fluff and domesticity with Zayne: you arrived tired because of your work and he can’t sleep without you by his side so he stayed awake and helped you get ready to sleep
English is not my first language
CW brief mention of death but overall pretty SFW
Zayne had been calling you all night and you didn’t pick up. It was a weird occasion every time you would arrive home later than he would. After all, he is the cardio surgeon. However, this last few days Linkon has been plagued with wanderers that you are in charge of eliminating so you have been arriving late over and over for the last week.
Today was different. It was the first time in a while that you saw a wanderer take a life. Nothing entirely new, yet still shocking in its brutality. You stared at your apartment’s door from the outside, your mind racing with fatigue and unresolved tension, and then glanced at the clock:
2:46 a.m.
Great.
With a shy groan, you dragged the keys from your pocket, your body protesting the constant strain. Fighting wanderers all week had caused lingering aches and pains that were impossible to ignore. Before you could even place the keys on the knob, Zayne opened the door with sleepy eyes and a small, affectionate smile.
“You…” you murmured with a soft, welcoming smile.
“You,” Zayne replied warmly as he swung the door completely open to let you in. “How are you feeling, love?”
“Like shit,” you admitted as you stepped in, and as soon as you were inside your apartment, you let your bag fall onto the floor. “Some days I love this job, and some other days I hate it… the daily life of a hunter,” you confessed, turning towards him. He simply stood there in thoughtful silence, leaning against the wall as if absorbing every word.
Zayne walked forward and tenderly removed a stray piece of hair that had fallen across your eyes. “You look tired… and,” he paused for a moment, inhaling deeply as if deciphering the lingering scents of the day, “you definitely need a bath,” he teased gently while beginning to unbutton your uniform with deliberate care.
He was so close that you could have easily rested your head on his chest as he undressed you slowly. When he finally finished, he grabbed your hand and led you towards the bathroom with an intimacy that belied the chaos of the night.
You sat, naked, sleepy, and sweaty, in the darkened room as Zayne began filling the bathtub with hot water. The sound of the running water mingled with the soft hum of the city outside, creating a cocoon of warmth and solace. “Babe, the lights?” you murmured, almost to yourself, as you tried to shake off the remnants of your exhaustion.
“I’d bet whatever you want that you have migraines,” he whispered back softly, his tone laced with affectionate humor, “the lights are not necessary tonight.”
He extended a hand, unseen in the dim light yet powerfully felt as he gently prodded your arm. You grasped it firmly, and together, in quiet unison, you both stepped into the bathtub.
“Turn around,” he said quietly. You complied and turned your back toward him, allowing him full access to wash your hair properly. You could feel his skilled hands gently scrubbing away the residue of the day with a soft sponge, massaging out every ounce of lingering stress from your shoulders and back. The sensation was almost meditative, a slow erasure of the trauma brought on by the hunt.
“I’m so proud of you, love. You save lives every day… you prevent those horrible accidents that we used to see on the news… you are so strong and capable,” he whispered, his voice imbued with admiration. As he slowly trailed kisses along the graceful curve of your shoulder toward your neck, he continued, “I’m so lucky to have such a strong and amazing woman by my side.”
He gently kissed your neck as he continued washing you, his voice a tender murmur and his caresses so soft that you found yourself nearly succumbing to sleep in his arms. His care was both an embrace and a promise—a quiet vow to heal your wounds, physical and otherwise.
As soon as he finished, he carefully carried you out of the tub—a tender action that drew an involuntary groan from your lips. “Your shirt…” you whispered, half-asleep and drowsy with the warm comfort surrounding you.
“I’ll change it,” he said reassuringly, as he enveloped you in a fluffy towel that felt like a warm, protective hug. He carried you to the bedroom with a measured grace, placing you gently onto the bed before turning his attention to finding some silky pajamas. You could see his familiar silhouette bathed in the gentle light of the moon streaming through the window, every movement emphasizing the toned muscles of his back as he sifted through the clothes.
After finding the perfect pair, he carefully dressed you, each motion deliberate and laden with care, and then placed you under the crisp, inviting sheets. “It’s late, so sleep well,” he murmured, his voice soft as he leaned in by your side and opened his arms for you to cuddle with him. You nestled against him, pressing your chest close to his, the comfort of his warmth lulling you further towards sleep.
“Night night, Zayne, thank you for loving me,”
“Sure do.”