My master list of stuff I've written. This'll be updated in conjunction with how often I publish stuff. Fandoms will be included over time--so if you want to see what I write, go to here
Hemlock Grove:
Roman Godfrey Relationship HCs
Hell's Gate (part 1)
Hell's Gate (part 2)
Hell's Gate (part 3)
Hell's Gate (part 4)
Hell's Gate (part 5)
Moon Knight:
Bitch series part 1
Bitch series part 2
Bitch series part 3
Obey Me!:
Obey Me! headcanons (all brothers)
Attack on Titan:
Pegging headcanons
Naruto & Boruto:
Boruto headcanon request
Boruto request part 2
Boruto headcanon request
Fairy Tail:
Laxus Dreyer headcanons
Jujutsu Kaisen:
Pegging headcanons
MCU:
Avengers React
Avengers React 2
Loki Laufeyson headcanons (NSFW)
Loki Laufeyson confession headcanons
Black Butler:
Pegging headcanons
Kengan Ashura:
Pegging headcanons
One Punch Man:
Pegging headcanons
Speed-O-Sound Sonic Oneshot (NSFW)
Criminal Minds:
Spencer Reid pegging headcanons
Spencer Reid relationship headcanons
Random Spencer Reid headcanons
Random Spencer Reid headcanons (NSFW)
Random Spencer Reid headcanons (SFW and light NSFW)
Break Me, Make Me Yours (Spencer Reid) (NSFW) |Part 1|
Infold announced a bit ago that they're cancelling and deleting Valko's content due to the sheer amount of BACKLASH from Chinese fans. China makes up a majority of Infold's player base/revenue intake, and if the Chinese players are to boycott, there's a chance Love and Deepspace would buckle quickly under the financial and social strain.
However, I've seen screenshots and translations of Chinese fans hating on Valko specifically for extremely racist reasons. Let's all not forget that East Asia is, as a whole, still socially conservative, racist, and xenophobic--ESPECIALLY towards Black people.
But we, as global players, don't deserve to lose such massive amounts of content that teams of artists and professionals worked hard to create all because of racist Chinese people. I haven't played the game myself in several months, but I keep up to date with the cards and banners and stuff, and I still love LaDS regardless.
Fans urge Infold and PaperGames to restore Valko as a love interest in Love and Deepspace to honor the original vision for the game. Add you
The link to a petition to restore Valko as a love interest, and there are already almost 100,000 signatures, mine included. There's no promise this will do anything, but I'd rather try and fail than sit back and watch. I don't like companies who buckle under pressure, nor do I like when other voices are ignored en masse for reasons such as money or fear of social rejection. I will always love LaDS, but until further notice, I too am not going to redownload the game. I was a F2P player and now I'm not a player at all.
Reflection | Sylus x fem!reader| | NSFW | | Part 1 |
➺ Preface: Sylus is a freaky deak and so are you, however, you never really had the idea of watching yourselves, live action, while it's happening. Well, lucky for you, Sylus aims to please you no matter what. So if you want to get fucked in front of his mirror, who is he to deny you?
➺ I'm gonna scream. Also, this is NOT proofread, good luck teehee
This will definitely be NSFW (18+) so minors DNI (do not interact). Unless you do, which in that case I refuse to be held responsible for the content you consume.
Moonlight streams through the large window in Sylus' room, bathing parts of the floor and furniture in a silver tint. It makes the black and red grow muddy, almost muted. You stand in front of the large full-body mirror, brushing your hair out after a nice steamy shower from a long day out. Usually, Sylus is quick to jump on you to join you during your shower times, but something kept him busy, so he was unable to join this time (much to his irritation, even if he didn't say it irritated him). You haven't seen him since before, but Mephisto is nearby, so that can only mean he's in the house at the very least.
As you tie your hair up into a claw clip to keep out of your face while you finish the rest of your routine for the night, you're quick to see a dark shadow move in your peripheral vision. You grin when the tall leader of Onychinus steps into the mirror's reflection, coming up behind you. "You finally done with whatever pulled you away from our usual shower time?" you ask, carefully tossing the brush over to the nearest surface.
A low, rumbling hum leaves his lips as he wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you back against him. "For the most part," is his cryptic response; typical. He tilts his head down to breathe in the smell of your clean hair; eyes fluttering closed before a pleased groan leaves his nose. "You look beautiful, kitten."
You snort softly and let him take in his inhale of you. Truly, he may not smoke or do drugs, but it seems he's trying to get a hit off of you whenever he can. "Thanks. Something tells me you're just enjoying my shampoo."
"It certainly is a bonus," he replies, opening his eyes. Ruby red reflects back to you, roaming appreciatively over your body, over your face. "But I was talking about your reflection, sweetheart. The way you look from a different perspective. Curious, isn't it?"
You look away from him and at your own self. You never really thought anything special of reflections--they're there, and they help you get an idea of what you look like to others. "I guess," you reply with a soft shrug. "I never really thought anything special of it."
Sylus hums softly, his hands beginning to roam your front. Large palms slide across your stomach, softly squeezing, caressing. "Have you ever thought about seeing yourself from someone else's perspective?" He asks, his voice lowering to a deep purr, the tone he uses when he's trying to seduce you. "How gorgeous you look when touched just the right way? When the pleasure is so deep and rich you can't help but arch and gasp?"
You bite your lip briefly, beginning to understand what it is he's trying to do, trying to say. "Is this your way of asking if I'd like to have. . . mirror sex?"
Sylus chuckles softly, pressing a kiss to the side of your head. "Smart kitten," he praises softly. "It was merely an idea at first. A passing thought. But seeing you right here made it bloom into something more than just a passing fancy." He pulls you tighter against him, pressing another kiss to your temple, and then your cheek.
"Ah, I see," you breathe softly eyes never leaving his reflection as he peppers kisses down your face. "Well, I can't say I've never been curious. . . I've thought about it, but it always seemed cringe to do it solo, so I just passed it up."
"Oh, but watching you go solo is beautiful, kitten," Sylus replies, one of his hands sneaking below the hem of your shirt to caress the skin beneath, not quite touching, but just hovering. Loving. "Seeing your hand between your legs, the way you look at me like you're unsure after all this time together. . . it takes all I have to stay still and let you finish by yourself."
Your skin heats up, flushing softly. Not out of embarrassment or shyness, but from his words sparking arousal deep inside of you. "Well, I'm usually in the middle of said solo sessions--you just tell me to keep going and not let you interrupt."
"Mhm," Sylus hums, ducking his head down to begin kissing your neck, slowly and sensually. Worshipping each inch of skin that his lips touch. "I would never dream of interrupting my kitten."
Your eyes flutter slightly, but you force them open to watch his tall form lean down to kiss your neck, tongue darting out to lick your lips in a subconscious move. Anticipation, nervousness? You don't know, but you definitely know one thing: y'all look hot as fuck. "Mm. . . you might have a point about the mirror," you murmur softly, watching his hands crawl across your stomach, muscles tensing from his sensual touch. "You look. . . good like this."
Sylus glances up, gaze dark and half-lidded, filled with such passionate intent it steals your breath away. "Takes one to know one, sweetheart," he replies, voice right near your ear. Husky and low. "You're gorgeous, sweetheart. Ravishing in every way a person can be." His hands push higher up your shirt, fingers teasing right beneath your breasts.
Your breathing quickens as you feel his fingers teasing the area below your breasts, not touching them, not yet. "Says you," you breathe, glancing up at him in the mirror, seeing the way he's looking at you. "You're a sight for sore eyes no matter what position you're in."
Sylus chuckles at that, splaying his fingers across your breast, letting his thumb brush over your nipple. "That so, kitten? Then tell me, what position do you like me best in, mm?" He turns his head slightly, his teeth finding your ear and gently biting the tip of it, groaning softly. "I'll let you decide."
Your knees buckle softly, a very soft exhale of breath leaving you as his thumb brushes over your nipple. You feel a faint tingle in your groin area, arousal heating you up deep in your gut. It radiates outwards, flushing your skin and speeding up your heart rate. "Do I have to choose?" You whisper, unable to make your voice louder as you feel his hand crawl further up your chest, long fingers ghosting over the base of your neck, pressing softly against the hollow of your throat. "I already told you; you look good no matter what."
"Mm, look at yourself, sweetheart," Sylus commands huskily, grabbing your jaw with his hand and tilting your head to make you look at yourself in the mirror. You look like you're going to topple over if he let go, skin flushed, chest rising and falling faster and faster. "By the end of this I'll make you think you're the most gorgeous thing you've ever laid eyes on." His hand releases your jaw to slide back out your shirt. He grabs the hem and slowly slides it up and over your upper body, wrapping his arms around your front and ducking his head to begin kissing the side of your neck. His kisses are more intense now, passionate and filled with the intent to please, rather than tease.
You gasp softly, letting your shirt drop to the floor without another thought. "Sylus--" you half whine, half groan. "Is that really what you want?" You close your eyes, automatically averting your gaze to him in the mirror.
"Why wouldn't I want my beautiful, strong kitten to see herself the way I do, mm?" he asks, his lips moving to your jaw. "Do you not trust me, sweetie?" His one hand goes for your breast again, this time grabbing it and squeezing, gently massaging it in his large palm.
"I-I do," you stutter softly, head tilting back with a soft sigh. "Just. . . I don't really do this a lot--you know that."
"I do," he replies, eyes turning back to the mirror to see your face. "Which is why I'm doing this. Now, it's up to you whether you want to continue, kitten."
Remembrance | Sylus x fem!reader | Love and Deepspace
➺ Preface: After a surprise run-in with a Wanderer in the N109 Zone, you suffer a serious head injury which puts you out of commission for a few days. When you wake up, it's a relief for Sylus, who's been waiting. What he doesn't expect is your first words to be, 'Who are you?'
➺ Ohhhhhhhhhh angst >:) I need to brush up on my Sylus projecting because I need to see this man in AGONY (for research purposes). Writing hurt tough guy/guarded characters is a bit difficult for me so I'll need to do some research on R34 AO3 and maybe the source material--or YouTube since I can't exactly grind out all his cards and lore in one go without spending an exorbitant amount of money
This isn't proofread
Warning(s): General angst
Everything aches and you feel as if you've gotten the worst sleep of your life. Uncomfortable, your muscles throb, and there's a headache that's pounding behind your eyes. You don't remember much--you thought you were in a fight with a wanderer, but that was it. It all goes dark after that. Your memory is fuzzy, like trying to recall a dream you had a few mornings ago. Concepts, but no real visualizations. You awake with a soft stir, a low groan. You will your eyes to open despite the ache present behind them. You roll over to your side and try to bury your face into the pillows--warm and soft with an unfamiliar smell. At least to you.
"You finally awake, kitten?"
You pause, mind now suddenly wide awake at the sound of that low, husky, baritone voice. You sit up and face where it came from, eyes wide and a little startled when you see Sylus sitting there next to the bed, staring at you with a small smirk tugging at his lips. You do a down-up of him, and immediately, Sylus knows something is wrong. You don't normally look at him like that--you haven't looked at him like that since you first met.
"Why are you looking at me like that?" He asks, the smirk dropping from his face. He looks like he's glowering, but the slight furrow of his brows shows concern more so than irritation.
You scoot up on the bed, putting space between you two. "Who are you?" You ask, taking the sheet and pulling it over your body, as if it could create a shield between you two. "Did you. . . did you save me?"
Something in Sylus' expression tics. Tweaks. So minor you don't even notice--borderline unnoticeable. The muscle in his jaw tightens ever so slightly as his chin tilts up, and he takes a deep breath, steadying himself. "It seems your little accident has caused more damage than I thought," he says. "How inconvenient."
Your face scrunches up, "What? Accident? So I was hurt--was it a wanderer? Is that why I'm like this?" You watch as Sylus stands up from the chair, his gaze downturned. He turns his back to you and begins to stride across the room and to the door. "Wait--where are you going? Where even am I?"
Sylus finally stops in the doorway of the room, eyes still looking forward. "Just focus on getting that head of yours recovered. We can worry about the rest later." With that, he saunters off, his form disappearing around the corner. You stay on the bed, staring at where you last saw him.
Sylus walks down the hallway, his steps slow and measured. He doesn't have a destination in mind, not anything in particular. He just walks, his dress shoes clicking against the tiled floor. Luke and Kieran are lurking somewhere, able to see the slight tension in Sylus' shoulders, the tightness of his jaw, the way his eyes are focused, but there's nothing in his mind.
"Is she okay, Boss?" Luke asks, peeking out from an adjacent hallway. "You look troubled."
"You should be happy if she's awake," Kieran adds, popping up behind his twin. "She was pretty messed up."
Sylus pauses mid-stride. Slowly, his gaze turns over to the brothers. "She doesn't remember anything," he says, his tone flat. Stating a fact. "She remembers the wanderer attack, but it seems she's forgotten other important things."
Luke and Kieran share a glance through their masks. "Like what?"
There's a pause. Sylus doesn't look at them, just continues to stare at a wall. His fingers twitch at his side. "You two. Me. Us."
Seeing Red | Caleb x fem!reader | Love and Deepspace
➺ Preface: After discovering Caleb is still alive and the new Colonel of the Farspace Fleet, you live with him temporarily at his place. However, Caleb's darkness continues to flow through him, beneath the playfulness and protection.
➺ I can take Sylus, Zayne, and Caleb all at the same time. Not in a fight. Never in a fight. In my bedroom. On my bed, the floor, desk, dresser, against the wall, the ceiling, the closet, the doors, on top of the headboard--EVERYWHERE!!!!!!!!!! In the name of the doctor, the crow, and holy stepbro AMEN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I didn't proofread this btw
Warning(s): None, general CW of jealousy, possessiveness, and perhaps some darker thoughts
Discovering that Caleb had survived the Bloomshore explosion and was secretly alive was a lot to take in when you first arrived in Skyhaven. You expected a lot but that was certainly not one of them. Caleb seemed the way he was before the explosion, but there was something off about him. Not in the way he talked or his behavior, but something in his eyes had changed. Maybe he, too, was traumatized by the event, and who knows what he had to go through to stay alive. But you could tell there was something lurking, you just don't know what it is, and you had a feeling if you asked him, he'd only tease you and pinch your nose like he usually did when you tried to pry into his head.
Caleb has things to do on the Starship for the Fleet--and you're still on extended leave (thanks Jenna) for the time being. You don't have much to do nor go--besides, Caleb said he'd go with you. Something about him being a colonel so no one would question him, and by extension, you. You didn't tell anyone where you were going, not even Zayne--but you don't really tell him much anyway. As you meander around your temporary shared home with Caleb, your phone rings. A fellow Hunter from the Association is calling you--one you don't speak to often, but you've seen him around HQ once or twice. Nice dude, charismatic, charming. You answer the phone, not expecting much from him, but talking to him is better than walking around in circles.
~
When Caleb arrives back at the house it's late afternoon--he took whatever excuse he could get to be able to return to you. To make up for much missed time the past several months. When he enters the house, he calls out, "I'm home. I hope you didn't miss me too much, Pipsqueak." He slips off his shoes and walks deeper into the space, waiting to see you pop up from somewhere. But you don't. Instead, your voice rings out from somewhere down the hall. You're talking to someone. Someone who isn't him.
His expression drops, a light frown pulling at his lips as he quietly pads down the hall and to your self-claimed bedroom. Your door is wide open in your belief of solus, and your back is to him. Sitting on the bed, yapping away on the phone like you're talking to a high school friend. Giggling, laughing, obviously bantering with whoever is on the line. You sound happy. Cheerful. Whoever it is, is making you laugh like there's no tomorrow.
His eyes narrow, vision tunneling onto you. He doesn't say anything. He stands--looms--in the doorway of the bedroom, patiently waiting for you to be done with your call. Blood rushes through his ears--not out of anger, but out of a burning jealousy. It makes his skin flush, his ears turning a bright red from the increase of flow. He's never seen you laugh like that--not from someone else. Not even from Zayne once upon a time when you were younger.
It was only him.
Only ever him who could make you giggle until you couldn't breathe.
So, who the hell is doing it now? Doesn't matter. It's not him.
Finally, miraculously, you end the call in a fit of giggles, still not aware of the tall figure standing in your doorway like the boogeyman. You stand from your bed and turn, letting out a sharp yelp. "Caleb!" You screech, bracing your hands on the bed as you try to will your heart back into a calm state. "I didn't hear you come home--how long were you standing there?"
From the looks of his face, he's not happy. His eyes, usually a shining galaxy, has turned into a stormy abyss; lost of all warmth and brightness. He almost looks dead. If someone died while pissed off, at least. "Long enough to hear you giggling like you were talking to a professional comedian," comes his response. Blunt, edged with irritation and laced with barely held back ire. "Who were you talking to?"
You straighten up, hesitating to answer. You know very well that Caleb is overprotective, almost suffocatingly so. Possessive. But you never saw it so blatantly. So in your face. "It was a colleague from the Association," you reply, voice softening. "That's all--he's not even a friend."
Your words don't seem to do much to placate him, as he's still glowering at you, eyes dark. "You were laughing like he was more than a simple colleague. Since when could someone make you laugh like that?"
"Uh. . . he's funny? I guess? I don't know--I didn't think it was that big of a deal." You shrug slightly, and your words seem to have the opposite effect as you intended. Caleb walks into your room, heading straight to you. You immediately back up when he approaches, knees hitting the bed and sitting on it. Caleb reaches out and grabs your wrist, firm but not rough. Just tight enough to make a statement.
"You only ever laughed like that with me," he says, leaning close. He pulls your arm close to his chest, ignoring the way you try to pull your arm back. "I've never seen you laugh like that with others." His lips turn down, frowning as he stares down at you. "Is he special? To you?"
"What?" You breathe, blinking up at him in confusion. "No--he's not, he's just a colleague, I promise."
Caleb stares at you, trying to gage your honesty, your sincerity. After a moment, he seems to soften. His grip loosens and he leans back, giving you space. Guilt seems to flash across his eyes, some of the previous light coming back. "I'm sorry," he says. "I just. . . I thought that. . ." he looks away, the words stuck in his throat and not willing to come out.
"Thought what?" You pry softly, brows furrowing softly. You reach out, fingers curling around his larger hand, pulling him closer. "Don't hide from me. If something bothers you, tell me."
Caleb doesn't look at you. Like he's unable to, even as he allows himself to be pulled closer to you. "Don't worry about it, Pipsqueak," he finally says, finally looking at you. "I was just worried. You know I've always been protective about you. Remember when we were younger and those bullies tried to beat you up? You were always getting into trouble, going headfirst into--"
"Don't deflect," you say firmly, tugging on his hand. "Answer the question."
Caleb's face drops, and for a moment, he averts his gaze. "I just thought. . . I always wished it would be just you and me. Like it was when we were younger, being there for each other, protecting you. . . but you've grown up, and have your own life away from me."
You listen intently, your thumb softly stroking the back of his hand as he finally responds to your question without going off tangent. "Caleb," you say softly, ducking your head to catch his eyes. "If you think you aren't special to me, you are. You've been there for me longer than anyone else."
"I'm not worried about not being special to you," he corrects softly, his hand coming up to your face. The tips of his fingers graze your cheek, like they want to caress it, but he's holding back. "I just worry that I'm not the only one special to you."
You hesitate for a moment before bringing up your free hand to press his palm against cheek, nuzzling into it. A soft blush presents itself across Caleb's face, coating his fair skin in a soft shade of pink. "Just because someone made me laugh doesn't mean they replaced you," you say softly. "You can't be replaced, Caleb. There's only one of you, and I love being with you again. I missed it."
Caleb's eyes widen at your words, the blush spreading. He doesn't say anything, just gazes at you like you're his entire universe. Perhaps even more than that. "Y/n. . ." he breathes, his body surging forward before he can second guess himself. He pulls you into a hug, pressing your face into his chest. He nuzzles into your hair, breathing in your scent. "I missed you too, Pipsqeak. I don't want you ever suffering from that hurt again. And I swear, I will do everything in my power to make sure you don't."
Frostnip | Li Shen/Zayne x fem!reader | Love and Deepspace | Part 3
➺ Preface: After experiencing cardiac arrest on a getaway with Zayne, you wake up during an emergency open-heart surgery to try to remove shards of your aether core from your heart.
➺ Imma be SO real idk where I'm going with this series bc I lost the plot of LADs a while ago--I haven't caught up with any of the branches, but I do want to write more for Caleb too. Zayne, Caleb, and Sylus are my holy trinity I would gladly take all three of them at once. Not in a fight.
Warning(s):
➺ Part 2
➺ Part 1
The five faces stare down at you in as much shock as a person could possibly emote. Eyes so wide their surgical masks are bending against their skin. "Doctor Liu," Zayne calls, his voice stern, slightly rushed, with a very small hint of panic beneath it. "Why is the patient awake?"
"I don't know, Doctor Zayne," Liu calls back from his place at the side of the OR. "Everything was stable--the patient should be under right now." There is obvious confusion in his voice as he scrambles at his station.
"Put the patient back to sleep. Now," Zayne orders, no room in voice for argument--or failure.
You can't move, you can't feel anything. But you're awake. You're aware. You can hear the conversation, you know what's happening. You can't feel the tubes and machines keeping you alive, but you know they're there, you can hear them. Your eyes move around, not panicked or scared. If anything, you're just as lost as they are. You can see Zayne staring down at you, free from his glasses. Despite the surgery scrubs he's in, you know it's him. The harsh light shining down from the ceiling may be casting harsh shadows across his face, but you'd recognize the hazel green of his eyes anywhere, even if you were colorblind.
"Doctor Liu," Zayne warns, his voice growing slightly louder, slightly more urgent. "The patient is still awake."
"I know, Doctor Zayne--I don't know what's wrong. She should be asleep right now--twice over, actually. Something is wrong but it's not me."
Everything comes to a standstill. The techs suggest waiting until they can actually put you under to continue the surgery, but Zayne is in too deep to just close you up and wait. Not to mention, who knows what would happen with your heart if they stopped now. "It's too late to stop now," he decides. "If we close her up now there's no telling what will happen with the aether core. We could irritate it more and accelerate its metafluxes and worsen the stability. We need to finish."
Glances are thrown around the surgery team, unsure, and slightly fearful quite frankly. "Are you sure, Doctor Zayne? This could be traumatizing for the patient, even if she can't feel anything."
Zayne glances down at you and you meet his gaze. You can't talk--with the endotracheal tube and the anesthesia still flowing through you (technically), you can't tell him to keep going. That you'll be fine--that you'll just pretend he's not hands-deep in your organs (in a way you don't want). However, your eyes say it all. Apprehensive, yes, this is a scary situation for all, but you trust him implicitly. Without a shadow of a doubt, you know he'll take care of you.
Zayne nods, almost imperceptibly, just for you to see. "I'm sure. We'll continue," he says firmly, looking at the techs, a silent order for them to continue on with what they're supposed to do. "Stay focused. Act as if the patient isn't awake."
~
The surgery finishes in a few hours without any real complications, minus the fact that you were awake almost the entire time. But you didn't feel anything--your body was essentially paralyzed, and you could only lay there and let Zayne pick at your heart with forceps and scalpels. When it was over you were closed back up and post-procedure care began. You were also awake for that, which meant that the techs and nurses had to act quickly before you could begin to regain feelings in your body.
Now lying in a hospital bed, free of the machines and intubations, minus the standard IV drip and heart monitor and such, Zayne is standing next to your bed, going over the surgery and what happened during the procedure. Between his rambling and medical jargon, you reach out with more effort than you probably should have put into it and grab the cuff of his coat sleeve. You tug on it which makes him shut up and look down at you, his lips pressing together. "What is it?" He asks, his voice gentling slightly.
"Shut up," you groan, releasing his sleeve and letting your hand drop back to the bed. "I've already listened to enough medical shit for the rest of my life with you poking at my heart and viscera."
Something flashes across his eyes--unnoticeable to you. A quick pang of fear, of worry. "Yes, I imagine all of that talk sounded odd to you," he replies lowly. "But the surgery went well, regardless. Your heart's stabilized for now, and you've regained consciousness. Albeit, an inconvenient time, but regained it nonetheless."
You're quiet for a moment, staring at the opposite wall of your hospital room. You're not thinking of anything in particular. "I heard your voice," you finally say. "When I was unconscious. I was--like--it's hard to describe, but I was sorta in this. . . nothingness. Like, I couldn't feel anything, I couldn't see or move--it was like I was disconnected from my own body and mind. Like my soul or something was just floating somewhere in the abyss."
Zayne listens intently, eyes never leaving you as you try to explain what you experienced during your unconsciousness.
"But I heard you. Your voice. It was really muffled, and I couldn't make out what you were saying--I don't think I'd be able to remember even if I could hear you properly--but I heard it. And then it felt like I was getting pulled, and then everything got bright, and then I woke up to see you staring down at me in your scrubs."
Zayne's face softens microscopically, his lips parting slightly as his expression relaxes. "You were pulled towards my voice?" he repeats, his voice quiet--almost a whisper, like he couldn't fully believe it. "Is that why you woke up despite being under heavy anesthesia and monitored closely?"
"I think so," you reply, sliding your gaze over to him. "I mean. . . hearing your voice, and then waking up? It's so weird, but I think it's the truth. I didn't hear anything except you."
Zayne is silent, shifting on his feet before averting his gaze to the side. "I see," he finally responds, not knowing what else to say. "That certainly is something. To wake up during surgery--it's happened before, but it's not common. And patients report to not having any memory of before they woke up." Silence settles between you. Somewhat comfortable. Normal. You're drugged up on pain meds, so you don't feel any pain or the itchiness of the stitches rubbing against your skin. It's muted at best.
"I was scared," you admit. "I thought I was dying for real, and that I wouldn't be able to see you anymore."
That's what makes Zayne's eyes return to you. You're not looking at him, your gaze is somewhere far away. Reminiscing, probably. Remembering the fear, the apprehension, the unknown. "I was scared too," he responds, his voice quiet. Low. Intimate. "When you passed out a few days ago I thought the worst. I feared I didn't do all I could to help you as your doctor. That your heart had finally given out." His voice wavers ever so slightly, the slightest bit of emotion in his usually cool and calm voice. It's not often you hear it from it, but when you do, it's usually because of you.
You look at him. "You would've blamed yourself; wouldn't you have?"
". . . yes."
"You would've wished it was you instead of me."
"Yes."
"Oh, Zayne," you sigh softly, reaching out for his hand, hooking your fingers around his. "You can only do so much, and you already do a lot. If the worst came to pass, then. . . then I'd be sure to haunt you so that you didn't wallow in blame for something you weren't responsible for."
Zayne tentatively returns your gesture, hooking his index finger around yours, holding it tightly. "You'd haunt me, mm?" he inquires glancing up at you. "Well. . . at least I'd know you'd always be there, watching over me. It's a small comfort."
Water the Plants She Left Behind | Zayne/Li Shen x fem!Reader | Love and Deepspace
➺ Preface: After going away without responding to Zayne's messages or calls, he comes to your apartment to water the plants, as he always does, every Wednesday.
➺ The fact that the Li's send you messages when you don't log in for a month kills me--I haven't logged in in almost 3-4 months :sob:. They definitely thought I abandoned them and left them behind somewhere
➺ Glassy Sky, AmaLee ver.
Warning(s): None, just general yearning
The sun is barely above the horizon of Linkon City when the key turns into the lock and the door opens with a creak of disuse. The apartment is the same as the last time he was here last week--albeit dustier. The scents have faded, both of homeliness and her. Zayne traipses across the floor, placing his keys and workbag carefully on the small coffee table in the middle of the living space. "Still hasn't come back," he murmurs to himself, walking to the kitchen unit where a small watering can sits on the counter next to the sink. He's silent as he grabs the handle and holds the small can beneath the faucet, making sure the water is lukewarm. Using cold water could shock the roots. Hot water can also harm plants. He remembers when she first scolded him for trying to use too-warm water. It was endearing, in a way. Seeing her so protective and firm with her plants like they were her children. Now he's used lukewarm water ever since--even whispering a compliment to the plants, since that's what she did, and they bloom beautifully with her.
He walks back across the apartment to the small bay window where the pots sit, coming to stand in front of it before carefully beginning to pour the water into the empty clay saucers, making sure to fill them almost to the rim. For the other saucers that still have dirty and old water in them, Zayne meticulously brings them to the sink and empties and cleans them, washing away the dirt and debris. When he fixes the pots and saucers again and makes sure everything is clean and watered and ready for another week. Another week of coming back to water the plants, her plants.
Zayne straightens up and goes to empty the watering can, placing it back next to the sink for the next time he comes. He checks his watch for a brief moment before drying off his hands and walking back out to the living space. His eyes linger on a shirt that's still thrown over the back of a lounge chair. Hers. One she shed, and one he didn't feel like moving. It felt like she was still here--still present. If he moved it the apartment would turn stagnant. Sterile. He goes to grab his work bag and keys, straightening his coat and preparing himself to leave. As the keys jingle in his hand when he moves to the door, he freezes when he sees the doorknob turn. Something in his chest drops--out of fear? Anticipation? He doesn't know, but it feels like a heavy weight wrapping itself around his heart and just dropping to his stomach.
The door opens wide, and a heavy black boot steps into the threshold--familiar, hers.
Zayne's eyes widen a fraction, all of his internal organs lurching in his torso, as if reaching for her. Not just his heart, but his everything, his vitals, his life. "Y/n. . ." She's there, she's standing, alive, in one piece, and he doesn't know if he wants to hug her, scold her, or something else he probably knows he shouldn't--can't--do. "You're really back."
To Ruin a Friendship | Caleb x fem!Reader | Love and Deepspace | NSFW
➺ Preface: Caleb doesn't know when he first started liking you. He knows you're dense, he knows being a Hunter is the most important thing to you right now. But when an opportunity comes for him to demonstrate his affection for you, will he take it? And will you reciprocate?
➺ Icl Caleb has grown on me idk why--the thought of childhood friends to lovers whilst one has been constantly pining over the other one is just MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM GGHEUIHGAHEUGHEAGUIAHREUIG
➺ This draft was made before Caleb's story had progressed--and icl I haven't kept up with the stories. I want to do one when Caleb has his bionic arm and shit TEEHEE :)))
Caleb knows you’re stupid. Not in a foolish way, but a dense way. Perhaps it’s his fault for hiding his feelings, but he never thought he did a good job at it. Especially since Josephine had questioned him before. He didn’t know how to reply to make it seem lesser than it was, so he just fessed up. Surprisingly, Josephine was rather understanding. But now he struggles with an internal conflict, the age-old: ‘Do I tell them and ruin our friendship, or go to the grave with this?’ He knows you’re away for long intervals at a time, and that your hunter work is important. Being in aviation himself, he understands. But still—what if? What if?
On the rare days that you and he are home at the same time (which is very rare) he wants to fess up—to tell you, but he's scared. Terrified. He knows Josephine won't tell you, but he can't help the anxiety that curls in his stomach every time she talks to you. He wants to get you alone, though. Somewhere private. Beautiful—just to talk. To get out at least a little bit of what he's feeling.
And his opportunity comes when you want to go out for a walk, he's eager to join you. Like you guys used to do when you were younger—go out for hour long walks, just talking and hanging out—sitting out on the playground in silence, sometimes you would yap, not always. He missed those times.
As you two walk down the sidewalk, Caleb is close on your heel as he always is, teasing you, bumping his hip into yours, and laughing when you stumble or try to kick him in the shin. It's not until you both sit on a bench in the park that his playful nature seems to subdue itself, crawling back into the recesses of his anxious mind. He grows quiet, almost pensive, lost in thought. Staring off into the distance.
You tilt your head when you see him spacing out, brows furrowing softly. He often does this—it usually doesn't bother you when he does it, but something about this time felt different. "What?" You ask, crossing your arms and shifting back on the bench, crossing your ankles together. "You look like you're thinking, and you never think."
That manages to draw out a small chuckle, his shoulders bouncing. "Sure, Pipsqueak," he replies, turning his head to look at you, eyes shining in affection and something else. Fondness, perhaps? "I'm just thinking about some things."
You move your foot to nudge his, noticing the smidge of hesitation in his voice, the way he doesn't quite meet your eyes. "Like what?" You inquire softly. "Is it about your studies?"
Caleb is silent for a long moment, his gaze somewhere between the distant playground and somewhere in space. You don't know if he's actually seeing anything—or if he even heard you. "I know you're leaving tonight to get back to the Hunter's Association, but. . . if I asked you to stay tonight, to leave tomorrow morning instead, would you?" He finally looks at you again, eyes soft, almost vulnerable. His voice is so meek, so low, like he's scared of the answer that he thinks he might get.
You blink, not knowing what you expected, but it certainly was not that. "I. . . don't know," you answer honestly. "I'd have to leave very early in the morning—Captain Jenna expects me."
Something passes over Caleb's face—a shadow of displeasure, something darker, lurking beneath his vulnerable experience. "I see. Of course, Captain Jenna works you Hunters like dogs. Can't even sleep in for one day." He chuckles to lighten the mood but it's tense, fragile. Like one more rejection will send him over the edge. "I guess it's expected. You're a big, strong Hunter. People will rely on you now."
You don't respond, eyes taking in every single movement of his body, every micro-expression of his. The way his jaw is slightly more tense, how his fingers shift and pinch at his pant fabric. "Yeah," is all you say, a measly response to his obvious discontentment. "She can be tough. I can't exactly go against her orders."
"Yeah," he parrots, his fingers twisting and worrying the fabric of his pants, even as his face remains carefully neutral. "I get it. The superiors at the DAA are tough too. Strict, and all."
There's a moment of silence, a beat of slightly uncomfortable quietness. You glance over at him, brows furrowed slightly. A small part of you is worried he's mad. You don't get to spend much time with him anymore, and you understand his want for closeness, to feel even a smidge of your childhood again when all you would do was stick together, anywhere, anytime. You feel like you should say something, but you don't know what to say. If you should even try.
After a minute or two of silence, Caleb lets out a slow, deep sigh through his nose, like he's releasing all of the negative feelings in one go. "We should probably get back," he says. "So you can get your stuff before you head to the station."
You nod. "Yeah," you reply, not really that eager to get up from the bench. "We should." You slowly stand from the bench, taking a moment to stretch out your limbs from sitting for so long, and Caleb follows suit.
The walk home is quiet, and Caleb seems to hover ever so slightly closer to you on the way back. As you walk, your phone buzzes in your pocket, of which you fish it out and wake it up. A text flashes across your screen, one from Zayne, asking you to come try a pastry shop when you're back.
Caleb doesn't say anything as he leans slightly to look at the text, and you don't pull away. "Zayne, huh?" He mutters, his expression looking a bit less than amused at seeing your doctor-friend texting you when you're with him. "You gonna go?"
You shut your phone off and slide it back into your pocket, glancing up at him. "Probably," you reply. "It's not often he gets enough time to relax, and I think he needs it."
"I see." He looks straight and continues to walk, ignoring the burning spiral of heat settling deep in his gut at the thought. "I hope you and him have fun. Let me know how the pastries are if you find time between."
You can hear something in his tone which makes you slow your pace, gazing up at him with a small frown. "Caleb," you say. "What's wrong?"
He stops walking himself, cutting a look over his shoulder to smile at you, reassuring, but it doesn't do much. "I'm fine, Pipsqueak. I'm glad you have people to support you while you're off doing your Hunter duties." He reaches out to ruffle your hair, uncaring of the way you try to swat his hand away. "I'm just proud of you, that's all. Even if I do miss when we spent all day together."
"Is that what's wrong?" You ask. "You miss that? Us?"
Caleb shifts on his feet, like he wants to say something, but he can't. Or won't. "Don't you?" Is how he deflects, glancing down at you. "How we used to run all over the place, no responsibilities, no fears, no cares? Don't you want to go back to that, even sometimes?"
You gaze at him, brows furrowing slightly. "You're deflecting," you respond. "Stop deflecting. Say what you actually want to."
Another beat of silence passes. Caleb shifts, eyes averting to the side, far more interested in staring listlessly at the sidewalk than at you. "Don't worry about it, Pipsqueak. It's not important."
Frostbite | Li Shen/Zayne x reader | Love and Deepspace | Part 2
➺ Preface: After the aether core in your heart destabilizes your condition, Zayne is left lost and reeling as to how to save your life.
➺ It's been so long since I've seen my pookies I've been obsessing over Arcane and Valorant and mmm yeah JanitorAI too (don't ask pls don't ask I've done things I'm not proud of but I would do it again) I AM GETTING FED SO FUCKING GOOD HOOYYY YUHHHHH
Warning(s): Uhhhh honestly idek general injuries ig, angst, mentions of death, that shit ykykyk
➺ Part 1
➺ Part 3
You haven't regained consciousness and it's making the medical team--especially Zayne--grow increasingly worried. Waves of metaflux pulse from your isolation chambers and the chance of Wanderers showing up or following the signature grows with each one. Not to mention, the hospital's electrical grid is affected with each wave. If the power gives, it plunges you and many others into disaster. And if Wanderers show up, then. . . that makes things impossible to come back from.
Your heart is still insanely unstable, and your medical team is doing everything they can to figure out a plan--something to buy you and them time before you inevitably blow everything to bits.
Okay, perhaps not explode like a bomb, but the alternative is not so different. Your heart's aether core is unstable nonetheless, and it's powerful, and it's increasing its chances in attracting equally as powerful Wanderers. You don't respond to stimuli--quite frankly, it's as if your brain has decided to shut you off to protect you from the suffering you would be going through if it didn't. With that, at least they don't have to worry about pumping x amount of pain meds into you. That's a small mercy in this endless nightmare. Surgery is thrown around, an emergency surgery to either try to stablize your heart with protocores or remove the aether core entirely--which. . . in its own right an unknown challenge with unknown consequences, but hey, they have to try, right?
Zayne walks up to the glass in the observation mezzanine again. How many times has he come here today? Three, four? Who knows, it doesn't matter. The thought of performing heart surgery on you--and not just a simple bypass or transplant, he's done those plenty of times before--but emergency surgery that has a morbidly low rate of succeeding. . . it makes his hands tremble in a way they haven't in a long time. Doctor Zayne is scared but there's no one else he trusts to do such a task. He has to do it. Has to trust he'll keep his head and trust that you'll make it out the other side. It's all he can do. All anyone can do. The general plan is to shut down your nervous system as much as they can to reduce the metaflux from you and to calm your evol as much as possible. Anything to keep them and yourself safe from your own unpredictability. Once you're under control for the most part, they'll go in, attempt to stabilize your heart with protocores, and close you up. If that doesn't work, they'll attempt to remove the shards of core from your heart, and if that doesn't work, then all that's left to do is keep you held in isolation and hope the problem corrects itself. Though, there runs the risk that you'll never wake up again.
As the team scrub up and the supplies are delivered and prepared, Zayne keeps to himself. Quiet, thinking, observing. This is his everyday life, he's a surgeon for god's sake. But this is so different. So, so different. It's you. And if he fucks up, if he loses you whilst you're under his knife, then. . . what was all this for? Just to lose you in the end?
~
You can hear it. Feel it. The pulses, the evol, the metaflux. Is that me? It's muffled zips and whooshes on the edge of your hearing, just out of reach. Everything feels so disconnected. So far away from your own self you're questioning if you're still alive or not. Surely, you are. The afterlife can't be just this. Just numbness and disorientation and the teasing of the living world at the edge of your consciousness. You try to talk but you can't--do you even have a mouth? A body? You don't know. What even happened? I don't know.
And as you float within that dark, derealized abyss, you wait. For what, you don't know, but you wait. You can faintly hear voices, faraway and muffled, like you're sticking your ear against a wall to listen to a conversation happening two doors down. The words don't sound familiar to you, like they're speaking a foreign language. You also don't recognize their tone or pitch anyway. Strangers, perhaps. Where even are you, currently? Well, where's your body? Did Zayne bring you to a hospital? Did he manage to get you help after all? I don't know.
And then, you hear it. That low timbre voice--one you could pick out even if you were old and decrepit.
Zayne.
Your own thought echoes back to you, bouncing around and reverberating like that's the keyword, a blessing. He's talking, saying words that sound garbled and gibberish, but you know it's him. Your body could be decomposed in the grave and your bones will still try to move at the sound of his feet above your buried casket. He's ingrained in you. Your doctor, your Zayne. And then, you see harsh light bleeding through the abyss. Filtered and shaded, like looking at a lightbulb with your eyes closed. What the hell is going on? And suddenly, your eyes slowly open.
And about five faces gaze down at you in horror, dressed is surgeon scrubs.
Power Struggle | Part 2 | Sylus x gn!reader | Love and Deepspace
➺ Preface: After besting Sylus in boxing (once, for about thirteen seconds) something has shifted ever so slightly. Like he regards you slightly more than a simple 'kitten'. How is the slight change in your dynamic going to affect your relationship with him, if at all? Does he even care? Hard to say.
Warning(s): Uhhhhhh mentions of NSFW? Idk I said 'cum'
The harsh red marks around Sylus' neck doesn't go away for a few days and you're afraid they'll bruise. To be fair, you did strangle him pretty hard, even if you didn't intend to at first. You just suppose you got tired of him patronizing you like you were actually a helpless little kitten with some spice to her. And maybe, to a degree, he's right. You are a spicy little 'kitten', but only because you choose to be. Yes, he may be strong in his own right with evol that is hard to counter, but you're a damned Hunter for fuck's sake. You face giant brutes who terrorize cities and can take out power grids in one Metaflux. Surely, some cocky, silver-haired and tongued man is easier to deal with, right? Right?
Well, that's what you thought, so why the hell is he just sitting obediently whilst you ice his neck? Is this another ruse to get a rise out of you? To back you into a corner before he establishes how much stronger he is? Asshole.
"This is weird," you say, holding the small ice bag up against his pulse point where most of the redness sits. It's a giant ring of red wrapped around his throat, the shape of your thighs as they strangled him for several seconds. "I didn't expect you to just. . . do this. I thought you'd be rather self-sufficient with things like this."
A low, breathy chuckle leaves his lips, and it vibrates your spine. Damn him and his sexy ass baritone voice. You don't know if it makes you want to slap him or kiss him--maybe both. "What? Did you think I believe myself to be some untouchable entity who doesn't need help every once in a while?" It's a rhetorical question, like it always is. Of course he knows you think that--everyone thinks that. He's Sylus. Not some amateur motherfucker who doesn't know how to throw a punch without breaking his fingers. "Besides, it's quite adorable that you're so adamant on trying to fix the damage you caused. Do you feel bad, perhaps?"
Your eye twitches. He's trying to get under your skin, to rile you up, to show he has the power to make you lose your patience with some well-placed (or not-so-well-placed) words. It's a power game. A power struggle. One you have a very good chance at losing, but you'd be damned if you didn't try. "I don't not feel bad," you finally murmur, keeping your eyes trained on the ring of abrasions around his beautiful neck. "I didn't actually think I'd be able to hold you--I thought you'd find a way to wiggle out. I didn't think you'd just. . . take it."
A low chuckle leaves him, his eyes closing as his head angles away from you, almost in amusement. "It seems you underestimate yourself more than I do, Sweetie," he says, his tone edged with amusement and something else. Frustration? You don't know--it's too indistinct to tell. "Some positions are very difficult to get out of, even for an experienced fighter like myself. A well-executed triangle choke is one of them. Perhaps you're meant for wrestling instead of boxing."
A chuff leaves your nose, half in indignation half in triumph--two contrasting emotions that he somehow makes you feel at the same time. He's very good at that. "Maybe I can teach you a thing or two about grappling then," you reply, correcting him ever so slightly. 'Slightly'. "I don't think I'll ever beat you in boxing, so I had to play dirty. Seize your opportunities, right?"
Sylus' ruby eyes open and slide back over to you, shining bright with coy and amusement. Like hypnotism, and you almost get sucked into their color--almost. "I know a thing or two about playing dirty, Sweetie," he says, innuendo dripping from his lips like a fountain of cum instead of water. "It's only a matter of whether you can handle it, kitten."
Your eye twitches and you press the ice pack harder against his skin, letting the cold bite into his warm skin. He grunts ever so slightly, his Adam's apple bobbing from the soft noise bubbling from his throat. And yet, he still gives you that insufferable, smug expression. Like seeing you get riled up is fun. Yet, he doesn't say anything past his previous reply. "I'll be fine," you reply gruffly. You'll be fine if it's the sense of an actual fight, not a bedroom one. That one, you might lose. Will probably lose. "Besides, it's fun."
"Fun?" Sylus repeats ever so slowly, his brow quirking up.
"Do you not like a challenge? Well, maybe not, since you're used to always being on top."
The smirk that tugs at his lips is infuriating and so fucking hot.
You gently push his face away, "Stop it," you scold. "Horndog."
Sylus chuckles, his hands coming up to rest on your hips, pulling you ever so slightly closer to him. "I didn't even say anything, Sweetie," he purrs lowly, raising a hand to pull the ice away from his neck. "Perhaps it's you who has the dirty mind."
You slowly let go of the ice pack and place it on the nearest surface before looking back at Sylus. God, he's so fucking attractive it makes you want to hurl yourself at the nearest concrete wall. "You didn't have to say anything. I saw it on your face. Don't think I don't know what you were implying when you talked about 'playing dirty'."
"Oh? And did that bother you?" He pulls you in even closer, his large hands now sliding up your back, splaying over your clothed skin, feeling your muscles and curves beneath your shirt. He places his chin over your shoulder, lips edging near your ear. "Would you rather me be straightforward, kitten?" He whispers. "I'm a man of actions rather than words, after all."
Goosebumps break out over your skin as if you got dunked into a freezing cold pool. Dammit, he knows how to play the game really well. Still, you don't overtly react--not anything he can see, at least. Which is good, at least you're not melting into a puddle at his feet. Perhaps he expected that though, because you can feel him shift and pull back a little, as if to give a sidelong glance at your expression. His hold doesn't falter, but the energy changes, even if subtly.
Frostbitten | Li Shen/Zayne x reader | Love and Deepspace
➺ Preface: Taking a trip with Zayne up to the snowy mountains was something you were looking forward to. Spending time with him and taking a break from your busy schedules are what you both need. But halfway through your trip, the aether core in your heart acts up, and your weakened heart begins to give.
➺ I was inspired by the one scene in Zayne's branched route trailer where he runs up to MC and carries her when she collapses TEEHEEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHE IT'S SO HOT SEEING MEN WORRY LIKE THAT HOOOYYY MMMMYYYYY GAAAWWWOOUUURRRDDDDDD
➺ Part 2
➺ Part 3
Warning(s): As angsty as I can make it. You almost die, good luck
As you step off of the train and onto the slightly snowy platform, you stretch your limbs and take in a deep breath. “Ah, finally,” you sigh in relief. “It’s no fun being cramped in a booth seat for three hours with nothing to do.”
Zayne comes up behind you wordlessly, carrying the few bags you brought with you on the trip. “Impatient as always,” he says. “Like a child.”
“I should’ve brought my laptop but I decided not to in the moment,” you sigh again. “I should’ve brought it for the actual travel time. Now I feel restless.”
“There’s plenty of things to do while we’re here,” Zayne assures. “It’s a small village, but I’m confident that you’ll find something that piques your interest. It’s rather easy to do.”
You roll your eyes and grab a bag from Zayne’s arm to help him. “Yeah, yeah, okay. I get it. I have the attention span of a goldfish.”
“Not quite a goldfish. Perhaps a small dog or a bird.”
You playfully shove him and his body follows through, stumbling a step or two away. You know he could’ve resisted a bit more, easily, but where’s the fun in that? “Shut up and let’s go already. We got a cabin waiting for us.” With that, you begin to stalk off in the direction of the station exit. Zayne doesn’t say anything and trails behind you like a shadow.
~
The cabin is much nicer than you originally thought. A cozy lounge, a small kitchen and dining area, and a loft upstairs with only one bed ;). There’s a nice fireplace in front of the small sofa with firewood already sat inside of it. It smells slightly of the outside trees, wood, and some hints of smoke.
“Oh, this is nice,” you say, placing your bags on the floor in the foyer. “Cozy and warm. I wonder if the kitchen is filled.”
“Just like you to be thinking of food.”
“It’s getting close to lunch—can you blame me?” You throw him a look over your shoulder before bouncing into the small, but homey kitchen. After inspecting all the cabinets and the small refrigerator you can see some left over nonperishables, bottles of water, pots and pans, and other miscellaneous items. “Mm, seems we’ll have to go into town if we want to actually eat food,” you say. “I’m glad it’s not that far from here.”
Zayne joins you in the kitchen and glances around. “It certainly is quaint,” he says. “Not bad.”
~
After an hour you and Zayne manage to make a small lunch just enough to tide you over. Afterwards you were planning to walk to the town store to buy more groceries for a proper dinner.
Halfway through your small lunch, you pause your eating. You take a moment, shifting and adjusting your body, rolling your shoulders out. You feel an uncomfortable feeling in your chest—as if the muscles are contracting. It’s a small point of discomfort but one you can’t ignore.
Zayne eyes you curiously, giving you a moment to assess whatever it is that’s wrong. After a few seconds of slight discomfort on your face he asks, “Are you alright?”
“Yeah,” you reply. “Just a weird feeling is all. Maybe I haven’t stretched enough. It feels like a cramp.”
“Where?”
“My chest.” You subconsciously rub where there’s pain, your fingers gently massaging into the skin above your heart. Immediately, Zayne’s face drops in concern.
“Do you have pain in your jaw or left arm? Do you feel tired? Nauseous?”
“What?” You blink at him. “No. It feels like a cramp. I probably didn’t stretch enough after my shift yesterday.”
Zayne doesn’t relax, though he takes your word for it. “I see,” he replies quietly. “Stretching after strenuous exercise is important in keeping muscles from straining or tearing. And to reduce soreness. Please make sure to do it whenever you can.”
You nod, the pain fading, but never disappearing. “I know. I will. After this I’ll do a few stretches and see if it helps.”
~
Despite your earlier complaint of having chest pain, you still insisted on taking a walk to the town store. Zayne was hesitant, preferring to do it himself or to make sure you’re okay. But your insistence won out, and now you two are traipsing down a beautiful snowy trail to the town.
“It’s so beautiful here,” you say. “Cold, but beautiful. Snowy mountains and terrain are always so picturesque.”
Zayne hums in agreement and looks around at the surrounding area before turning his head to look at you, who’s admiring the distant mountains. His gaze is uncharacteristically soft. “Some things truly are beautiful no matter what.”
You let out a chuckle and nod, still unaware of his eyes on you. “Yeah, it is.”
Halfway through your walk, you start to slow. You pause, taking a moment to breathe. It’s hard to breathe. Like you can’t catch your breath. Every time you attempt to take a deep inhale it’s like your body is stopping you. Dread wells up inside of you but youl try to calm yourself down. The pain in your chest that never fully stopped blooms again, and your face scrunches up in slight discomfort. You take a step back, attemping to collect yourself from the sudden slap of lightheadedness that just hit you.
Zayne stops a few feet away from you and turns, his face scrunching up in concern. “What’s wrong?”
“Zayne, I don’t feel good. . .” You start to stumble, and Zayne immediately strides over to you. You reach your hand out to which he grasps tightly. He cradles your cheek in his other hand and looks down at you. His eyes flit over your face, taking in your expression and current physical condition. Your complexion is completely off, and you’re on the verge of losing consciousness. Your vision is blurry and you can make out his face through the lightheaded haze. Your chest hurts a lot.
Without a word, Zayne picks you up bridal style and begins to march back to the cabin. His brows are furrowed in determination and worry, lips pressed in a thin line. He’s not dumb. He knows what it is—it’s your heart. Most likely cardiac arrest from all the issues you have regarding it. He needs to get you medical attention—immediately. If he doesn’t, then—
Zayne shakes his head, clearing it of any unnecessary thought. His focus is making sure you’re okay. His steps are driven forward with the single thought of keeping you alive; heavy and steady. The nearest hospital to the cabin is close to 40 minutes away. He prays to whatever god there is to keep you from death in that time.
“Zayne,” you rasp out, your vision beginning to grow bright and contrasting. “My heart hurts.”
“I know,” Zayne replies softly, walking up the wooden porch of the cabin. “Hang on. Everything will be okay.”
You don’t realize you fall unconscious until the sense of impending doom vanishes.
~
Everything that could go wrong did go wrong. The aether core in your heart destabilized and that caused your heart to give. Fluctuations of your evol forced your body to become unstable, and therefore unpredictable. Zayne managed to contact help but by the time it arrived your body was under so much stress from your heart growing weak, that it became borderline dangerous to perform any intervention on you.
Zayne is but a cardiologist. As brilliant as he is, this is not something within his realm. He knows about Protocore Syndrome and how it can affect the body and the cardiovascular system, but never before has it evolved in turning you into an unstable core yourself.
They had no choice but to intubate and isolate you. Specialists who had an idea of what’s going on said you very well could be a ticking time bomb (you can imagine how that went over with Zayne). Your body pulses and glows, following the veins in your flesh and circling around your heart like koi fish. It would be beautiful, if not for the fact you could possibly explode in a flux of evol so strong you could level the area.
Zayne watches from the observation mezzanine, his brows tightly knit together. He can feel his ice begin to spread across his neck and shoulders, the feeling a burning cold that forces him to look away from you. Taking a few deep breaths, he forces the ice to recede. It hurts. It always does. But he can’t help it. He can’t stop.
His eyes slowly slide back over to you. He knew he should’ve pushed you to take care of yourself more—or done it himself. Why didn’t he do it? Why do you never listen? He knew your heart wasn’t strong to begin with and yet you became a Hunter, go on dangerous missions, ignore instructions. . . something has to be wrong. There has to be a disconnect.
Is it him? Is he too cold? Too detached? If you die—
If you die. . . what then?
Zayne stands there for a moment before turning his head and walking from the observation window. He has a meeting to attend to; one that will decide on how to proceed with this issue. On how to care for you.
His Hunter will not die. Not under his care. Not while he’s alive.
Bloodborne | Li Shen/Zayne x reader | Love and Deepspace
➺ Preface: You visit Zayne a lot at Akso hospital, as it seems to be his second home at this point. Whilst waiting for Zayne outside of his office, Dr. Greyson, a friend of Zayne, sees you and strikes up a conversation with you about your evol, and the potential it could bring to the healthcare field. Unfortunately, you are not that much of a philanthropist.
➺ Reader/MC has an evol of blood manipulation (of highest control). I've lowkey always wanted to write something like this ever since I knew Zayne was a cardiologist. It's literally perfect.
Warning(s): None
Akso Hospital is as usual when you visit: patients coming and going, some doctors and nurses scurry around to tend to their patients and perform other duties. You don't need to speak to Yvonne at this point to know where Zayne is, what he's doing, or when he's going to return. You're okay with waiting, as you two aren't able to see each other as much as you'd like to begin with.
You take a seat outside of his office and scroll on your phone, looking at the website of your favorite pastry shop. I wonder if he'd like the mint macarons. They're really sweet, though. I don't want to irritate his teeth. As you scroll, you feel the presence of someone standing in front of you, and your head turns up to see Dr. Greyson standing in front of you with a friendly smile. You don't often interact with him, as your focus is mostly on Zayne. "Doctor Greyson," you greet with a nod. "Can I help you?"
"Ah, not really," he replies with a short wave of his hand. "You're waiting for Doctor Zayne, I suppose?"
"Mhm," you nod. "Apparently he's in surgery right now. I can smell the blood--very tedious procedure apparently."
Greyson smiles at your comment, "I actually wanted to talk to you about that."
You shut your phone off and slide it in your pocket, "About what?"
"Your evol," he clarifies. He pushes up his glasses and shifts on his feet. "I heard from Doctor Zayne that you can sniff out a trail of blood from a mile away, as well as other feats."
"I guess," you reply with a shrug. "Is there a point to this, or are you trying to butter me up?"
"I know you're a Deepspace Hunter, and I don't mean to overstep, but have you ever thought about helping out here? In the Cardiac Department?"
A beat of silence passes as you process his words. Helping the hospital? In the cardiac department? With your evol? "Uhhhhh," you intelligently reply. "I don't quite understand."
Greyson laughs softly at your confusion, “You see, your ability to pick up certain things in the blood would be able to help us diagnose blood diseases and cancers so much earlier than average. I know you’re not a walking blood test, and it’s completely up to you. I just believe you would be a great addition for the cardiac department.”
“Ah, I see,” you hum softly after his explanation. He’s basically saying it would be beneficial to the hospital and to patients if you decided to help sniff/sense out blood cancers or other diseases. It would generally save resources, time, and money since you would be able to tell almost immediately. “I’m not exactly fit for a doctor’s role, or caregiver’s role, I think,” you say. “I appreciate that you believe me to be useful to the healthcare system, and I do understand how serious blood illnesses are, but, it’s just not for me.”
Greyson smiles and nods, “Of course. It was just a suggestion. I didn’t mean to pry or overstep.”
“Nah, you’re okay,” you shrug softly. “I understand why you would bring it up.”
“Besides, I think it would be cute if you and Doctor Zayne worked together like that,” he says. “It’s perfect, is it not? Your evol is blood, and he’s a cardiologist. It’s like it was meant to be, huh?”
“I suppose,” you reply with a shrug, idling twirling with your belt. “I don’t think the hospital would just let me on board like that—I imagine it takes time and a lot of studying. I don’t really have time or the want to do that.”
“I understand,” Greyson nods. “It was only a suggestion.”
~
You and Greyson talk for a bit until you notice Zayne walking down the corridor towards you two. He’s out of surgery and is clean and back in his usual doctor’s coat.
If you look closely, you can see his eyes shifting between you and Greyson. The very subtle downturn of his lips show some level of displeasure, no matter how low that level is. “I hope I’m not interrupting your conversation.”
“Ah, Doctor Zayne,” Greyson greets with a cheerful smile. “Not at all. I was just keeping Y/n company while you were in surgery.”
“So I see,” Zayne replies. His eyes then slide over to you, and his gaze softens ever so slightly. “Apologies for the wait. The surgery went on longer than I anticipated.”
“Nah, it’s okay. Time goes by quickly when you’re conversing with someone,” you wave off his apology.
“I’m glad Doctor Greyson served as a companion during your wait.” There’s a slight edge to his voice. It’s not exactly jealousy—more like. . . insecurity? Maybe?
“Yeah. Are you taking a break now?” You ask. “I wanted to try the pastry place down the road. It won’t take us that long.”
~
“It seemed as if you and Doctor Greyson were having a good conversation,” Zayne says from your side. Both of you are walking down the street to the pastry place you mentioned before.
“Yeah,” you reply. “He was talking about how my evol would benefit the hospital. That I would save a lot of resources identifying and sniffing out certain blood diseases and such."
"Yes. Your ability to detect even the slightest imbalance in blood chemistry and composition would be highly beneficial to diagnosing blood cancers. Often times, patients don't realize anything's wrong until years later."
You subconsciously rub your nose, now acutely aware of all the scent trails to the people around you. "I imagine it can be frustrating," you reply.
"You don't have to do anything you don't wish to," he assures. "Just because you possess an ability that would be beneficial to a field doesn't mean you're obligated to use it as such. You're a good Deepspace Hunter, and you keep Linkon and us safe. I'd rather you on the battlefield than the OR."
You chuckle softly, lowering your hand back to your side. "Yeah, I know. I'm not the most philanthropic person to begin with. The failures of the healthcare system or people's diligence isn't my responsibility."
Zayne hums in agreement and continues to walk with you. The day is nice and clear with a cool breeze passing through. With the change of season, the leaves on the trees are beginning to turn into shades of yellow to deep red.
You look down at his hand as it continuously brushes against yours whilst you walk. With a small influx of your evol, you have more blood rush to your hand. Your skin flushes red and it becomes warmer. With hesitant but unyielding motivation, you grab his hand and can feel the chilliness in his skin. "You're cold," you comment, wrapping your smaller hand around his. "Don't you know patients hate cold hands, Doctor Zayne?"
Zayne glances down at you for a moment before back up to ensure y'all are walking in a straight line and a clear path. "I'm aware. It's unpleasant to be in a sterile environment like a hospital and then feel the coldness of a doctor's hands." His lips curve up ever so slightly, and he glances back down at you. "I suppose I'll have you rely on you to warm me up beforehand."
Die With A Smile | Li Shen/Zayne x gn!Reader | Love and Deepspace
➺ Preface: After a particularly bad run-in with a wanderer, you're left essentially dying on site. You know this will not bode over well for a certain doctor-friend of yours, so you force yourself up and onwards. Both you and Zayne have to reconcile the fact that you almost died without seeing each other for almost a month.
➺ I know I already posted a song-fic for this song but goddammit I keep seeing edits for this shit on my fyp and I love this song so mf much that I can't myself ( I also have an unhealthy obsession with Zayne ).
Maybe I'll do a Sylus version??? However the hell I'll do that.
→ Song
Warning(s): Mentions of extensive wounds, blood
Oh god, Zayne is going to kill me.
Your skin is warm and sticky; a disconcerting feeling. What remains of your clothes is glued to your skin in blood and sweat, most of it yours. You don't know why, but for some reason, Wanderers love to dick with you as if you're a hot commodity. You were just trying to do your job as a Deepspace Hunter, which you succeeded at technically, but, now your injuries are catching up to you.
You're starting to feel lightheaded and stumbling on your feet. You don't know if you've broken any bones, but all you know is that every part of your body hurts and trying to blink takes all of your energy.
Goddammit, if Zayne sees me he's going to be so mad. Or sad. Or both. I didn't even text him today--I should've texted him.
You stumble from the remains of where the protocore field emerged. You can feel the warmth of your blood spilling down your leg and flooding your boots. It’s an absolutely unnerving sensation. You have to find a way to the hospital. You need to get help. You can’t die. Not like this. Not before you see Zayne.
~
You were going to kill him. No, not kill, perhaps that’s too far. But you were going to scold him, chastise him like a worried mother. Zayne has been pushing himself again, not taking breaks or sleeping for more than five hours. He’s been using the on-call rooms in Akso or sleeping in his office. He doesn’t know why he does this. Perhaps he’s stressed because you haven’t texted him in several days and he’s unknowing to your severe injuries. It’s a way to cope. Because if he didn’t, he’d go mad.
So why.
Why?
Why is he staring at several paramedics rolling you into the hospital, covered in blood and unconscious? Is that what you’ve been doing all this time? Being reckless? Risking your life? Again?
He stands there, rooted to the linoleum, watching you be rolled into the OR for emergency surgery. He doesn’t know what’s wrong—eyeballing it he could tell you’re suffering from many lacerations. But what if there’s more? What if your heart is giving out?
It’s not until the hospital begins to settle again that he’s able to move. Swallowing thickly and moving like a ghost back to where he’s needed.
~
Hours pass—two hours, specifically. Zayne stands in your hospital room staring at your sleeping figure. Covered in bandages and bruises alike, his eyes are filled with trepidation belying fear and concern. The pain you must’ve went through to trek all the way to Akso Hospital—the amount of blood you lost. Too stubborn for your own good. He can’t linger, he has other duties to attend to. But he wants to—gods, he wants to.
Stepping up to the side of your bed, his hand reaches out. His fingertips brush against the palm of your hand, gently trailing them up your wrist and arm. Featherlight touches to prove you’re here, alive, breathing. His virescent eyes comb up and down your body. “How reckless,” he whispers. “And here I thought you were simply lost with no reception.”
No response, as he expected.
With a soft, almost imperceptible sigh, Zayne retracts his hand and places it back in his coat pocket. With one last lingering look, he turns and walks away from your hospital bed. He has work to finish, and you’re stabilized and alive. At least he’s assured in that regard. He can go on with the rest of his day without that aching, gnawing anxiety in his chest. It’s a relief, really.
~
When you wake up, you have no idea where you are at first. You’re completely disoriented and lost. You vaguely remember trying to navigate your way through a town on the outskirts of Linkon, and then after that, the memories are fuzzy.
You look to your side, your vision severely blurred. You can see a person sitting in the chair next to your bed, resting. You recognize the shape of their body immediately. “Zayne?” Comes your hoarse, weak voice. Even that’s enough to rouse him from his sleep—or maybe he wasn’t even fully asleep in the first place.
Zayne sits up straight when he sees you’re awake before standing. “Y/n,” he says, almost in surprise. “You’re awake. With the amount of sedatives in your body, you should still be asleep.”
“I can’t move my body,” you chuckle softly, but it sounds like a sad whimper instead. “Maybe that’s where they went. . .”
Zayne sighs at your attempt of jokes in your state. “Should I ask what happened this time?”
“I think you know.”
Zayne gazes down at you, his eyes slightly narrowed in worry. “You’re too reckless. Please, put some value on your life before we’re unable to fix you.”
“I know,” you reply softly. “But you don’t seem the best either. I can still see those dark circles even through my fucked up vision. You’ve been overworking again, haven’t you?”
Zayne shifts like a kid getting caught before looking away, “I take naps during the day so I can be productive at night. And I’ve been eating well and hydrating. Truly, it’s not that bad.”
“Those dark circles say otherwise.”
A moment passes before Zayne looks at you again. “You were too close this time,” he says. “Your life was in a precarious position. You’re lucky we had the personnel available.”
“I know,” you repeat. “I know. I—I’ll be honest, I didn’t think. . . I didn’t think I’d make it.”
Zayne’s expression drops suddenly, but he lets you talk.
“All I remember thinking is that I needed to get to a hospital, to get help, because if I didn’t, I’d regret it. Regret not texting you, seeing you. I wanted to see you one more time, at least.”
Zayne’s face twitches, and he resists the urge to reach out and touch you. You need space. Your body needs time to heal. “I see,” he replies softly. “Is that what gave you strength to crawl to the doors of the hospital?”
“Yes,” you nod softly. “At least, if I died here, I’d be near you. And that’s enough for me.”
Zayne doesn’t say anything immediately. “I would be. . . in pain if you died,” he says quietly, doing best to articulate his feelings without coming off as too much. “I would miss you greatly. Agonizingly.”
“Tomorrow is never promised,” you say, gazing at him with such affection and favor he feels lightheaded from holding your gaze. “But if I die—if I die next to you, with you. . . I wouldn’t change a thing. I would die happy and content. Knowing you’re there.”
Zayne swallows, his Adam’s Apple bobbing up and down under his black dress shirt. “I believe it would be best if we promised each other. . . to not push ourselves too far.”
You chuckle softly, “Maybe. But whatever the case, I’m just happy you’re here.”
You add, “And when the day comes I do die, I’ll gladly die with a smile if you’re with me.”
Power Struggle | Sylus x gn!reader | Love and Deepspace | Part 1
➺ Preface: Having fallen into the hands of the leader of Onychinus himself, it's obvious he enjoys watching you squirm and try to run from him. He has the power to make you yield, to make you stay. But little does he know; you have the same power; you just don't use it nearly as often. How will he react when you grow tired of being his plaything?
➺ PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE I NEED THIS MAN CARNALLY, RELIGIOUSLY, BIOLOGICALLY, INNATELY, INHERENTLY, GENEOLOGICALLY, MENTALLY, PHYSICALLY, EMOTIONALLY, I NEED HIM TO DESTROY ME I NEED HIM TO RUIN MY LIFE, MY HOUSE, MY JOB, MY POSSESSIONS, MY PUS--
I'm so sorry Zayne I love you pookie pls forgive me but FUCK!
➺ Part 2
Warning(s): None
Your eye twitches when you see the familiar red gleam of Mephisto’s eyes. No matter where you go in the N109 Zone, that crow is always following you. Why Sylus feels the need to keep an eye on you 24/7, you have no idea. It’s not like you’re doing anything. Perhaps it’s a security thing. To make him feel better. Either way, you’re hyperaware of the influence he has on the entire zone. Just his name alone is enough to spark conversations—good or bad.
You walk up to Mephisto and stare at him. “Are you going to follow me everywhere I go as long as it’s in the N109 Zone?” You ask.
Mephisto caws and tilts his head, his beak clacking together. Almost as if he’s saying ‘yes’. You give him a flat look before sighing. “Guess you can’t help it. You’re stuck with Sylus too, huh?”
~
When you enter Sylus’s base (or whatever it is, you never bothered to ask) Mephisto flies through the open door and past you. You assume he’s going to find his owner. You sigh and shut the door behind you, walking deeper into the foyer. It was typical of Sylus to be rather secluded—you don’t ever recall a time where he greeted you. Not that you expect it, per se.
With Sylus doing God knows what, and you not having to do anything, you decide to entertain yourself. Trotting off, you head to Sylus’ boxing ring. The last time you went there, your ‘lesson’ with Sylus happened, and though informative (you supposed) it wasn’t anything you didn’t know. Sometimes you graced him with the ability to feed his superiority complex. You walk over to a locker and open it, grabbing some red hand wraps. Having done this so many times before, you quickly wrap the cloth around and between your knuckles and fingers. When they're secure and you get everything else ready, you step into the ring and start lightly jogging in place to get your blood up. You hop over to the punching bag and wait a moment before beginning to lay out into it.
Your punches connect cleanly, the impacts crisp and strong. The punching bag swings from where it's hung from the ceiling via chain. You can feel the burn in your muscles begin to grow after several minutes of punching, and you take intermittent breaks to work out until failure. About twenty minutes into your workout, you pause your actions when you sense an intense, heavy gaze on you.
"Well?" You call out, sliding your gaze to him. "Are you impressed?" Your tone is slightly sardonic. It's not like Sylus to just give compliments with no backhanded comment to boot.
"You applied what I taught you," he replies in his usual baritone, melodious voice. "It seems you're not the little kitty I think of you as."
You roll your eyes and take a few steps away from the punching back, turning your body to face him. Sylus is leaning on the doorway of the gym, his arms crossed. He's wearing his usual black and red shirt with black pants, and his red-tipped dress shoes. As per, he looks like a posh asshole. "Are you interested in sparring this 'little kitty', or are you busy committing crimes?"
You can see something close to amusement flash across his face at the comment. "You're worn out," he replies. "You're soaked in sweat, and your breathing is heavy. It would be unfair to spar you in this condition."
"You scared?"
A beat of silence passes.
And then, Sylus lets out a sigh--and if you listen closely, it almost sounds amused. "It seems the more you're worn out, the cockier you become." He steps closer to the ring, hands reaching for some wraps. "Very well."
You watch as he wraps his hands and steps into the ring with you. "Try to go easy on me, sweetie," he says, gazing at you.
"Yeah, 'cause you'd definitely return the favor," you mutter to yourself, getting in a relaxed stance, shifting your weight back and forth between your feet. Sylus remains in a steady stand, weight distributed evenly between his feet.
Sylus' jab is quick, and you barely manage to dodge it. Ah, shit, I forgot how good at boxing he was. Goddammit. For the first several seconds, you remain on the defense to his swift and agile hooks and jabs.
"You will never win on the defense alone," his rough, baritone voice rings out. "I thought I taught you this. Seize your opportunities!"
He sends a nasty left hook, clipping your jaw a little. If you didn't snake out of the way, that would've surely sent you to the floor. "It seems you've gotten tired, Kitten," he says, and you're not sure if he says that as a consolation or a way of mocking you.
You let out a small huff. "Just shut up and keep going."
A soft scoff leaves his lips, "As you wish, Sweetie."
You two continue to box for a few minutes, with you on the defense and him on the offense most of the time. In between each jab and hook, he makes side comments--and you're still not sure if he's mocking you, or if he's attempting to spite you into completely dominating him. Either way, he's irking you.
After a particularly hard hook to your jaw, you stumble back onto your knees, holding yourself up with your hands. You let out a soft grunt and shake your head, attempting to pull yourself together from the small impact your brain just suffered from.
"I think you've had enough," Sylus says, relaxing from his stance. "It's clear your stamina is at its limit. I would rather you not suffer lasting effects due to your stubbornness." He walks up to you and offers a hand.
Seize your opportunities. With a low grunt, you take his hand and pull yourself up a smidge before quickly pulling his unassuming form forward. With deft movements and lower-body strength you have no right of possessing, you roll onto your back and pull him with you. You raise your legs, wrapping them around his neck in a triangle choke.
Sylus grunts and grips your thigh in an attempt to pry your legs from around him, but you squeeze tightly, keeping his arm hugged against your torso. It doesn't take long for his face to turn a concerning red, and he struggles to get onto his feet for a hint of respite. His body weight presses into you the longer you hold him there, his eyes growing distant and hazy. You don't wait out the time it would take for him to pass out. You quickly release him from your legs and push him back before hopping back up to your feet.
He stays on the ground for a few seconds, taking in the needed oxygen. His complexion slowly goes back to normal as his blood flow is restored. He's silent, and for a moment you believe he's going to retaliate, but instead, a low chuckle leaves his lips. "A submission hold," he says, more to himself than anything. "It seems this kitten has sharper claws than I thought."
You squint at him. No way he was just going to take it and let it slide without retaliation. Nah, this was Sylus. He'll get his get back. You slowly stand and back up, knowing his reach was longer than yours, and his legs are even longer. If he wanted to, he could easily sweep you off your feet with a single flurry of his leg.
Slowly, Sylus stands up, brushing dust off of his shoulders and arms. "Impressive. It seems your knowledge of combat extends further than I originally thought," he praises. For some reason, you feel wary whenever he compliments you--like he's planning something.
"Yeah," you reply slowly, "I'm a 'kitten' around you because I choose to be." You watch as he turns to look at you, his ruby red eyes set ablaze with. . . arousal?
"So, it seems," he replies lowly. "Things will be getting much more interesting, Sweetie."
Love and Deepspace Zayne/MC/Sylus Upcoming Song Fic-list | GN/Fem!reader
➺ Here are my planned upcoming Zayne/Sylus x MC/reader fics that are inspired by songs (and bc I need to stop brainrotting on Valorant):
╰┈➤ Water the Plants She Left Behind, Zayne x MC, song is Glassy Sky (AmaLee ver.), inspired by the messages you receive from Zayne after not logging in for 30 days.
╰┈➤ Glory and Gore, Sylus x MC, song is Glory And Gore, inspired by Sylus/MC being a power couple at the protocore auction.
╰┈➤ I Found Peace in Your Violence, Sylus x MC, song is Silence, inspired by Sylus and MC being soft and slightly more vulnerable with each other.
╰┈➤ Turn it All to Black, Zayne x MC, song is Bad Apple (Electro Swing by OR30 ver.), inspired by MC being uncaring of her mental and physical health, and may be struggling with suicidal ideation.
╰┈➤ Shoot the Messengers, Slight!Zayne x MC, song is Burn the Witch, inspired by MC being coveted and targeted for the powerful aether core in her heart.
➺ If you would like to be tagged or notified when I post, either comment your user + the fic you want (e.g: (username), (fic)) so I can tag you, or follow me.
➺ I don't have a timeline or schedule for when these will come out, but I'm on a LnDS obsession right now so I'll probably start writing them soon! I also have two Sylus fics in my drafts right now as well that I want to finish eventually.
Fragmented Smile | Li Shen/Zayne x gn!Reader | Love and Deepspace
➺ Preface: Zayne, the cardiac prodigy of his generation, wakes from a dream where you are lost to a horde of wanderers, and die protecting him. He realizes that, despite his inability to verbally express his love for you, he needs you, even if he can't say it the way he wants to. He's wants you to know. Needs you to know.
➺ Inspired by the song Die With A Smile (Lady Gaga/Bruno Mars), and Zayne's Tender Moments: Fragmented Dreams. Reader has fire-inspired evol.
→ Song
→ Tender Moments
Warning(s): None
The sheets below begin to frost over, prickling cold spreading across the cotton, licking at the fibers. Sweat accumulates on Zayne's forehead, his fingers twitching in his sleep. Whatever he was dreaming of, it's not pleasant, as most of his dreams tend to not be. Growling, roars, the sound of gunshots and guts spilling ring out in his head--not focused on anything in particular except you.
You.
Fighting off a horde of wanderers, protecting him, putting yourself in harm's way whilst he can't do anything but watch from the sidelines, his evol exacerbating in and outside of his dream.
He's losing you.
Oh god, he's losing you.
He can't. You're his everything. What will he have left if he loses his everything? His reason for being?
"Zayne?"
With a startle, Zayne's eyes snap open, his breaths shaky and ragged as the adrenaline ebbs and flows through his body. It takes him a moment to orient himself, to ground himself and remember where he is, who he's with--who's lying next to him.
"Zayne?" Your soft voice rings out in concern. "Another nightmare?"
Zayne's virescent eyes glance at you, taking in your face, your body, your being; you're breathing. "I'm okay," he replies softly. "I'm sorry for waking you. Please, go back to sleep."
You gaze at him, obviously knowing there's more--of course there is. The bed is turned into a popsicle. With slow, deliberate movements, your finger trails across the frost and ice, melting it away and subsequently drying it with your fire evol. "I can't go back to sleep after that," you say softly. "What happened?"
Zayne watches as you melt the ice, feeling oddly akin to it right now. Your fire melting his ice, gently, warmly, kindly. "I dreamt of a horde of wanderers," he replies, his voice soft and raspy from sleep. "They were surrounding Akso hospital."
You hum softly, signaling you're listening to him.
"You were the one protecting me in my dream," he continues, his eyes still on your finger. "But then. . . you got lost in the horde. I couldn't see you anymore. I thought. . . I thought I was losing you."
When you're done thawing the bed of the evidence of his nightmare, you tuck your arm back into your chest. "I would never go where you can't see. You know that," you reply softly. "I will always find my way back to you, even if I have to crawl."
Zayne's eyes finally move up to meet yours, their softness belying the fear.
"I'll always be here," you assure. "Always."
Zayne says nothing and just leans his head forward, pressing his forehead against yours. His eyes close, your warmth soothing his coldness, his fear. He is not a man of many words, preferring his actions to speak louder than he. And right now, his actions show that he needs this. Your touch. Your warmth, your voice, your everything.
You scoot closer and reach your hand up to gently caress his cheek, rubbing your thumb over his cool cheek. "I always wanna be next to you," you whisper. "Even if the world is ending. There's no one else I'd rather be with."
Zayne lets out an almost imperceptible breath. If you weren't so close, you would've missed it. His large, scarred hand comes up to rest on top of yours, gently grabbing it. He turns his head and places a soft kiss on your palm, his eyes still closed. "Wherever you go, I'll follow," he murmurs.
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