In which you had a little too much champagne at your work party to get the thought of what you both did in your work bathroom out of your head. You don't realize Zayne had as much as you did.
This is a continuation that can be read on it's own.
Read Part I | Part II
tags; mdni, smut with plot, drunk zayne, drunk everyone tbh, except the cab driver ay!, eating out, semi-public, we luv tara x jenna
The live band's light jazz fills the mood with deep conversations about work and light conversations about nothing really. Two and a half hours since you arrived and you're starting to feel the buzz of champagne.
Zayne stays at your side, hand at the small of your back, happily accepting another drink when it arrives. And another one some time later. You've never seen him so content to keep drinking. He accepts each glass like he's purposefully testing how long he can stay composed.
You get caught in conversation with Captain Jenna, "Please just call me Jenna when you're off the clock or not fighting wanderers." Jenna was a few drinks ahead of you, you were sure of it. But she looked significantly less buzzed than you, whose cheeks were already tinting red. That was until she looked at you and Zayne up and down and declared you the cutest couple she's ever seen. Now the drinks were definitely showing.
Tara chimes in with a bold buzz. "Jenna, do you have anybody you've been seeing lately?"
You could tell Jenna wasn't expecting that question. She downs another champagne glass with elegance. "A captain has no time for romances."
Tara giggles, bumping her shoulder into Jenna's. "But you just said you're not Captain Jenna right now, are ya?"
Jenna stays quiet, but still leans toward Tara, suggesting she's enjoying the attention.
You and Zayne chuckle. You join Tara in the teasing just in case Jenna finds it inappropriate. "Now you have to spill. You really haven't gone on one date or anything like that?"
"Nope." Jenna said with pride. "I can't afford distractions, not even for a night."
"Well, you're allowed to date someone, right?" The words come out of your mouth faster than you can shut them.
Jenna ponders for a moment, still lightly leaning against Tara.
Zayne chimes in. "It's the same at the hospital. There's no explicit rule as long as you're seeing someone outside of your direct chain of command."
He squeezes your side slightly when he says it. The collar around your neck tightens against your skin. You reach for another champagne. His height difference becomes more noticeable from this angle. You try to hide your embarrassment. No matter how many champagne glasses you drain your head is still flooded with what happened in that bathroom stall.
"'Oooh maybe we could go together! To a speed dating session! God knows I need a date!'" Tara and Jenna start to banter and make unserious plans about this. Jenna's sarcasm paired with Tara's passion. They're leaning into each other now, barely aware that you and Zayne exist.
Zayne leans in and checks his watch. "It's time for us to head out. I have an early shift in the morning." He gestures to Tara and Jenna, who are facing each other completely now. Zayne chuckles. "Goodnight." He guides you toward the door.
You drift toward the exit and say wistful goodbyes to colleagues and brief hellos to the ones you haven't been able to talk to yet.
Once you're outside and far enough from the building that no one can hear, Zayne's whole demeanor changes. He goes quiet. Eyes hidden behind his bangs, staring forward like he's tracking something.
You don't say anything. You're drunk enough that watching him like this is enough.
Before he opens the passenger door he kisses you deeply. His body presses yours against the car, hand at the back of your neck playing and tugging at your collar. The sheer sensation of the meaning behind his gift enough to make both of your knees buckle.
"You taste as drunk as I am," you pull away with a giggle.
He also pulls back and goes still. "I am." He reaches for his phone. "I'm calling a cab. I'll pick up the car tomorrow."
He dials and then presses the phone up to your ear, gesturing for you to hold it. "Here, you call it."
You take it without thinking. While it rings, he drops to one knee and pulls your dress up and his mouth is on you with your panties pulled to the side before you've even processed that he's moved.
"Uh, yes hello," you say into the phone, struggling to keep your voice level while his tongue finds your clit. "Yes, uh - the entrance to the Hunter's Association - hh - main event hall."
His low moan vibrates against you. "Six minutes away?" You grip the back of his head like a warning. "Yes, just two passengers." You hope the sounds his mouth is making on you can't reach the mic. "Okay, thank you."
You hang up. It'll be four minutes if there's no traffic. You pull on his hair harder.
"Zayne, the cab-"
He doesn't stop. He spreads your legs wider and his nose is pressed against you. He's not thinking about the time or the risk or quite honestly anything else except the taste of you. This isn't the careful doctor you're used to. This is a side of Zayne you've never seen before. The side that can be unlocked with a merely two and a half drinks.
You try to pull away after two minutes. He holds you still.
"Stay," he says against your skin, and then he's back in, moving faster now, and you can feel how much he wants this. Like he's only doing it for himself.
Your legs shake. You're looking over his shoulder at the empty garage, knowing someone could round the corner at any second. Thankfully, if anyone did appear, you'd see them first before they saw you. Relief washes over you when you realize Zayne parked the car deliberately for this reason.
"Zayne, we should go to the - mhmph - pickup area" you say, but you're not pulling away. You're grinding against his face.
He picks up his pace. You can feel eel his hands grip your thighs like he's anchoring himself to you. You're close. You're so close. He can feel it when your breathing changes and your body starts to tense.
And then he just - stops. Then stands to fix your dress. His finger lightly touches your cheek.
"I can't wait to get home," he says quietly. There's a raw feeling in his voice that you've never heard before. The admission of a man who's realized he's lost the thread of his own control. You can tell he's aware of this with the way he has trouble keeping his gaze locked with yours.
When the cab arrives, you both get in the back. The driver is chatty. Zayne stares out the window, his hand locked with yours.
Unbeknownst to you, he's thinking about things he shouldn't be thinking about in a cab with a stranger three feet away. Like grabbing your interlocked hand and placing your palm on the bulge of his slacks.
That time you wore the choker necklace (ahem *cough* collar *cough*) Zayne gifted you to the company's anniversary party and you find out you can't handle it. So he handles it for you. sigh. Again.
This is a continuation to my first post that can be read on it's own or in conjuntion.
*Read Pt 1 Here.
tags/tw:// smut with plot, petplay, collars, mc has some social anxiety, mc is a brat, public space >.> <.<, we love tara, mdni,
writing this had me giggling ngl
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Tight nit clusters of people in fancy outfits having small conversations sprawled across the tall ballroom. You could feel the cool metal of the collar's pendant dangling against your skin with every step you took. You remind yourself to call it a choker, if anyone asks.
Your colleague Tara touches your neck as soon as you arrive.
"Oh my gosh, is that new? I've never seen you wear anything like that. It's so pretty!"
"Just something I picked up," you lie with no remorse, then you feel Zayne's hand find the small of your back, giving you a gentle reassuring squeeze at your side of what's to come from that later.
He introduces himself to the group just the way you practiced with him. You smile through the fact that your pulse is moving too fast and you're hyperaware of his fingers making soft, miniature strokes at your side.
A few minutes of small talk go by and he excuses himself to talk to someone he noticed from his hospital. Another doctor who got invited as a plus one.
He leans his head towards you, "
A mentor of mine, I should go say hi." , nodding at the group, he drifts toward the other side of the ballroom with his drink in hand. You watch him go as Tara gets called over by another colleague. She invites you to come with her but you conveniently make the excuse that you need to use the restroom. She offers to come with you but you wave her off, "Oh don't worry, but can you hold my drink? I'll be right back."
Your mind is spinning about the collar. The constant feeling of it around your neck is making you go insane in a room full of people that know you but have no idea what's going on.
As you head to the bathroom you're stopped by another colleague who makes a comment about a mission you handled recently,
"You just always seem to manage to make things work out," and it's not a compliment. It's suggesting that you manipulate situations, that you're good at getting what you want through means that aren't quite clean.
You smile, say thank you, and excuse yourself to find the bathroom. Not the one near the main hall, the other one down the corridor that fewer people use. Actually, perhaps the one that's further than that.
You lean against the sink counter staring at yourself in the mirror. Your breathing is shallow. The collar is tight against your throat in a way it wasn't five minutes ago, and you're so turned on that standing is becoming difficult. You reach down and your hand is already palming over your dress before you remember the latest rule: you need to ask him.
But you can't ask him. The ballroom is two long corridors away and you can't wait. You also don't want to hear he's teasing when he finds out you can't compose yourself at a company event of all things.
So you practically throw yourself into one of the stalls, leaning against the wall of it, lifting up your dress, your fingers finding their slick target. Using the mental image from when he caught you researching after his shower as fuel.* You're already halfway to relief when you hear the main door open.
Your breath freezes, your hand slows but doesn't stop. You listen to whoever it is move across the tile and then stop directly outside your stall. The door opens because you didn't lock it. Of course you didn't. You were too desperate on getting some kind of release that you forgot to turn the lock. Fuck.
Zayne is standing there in his dark suit and his expression is absolutely unreadable.
"Oh," he says. "So this is what you do when I'm not paying attention."
"I-" Your hand is still under your dress. You drop it immediately.
"No. Keep going." He steps inside the stall and locks the stall door behind him, towering over you. The space is suddenly very small. "I want to see what you were doing."
"I can't-" You whisper shout at him.
"You can. You already were." He reaches over and his hand grabs your fingers and places them right back where they were. "The consequence for not asking is that I get to watch you do it anyway. And then I get to finish it for you."
You wanted to whine about it, then the thought of someone walking in and finding you both made you complicit in getting this over as quickly as possible. You let out a pleasured sigh as you continue to rub your clit in fast circles, looking up into his gaze defiantly as you do.
"They're wondering where you are. That's why I came to find you. I was worried." Zayne's whisper echoes in the tiled empty room as two fingers slip inside and you're still working on your clit. The stall is cramped, Zayne's other hand is against the wall of the stall next to your head as he leans over you.
"This is what you get," he says quietly, "for testing me at your company party. For not giving me credit for your gift. For wearing my collar in front of all these people and then trying to take care of yourself without permission." He fingered you deeper with every accusation, as if all of this wasn't his idea. That really pissed you off.
It was hard to be quiet, you were biting your lip so hard it could bleed. "Doctor--mmph--I.. please..." He covers your mouth with his other hand and keeps working as you come apart in this public bathroom stall and he's looking at you like this is exactly what he wanted.
"Good girl," he says. "After you come. We're going back out there and you're going to stand next to me. Be social and pretend nothing happened." Each new sentence he added a finger, his knuckles threatening to spread you wider at this point.
"Mm--fuck--Zayne... this is all --mmph-- your fault." You say, the words muffled behind his palm.
He chuckles, "This is what you wanted, no?." The wet sounds of his fingers pumping in and out of you was enough to drive you both mad. Zayne pressed his core against your thigh, "Do you feel how hard I am for you?" He removes his hand to let you speak. "Tell me how much you need this."
"I--mmph--fuck you."
Zayne immediately stops his pumping, his grinding into you, and stares at you with an amusement in his expression. As if he was hoping you'd say that. He hooks the same hand that was inside of you under your collar, tugging at it roughly. You can smell yourself on him, you could feel the slick against your neck. "Now, now. Be good for me, pet."
That was the first time he's ever used that word, and it was enough alone to send shivers down your spine, causing you to rut your hips against his. You didn't care anymore, grabbing his wrist and bringing it back to your wet cunt. "Please."
"Please what?"
"I fucking need this."
"Need what?"
"Need you." You scowled at him and he just smiled at you.
"Good." Zayne resumes, adding all four fingers back in at once, your leg was in between his feeling the tightness in his dress pants. You wondered if he was going to fuck you right here and then. But before you could ask, your climax overtook you and he grabbed the back of your neck to bury your face in his chest as you rode it out. The bathroom was getting foggy, and you both looked a mess.
He smiles warmly, pulling his hand away and washing it in the sink while you're still trying to catch your breath. Your dress is wrinkled. Your hair is messy. There's no way anyone won't notice. He looks at you in the mirror, helping you adjust your dress and hair back to normal. You take off your soaked underwear and shove it in deep inside your purse.
"We'll return in 5 minute intervals to avoid suspicions." he says. "You first."
"Okay, Doctor Zayne." You responded spitefully, you don't even care to thank him for helping you release all the pent-up frustration. At least you feel normal again, despite your legs feeling like noodles underneath you.
You walk back into the ballroom looking around to see which colleague would be the easiest to mingle with right now and land on Tara already carrying a fresh drink back to you, "Where have you beeeen? I got a fresh glass for you. I didn't let yours go to waste though."
You giggled at that and thanked her.
Five minutes later he emerges from the corridor with his suit perfectly in place and he joins the conversation like he never left.
No one notices, you hope. You can only feel him looking at you when you're playing really good at not paying attention. The fact that he got what he wanted and you still can't look at him without remembering how he covered your mouth to keep you quiet.
The party continues around you both, he's certainly going to ask to leave early tonight.
More champagne please!
you thought you were reading about him. turns out he was reading about you.
In which Zayne's care for you comes off as controlling, so you research his behavior and discover petplay. Becoming enamored with it, you read about it nearly every night. Educating yourself. Falling in love with the idea. Zayne finds out and wants to take care of you further,
tags*tw // a bit of smut with plot, petplay, collars, mdni,
He doesn't say "you didn't sleep" the way most people would. There's no judgment in it.
You're standing in your kitchen at 6 AM on a Saturday and he glances at you, takes in the dark under your eyes, and says, "You stayed up until dawn again."
"How would you know that," you say, already reaching for the coffee he's prepared just the way you like it.
"Because you didn't take the sleeping pills I left on your counter." He sets a plate in front of you. Eggs and toast with the crusts cut off the way you prefer, though you've never told him you prefer it.
"Eat."
"Are you seriously telling me what to do right now."
"Yes."
You stare at him and he stares back, absolutely unbothered, and takes a bite of his own breakfast. If you were in a good mood, you'd make a joke. But you've been so exhausted from work lately so you just eat the eggs instead.
After breakfast you're scrolling through your phone mindlessly, alone in the living room while he showers. You're lying on the couch looking up "signs he's controlling" and then "how to tell if someone is being possessive" and then, almost without meaning to, "pet play dynamics explained," and the tab sits there next to three others with titles like "subtle ownership" and "how to know if someone wants to own you."
You don't know how much time has passed when you realized you're now multiple tabs deep into "gentle pet play dynamics" comparing his behavior to the bullet-points of the article when his shadow suddenly falls across the couch.
You didn't hear him come out of the shower. Nor hear him approach. Your stomach drops and there was no helping how guilty you looked closing your phone. He's standing over you with damp hair and his shirt nearly buttoned. "What were you doing," he says.
"Nothing."
"You closed that very fast."
"I was just scrolling."
He leans over and reaches to pick up your phone. You could stop him, but stopping him would mean admitting that there's something worth stopping him from seeing. Thankfully, he doesn't actually look at the screen. Though he is turning it over in his hands like he's considering it.
"Were you," he says, "taking care of something."
Your face is burning. "No!"
"Because if you were, there's no reason to hide it." He sets the phone back down between you.
"I wasn't..."
"Hm." He gives that small laugh he does when he's entertained. Zayne leans over to give you a kiss on the neck, his hands wandering down to your chest.
"If you want it, just ask." He breathes near your ear. He smelled so good and fresh from the shower. It felt less cringey to just admit defeat here than tell him what you were researching. You crane your neck to let his mouth explore the curve of it and the tip of your collarbones. His hand sneaks down into your shirt, gently squeezing at your chest. Cold hands making you gasp,
"Doctor Zayne... you're going to be late for work."
"Let me just take care of this," He says with closed eyes into your neck, and I'll get right to work." His hand has now reached all the way down to the waistband of your shorts, teasing your hipbones, then finally at your core. "Mm... you're so wet, Miss hunter. Next time why not just join me in the shower."
One finger slips in and you arch your back against the couch, his other free hand using it to still you from the back of your neck. He's looking down at you now with a pleased smile on his face as you rut and grind against his middle finger. "Do you want another?"
"Mm--" You don't say anything, you can't, he's driving you insane.
"Ask for it."
"Mmhmm." You know what you're doing. You're testing him now, it's clear he has some sort of controlling dynamic. Though he's not controlling about your life or who you talk to and what you do. It's these little things that drive you mad. So you don't say yes or no, you just say "mhm".
He stops, palm on your core pinning your hips down from grinding. "So you don't want it, hm?"
"Wait - ugh." You nearly scream out. "I want it. Please."
He doesn't respond, only smirks, and continues to pump his middle finger into you, now adding the index one. The noises your cunt was making as he worked on you were music to his ears.
"That's it, good. Come for me."
Your body shivers against him, nails digging in his forearms. God, this feels so good. You're a mess of moans and shakes when your climax hits you, your grinding coming to a slow drawl as he finishes the rest of your shakes. You're erratic breathing was now slowing to a normal one, using your hunter techniques to still your heart.
"Go take a shower. I'll be off to work now." Zayne's looking at his watch, his entertained expression now masked over with his Doctor Zayne one. He goes to wash his hands, grab his stuff, and heads out, muttering an "Love you." as he rushes out.
The next week passes differently.
He stops telling you things and starts asking you questions, small ones that don't feel like questions. "Did you eat breakfast." "What time are you sleeping tonight." "How much water have you had today." Impulsively, you answer them earnestly and with hurry. And you've started to wonder if he's always been this way or if you've only just started noticing.
You look at him across the dinner table on Thursday night and try to see it. The way he's arranged your life into these small rules without ever making them feel like rules. And he catches you looking and raises an eyebrow.
"What," he says.
"Nothing."
"You're thinking very loudly."
You're thinking about pet play collars. You're thinking about whether the "pet" knows they're a pet or whether the whole thing is that they don't until suddenly they do. You're thinking that he probably knows what you were reading about because he's not stupid and he side-eyed your phone to see what was there.
"I'm thinking you're weird," you say.
"Okay." He doesn't argue, instead going back to cutting into his food and eating it like your accusation isn't something he's already accounted for and going to deliver ten-fold on.
That night, after he stays over and he's asleep beside you, you continue with your research. But this time you're not looking at "signs he's controlling." You're looking at forum posts of people describing a feeling you can't quite locate in your own chest yet. The forums talked about trust, unconventional structure and someone paying attention to you so completely that you stop having to think about certain things.
Turning your brain off, huh? You ponder as turn your phone off and go to sleep.
~
He arrives at exactly 7 PM, which is precisely when he said he would arrive to pick you up for your company's anniversary party. You've invited Zayne as your plus one. You're still in your house deciding between earrings when you hear the front door unlock.
You check yourself in the mirror one more time. The dress is black, and simple. You look good. You feel good. You've been busy with hunter work the past few days you stopped thinking about the research.
You open the door and he's standing there in a dark suit, completely composed, and he's holding a small black box wrapped in black tissue paper.
"We need to leave in ten minutes," he says. "But I wanted to give you this first."
Your stomach drops, you hate surprises. "Zayne, we don't have time-"
"Ten minutes." He hands it to you. "You can open it now or in the car."
You take it, gently opening it.
The collar is a delicate silk fabric, all black with a small silver clasp in the back and a beautiful pendant hanging on the front. It was small enough that it can easily pass as jewelry, but your research is telling you it's not exactly as it seems. You look at him with a blank confusion.
"Don't," he says.
"Don't what."
"Don't say it's not what it looks like." He's standing in front of you, completely calm. His expression suggests he's already had this entire conversation with himself, likely multiple times. "I know what you were reading. I know what you think is happening. And before you ask whether I'm doing this on purpose, the answer is yes. Extremely on purpose."
You're holding the collar like it might combust. "You're not mad," you say.
"Why would I be mad?"
"Because I was researching you like some kind of... like I was trying to figure out if you were secretly..."
"You realized I was paying attention to you in a specific way and you wanted to understand why." He leans back. "That's reasonable. I did the same thing."
"You researched pet play."
"I researched pet play," he agrees.
Your anxiety is trying to find the angle here, the moment where he's going to explain that this is all a misunderstanding or that he's joking or that you've misread the situation.
"You can't just," you start, and then stop, because you don't actually know how to finish that sentence.
"Actually," he says, "I can."
You want to be mad at him for the presumption. For the fact that he did it anyway, knowing exactly what he was doing. And he's just waiting there, completely patient.
"If I wear this," you say, "it means something."
"Yes."
"It means you own-"
"It means I pay attention." He leans forward slightly. "You let me take care of certain things so you don't have to think about them. Like when you forgot to check in yesterday after work. I noticed. And it means when you do it again, there will be consequences."
"Consequences," you repeat.
"You're going to hate the consequences." he teases with that little smile he does.
"No I'm not."
"Brat."
You walk over to the mirror in his hallway, and you turn the collar over in your hands. It's actually pretty fashionable as a piece of jewelry. No one would look at you and know.
You clip it on.
The metal is cool against your skin. It's lighter than you expected. When you turn back to look at him, he's watching you satisfied.
"How does it feel," he says.
"It feels like you already knew I'd say yes."
"I did," he says. "You started following my 'rules' without me asking. The collar is just you admitting what you've already been doing."
You reach up and touch the soft fabric. He's right, which is infuriating. He's been right the whole time.
"I'm going to be difficult about this," you warn.
"I'm counting on it."
You come back and stand in front of him, and he reaches over and adjusts the collar slightly, making sure it sits right, his fingers lingering at your neck for a moment longer than necessary. When he pulls his hand away, you catch yourself leaning into where his hand was.
He sees it.
"Too late to take it back now," he teases.
"I wasn't going to take it back."
"I know." He picks up his phone. "Five minutes," he says. "Go grab your coat."
You're about to argue with him, to point out that he's being smug, but then you realize that arguing with him about it is part of the thing now. It's part of the dynamic he's created and you've happily walked into. Now you're trapped in it because he's right.
"I hate you," you say.
"No you don't." He chuckles as he moves toward the door. "Come on. We're going to be late."
The collar is cool against your skin and you don't touch it again, but you're aware of it. You'll be aware of it all evening. And he knows that too.
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