#cutt

[veebeeboo109]

Cleaning up the Timeline

{My contribution to the fandom. The obligatory "everyone lives together in one big house and they kiss kiss kiss, and they love love love each other.}

Read on ao3.

Tags: Reader/L&DS Men, Romance, Maid AU, Eventual Smut. SFW (For now) Mentions of grief and severe depression.

Chapter 1: Suspended?

Sitting on a park bench in the middle of winter is not how you thought you’d be spending this afternoon. Though, you aren’t sure where you would like to be at the moment– shivering and sniffling as the wind whips at your face is not it. 

Involuntary Leave. God, the sound of Jenna’s voice just wouldn’t leave your mind. She had said it so softly, like speaking to a baby bird. Like the last vestiges of your sanity would crumble if she spoke above a whisper. 

After the explosion that had– that had….After the explosion, you’d had a hard time. You did your best. Getting up in the morning. Reporting for duty. Killing a wanderer here and there. But you must have gotten lost somewhere along the way. Because a week turned into a month and then suddenly, Captain Jenna is in front of you with a sad expression and a packet of papers neatly tucked into a folder. 

Apparently, you hadn’t shown up for work several times this month, and when you did you refused to go on patrols. Even your desk work was shoddy and riddled with obvious errors.

Tara had tried to cover for you on multiple occasions, but everyone at this point had noticed your zombie state. Though, Jenna had been kinder when she mentioned it. 

“You’re off your game.” She had said. “Take some time. I’ve found some counselors and put their information in the folder. When you’re ready, your position here will be waiting. I swear.”

The wind picks up, slapping your hair across your face and pulling you from your thoughts. The tips of your fingers had long since gone numb, and your feet feel like dead weights. 

Now what? All the information in the packet, yet no one had told your landlord that it was temporary. That bald jerk had gotten the notification of a change in your employment, and the next day you received a message requesting the keys.

If you had a nickel for every time you’d lost everything. You’d have two.

Snot drips down from your nose, the cold once again insisting on reminding you of its presence. Just as you go to wipe it away, your phone buzzes. 

I just left the hospital. I’ll be there in ten.

-Zayne.

That’s right. You were supposed to have lunch today. Zayne had insisted at the last check-up on it. He wasn’t very subtle in his worry for you, but a free lunch sounds like just what you need right now. 

You had enough money left for a storage unit for your furniture, and had packed everything else in an oversized suitcase. The poor baby-pink luggage had only seen one other use before now, and it stands out against the snow that’s beginning to stick to the ground. 

You have to double check which restaurant you’re meeting at, the details escaping your already flighty mind. It isn’t a far walk, which is good, because the double digit number in your bank account bars you against a hotel, let alone a taxi. 

With your suitcase at your side, you make your way to the restaurant. The little blackboard sign out front displays an overly enthusiastic caricature of a mug, and advertises the new options for hot cocoa. 

Of course Zayne would pick a place like this. You enter into the blissfully well-heated establishment and scan the room for a familiar mop of charcoal hair. 

“What good timing.” A dulcet voice rumbles from behind you. With a slight jump, you turn, seeing the very man you were looking for enter. Speckles of snowflakes dot his hair and decorate the beige of his coat. He smiles gently and unwinds the scarf from around his neck. “Shall we sit?”

You follow him to a corner seat next to a window and tuck your suitcase next to your chair. Now that you’re sitting in a climate controlled room, you release a bone-deep sigh.

“You really should be wearing gloves.” Zayne notes as he finishes pushing in your chair and goes to sit across from you. “And a hat. The weather report called for more than four inches of snow tonight.”

“Oh,” You say dreadfully. “I…I just forgot.” 

Zayne’s eyes narrow slightly as he slides one of the menus in front of you. “Are you traveling?”

“Huh?” You blurt, looking up from the pastel colors of the menu. 

Zayne doesn’t reply and simply nods towards the obnoxiously colored bag at your side. 

Crap. You think as a flush blooms across your cheeks. You hadn’t really thought about it, but what could you say? ‘Oh no Zaynie! I’m not traveling! I got kicked out of my apartment after I was pretty much fired from my job! I have enough in my bank account for a hotel, and that's only if I turn a trick on the way there!’

Zayne might have known you longer than anyone else alive at this point, but your pride prevents you from divulging your latest shame. Of everyone you know, Zayne has his shit together the most. How could you expose yourself for not only not having your shit together, but being so far up shit’s creek without a paddle you’re in the snow?

“Oh um,” You stall as you try to think of an excuse, “Yeah. A spontaneous trip, I guess.”

Zayne lifts his menu and begins to browse it, but you’re aware of the frequency with which he glances up at you. Suspicion swirling in his golden-green eyes. 

A peppy waitress walks over and Zayne orders two waters and two hot chocolates. A salted caramel for him, and you pick out your choice from the dozen or so options. 

The happy, young lady scurries away, and you feel a bitter pang of envy. She probably doesn’t have a care in the world. She probably hasn’t had to mourn anybody– while you’re stuck mourning two families now. Try as you might to fight it, you’re jealous of the peppy waitress and her simple, simple life. 

“You’re quieter than usual.” Zayne comments as he relaxes back in his seat. The snow outside has picked up now, casting a white haze over the street. The sidewalk has a good coating of it, and the people who walk by are hunched and hurrying. 

Just your luck to be homeless during a blizzard.

“Just a lot on my mind, I guess.” You reply with as much cheer as you can manage. “How’s work? You mentioned an uptick in trauma cases last time I saw you?”

The corners of Zayne’s mouth curl downwards. “From what I can gather, there’s been more random Wanderer attacks. People being ambushed in places usually deemed secure. As a Hunter, you’ve surely noticed the same?”

No, no you hadn’t. 

“Right. I-uh– I’ve been doing more deskwork lately.” You say lamely, but suddenly remembering the frequency with which your Hunter’s watch has been going off lately, maybe that was it? You’d thought you were just losing time in between notifications. “There has been more commotion, though.”

The waitress returns with your glasses of water and oversized mugs of hot chocolate; a polite smile and pen at the ready for your food order. Zayne orders a honey glazed salmon dish, while you choose something as filling as you could. Who knew the next time you’d eat out?

Once again, the waitress leaves, and Zayne turns his pressurized attention back to you. It always felt like he was reading you somehow, like a poker player at a high-stakes table. You wonder if he could see your tells. If, somehow, he’d deduced your unfortunate circumstances from innocuous movements of your eyelashes. 

His phone on the table buzzes a few times, long drawn out hums of a phone call that made his phone glide to the side. “Forgive me, I need to take this.”

Always the gentleman. He lifts it, and with a sigh he answers. 

Zayne didn’t even get a chance to greet the other person before an angry voice was shouting belligerently through the receiver. Zayne pulls the phone away from his ear with a slight grimace.

You can’t tell what the other person is shouting about, only that they’re mad. Ranting pointedly at Zayne with no regard for the safety of his eardrums.

“Calm–” A sigh, “Calm down. I can’t understand anything you’re saying.”

Another tirade of shouting sounds from the other end, muffled and garbled by the small speaker. Zayne flinches again and sighs, “Alright, alright. I’ll take care of it. I understand– Huh? No, I’ll find someone new. – Well, you'll just have to deal with the mess until then.”

A more subdued response came from the phone, quiet enough you only heard the soft mumbles of their voice. Zayne nods along for a moment before mumbling out a gentle goodbye. 

“I apologize.” Zayne says as he sits his phone back down. “My…colleagues are difficult at times.”

You chuckle softly, “That didn’t sound like Greyson or anyone else I know at the hospital. Sounded like they were raging. Everything okay?”

Zayne exhales heavily through his nose and rests his hand on the table, tapping his fingers a few times– a habit. You could see a few remnants of pale scars across his thumb and his knuckles, ghosts of run-ins with his unruly Evol.

“He fired another housekeeper.” Zayne grumbles, “That’s six now in two months. I fear we’ll gain a reputation at this rate.”

“You have a housekeeper?” You ask with a slight tilt of your head. You thought perfectly neat and tidy Zayne would have no need for a housekeeper. 

“Had a housekeeper.” Zayne amended. The waitress returned and placed your plates in front of you, refilling your waters and skipping away.

“I wouldn't think you would need one. Is your apartment big?” You ask as you nudge at some vegetables on the plate with your fork. 

“I moved last year. A house on the outskirts of the city.” Zayne replies, “It’s too big for me to take care of myself, and the others are less than helpful.”

“You have roommates?” 

“Three.” Zayne finishes his hot chocolate before turning to his food, “Though, I’m not sure how managing the house fell to me. I think the manager at the agency will throttle me if I try to go back again.”

You pause, “So, you need a housekeeper? Isn’t that expensive?”

Zayne’s expression hardens a bit. You’d never discussed money before, nothing more than debating who would cover a bill at a restaurant. 

“We split the expenses.” Zayne offers with a small shrug. “Why? Debating hiring one of your own?”

His joke doesn’t register because your mind is cooking up a half-baked, under seasoned idea. You drop your fork and it clatters onto the table, “Let me do it.”

Zayne blinks, “What?”

Leaning forward in your seat, your heart is pounding in your ears. You feel like you just put every last dime on red twenty-three and the roulette wheel is spinning. “I’ll do it. I’ll be your housekeeper.”

Zayne covers his mouth with the back of his hand in a soft airy laugh, but it quickly fades when he sees your expression. He clears his throat and assesses you with that cool, calculating stare, “Why on earth would you want to do that? What about–”

“Zayne, please.” You interrupt him, and the cold edge to his stare melts. He looks caught off-guard, and why wouldn’t he be? You huff out a mirthless laugh, “Let me do it. I’ll cook and clean and whatever else.”

“Absolutely not.” He rejects quickly, “That feels wrong. You’re my friend and that’s–”

“I need the money.” You admit with a stone in your gut. 

Zayne freezes, and you can see the wheels in his genius mind turning. He glances over to your suitcase, and you know you’re found out. “What’s happened?”

“I just need enough to get a cheap room.” You say instead of answering his question. “We can make a contract, and I’ll pay you back, I swear.”

“What happened?” The tone in his voice is sharp and strikes you directly in the chest.

You stare down at your untouched food and blink away the stinging in your eyes, “They put me on leave. The landlord kicked me out. I…I’m not traveling.”

The words leave you like vomit, stinging your tongue with the wretched taste of them. 

“You can just stay with me.” Zayne’s voice cuts through the growing haze in your mind. The cold fog that you’ve been living in for months, brushed away at the warmth in his voice. 

“No, I can’t do that.” You insist with a shake of your head. “I won’t take advantage of you. If I’m not working elsewhere, then I’ll earn my keep.”

“That’s really not nec–”

“Yes, it is.” You interrupt him again, voice trembling, and you realize how tightly you're gripping onto the tablecloth underneath the table because your fingers begin to ache. 

You can tell Zayne wants to push it. To others it might look like he’s just irritated, but you can see the uncertainty there. You’d known him long enough to know when he was silently debating something in his mind. You sit frozen, food growing cold, and wait for his answer. Teetering on a knife’s edge.

When he sighs and shakes his head, you realize you’ve won and some fraying knot in your gut unravels. You smile and try not to look too overjoyed, but the realization you won’t have to sleep on a park bench has just made your week. 

“Eat your food.” He says firmly as he lifts his utensils, “I’ll take you to the house afterward.”

You smile and dig in, food tasting better than it has in months.

Your bike is currently in a parking garage at the mall near your old apartment, and so you climb into Zayne’s black sedan while he– after pulling it from your hands– puts your suitcase in the trunk. 

Rubbing your hands together to fend off the leeching cold, you silently thank the gods for sending Zayne to you. 

His car is nice, with leather seats and a fancy entertainment system, but not flashy. Trimmed with deep colored wood and elegant silver. There’s nothing sentimental in the car– no kitchy trinket hanging from the mirror, or cute steering wheel cover. If you didn’t know any better, you might think it was a rental. 

As Zayne begins to drive in silence, you realize he’s not the type to leave traces behind. His office has a picture of his parents, and a few mementos from patients, but nothing to really mark it as his. His car is bare of him, and you wonder if his house is the same. 

In your rush to vacate your apartment, you had been sure to keep some sentimental things. Pictures and plushies from your life that now feels a million miles away. Just as much space was dedicated to the keepsakes as it was clothes and necessities. 

“For the record,” Zayne says finally as he turns onto a highway. “I am not a fan of this. Your stubbornness is really unnecessary, and I’d much prefer it if you just stayed as a guest.”

You bite at your lower lip, hating putting him in this uncomfortable position. “I’m sorry, but I can’t stand the idea of taking advantage of your hospitality like that. I have no idea how long this will last. Please, let me do this.”

Silence answers but then, a soft laugh, “Never thought I’d hear someone begging to clean my house.”

You look over at him with your mouth ajar and find that subtle gaiety dancing in his eyes. He could be downright playful when he wanted to be, but it was rare. It had taken you years to understand his dry humor, and to understand the difference between a jab and a jape. 

“We should set some expectations, I suppose.” Zayne says before you can retort. “The house is rather large, and has multiple rooms. The main priority is the common spaces: the living room, kitchen, dining, room, etcetera.”

“I can handle that.” You say with a determined grin.

“There’s also a gym. A studio. And a garage.” Zayne mentions, glancing at you to gauge your reaction, but you don’t back down. “The bedrooms are for the occupants to clean. They can handle their own laundry, for the most part.”

For lack of anything else, you stare at Zayne’s hands, watching as they flex against the smooth leather of the steering wheel. His scarred knuckles shift as he turns. You feel like you know him so well, able to read him and understand him, but you had no idea he’d moved and no clue how a man like Zayne ended up living with three roommates. It made you wonder how much you really know about him. 

“Got it.” You affirm with a nod. 

“Can I at least convince you to take a week before working?” He tries again. 

The bustle of the city transitions to wide spread out buildings, but not a residential neighborhood like you expected. It feels like a commercial district with rows of tall, wide rectangular buildings and neatly trimmed ornamental gardens. 

“I’ll take a day to settle in.” You offer, and Zayne just sighs. 

Zayne pulls up to a building that most certainly does not look like a house. It's a plain rectangular thing covered in windows on the second and third floors, but the bottom being plain concrete. He turns through an automatic gate and then down a ramp into a garage below. 

The bright white of the snowy upper world gives way to the shadowy cavern, and it takes a moment for your eyes to adjust. It’s almost like a parking garage with a series of spots filled with other cars and two bikes. 

You keep your questions to yourself, though they buzz at the tip of your tongue as Zayne shifts the car into park and exits. You take a deep breath and unbuckle your seatbelt, and by the time you turn to exit, Zayne is opening your door. 

You flush at the chivalrous treatment and take the hand he offers. Your hand is only mildly warmer than his– cool fingers holding your palm with a loose, chaste grip. 

The air in the garage is cold, but not nearly as frigid as the outside. You fluster for words for a moment while Zayne goes to the trunk and retrieves your suitcase, sliding it out of your range when you try to take it from him. 

The smirk on his face is equally flustering as it is frustrating. He leads you over to the far wall, and you realize there’s an elevator. 

You can’t help the impressed whistle as he presses the call button, “An elevator? Wowee, this is some place you’ve got here.”

Zayne chuckles as the elevator door opens and he motions for you to enter first. He follows you and presses the star button for the main floor, “It’s more lavish than what I would have picked, but the others have their tastes.”

“You haven’t told me about your roommates yet.” You mention as the elevator ascends, a touch of nerves sparking in you at the realization that you'll be staying with more people than just Zayne.

“They’ll likely keep to themselves.” Zayne assures. Another ding and the doors part, this time Zayne steps out first and holds a hand over the doors as you exit. 

The elevator opens up into a tall foyer. Shiny wooden floors with a long carpet down the middle. The walls are decorated with art you’d think should be in a museum, and a heavy chandelier hangs over your heads. 

Zayne’s hand ghosts across your lower back and pulls your attention away from admiring the decor, “This way.”

Nearly boneless, you follow him. Turning around a corner and into a wide, open concept living space. A cozy area with three couches surrounding a large, square coffee table is the centerpiece of the room. A modern fireplace on one side, and TV above it. The windows completely line the opposite wall, with a picturesque view of a garden and the city beyond being pelted with bouts of snow. 

The kitchen is to the left, separated from the living room by a long bar with square barstools lining it. A hanging light fixture illuminates the area, swirling organic metal holding several pendant lights. 

It’s massive. It’s lavish. It’s going to be hell to keep clean. This seems like too much house for even four people. Who lives like this?

More paintings fill spaces on the walls, plenty of greenery decorating the corners and surfaces, giving the space a more warm and cozy feel. You’re certain this place would feel clinical without it. 

“This is the main area,” Zayne explains, “The main kitchen is there, but there’s a smaller one upstairs.”

Two kitchens? Your mind squawks, but you keep your lips sealed. Nodding with a tight smile when Zayne looks your way.

“There are two bedrooms on this floor. Two on the next floor. And one below us.” Zayne continues as he turns towards the hall to the right. “The spare bedroom is upstairs. Follow me.”

Zayne picks up your suitcase and leads you up a staircase and down another hall. He opens a door and lets you inside, setting your luggage on the settee at the end of the bed. 

For guest bedrooms, this one is very cozy. Instead of sharp lines and modern finishes, it’s more plush. Wooden furniture and warm colored walls. The bedding is a soft cream and there's pastel blue, pink and purple pillows at the head. One of the walls is almost all windows again, but when you step close the cold barely leaks through. 

Zayne walks to the other wall and opens a door, “Here’s the closet.” then over to the last wall, “And here’s the ensuite bathroom.”

Your heart suddenly swells, feeling overwhelmed. “This is…thank you, Zayne.”

A small smile appears on his face and he approaches you– you think he might touch you. A gentle touch to your hair or even a hug. You feel yourself brace for it, not moving physically but opening up like a flower to his potential affection. 

He doesn’t touch you, but he does offer you one of those dazzling small but breathtaking grins that he does. The sweetness of his smile reaching the precious gems in his eyes, sparkling with something so genuine it makes your heart hurt.

“I have to return to the hospital.” Zanyne says, and your heart sinks. “Feel free to explore the place. I’ll send a message to the others about the circumstances.”

“I’ll probably hide in here til you get back,” You admit with a laugh. 

“Do you need anything while I’m out?” He asks, “Were you able to get everything from your apartment?”

“I think so.” You take in a deep breath and let the relief settle in, “Thank you again Zayne. We can discuss the specifics when you get home.”

His eyelashes flutter a bit as he reacts imperceptibly to your words, but his smile returns and he nods, “I’ll see you then.”

Next->

{Writing Masterlist}

(Proofread Edits: 4/25/2025)

[fireinthefoxpen]

im getting blood everywhere

[time-to-move-out-rex]

Hunter and his brothers....and his little sister.

[veebeeboo109]

Cleaning up the Timeline

{Zayne has nightmares. It’s a good thing the mornings are so sweet. Sylus is a bad influence. You’re the middle of a Snowcrow sandwich.}

Read on ao3. Part One.

Tags: Reader/L&DS Men, Romance, Possessive Behavior, NS!FW, Zayne has bad dreams, Thre3som, Snowcrow, double pen, Just a lot of filth

Chapter 11: Early Morning

You’re deep asleep when Zayne comes home, dragging his feet. He’s already changed into loungewear when he enters your room, and his footsteps and carefully lights as he pads over. 

Sylus doesn’t move, but he does open his eyes. His awareness is too sharp to miss even the subdued presence of Zayne entering. You’ve turned over in the hour or so since falling asleep, with Sylus curled around your back and resting your head against his arm.

“You missed out this evening,” Sylus whispers against your hair, and your body is so exhausted you don’t even stir.

“Hm,” Zayne replies, hesitating for a moment at the edge of the bed. 

Sylus hooks his arm around your waist and pulls you back further onto his side, making room for the other man. Then, he flips the edge of the covers back too, another invitation offered.

He knows Zayne won’t pass up the opportunity. All that control and he’s no better than the rest of them, utterly smitten for you. Zayne crawls into bed slowly, meticulously, barely shifting the mattress with such care to not wake you. 

“What’s wrong?” Sylus asks when Zayne lays down on his side facing the two of you, but doesn’t come closer. 

“My Evol.” Zayne whispers, “It…acted up today. That's why I’m late.”

Sylus hums and reaches out, placing his hand over Zayne’s forearm. He can feel the tension beneath his palm, the tight twisting of muscles that jumps at the stark difference in temperature. 

“You won’t hurt her.” Sylus says, and when Zayne looks at him incredulously he adds, “I won’t let it happen.”

Zayne huffs a little, but his body still relaxes ever so slightly. “You don’t know that. I wouldn’t– I’d never forgive myself if–”

Sylus clicks his tongue and decides he’s heard enough. Zayne is going to convince himself to leave if nothing is done, and so, the silver-haired man moves his hand to your hips and shakes you a little.

“Kitten,” He purrs in your ear, looking up at Zayne in an almost-taunt. “Kitten, Zayne is here.”

You moan a little, a protest of your sleepy mind fighting against being awoken. But the words find their way through the fog, and you blindly open your eyes. You turn your head first, looking at Sylus and then immediately over, searching for Zayne. 

Zayne is a deer in headlights, being caught on the opposite end of the Sylus’s dirty play. You’re already reaching for him, and he’s reaching back. Body moving despite his mind arguing otherwise.

  He could hurt you , his mind cries, but he’s letting you grab his shirt and pull him across the sheets. What if his Evol reacts while he’s asleep? His mind warns, but he’s already settling in front of you, pushing hair away from your face. 

You sigh so contently, easing into threadless sleep the instant that he’s there. Zayne can hardly believe it. Can hardly believe any of this is real. It feels like a dream. Like something that will slip away if he’s not careful. 

“Go to sleep, Zayne.” Sylus mumbles as he reaches over you to rest his hand on the side of Zayne’s neck. “I won’t let anything happen.”

Zayne tears his eyes away from your face and looks at Sylus over your shoulder. The man’s red eyes glow in the dim light, an occult crimson. He looks like a dangerous spectre hovering over you– dangerous and deadly. But it’s reassuring, regardless of their feelings, Zayne knows Sylus will stop him if it comes to it. 

It’s the wee hours of the morning now. The sun has yet to meet the sky, but it lightens to greet it. You’re splayed on your back. Your head is supported by Zayne’s arm and your body tucked against his side while Sylus clings to the other side of you. His arms wrapped around your waist, and he;s nearly laying on top of you. The blankets had been shoved to the floor– too much skin and breath making the room comfortably warm without them. 

Something shifts. A breath out of place and a disjointed inhale. Sylus is rousing from sleep in that sharp, uncomfortable way one does when an alarm goes off. Only the room is still silent. 

He lifts his head, finding you snoring softly with a line of drool down your chin. Nothing out of place there. But then his eyes dart to Zayne, and golden-green orbs are already open. Venomous and enraged. 

Sylus goes to push himself up but Zayne’s hand grabs him and shoves him back, coupled with a blast of blistering ice. The sharp crystals shove him back, embedding into his flesh. Sylus only has enough time to make sure he’s detached from you to make sure you don’t come with him when he’s thrown across the room. 

You’re awake in an instant, first reaching towards your hip for a gun that isn’t there. Zayne’s breathing is a ragged growl and you can feel the cold emanating from him. Waves of frost and shimmery icy that mists from his skin and down onto you. 

He’s glaring at Sylus, murder in his eyes. A red mist surrounds Zayne’s outstretched arm, holding him in place. You gasp and reach out, grabbing Zayne’s wrist for added measures, “Zayne!” You cry, “What are you doing!?”

You shuffle to sit up, but Zayne turns his head– all of that horrific animosity in his eyes now pointed at you. It takes a moment, like he doesn’t recognize you at first, but then he does. Recognition cracks across his features like a blow and al the air leaves his lungs,

“It’s you.” He says. 

Your mind hasn’t caught up yet, but it doesn’t need to. In his moment of pause, you move. Grabbing his arm and rolling him over to straddle him, pushing his wrists into the bed and pinning him. 

“What the hell was that, Zayne!?” You hiss at him. 

Zayne barely fights you. He struggles against you once, twice, but then grits his teeth and glares at you. You feel his Evol shimmer against your palms, painfully cold as it leeches all the heat from your bones until they ache. 

“Let go of me.” Zayne demands harshly and you notice the swirling black and red mist around his shoulders. His eyes flicker over to Sylus who’s risen to stand.

“I’ve got him, sweetie. I’ll handle this.” Sylus’s voice is low, and it only serves to irritate you.

“Handle what ?” Your voice cracks, and you unknowingly shift your upper body forward, creating a wall between the two men. “His Evol acts up sometimes. He didn’t mean it. Right?”

You turn back to Zayne, and he’s got his attention back on Sylus, glaring at him like an intruder. There’s no recognition in those golden-green eyes, only rage. You’re not sure what it is about his expression that tells you, but it’s in that moment you realize this isn’t Zayne.

It’s Zayne. You know that, objectively. You remember him crawling into bed and snuggling up next to you. The scent of peppermint and camphor on his skin as familiar as your own. Even with half-open eyes you’d recognized Zayne, if by nothing more than touch alone. Mapping the pattern of his scars on his arms and knowing them.

But you don’t recognize this man. You’ve never met this man. And he’s never met you. His eyes are cold and hardened. There is no past of childhood shenanigans and fond memories to sweeten the air between you. He recognized you, but he doesn’t know you. 

You feel your mind click into place, finally catching up as it wakes up. Something isn’t right, and there’s battle in the air. Too much tension like springs coiled too tightly. Sylus is ready to pounce, and Zayne is ready to kill. 

So, you let your hand relax on Zayne’s wrists, and the release of that pressure brings his eyes back to you. 

“You’re not Zayne,” You whisper, and the serrated edge in Zayne’s eyes intensifies and then withers away. He looks lost more than anything, fighting for his life in a foreign space. 

“Kitten, get up.” Sylus hisses, “He doesn’t know you. He won’t–”

“He does.” You insist, keeping your eyes locked with Zayne’s. You don’t let him go, not with gaze nor with touch. You hear the concern laced in Sylus’ tone, but you ignore it. “He knows me. You recognize me, right?”

Zayne’s breath is still fast, but deep. Inhaling and exhaling through his nose like a bull. He doesn’t want to answer you, but he does words dragged out of him like snagged on a barbed hook, “I…do.”

“If I let you go, are you going to hurt me?” You ask, and Zayne’s expression slackens in surprise. 

“No.” He hisses, “I won’t.”

You hesitate– you can’t help it. Everything about Zayne is familiar, as familiar as your own body in a way, but you’re in front of a stranger right now. Zayne would never lie to you– never hurt you– never fight you, but would this one? Would this one lie through his teeth just to gain the upper hand?

You release your hold on his wrists and he takes a moment before moving them. You weren’t holding him tight enough to hurt, but he clenches and stretches his hand anyway. Sensations returning to his frost tipped fingers. 

From behind you, you hear Sylus inhale through his nose, a displeased chuff as he presses one knee onto the bed. The net of tension blanketing the three of you tightens, and for some reason– a lack of self-preservation perhaps– you feel like it’s your job to keep the two from killing each other. 

You move slowly. Rolling back off of Zayne and onto the bed next to him. The adrenaline that had been holding you upright has started to dissipate, and exhaustion weighs heavy. Against your better judgment, you go to lay back down, being watched all the while. 

“It’s okay.” You whisper, “We’re okay now.”

Zayne’s eyes won’t leave you. Watching you lay down next to him until he’s rolling onto his side to face you. It’s like he caught, ensnared in some gravitational pull. His shoulders have relaxed ever so slightly and when you meet his eyes, he’s searching yours. Scouring it for something you can’t identify. 

“Are you well?” Zayne’s voice is hoarse when he asks.

You’re not sure what he means, but he’s reaching out to you. Fingers drawing a featherlight line down the side of your face. His expression is soft again, full of agonizing hope as he traces the outline of you. Down your face and your neck, down to your collarbone, settling a little on your pulse to feel the steady beat of your heart. He lingers there, before flattening his palm against the skin of your chest, right about where your heart now pounds. Cold. He’s so cold. 

It’s Zayne, but not Zayne. You’d thought maybe this was some alternate personality, but this was…something else. Something you couldn’t begin to understand because he didn’t know you. Didn’t know Sylus or this room or this house. But he knew you. 

“I’m good.” You reply. “You take good care of me. Well, Zayne does. Are you…who are you?”

Zayne doesn’t reply, eyes pulling away from your face to stare forlornly at his palm against your skin. He’s soothed by your words, but also wounded by them. 

You reach out, pressing your hand against the side of his face. Despite the oddity of the situation, your heart aches. Yearns for this man like a blossom for spring. Whatever version of Zayne this is…you’ll care for him too.

Zayne’s eyes drift close, a wave of exhaustion sweeping visibly over him. He seems to fight against it, eyes fluttering and concern crinkles his brow. He’s reaching for you again, holding onto your shoulder a little tighter.

It doesn’t make sense, and in the dewy air of the morning it doesn’t have to. You meet his grip with one of your own. Answering his clawing hand by sliding close to him, letting him pull you close as he seems to slip away. 

“It’s alright.” You whisper against his collarbone. He’s breathing harshly through his nose, eyes drifting closed despite his efforts to keep them open. His hands shimmer with frost again, painfully cold against you as fear kicks his Evol up again. “I’m here. It’s okay. It’s– I’m here.”

He grunts softly, arms going slack and his breathing slows. A spark of fear shoots through you, and you're pressing your hands to the side of his face, making sure he’s still breathing. Making sure his eye still twitches when you run your thumb across his dark lashes. Alive. He’s alive– just asleep. 

The mattress depresses behind you, Sylus climbing back in behind you. Zayne might be asleep but he’s got you wrapped up in his arms, pressed so tightly you can barely turn your head around without some wiggling. 

Sylus looks guilty. His sharp eyes avoidant as he slowly lays down. 

“What the hell was that?” You hiss at the white haired man when you managed to roll over to face him. Zayne’s still clinging to you. Wrapped around your shoulders and face pressed into your hair. 

“You handled it well,” Sylus muses with a small smirk, “I appreciate you coming to my defense.”

“Answer the question, Sylus.” You’re sure you look like the least intimidating thing in the world right now, hair mussed, pastel pajamas, and a partially hidden behind Zayne’s biceps. 

“What do you want me to say, sweetie?” Sylus replies, “I hardly know more than you.”

“Then fill in the gaps,” You’re tired but unwilling to let this go, “Explain to me why Zayne woke up and it seemed like he didn’t know us.”

Sylus’ features fall and he sighs, “Because he didn’t. He thinks they’re just nightmares, but they’re something else. He’ll wake up and be someone else. Someone that isn’t this version of him.”

“Like an alternate personality? He should see a doctor for it, that isn’t–”

“It isn’t psychological.” Sylus counters with a shake of his head, “It happens sometimes. We deal with it. Trust me, if there was something to be done it would have happened already.”

You’re not satisfied with the answer but you fall silent. In a world of Protocores and Wanderers, aether cores, and secret organizations performing human experimentation– this was hardly a stretch. So Zayne had vivid night terrors. He was stressed enough for it to be believable, but surely there was something to be done. You couldn’t just do nothing. 

Sylus is brushing away some hair from your face and bringing you out of your spiraling thoughts. He smiles reassuringly, “Don’t worry so much. He’s not alone. He has us. You’re doing what you can for him right now.”

“How often does it happen?” You ask, dipping your face down to press your lips against Zayne’s skin. You were exhausted, but you couldn’t let yourself fall asleep if this might happen again. 

“Rarely.” Sylus hushes, “Once a month, at most.”

“Does he always attack you?” 

“Not always.” The white haired man drags the back of his knuckles against the skin of your cheek and then up to Zayne’s arm, drifting down in a tender touch. He’s still on the other side of the bed, only intruding upon the tangle of your two bodies with his hand. 

“Do you think I can convince him to take the day off tomorrow?”

Sylus chuckles at that, “You can try.”

You do try. Boy, do you try. Zayne is awake before the both of you. Sylus is snoring softly and back to laying across you like an oversized, too-heavy, breath-hindering blanket. You wake when Zayne tries to detangle himself from your side, and Sylus groans in protest against your chest. 

Through the cool light of morning, you seek Zayne out, finding him holding the side of his head as he sits at the edge of the bed. 

“Zayne,” You call and he turns, “Are you alright?”

“Did I–” Zayne cuts himself off, “Did you sleep alright?”

Does he remember? Or doesn’t he? Maybe to him it was all a dream, and so you nod. “I slept fine, but you had a rough night. Remember?”

Zayne’s eyes narrow and he turns away, “Right.”

You shift a little, lifting your head. “Can you take the day off? Please?”

Your timid question has him turning back around, “Really? I– I don’t think I can.”

“A sick day? You never take a sick day. Just a day to relax. I think you need it.” You argue. 

“I’m on call. There isn’t anything scheduled but I should go anyway.” Zayne’s arguing with himself more than you at this point. Debating against the part of himself that likes his work, and the part that really likes you. 

If there was an award for best puppeteer in the house, it would go to Sylus. (That is until Rafayel woke up.) You felt Sylus wake up, rising into consciousness and wrapping his arms around your waist to hold you more securely. Sleepily, lazily, he presses kisses to your tummy, then to your sternum, and then to the exposed skin of your chest. Taking his time to drift slowly upwards until your attention is torn between the two men. One who is still debating leaving, and the other baiting the hook to dangle in front of him. 

“We could have a lazy day,” Sylus rumbles against you, and you’re not sure if he talking to you or Zayne. “Stay in bed all day.” 

“I have responsibilities.” Zayne stands when he speaks, sounding a little irritated by Sylus’ taunt. 

“Oh, I know.” Sylus is pushing himself onto his elbows and moving to pepper your neck with kisses, unable to resist letting his tongue lap at your skin. “So responsible, Dr. Zayne. Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of our kitten while you work. Such good good care.”

Your breathing is picking up, steamy little pants leaving your lips as Sylus punctuates his words with branding fingers dragging down your sides, hooking into your shorts and panties and taking his time to pull them down your legs. 

“Hear her?” Sylus sounds almost pitiful, “How can anybody leave such a sweet little thing like you? Oh, I could never, sweetheart. Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere. I’ll give you what you need.”

“ Sylus .” You gasp as he flattens his hands on your legs and caresses upwards. You can feel your heartbeat get faster the closer his hands get to the mess of slick between your legs. Barely a touch and your sopping, clenching around the mere idea of more. The pound of your heartbeat pulsing in your core, a desperate wanton drum. 

“You’re incorrigible.” Zayne seethes. His tone is icy and disapproving, arms crossed across his chest. But if he meant it he’d be leaving. Turning away to get ready for work and all his responsibilities. But he doesn’t. Zayne doesn’t move a muscle, standing at the edge of the bed like he’s anchored there. “You’d have me quit my job if I let you.”

Sylus’ laugh vibrates that live wire inside you. A pluck against that too-tight harp string of desire. The white-haired man glances over at the other and he smirks like the devil himself, “No there’s an idea. What do you think, kitten? Do you think Zayne should quit his job to take care of you?”

You mewl as Sylus drags his fingers up your slit, any words evaporating against the white-hot fever of his touch. You're getting a little dizzy, and feeling a little lost. Sylus begins playing with you slowly, drawing out little pants of saccharine pleasure in a sleepy thoughtless way. 

But he’s never thoughtless, never sloppy. You’ll realize later it’s on purpose. The loose swipes of fingers that leave you half-mad. He’s missing on purpose, making you whine in frustration on purpose. Is it because he’s mean? No . It’s because it’s the final straw for your fair, high-strung doctor. 

Zayne moves with scalpel precision, kneeling on the bed and grabbing Sylus’ wrist with an offended huff, “You’re not doing it right.”

Sylus grins like a victor after a fight, all canine. “Am I? Show me then, doc-tor.”

Zayne throws Sylus’ hand aside and gives him a glare, “You move too fast. You can’t just jump into touching her like that. She needs more affection. Watch.”

The dark haired man moves to pull you upright, placing himself between your thighs and holding the sides of your face to bring you to him. He opens his mouth like he might ask for permission, but you're already closing the gap. Pressing your lips to his hungrily. He responds in kind, matching your rhythm like meeting in a dance. 

Zayne is so measured. So even. Like the soft untouched surface of freshly fallen snow, but it's only a cover. A thin lay of snow and ice revealing dark waters below. You could drown in them, You would drown in them. Get lost in that painful abyss that’s equal parts comfort and consumption. 

You feel loved in his arms. Like you might find forever in his kisses. His hands drift down your body and pull you closer and you’re taking the initiative to grip at his sleep shirt and tug it upwards. 

He pulls away to let you pull it off him. And you're back to kissing him. Breaking away from him is to be without air, to be without warmth. 

Zayne gasps when you bite at his lip and he’s pushing his hand into your hair to hold you more firmly. 

When Zayne pulls away, there’s a sinful string of saliva connecting you. The delicate web snapping as he draws you away from him with the hold on your hair. “There. That’s the right way, isn’t it? Tell him, love. Tell him you like it better that way.”

You gasp and nod, “I like– ah–” Zayne doesn’t let you finish because his fingers are between your legs, drawing circles around your clit and down to your fluttering hole. Never lingering too long on the sensitive nub– too much stimulation making your eyes flutter. 

Sylus is behind Zayne, pressing against his back and dragging his lips along the other man’s neck. “So good…Keep going. Show me how good you can make her feel.”

Zayne sits up a little, turning his head to the side and meeting Sylus’ gaze. “It seems like you need the practice, Sy~lus.” 

The way Zayne purrs Sylus’ name makes you clench and roll your hips against Zayne’s hand. It’s a sight that you want to imprint into your mind forever. These two beautiful, massive, dangerous men, turning their attention to you and their eyes shining with lust and affection. 

“Sylus likes to be in charge,” Zayne says to you with a smirk, “Have you ever noticed how much he likes to boss others around?”

You nod, moaning as Zayne presses one of his fingers inside you. He grunts at the resistance, and exhales through his teeth. His glazed eyes dropping down to watch the digit disappear inside you. “So tight , love. Can you even handle another?”

Your head spins with how quickly you nod, “Yes, ngh– Yes, I c-can take it. I can.”

Sylus growls from behind Zayne, “Don’t push her too hard. Don’t–”

“I’m not going to.” Zayne bites back, but pushes another finger inside you. You squeal at the slight stretch and roll your hips down onto him. 

“I want–” Sylus sounds a little breathless when he speaks, looking at Zayne like he’s waiting for permission, “I want to taste her again.”

“I heard you got plenty yesterday.” Zayne chastises coolly, staring at Sylus almost disapprovingly while he simultaneously finger fucks you into oblivion. “Maybe you should just watch.”

“N-no.” Sylus whines , and the sound of it shoots like an arrow through you. “Please, let me. Come one, kitten. You want me to lick you again, don’t you? Tell him. Tell Zayne you want me to.”

“No.” Zayne’s voice is an even command. He draws his fingers out of you and you mewl at the loss, but watch with rapt attention as he lifts his dewy digits up to Sylus, “This is what you get. You get when I give you. You’re already getting your way by me staying here. You want to taste? Then lick them clean.”

You nearly come just from his words, and feel the pool of slick beneath you grow as you watch Sylus obey without a second thought. He grabs Zayne’s wrist and pulls the fingers to his mouth, dragging his long tongue up the length of them and then drawing them into his mouth, sucking them so thoroughly the sound of it fills the room. 

  Zayne pulls his hand away. His expression is even but his cheeks and ears are red, the skin of his chest flushed a sweet strawberry blush. He’s clearly affected, twitching as Sylus claws at him to draw him into a kiss, sharing the taste of you between them.

“I’ll help you,” Sylus breathes as he pulls away, “Just let me touch her. I’ll be good, but just let me–”

Zayne snorts, “Go on then.”

With permission granted, Sylus crawls over to you, “Sweet girl, oh, you smell so good. You’re twitching with it, aren’t you? You need to be filled up. Tell me, can I kiss you, sweetheart? Can I take care of you?”

You reach out to pull him to you, as easy and guiding a paper boat across a pond. There’s no resistance to him as you pull him on top of you, drawing him into a sloppy kiss. “ Yes.” You rasp against his lips, “Anything– ah . Anything, please .”

Sylus groans and grinds his clothed hips against you, “ Anything? You can’t offer that too me, sweetheart. Or I’ll actually take it.”

You’re tired of waiting. Tired of touching and grinding and not enough. So, you take matters into your own hands, and push Sylus’ shoulders and twist him around. He’s too big to move unwillingly, but the way his eyes widen tells you he’s more than willing. He moves with the tiniest pressure of your hands onto his back, letting you straddle him and remove his shirt. He’s a puppeteer at the mercy of someone else’s strings, lifting his hips when you hook around the waistband of his pants and pulling down. 

You’ve barely got the pants past the roundness of his ass before there are hands at your waist, squeezing you.

“Slow down.” Zayne whispers, “We have the whole day, don’t we?”

“Zayne…” You whine airly, “I don’t want to wait.”

“Neither does he.” Zayne says with a pointed glance to a panting Sylus. The white haired man’s hands are raised, as if to show Zayne he was innocent in this stripping game. Zayne chuckles softly and pulls you by the back of the neck to kiss you, and when he lets you go,  he mumbles against your lips, “Do you trust me, love?”

You nearly smack your forehead into his when you nod, and can’t help but kiss him once more. A light, soft kiss. 

“Use your mouth.” Zayne hisses into you, “And I’ll use mine.”

You’re not clear what he means but you don’t care. You’re back at the task at hand, grabbing the elastic band of Sylus’ brief and pulling down, eager like a child on Christmas. Too excited for the prize within to care about the wrapping. 

Sylus’ cock springs out, slapping obscenely against his stomach and he hisses through his teeth. There’s a magnetic pull to him, drawing into his aura like a moth to flame. The heat emanating from his skin is addictive, only magnified by the cool air coming from Zayne as he grabs handfuls of your hips and ass. Guiding you onto all fours in front of Sylus with your hips in the air. 

A long ragged moan leaves Sylus’ lips when you drag your tongue up his thick, monstrous cock. It’s large like the rest of him is, but thick and weighty. Even as furiously hard as he is, the weight of it makes it droop against his bellybutton, twitching upwards. 

You wrap your hand around the girth of him at the base and lift it up to your lips. Kissing the tip before you press the head into your warm, wet mouth. Sylus’ hand is in your hair the instant you touch him, and his fingers tremble with the untempered desire to grip and hold. 

It’s a stretch. He barely fits into your mouth, and you nearly gag on more than one occasion, but the wrecked sounds he makes are more than enough motivation for you to press on. 

A sharp yelp shocks out of you when Zayne is at your cunt, licking a long stripe up the messy line of your sex. He’s slow and gentle, polite even as he licks at your clit and presses his tongue into you. 

A chain reaction occurs. Your squeal makes Sylus groan, gripping your hair tightly which makes your eyes cross. You’re pressing back into Zayne’s tongue without thought, only pure delirium. 

It takes effort to focus on Sylus’ cock, but doesn’t seem to mind. When your mind starts to drip into syrupy pleasure and your movements become sloppy, Sylus seems to enjoy it. His breathing hitches and the grip on your hair tightens. 

“That’s it…” Sylus growls, beginning to guide your head up and down his length. You can feel his thundering heartbeat against your tongue. “S-such a good girl. So good for us. Right– ahh that’s it– Right where you belong.”

He’s stuttering through the pleasure, his hips starting to thrust up. Something in his face shifts. A curl to his upper lip that makes Zayne stop. Zayne is quick, pushing Sylus’ hand off your head and pulling you off with an arm around your chest. You gasp as you're physically removed from Sylus, a wanton whine escaping. 

Sylus chokes, caught right at the precipice of orgasm but caught off. A flash of anger crosses his eyes before sense returns to him.

“You come when I say you can.” Zayne says as he uses his hold on your waist to maneuver you. Moving you further up Sylus’ body until your chest to chest with the man. 

Zayne is kneeling behind you, his hands finding holds on the sides of your hips, and shifts you from side to side just because he can. He hums, a deep, pleased noise as he watches you and Sylus share the same breath. Both fucked out and dump– higher functioning off and nothing but writhing, sensory beings. 

“So pretty.” Zayne coos, “Looking at you two…what a sight you make. Lean back for me, love. That’s it– press back into me.”

“You want Zayne to fuck you, sweetie?” Sylus whispers against your lips, swallowing the soft gasp you make. 

“Yes– ahn– please Zayne!” You shift back, presenting for him like a bitch in heat, “Please, please, please.”

Sylus is grinning against you as he watches over your shoulder. Zayne releases one side of your hips to hold his cock and line it up. The fat head of his cock catches on your entrance and keen as he slowly presses in. The stretch is sublime. Edging just on the edge of discomfort. 

Zayne is quiet, only the softest hitch of his breath the only sign he’s feeling anything. But then Sylus is moving his hands to the soft globes of your ass and spreading them, pushing you back and further down onto the other man’s throbbing cock. 

A dewy moan leaves you and Zayne chokes on the staggering sound that his chest makes. He’s only halfway in and you’re breathlessly full, unsure whether you want to move away or further down. 

“G-god, you’re so tight. Oh. Oh, don’t move.” Zayne snaps, “I don’t want to hurt you, love, so don’t move for a second. F-fu-uuck… ”

“You can handle it.” Sylus whispers in your ear, sounding nearly as wrecked as you feel, “Keep going. Take it all. Fuck , just like that. Take it. Take it. Take it .”

You’re clinging to Sylus as Zayne presses in, coaxed deeper and deeper by needy movements of your hips. Completely surrounded by the two of them and every sense is overwhelmed by them. 

Sylus swallows your cries as Zayne begins to move, slow and steady. When Zayne finally bottoms out, he grips the curve of your waist almost too tightly, pulling you back ever firmer against him, but he’s already as deep as he can possibly get. His hips pressed against your ass, and his cock tucked snugly against your cervix. 

It’s almost painful, but it dissolves into feathery pleasure when Sylus kisses you through it, muttering sweet words of praise and moving his hand to rub little circles on your clit. 

Your orgasm is fast approaching and Zayne’s barely moved. 

“O-oh fuck!” You squeal, nails digging into Sylus’ shoulder, “More, please, more!”

Zayne pounds into you. Long, hard thrusts that make stars sparkle behind your eyes. The sinful squelch of your slick and the slap of his hips against your ass is a symphony. It’s hard and it’s lovely and it’s perfect. 

You’re unable to keep kissing Sylus, mouth open and gasping for breath. He’s smiling– a wild, feral smile.

And a horrible thought occurs to you. Horrible only for your self-preservation and your sanity, but so so good for that depraved whore inside you. 

“B-b-both.” You stutter out between breaths. Zayne slows down, giving you half a second to find your voice. “I want both. Both please .”

Zayne’s cock throbs inside you, pressing against that sensitive spot deep in your core that makes you clench. Sylus looks a little lost, his face slackening in rapt eagerness.

“You sure, sweetheart? You want me to fuck you too? Think I’ll fit in your pretty little pussy?” Sylus bites your lower lip and groans, “ Oh sweetie, come here.”

Zayne groans, and moves with you, never pulling out as you shift down to lay against Sylus’ chest, your breasts pressed into his face which he wastes no time nipping at. 

“This isn’t–” Zayne hisses, “She needs more prep.”

“She’s so determined, Zayne.” Sylus argues, shifting to press the head of his cock to the stretched rim of your hole. The instant he adds pressure you’re sure it won’t fit, but Sylus’ eyes are glazing over and his jaw is falling open. Practically drooling. “Let her try. Let my sweet girl try. She’ll feel so good, won’t she? I want to be inside her with you.”

Zayne’s hips thrust forward of their own accord, the most ragged moan yet leaving his dry lips. Sylus is pressing in tightly, and the stretch is unreal. He’s barely got half the head in and you're sure you’ll split in two, but god what a way to go. What a perfect death. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” You whimper, “Oh god, it’s too much. Don’t stop. Ah! Don’t stop!”

“You’re mine, sweet girl. You’re ours.” Sylus snarls, hips pushing up into you, and the fat head of his cock slips in with a wet squelch. “Take us both. Take it so fucking  good for us.”

“Oh love,” Zayne’s back is pressed against yours, his voice in your ear and its such a contrast to the depravity in Sylus’. “You feel so divine. You’re doing so well. So well. Yes. Yes, ngh.”

It’s ages before Sylus is all the way in, and there are tears shimmering down your face when he finally bottoms out. The two of them nestled against it each, delicious friction. Divine death is the vice of your cunt and the slide of the cocks against each other. 

Zayne stays still while Sylus moves. There’s too much violent energy in the white haired man for him to stay still any longer. Long, slow thrust and he’s barely half a dozen glides inside when your clenching, vibrating on the precipice. 

“Oh fuck I’m gonna–” You choke, hips jerking and making the pair inside you groan in unison. “I’m gonna come. Please. Please, please . Oh god – you feel so good. Don’t leave. Don’t leave me please.”

“I’m not gonna last,” Zayne bites into your shoulder softly, “Come on, love. Come around us. Let me feel it. Yes, yes.”

“Not going anywhere, sweetheart. You just hold onto me. I’ll stay inside forever if you let me. Yeah, fuck. That’s it, come for me. Come for us.” Sylus’ fingertips dig into your flesh, and your mind is struck with the sudden feeling of loss. There’s a lack of digging. A lack of points at the tips of his fingers. Where did they go?

You’re coming before you can debate that odd sensation. Tipped over the edge into writhing oblivion and crying out. Gushing around their cocks and soaking the bed sheets below. 

Your peak is a trigger, firing off the other two in rapid succession. Zayne thrusts up once and then twice and you can feel the throb of him when he comes, pressing his face into any skin he can reach and panting for breath. 

Sylus snarls like an animal lurching forward to latch his mouth and teeth onto the junction of your shoulder as his cock jumps, slamming to the hilt inside you– slickened by the other man’s come leaking out of you. It’s filthy and his teeth dig into your skin so sharply your vision blanks. 

They come down from their highs in different ways. Zayne slowly rolls his hips, relaxing like the unwinding of a tightened spring— easy and slow. Relishing in the afterglow and the slick heat of your pussy around him. 

Sylus is a serrated blade. Fucking up into you with sharp half-thrusts and pushing the mixture of their come deeper and deeper. He growls through it, keeping himself clawing into the sensations for as long as he possibly can. Breathing harshly and lapping his tongue against the bite mark he left behind. 

Your body protests any movement, and you’re not ready to let go of them just yet. So you let your head rest on Sylus’ shoulder and focus on the full feeling of them both inside you. How did that even happen? How did they both fit?

Zayne runs a hand up your spine. A gentle caress, “Shh, relax love. Let me–” He’s pulling out, and the drag has you keening, twitchy in aftershocks and then left horrifically empty. 

You turn to Sylus and he kisses you mushily, “I’m not going anywhere, kitten.” He whispers, “Let me stay for a minute, yeah? Let me feel you for just a bit longer.”

Zayne is gone and back but your mind is still filled with rose cotton. He’s got a water bottle in his hands that he presses to your lips. You drink a few swallows and then collapse back onto Sylus. 

“A lazy day, then?” Zayne asks with an affectionate shake of his head. 

Sylus’ laugh vibrates against you, “I’m feeling particularly lazy now.”

You giggle softly and shift to get more comfortable on top of Sylus, “I hope you don’t blame me if I slack off today, right Zayne? I’ll be sure to catch up on cleaning tomorrow.”

Zayne sits down next to you on the bed and brushes his hand through your hair, “Don’t worry about any of it. Perhaps we should revisit the contract again.”

You sigh and shake your head, “Not happening. I have a job to do, and I’m going to do it.”

“Even if I ask you nicely?” Zayne’s smirking when he teases you, and you reach up to poke his cheek.

“We can talk about it later, if you ask me nicely.” 

The rest of the day is not nearly as strenuous, but it is very…physical. Like a line crossed, it cannot be uncrossed. Their hands are all over you. Their lips take their time when they kiss you, and they take turns slowly fucking you. Lazily thrusting in and out while the other runs a bath, or makes some lunch. 

It’s afternoon before you manage to get back into clothes, and Sylus is practically peacocking around the living room with his shirt off and wearing the marks you left on him proudly. 

Zayne seems downright refreshed, a bit of bounce in his step while he makes some stir fry in the kitchen. 

“You didn’t even think to invite me.” Rafayel pouts from the couch. He was an unhappy camper now having learned of your ‘lazy day’. He’d been repeating that sentiment for almost an hour now, only having quieted down when you let him rest his head in your lap and ran your fingers through his hair. 

“Sorry, next time I’ll be sure to send a message to the group chat.” Sylus replies sarcastically, “Which reminds me, here you are kitten.”

From a box sat on the counter he pulls out a black brick. At least it looks like a brick until he places it into your hand and you realize it’s a phone. 

“Um…thanks?” You say as you turn it over in your hands, “Is this a sex-present?”

Rafayel chuffs from your lap, reaching up and grabbing the thick device from you and giving it once over for himself, “It’s hardly portable. And not cutie’s style.”

“Your phone had a bug in it.” Sylus explains as he places his hands on his hips, “Some malware that kept track of pretty much everything you did on the device, and where you went. This one is unhackable, untraceable, and pretty much indestructible.”

“I can see that.” You say as your face scrunches, “Was just a virus or something? Or was this put on there?”

“Someone would have had to have access to your physical device to put the bug.” Sylus replies, and retrieves your old phone from the counter too. He hands it to you, but delicately like it was an explosive device instead of a cellular one. “And it’s likely been there for a while.”

“Great.” You deadpan, sighing as you examine the familiar device, “Can I get my photos off the phone or is it shot?”

Sylus chuckles at your exasperation, “Everything, photos included, are on the new phone. And yes, I’ve already added all your favorite people to the contacts list.”

You chuckle softly, “Thanks, Sylus.”

“What a troublemaker you’re turning out to be, miss housekeeper.” Rafayel muses, handing you back your new brick phone. “Remember not to go anywhere alone for a while, yeah?”

You set both phones to the side and return to Rafayel’s hair. Letting your fingers card through the silky strands. “Yeah, yeah. I won’t.”

<- Previous Next ->

[time-to-move-out-rex]

Easy, she’s not a soldier.

[psyenceagogo]

Yesterday it was Hide’s birthday party at Club Citta in Tokyo. All of his friends were there and apparently it was legenary. I wish I could have been there too. Maybe some year I’ll be able to go!

[since-summer]

[veebeeboo109]

Cleaning up the Timeline

{You and Xavier train. Rafayel teaches you to paint. And you have and appointment with Zayne.}

Read on ao3.

Tags: Reader/L&DS Men, Romance, Maid AU, Jealous!Xavier, Possessive Behavior, Mild NS!FW

Chapter 7: Checkup

After a day off, a long bubble bath, and an even longer nap, you felt marginally sane again. You would have never pegged Zayne as someone to be as modern as being in an open–? Poly? He didn’t seem to really know what it was, and how weird was that? Zayne’s parents were so traditional, you’d always assume Zayne would be the same. 

An adjustment, that’s all it was. And you spent your Sunday adjusting. Monday morning rolled around and you had forgotten about training with Xavier completely– until a soft knock came at 5:30am sharp.

You remembered it the moment you heard it, and scrambled out of bed. Calling out a hasty, “One minute!” As you scrounge for something to wear. Luckily for you, your limited wardrobe made it easy and you were dressed and ready in only a little over one minute. 

You weren’t exactly gym-chic, but who cared? Xavier clearly didn’t as he smiled brightly at you when you opened the door, “Ready?”

Your mind conjured a too-vivid fantasy of Xavier and Zayne. The sharp contrast between their light and dark– like watching sweet cream being poured into dark coffee. Your face flushed and you nodded, your voice a hoarse squeak, “ Yup.”

Xavier leads you to the gym and he makes sure the both of you have water before getting started. You weren’t sure what to expect but let him take the lead, letting him play ‘trainer and trainee’ which he seemed to enjoy. 

You started off with dynamic stretching and then some cardio. Xavier went to some stationary bikes and so you went too. Side by side, the two of you worked up a sweat for a while, too focused on keeping your heart rates up to really make conversation. 

Then it was on to strength training, and Xavier was…friendly. His fingers were warm when he adjusted your form on squats, and his eyes lingered whenever you finished a set. 

Xavier was remarkably strong for his physique– all precise lithe muscle without much bulk. Like his sword, a precise honed instrument for one thing only. You tried not to stare, but it was hard when you were supposed to be spotting him. 

You were relieved in more ways than one when the workout was over, and from routine alone you prepared yourself for combat drills and sparring next. That’s what the Hunter’s usually did. 

Only Xavier seemed to be done, and he saw your look of confusion and answered it with a proud smile, “We can work back up to sparring. How was today? Comfortable? Or too hard?”

“It was fine.” You answer, rolling your shoulders as that familiar ache settled over your body. It’d been too long since you’d pushed yourself, if you’d had to run from that statler yesterday, you’d probably be out of breath before you could get away. 

“You held yourself well before,” Xavier said, looking down at the water bottle in his hands instead of at your face, “I forgot to say it. But you did well.”

“Oh, thanks.” You said, a sparkle of pride blooming. It felt nice to be complimented on your skill in battle. You had assumed you’d made a fool of yourself, which is why Xavier had asked to train. 

“I need to get to patrol,” He explained, reaching out to place his hand on your shoulder. The thin strap of your workout shirt leaves little protection between your skin and his. His hand was larger than it appeared to be, and it expanded over the majority of your shoulder. His thumb drifted up, pressing into the tender pulse on your neck, and your breathing hitched. 

“What are you…” You breathed, but his hands squeezed slightly and your voice evaporated. 

“Checking your heart rate.” He answered your unfinished question. “It’s important to reach your target heart rate…”

You laughed and felt it shift his hand on you, “I know. Zayne reminds me of my heart a lot.”

“When do you see him next?” He asked, letting his hands fall, but sliding it down your arm as he did so.

“Wednesday. “ You replied, hoping he didn’t notice the little shiver that his benign gesture caused. 

Xavier seemed to think and then nodded, “Good. You can rest tomorrow and we’ll work out again Wednesday morning.”

It felt nice to be included and so you smiled and nodded, “Sounds like a plan. Now, off with you. I’ve got to get started on breakfast before Rafayel drags himself downstairs.”

There was a moment. A tiny almost imperceptible movement that Xavier made towards you, like he might try and hug you goodbye. But he stopped, turned, and left– taking his water bottle and towel with him.

After a quick shower, you start on breakfast. You had bought some premade pastries at the store and heated them up in the oven, and made some quick scrambled eggs. Xavier took a little longer than you to get ready; his hunter uniform is a bit more time-consuming than your sweater and pants. 

He sat down like he always did and asked about your day, what you had planned and if you were going to get your firearm soon. You answered with which rooms you were planning on cleaning and that no, you didn’t have plans for that yet. 

Zayne arrived, looking at his watch and always moving in a rush. The poor cardiac surgeon never allowed a proper breakfast, which is exactly why you got the pastries. You grabbed some parchment paper and wrapped two of the pastries up: a vanilla, and a raspberry. 

“Good morning,” Zayne greeted, setting his coat onto the counter while he moved to read messages on his phone. “Thank you, Y/N for breakfast again but I really have to–”

“I know,” You interrupted him, moving into his line of sight and handing him the warm offering, “Here. You can take it with you. Eat in the car, or in your office. Just make sure you eat.”

Zayne stared at the offered parcel like it was a prize, a sparkle in the gold of his eyes as the sweet smell of the pastries met his nose. He was such a sucker for sweets, and you felt mildly proud of yourself for thinking of it. 

“Thank you.” He said, taking the treats and then picking up his coat. He threw it over his arm and moved towards the door. You turned back to the stove, putting your back to him and heard him gently bid Xavier goodbye. The shuffle of movement makes you assume he’d given him another kiss to his temple. 

You wondered if you asked nicely if you could have one too. But that was ridiculous. Childish, even. You laughed at yourself at such a pathetic thought, but in the next moment there were fingertips in between your shoulder blades, pulling your attention away from the simmering eggs. 

You turned your head, and the fingers at your back moved to the back of your head, pulling you in so Zayne could press a quick, intentional kiss at your hairline. “Thank you, again.” He whispered into your hair, and you could only watch dumbfounded as he turned and left. 

When you finally managed to blink, you saw Xavier with his hand resting on his hand, elbow set next to his empty plate and his eyes staring you down with a mix of amusement and curiosity.

“Sorry,” You say quickly, turning back to the eggs and facing away from him. “I can tell him to stop if it makes you uncomfortable.”

You heard the barstool screech against the floor as it was scooted back. A sense of dejavu coming over you as you watch Xavier approach you from the corner of your eye.

“Why would you do that?” Xavier’s voice sounded different now. Lower and darker. 

“B-because he’s…because you two….” You cleared your throat and continued to stir the eggs, turning them more into tiny crumbles instead of thick scrambles. 

The heat from the stove became even more intense as the air around you turned icy. Xavier placed a hand next to the stove and crowded into your space, nearly pressing his back into yours. Heat leaching into you and your senses shivering like the gaze of a predator had fallen on your soft prey skin.

“The only thing wrong with what just happened…” Xavier’s voice was a hushed rumble, like thunder in the distance, “Was that I didn’t get my share…”

You swallowed hard, and tried to keep still. His breath had ghosted across the back of your neck, he must be so close. His lips were only one accidental movement away from your skin. It took more effort than you thought it would to not move. To stay completely still and not move back into him– into the awaiting expanse of him that seemed to pull at you like fishhooks in your bones. 

“Did he not..?” You stuttered, hands having stopped in their movement, “Did he not give you one?”

“No, he did.” Xavier’s hiss was at your ear now, “You said it wasn’t part of your contract…but Zayne has gotten two now, and I’ve gotten none.”

His words knocked something loose in your brain and you set the spatula down and turned. He was close. Close enough you had to crane your neck to meet his eyes, and you found a black void there. It was the angriest you’d ever seen him, “What?”

The arm not braced on the countertop went around you, fingertips grazing against the curve of your spine. His eyes never left you, and his head tilted slightly, “Are you playing favorites, Miss Housekeeper?”

“Don’t–” You squeaked, “I have a name.”

The corners of Xavier’s mouth quirked up, “ Y/N , I’ll ask again. Are you playing favorites?”

Your brain, which was only partially functional at this point, came up with a sharp remark, but what left your lips was, “N-no.”

“Then I should get two, right?” Xavier asked hoarsely, “Or, something equivalent.”

You swallowed again, “Something equivalent?”

“I could give you two.” Xavier ran his fingers up and up and up your back, flattening out just beneath your shoulder blades, “Or you could give me one.”

You recalled the last time Xavier asked you about this, but that had been so different. He’d be almost curious then. Inquisitive instead of interrogatory. He had asked about Zayne’s slip up like someone was passing out candy and he’d been forgotten. This time…this time was an offense. A crime to be punished for, and he was determined to get his due. 

“I thought you were with…” Your voice was barely a whisper, and came out like a guilty plea, “I don’t understand.”

“Two?” Xavier continued darkly, “Or one?”

Your mind short circuited, the touch on your back searing into your skin and misfiring in your brain. You’d never been so overcome before, and by such an innocuous thing. He was asking for a goodbye kiss of all things, and you were getting weak in the knees like some medieval virgin that saw too much ankle. 

But something about Xavier burned so intensely. A nuclear reactor– both subdued and dangerous, and the scent of him was like some potent drug. You felt a bit lost when he was too close, a bit dreamy like you weren’t really here. Like this wasn’t really you. 

“Two.” You heard your voice reply, though you were sure your brain hadn’t thought a thing. 

Xavier hummed, pleased, and pulled you in by his hand on your back. Reflexively, you tilted your head down expecting him to kiss the same spot that Zayne had, but he used his other hand to hold your chin. Tilting your head up and pulling a gasp from your lips. 

His lips pressed against your cheek, nearly on your jaw, and your hand snapped onto his upper arm– searching for something stable to hold onto. 

“One.” He whispered, lips moving against your cheek as he only moved far enough away to inhale. 

You tilted your head back as he moved down, prostrating yourself to his teeth and his desires. He could tear your throat out, bite down and thrash like a dog and you’d let him. What a horrible delectable feeling, to be so at the mercy of someone. 

He pressed his lips again, more open this time so that when he pulled away you felt the cool dot of saliva he left behind, “Two.”

A barely audible whimper escaped you, and you weren’t sure whether to faint or to fight anymore. Xavier pulled away, looking smug and victorious, “There, now I’ll be twice as lucky today.”

He let you go slowly, almost making sure you could stand on your own before he stepped away. On his way out he grabbed a warm pastry, stuffing it in his mouth like his victory meal and leaving the house like a conquering hero. 

You were stuck there. Breathless and standing on a knife’s edge. A part of you wanting to sink into the sticky, syrupy feeling of affection– and the other buzzing with anger at being manipulated. What was that? What was the point of that? 

As soon as you feel like you understand things, then they go and do something else! 

You weren’t sure how long you stood there, only that the smell of burning eggs is what broke you from your spiraling thoughts. You quickly moved the eggs and sighed exasperatedly at the black char on the bottom of them. 

Stupid Xavier and his angelic eyes and his devil tongue. Stupid Zayne and his savored affection and sweet touch. They would be the death of you, if something else didn’t get you first. You felt like a bone being tossed into a lion’s den, gnawed at and exposed for their enjoyment. 

Were you a bone to starving lions? Or lion yourself? You realized the only reason you were struggling so much was the idea that you would ruin whatever it was that was going on between them. You were many things, but you weren’t a homewrecker. You wouldn’t participate if it meant coming between them, despite Xavier and his…persuasion.

Cleaning keeps your mind and your body busy. You were sore from your workout from Xavier but it worked in keeping you from thinking too much about your interaction that morning. 

You were debating telling Zayne about it, for transparency's sake. But that made your stomach curl in on itself. What would you even say? ‘Hey, your not-boyfriend demanded a goodbye kiss this morning and I trembled like a touch-starved virgin?’

You sighed and shook your head as you put away the cleaning caddy you had been using, “I should just leave.” You whisper to yourself.

“Where are you going?” A voice spoke from behind you, making you nearly jump out of your skin.

Rafayel grinned down at you, hands on his hips and his shirt covered in splotches of paint.

“What?” You questioned as you let your heart recover from the scare.

“You said you were going to leave, where are you going?” Rafayel shifted his weight onto one foot and jutted out his hip.

“No where.” You replied as you shut the door on the supply closet, “I was just thinking.”

The smudge of pale lavender paint on the side of Rafayel’s lips stretched as he frowned, and he looked unconvinced. He clicked his tongue and you saw him move on from that thought.

“Come with me, I need your eyes.” Rafayel reached out and took your hand, his palm was warm but his fingertips cool and you hoped he didn’t mind the slight dampness on yours.

“You need my eyes?” You repeated as he dragged you along towards his studio. 

Cool, ventilated air hit you as you entered his creative domain. A fan in the corner stirring up a sketchbook and fluttering its canvas pages. It made it almost too cool for comfort here, but Rafayel didn’t seem to mind. 

“I started a new series.” Rafayel explained as he pulled you to the low goldenrod couch. With a little maneuvering he sat you down and then walked over to grab a large square canvas that was leaning against a work table. “Tell me what you think.”

Rafayel held up the canvas in front of him, his paint stained fingers careful to remain along the edges. 

“I’m hardly qualified to critique your work,” You protested.

Rafayel’s pout nearly made you cackle, “You do it. Tell me if it’s too waiting-room.”

You sighed and examined the work. It was soft. That was your first thought. Clearly a depiction of flowers floating on the surface of water. Though it was hazy, the edges all softened and slightly blurred. Dreamlike and ethereal but still very real. Like you could reach out and feel the softness of the petals or ripple the surface of the water.

“It’s beautiful.” You say as you sit up a bit straighter. “It’s so soft. How do you make it feel so glowy?”

Rafayel peers around the edge of his painting and then back to you, “Blending mostly. Reflected light, and making sure the color palette is cohesive.”

He sits the painting down and goes back to you, bending down to take your hand that was sitting on your knee. “Here I’ll show you.” 

And again, you’re being pulled. You pass by three more paintings on the floor that match the one he showed you, all flowers on different liquid surfaces. One is multicolored and iridescent and the flowers are surrounded with bubbles like they’re floating in a bath. Another on shifting wine-dark seawater, edged with churning foam.

He brings you to an easel in the corner, a few other unfinished paintings sit on the floor discarded and a large rectangular canvas sits on its ledge. A workstation is sat next to it, a glass palette on top of it and several containers of long paintbrushes alongside it.

“Sit,” He directs as he pulls a stool over and sets you on in. Placed directly in front of the canvas you feel too much like a kid in front of a fragile vase. One wrong move and it’s shattered. 

Rafayel’s hand settles on your back, sliding down to rest at the base of your spine as he plucks a paintbrush out and hands it to you.

“Hold it back here.” He shows you with his own hand, “And let us just barely touch the canvas.” 

You jerk back as he begins to guide your hand to the painting, “I can’t. I’ll ruin it!”

“There is no ruining it.” Rafayel’s voice is a rumble in your ear, “Just changing. Now, let the brush just barely touch the surface and swirl it. Like tickling it.” 

You can’t help but giggle softly and let Rafayel hold his hand over yours as the paintbrush barely kisses the wet paint. The forget-me-nots have barely come into fruition, Rafayel must have been working on them still as he slides his and your hands to feather the edge of a petal, blending it into the crystalline water.

“Good.” Rafayel coos and you feel his voice as much as you hear it. It slides down you like a shot of liquor sending a shiver down your spine and heat in your belly. 

The fingertips on your back feel like they press harder into you, but you’re sure that’s your imagination.

“Now you try.” Rafayel lets go of your hand. You turn your head to look at him but his expression is unreadable.

“Are you sure?” You ask, still worried about somehow ruining his work.

Rafayel grins, “I’ll just have to make sure you sign your name next to mine on this one. Since you did help.” 

You laugh, “Yeah, sure.”

“I’m serious, cutie. Your hands have touched it, so I can’t take full credit.” Rafayel hummed and watched you hesitantly continue to blend.

He steps onto your other side and he lowers his chin down onto your shoulder. The weight of him makes you freeze and then your head, but that makes your hair shift over him. And your face was far too close to his.

“How are you getting along?” He asks, eyes glued to the canvas and your frozen brush. You feel the rumble of his voice on your back, “With the others?”

“Oh…um…” Words are hard when you're this flustered. A sane part of you argues for your personal space, but another sadder more starved part of you hushes the other. 

You clear your throat before continuing, “It’s going well. Zayne explained a little about your situation.”

His chin shifts, head tilting closer into your neck, “He did?”

You nod and try to focus on the other flower and not the addition of his hands in your waist, “Mhmm. I got to talk more with Sylus the other day, and Xavier has offered to train with me. It’s nice. I feel like we can all be friends, you know?”

Rafayel huffs and his breath tickles your neck, “Friends, huh?”

He shifts, moving to press himself against your back fully. Boldly. A low inquiring rumble vibrates behind you. “I feel like I should warn you about your new friends , then.”

The seriousness in his tone contrasts against the warm lighting and the tenderness in his touch. Like his body and voice weren’t connected at all. Because he holds you like someone cradles something precious– like he’d held his painting not a few minutes before. Keeping his fingers along the edge to preserve the image. 

But his voice is a drawl. The low tone of a bow across a cello, setting a tone of solemn disdain. He sounded disappointed, or maybe irritated? He was hard to define, and harder to know. It felt like each time you saw him he was something new, and you had to learn all over again. 

“How so?” You whisper, his hand gliding up the curve of your waist and trailing down your arm back to your wrist. His long fingers wrap around you, and pull your brush over to the palette. As if you were his paintbrush, he effortlessly swishes the bristles into smears of his mixed paints, picking up form blobs around the corner to create a deeper hue. 

In an act of puppetry, Rafayel draws you back to the painting and begins to paint with your hand. His chest stretched across your shoulder and his breath brushing against your ear. The silence in the room deafened by the soft brush of his exhale. 

“Zayne is clueless.” Rafayel said, his lips quirking upwards, “For someone so smart, he rarely knows what’s going on. Don’t count on him for answers. Come to me instead.”

His face was on the other side of you now, and you turned to argue in defense of your friend. But Rafayel was already looking at you, smirking. He continued, silencing your protest before it began, “Sylus is a glutton. Don’t give him anything you aren’t willing to give up completely. Unless you want him following you around like a lost little puppy, don’t bother with him.”

The spark of irritation you had felt for Zayne is only stoked higher. You didn’t know Sylus well, if at all, but he hardly deserved to be talked down to like that. A sense of defensiveness swelled in your chest, and you were scowling at him, open mouth ready to argue.

“And Xavier’s a liar.” Rafayel continued, no one in the house safe from his critique it seemed, “He wants to train? Yeah, right. He wants to hoard your time. He’s worse than Sylus sometimes, and he’s twice as jealous.”

You scoff, believing now that Rafayel was making stuff up just to confuse you, “Jealous? Of what?”

The hand holding your wrist and glissading across the canvas stopped, and the grip tightened. Rafayel’s alexandrite eyes turned on you like the sight of a bow, and an arrow was knocked. 

His other arm wrapped around your waist, sliding until his hand was firmly gripping your hip and squeezing until it almost hurt. A darkness brewed in his eyes, expanding like cold-front of an ocean storm. 

You swallowed, suddenly feeling pinned. Worse than this morning when Xavier had crowded you up against the countertop. That felt like being cornered. This felt like being snared. You were tangled in a net and the more you moved the worse it got. 

“Of anything and everything that takes your attention away from him.” Rafayel’s words brushed against you, his lips so close. 

You were breathing fast, ensnared in the multicolor of his eyes and the heat from him leaching into you.

“He’s bad at sharing.” Rafayel looked slightly amused at the rabbit-like wideness to your eyes, “The worst of us.”

“I didn’t…” Nonsense is all that could escape you. “I don’t want to get between.”

“Oh cutie .” Rafayel’s hand around your wrist slid down, flicking the paintbrush out of your fingers and letting it clatter to the floor. He grabbed your palm and drew it close. You were completely wrapped up in him now. A little guppy tangled up in the paralyzing fingers of an anemone. “ Are you sure about that?”

Your heart stopped, “What?”

Rafayel grinned and suddenly the ear-popping pressure of his presence backed off. The arm around your waist slid back to settle benignly at your spine, and the hand clenched around yours eased. He blinked and the storm in his eyes was replaced with sunny playfulness, “Don’t worry so much. You’ll get wrinkles.”

You could feel him dismiss this, and frowned, “No, what do you mean? I’m not trying to get in between you guys. I’m not that kind of person.”

“You’re not? That’s a shame.” Rafayel took a step back and you felt you might fall off your stool without him for a moment. He placed his hands on his hips, taunting you, “It’s too bad you’re already there.”

“What’s that mean?” You stand up, “If I’m causing problems I’ll leave. Is Xavier mad at me? Is that why he–”

“He what?” Rafayel’s chin lowered.

You huffed, “Zayne kissed me goodbye this morning. On the forehead, nothing crazy. And Xavier wanted one too. Only he…he wanted a slightly different one.”

Rafayel scoffs, “He tries to act so cool, but he’s so predictable sometimes. I knew he’d break first. Look cutie, stop thinking of us like some four-way engagement that you’ll somehow put a wedge in. Stop tiptoeing and overthinking.”

“I’m just here to clean. “ You raise your hands in a wall in front of you, “I got put on leave at my job and kicked out of my apartment. That’s the only reason why I’m here. I think you’re overthinking this.”

Rafayel crossed his arms, “Oh, yeah? Well, the last two housekeepers lasted less than a week each. Xavier never even saw them, and you can bet Zayne wasn’t giving them little good-bye kisses. Sylus avoided them like the plague and when he did see them  he made sure to put the fear of God into them. Regardless of how you got here, you’re here now. And it’s different.”

You cross your arms, an unconscious movement to seek some comfort. It was overwhelming to imagine that all four of them liked you enough to not only keep you around but to want you here. 

“Well, save your declarations of love until after I clean your studio.” You say, hoping to deflect some of this pressure. “I’ll be sure to move everything.”

Rafayel laughs and steps forward, reaching out like he might place his hand on the side of your face, but changing his mind at the last second. “Just let me know if you change any of them. So you can sign them too.”

__________________

You spend Tuesday in Rafayel’s studio. He spends a remarkable amount of time not painting. Lazing about on the couch, or flipping through sketchbooks. He mumbles to himself and scrolls on his phone, and only precious few moments are spent actually working. 

It confounds you that he can be such a popular and famous artist if this is how his days look. 

You don’t know why you're irritated with him, and when you first enter his studio its with the intention to wreck it. It wouldn’t occur to you later that anger is just the replacement for confusion, and frankly– embarrassment. 

It takes less than an hour for you to change your mind. You meticulously flatten out the crumpled pieces of sketchbook paper and lay them in a stack. Trash is still thrown away, and the floor is swept in piecemeal. You pick up tubes of paint, wipe beneath them, and place them exactly where they were before. Canvases are shifted to sweep behind and then put back.

Your threat of moving everything turns into an apologetic, agonizing amount of effort to not do that. There is love in Rafayel’s work, and it feels too wrong to try and wound him that way. 

So, you clean the studio and it looks the same as when you started sans scattered papers, trash, dust bunnies, etc. It’s all around just a shinier, more pristine chaos. 

Rafayel tries on more than one occasion to get you to help him again. He lures you in with inquiries about color choices. Which paint brush is your favorite? Can you hold this for me? Here, stand there, you can be my model. No, don’t pout at me miss housekeeper. I’m serious!

The tempestuous aura he had yesterday is gone, replaced by a more familiar pestering. It’s easier to deal with, and honestly a bit fun. He pouts so childishly when you deny him. 

It takes you all day to finish the studio and you’re so exhausted you text Zayne you can’t make dinner and then promptly pass out. 

Wednesday morning rolls around and you wake up before your alarm. Your heart is racing and stomach fluttering. You’d promised to train with Xavier again today before your appointment with Zayne. Your last interaction with the blond has left you unsure of what to expect, and you’re equal parts confused and buzzing with anticipation. 

Xavier knocks on your door and smiles at you with that blinding sweetness. You’re dressed and ready this time, and follow him to the gym like nothing has changed. Had it?

He pushes a little harder today. Like he wanted to make sure you feel it. It distracts you enough to all but forget about the last time Xavier was close to you. The possession in his touch and how you knew for almost certain it wasn’t because of his feelings for Zayne. 

You’re panting and tired by the time you’re done, and only when you're nearly ready to tap out does Xavier relent. 

Xavier tells you you're done and you collapse out of your plank onto the padded floor below. You hear his soft chuckle from above and then his gentle fingers nudging your hair to the side. They trail downward to palm at your shoulder and he helps you up. 

“You did well.” He crooned. His crooked fingers lift your chin and place your water bottle to your lips, letting you drink– keeping you there until he’s satisfied you’ve hydrated enough. 

“Thanks.” You pant in between gulps of air. Leveling out, you go to stand but Xavier is there, offering his hand which you take. He hauls you up and keeps his hand in yours like you might be unsteady. It’s not until you look at your clasped hands that he lets go. 

You part ways and the rest of the morning plays out the same as it had before, only Zayne isn’t there. A note and a text both letting you know he had to leave early. His pretty handwriting on a little sticky note which also assures you that he has eaten. 

You make breakfast and Xavier eats his portion. He thanks you, puts his dish in the sink and then comes to your side. His hand sliding across your back to keep you in place. 

Xavier’s laugh is low as you look up at him with your bottom lip between your teeth. He tilts his head, “Does it make you uncomfortable? If it’s not Zayne?”

Your mouth falls open, “No. I mean…maybe. It’s new. That’s all.”

“New.” He repeats the word like he's tasting it. Letting it mull in his mouth as his brows tilt downward. He blinks and focuses back on you, “So then– one, or two?”

Your stomach flips and you keep your clammy hands clenched, “One.”

Xavier’s smile could blind someone someday. It’s a hazard and should be regulated, surely. You nearly stumble and the genuine eagerness that appears in his face. The teasing and amusement melting into something so deeply, and emphatically pure.

He happily lowers his head down for you, closing his eyes like you might bestow him a crown. You can’t help but laugh, for all his boyish charms he’s still ridiculously tall and has to practically kneel so you can kiss his forehead. 

Call it a spark of insanity, or perhaps a lack of self-preservation, you step forward, placing your foot in between his. You pinch his chin in between your thumb and forefinger, maneuvering as you wish as you tilt him up slightly. 

His eyes open and he looks so caught off guard that he might faint. You lean in, and Xavier’s breathing stops. 

When you press a chaste kiss to the tip of his nose, a ragged vulnerable exhale leaves him. Like you’ve wounded him, but simultaneously blessed him too. A too-raw expression making you wonder if you miscalculated. 

“Only one, right?” You ask, all the bravado leaving you at the sudden flash in his eyes. You can almost see him debate, closing the distance himself as his eyes flick down to your lips before going back up again. 

He closes his eyes and nods, “Right. Only a normal amount of luck then.”

You laugh lightly as Xavier straightens up, “Be careful, yeah?”

Xavier pauses to give you another affirming nod and then leaves. 

When you’re alone in the kitchen, you exhale like you’ve just run a marathon and continue with preparing the other two’s breakfast. You’ve learned by now to just put them in containers for whenever they decide to eat. 

Maybe Rafayel was right, and you need to stop overthinking. It did feel remarkably good to just….enjoy. 

You realize you should have asked Xavier for a ride when you realize you don’t have your own transportation less than thirty minutes later. It pains you to order a taxi– the price alone makes your chest hurt, but it's not like it's your last dime anymore. Which is nice. 

The ride to the hospital is spent with its normal amount of pre-appointment nerves. Zayne is ruthless when it comes to your health, and it doesn’t help that you can’t exactly lie to him and tell him anymore. Not when he knows every meal you eat and the amount of sleep you’re getting. 

You greet the receptionist and wait less than five minutes before Zayne comes out to get you. He’s wearing an emerald button up and charcoal vest under his white coat today, and he looks so very good in green. The lab coat doesn’t hurt either. 

His office doubles as an exam room for his patients, and you go over to the table and sit on the crunchy paper when he directs you to. 

The first part is always the same. Vitals. Heart Rate, O2, Blood pressure. He takes a small blood sample and listens to your heart with a good old-fashioned stethoscope. There was plenty of technology that made stethoscopes unnecessary in many cases, but Zayne always said he liked to do things with his own hands, and listen with his own ears.

“How have you been sleeping?” He asks as he scribbles down a note with the stylus on the tablet next to him. “Any more disruptions?”

You shake your head, “I’m sleeping fine. I hardly wake up at night anymore.”

“That’s good.” Zayne replies coolly, “I’m reluctant to prescribe my heart patients with sleeping medication.”

“How are you sleeping?” You turn back to him, “You’ve been at the hospital a lot lately.”

Zayne’s hazel eyes flicker up to you and he shakes his head, “I go where I’m needed. There’s been more fluctuations lately.”

“Ah, I see.” You reply lamely. “That doesn’t mean you don’t need sleep. Are you still sleeping in your office?”

Zayne’s eyes narrow, “I believe this is your examination. Not mine.”

“I worry. That’s all.” You reply quickly. “So, what’s the prognosis, doctor Zayne? How long do I have?”

“I hate those jokes, you know that.” Zayne condemns with an icy look, “You’re doing well. Your vitals are slightly better than the last appointment, and the preliminary blood work is acceptable.”

You nod as Zayne goes over to his desk and you hop down from the exam table to follow him. He places his tablet down next to his computer and then turns back to you, “I’d like you to eat more iron, and make sure you’re resting when you can.”

“Xavier kissed me.”

It’s not the reply you intended, but it’s what came out. Zayne doesn’t physically react beyond looking up at you sharply. 

“What?”

You pick at your nails and scramble to pick up the pieces of your sudden confession. “It wasn’t too crazy or anything! He wanted a goodbye kiss too! And then he did it twice, and then this morning I kissed him back.”

Zayne was silent. His middle fingertip tapping against the lacquered wood of his desk was the only movement besides his eyes. They searched your face and then closed.

“I didn’t want to keep it from you.” You say quickly, “He said… and Rafayel– I’m sorry.”

Oh god, you fucked it up. You crossed a line. You were a homewrecker! You’d crushed Zayne’s heart by kissing his boyfriend and you’d let Rafaye convince you it was ok! You were definitely fucking his studio up now. No canvas was safe. 

“I see.” His voice in a deadly timbre, and you freeze. He approaches you slowly, a deadly prowl like the languid elegance of a jaguar. “Did he make you uncomfortable?

You lick at your lips, feeling suddenly dry, “No. Not really.”

Zayne nods and reaches out, holding your chin and resting his thumb against your bottom lip. The coolness of his touch makes your knees wobble. Zayne never touches you. Never initiates anything beyond chaste and familial contact. This is…

“Was it here?” Zayne asks, eyes locked on where his thumb pulls down your lower lip ever so slightly. 

You try not to move, afraid if you do he’ll flee. This delicate blossom of intimacy he’s given you too precious to lose. 

“N-no.” You whisper, barely moving your lips. His touch becomes a bit firmer, pressing into both your top and bottom lip and you resist the urge to kiss it properly. You’re suddenly very aware of your tongue too. 

“Where then?” Zayne’s whispering now, reserved still like he’s afraid to know the answer. He lets his head drift away from your chin, the backs of his fingers brushing against your cheek.

“M-my cheek first.” You explain, confessing like a child to their teacher. You felt like you were in trouble, but being honest would keep you out of a worse punishment.  Reaching up, you point to the place on your jaw where Xavier had kissed first. “Then…” You swallow, “Then my neck.”

You point that out too, and Zayne’s eyes follow the movement. 

“And you?” Zayne cups your jaw and swipes his thumb over where Xavier had kissed over two days ago. “Where did you kiss him?”

“On the nose. This morning.” You confess. 

Zayne blinks, the gears in his labyrinthine mind turning. You wouldn’t wager a bet to even guess what he was thinking. Flip flopping between fear and tenuous hope. 

His other hand goes to rest on your upper arm, and draws you in. 

“Zayne,” You whisper, moving along with him as he uses the hand on your jaw to tilt your face up. “Are you…Are you mad at me?”

Zayne replies with a hum, “I’m not sure.”

A stab to your gut, you scramble for more apologies. Willing to fall on your sword to gain his forgiveness again. 

“Don’t misinterpret me,” Zayne says a bit firmer, “You’re free to do as you wish. As is Xavier. I just…find myself…” 

He exhales and it sounds like it shakes, but you chock that up to your delirious imagination. 

“I didn’t want to cross that line with you.” Zayne sounds like he’s talking more to himself than to you. “I wanted to keep things professional, so you weren’t uncomfortable. But…but I find myself thinking of it more and more lately. Dreaming of it.”

You sink into his hold, the fear of his anger evaporating at his ragged words. “Dreaming of what?”

The hand on your jaw moves back down to place the tips of his middle and forefinger at the curve of your cupid’s bow, drawing a line down to the corner. “Can I have this spot? Can I ?”

You're suddenly dizzy, and worry for a moment that the taxi you rode here in is in a ditch and you're living out some pre-death fantasy, high on chemicals just before you die. 

Zayne’s head tilts to the side, taking you in. The moment stretches on for ages as your mind– sticky with his honeyed words– slowly begins to understand. He wants to kiss you. He’s asking to kiss you. 

The moment the realization hits you’re nodding and shifting forward, but Zayne is already there. Sliding his hand across your jaw and into your hair, intertwining his fingers as much as he can without grabbing it. 

His lips are warm as they press against you, pushing and pushing until you’re reeling from the pressure. He shifts and you follow, a slow sweet kiss sliding down into something richer. 

Hungry is the word you think of when you feel his lips ply at yours, opening you up from closed-mouth pecks into something more open and wet. Your first taste of him is so deafening you don’t even realize what it is, your mind three steps behind your body. 

Cool and sweet. Like soft butter mints. 

You wonder what you must taste like to him as he draws his teeth against your bottom lip. It must be good because he groans like he’s been wounded, and dives back in with more fervor and heat than before. 

The backs of your legs knock into his desk, a picture frame clattering over and onto the floor. It goes unheard and unnoticed as Zayne’s hands leave your hair to claw at your leg, pulling you up to sit on the edge of the desk. 

You whine into his mouth. A willingly and eager participant as you wrap your arms around his neck, keeping him close. A hedonistic thrall that entwines you both.

 A man possessed. Completely overcome and rendered down to nothing but physicality. His brain must be off, and you were glad it was. Lucid Zayne would never shift the books next to your hips to the side. Never hook his fingers under your knee to ply them apart so he could fit between them. 

He’d never use the wide expanse of his shoulders to hunch over you, slowly but surely pressing you further and further into the desktop. 

“ So sweet.” He groans under his breath and it slides down your spine like the hit of a drug. Settling in your core and you can’t help the breathy moan you answer him with. 

Your mewl is met with a roll of his hips. And it’s the most mind-numbing friction and simultaneously not enough. You cling to him as he grinds again, caught up in his own mind-numbing sensations. 

“We can’t…” You have just enough sense to whisper, remembering where you are. Zayne growls and drags his lips down to your jaw and then to your neck, sucking a mark onto your pulse. 

Zayne doesn’t seem to care. Continuing to move his clothed hips against yours until you’re close to tears. Close to begging him to just shift some clothes to the side. Move whatever he has to to get closer. 

Knock. Knock. Knock. 

Like a death knell on the room, Zayne freezes mid thrust. His hips pressed firmly against yours. You’re holding onto his shoulders for dear life, wrinkling his pristine, white coat and his glasses are halfway down his nose. 

“ Dr. Zayne, your next patient is here. I’ve been messaging.”

“Shit.” You curse at the sound of the kind, but timid nurse on the other side of the door. 

“Give me five minutes.” Zayne answers, voice even– like he’d caught up reading a book and not tearing you apart. 

“Zayne.” You say quietly, unsure of what to do now.

He stands up and takes you with him, sitting up on his desk and moving to correct your shifted clothing. With a stern expression, he preens your hair and wipes at your face. 

“I got carried away.” He sounds guilty and you can’t help but laugh.

“I didn’t mind.” You say, hoping he’ll smile. He does. 

He adjusts his clothing and fixes his glasses, “We shouldn’t do this at the hospital.”

You laugh again and shake your head, holding his hand as he helps you off the desk. You help him pick up the scattered decor and set the photo back up. An old photo of when he’d graduated college, his parents standing next to him. 

“Are you alright? I didn’t–” He clears his throat, “I didn’t hurt you did I?”

You firmly shake your head, “No you didn’t hurt me. Just the opposite. Unless you start spouting about this being a mistake. That would hurt.”

Zayne reaches out, petting your hair and placing his forehead to the top of yours, “Never. We got carried away, but this was not a mistake.”

“Good,” You reply. “I should go though, before she comes back.”

“Right.” Zayne looks physically reluctant to step away, but he manages it. “I’ll be home for dinner. I’ll see you then.”

You squeeze his hand, the last part of him to let go and then step away. “I’ll see you then.”

__________________________

You’re giddy the whole ride home. Buzzing with returned affection while simultaneously straining under unreleased tension. Any discomfort forgotten until you get to your room. 

You rush up the stairs, thankful no one else is around to see you flee. Locking the door behind you, you throw yourself down onto your bed, fully intending on sliding your hand down your pants as soon as you can. The remnants of Zayne’s touch enough to make you heart-poundingly desperate. 

Only you feel something under you. And you move to see what it is. 

A black box, wrapped in satiny black wrapping and a pretty crimson bow on top. You check for a tag, but find none. A little confused, you open it. Sliding it open and finding another box within. Only this one is more industrial and familiar. A gun case for a handgun. You flick open the latch and open it, surprised to see a 9mm handgun. Carbon black and trimmed with red. The handle and barrel are carved with a pretty scrolling script and down the lines of it are embedded with shiny red resin. It's tasteful. It's elegant. 

Checking the safety you lift it from its cushiony box and examine it closer. When you lift it however, you hear soft tinkling. And see a charm as been hooked to it– a juvenile addition to a very pretty gun. 

At the end of the chain is the cutesy head of a black cat. Smiling and round. It looked like something you’d win in a claw machine. And surely could not have come with a gun like this. 

You look back into the gun case and see a note, which had been placed underneath the firearm. 

A single folded card.

An extra claw for the kitten.

S

You huff in amusement and examine the gun again. Did Sylus really get you a gun? It’s extravagant and a bit odd, but you like it. It’s been a long time since you’d held a gun, and the weight of it was familiar and a bit exhilarating. 

A thought occurred to you as you placed the gun back into its case. Were you being wooed right now?

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