28. zayne, sylus & rafayel lover. a little bit of xavier & caleb. here to satisfy my never ending obsession with LADS men <3 . multifandom but mostly love and deepspace focus for now.
Sylus can be such a consent king that you can be half-naked in his lap, ready for ANYTHING and he’ll be like “So…do you want to?” While you’re literally like this
If each lads guy was a love language, which would they be? I've written these with how they act in mind, not necessarily how they wish to receive love. If you view them differently than I have described them here, I'd love to hear your opinion!
✦ Word count: 500
✦ Headcanon
✦ Xavier - Physical touch: Xavier needs to be close to you. He needs to feel your warmth, hear your heartbeat and observe your chest as it rises and falls reassuring him that you are still breathing. Keeping you wrapped up in his arms with your legs tangled together under the blanket, he finally feels like he can truly relax. No one can hurt you, no one can take you from him, not when he holds you like this.
✦ Zayne - Quality time: The busy lives of Doctor and Hunter are hard to mix. When you both finally have a day off, it is always spent together. Going out to dinner, watching a movie, or just quietly relaxing in each other's space. He isn’t picky. You’ve both gotten very good at cherishing every moment and learned not to waste time. Even reading medical journals whilst you go over mission reports is considered time well spent as long as you are breathing the same air as him and are close enough for him to touch.
✦ Rafayel - Words of affirmation: You were so beautiful when you woke up next to him. So stunning when you lounged on the beach. Irresistible when you smiled. You were so good to him. Of course he was going to remind you of it every chance he got, even when you thought it was getting a bit excessive or found it hard to believe him. You simply had to believe him, you had to understand how wonderful you are when you’re clearly unable to see it yourself. Every masterpiece deserves to be admired and he had the front row seat.
✦ Sylus - Gift giving: Oh how he loved to see you enjoying and appreciating his various gifts. Weapons, jewels, gowns, in your hands they became priceless. Watching you indulge in luxuries, giving in to your deepest darkest desires made his heart fill with pride. He would never expect anything in return, so when you express guilt for never getting him such extravagant gifts, he simply assures you that you are the greatest gift he could have ever received.
✦ Caleb - Acts of service: Watching you become an adult was tough. You were taller, making fewer shelves out of reach. You were stronger, leaving fewer jars for his hands to effortlessly open. How he cherished being allowed to brush your hair and wipe the occasional tear. He found comfort in the fact that your cooking skills would never surpass his, that way he could always ensure you were well fed. Your independence scared him, but he would never stop his efforts to make your life safer and easier. You would always need him to some extent, and he was ready to fill whatever role you needed.
You don’t know when it started. Maybe the first time you sat on Sylus’s lap and your fingers, almost without thinking, traced the veins on the back of his hand. From then on, it became a habit, something you couldn’t resist. Every time you were near him, your touch drifted there, pressing gently, pinching softly, as if those veins were your own private comfort charm.
He always noticed. Sometimes he just grinned at you with that maddeningly smug look, letting you indulge. Other times, he teased you outright. Like the evening you were rambling about your day while playing with his veins, and he caught your hand mid-pinch.
“So you’re obsessed with this?”
“Is that a problem?”
His smirk deepened, eyes glinting. “No. In fact, I want you to be greedier than that.”
At home during movie nights, you barely paid attention to the screen, too busy tracing rivers across his skin. He’d chuckle low, leaning closer to murmur, “You’ve watched my hand more than the movie.” Out in public, you weren’t much better. Under café tables, your fingers found his, stroking those veins while friends chatted unaware. And still, you never stopped.
After his boxing sessions, when his veins stood out sharper, you couldn’t hide how shamelessly you stared. He’d offer his hand up deliberately, flexing just to make them pop more, enjoying the way your breath caught. Later that night, when the world was quiet, his hand would rest against your chest as you drifted off, your thumb stroking those same veins until sleep claimed you.
Even distance didn’t break the habit. When Sylus traveled or had long workdays, he made it into a game, snapping pictures of his hands just to send to you. Every photo carried the same unspoken message: I know what you love, and I love giving it to you. And when he finally came home, the first thing you did was leap into his lap, bury your face in his neck, and find his hand again, tracing, pressing, cherishing.
hate when lads blows up among non-players because then i have to see a bunch of misogynists and internal misogynists say “ewww you have cooties” over majority women’s interests
Zayne and pussy slaps... Are you catching my drift
(Oh I’m catching it. Have you been reading my fics? I sprinkle in a pussy slap here and there.)
❄️❄️❄️ He doesn’t always do it as a punishment. In fact, most of the time he taps your clit just to drink in the little noises it elicits from your pretty mouth. Zayne lives for the sound of his deft fingers against your soaked lower lips—the vulgar, wet slap makes him prideful in his success of your arousal.
And he always does it when you least expect it. Rubbing slow, gentle circles on your clit, kissing your neck, giving you sweet praises in adoration. You melt in his arms, from his touch, from his low voice that drags over you like silk. But when you’re not vocal enough, not mewling his name, slap! The pads of his fingertips meet your swollen flesh like lighting. ❄️❄️❄️
“You know I love hearing your voice. Don’t keep that from me,” he said with gravel in his tone, before soothing the sting with soft rotations. Zayne had you bent over the edge of the mattress, panties pooled at your ankles, face buried into the comforter.
He already pulled two orgasms from you, making your thighs sticky with slick and sweat, trembling yet somehow greedy for more.
“Are you going to give me another one, love? I think you can,” he purred, smoothing a large hand over your ass, palming one cheek to spread you open. There was do doubt that you were dripping for him, but now that he had an even better view, Zayne let a glob of spit plop on your holes. His eyes watched as it slid between every crevice before pushing his fingers inside you again.
The stretch was intoxicating and he hadn’t even given you his cock yet. “F-fuck, baby…,” you whined, arching deeper from the intrusion. “Mhmm, I know darling. You’re being so good,” he praised pumping two digits inside you deep, growing harder as he watched them disappear in your needy entrance.
“Z-Zayne…more…,” you sighed, voice barely caressing his ears. You protested with a whine as his fingers abandoned your core. “Hm? What do you need, love?,” he teased, fingers resting against your folds. An impatient sound was muffled by the blankets beneath you, earning two slaps back to back. “What did I say,” smack! smack! “about being too quiet?,” he asked, voice still calm, still smooth.
Your voice erupted into the air, raw and frayed at the edges, “please—please fuck me!,” you begged, skin buzzing, arousal dripping down your thighs.
“That’s better. Thank you, angel…,” Zayne soothed, kneeling down to purse kisses along your bowed spine. Small whimpers fell from you with every press of his lips. Each embrace was reverent, lingering against your warm skin, reminding you how much Zayne worshipped your body even while carrying authority.
Finally you heard his zipper rattle as it descended, followed by ruffling fabric as he disrobed. Piece by piece Zayne became more bare before his hands were on you again—palms sunken into the plush skin of your hips.
He flipped you on your back, taking a moment to gaze longingly at the ruined, fucked out expression on your face. “You’re so beautiful, like this,” he professed, crawling over you, adorning every inch of you with kisses until his lips slotted with yours. “Every part of you…so soft,” kiss “so perfect,” kiss “no one understands like I do.”
Zayne’s hands slithered between your thighs again, massaging, teasing—entranced by your writhing form. Then, ever so lightly, he started tapping against your pussy, giving just enough friction to pull a gasp from you. “Ah-haah…please…,” you murmured, fingers wrapped tightly around his biceps.
He hummed, spreading you open, watching your pussy clench around nothing. “Patience, my love…,” the head slipped inside with ease. Zayne hissed at the heat that enveloped him, pushing his length in all the way with one thorough thrust. “Ooh my goood!,” you cried, holding him tighter, arching off the mattress.
A growl rumbled in his chest, eyes squeezed shut as he caught his breath. It’s as if he forgot how your walls embraced him, how they molded to his cock by design. Then he finally began to move, groaning as your body swallowed him again and again. “Haah…haah…feels so good, daddy—mmh,” you sighed, rolling your erect nipples between your fingers. “Mm–keep talking to me, sweetheart, your voice is so pretty,” Zayne purred, cupping your rosy cheek, thrusts unrelenting.
“Aahhhnnn, d-dont stop…just like that. I love it when you make me full, I love this fucking dick…I love you…,” you babbled, head lolling side to side, skin blooming with goosebumps.
Zayne’s pace stuttered, almost losing composure, almost pumping you full of release. But no, he needed more—selfishly slowing his thrusts to keep your orgasm from barelling through you.
He wasn’t entirely cruel, kissing you slow and deep, slipping his tongue between your lips. You tasted each other’s love, you tasted his breath, you swallowed his husky groans.
“Zayne…,” you breathed “make me cum, please…”
His head dipped, weak at the sound of your voice and the squeeze of your core around him.
“How badly do you want it?”
The thrusts began again, increasing in pace, his crown tapping your cervix.
“S-so…,” you trailed off, from pleasure, from exhaustion, but it wasn’t enough.
Tap!Tap!Tap! The pads of his fingers drummed your folds rapidly and you couldn’t hold it together anymore.
Warm sprays of squirt soaked Zayne’s lower abdomen, dripping down onto the now ruined bedding.
“Fuck, that’s it…let go for me love.”
His body melted into you, hips grinding in circles, cock buried impossibly deep. Sweat matted your hair to your temples. Zayne swept the strands away, eyes boring into you as his climax crawled up his spine.
“Hng—are you ready for me, baby?,” he rasped. You nodded frantically, wrapping your legs around his waist, heels digging into his lower back. “Please, make me full…take me…,” you moaned. He cursed under his breath, forehead flush with yours, hips slamming one…two…three times before every last ounce of him spilled inside you.
A gasp echoed between you, your nails dug into Zayne’s sculpted back, head thrown into the pillow. “Fuck…you’re amazing. You’re perfect. I want to stay like this…,” he rambled, kissing your face with each word.
Then his body collapsed, his weight heavy, but grounding on top of yours.
Your fingers danced over the raised marks along his spine, soothing the hot sting. Zayne rolled over, pulling you into his embrace. His heart thrummed beneath his ribs, still wild, still trying to grasp on calm. “Zaynie, let’s go shower…,” you offered, voice soft and sweet. He hummed, “yes, let’s.”
The torrid stream beat against your skin, still sensitive and buzzing from a night of intense love making. His hands were reverent as he smoothed puffy suds down your body. You returned the favor, letting your fingertips linger as they swept over his firm muscles.
Your limbs tangled under the sheets and eyelids grew heavy. “Rest now, you need it,” Zayne said, petting your hair, pursing a kiss on the corner of your mouth.
“Mmh, I wonder why…,” you quipped, voice low and lazy.
“Was I too much?,” he replied.
“Mm-mm, you were amazing. You always are.”
Zayne smiled that small, warm smile that just barely lifted the corners of his mouth. “Thank you, my love.” His arms held you tighter and soon his breathing evened out, sleep finally settling in.
Your eyes shut not too long after. And you slept hard. Like a baby. Like a rock. You always did after nights with Zayne. He was your personal source of melatonin.
Sunlight streamed through his sheer curtains, acting as nature’s alarm. You stirred awake, eyes just heavy slits as you looked at Zayne. The man before you, the same one who showed such command the night before, looked soft—angelic.
“I can feel you staring,” he mumbled, arms tightening around your waist. “Then wake up, grumpy.” He chuckled lightly, the sound was warm and endearing. His hazel eyes finally graced yours, streaked with gold and glowing even while drowsy.
“Are you feeling okay? Sore?,” he asked clinically, never escaping his doctoral role even when he wasn’t at the hospital. “I’m okay, baby,” you cooed. “Alright, I know I can be a lot.” His expression looked a little pained, as if he was lost on something that may have hurt you in the past.
“Zayne,” you held his face in your hands “I want you entirely. Gentle, rough. It doesn’t matter.” He sighed deeply from relief, muscles relaxing into the bed.
“Good. That makes me…happy.”
“I’ll never get enough of you, you know?,” he added.
“I do and I’ll always be here.”
Zayne’s phone alarm filled the quiet space, ruining the tender moment. To your surprise, he silenced it, rolling over and closing his eyes once more.
“I’m yours for the weekend, remember?”
A smile pulled at your lips.
“Lucky me.”
~*~*~*
writers note: thank you for your submission! I hope this was exceptional. As always, I need Zayne in my bed. *siiigh*
synopsis ; you ended up in the hospital with a concussion so zayne picked up an extra shift to look after you.
word count ; 4.7k words
author's note ; thank you so much for the love on the sylus part of this series! let me know who you want to see next out of the boys!
acc. masterlist - ao3
sylus | xavier | rafayel | caleb
The mission went wrong. Oh, so horribly wrong.
It was a simple mission, too! One that you have done so many times before in the past. It was at a place you knew — the Nest — and you even knew the man you were buying the protocores from. The only new variable? The new UNICORNS rookie Jenna sent with you on the mission. His name is Derek and he’s just an idiot. You’re not even sure how he was able to get onto the UNICORNS team. You asked Tara back at the Association to pull his files while you waited in the car. Derek was passed out in the passenger seat and didn’t even wake up when cars honked at you.
Turns out he’s another Nepo baby. One that hails directly from the Hunter’s Association’s president. Of course this had to happen.
When the mission started, things wet south real quick. One minute, you and your co-worker were pretending to be criminals interested in buying illegal protocores, and the next you woke up in the hospital with a raging headache. It was like a fever dream, to say the least. One that instantly knocked you out after Derek accidentally slammed the metal protocore case right in the middle of your forehead.
A groan falls from your lips as soon as the bright lights of the hospital room hit your sensitive eyes. You wince. Pain sears itself into the back of your eyes, the familiar ache of your mistakes settling into your bones. It was something you were used to, thankfully. The casual aches and sore bodies after dangerous missions. At least you’re safe now. That is all that matters to him.
“Oh good,” the familiar sound of Zayne’s monotone voice fills the silence of the room. You tilt your head to the side, the bright florescent light being blocked by his head. He matches your head tilt, the corner his lips just barely perking up. You can’t see it, but he can. The big bruise that sits in the center of your forehead. The lights flicker off and the pain in your eyes is put at ease. “You’re awake.”
“I am, yes,” you comment with a small smile. You try to sit up but Zayne’s hand immediately presses into your chest, gently moving you back down. “Why are you keeping me hostage here?”
“Well,” Zayne’s lips press into a thin line. His thin rimmed glasses sit low on the bridge of his nose. He whips out a medical chart — one that you presume to be yours — and clears his throat, staring at the words on the paper. “This says that you were knocked out mid-fight. Your partner—”
“Derek,” you mumble the rookie’s name, already forming a plan of revenge.
“—yes, Derek,” Zayne says his name like he loathes the man, the disgust he feels evident in the way Derek’s name rolls off his tongue, “brought you in. I can only assume that you have a mild concussion. You have a bruised rib cage and your ankle is badly sprained. I wrapped up for you and I have already confiscated your phone. I also informed the Hunter’s Association that you will be on medical leave.”
“Zayne,” you close your eyes and fall back into the bed. He hums in response, his eyes fixed on the papers in front of you. “How did you know I have a concussion if I was unconscious?”
“That’s what the lights were for,” Zayne actually smiles when he says this, gesturing to the now turned off room lights. Hilarious. “I’ll also be running a few tests to ensure that your heart is okay and wasn’t damaged in the fight.”
“My hero,” you groan out your sarcastic comment, rolling your eyes.
“Just a doctor, dear,” the man responds. He sets the clipboard down and sits on the edge of the bed.
You turn onto your side, ignoring the pain that strikes through your chest. He gently places his hand on your shoulder, rubbing soothing circles into your back. His touch is cool and it feels nice against your aching muscles.
“How are you feeling?” he asks, his voice much more gentle and soothing. “I was…worried about you. A concussion can be serious.”
“I’m fine, Zayne,” you breathe out, the tension in your chest now feeling numb from the medication. The ache in your head grows but having Zayne with you at your side makes the pain worth it. “I have you to look out for me. That’s all I need.”
“I’m working the overnight shift so I can keep an eye on you,” he murmurs. The dark haired man leans down and presses a gentle kiss to the top of your head. “You should rest. You need it.”
“Will you check in on me?” you ask, casually looking at him from over your shoulder. A pout forms on your face and your eyes turn pleading. Zayne lets out a huff of air, nodding his head.
“Of course,” his hand finds yours. He gives it a gentle squeeze, his cold fingers now warm from your touch. “I’ll discharge you in the morning then we can go home. Yvonne will look after you when I’m not here, okay?”
“Okay,” you nod, your pout turning into a small smile.
Zayne leaves the room a minute later. The room feels colder without him. You roll onto your back and stare at the blank ceiling, arms spread out across the bed. You turn your head to the side, looking at the door. In front of your gaze, though, sits the nurses’ call button. You purse your lips, a small plan beginning to form in your head. With the press of the call button, Yvonne quietly enters inside of your hospital room with a cup of water and an even smaller cup with a pill in it.
“Dr. Zayne hasn’t been gone for five minutes and you already need something,” her voice is warm and teasing. She presses the button to a dimly lit lamp, the warm lighting filling the room. You sit up in bed and take the water and pill from her, swallowing both like your life depends on it. “Is there anything you need?”
“I have a few questions,” you smile at her. “Oh! And I have a tiny favor to ask as well.”
Zayne was so over this shift. He is tired, already having worked a long shift before picking up the overtime to watch you, and he can’t help but think about you while working with other patients. The rows of rooms and hospital beds have begun to bleed into each other. Every patient he sees is just another version of you that he made up in his head.
Zayne took refuge from the work shift in his office. He sits at his desk, head rolled back as his sore feet take their rest. He knew you were asleep — well, that was what Yvonne told him when he asked — and didn’t want to bother you. Hell, just knowing that you’re here and safe and not out in dangerous situations is good enough to keep him going throughout the night.
“Dr. Zayne,” Yvonne knocks on the door, quietly stepping inside. She closes it just as fast as she opens it, hands remaining behind her back. There is a slight crinkle that Zayne can hear. He raises his eyebrow and sits up in his chair, leaning forward.
“Yes, what is it?” he asks.
“Your favorite patient asked me to give this to you,” Yvonne smiles at him. As soon as she reaches Zayne’s desk, she places a folded piece of paper and chocolate bar in the middle of his desk.
A smile spreads across Zayne’s face. He looks at the note, completely distracted by the sight of his name in your handwriting on the paper. Yvonne notices his interest and silent excuses herself. Once the door closes is when Zayne decides to move. He reaches for the chocolate bar, the weight of it familiar in his hand. He remembers telling you about his favorite candy from Akso’s vending machines. The fact that you remembered makes his heart flutter. It makes it even better to know that you gifted this to him when he needed it the most.
He carefully opens the chocolate bar, breaking off the first piece into his mouth. Zayne plucks the letter form the desk. He quietly observes it, noticing the way your handwriting is slightly lazy from the exhaustion you must feel. The corner of his lips perk up. He takes his time with opening up the folded piece of paper. It smells like the hospital with the slightest hint of your perfume on the paper.
My Dearest Doctor,
Hi babe. How are you? Is your shift going well? Do I need to fight any bad patients for you? I’ll get them to cooperate, just say the word!
I am unfortunately trapped in the confines of his hospital room. One that you put me in, I must add. It sucks that we are so close to each other yet so far. I can’t even believe that you haven’t checked in on me yet! Shame on you, hot doctor!
I hear your voice as you walk by, though. It makes me so happy to watch you in your own element. I knew you were a badass but Zayne? You are a medical god.
I’m just happy that I get to call that hot, medical god my boyfriend! Lucky me!
Will you please visit me soon? I miss you. I’m afraid that the only way for me to fully heal and recharge is if I see your face. Hold your hand. Hug you. Kiss you…
You know my room number. I’ll be waiting.
With All My Heart,
Your Favorite Patient
P.S., I hope you enjoy the chocolate bar. You can be a bit snippy when you’re hungry.
Zayne places the letter back onto his desk, a smile spreading across his face. His cheeks warm up from your words. His heart flutters and his chest tightens with longing. He gets up from his desk, ready to make a beeline for your hospital room when his pager goes off. He looks down at the device on his waist and sighs at the sight: Code Blue. He clicks the confirmation button, closing his eyes to gather his thoughts before he quickly exits his office, jogging down the hallway.
The door to your room is open with a full view of the nurses’ station. It’s proven good for entertainment, especially the people watching. Yvonne has been distracted with other patients and has blessed you the gift with the name of Juliette: a nurse that is head over heels in love with Dr. Greyson. The two of you eat chocolate pudding cups and talk about how your favorite men look so good in the white coats that they wear.
“Zayne is always so fussy whenever his is wrinkled,” you snort, amused by the last time Zayne tried to iron out a wrinkle for an hour. “He gets this look on his face and—”
Zayne and Greyson run by the open door of your hospital room. Their voices go from soft to loud back to soft all over again as they run off. You turn and look at Juliette as soon as she faces you. You blink for a couple of seconds, eyes flickering to the open door before they go back to the pudding cup.
“So, as I was saying,” you continue, shoveling pudding into your mouth. “Wait! Do you think you can do me a favor?”
An hour later, Zayne and Greyson exited the operating room. Zayne sheds himself of the layers of garments, his navy blue scrubs the last layer. He nods his head to the other doctor, a yawn escaping his lips. He glances down at his watch — 3:29 A.M. — and shakes his head, trying to get the exhaustion to leave his body. His feet take him down the hospital hallways, slowly finding himself growing closer and closer to your room. He is ready to get into the hospital bed next to you and relax, to kiss you and feel your skin against his, but his plan is quickly shot and killed when he sees Yvonne and Juliette standing outside your door.
“What happened?” Zayne asks, the exhaustion immediately leaving his body. He is on high alert now, hazel eyes focused on the closed doors. “Did something happen to her while I was in surgery? Where is she?”
“She’s fine, Dr. Zayne,” Yvonne shakes her head with a chuckle. She quickly intercepts him and guides him in the opposite direction, walking him closer and closer to his office.
“Oh, good,” Zayne breathes out with the nod of his head. “Is she—”
“Sleeping? Yes. Her headache went away and she was able to fall asleep,” Yvonne says. She opens up his office door and gently pushes him inside. She gestures to his desk, a smile spreading across her lips. “She left you something, though.”
Zayne’s head immediately snaps around. Another note sits on the desk beside a white go to cup. He listens to the click of the door before rushing to the desk, taking his seat. He ignores the cup and instead grabs your note, opening up the page much quicker than he did the last time.
Dear Hot Medical God,
You know what is so funny? I was just thinking about you! I was talking to Juliette about you and how much you hate it when your coat is wrinkled when you ran by. I heard the Code Blue talk from the nurses. They said you had to go into surgery because of severe blockages? I hope the patient is okay. Well, I know they are since you’re the one taking care of them.
It’s like I’ve always said: a patient under Doctor Zayne’s care is the most cared patient in the world!
But I can’t help but wonder…if you’re too busy taking care of everyone else, then who is going to take care of you? That is why, and I know you won’t do it but I would love it if you would do a drum roll for dramatic effect, I bought you hot chocolate from that street vendor you love! Surprise!
I know that the patient must have taken a toll on you and, well, everyone deserves a sweet treat.
I can’t wait to see you, Zayne. Promise me you’ll be there when my test results come back? There’s no one else I would rather listen to when it comes to all these fancy medical terms.
I love you, Zayne, never forget it.
You have my heart,
Your Favorite Patient
P.S., you look good in those scrubs. I can’t wait to watch you take them off!
Zayne rolls his eyes at your last comment, his cheeks turning a light pink color. The tips of his ears run hot and he clears his throat, instinctively reaching to fix the tie around his neck just to be met with the collar of his scrubs. He blinks at the nearby room before turning his attention to the drink on his desk.
The drink is warm beneath his touch. He lets out a quiet sigh and gently removes the cup, face to face with a steaming cup of hot chocolate. The smell is decadent. Rich. Sweet. It reminds him of you. He brings the cup to his lips and takes a slow sip, a sigh falling from his lips after he swallows the sweet drink. His body relaxes and he sits down in his chair.
He picks up the note again. He rereads your words. They are as sweet as you.
Fuck, how he wishes he could slip into your room and get into the hospital bed behind you. To bury his face into the back of your neck. To listen to you complain — as always — about him taking up too much space. Oh, how he wishes that he could pepper kisses along the line of your jaw, to inhale the faint scent of your perfume and feel the warmth of your body against his.
Zayne also knows, though, that you need your rest and that when he is around, you become a ball of infectious energy. You need to sleep and Zayne unfortunately needs to work.
“Dr. Zayne,” Dr. Greyson steps through his office door just as Zayne finishes the last bit of hot chocolate from the cup. “There’s a new patient that I’d like you to take a look at.”
“Alright,” Zayne nods his head. His feet hurt as soon as he stands. The familiar ache that he has grown accustomed to throughout the years. He slowly walks towards the door, running his fingers through his hair. “Tell Yvonne to check in on her. Whatever she needs, make sure that she gets it.”
“We’re on it,” Dr. Greyson responds. He passes off the new patient’s file to Zayne, watching as the determined doctor makes his way down the corridor, eyes fixed on the papers in front of him.
You woke up about thirty minutes later. The digital clock on the wall reads 4:09 A.M. and the darkness of the sky outside is tinged with the slightest amount of light blue. A yawn leaves your lips and you slowly sit up in bed, a quiet groan escaping your mouth.
The door to your room is slightly cracked. You lean to the side, pursing your lips, and watch as Yvonne and Zayne talk at the nurses station. A small graces your face. The heat in the middle of your head dissipates at the sight of your boyfriend and your ribs no longer hurt. You relax into the bed, your eyes dropping down his body. You take in the sight of his muscular arms, the scars that are embedded into his skin. The lines of his body are sharp and the navy blue scrubs do him justice. Your eyes take him in before dropping to the curve of his butt.
It’s just so perfect. And bouncy. It’s why you always let him win those running races of yours.
Zayne turns around, his hazel eyes meeting yours. A squeal leaves your lips and you immediately yank yourself to the other side of the bed. You bring the thin hospital blanket over your head, shielding you from the light of the room. The door pushes open, allowing the light from the hallway to pour into your hospital room.
“Don’t think that I didn’t catch you staring—”
“Dr. Zayne! The emergency room needs you!” a nearby nurse yells from down the hall, out of breath. “The patient sustained a stab wound to the chest, we think it’s in the heart!”
“Right,” Zayne nods his head. He takes one last look at you, though, and meets you gaze from across the room.
“Good luck,” you say, voice hoarse and raspy.
“Thank you,” Zayne responds. And just like that, he runs off yet again, leaving nothing but silence in his wake.
“Hey, Yvonne?” you call out. The nurse immediately comes into your room, a sweet smile on her face. “What time is Zayne scheduled to get off?”
The surgery lasted longer than expected. The patient crashed more than once and it proved to be more than strenuous to keep them alive. At one point, Zayne remembers having his hand clasped around the patient’s heart, manually pumping as Dr. Greyson used a tube to suck the blood out of the chest cavity. After being in the surgery room for so long, Zayne stepped out to see the sun rising in the distance.
His body hurts. His feet hurt. His eyes hurt. His ice evol encompasses his body with a nice chill, providing him some comfort as he cracks his neck exiting the operating room. He glances to the side and watches as nurses wheel the patient out, the anesthesiologist following close behind as they monitor their vital signs.
“Good job today, Dr. Zayne,” a nurse looks up from their clipboard as he exits the operating room. “We were glad to have you here tonight. You really helped us.”
“It’s my job,” Zayne responds with a simple nod of the head, “but I am glad that I am here too. May I ask how the patient in room 420 is doing?”
“Sure thing!” the nurse cheerily responds. They step to the computer at the nurses station and sit down, quickly finding the details of you and your room. Their smile falters for the briefest moment. Zayne immediately catches onto it.
“Did something happen?” the man asks. He moves behind the nurse and looks down at the screen.
“It says that she was discharged about an hour ago…”
“That’s not right,” Zayne shakes his head, unable to wrap his head around the fact that someone other than him would even allow you to leave the hospital. “We were waiting for the test results. They hadn’t come in yet—”
“The results all came back normal,” Yvonne interrupts him. Zayne looks at the nurse and raises an eyebrow, waiting for her to elaborate. “Dr. Cooper and I looked them over. Checked them three times for your sake. Everything was fine with her and she didn’t want to be in that room anymore.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Zayne asks. There is impatience in his voice. Annoyance, even.
“Because you were in the middle of surgery,” Yvonne rolls her eyes.
Zayne’s lips press into a thin line. He walks past the rest of the nurses and doctors, ignoring what it is that they have to say to him. He doesn’t really care. All he cares about is you and your wellbeing. A part of him thinks — no…he knows — that this is all some big prank. That this is just another one of your jokes that you love to play on him. You probably got the nursing staff to join in on it, to input the wrong information just to mess with him.
He approaches your hospital room, his hand pushing the metal doorknob. An immediate layer of frost spreads across the metal handle, his evol getting the better of him.
“Very funny,” Zayne announces to the room, shaking his head, “but I am not in any kind of mood for your games—”
He immediately falls silent once his eyes land on the barren wasteland of your hospital room. It has been completely vacated, the bed as empty as it was before you arrived. His chest tightens. A lump forms in his throat.
So…you really were gone. His face scrunches up before relaxing, brows relaxing before tensing all over again. He feels an immense amount of sadness was over him. His silent hope of seeing you after a long overtime shift was vanished. It has left him feeling cold and even more sore than usual.
Zayne silently steps towards the bed, his sneakers quietly squeaking along the vinyl flooring. He flattens his palm against the sheets of the bed, his lips tugging downward. His hazel eyes trail along the bed, slowly making his way towards the pillow.
That’s when he sees it. Another note from you.
Zayne picks it up as if it is the final thing that is holding him together. He unfolds the paper. The tension begins to leave his body once your handwriting comes into view, a sigh of relief falling from his lips.
Dear Hot Medical God,
Hi. Long time no see. Well, for me it has. I bet you’ve been checking up on me every now and then through that patient portal of yours on the computer.
Yvonne told me that you were having a rough night. Turns out that Linkon city is restless when their best and brightest cardiac surgeon is working overtime. It pains me to know that you haven’t gotten a break this whole night. It pains me even more to know that you weren’t there to discharge me from the hospital.
That’s okay, though. I know that I will be seeing you soon. I can never go too long without seeing you. I am growing restless by the second. I feel so burnt out without you. You are the only person that keeps me sane in this place…and I hate being alone, especially when you’re walking these halls and I am unable to see you.
So…please. Please come find me. I need to see you. I want to see my snowman. I fear that my headache will only go away if I get to see you. Maybe get a kiss or two. Or three. Or a hundred. Okay, let’s call it an even thousand kisses.
I miss and love you so much, Zayne. My heart hurts to know that we are so close yet so far apart.
You have my heart,
Your Love
P.S., your office couch is super uncomfortable. Maybe we can find you a new one later today.
Zayne raises his eyebrow at the last part of your letter. His couch? Weren’t you discharged an hour—
Oh.
Oh.
OH!
Zayne looks up and rushes out of the hospital room. His shoes squeak on the floors as he picks up the pace. The doctor rushes towards his office, note still in hand, but stops right before his hand can connect with the door knob.
What if you aren’t there? What if you wrote this right before you left? Would he even be able to handle the sting of knowing that you truly aren’t here? Will this add to the bitter taste of disappointment that sits on his tongue?
Zayne closes his eyes. He slowly inhales, holding it for a few seconds, before exhaling. With the release of his breath, he pushes the door open, slowly opening his eyes.
There you are. Fast asleep on his couch. You have the spare blanket — one with seals and penguins on it — wrapped around your body like a protective shield. Your cheek is smushed against the armrest, knees pulled up to your chest as you soundly sleep in an uncomfortable position.
The tension in Zayne’s body immediately melts. He quietly closes the door behind him and locks it. The man kicks off his shoes, feeling the ache begin to slowly dissipate. He lowers himself onto the couch beside you. The note falls from his hand and onto the floor. Zayne reaches for you, a small smile spreading across his face as you groan and shake your head, waiting to remain asleep. He drags you onto his lap.
“Zayne?” you mumble his name, voice slightly slurred as you remain half-asleep.
“I’m here,” Zayne quietly responds. He rests you on his lap. You straddle him, body incredibly warm from the blanket. Zayne loves it. You put all of your weight into him, your head resting against his. “You’re warm.”
“You’re cold,” you comment right back, a sleepy smile forming on your face.
A comfortable silence falls between the two of you. Zayne’s hands slipped under your shirt, his clean and dry hands gently rubbing soothing circles into your back. Your breathing falls in sync. Your bodies melt into one big mass. Zayne rests his chin on your shoulder while you press gentle and lazy kisses to the side of his face.
“Thank you, my love, for the notes and snacks,” Zayne breaks the silence, a yawn falling from his lips. “It was nice to know that you were thinking of me.”
“I always think of you, Zayne,” you slowly pull your face away from his. You rest your hands on his shoulders, keeping the two of you trapped underneath the warmth of the blanket. “It’s the least I could have done. I know you had a busy night.”
“I did,” he nods, his voice just above a murmur. The tips of his fingers drag up and down your spine, leaving chills in its wake. “I’m ready to go home, though. Will you come with me?”
“Of course,” you nod, leaning in to press a kiss to his forehead. Your hands move to the side of his neck before moving to cup his cheeks. “We do have to find you a new couch, though.”
“The couch can wait,” Zayne comments with a smile, “I want to spend the rest of my day in bed with you.”
as always: likes, comments, and reblogs are greatly appreciated! remember to show support to your writers! <3
cw: marking (biting), possessiveness, blood mentioned, i hope i did him justice
word count: 1000
you don’t know what exactly woke up the demon inside you today.
maybe you didn’t need a reason. the sight of Rafayel, your other half, painting his nails on the couch and half-listening to his yapping about some gossip a fish had sold him, comfortable, relaxed in your presence was enough to make you lose your mind tonight.
"you’re not listening to me, cutie. I’m offended," he says, but this time his pout alone isn’t enough to sober you up.
"you’re beautiful," you counter, his earlier string of words incomprehensible, filtered out by a mind clogged with something expansive, terrifying. primal. and that something urges you closer to him. to feel... "Rafayel, I have to devour you. now. may I?"
a new spark ignites in his eyes, dangerous, hungry, and somehow you know it’s your reflection — two halves of unity. his adam’s apple bobs, ears roar scarlet.
you know he’ll give you consent before he even whispers the first syllable — neck tilting, eyes flicking between you and his own stretch of skin.
yes, yes, yes, his silence screams.
"you may" certain, firm. not a trace of shyness or hesitation.
when your fangs sink into his skin you already know you will never taste anything sweeter in your life. you are an addict now, pathetic, thirsty worshiper. the flesh of his neck yields obediently to your greed, sinking in and trembling sweetly, unsure of what to do with your hunger.
"c-cutie," you hear his pitched-up voice at your ear, just as sweet as the nectar on your tongue. that’s all the motivation you need to feed harder. "you’re a beast, a true beast—AHH!"
you cut his monologue off by sucking at his skin, still rimmed by the imprint of your fangs. sharp, intense, with only one intention roaring in your ears, your veins, your stomach.
mine, mine, mine
it’s ugly, greedy, filthy and messy. some part of you knows Rafayel doesn’t deserve this kind of loving, too beautiful, majestic, eternal.
but he is also bewitching. and that is his downfall.
Rafayel, meanwhile, is convinced he’s experiencing pleasure in its purest form. you’re so close, your hair tickles his cheek, you share warmth, love, possessiveness. you give him the most magnificent gift he could ever dream of.
he shudders again, feeling your fangs sink into his sensitive body.
"so this is what your fire tastes like," he moans, gasping. hands no longer know what to do, fingers tugging hard at your hair — his anchor before drifting away on cloud nine. "it is exquisite, perfect." he presses you harder against him. "more. I want more. I must..."
he wants to stay here. forever and ever. with his beast, his beloved, until he’s certain every inch of his skin is covered in your paint. and when the skin runs out, you’ll mark him from the inside, turn inside out until everyone knows he is yours.
yours, yours, yours
but your hesitation tears him out of paradise. the sucking slows, your bite isn’t as fierce anymore. why? did he do something wrong? didn’t he give you enough signals that you could do absolutely anything you wanted with him, and he would beg for an encore?
in an instant, bliss shifts into panic, though the massive dose you pumped into him still shakes his body: in his panting, in holding you close, in tangled legs. how could his trap have a gap wide enough for you to slip away?
"oh no, no, you’re not escaping." a sudden yank of your arm reminds you of Rafayel’s true strength. "your canvas has two sides. who’s going to paint the other one if not you?" he tilts his head exposing the other, untouched side, bares it, tempts you, seduces, and for the first time in your life you understand why man is a top predator.
a shame that just one glance at your artwork is enough to drag you back into the present.
"rafa, oh god. doesn’t it hurt? are you alright?"
any possessive beast would flee into the deepest corner of its cage at the sight of what it had done to its beloved, and you are no exception. his skin burns and shines at the same time from the excess saliva you forgot to return to sender. but the worst are the fang marks — furiously angry, thundering in a new shade of red. it’s a miracle you didn’t pierce him open — you think with horror.
"puh-lease, you bite like a toothless fish, I barely felt a thing." so repeat the spectacle, harder, fiercer, taste my blood. "still waiting for an encore, cutie." he tilts his head even further, submissive, begging, devour me.
"wait, maybe I should grab some ointment first. shit, raf, I think I went too far, it’s so bad..."
he doesn’t let go of your hand, doesn’t let you escape. and when you look into his eyes, alarmed, confused, you already know why.
"nuh-uh, I need you here. with me. and your fangs." with the tip of his thumb he brushes over your lower lip, pressing with mad determination against those teeth. it’s enough to slowly push you back into that earlier headspace, that phlegmatic shedding of humanity. "right here." he taps the thick muscle of his back.
"and what about your exhibition tomorrow?" you try, swallowing hard right after, though your eyes can only look at the one spot he has marked for you. you barely notice his victorious smirk.
"hmm, what about it?" he hums, feigning ignorance. it’s good you don’t know how much self-control it cost him to hammer that one simple truth into your head. how hard he had to restrain himself from trembling at the lack of your attention and adoration.
"no one’s going to pay attention to your paintings...they’ll gossip."
"good. let them see, let them watch and gossip. I’ll wear a revealing shirt on purpose so they see even better that I’m taken. that I’m yours." he cradles your face in his hands. "and now bite"
I just know having a crafting hobby and dating Sylus would be the best combination of things that could ever happsn
Huuuuge craft room(s) with places for all your different crafts. Yarn cubbies organized by color and weight, with little pockets for knitting needles and crochet hooks. Shelves of paints, sorted by type alongside racks of canvases and jars of brushes. A clay station - for both on the wheel and off. A whole sewing corner with multiple sewing machines and big tables for cutting fabric. A large drawing tablet for digital art, with an ergonomic chair to save your spine. Leather, glass, metal - any possible craft, you've got everything you could dream of
Getting into something new? "Use my card, sweetie."
Worried about wasting his money on a hobby you may only have for a week? "It's not a waste if you're enjoying yourself."
Need more space? Say less, he's got it covered. He'd even convert one of his other properties so you have a little craft getaway spot
And everything you make for him is cherished. He has entire display rooms for exhibiting all your decorative pieces. Things like sweaters, jewelry, etc he keeps around and he wears them all the time, especially when he's at home with you. His closet has a special place for clothes you make him. All the jewelry gets worn, cycled out for different outfits and occasions, so there's nothing he hasn't worn before
He also loves to be involved when you're being creative, even if it's just fetching colors or tools for you. When you bring up a trend you've seen of people painting on their partner's backs, he's offering up his own like a devout follower at his god's altar. But he'll help cut fabric or wedge your clay or detangle a knot in your yarn - anything you need
And he absolutely commissions you for things, too. You don't even give him a price estimate, he just drops an insane amount into your bank account the moment you accept the job. And don't think about any of that "This is too much, I can't accept this!" nonsense. Your time and skills are worth every penny and more
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