aaahhh I'd love 29 from the "i love you" list with Zayne, very fluffy please 🥹🫶
Here's some tooth-rotting fluff for you nonnie 🥰
29. Slowly, the words dripping from your tongue like honey
The jar of honey is almost gone. You swear it was nearly full when you handed it to him this morning, but the sun hasn't even set yet, and already more than half the jar has been emptied.
He flinches at the sound of his name in that curt, scolding tone of yours, and he looks up from his laptop, chair swivelling around to face you like a child who's been caught red-handed with an extra cookie he wasn't supposed to take from the jar.
Or, in his case, like a certain yellow bear in the midst of pawing a jar for more honey.
"My... throat... hurts," is his excuse, each syllable harder to choke out than the last.
His throat has been sore since yesterday, but there's little to say in his defence. The man had gone ahead and eaten way too much chocolate, using Valentine's Day as his excuse, and had completely forgotten to down enough water to make up for it.
For a stern chief surgeon, he acts very much like the children he treats sometimes.
"You shouldn't be eating so much honey though. That can't be good for you."
"That's not... written... in any... of... the... medical... books..."
"If you say so, Dr. Zayne," you reply flatly.
"Still, as your designated nanny for the day, I'm telling you that you've had way more than enough honey. So," you conclude, plucking the wooden spoon out of his right hand, "I'm confiscating this."
In retaliation, the man motions to reach his fingers into the jar as a makeshift spoon, but you cock a brow up at him, silently daring him to do it.
There's a brief impasse, until the well-behaved, rule-abiding nature of his wins out, and he opts not to test you. Instead, he places the half-empty jar of honey in your outstretched palm, like a convicted criminal accepting his fate.
You think that's the end of it, but of course it isn't. You know by now not to underestimate Zayne's love of sweet treats, which can withstand even the most excruciating of toothaches.
His eyes are wide and round as he stares up at you, hope shining in his hazel green irises. He wheels his chair closer, arms wrapping around the back of your legs to pull you into his embrace while his chin rests against your lower abdomen.
He's good at this. Too good. You wonder where he's learning these tricks from; it can't be good for your persistent heart issues if he keeps staring at you like that.
All it takes is one more word for your iron will to crumble into dust.
He ought to thank his lucky stars he was born with a face like that.
Relenting, you dip the spoon into the jar of honey, scooping out a generous spoonful for him. All the while he watches you intently, as if to make sure that you get every last drop possible into it.
"This is the last one," you warn him, waiting for the honey to stop spilling out of the edges of the spoon before lifting it out. Zayne doesn't even seem to hear you, already moving closer to capture the spoon in his mouth.
A thin drizzle of honey winds up on his chin in his haste, and you reach out to wipe it off with your thumb. He lets you, but catches your wrist before you can leave to wash it off.
Your confusion comes out in the form of another arched brow, and you wait for Zayne to gather his voice to speak again. Probably, to scheme his way into getting more honey. To toe the line and push the boundaries, as he usually does.
You have to admit, the method he decides to go with today is clever. Smarter than his usual, because it completely catches you off guard.
His voice is deep and scratchy, but still sweet. Sweeter than honey, in fact, as he smiles deviously while pulling your thumb towards his lips, the tip of his tongue poking out to trace the line of honey on your skin.
Your mind goes blank, and your feet remain rooted to the ground as Zayne slowly rises to his full height, so that he can stick you close to him, like the stubborn remnants of honey on your thumb.
He continues to lap away at it until not a trace of the thick, viscous liquid remains.
"More?" he eventually asks, the question slicing through the fog in your mind.
This time, you find yourself agreeing before you can hesitate. Your eyes slip close as you lean in towards his lips.
Your thoughts scatter, leaving only one behind:
He's sweet. So sweet, that you just can't get enough.
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