Zayne and MC are always on call—but desire doesn’t wait for convenience. Between emergencies and interruptions, they're left aching, dripping, and desperate to finally finish what they started. A smut-heavy, emotionally-charged oneshot full of panty-sniffing, whispered praise, and mutual ruin.
Heavily inspired by @bizarrelovetriangel's incredible fic Captive (read it if you haven’t, it's super slay!!).
Featuring: Soft dom Zayne, Panty-sniffing, Desk sex, Cockwarming, Hand on throat (not choking), Explicit PIV sex, Mutual begging/pining, Masturbation, Interrupted Aftercare, Delayed Gratification.
Zayne had outdone himself.
The restaurant he had taken Mc to was obscenely romantic. Dim lighting, velvet-lined booths, low music humming beneath clinking glasses and whispered conversations. The tablecloths were satin. Candles flickered in crystal holders. The air smelled of expensive vanilla and money.
MC leaned back in her seat and arched a brow.
“So tell me, Doctor. What did you have to bribe to get a reservation at this place? Blood? Organs? A kidney from a Wanderer?”
Across from her, Zayne gave a soft, amused smile. He was in a slate black shirt, sleeves rolled to the elbows, tie loosened slightly at the collar. His glasses caught the candlelight just enough to make him look deliciously edible.
“No bribes,” he said casually. “The head chef here had a health scare a couple months back, and I was the lead physician on his case.”
Zayne looked up at her, his eyes filled with admiration. “He told me if I ever found someone special, to bring them here. That he’d always have a table saved for me.”
Mc laughed, hiding it behind her wine glass. “Of course, you saved a man’s life, to use it for seductive leverage. Do you bring all the girls you date here?”
“This is not seduction, and you’re not just any woman.” He said, but his tone, his eyes, shifted into something darker, hungrier. “I just wanted tonight to be…special.”
Something in the way he said it made her straighten.
This wasn’t their first date, not by a long shot. They’d been together for a few weeks now, navigating long shifts, late nights, missed calls and busy schedules. But this was meant to be the night. The one where they finally crossed the line they’d been tiptoeing around for months.
Years even.
And they both knew it.
“Special, huh?” she asked, voice a little softer.
“Yeah.” He leaned forward slightly, fingers brushing the edge of her hand on the table. “No interruptions. No pagers. Just you. Me. And everything we’ve both been waiting for.”
She felt it then, that ache, low in her core. The way her thighs pressed together under the table wasn’t lost on her. Or on him.
So she decided to have a little fun.
She slipped off her heel under the table and stretched her foot out, gently running it up the inside of his leg.
Zayne blinked. Stilled. Looked up at her slowly.
She smiled sweetly. “Tell me all the things you’d do to me if we weren’t in public right now.”
His throat bobbed. His hands stayed flat on the table. His eyes, however, darkened.
“You really want me to answer that?” he asked, voice low.
“Desperately.”
He leaned in, almost conspiratorial, lips parted like he was about to confess something filthy enough to make the flowers on the table wilt-
“Is there a doctor in the restaurant?! Please, we need help!”
They both froze.
A waiter was rushing down the aisle toward the kitchen. “Someone’s having an allergic reaction! They’re swelling, breathing issues-please!”
Zayne was already standing.
MC’s foot dropped back to the floor with a sigh.
“You have got to be kidding me.”
He turned back to her, hand already pulling his coat from the back of the chair.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured, pressing something cold into her hand. His keys. “Go to my place. I’ll meet you there when this is handled.”
MC looked up at him, disappointment flickering across her face despite herself.
“You sure you don’t want me to come with you?”
“No.” His voice was gentle but firm. “I need to know you’re safe. I need to know I have something to come home to.”
He cupped her face, thumb brushing her cheekbone.
“Just wait for me.”
Then he kissed her, just a brush of lips to her temple, soft and aching.
And then he was gone.
❄️❄️❄️
It was well past midnight when Zayne finally made it home.
His shoulder ached from a long, gruelling surgery. His gloves were still faintly stained with iodine and blood. He hadn’t eaten or sat down since the restaurant.
But none of that mattered.
Because when he stepped into his apartment, he knew immediately she was there.
Her heels were by the door.
His coat was draped over the back of the couch, the keys exactly where he asked her to leave them. The air still held a trace of her perfume, soft and floral and dangerous.
He moved quietly, wanting to surprise her. In his hands he held a beautiful bouquet of roses, he had had a coworker pick up while he was in surgery.
Though the night had been ruined, he planned on making up for it in any way he could. Perhaps the night could be salvaged after all.
He didn’t expect to find what he did.
The bedroom light was dimmed to a soft glow, barely enough to see, but it was enough. Enough to see her lying across the centre of his bed, fast asleep on top of the covers, hair tousled, cheek pressed into his pillow.
And she was wearing lingerie.
Not just lingerie. Black, sheer, delicate. Something expensive. Something chosen. Her thighs were slightly parted, the fabric hugged every curve, every inch of skin he hadn’t touched yet.
Zayne stood frozen in the doorway.
His heart twisted.
She had been waiting.
And not just waiting. Planning. She wanted tonight to be the night.
Their first time.
He hadn’t touched her yet. Not really. Not like this. There’d been kisses. Heated, desperate ones. Wandering hands, half-dressed makeout sessions, whispered promises in the dark.
But they hadn’t had sex.
Every time they tried, something pulled them apart. Work. War. The universe itself.
And now she lay there, ready for him, and he was too late.
His throat tightened.
Zayne stepped closer, quieter now, setting his bag down by the dresser. He didn’t want to wake her, not like this. Not when her breathing was soft and even, her body curled around the spot he always slept.
But then she stirred.
Her lashes fluttered. A small, sleepy sound escaped her lips.
“Zayne?”
His heart cracked.
“Yeah,” he whispered, voice hoarse as he sat at the edge of the bed. “I’m here, baby.”
She blinked, bleary-eyed but smiling, even half-asleep.
“Didn’t mean to fall asleep,” she murmured. “Was trying to… surprise you.”
He looked down at her, every breath shaking now.
“It’s okay. Get some sleep.”
She was already drifting again, lashes fluttering shut, her body curling toward the warm spot he’d taken on the edge of the mattress.
Zayne sat still for a moment, just watching her. How peaceful she looked. How much she trusted him. How she’d waited.
And he’d missed it.
Quietly, he stood and pulled the comforter from the end of the bed. Zayne laid it over her bare body, careful not to wake her. The sheer fabric of her lingerie still peeked out from beneath the blanket, but she let out a soft sigh and snuggled into the warmth.
He swallowed hard.
Turned away.
❄️❄️❄️
It had been days.
Days of missed messages. Delayed voice notes. Ghosted calls answered hours later with “Sorry, just got out of surgery,” or “Sorry, had to exterminate a nest in Sector Five.”
Days of aching.
And she missed him.
So she invited him over.
MC: Movie night?
Zayne replied in under a minute.
Zayne: I’ll be there in 30.
Now, hours later, the movie had long since been forgotten. The credits were a distant memory. Popcorn was scattered on the rug like debris from a storm. Zayne was on top of her, between her thighs, kissing a trail down her skin like it was the only thing keeping him alive.
His hands were so warm, callused but reverent. Palming up her sides, pushing her skirt higher as his mouth moved lower.
“Take those off,” she whispered, tugging gently at his fogged-up glasses.
“No,” he breathed, lips grazing her inner thigh. He readjusted his glasses, which sat smudged and on the edge of his nose. “I want to see every part of you.”
She shivered, heart thudding hard. Every touch from him was electric. His mouth was so close now, hovering over her heat, warm breath ghosting over soaked fabric.
Her hips shifted upward, expectant. Needing.
But suddenly he stilled.
“Zayne?” she asked softly.
Nothing.
Mc blinked.
And then, a soft snore.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”
Zayne’s head had slumped gently against her thigh, lips still parted, breathing slow and deep.
Out. Cold.
MC stared down at him, jaw slack in disbelief, heart still racing from how close they’d been—again. She let her head fall back against the couch with a groan.
“You’re lucky you’re pretty,” she muttered.
Carefully, she slid out from under him, lowering his head onto a throw pillow. He didn’t stir, didn’t flinch. Just sighed in his sleep and curled into the couch instinctively.
She stood there for a moment, hands on her hips, taking in the sight of her very attractive, very unconscious boyfriend. Shirt half-unbuttoned. Lips kiss-bitten. Glasses askew. Exhausted beyond repair.
She reached down, careful not to jostle him too much, and gently slid his fogged-up glasses from his face.
He didn’t stir.
She smiled, just barely, and leaned forward to place them on the coffee table with delicate care, right next to the half-eaten popcorn bowl and a now-empty wine glass.
MC grabbed the nearest blanket and draped it over him with a huff.
“You can’t even stay awake to eat me out,” she muttered, brushing a curl from his forehead. “What the hell am I supposed to do with you?”
Still, she kissed his cheek before walking away.
She was annoyed. Frustrated. Aching.
But she also knew one thing for sure:
He hadn’t stopped wanting her.
He just needed sleep more than sex.
❄️❄️❄️
The hospital hall was loud. Paging announcements echoing overhead, footsteps pounding, stretchers wheeling by in a blur. Zayne didn’t notice any of it.
He was halfway through reviewing a chart when a hand grabbed his wrist and yanked him sideways.
The door slammed shut behind him.
“Wha-?”
Her mouth was on his before he could finish.
MC kissed him rough, urgent, the kind of kiss that said I’m done waiting. Her hands tangled in his shirt, dragging him closer, her breath hot against his cheek as she gasped between kisses.
Zayne pulled back just enough to breathe. “What are you-”
“Please, Zayne,” she whispered, eyes wide, glassy. “Haven’t we earned this?”
He froze.
She grabbed his hands, shoved them under her skirt, and pressed them between her legs.
She was soaked.
He groaned, actually groaned, as his fingers curled instinctively, the heat of her soaking through her panties like she’d been dripping for him for hours.
“Feel me,” she whispered, mouth brushing his. “Can’t you feel how much I need you?”
His control snapped.
Zayne kissed her back, rough, devouring, like a man caged too long. Her back hit the wall, his hands ran up her thighs as he rutted against her. Mc began unbuckling his trousers with fumbling, urgent fingers.
Mc slid Zayne’s already hard cock out of his briefs, pumping once, then twice. “Show me how badly you want me, Zayne. Show me that it was worth the wait.”
His cock slid along the soaked fabric between her legs, and she whimpered, clinging to his shoulders. He pulled her panties to the side, not even bothering to remove the undergarment as he edged towards her entrance, the head of his cock just brushing against where she needed him most-
“Dr. Zayne Li, report to ER, Code Blue at Bed 15. Repeat: Dr. Zayne Li. ER, Code Blue at Bed 15.”
Zayne froze.
His jaw clenched. His body screamed.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” MC muttered, eyes wild, still trembling.
Zayne kissed her, hard, frustrated, lingering. Then he pulled back, breathing hard as he tucked himself back into his pants with shaky hands.
“Fuck. I’m sorry. I have to-”
He pulled off his white doctor’s coat in one fluid motion and draped it over her shoulders.
“Go to my office,” he said, pressing a hurried kiss to her cheek.
But then-
He slowed.
His lips brushed the shell of her ear, voice dropping to a dark, dangerous whisper.
“And once I get there…”
“I’ll make it up to you with every inch of me.”
She let out an involuntary moan, helpless, wrecked, brain short-circuiting as her thighs pressed together instinctively.
Zayne stepped back, breathing hard.
“Wear the coat,” he added, eyes raking over her. “Nothing else.”
Then he turned and left, the door swinging shut behind him, leaving her in the supply closet, dripping, panting, clutching his coat like it might sate her needs.
❄️❄️❄️
Zayne’s office was quiet. Too quiet.
MC sat in his desk chair, legs bouncing, fingers tapping the armrest like she was trying to keep from exploding. The room smelled like him, clean, sharp, warm. Faint antiseptic, something smoky from his cologne, and that specific something she only ever noticed when he pulled her into his arms.
And then there was the coat.
His white doctor’s coat sat crumpled in her lap, the same one he’d thrown over her shoulders before rushing to the ER. It still held his body heat. His scent.
His promise.
“I’ll make it up to you with every inch of me.”
She moaned.
Actually moaned.
The chair creaked beneath her as she adjusted, squirmed, unable to sit still. Her body was still pulsing from how close they’d been in that damn closet. Her panties were soaked, her thighs clenched, and her thoughts were filthier than anything the universe had the right to interrupt.
“Fuck,” she whispered, dragging the coat up to her face and inhaling it like it might sedate her.
It didn’t.
It only made things worse.
She slid a hand down, under her skirt, her fingers skimming the edge of her soaked panties. Still fully dressed. Still in Zayne’s chair.
Her other hand clutched his coat tighter as she tilted her head back and let her eyes flutter shut.
“What are you doing to me, Zayne?” she whispered aloud, voice thick and breathy.
She rocked her hips slightly, biting her lip as her fingers pressed harder, chasing that edge, chasing the image of him dropping to his knees and staying there.
He’d be so good with his mouth. Slow. Focused. Filthy and reverent. He’d ruin her with compliments alone. She could hear it.
“So wet for me.”“You taste like heaven.”“You’ve waited so long, baby. Let me make it all better.”
She gasped and whimpered, hips grinding against her own fingers. “Zayne!” she moaned loudly as she gripped the coat tighter, pressing it harder against her nose as she inhaled his scent again.
“Zayne!”
She was close.
So close.
BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.
Her watch lit up, flashing red.
WANDERER THREAT DETECTED.
Sector Four. Coordinates nearby.
“No. No no no-fuck!”
She ripped her hand away, panting, skin flushed, so painfully aroused it bordered on inhumane.
“I swear to god,” she muttered, standing up and grabbing her gear, “the next thing that stops me from cumming is getting lit the fuck up.”
But before she left, she turned back to the desk.
She slid her panties down. Wet, warm, ruined. And laid them across Zayne’s desk like a goddamn calling card. Then, on a sticky note, she scrawled three words:
wait for me.
She pressed the note beside her panties, stared at them for a moment, and then stormed out of the office as she placed Zayne’s coat around her shoulders.
❄️❄️❄️
Zayne opened the door to his office with a long sigh.
The hallway was quiet now. Post-emergency calm settling into the bones of the hospital. But every muscle in Zayne’s body ached with exhaustion. His shirt clung to him with dried sweat, his shoulders were tight from adrenaline, and all he wanted, all he fucking wanted, was to see her waiting there.
He stepped inside.
Paused.
“MC?”
Nothing.
No coat on the chair. No soft voice. No warm body curled up in his seat like he’d imagined over and over again during the chaos of the ER.
She was gone.
He groaned, running a hand through his sweat-damp hair. “Of course.”
But then-
His eyes dropped to the desk.
He stopped breathing.
Her panties. Her actual fucking panties were folded neatly next to a yellow sticky note. His heart kicked into a sprint.
He stepped closer, like approaching a sacred object, and read the message written in her handwriting.
wait for me.
His breath caught in his throat. The air in the room changed—went thick, heavy, intimate.
He sat down hard in the desk chair. It creaked beneath him.
His hand trembled as he picked them up. Warm. Damp. Lace soft against his skin. He wasn’t sure if he deserved to touch them. The second his fingers closed around them, his cock twitched, A full, involuntary pulse of need that made his jaw clench.
He shouldn’t.
He knew he shouldn’t.
This was wrong. She wasn’t here. She hadn’t given permission.
But he could smell her. Taste her on memory alone. And the panties in his hand were soaked through with how much she’d needed him. The scent of her hit him like a fist. Salty, sweet, unmistakably hers, and suddenly he was burning.
He brought the panties to his face.
Paused.
And inhaled.
“Fuck…” he whispered, already shaking.
His cock pulsed in his pants, hard as stone, twitching against his zipper. His head fell back. A broken sound escaped his throat, half groan, half plea.
He didn’t even try to hide it.
But he didn’t dare touch himself.
Not without her.
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, still holding the scrap of lace like it was oxygen, staring at the door like he could will it open with need alone.
“Come on,” he whispered, barely audible. “Come back to me.”
His thighs tensed. His jaw clenched. Every part of him was vibrating with restraint.
He could still smell her.
“Please,” he whispered, eyes locked on the door. “Please just come back.”
He sat there, flushed red, leaking through his underwear, trembling with the effort not to break.
And waited.
Dying to be forgiven by Mc or to punish her for putting him in this panty-drunk position in the first place.
Zayne wasn’t sure.
But he did know one thing.
When Mc walked through that door, he wasn’t going to be gentle.
❄️❄️❄️
She burst into his office just after midnight.
Blood streaked her arm, her thigh was scraped raw, and she was limping, but she was there. Alive. Breathing. Eyes wide and blazing with adrenaline.
Zayne shot to his feet.
“You’re hurt.”
She tried to downplay it, waving a hand, brushing past him toward the desk. “It’s nothing.”
“Nothing?” he snapped. “You leave me here, worried and wanting you so bad I could barely think, and you come back like this?”
His hands were already on her, scanning for wounds like second nature. She winced when he touched her thigh, and his expression darkened.
He said nothing more. Just nudged her up onto his desk, firm but careful, and dropped to his knees in front of her like a man about to pray.
The first aid kit cracked open.
She watched him. Breathless. Wet. A mess of arousal and guilt and need.
Zayne’s hands were steady as they tended to her, the scrape on her leg, the cut on her palm. His jaw was tight, his hair a little mussed, his cock painfully obvious against his slacks. And yet...
He ignored it. All of it. Even as her skirt slid higher. Even as her bare heat, soaked and swollen, hovered inches from his face.
She trembled.
“Zayne…”
“Don’t,” he said softly. “Let me take care of you first.”
It was almost worse, how tender he was. How reverent. His touch was feather-light, methodical, never straying.
When the final bandage was taped down, he zipped the kit closed with a single sharp motion and tossed it aside.
Then he stood.
And undid his belt.
The clink of the buckle sounded like a gunshot.
“Now,” he said, stepping between her legs. His hands found her thighs and pulled her to the edge of the desk in one smooth, commanding motion.
“I’m going to ruin you.”
Her exposed heat pressed flush against the heavy outline of his clothed cock.
She gasped.
Zayne leaned forward, forehead to hers, voice cracking with restraint.
“I thought the first time I had you would be something grand. Romantic. But right now, I can’t fathom not being inside you for another moment.”
“Fuck, I need you. I need you so much I can’t think.”
His breath shook.
“Tell me you need me too, MC. Tell me how much you need me.”
She moaned, completely wrecked, and reached for him, palming him through his underwear with trembling hands. His cock throbbed against her touch.
“I’ve needed you since the first night, Zayne,” she whispered, desperate. “I ache for you. I dream about you. I almost came just from the smell of your coat.”
She grabbed his waistband. “Please.”
He growled, deep, feral.
“No interruptions.”
Then he pulled his cock free. Hard, thick, leaking, and guided himself to her entrance.
She was soaked. Stretching for him. Welcoming him.
“Oh my god-” she cried out in pleasure as he sank into her, slow and deep, until he bottomed out.
She was loud. Too loud.
Zayne reached next to MC’s body on the desk to where he had left her still-wet panties.
He stuffed her soaked panties into her mouth gently, reverently.
“There,” he murmured. “Can’t have anyone hearing how good I fuck you.”
The desk creaked beneath them.
Zayne rolled his hips. Slow at first, letting her feel every inch. MC’s eyes fluttered shut.
“No,” he said gently, thumb under her chin, gripping the side of her neck. Not choking, just holding. “Eyes on me, baby.”
He pumped in and out of her, shaking the heavy, wooden desk beneath them. The water carafe on the desk tipped. Crashed to the floor.
Neither of them noticed.
“You’re doing so well, baby,” he groaned. “So fucking perfect. Taking me so deep. Like your body knew. Like you were always meant to be mine.”
Zayne hooked her thighs over his arms. Pulled her closer. Pumping harder and harder as Mc’s muffled moans echoed around the room.
His cock slammed into her g-spot with every thrust.
She screamed, the sound hushed by lace. Her back arched and body convulsed.
“That’s it,” he gritted. “Let go for me.”
She came hard, her pussy clenching tight, pulling him with her. Zayne cursed, head falling into her shoulder as he buried himself to the hilt and let go, hot, deep, twitching inside her.
They stayed locked like that, bodies trembling, breath shared, until the tremors passed.
Then, gently, he pulled out.
Lifted her into his arms.
Carried her across the room like something precious and laid her on the couch, tucking his white coat over them both like a blanket.
She was curled into his chest. Still damp. Still clenching around nothing. He ran lazy fingers down her arm.
“You’re glowing,” he whispered.
“You’re obnoxiously good at sex,” she replied.
They laughed, breathless, sticky, sated.
BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.
His pager buzzed.
Her watch lit up.
“No,” she groaned.
Zayne growled. “I swear to god-”
“The universe hates us.”
He stood, buttoning his shirt, sweat cooling on his skin. Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out his keys.
“When you're finished, go to my place.”
He leaned down, kissed her temple, and pressed the keys into her palm.
“When I get home…”
“I want you on my bed. Naked. Ready for me.”
He grabbed her panties from the floor, still damp, still warm, and tucked them into his pocket.
“I’m keeping these,” he added with a wink.
She pulled him in for a kiss, slow, open-mouthed, grateful.
Then they parted.
Both heading back into the world, messy, aching, and finally satisfied.
I hate post queues, but the rec blog doesn't work without one, so I've been using one for over a year now. Finally figured out why they upset me so much.
My ADHD brain considers feedback to be a reward. If I do the good work, I should be the one getting the reward. But, the queue doesn't let anyone SEE my good work until the future, so only Future Me gets reward. Current Me is not getting reward - therefor, the reward is being STOLEN from me, and I did all that work for NOTHING, and it isn't FAIR!
And then when the posts DO come out of the queue, they were not made by Current Me, and so any engagement is just random niceness, unrelated to any work I've done, identical to reblogging someone else's post. I like it, but the work of filling the queue was still unrewarded drudgery.
I know that ADHD can come with issues around delayed gratification, and have seen similar things in other areas of my life, but I'd never realized that I consider Future Me to be a thief and resent them for it. That's ... well, I'm going to have to figure out what to do about that!
No offense at all to Rachel Reid, but Hudson Williams and Connor Storrie are truly giving these characters a multidimensionality they do not quite have on page.
Eeeeverything exists in the context of world around it. Comparison can bring motivation, inspiration, redirection, and gratitude. The real thief of joy is abandoning yourself. Not living for yourself through fulfilling the obligations and expectations placed on you or constantly chasing immediate sources of temporary satisfaction.
Negative emotion? Don't learn to self comfort! Buy products! Consume! Binge eat, do drugs, buy makeup and trinkets and blah blah blah!! Anything to feel okay for a second!
Have trauma? Feel alone? Marry! Settle! Don't develop emotionally! Shoot out kids! Recreate those patterns! Get tied down!
The more I really see the lives of those around and before me, the more Im guided to make the best choices. Most ppl waste their lives running from themselves by any means necessary and die feeling abandoned. We all die alone (if by natural causes). But will you be with yourself?
