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lizzy019 · 2 days ago

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bewitched

synopsis: coming home is the best part warnings: soft domestic fluff (hopefully I don't give you guys too many cavities) pairing: Zayne x fem!reader wc: 2k an: inspired by this artwork sent by my lovely friend @frozenjasmine

When you first got word of the three-week mission, your heart didn’t sink because of the schedule or the destination. It sank because of Zayne.

It had seemed like lately you and him had been two stars orbiting the same planet but never quite aligning. Busy schedules, early mornings, and late nights meant that even though you lived together, you’d barely seen each other beyond rushed goodbyes and half-asleep greetings. You missed him. A lot. The kind of miss that clung to your bones.

So when the mission landed on your desk, your first thought wasn’t logistics. It was him. And more specifically, how to leave him something behind that would make him feel as warm and cared for as he made you feel, even if you were miles away.

After some late-night scrolling, you found it. A custom plushie commission, complete with a miniature hoodie that matched your favorite one and a fond little smile that looked vaguely like your own. It was silly and a little cheesy, but that was what made it perfect.

To your surprise, it arrived in record time, soft and snug in a bright blue gift bag. Now here you were, standing outside Zayne’s office with the bag hidden behind your back, nerves fluttering in your stomach like you were about to ask him to prom.

“Come in,” came his voice through the door, calm, cool, and work-focused. But the second you stepped in, his shoulders lost a bit of their tension. His eyes flicked up from the screen, and you saw it. The faintest upward curve at the corner of his mouth.

“Hi,” you greeted softly, tucking the gift behind your back even more. You could feel his gaze flicker to the movement.

“What are you hiding?” he asked immediately, brow arching in suspicion. His voice wasn’t sharp, though, more amused than anything. Still, the way he scanned you, eyes searching for signs of a limp or injury, was painfully Zayne.

“Are you alright?”

You gave a long, theatrical sigh, pulling out the bright blue bag with a flourish. “I got you something,” you said, your voice warm with affection.

You sank into the chair across from him and placed the bag carefully on the desk, your smile growing at the look on his face, half curious and half cautious.

He stared at the gift for a second like it might explode.

“I didn’t get you anything,” he admitted, almost sheepishly. “I wasn’t aware there was a gift exchange happening.”

You shook your head, grinning. “It’s not about that. I just wanted you to have something while I’m away.”

Zayne looked between you and the bag again. Then, with a resigned sort of exhale, he reached in and tugged at the tissue paper, revealing the plush nestled inside.

Confusion overtook his features instantly. He picked it up gently, like he wasn’t quite sure it was safe to touch.

“What…is this?”

You leaned forward eagerly. “It’s me! Well, plushie-me. So you don’t get too lonely while I’m gone.”

He blinked at it, then at you, then back again. “You think this...looks like you?”

You gave him an exaggerated side-eye. “Don’t you see the resemblance?” You scooted your chair a few inches closer, resting your chin on your hands as you watched him inspect it.

Unfortunately, his expression didn’t mirror your enthusiasm.

“I appreciate the gift,” he said carefully, like he was choosing his words with tweezers, “but I don’t think it was necessary. It’s just a few weeks.”

You frowned, sitting back. “So you’re not gonna miss me?”

His eyes widened slightly, and he instantly caught himself. “That’s not what I meant.”

You crossed your arms, playfully stubborn. “Mmhm.”

“Of course I’ll miss you,” he said, more softly this time. “But we can still talk on the phone. I’d rather hear your voice than…this.” He gestured vaguely at the plush, which was now sitting awkwardly on the desk between you like a silent witness to the exchange.

“I can return it,” you said quickly, reaching toward it.

But his hand darted out, grabbing it before you could. “No, no. I’ll keep it,” he said, suddenly firm. His voice shifted, quieter, almost sheepish now. “It’s a gift.”

That softened you again. You could feel your heart tilting a little. Before you could say more, your watch buzzed with a reminder.

“I have to go.” The words escape you with a sigh, heavy and reluctant.

You stood and leaned across the desk, meaning only to give him a quick goodbye kiss, something light and befitting of a doctor of his reputation. But Zayne surprised you.

He met you halfway.

His hand rose, steady and warm, to cradle your cheek like you were made of glass. And the kiss he gave you wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t a goodbye sealed in haste. It was slow, lingering, like he was memorizing the shape of your mouth, the scent of your skin, the way you tilted into him without hesitation.

It was rare for him to kiss you like that at work, where walls had ears and professionalism came first. But this time? He didn’t seem care.

Your fingers found the edge of his collar, gently curling there. You could feel the steady beat of his pulse under your hand, just a touch too fast.

When he finally pulled away, he didn’t go far. His forehead hovered close to yours, breath mingling in the quiet space between you. His eyes searched yours, like he wanted to say something else but couldn’t find the words fast enough.

His thumb brushed gently just beneath your eye, and he smiled, soft, almost fond. “Text me when you get to the hotel,” he murmured, voice low. Then he reached up and tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear with a kind of care that made your chest ache.

You nodded, cheeks flushed, your voice catching a little as you whispered back, “I will.”

For a second, neither of you moved.

Then, reluctantly, you stepped back, feeling the invisible thread still tugging between you. His hand slipped away last, fingers grazing your wrist as you turned to leave.

As you left, you stole one last glance over your shoulder, and saw him quietly adjusting the plush so it sat upright on his desk, as if it belonged there all along.

It’s late. Very late.

The house is quiet in the way that only homes filled with love can be. You let the door close with a careful click, toeing your shoes off with the silent efficiency of someone on a mission. Every muscle in your body aches from the long journey home, but none of it matters. None of it compares to how badly you want to be in his arms.

You pad quietly down the hall, suitcase forgotten by the door, the scent of him already making your heart clench. The bedroom door creaks softly as you push it open, and the sight that greets you nearly knocks the air from your lungs.

Zayne is curled up on his side, the blankets tangled around him. His dark hair is a messy halo on the pillow, a few strands stuck adorably to his forehead. But what stops you cold, what makes your chest flutter and ache and melt all at once, is what’s nestled in his arms.

The plushie.

Your plushie.

You had half-convinced yourself he wouldn’t touch it. His reaction had been lukewarm at best, and he was always so practical, so logical. You figured it would end up forgotten on a shelf, or buried behind a pile of books on his desk. But no. There it was, tucked securely in his embrace, the mini version of you held against his chest like something treasured.

You cover your mouth with one hand to keep from laughing or crying, you’re not sure which, and take out your phone to snap a photo. Well, maybe a few. Some for yourself. Some for your lock screen. Some for the moments when you miss him so much it hurts and need a reminder of how sweet he can be.

You tiptoe to the bed, setting your phone on the nightstand. For a moment, you just stand there, soaking him in. His steady breathing, the tiny frown tugging at his lips even in sleep, the peaceful, unguarded way he’s holding the plush.

Leaning over, you brush your fingers through his hair, gently sweeping it away from his face. Then your thumb ghosts along the edge of his cheekbone, slow and fond.

His brows twitch, and then his eyes flutter open, groggy, unfocused at first, until they find you.

“You’re home,” he mumbles into the pillow, voice thick with sleep.

“I’m home,” you whisper, your heart practically glowing. You lean down to press a kiss to his cheek, slow and sweet.

He hums, eyes already slipping shut again, and without hesitation, he reaches out and tugs you into bed like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he doesn’t hold onto you fast enough. You let out a breathless laugh, snuggling into his chest as his arms wrap around you tightly.

“I thought you replaced me,” you tease, nodding toward the plushie as you gently nudge it aside to make room.

His eyes crack open again, red-rimmed and sleepy. “I missed you,” he says simply.

“I missed you too, Zayne.” You nuzzle closer, pressing your nose against the curve of his shoulder. “But I’m still in my plane clothes. You always yell at me about outside germs, remember?”

He doesn’t let go. “Here,” he murmurs, grabbing the plush and placing it in your eyeline. You blink, realizing it’s wearing one of your sleep shirts, sleeves rolled up to its tiny wrists.

Your chest tugs again, soft and aching. But you don’t say a word, don’t tease him. Instead, you press a hand gently to his chest and ease yourself away just enough to change. He tries to keep a hand on your wrist the whole time, making a noise of confusion when you steal your arm back to put a shirt on.

Once you slide into your pajamas, you crawl into bed for real, and Zayne doesn’t waste a second. He pulls you close, closer than close, like he’s trying to make up for every missed second of the past few weeks.

He buries his face in the crook of your neck, his breath warm against your skin. “Did your mission go alright?” he murmurs, voice soft and slurred, as if he’s already halfway back to sleep.

“It was good,” you whisper, running a gentle hand through his hair. “Just…long.”

He hums in agreement, the sound vibrating softly through your collarbone, and you feel the slow rise and fall of his chest start to sync with yours. He shifts, just slightly, resting his head against your chest, right over your heart, like he always does. It’s instinct now.

You press a kiss to the top of his head, your fingers continuing their soft, sleepy strokes through his hair.

“I love you,” you whisper, not needing him to say it back.

But he does anyway, muffled and quiet: “I love you too.”

And with his heartbeat echoing gently against your own, your legs tangled beneath the covers, the plushie snoozing peacefully at the edge of the bed in your old shirt, you finally feel home.

#dies #i need him so bad it's hurting me #ZAYNE I NEED YOU #MY WIFE

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lizzy019 · 2 days ago

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Could you write alexandria era Daryl and reader where his gf is insecure about being "unattractive" and that daryl could get any girl he wanted (even if daryl would never believe that lol) ? love you fics xx

DARYL wasn’t used to hearing you cry.

sure, you got teary-eyed sometimes - when you were overwhelmed, when someone did something unexpectedly kind, even during a few of the stories he’d told you about merle when you’d asked - but this? this was different.

this was quiet. not the kind of crying where you let it out, but the kind where you were trying to hold it in.

he found you sitting on the edge of the bed, hunched over, hands gripping the blanket like you were grounding yourself. your head was ducked low, hair hiding your face, but your shoulders trembled just enough for him to notice.

his chest tightened.

"what’s wrong?"

you stiffened at his voice, hurriedly rubbing at your face before looking up. your eyes were red-rimmed, your nose a little pink, and you were smiling - like you could just pretend nothing happened.

"nothing," you said quickly, voice a little too light.

he frowned. "sure don’t look like nothin’."

"i’m fine, daryl."

his eyes narrowed. "nah. somethin’ happened. what is it?"

you inhaled sharply, like you were bracing yourself, then shook your head. "it’s stupid."

he stepped closer, boots scuffing against the floor. "you know i don’t care."

your fingers twisted into the blanket, and for a second, you just stared at your lap. then, so quietly he almost missed it, you muttered, "sometimes i just don’t get why you’re with me."

daryl blinked. the hell?

his frown deepened, confusion flickering in his eyes. "what?"

"it’s just…" you exhaled shakily, not looking at him. "you could have anyone."

daryl stared, brows furrowing like he hadn’t understood the words.

"what the hell are ya talkin’ about?"

you swallowed hard. "you’re - " your voice wavered, and you looked away. "you."

his scowl deepened. "yeah, and?"

"you’re - " you gestured vaguely, like that explained everything. "you’re… good-looking."

he actually flinched.

"what?"

"you are, daryl," you said, voice small. "and i’m not. and sometimes, i just… i don’t understand why you’d wanna be with me when you could have - "

"stop."

his voice was rough, immediate.

you startled, looking up at him with wide eyes. his jaw was clenched, his hands twitching by his sides like he didn’t know what to do with them.

"first off," he said gruffly, "i ain’t good-lookin’."

you opened your mouth to protest, but he cut you off.

"second," he continued, "i couldn’t have anyone. never could."

you frowned. "yes you could, daryl. if you wanted to - "

"don’t wanna," he snapped, frustrated.

you flinched, and his face instantly softened. he exhaled hard, rubbing the back of his neck.

"don’t want anyone else," he muttered. "only ever wanted you."

your heart clenched, but doubt still gnawed at you. "why?"

he scowled again. "why not?"

"because - " your voice caught. "because i just don’t see what you see."

daryl huffed, shaking his head. "ain’t ‘bout what you see. it’s ‘bout what i see."

his voice softened, his hands finally moving - one tilting your chin up, the other brushing your hair away from your face.

"and what i see?" his thumb traced your cheek, his voice so damn sure. "prettiest damn girl i ever laid eyes on."

your breath hitched.

he wasn’t saying it just to say it. daryl didn’t lie.

"you’re just sayin’ that," you whispered.

his expression darkened, fingers tightening just a little, like he was annoyed you’d even think that.

"don’t say shit i don’t mean," he muttered. "ain’t never been good at that."

your lip trembled. "but - "

"no but," he cut in. "ya think i’d be here if i ain’t want ya? think i’d waste my damn time if i ain’t love ya?"

your stomach flipped. he didn’t say that often - not in words, anyway.

"love ya more’n anything," he murmured. "don’t give a shit what you think you look like. you’re mine and you’re cute as fuck."

a small, broken noise slipped from your throat, and daryl reacted instantly, wrapping his arms around you, pulling you into his chest. you clung to him, burying your face in his shoulder as the rest of the tears spilled out.

he held you tighter, murmuring, "ain’t goin’ nowhere."

and you believed him.

ᰔ daryl dixon : @v3lv3tf0x, @dugiioh, @whxtewolf, @lemoanaid, @sunnykittyzz

@california-boys-and-sun, @cable-kenobi, @omen-keke, @hhiggs, @iheartpeterparker3000

@withasideofmeg, @corvuscattus, @nestavadavat, @kcch-ns, @spideysimpossiblegirl

taglist form linked in pinned post :3

#thank god i needed smth like this #norman reedus needs to kiss my head until i stop crying #he's married.....#whatever i can dream!!

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