Where escapeism is Reality

how to add master list here?

[michin-naba]

Welcome to my little corner of delusion 🤍 Last updated:14/02/26

Here you’ll find comfort, chaos, slow-burn tension, and men who fall hard.

Grab a seat—my stories don’t let go easily.

What you’ll find here:

✦ Domestic intimacy

✦ Slow burn & emotional tension

✦ Protective, soft-but-deadly men

✦ Reader comfort, jealousy, banter, and devotion

✦ “Life after the story” moments

✦ LIFE WITH SYLUS ✦

Quiet obsession. Watchful love. The kind that notices everything.

Expect subtle dominance, deep understanding, and love that feels heavy—but safe.

Before his Sweetie VS after his sweetie

 Boyfriend headcons

Grocery Shopping

Bookshop Adventure

Cooking with sylus= Domestic Chaos

University Reunion

Dr. of Menstruation

Gossip session with Sweetie

IKEA Adventure

Domestic thing Sylus that just makes sense

Things Sylus does but never Admits

Going to luxury Auction

MEPHISTO: A judgy child of chaos

Sylus VS Kpop

Sylus Search History

Sylus in Sephora

Sylus doesn’t need stalking

Sylus Thirst Traps

Clothes shopping

His Favourite Show

Sylus and Halloween

Selfie Chronicles

Sylus never yells at his sweetie

Sylus finds sweetie’s childhood photos

Cleaning day with Sylus

When Sweetie got Anemia

Christmas with Sylus

✦Reactions: ✦

Reaction to Short MC

✦ CALEB & I ✦

Soft chaos, banter, warmth, and love that feels like home.

A gentle love with playful edges.

Before and after his Pipsqueak

WHAT WAS THAT PIPSQUEAK!!!

Grandma Meets Caleb

Loyalty bows to Caleb

Caleb being a Menace

Gamer Caleb with his Pipsqueak

Toxic things Caleb does

The Rameyon Betrayal

 Christmas Decorations

What Caleb did for Valentine Day?

✦ LIVING WITH ZAYNE ✦

Cold words, warm hands, and feelings he pretends not to have.

For people who like tension thick enough to cut.

Boyfriend Headcons

In ER & Zayne is ovulating

Zayne Vs your junk food

More decorations, the merrier

Things Zayne does but never admits

 Zayne & his Idol Girlfriend

Dr. of Menstruation

Anemic Recovery with Zayne

What Zayne did for Valentine's Day?

✦ CORTIS × 6TH MEMBER (READER) ✦

Fame, forbidden closeness, and emotions hidden behind schedules.

Idols who fall hardest in silence.

What’s the group name

Crazy teens + James

Debut Day Chaos

✦MISCELLANEOUS✦

Type of love he is ( Henry Creel, Stranger Things)

Last updated:14/02/26

Before you read:

All my stories are written with love, respect, and emotional depth. Take what comforts you. leave what doesn't. You're always safe here.

Come back anytime.

I'll be right here.

[michin-naba]

Hello everyone! 🌷💕

I know I've been a little quiet lately and haven't posted any new stories for the past few months. University life has been keeping me incredibly busy 📚 and honestly, balancing assignments, deadlines, presentations, and real life has been quite the adventure. 😭

But don't worry, I'm not gone! 💜

I plan to start posting again next month, beginning in July 🌙🌸. Thank you so much for being patient with me and for continuing to support my little corner of the internet. Your likes, comments, reblogs, and messages always make me smile. 🥹💖

The good news? I've been collecting ideas like a tiny dragon hoarding treasure.🐉(If you know you know)

I have a few new story concepts planned, including some Love and Deepspace stories with new characters, new dynamics, and lots of feelings. 🌌💫

And... 👀💜

I've also been thinking about writing some BTS fanfiction too!

No promises on which idea will appear first because my brain keeps opening new tabs, but I'm very excited to start creating again.

Thank you for bearing with me a little longer. 🌷

See you in July with new stories, new chaos, and hopefully less stress. 😭💕✨

[michin-naba]

Ufffff !!! How to have this kind of love!?!?! Like on point

[michin-naba]

Life with Sylus

Lads Sylus x fem reader!

When your girlfriend is an Idol!

Summary: Being an idol means you can’t date but Sylus was never the type of man to follow rules.

Note: Hooo.... very late, but better late than never. This was requested. I hope you like it.

Dating Sylus while being an idol feels like living two completely different lives. During the day you are the polished celebrity everyone sees on stage: perfect smile, perfect choreography, perfect image. Cameras follow you everywhere, fans scream your name, and your company reminds you constantly that idols are not supposed to date. But at night, when the cameras disappear and the stage lights shut off, you belong to a world that almost no one knows exists. That world is Sylus.

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-

The first rule of your relationship is secrecy. Your manager would faint if they knew you were dating one of the most powerful men in the country. Your company would probably schedule ten emergency meetings. Sylus, however, seems completely unbothered by the danger of it all.

“You’re smiling,” you once told him while sitting in the passenger seat of his car after a concert.

“I am not,” Sylus replied calmly.

“You definitely are.”

“It’s minor amusement.”

“What’s amusing?”

“The fact that half the airport thinks I’m your bodyguard.”

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-

To meet him, you always use hidden exits from concert venues or private parking entrances. Sometimes you even wear disguises: hoodies, masks, oversized hats. Sylus never complains about the secrecy. In fact, he seems almost… entertained by it.

“This feels illegal,” you mutter one night as you sneak into his penthouse through the private elevator.

“It isn’t,” Sylus replies.

“You sound disappointed.”

“I prefer challenges.”

“You’re insane.”

“Possibly.”

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-

Despite the secrecy, he treats the relationship like the most normal thing in the world. He cooks for you when you arrive late at night. He listens to you complain about rehearsals. He watches you fall asleep on his couch while still wearing stage makeup.

And sometimes, when you’re half asleep, you hear him whisper quietly,

“Careful, sweetie. Your secret life is showing.”

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-

The first time Sylus attended your concert, you didn’t even know he was there. He had quietly purchased an entire VIP section without telling you. Your manager assumed it was reserved for investors. In reality, it was just Sylus sitting alone in the dark.

While thousands of fans screamed your name, Sylus sat completely still, watching the stage like a strategist observing a battlefield. Your assistant later told you that he barely blinked during the entire performance.

When you found out later, you confronted him immediately.

“You were at the concert?” you asked.

“Yes.”

“You didn’t tell me!”

“You were busy.”

“You could’ve waved or something.”

“I prefer observing.” Your choreography improved,” he added calmly.

“That’s not the point!”

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-

From then on, he attended almost every concert. Sometimes physically,sometimes through livestreams.

One time his assistant walked into his office and saw a giant screen displaying your performance.

“Sir… the board meeting starts in five minutes.”

Sylus didn’t look away.

“Delay it.”

“Sir?”

“The chorus isn’t finished.”

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-

Another time you caught him humming one of your songs while reviewing documents.

You froze in the doorway.

“…Was that my song?”

He stopped immediately.

“No.”

“That was literally my chorus.”

“It’s stuck in my head.”

The truth was simple: Sylus might never scream like your fans or wave a lightstick wildly.

But he watched every single performance like it mattered more than anything else.

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-

Idol choreography sometimes requires male dancers. You didn’t think much about it. It was part of the job. Fans loved it, the company encouraged it, and you’d performed similar routines dozens of times before.

But Sylus had never watched one of those performances in person until your world tour stop in Tokyo.

During the show, one of your dancers lifted you during the bridge of the song. It was a dramatic move, something the crowd absolutely loved.

The audience screamed, sylus did not move. His expression remained perfectly calm.

After the show you met him backstage. “You came!” you said excitedly.

“Did you like the performance?”

“It was adequate.”

“Adequate?”

“The lighting was effective.”

“You’re avoiding the question.”

“I’m not.”

You narrowed your eyes.

“You’re jealous.”

“He was standing too close.”

“That’s the choreography.”

“Then the choreography is flawed.”

You burst out laughing.

“You’re unbelievable.”

Sylus looked genuinely confused.

“I fail to see the humor.”

“He lifted me for three seconds!”

“That’s three seconds too long.”

“You sound like a protective dad.”

He paused.

“That’s inaccurate.”

“Oh really?” What are you then?”

He stepped closer, voice quieter now.

“Yours.”

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-

The first time he looked at your schedule he actually frowned. Flights, rehearsals, interviews, photoshoots, concerts.

“Three flights in two days?” he asked."That’s inefficient.”

“Welcome to idol life.”

“You slept four hours.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re lying.”

“You sound like my manager.”

“Your manager is irresponsible.”

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-

Food deliveries began appearing at your dorm. Real meals instead of the strict diet your company forced on you.

Your group members were shocked.

“WHO SENT THIS?” one of them screamed.

You checked your phone.

Sylus: Eat.

You replied instantly.

“You’re going to get me in trouble.”

His response came seconds later.

“Then don’t get caught.”

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

The closest your secret relationship ever came to being exposed happened at the airport.

You had just finished a concert overseas and were returning home. Fans and paparazzi crowded the terminal the moment you appeared.

Your security team tried their best, but the crowd kept pushing closer.

Then suddenly people started moving aside. Not because of the guards, because of Sylus.

He stepped beside you silently, tall and intimidating enough that fans instinctively gave space.

You leaned toward him slightly.

Fans began whispering.

“Who is that guy?”

“Is he her bodyguard?”

“He looks like a CEO.”

“Wait… I’ve seen him before.”

When you finally reached the car, you collapsed into the seat.

Sylus closed the door calmly.

You groaned and covered your face.

“This relationship will ruin my career.”

“Unlikely.”

“Why?”

He looked at you calmly. “Because I won’t let it.”

Now my whole focus gonna be BTS comeback!!!!! Because that's the only thing keeping me sane.

✌

[michin-naba]

Life With Sylus

Lads Sylus x fem reader!

What Sylus did for Valentine Day? 🌌 ❤

Summary: Because, Private jets, diamonds, five-star restaurants? Boring. Tuesday behavior for Sylus.

Note: Nobody's gonna do this. Except for Sylus. Period. So don't come at me!

He doesn’t tell you anything, no fancy dress instructions, No obvious grand gesture.

Just a message:

“Be ready at 9.”

In a black car, you’re taken to a private mountain observatory, the kind owned by governments, not tourists.

The entire facility is empty because he bought the night.

Inside, the astronomers are waiting, and not the random staff, actually the best in the country. You thought it’s just stargazing.

Then he hands you a tablet.

On the screen, it's a live satellite feed, where you se Earth, clouds drifting, the curve of Earth glowing and then the feed zooms outwards.

A specific star system is highlighted. One newly catalogued, unnamed star.

The astronomer clears his throat:

“At Mr. Sylus’ request, the International Astronomical Registry has finalized the designation.”

Your name appears. Official. Permanent. You freeze, but he’s not done obviously.

He steps closer behind you, voice low near your ear:

“That one burns for billions of years.”

He places something cold in your palm. A custom-made ring. And inside the band? There is the star’s exact celestial coordinates engraved in microscopic detail.

Then the observatory dome opens. Above you, and suddenly, the specific star brightens.

Because he funded a synchronized orbital mirror array to reflect light precisely toward this location for one night only.

You just see your star shine brighter than the rest. He watches you instead of the sky.

Always you.

“Did you really do all this… for me?” tears prominent in your eyes.

He answers simply:

“If I wanted the universe, I would’ve taken it.

But I only needed one star.”

“And she’s standing right here.”

Just to be clear. Sylus made her see 2 types of stars.

1. From mountain to space one

2. From heaven to- 👀

[michin-naba]

Living with Zayne

Lads Zayne x fem reader!

What zayne did for Valentine Day? 💙 🩺

Summary: Zayne is not a “14th February only” man. He is a “I will prepare your heart like a long-term treatment plan” kind of man.

Note: It's not gonna happen in our life. Is it?!?! Its fictional that's not gonna happen. 🥲

He casually checks your pulse while holding your hand.

“Resting heart rate seems elevated. Possible cause: proximity to me.”

And gifts you:

A custom luxury smartwatch (but modified by him)

It tracks heart rate, but also sends data directly to his phone.

“I prefer real-time monitoring.”

You think it’s romantic.

It’s slightly possessive.

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-

He brings you to his study. Soft lamp light. His glasses slightly down his nose.

Reads poetry to you. But not basic poetry. Medical love metaphors.

“If your heart fails, mine will compensate.”

He definitely means it.

Gives you a coat he specifically designed for you. The inside lining has his initials stitched. The collar smells faintly like him

“I don’t want you catching a cold.”

Translation: “I don’t want the world touching what’s mine.”

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-

He drives. One hand on steering wheel. One hand holding yours. He stops at a high rooftop.

He rests his forehead against yours and says:

“If your heart rate rises above 110, I’m kissing you.”

It rises. Obviously.

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-

You wake up. There’s a sealed envelope present at the side table.

A medical report.

Patient Name: Your Name

Condition: Chronic attachment to Dr. Zayne

Treatment: Lifelong partnership

Signed & Stamped

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-

He gifts you a necklace, A pendant.

A tiny anatomical heart. Made of white gold. With a microscopic engraving only visible under magnification:

“Property of Dr. Zayne.”

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-

He checks your pulse. Listens to your heartbeat with a stethoscope.

But instead of moving away,he keeps listening. longer than necessary.

“Still beating for me.”

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-

He recreates your first meeting.

Same place. Same clothes. Same lighting. But this time he kisses you where he didn’t the first time.

Because Zayne corrects past mistakes.

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-

He blindfolds you, when you remove it:

A room filled with soft white candles. No loud music. Just slow classical piano. On the wall:

A projected real-time live image of your heartbeat waveform. because he connected your watch to the screen.

He walks toward you slowly. takes your hand.

“Every spike belongs to me.”

He kneels, and says:

“Be my constant.”

Not “Will you marry me?” Not “Will you be my Valentine?”

Just: “Be my constant.”

Because in medicine, constants don’t change.

Master List of Delusions

It's soo sweet, now I have diabetes

Happy Valentine Day 💝

[michin-naba]

CALEB & I

Lads Caleb x fem reader!

What Caleb did for Valentine Day? 🗝🧡

Summary: Acts normal but plans something that destroys your heart quietly. I memorized your heart beat type sh**

Note: I don't think anyone would do this. I repeat this all fictional!!!!

For a month, small things disappear.

Lip gloss, hair tie, that silver necklace.You think you’re just forgetful. He says nothing but never denies it when you complain something’s missing.

On Valentine’s night, he blindfolds you.

“Trust me, pipsqueak.”

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-

The house isn’t random.It’s somewhere quiet, private, secure, of course he checked every exit.

When he removes the blindfold, you see it:

Glass cases.

Neatly organized. Everything that went missing. Each item has a small Dates, Locations, short notes.

“That’s the dress you wore when you let me kiss you first.”

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-

He remembers the exact shade of lipstick.

“You were nervous. You kept reapplying it.”

The perfume bottle? Half empty.

“I bought the same one. Just in case they ever stop making it.”

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

Your old movie ticket stub? Framed.

“You fell asleep on my shoulder.”

He kept the hair tie you used to tie his hair back once. He called it “strategic evidence.”

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-

Your shoes from the first date? Placed beside his,side by side.

There’s a soft spotlight over the makeup palette you wore the night you first stayed over.

He catalogued everything.

Date, time, weather, your mood.

He has security footage saved of the first time you laughed uncontrollably in his kitchen.

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-

He memorized the exact curl pattern your hair had that night.

There’s even a photo.

You find the hoodie he lent you, but he never asked for it back because he stole it again later.

The sweet, sickening note is waiting on a table.

“I don’t forget anything that belongs to me.”

And underneath:

“You thought they were missing. They were just preserved.”

He steps closer while you’re reading.

Hands light on your waist.

“There are moments people let fade,” he murmurs.

“I don’t.”

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-

There’s a locked drawer. Inside, there is a ribbon from your first gift to him.

He even kept the napkin you doodled on absentmindedly. It’s laminated.

He wasn’t stealing things randomly, he was archiving milestones. One empty glass case remains with a label:

“Future.”

He looks at you and says:

“We’ll fill that together.”

He leans close to your ear.

“I choose you every time. So I document it.”

Before leaving, he presses something into your hand.

A key.

“To this house. To everything I remember.”

Master List of Delusions

Happy Valentine Day 💝 for everyone.

Bish.

[michin-naba]

Hellooo~ my favorite writer 💜 I'm thinking of you and wishing you the best of luck with the results of your exam! Anyway, I just want to ask you about my request that I sent over last time. I know you are busy (with exams), but you are still uploading the fics, and I'm really grateful 🥺but I need to tell you something: I'm honestly still waiting for the Sylus X idol!reader, but it's okay if you forgot, overlooked, or made a mistake. No pressure if you don't want to do it, but I would appreciate it if you do. Also, I have another request/idea, but since I'm reaching out to you today, I guess I will save it for another time. I hope you don't mind these re-requests.

Lastly, I want to thank you in advance for your hard work, and I just want to remind you that every work you write makes my day (I'm so happy when I see your name pop up). Love you so much~💜

Hello my dear reader,💜💜

I did read your request. But I thought it was zayne/sylus so i made that for zayne 🥲

Sorry lovely, I didn't overlooked your request.🫂

Right now I am drafting a thing for valentine fic for sylus, zayne and caleb

But I will do the sylus x idolreader after that. 💖

[michin-naba]

Living with Zayne

Lads zayne x fem reader!

Anemic Recovery With Zayne

Summary: Anemic, stubborn, and absolutely fine.… until Cardiologist Zayne takes over your life, your diet, and your dignity in the name of love. 💉💙

Note: I am Anemic too but never got this type of attention. Guess I'll be Anemic my whole life :)

This was requested. Whoever requested it, Hope you like it.

When the lab report comes in, Zayne doesn’t speak immediately. He reads it twice. Then a third time. His jaw tightens. Severe anemia isn’t dramatic to him; it’s dangerous. Oxygen delivery. Cardiac strain. Fatigue masking bigger risks. He looks at you, not angry, not soft. This is no longer casual concern. This is protocol mode mixed with love.

He exhales slowly, then immediately goes to the kitchen. No pause. Just action.

Juicer comes out. Cutting board. Fresh fruits. Leafy greens. Beetroot stains his hands.

“we are not negotiating this,” he says quietly.

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-

Zayne doesn’t ask what you're eating anymore. He inspects. He stands there, arms crossed, eyes scanning the plate like it’s a medical chart.

Oil?: Too much.

Colour??: Not enough iron-rich foods.

Portion???: Wrong.

He sighs slowly, like you have personally offended medicine.

“You know this doesn’t help your hemoglobin,” he says calmly.

You groaned. “I just wanted something easy.”

“And anemia wants you unconscious,” he replies.

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-

After the anemia diagnosis, Zayne personally orders everything. Blood panels. Cardiac monitoring. Nutrient levels. He cross-checks results at midnight like it’s leisure reading.

You groaned after another test.

“At this rate, you’ll drain whatever blood I have left.”

He presses a kiss to your forehead.

“I already calculated total volume loss. You’re safe.”

Then pauses.

“Annoyed, but safe.”

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-

Zayne doesn’t suggest dietary changes.

He reorganizes the kitchen.

Iron-rich foods appear. Vitamin C pairings. No tea near meals. No excuses. He cooks like he’s preparing post-op recovery meals. When you complain, he doesn’t argue.

“Eat,” he says simply. “Then complain.”

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-

You stand up quickly.

Zayne is already moving.

Hand on your arm. Firm. Controlled.

“No,” he says. “Sit back down. Count to ten. Breathe.”

“You don’t need to grab me every time!”

“And you don’t need to faint,” he replies. “Yet here we are.”

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

Zayne hands you water like it’s law.

“Drink.”

“I just drank.”

“That was thirty minutes ago.”

You snaped, “I’m not a sponge!”

“And yet,” he says, “you’re still dehydrated.”

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-

You try to push through fatigue.

Zayne shuts your laptop.

Physically.

“We’re done.”

“I HAVE DEADLINES!”

“And you have anemia,” he replies. “Pick which kills you slower.”

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

Lights out at the same time every night.

No scrolling. No excuses.

He takes your phone and places it face-down.

“You need rest for red cell production.”

You groaned into the pillow. “You’re ruining my life.”

“ No love, I’m extending it,” he replied as he kissed my head.

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-

He watches you swallow iron supplements.

Not because he doesn’t trust you.

Because he doesn’t trust absorption.

“Did you take it with tea?”

“No.”

“With calcium?”

“No.”

“Good,” he says. “I’m proud.”

“Don’t praise me like a dog.”

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-

Buldak ramen is forbidden.

Full ban. No negotiation.

You tried once.

Zayne appears like a final boss.

“Put it back.”

“It’s comfort food!”

“And anemia is not comfortable,” he answers calmly.

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-

His words are harsh.

His hands are gentle.

That contrast breaks you every time.

“Stop being mean,” you muttered

“Stop being anemic,” he replies softly.

Master List of Delusions

Finally!!!!!

Finished with exams

Next depression is result.

[michin-naba]

Hellooo my favourite writer!!!! Hope you are healthy and doing good . Can you write a request of mine. It is when "reader have severe anemia" with my favourite LI zayne.

Hope you can do it. Lots of love and well wishes.

My lovely reader❣Sooooon..... Imma do it sooon

I have my exams next week 🙃

I am stressed, but not stressed enough to study... kinda lost 😕

Soo please bear with me 🤧

I am in a apocalyptic situation.

[michin-naba]

Living With Zayne

Lads Zayne x Fem reader!

Dr. Of Menstuation

Summary: Zayne is a lovely, terrifyingly competent goon that counts her breaths like it’s the most important job in the world.

Note: I guess periods are not bad if you have a partner like him.

This was requested by @deluxevipgirl I hope you like it

Zayne is a light sleeper. Not because he’s anxious, because his body is trained to notice changes. So when you slip out of bed at 2:17 a.m. shoulders slightly tense, he doesn’t open his eyes… but he knows.

Twenty-eight days. Right on time.

You opened the bathroom cabinet and it's filled with Night pads: longer, softer, heavy-flow approved, lined neatly in a row.

Clean underwear folded beneath them, including the so-called “granny panties” he bought without hesitation because practicality matters more than pride. He has never once looked embarrassed about that drawer.

When you sigh quietly at your reflection, tired already, he appears at the doorway like he’s been summoned.

“Did you… reorganize the cabinet again?”

“I optimized it,”

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-

Zayne has a hot water bottle system and yes. It is a system.

Four hot water bottles. Four.

One pressed against your lower abdomen.

One tucked carefully at your feet because he knows they get cold first.

One supporting your lower back, warm and steady.

And one extra resting beside the bed, still steaming, because he hates inefficiency and hates waiting even more.

You stared at the setup. “Zayne… why do I need four?”

He adjusts the blanket like this is the most normal thing in the world.

“Because one will cool down in forty minutes. You’ll shift in your sleep. And your feet will complain before you do.”

You groaned. “You’re doing too much.”

“I’m doing enough.”

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-

Zayne knows about the worst part, the moment after lying down too long. That awful, sudden swoosh when you stand up again. He knows it makes you feel gross, annoyed, angry at your own body.

So when you got up again and mutters under your breath, he doesn’t flinch.

“Ah. Gravity’s rude today.”

“IT’S DISGUSTING, RIGHT? LIKE WHY DOES THAT EVEN—”

He listens. Doesn’t interrupt. Doesn’t fix it. Just lets you rant like it’s a necessary medical procedure.

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-

Your period changes everything including his clothes.

You reached for black leggings, a navy hoodie, anything dark. Before you can comment on it, Zayne appears wearing black slacks and a dark sweater, perfectly matched.

You squint at him. “Did you just… coordinate with my period outfit?”

“I coordinate with your comfort.”

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-

He swaps your heels for joggers without asking. Kneels to tie them properly.

“You shouldn’t wear heels today,” he adds. “Pelvic tension.”

You laugh weakly. “You’re not my stylist.”

“I’m your cardiologist,” he replies. “And your balance is compromised.”

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-

Before leaving the house, Zayne does a quiet inventory. Phone. Wallet. Keys. Pads.

He slips one into his coat pocket without thinking, then another just in case.

“…Did you just bring pads?”

“Yes.”

“For me?”

“For us,” he corrects. “Anything can happen.”

You scoff. “You’re insane.”

He shrugs. “Prepared.”

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-

The cramps hit harder on day one. You try to push through it, still half-dressed, still stubborn.

“We’re not going,” Zayne says calmly.

“We?”

He looks at you like the question itself is odd.

“Yes. We.”

“Zayne, you’re literally a surgeon. You have—”

“I rescheduled,” he interrupts. “You’re priority today.”

You stared at him, overwhelmed, emotional for reasons even you know are hormonal.

“I don’t need you to cancel everything for me.”

Halfway to the kitchen with a bottle in hand he says

“ I know love, but I want to.”

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-

Zayne never announces it, but on heavy days he walks behind you when you go to the bathroom, just close enough. He leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, eyes half-lidded, pretending he’s just… there.

He knows dizziness happens. He knows blood pressure drops. He knows you hate being asked “are you okay?”

So instead, when you come out slower than usual, he simply says,

“Sit for a minute.”

“I’m fine.”

“Please” he requests.“Sit.”

And you do. Because somehow that doesn’t feel like weakness, it feels like being caught.

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-

He gives you snacks, because chewing distracts the brain from pain. He knows that. He’s done the research.

Chocolate. Something salty. Juice he makes himself because hydration helps circulation. He massages warm oil into your abdomen slowly, methodically, because you refuse painkillers and he respects that.

But sometimes… he overdoes it.

Sometimes you snap.

“Zayne—please—just—back off. I know you care but I want to cry because I can.”

He freezes for half a second. Then immediately steps back.

“Okay,” he says softly. “I’m stepping away.”

“I’ll make you juice.”

Master List of Delusions

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-

He is toooo good to be true.

Im'ma marry him anyway.

[michin-naba]

Hi !! Hope ur doing well and drinking enough water. Like you did Dr of Menstruation for sylus can you do it for zayne also. Feel free to ignore if you don't wanna do it.

Hiii!!! I hope YOU are hydrated enough.

I'm gonna send Sylus to check on you😏

Yessss I would love tooo write this.

I would never ignore you, WHAATT!!

PS: I think zayne will be unbearable.

To the point where you wanna throw your pad at him. 🙄

[michin-naba]

Living with Zayne

Lads Zayne x fem reader!

Zayne & his Idol Girlfriend

Summary: Zayne is total sweetheart. For his love, he can do anything. Period.

Note: This was requested by someone. I hope they find it and like it. Lots of love. 💙

Zayne never learn your schedule from the news. He knows it before your manager does. Tour dates, rehearsal hours, encore counts, all memorized. When you texts “I’m tired”, he’s already standing by with a calm reply.

“Hydrate. Sit for five minutes. I am coming,”

he says, like it’s medical protocol. It is but for love.

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-

During tours, he pretends he’s fine. He is not. Every performance has him counting beats instead of heart rhythms. Four songs back-to-back, he thinks, jaw tight.

“She should drink water,”

he mutters to himself, checking the time like it personally offends him.

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-

He prepares IV fluids the way other boyfriends pack snacks. Carefully. Labeled. Balanced electrolytes. He hands them to you backstage.

“ For energy replenishment,”

You grinned. “You mean because you’re worried.”

“I am not,” he lies badly.

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-

Zayne already owns three copies of your albums before it drops. One physical. One digital. One hidden folder on his phone.

When someone at the hospital says, “I can’t wait to preorder her album,” Zayne’s lips curve slightly.

Ohhh he is sooo smug, because he already has listened to every song.

( and even knows all the dance steps by heart.. shhhhh)

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-

He knows every lyric. Every harmony. Every breath she takes between verses. He hums your song unconsciously while scrubbing in.

A nurse asks, “Is that—?”

“No,” he says immediately. Too fast.

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-

Zayne buys every version of your album. Fan benefits included. Photocards sleeved.

“They’re for support,” he insists.

You laughed. “You queued online for three hours.”

“That was inefficient,” he mutters.

“But necessary.”

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-

He surprised you once by attending a fansign, masked, hat low, posture unmistakably his.

When you reached him, he slides the album forward.

“Hello Love,” he says softly.

You recognized his voice instantly and nearly droped the marker.

He leans in when she signs.

“You look absolutely stunning darling.” he murmurs.

Your ears burn.

“You’re flirting with me in public,” you hissed.

“I am a fan,” he replies innocently. A menace.

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

Zayne hates lives. Hates comments. Hates fanboys.

So when you goes live, he accidentally leaves his wallet at table, or keep roaming near you so people can clearly see shadow wallet in hand, clearly not alone energy.

He knows exactly what he’s doing.

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-

When you scold him afterward, arms crossed, he looks genuinely wounded.

“Zaynneee you told me that you would be in room,”

“I was just passing through.”

He pouts. Actually pouts, then changed tactics.

So instead, he comments.

“Your boyfriend must be very lucky.”

“Do you have a boyfriend?”

He watches the screen intently, waiting for her reaction like it’s an EKG.

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-

When staff gave you thinner outfits for winter tours, Zayne’s calm cracks.

“This is unacceptable,” he says flatly.

It's a stage wear,” you argued

“It’s hypothermia waiting to happen,” he snaps, and personally brings thermal layers.

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-

You asked him once to clink a spoon on the table for a beat. He practices it beforehand. Alone. At midnight. For accuracy.

Zayne perfectly still, brows furrowed, clinking with surgical precision.

“Again,”

" Do you want the front part of the spoon or the handle,? Or both?"

He nods seriously. “I will not mess it up.”

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-

When the song releases, the producer adds his name to the credits.

Zayne stares at the list in silence.

“They put me on it,” he says softly.

You beamed. “You’re part of my music now.”

He looks… proud. Terrified. In love.

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-

When you asked him to do adlibs once — breathy background sounds.

“I don’t sing,” he says.

“You love me,” you replied.

He sighs, defeated. “That is unrelated.”

He records them anyway. Voice low. Controlled. Intimate.

Listening back makes his ears burn.

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-

At home, fame doesn’t exist. You wear his sweaters. He cooks.

“What do you want to eat?” he asks.

“You,” you joked

“That can still be arranged.”

He says that while removing his apron.

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-

Zayne would give up sleep, free time, comfort — but never you.

Even if the world can’t know, he does.

And that’s enough.

To everyone else, he’s a cold, brilliant cardiologist.

To you, he’s the man who clinks spoons for beats, memorizes dances, worries over meals, and loves her completely.

“I’m yours,” he says simply.

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-

Master List of delusions

[michin-naba]

Hiii, my favorite writer 💜. Would you mind if I make a request? I warn you, it would be different from what you usually write. Can I request an MC/reader who is a singer or K-pop idol? Also, can I request my favorite LI, Sylus and Zayne? Anyway, thanks in advance for your hard work, especially if you decide to write this request. Love you! 💜

Hiiiiiii 💜

You be saying things like that......

Makes me wanna marry you 💕

Of course you can — and thank you, that’s so sweet 🥺

I love this idea already!!! I’m happy to write it for you.

[michin-naba]

Living with Zayne

Lads Zayne x fem reader!

Things Zayne Does But Never Admits

Summary: Zayne is such a pookie. But because he is a cardiologist, he never admits.

Zayne claims he doesn’t care about notifications. He tells himself he’s disciplined, focused, immune to distractions. Still, the moment his phone vibrates, his eyes flick down automatically. He is a surgeon ofcourse he's fast with his fingers.

(To pick the phone up you- naughty 😏)

When it’s your name, his thumb moves before he’s even aware of it.

A nurse notices.

“You’re popular today, doctor.”

Zayne locks the screen, expression blank.

“It’s nothing.”

The phone remains in his hand.

-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

Zayne doesn’t plan outfits. He plans probabilities. When he buys a coat he likes, he buys two. Same cut. Same color. One for himself and one for you.

What he doesn’t tell anyone is that when he sees you wear a color, he wants to wear it too.

When you notice their matching coats, you laugh.

“Did we plan this?”

Zayne adjusts his collar.

“Coincidence.”

-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

After you teased him once about matching outfits, Zayne silently escalates. He buys the same coat in every available color — black, beige, grey, navy. That way, whatever you choose in the morning, he can match without asking.

You raised an eyebrow one day.

“Why do you suddenly have so many coats?”

Zayne doesn’t look up from tying his shoes.

“Options.”

-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

Zayne does not “need” a period app. He is a doctor. He knows cycles. He knows biology. He knows yours. Still, the app is synced. Quietly. Automatically.

Three days before your period, he starts stocking painkillers, heating pads, comfort food.

You squint at him.

“Why are you acting like this?”

Zayne pours you tea.

“You’ll need it.”

-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

He knows your cycle better than you do. Your cycle is 28 days. Consistent. Zayne tracks it mentally without effort.

You complain about cramps one afternoon.

Zayne doesn't even look at his app and said,

“Day twenty-five.”

You looked at him.

“How do you know that?”

Zayne pauses, then says calmly,

“Observation.”

-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

He Adjusts His Mood Around your Hormones

On certain days, Zayne is noticeably softer. More patient. Less sharp.

You noticed it eventually.

“You’re being… nice.”

Zayne blinks.

“I’m always like this.”

He absolutely is not.

-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

He pretends he doesn’t re-read your messages.

He opens your texts once. Replies normally. Locks his phone.

Then, later at night, he opens the chat again. Reads it slowly. The jokes. The typos. The casual “I miss you.”

When caught staring at his phone, he clears his throat.

“Work.”

The message says: Come home soon.

-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

Zayne schedules his breaks when he knows You’ll be free.

When a colleague asks why he always disappears at the same time, Zayne answers evenly,

“Coincidence.”

He’s on a call with you five seconds later.

-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

He learns your coffee order and judges anyone who gets It wrong.

Zayne never asks what you want anymore, he already knows. When someone brings your coffee incorrectly, Zayne steps in.

“That’s not it,” he says calmly. “Double boba.”

“Sir this is doub-”

You smile at him.

“I could’ve said something.”

Zayne shrugs.

“You shouldn’t have to.”

-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

He knows when you are lying about being fine. You said you're fine. Zayne doesn’t believe you for a second.

He doesn’t confront you immediately. He waits. Adjusts. Softens.

Later, quietly:

“Talk to me.”

You sighs.

“You’re annoying.”

Zayne nods.

“I know.”

-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

Zayne never uses alarms. When you said that you need to wake up at four, he just answers

“I’ll wake you.”

So he does. He wakes up before her, lies there for a moment,memorizing the quiet version of her the world never sees. He enjoys this part more than he’d ever admit.

When it’s time, he leans in and murmurs softly,

“It’s four. Wake up.”

“You’re already awake?”

Zayne brushes her hair back, voice gentle.

“I said I would be.”

-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

Zayne walks fast. Always has. But when you're beside him, he slows without thinking.

“You’re holding back.”

Zayne replies,

“No. I’m comfortable.”

-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

He lowers his voice when you're asleep. Moves quietly. Delays calls.

When asked why, he answers simply,

“She’s resting.”

As if that’s reason enough for the world to stop.

-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

He keeps extra hair ties everywhere. In his car. In his bag. In his coat pocket.

You find one in his jacket.

“Why do you have this?”

Zayne doesn’t hesitate.

“You lose them.”

-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

He stands slightly closer in public. Not enough to be obvious. Just enough.

When someone bumps into you, Zayne is suddenly there.

“You’re hovering. Mr.”

“I’m standing.”

-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

He keeps your photos that he pretends don’t exist.

His gallery is organized. Clean. Professional. Except for a hidden folder.

When you asked if he has pictures of you, he says,

“No.”

There are seventy-three.

-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

He refuses to admit he misses you. He doesn’t say it. He asks questions instead.

“When are you coming back?”

“Did you eat?”

“Are you home yet?”

It’s all the same thing.

Master List of Delusions

At one time he said

"She my home" but that was my Freaking dream.

[michin-naba]

You: Ugh… this bus is seriously testing my patience.

Steve taps shoulder: Uh—hey. Sorry to bother you, but could I borrow your phone real quick? I need to make a call.

You: Oh—yeah, sure. Here.

Steve: types number (phone buzzes in his jacket)

Steve: Perfect. There you go ( gives phone back)

You were confused about what he did and then you looked at your phone and realised he had put his number in your phone.

[michin-naba]

The type of lover he is

Paring: Henry Creel x fem! reader

Summary: Headcons of Henry, A man who would unmake himself and the world just to be chosen by you.

Note: I couldn't find any Henry Creel obsessive vibe stories. so, this is how i think Henry would portray his obsession/ love.

He is the type to kiss you like he’s trying to carve himself into you. like if he lets go for even a second, you’ll disappear from his grasp and from his world entirely. And then he pulls away on purpose. watching you breathe harder, waits until you need him back.

He is the type who loves control, but what makes him insane is how much he gives it up only for you.  To you, he is devotion sharpened into obsession. He wants you to feel powerful over him, even if he’d destroy the universe to keep that power exclusively yours.

He is the type that worships you in a way that feels dangerous. You’re not just loved but placed above morality, anyone who harms you isn’t punished… they’re erased.

He is the type to put you in your place when you forget who you belong to, reminding you exactly where you stand in his world. And then, later, he is the same man who lowers himself completely for you, willingly, almost desperately, because your approval matters more than his pride.

He is the type who loves when you look at him like you understand how dangerous he is and choose him anyway. That choice feeds something feral inside him. It makes him reckless in ways nothing else ever could.

He is the type who is obsessed with being the only one who truly sees you. He invades your thoughts not to spy, but to anchor himself there. He wants to be the first thing you reach for when you feel weak, and the last thing you remember when you feel strong.

He is a type that would burn dimensions, shatter minds, and rewrite reality and still find a way to come back to you, because the world is meaningless if he can’t lay it at your feet.

He is the type to watch you eat your favorite food in complete silence, studying the way you enjoy it, memorizing it. And later crave you with the same hunger.

He is a type who knows how to manipulate your emotions. He amplifies your need for him, dulls your doubts, reshapes your memories until loving him feels inevitable rather than chosen. You just feel safer when he’s near and hollow when he’s gone.

He is the type to hurt himself, dismantling his own stability just to prove devotion. If you wanted to see him break, he would. He would ruin himself piece by piece just to show you that even his destruction belongs to you.

He is the type to sleep only when you are beside him. Your presence stills the static in his mind. Your breathing regulates his own. Without you, he never truly rests.

He is the type that surrenders to you completely, but in doing so, he pulls you deeper into him.  The more he kneels, the harder it becomes to step away.

Master List of Delusions

In short, He's my type