recently written:
★small town xavier au ch 9 ★ devotion ★ still his favorite ★ artist's block
★ graphics credit: moodboards/banners, golden apple divider designed by me, all other dividers created by @/saradika-graphics or the user will be credited in the post
I’ve witnessed some genuinely confounding decisions that companies can make but this absolutely might be top three.
The fact that this also doesn’t address any of the actual problems players have been wanting resolutions for (QoL, combat, story) is insane work.
How hard could it have been to say: we hear your concerns and we botched his introduction by not giving players sufficient in-game plot ramp up for his character. In addition, here’s a roadmap for QoL and main story updates moving forward.
Like if they made SHC weekly, reset Abyssal Chaos or even Orbits, and pledged to update main story three times a year, I think that would’ve sufficed???
So many things could have been done effectively. So many things could have been said.
We could have gotten a clearer schedule so that we’d know when the main story gets updated. We could have gotten more lore updates. We could have gotten so many already existing issues resolved.
Xavier must pay his dues to the Queen with his service.
CW: Sexually explicit content
tags: Femdom, striptease, body worship, sub leaning switch!Xavier, hand kink, glove kink, teasing, grinding, Xavier is a fucking genie with how he chooses to listen
Read on AO3 or under the cut!
Her hand hovers in the air before him, eyes full of steel.
"The proper way to greet a queen, is with a kiss," she states. He knows this, of course. Despite his solitude, Xavier has never lost the knowledge of etiquette from his royal upbringing.
Eyes like a night sky flash with light, a shooting star across a clear horizon.
He kneels. Heavy leather gloves holding her fingers with the tenderness one might use to gently brush a butterfly off their shoulder in a summer breeze. Despite the fabric between them, she can swear she feels the heat emanating from his skin.
Lips press delicately to her ring. Xavier's long hair slips from behind his ear, tickling against her wrist and shielding him from her view.
"Of course, My Queen. How may I be of service?" His soft voice whispers down her spine, and her fingers stiffen in his grasp.
The air she breathes weighs heavily in her chest, as if each breath carried the burden of Xavier's devotion. She withdraws her fingers and looks down on his kneeling form; his strict posture, the way his shoulders sagged almost imperceptibly under the weight of his armor, the heat of the blue flame in his gaze; hers to command.
"You may rise." Her tone is measured, lips carefully forming each word she speaks to him so that he may memorize and treasure each of them.
Xavier stands, his heavy garments dragging along the ground and rustling as he moves. She turns, the hem of her dress swishing in accompaniment. Taking a deep breath to embolden herself, she walks towards the bed. As she reaches the foot of the bed, she turns her head. Xavier stands where he had risen, not at attention, but with the composure of a soldier.
"Undress me." She commands,facing back away from him. She can hear his footsteps crossing the room, weighty but not clumsy.
"As you wish, My Queen." The words caress the shell of her ear as his hands rest lightly on her shoulders. The leather of his gloves creaks gently as his fingers curve to fit the shape of her.
The cool texture of the gloves grazes over her collarbone as he slides his fingers beneath the clasp that sits settled in the hollow of her throat. It comes undone with a soft click, and he lifts the cape up and away from her shoulders. He places it to the side with a reverent air, letting the long, sheer fabric slide through his hand with a hiss.
Returning to her, his hands grasp her upper arm. He runs his fingers down her skin, one hand coming to rest beneath her elbow, the other continuing onward to hold her gloved hand. Xavier delicately pinches her middle finger, sliding the material of the glove down the digit.
The hinges of his gauntlet rasp gently as he flexes his fingers; points of cold metal catching on the soft satin fabric of the glove. Her fingers tremble as the glove comes away with a hiss, gently tickling over her wrist and palm. Xavier's large fingers, made even more bulky by his glove and gauntlet, hold her delicately.
The glove slides away, revealing her hand, fingers more calloused and worn than those of a queen ought to be, by any means. The hands of someone used to wielding a sword, of someone thrust into royalty; not born into it. The pads of Xavier's fingers catch on the callouses, guiding her hand up to his eyes and taking in each line as if divining a future in each mark and crease. Candlelight flickers, warming her skin and glinting off the worn points of his gauntlet.
He leans over her shoulder, long hair tickling her collarbone, and kisses the tip of each finger. The first kiss makes her breath hitch in surprise. The second, the air shudders out of her chest. The third and forth each accompany another jagged inhale and exhale. He turns her hand to kiss her thumb and his tongue darts out to slide against her fingernail before enveloping the digit with his lips up to the first knuckle.
She swallows hard, knees wobbling. Her eyelids are heavy with lust as she turns her head to the side, looking away from his display of calculated subservience. Her hand lowers and the warmth of his body behind her disappears as he steps away, the ghost of his touch lingering as she flexes her hand.
Xavier folds the glove with the same sense of ceremony as the cape, placing it gently to the side before repeating every painstaking action on her other hand. Removing the glove, admiring each section of her skin like a jeweller inspecting the facets of a gem, and delicately kissing the tip of each finger. He remains quiet throughout, the sounds of their combined breathing filling the space with warm tension.
Stiff leather slides down her spine, gloved fingers looping through the ties of her dress and undoing the knot. She feels the ease of the fabric as the ties loosen around her ribs. The sound of silk ribbon sliding over steel whispers over her senses like a soothing hush.
Her back is bare as the dress falls away. It pools on the ground in a ripple of white fabric, like the reflection of a full moon on a pond. The cool air on her bare skin makes her shiver for a moment. She looks back over her shoulder, chin raised to watch him through her lower lashes. He awaits further instruction with a leashed desire burning in his deep blue eyes. She turns her whole body, bare with the exception of her bejewelled shoes.
Her feet step gingerly out of the dress, moving towards him with imperious clicks of her heels. He kneels dutifully, allowing her to perch her foot on the muscles of his thigh. His eyes are dark as he looks up at her; a lunar eclipse in a clear night sky. Her chest heaves, nipples pebbling on her bare breasts.
His hands move to the clasps on her shoe; impossibly dexterous as they unfasten the clasp lying against her ankle. Beaded straps fall away as his hand slides the shoe off her foot, they tickle against the arch of her foot and catch slightly on her toes.
A leather-gloved hand escorts her calf until her foot returns to the ground. He takes her other foot; metal gauntlet careful not to pinch her sensitive skin as he unclasps the fastener. Before he places it back on the ground, he brings her foot to his lips, ghosting a kiss over the top of her foot with his eyes fixed on her face.
She swallows as she meets his gaze with heat burning in her eyes. Her foot touches the cold floor, grounding her in this moment where only she and Xavier exist. Their breath synchronizes, lingering between them.
After a moment, she breaks the silence. She looks away, flexing her jaw, and points towards the closet.
"Fetch my dressing gown. This room is cold." Her eyes steal another look towards Xavier, butterflies flapping their wings rapidly in her stomach as she tries to gauge his reaction. Xavier rises, armor clinking against itself as he stands and moves across the room to fetch the gauzy purple dressing gown.
He returns, holding apart the shoulders and sliding the sleeves up her arms. His hands linger on her collarbone as he sets the garment on her. A gentle caress pulls her hair out to lie atop the back of the gown, making her earrings tinkle softly in her ears.
Strong hands slide down her waist, pulling the sash tight and fastening it with a perfect bow above her hip. He holds his hands there, so close to where he wants them to be. She may be strong, but he's far stronger than her. He could easily use those hands to dig into the flesh of her hips, to move her against him, to take her to bed and hold her hostage against his body until she begged him to let her free. Instead, they squeeze softly, once, as if testing the idea for themselves before retreating back into perfect obedience at Xavier's sides.
She steps away from him, exhilaration whirling through her as she keeps her flushed face turned away from his view. She pads up to the bed, taking a moment to gather her composure before turning back to watch him. She sits on the ottoman at the base of the bed and crosses her legs.
"Undress yourself," she commands, "Let me see."
Xavier smirks a bit as he meets her eye. "Of course. Whatever the queen desires."
The first thing he removes is his gloves; when he wears them they're pliable, dexterous, able to wield tools and to nimbly undo delicate fastenings. Only when he pulls them free is it apparent how heavy they weigh on him. Leather and studs and clinking plates of mail slide from his wrists and fall to the ground with hefty thuds. Pale hands peek from his sleeves, indented with pink seams from the gloves. He idly massages his palms in turn, glancing up to see her eyes fixed on the movement.
Xavier lets out a single chuffed chuckle. He kneels slowly to pick up the gloves, emphasizing each movement and turning them over in his hands. He steps towards her, chin raised in an impetuous display. She raises her eyebrows as her gaze moves up to his face.
"Something amusing?"
"Not at all. Your Majesty is quite obvious in revealing her proclivities." He smiles, a cheeky smile, and brings his hand to his own mouth. He maintains eye contact as he presses his thumb down on his lower lip, sliding his tongue along the tip of his fingernail. His smirk widens and his eyes dart down, taking in the sight of her flushed chest and bobbing throat; utterly transfixed at the sight.
Her eyes flash back up to meet his, steely and full of expectant arrogance. She snatches the gloves from his hand, covering his thumb with the gusset of the glove before kissing the leather softly. He startles, eyes widening as the ghost of her breath caresses his cheek. She withdraws with a coy smile.
"If that's so," she challenges, fingers trailing across the raised pattern on his metal gauntlet, "then you ought to be quite capable of keeping my attention."
Xavier doesn't back down; he keeps his eyes fixed on hers as he steps back, and slides his thumb in a line down his chin. He draws it down the center of his throat, and catches it beneath his collar, unfastening his cloak and letting it fall to the ground behind him. He watches as her eyes follow the movement, self-satisfaction playing on his lips.
His other hand settles at the buttons on his abdomen, fingers twining through the chains that lie atop his doublet. His index finger twirls spirals along the length of the chain until it draws tight and slips off the button at his waist. His thumb worries against the buttons before smoothly unfastening them. The coat opens, revealing the dark, skintight undershirt.
"I'm getting impatient, I'm going to need to entertain myself at this rate." She barely conceals her excitement, goading him. The pads of her fingers catch on the prominent ridge along the center of his gauntlet, sliding a decisive finger along it's length and raising her eyebrow up at him.
"I wouldn't want Your Majesty to lack proper stimulation," he agrees. His fingers twitch with a phantom response as he watches her fingernail catch on each hinge on the joints of the gauntlet.
She shifts, sliding the gauntlet between her legs, and positioning her core atop the long ridge in the center. The metal feels cold against the heat of her dripping folds, even through the flimsy fabric of her gown. She settles onto it; clit perched against the raised metal filigree on the arm of the gauntlet. Her eyes flutter as she grinds down, arousal soaking through the thin material of the dressing gown. A soft groan escapes her lips as she furrows her brow and concentrates back on the man before her.
A pink blush blooms up Xavier's neck and tinges his pale ears, which peek through his long strands of ash blond hair. His eyes are wide, soaking in the sight of her.
"I didn't tell you to stop yet," she reminds him, angling her hips and pulling her legs up beneath her to properly straddle the gauntlet. Xavier swallows hard, watching her hips slide down the length of it and streak the metal with her juices. He blinks to refocus, looking back into her eyes with determination.
His doublet is open at the chest and he slowly slides one arm out, then the other. The dark undershirt clings to his muscled arms and chest; outlining the planes of his body in the low light. His pants cinch at his waist, the fly now tight against his hardening length.
Xavier kneels again, sliding his hands down his thigh to the buckles of his greaves. The leather hisses through the fastener as it loosens and comes away. The metal releases from his shin and he stands to step out of his boot. The muscles of his calf flex as his pointed toes clear the top of the shoe and he gingerly steps back down, repeating the action on his other leg. His hands draw up the skintight leggings from the knee, unbuckling the leather garter belts encircling his muscular thighs. His fingers slide beneath the strap and his leg, making the meat of his thigh balloon slightly as he curls his fingers into a hook to pull it down his leg.
His hands cross at his waist, slipping beneath the waistband of his pants to find the hem of his shirt.
"Stop." Her voice is breathy as she squeezes her thighs around the gauntlet, eyes hungry. Her wide eyes devour the sight of him like a starving woman presented with a feast. Her hand slides up her abdomen to cup her breast. Her chest heaves as her fingers tweak her nipple through the fabric of her dressing gown. "That's enough."
Xavier raises an eyebrow but stays silent, smoothing down his shirt and waiting for her instruction. His light hair falls on his chest like silk tassels on a tapestry; they drape over him, adorning him like he himself is a part of this ancient bastion of forgotten times.
She leans back, beckoning with one finger as she slides up onto the bed. Xavier follows, stalking up to the bed with a predatory gleam in his eye. A thrill races through her,and her fingers clench against the plush fabric of the duvet. Her thighs slowly fall apart,making space for him. Outstretched fingers cup his face once he's in reach, thumb smoothing a line along his cheekbone.
"I await Your Majesty's orders." The words are saturated with coils of rippling desire, his azure irises engulfed in glimmering night.
Her fingers slide up his face to weave into his hair, clenching at the roots of his silky, ashen locks.
"You may taste me, until I find your mouth unsatisfactory." Her eyes are dark with hunger as she looks down on him.
Xavier licks his lips, a slight smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. "I should hope that means I remain here all night, My Queen."
He leans in and kisses her throat, tongue darting out to catch a bead of sweat and savouring it on his tongue. She shivers as his breath ghosts over her hot skin. With her hands still woven into his hair, she insistently pushes his head lower, beginning to get impatient.
"Your Majesty said I could taste her… is something the matter?" His tone is impish, eyes flicking to her face while stubbornly refusing to follow the guidance of her hand. He turns his head towards her outstretched arm, his tongue snaking out to lick a small wet circle on her forearm. "This part of you tastes delicious as well."
His eyes trail to hers sidelong, challenging her. Tongue sliding back over his own plush lips, pushing her so she tells him exactly what she wants; that she wants him, that she needs him.
Steel glints in her eyes, their resolves clash like crossed swords. Her eyes catch on a subtle hint behind his teasing gaze, and she softens. Redirecting to cooperate with him; swords flourishing to point in the same direction.
"In that case, you should be thorough." Her fingers loosen their grip on his hair while the other hand unties the sash at her waist. The robe falls open. The fabric catches on her pebbled nipples, making her inhale sharply and wince at the sensation.
Xavier's eyes feast on her body before him, swallowing hard. He glances back up to her, a moment of conflicted victory flashing across his eyes. He doesn't linger on it too long, dipping his head in a minuscule bow, "Thank you, Your Majesty."
His soft voice whispers over her senses, settling low in her stomach. She clenches her thighs around his waist and swallows hard. She doesn't have time to recover as Xavier's lowered head nestles against her chest and his lips encircle her nipple. She squeezes her eyes shut as he sucks and licks, tongue flicking and circling until her fingers clench in his hair.
He moves to the other breast, lavishing his tongue over it with equal attention to detail. He sucks against her skin; blossoming hickeys following his lips like a field of flowers coming into bloom. His tongue moves diligently over her skin, maliciously compliant with her remark that he should be thorough. Her back arches as his lips trail down her collarbone, her breath hitches as he kisses a ticklish spot along her ribs. She tenses, stomach twitching, as his lips trace a line down her abdomen, pausing at her belly button to look up at her with dark, hungry eyes.
He moves down her body, licking the sweat off her skin. His hair falls over her like a curtain, ensconcing him in privacy as he completes the tasting menu of her body. She writhes beneath him; almost delirious from the teasing. She bites her tongue, unwilling to cry out his name or beg for what she really wants. Her fingers sink into the plush cover on the bed, gripping into the fabric to ground herself from the soft affections of Xavier's lips.
Finally, he kneels on the ottoman at the base of the bed, eyes fixed on her face as he kisses her inner thigh. Her walls flutter around nothing as she props herself up on her elbows to watch him, mesmerized and out of breath. His gaze never leaves her face as he kisses his way up her inner thigh until his breath is puffing over her soaking wet slit.
He waits there a moment: one more chance for her to break and beg him to take her. His nose twitches as he inhales the scent of her. He swallows hard as his mouth waters.
That's what does it for her; the sight of Xavier's desire glistening in his eyes and dripping from his lips.
"I need you, I need your mouth to-!" She doesn't even get the full sentence out before he cuts off her pleading with a swipe of his tongue. Her eyes squeeze shut and a small sound escapes her lips, fingers clenching in the bedsheets again as Xavier dives into her.
As soon as the taste of her is on his tongue, his whole body melts in relief; like an over-tuned piano string that finally snapped. He groans into her, hips rutting against the foot of the bed as he hoists her legs above his shoulders for more leverage. She squeaks in surprise as she slides down the bed towards him.
Xavier's hands dig into the plush curve of her hips and ass, squeezing as he desperately claws her closer to him. He buries his face between her thighs; tongue making long strokes through her folds and slurping messily at her clit. She bucks against his face, trying to get leverage with her heels along his back. They slip against the fabric of his shirt, serving only to press her core more firmly against Xavier's nose and mouth. He groans into her, making her tremble, walls twitching around nothing.
She feels drawn tight, like a bowstring. He keeps his pacing, relentless as he devours her. Her toes flex, calf muscles tensing and spasming as her gasps increase in frequency and pitch.
Xavier is single-minded, his whole body dedicated to the task of exploring and pleasuring every inch of skin between her legs. His grip readjusts as he pulls her closer, nose nudging over her clit and sending sparks through her senses. His hair falls between them, tickling at the back of her thighs.
His tongue delves inside her, swirling and nudging her open before withdrawing. She jerks against him, her body aching for him to be deeper, for them to somehow be closer. She whines in frustration and squeezes her thighs around his head as he sucks on her clit.
Xavier lets out a breathless chuckle, but doesn't stop. His movements become more precise; driving her towards her climax with every swipe and kiss. She gasps as that tightness grows inside her, drawing further, further…
Until it releases.
Her back arches, and she stifles a scream. Xavier drinks at her, swallowing as she releases all over his mouth. He groans, vibrations buzzing over her sensitive nerves earning another twitch against his nose. He plants his lips on her, kissing and sucking as she comes down from her high but not stopping.
She blearily looks down to see him still eagerly licking through her puffy folds. Her brow furrows and she pushes back his bangs with her fingers. Xavier's eyes flash up at her like a wild animal guarding its meal.
Her fingers draw back, startled and she clears her throat. "Xavier…?"
He kisses her inner thigh, licking his lips before he speaks. "Your Majesty said I could taste her until she find my mouth unsatisfactory." Cobalt eyes glint with steel resolve, "It certainly seems like she still finds it satisfactory."
"You can't -!" Her plea is cut off as Xavier's teeth graze over her swollen clit, sending sparks through her vision.
"Your Majesty… there's no need to lie to me. Not when your body is so honest."
She grits her teeth, fighting back tears of overstimulation as he parts her pussy lips with his tongue, circling and swirling with an almost cruel vigor. He teases her: kissing softly before sucking hard. Her feet continue to fight for purchase on his back to push away from him but his fingers keep a firm, bruising grip on her hips.
Her orgasm crests into a second, less impressive, one. Waves of pleasure shudder up her spine as she groans, head tossed to the side.
Xavier doesn't stop.
She weakly smacks against the top of his head, he glances up at her mischievously.
"Your Majesty?"
Her eyelids are heavy as she looks down at him with a drunken gaze. "No more."
"I see… My mouth is unsatisfactory, is that it?" He prompts her. She nods. He lowers her to the bed, her legs flopping bonelessly to the side as he perches with his chin above her stomach. "If that's the case…"
The stretch of his fingers is so unexpected that she clamps down on them. Shock plays over her features as her walls twitch around the intrusion, finally feeling the fullness she had so craved. Xavier smirks as he whispers, "I should make sure to keep the Queen's attention."
His fingers curl and she comes again. His long digits reaching deep inside to that spongy spot that makes her unravel. He beckons her orgasm along with his movements, thumb circling her abused clit. Tears prick the corners of her eyes and she keens as her body spasms.
Xavier watches her body heave and twitch beneath him with a gaze saturated in lust. He licks his lips once more, desperate for any trace of her left on his skin. He withdraws his fingers, waiting until her eyes are back on him to suck them into his mouth to clean them off.
She's panting for breath, unable to muster any more arousal despite the erotic display that he puts on for her. Her body is covered in sweat and saliva, the air between them suffused with the smell of sex. Her fingers idly wind through his hair as she catches her breath.
"Is Your Majesty satisfied with my service?" He teases, voice cracking slightly.
She closes her eyes and nods, pulling him up to nestle into her chest.
"Entirely satisfied." She affirms.
His breathy chuckle wafts over her skin as he kisses her once more on the chest, wrapping his arms around her and nuzzling into her skin.
dividers by @/saradika-graphics
A/N
THIS IS FOR MY LOVE @gondowan WHO INSPIRED MANY OF THE HORNY BITS AND WHOSE REACTIONS TO EVERY SNIPPET MADE ME KEEP GOING TO MAKE THIS???? FOUR THOUSAND WORDS???
anyways (✪‿✪) hope yall enjoy ahaha
“Steel glints in her eyes, their resolves clash like crossed swords. Her eyes catch on a subtle hint behind his teasing gaze, and she softens. Redirecting to cooperate with him; swords flourishing to point in the same direction.”
PEAK!!!! CINEMA!!!! I STARTED SMACKING MY HAND DOWN EXCITEDLY READING THIS!!!! The push and pull of their dynamic but always shifting to move together, to choose each other!!! The character dynamic study of this is so beautiful I LOVEEEE
synopsis: during a fruitless meeting, zayne gets a harrowing message: there’s been an emergency.
in which you wind up at your least favorite place, and zayne is the only one who can calm you down.
pairing: zayne x fem reader
tags: angst, comfort, fluff, reader is injured in a car accident, reader has a fear of hospitals, mentions of blood and wounds, anxiety all around, reader is strongly attached to zayne, reader is somewhat dependent on zayne, reader is clingy as a result, reader cries, lots of skinship, zayne in scrubs, zayne reassures reader, he encourages her to prioritize herself, yvonne cameo, greyson mentions, i am not a doctor nor have i ever been to the emergency room
word count: 3k
Giving his colleague time to respond, Zayne adjusts the placement of his watch on his wrist. Illuminated by the morning sun, the silver band catches on the lens of his glasses, reflecting a rhombus onto his black slacks.
It’s the most stimulating thing about this meeting.
“I…” A swine-like wheeze reveals the hospital executive’s desperation as he turns to other stakeholders for support. “I don't love the idea of it either, Dr. Li. But what other choice is there? Akso’s profits are falling for the first time in years. Increasing the cost of care is the only way to keep up with the evolving economy!”
“And how do you suppose the hospital will operate when its clientele are priced out of our services?”
Just as the executive’s flush turns from pink to red, the conference room door opens, saving him from what was sure to be a lackluster rebuttal.
Dressed in her white scrubs and mask, Yvonne rushes in, frazzled and panting. Not one for impoliteness, she coughs out a hasty greeting before meeting Zayne’s gaze and making an urgent gesture.
“Excuse me,” he says, mildly disappointed to cut the debate short. He was just warming up.
Almost immediately, the tension in the air dissipates. A quiet sigh of relief slips from the executive’s mouth as the biggest adversary he’s faced since college plagiarism checkers steps into the hall.
Several paces from the closed oak door, Yvonne turns to face Zayne, wringing her hands out with nerves. “I’m sorry to pull you away, but there’s been an emergency,” she whispers.
Zayne squints slightly, dark eyebrows furrowing in confusion. “Dr. Greyson should be available right now. Is there a reason wh—”
“Your partner, Dr. Li.” It’s a rare interruption. “She was just in an accident.”
The stairs are a blur as he rushes down them two at a time. Still, it isn't fast enough.
“What’s happened?” Zayne demands. “Tell me everything.”
Yvonne follows closely behind him, her clogs hitting the floor on the offbeats of his heavy steps. “It was a collision with another vehicle. The other driver had only minor injuries, but hers are more serious.”
“How serious?” Careening around the corner, he nearly plows through a gaggle of interns heading toward the fifth floor.
Typically, the sight of calm, collected Dr. Li is enough to make the younger staff gape in wonder. But frantic, distressed Dr. Li? That’s a new concept entirely.
However, as Zayne flattens his body to pass by them without hindrance, their gawking goes even less noticed than usual.
“They can’t tell the extent of the damage,” Yvonne explains. “We tried to evaluate upon arrival, but she won’t accept treatment until she sees you. When I left the ER, she was thrashing around and calling out for you.”
“She’s afraid of hospitals,” he responds robotically.
Just a few steps farther.
The searing burn in his legs reminds him of the hike he’d gone on with you just a few days earlier. The way he tripped on a well-camouflaged branch, and you caught him with an ill-concealed snicker. The way you paused under a maple tree to catch your breath after, oblivious to the bustling beehive ten feet above you.
“EEEEEEgetitoffgetitoffgetitoffgetitoff!”
As you permanently damage the hearing of the bee on your tank top, a retaliatory snicker escapes Zayne’s lips.
“You think this is funny?” you screech, holding deathly still lest you provoke the beast on your shoulder. “I’ve never been stung before! What if I'm allergic?”
“All right, all right.” He cautiously waves the insect off with his hand, and it flies onto a nearby flower. “See? You’re safe now.”
While you catch your breath, a dramatic hand plastered to your chest, he curls an arm around your lower back and guides you away from danger.
At the base of the mountain, you’d stopped at an ice cream truck, gifting each other compensatory snow cones for your troubles.
That memory of you, smiling in the sun with sweat-slicked skin and blue-stained lips, won’t leave his mind. What kind of state were you in right now? Would you be able to go out like that, to laugh like that again? Would you want to?
A chill creeps through the sterile air as he finally reaches the bottom of the stairwell. With an anxious breath, he bursts through the ER doors, eyes scanning with urgency unknown.
Zayne is used to seeing people bloodied and bruised—too used to it, if you and his parents had anything to say about it. After years of stitching the broken back up again, he's grown desensitized to the most off-putting aspects of the human body. When he sees blood, he can’t afford to panic. He's got a job to do.
Now, at perhaps the one moment he can afford it the least, there's a delay in his actions. It’s immoral for him to think this way, and he'd never say it out loud, but it's not a patient who's hurt. It's not just anyone. It’s you.
You, who demoted lonely from a frequent feeling to a foreign one. You, who showed him, for the first time, how to love and be loved.
So when he sees you frenzied and bleeding, swatting at several nurses’ hands like a cornered stray making its last stand, he freezes. And in that moment, your eyes meet.
Your tired, broken whimper is what finally springs him into action.
He rushes to your side, forcing the metallic tang of your blood a step down from salience. The nurses clear a path for him immediately.
He tries to examine the extent of your injuries, but your attempts to cling to him make it difficult. More than once, he has to beg you to stay still.
“It hurts,” you mewl, weakly clutching his left arm.
“I know. I know. But I need you to stay still for me, all right? Just while we figure out what's wrong.” So much blood. “Here, give me your hand.”
Your palms meet with identical iron grips. You squeeze him in pain and fear, he squeezes you in simmering panic—as well as to keep you still.
Needing to be heard but not wanting to startle you, he calls out his observations with the steadiest voice he can. “I see abrasions on the right temple and significant bruising on the upper body. The arm and shoulder lacerations will likely need staples.”
Slowly, he lifts your lolling head to examine your unfocused eyes. “What’s your full name, and where are we right now?”
“We’re in…” Through slurred words, you blink slowly, pausing to take in your surroundings. It’s like you’re seeing it all for the first time—the somber staff, the sobbing families, the lifeless bodies on the beds—and your face is the picture of panic. “Why…why are we here? I don’t want to be here. I want to go home.”
Zayne grimaces, shushing you and smoothing your hair down. “She may have a concussion as well.”
Your swollen face contorts in panic. “I have what?”
“Shh. I’m sorry if this is uncomfortable,” he whispers. Gathering you in his arms, he rises to full height and nods swiftly to the surrounding staff. “I’m going to set her down slowly. Ensure the gurney is stable.”
Your sense of smell is the first to return to you.
At home, you keep diffusers scattered throughout the space; it brightens your day when your favorite fragrance fills the room.
Here—wherever here is—a piercing sterile scent burns the inside of your nose.
Bleach and artificial lemon.
Something is wrong.
In your ears, the high-pitched hum of equipment.
On your tongue, the aftertaste of iron.
When you finally manage to crack your eyes open, blinding light forces them shut. You try again a moment later, gradually processing the thin blue gown hanging loosely on your sore frame.
It all comes flooding back.
A sickening crash. A crushing impact. Flashing lights, loud voices.
Screeching sirens. Fragments of motion sickness. An abrupt stop.
A big, bright Akso sign. Shining like a beacon.
Not here. Not here. Not all alone.
Your own voice, crying out for Zayne.
Zayne.
Where is he now?
The hospital bed groans under your thrashing body. It hurts, but it won’t be for long. He’s here somewhere, and if you can just get to him, he’ll make it better like he always does.
Zayne. Zayne. Zayne.
As soon as you manage to plant one foot on the ground, the door to your room swings open.
When Zayne steps through, face weary and teal scrubs more ruffled than he’d usually allow, your body melts in relief.
His dim hazel eyes lighten a bit when he sees that you're awake. Then, they zero in on your injured form hanging precariously off the bed.
“Going somewhere?” His voice is flat, unamused. He crosses the room in four long strides, gently lifts your errant leg, and repositions you properly on the mattress. All the while, he expertly dodges your weakened attempts to pull him down with you. “You need to stay here. Movement can exacerbate your injuries.”
“Okay.” You swallow thickly, eyes brimming with unshed tears. This time, when you reach for him, he wraps you into his warm embrace.
Zayne shifts to hold you as best he can, avoiding the wounds and gauze on your head, arms, and shoulders. In the silence, your breaths and heartbeats slowly start to sync.
Clutching his shirt in your fingers, you speak softly into his skin. “You weren’t here when I woke up.” It’s not an accusation, but more a lamentation.
“I’d planned to stay with you, but a patient needed an emergency operation not long after they brought you here. I was in surgery for the last five hours. I came as soon as I could.”
You start to nod into his shoulder, but he stills your head to limit your movement. Instead, you give him something between a hum and a grunt.
“What happened?” he asks after a moment.
“I tried to take the interstate on my way to work. The one we used to practice since I was so scared of all the traffic here. But when I went to merge…I barely even saw the other car. I just remember the crash, and the ambulance, and I knew they were taking me here—I saw the sign—and I panicked. I haven’t been in the hospital since I was a kid. Every time they’d let me out of bed to walk around, there was a new family crying in the halls. I didn’t ever want to go back.” Your voice is hoarse by the time you finish—barely more than a whisper. Pulling back slightly, Zayne cracks open the bottle of water on the bedside table and holds it to your lips. You drink gratefully, wrapping both hands around his wrist.
Once you’re done, he leans in close and presses a kiss to your hair. “You’re very brave for trying that by yourself. But should something like this happen again, you can't delay getting treatment because of me. Let them help you.”
“You know I don’t—I’ve never felt comfortable in places like this. There’s so much pain and grief here. I don’t know how you handle it.” Your throat constricts, and his hold on you tightens as wetness seeps into his shirt. “I was so scared.”
“I know. But I was, too. Not knowing what I was walking into, what kind of state you’d be in when I arrived…I was terrified.”
You bite your lip, discovering an undetected cut at the top. “I didn’t mean to.”
“Of course you didn’t. Just promise me that you'll always make your wellbeing a priority, whether or not I’m within reach.”
“I want to. But it’s hard,” you mumble. “You’re really responsible, you know. And kind. And nice. And smart. And—”
You’re ready to prattle on, but you cut the praise short once you spot his pink-tinged cheeks. “You’re a lot of good things,” you pivot. “Most of all, you make me feel safe. But…”
“But?” he echoes, threading a hand through your hair.
“I get anxious without you,” you admit. “When I’m with you, I feel like everything will be alright, but when I'm not…it feels like the world is ending sometimes. And I'm there in the thick of it, lost and alone.” Your self-deprecating laugh worsens the ache in your chest. “I just feel like I depend on you a lot. Maybe too much.”
He’s quiet for a few beats, constructing his response with the utmost care. “You should be able to depend on me,” he begins softly. “That's my job as your partner. But you lived many years before we met. Your agency isn’t reliant upon my physical presence, though you may feel it is.” He clears his throat. “I’d never be opposed to spending every second by your side. But when I can’t, I hope you’ll still feel me right there with you. Cheering you on, supporting you. That’s when I feel most at home.
“I could never stray too far from the one I love. So, although I may not always be present, I’m in your heart, as well as your thoughts. Even if you have to ask yourself, ‘What would Zayne do?’ to find your way forward, I trust you can come to the right answer. He would do whatever he could to keep you safe and healthy.”
If you weren’t certain he’d scold you for moving, you’d duck your head under your blanket in embarrassment. Instead, you simply whine and avert your gaze, heart fluttering at his words.
“You understand, don’t you?” he coaxes. “Can you take care of yourself for me?”
You purse your lips, still clutching his scrubs tight despite his ask. When you answer, your voice wavers in uncertainty.
“I’ll try.”
For the first part of the afternoon, Zayne keeps you company. He reads to you from Yvonne’s romance novel, supervises while you switch between games on his phone, and opens the blinds so you can people-watch from the comfort of the seventh-floor window.
When boredom strikes, you put on a game show on the midsize TV, guessing most answers wrong while he gets them right.
When a staff member brings you a snack, you urge Zayne onto the too-small bed with you and share a tapioca pudding cup, tactfully ignoring the healthy serving of carrots on the side.
Soothed by his warmth and steady heartbeat, you feel your eyelids grow heavy after a while. In his arms, the room’s oppressive white and whirring machinery become no more than a quelled threat. But when the shrill beep of his pager cuts through the quiet, your body goes rigid with fear forgotten.
“There’s another operation soon. I'll have to leave in a moment.”
“A-Are you sure?” Your eyes widen in dismay. “Can’t Greyson—”
Recalling your promise from earlier, you reel yourself in and take your bottom lip between your teeth. As you lower your head and prepare to apologize, Zayne cups your warming face in his hands. You nuzzle into him greedily.
“Greyson has already done all he can. His selflessness this afternoon is the reason I’ve been able to stay with you for this long. I suppose I owe him a coffee for that.” He curves his lips upward slightly, hoping your frowning ones will follow. “On the bright side, it’s the last surgery of the day. I'll be back here to see you once it’s over.”
“Okay,” you whisper. You know he hears your voice break. Even if he doesn’t, you can't blink fast enough to stop the first few drops from falling.
Regret quickly takes the place of his smile. His face contorts into a grimace as he racks his brain for a solution, eventually nodding to himself resolutely. “Wait just a moment, all right? I’ll be right back. There’s something I need to do.” He kisses your hair once more, then waits for you to nod your agreement. Then, he walks briskly out of the room.
The temperature seems to plummet.
You curl in on yourself as best you can, the last round of painkillers wearing off fast. But Zayne brings you a warmth that’s unreachable alone.
You try to wait for him, you really do. But maybe it’s a miracle that sleep tugs at you in a place like this.
When you pry your heavy eyelids open, the sun is just beginning to set. You’re certain you were out cold whenever Zayne returned to your room earlier, and you can’t help but groan. From the looks of it, he’s still in surgery—no telling when he’ll be back to help you spend the night in your least favorite place.
Desperate to pass the time, you start to reach for the TV remote, only to nudge something soft tucked into your side. Upon further inspection, you recognize the hospital’s gift shop logo stitched onto a black paw pad.
Beside you is a grinning polar bear plush, a pair of lensless spectacles sitting on its short snout. On its blue bib sits a get well soon message; between its outstretched paws is a brief note. That paradoxically legible handwriting…you’d know it anywhere.
just wanna say thank you thank you thank you & I love you to anybody who has commented on small town xav since the last chapter release, especially if you’re an ao3 commenter (as idk when I’ll sit down to respond to those ones) but that support, enthusiasm and condolences have seriously been a light in the dark and really difficult times the past few weeks, it means more than I can rightfully put into words💜
IRIS!!!!! HIIIII ILY!!!! I miss u too oh my heart😭😭 I think of you often and always send good vibes your way when I do!! I am surviving djdjkd, hasn’t been the best time lately but I’m still goin! I hope you’ve been good!! How’s your book coming along? I’m so excited for it 🥹
