it's comforting not to know. 

His voice comes out rough. 'What if I break your heart?' 

A tear finally escapes down your cheek, and you let it fall. 'What if you don't?' 

The simplicity of the question shatters him. His carefully constructed defenses – the distance, the clinical analysis of every outcome, the running – crumble under the weight of her hope. 

Zayne gently reaches out, his thumb catching the next tear before it can drop. Your skin is burning, a blush slowly creeping up underneath his touch. 'I don't know how to be what you deserve.' 

You turn your face into his hand, pressing a kiss to his palm. 'Just be Zayne. That's all I need.' With your words, you raise to your feet and climb onto his lap, carefully watching his eyes for any sign of restrain or refusal. You see none. All you see is the same longing you have reflected in his eyes. 

Instead of pulling away, he presses his forehead against yours, breaths mingling in the space between you.  

'I'll mess this up,' he warns. 

'I'm sure you will,' you smile, 'but I will too.' 

Zayne smiles, reaching up to cup your face. The tip of his right finger traces your brow, committing the little details of your face to memory. 'I'll take you out this Sunday,' he murmurs, 'I've got the whole day off.' 

Your bright smile warms him up from the inside out, your excitement is so big it's almost a physical thing he can reach out to and touch. 'I'm looking forward to it.' 

And suddenly, his lips are on yours. Warm, desperate, scared, all things all at once. There's electricity in his touch, fire in his chest, but it's still restrained. He doesn't allow himself to go all out. When you break apart you get the beautiful sight of his blown pupils, a sight that you will never forget.  

He wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you into his chest. Your arms are over his shoulder, wrapped around his neck. His chest moves up and down steadily with his breathing against your chest. It's so much more intimate than you expected him to be ready for at this point, but you're not complaining. 

'Still scared,' you tease, your voice a little unsteady. 

'Terrified,' Zayne admits, brushing his nose against yours. 

∘₊✧───────────────────────────────────────✧₊∘ 

Sunday comes way too fucking soon. You've done a total of one loads of laundry in the last few weeks and have virtually nothing to wear. Great. Doesn't help that it's spring, which is basically impossible to dress for if you're going out a whole day. 

As you rummage through your closet you discover some clothing items that should never see the light of day again and one thing you thought you lost. A pretty little cropped sweater that goes perfectly with a pair of pleated, straight-leg pants you've got. Perfect. 

Your phone buzzes. 

"ETA 10:30am." Perfect. 

That's another one and a half hour to take a shower, dry your hair, put on the only makeup look you know how to do, and get dressed. You sent a quick text back. 

"Great, I'll be ready." 

And suddenly it hits you. 

Zayne is picking you up for a date. The same Zayne who tried to avoid his feelings for you. The same Zayne who finally decided to take initiative and talk to you. The same Zayne who... kissed you. 

Your face goes bright red at that thought. He kissed you. He actually kissed you. It was only once, but he kissed you. And then he held you for nearly an hour. You actually fell asleep in his arms, and he kept holding you. He might've also fallen asleep, you wouldn't know, but he looked perfectly content when you got off of him. 

It feels like a dream, but you beg to the gods above to let you sleep forever if this is what your dreams are like. Your whole body feels warm at the thought of him. You wish you could glue yourself to his side and never let go, but that might be a little too much for him at this point. 

But he's trying and that's enough for now. 

∘₊✧───────────────────────────────────────✧₊∘ 

Zayne is exactly on time as you expected him to be. If he hadn't been, he would've texted you. He's organized like that. Funnily, he didn't dress as neat as he normally does. It's nowhere near what you'd call casual, but you figure it's casual for him. Just a simple blouse – still very much pressed and neat – with two buttons open at the top and slacks – also very much pressed and neat. 

'You look beautiful,' you say in awe. Zayne freezes, almost as if his head has shut down. 

'Beauti- What?' 

'Yeah,' you answer, a little more confidently this time. 'Let me quickly grab my bag.' You turn to head back in, but Zayne grabs your wrist and pulls you into his chest. With wide eyes, you look up at him. His eyes are ever so slightly darker than they were when you opened the door. 

'You can't just say things like that and walk away,' he states. Then, he leans down to press a kiss to your lips. It's hungrier than last time, more desperate. And as much as you'd like to continue this, you know he'll regret it if you let him and you can't risk that right now. Not when he's coming out of his shell like this. 

With your hands gently pushing his chest, you manage to free himself - well, there's not much to "free" if you wanted to be there, but whatever) - and take a good look at him. There's something different about him. You can tell he's really trying to let his defenses down, but he's gone a bit overboard. 

You kind of get it. In a world where you only know too fast and he only knows too slow, it's hard to find the middle ground. It's almost like you're switching sides right now. 

'Zayne, we've got all day. No need to rush.' 

'You're right. I guess I got a little lost in the moment.' He lets go of you and straightens himself out while you grab your bag. 

'I like you getting lost in the moment,' you admit when you come back to the door, 'I just don't want you to regret it later. And like I said, we've got all day. More than enough time for another kiss.' 

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@fvcknwww

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@merodis

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Want to join the taglist? Go here

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[i-am-a-bad-influence-writes]

Wasn't tagged, but this is too cute. I couldn't stop messing with it.

here’s a sweet picrew to help you end your weekend on a bright note! open tags, as always 🤍

[i-am-a-bad-influence-writes]

I'm on my period and dying. Anyone got any Love and Deepspace fluff recommendations for me? I need it.

[i-am-a-bad-influence-writes]

Hello! I just started reading your Ordinary series, and I absolutely adore it! I would love to be on your LADs tag list if possible 😊

Awww, thank you so much that's so sweet. I'll add you <3