zayne who makes out with you to lull you to sleep.
he knows it’s not easy for you to fall asleep. he’s woken up to you wide awake at 3am, scrolling on your phone that’s way too close to your face. he’s tried every remedy out there—warm milk before bed, tea before bed, no gadgets before bed, reading before bed—yet not a single one has been effective. it always ends with you staying up until it’s time for him to wake up.
only one thing ever worked, though. kissing you until you pass out.
as soon as you finish your nighttime routine, zayne is already ushering you to his lap. he sets his book down on the bedside table, slips his glasses off, and lets his hands run up and down your sides in slow, soothing motions. in the summer, he even uses his evol, a gentle coolness settling over your skin just enough to make you relax.
once you’re on top of him, it starts with a kiss to your cheek. then another along your jaw, before he drags his lips down your neck. after that, he comes back up to meet your mouth, slotting his lips with yours. he doesn’t rush it. doesn’t deepen it more than necessary. just steady, unhurried kisses meant to calm your breathing rather than steal it away.
without breaking contact, he eases you down onto the bed, movements careful and practiced. one hand cups your cheek, thumb brushing softly against your skin while the other keeps you close. his kisses grow slower, softer, lingering just a second longer each time.
he murmurs quietly inbetween—nothing dramatic, just low reassurances, reminders that he’s here, you’re safe, that you don’t have to think about anything else. eventually, he turns the two of you onto your sides, pulling you flush against his chest.
his hand slips under your sleep shirt, meticulous fingertips tracing circles along your back. his nails scratch lightly, rhythmically, exactly the way he knows you like. your breathing eventually evens out without you realizing it, body melting into his.
there’s a small smile on his lips when he feels you go slack against him.
and as your eyes finally flutter closed, zayne doesn’t stop right away. he presses one last kiss to your lips, thumb brushing beneath your eye as if to make sure you’re really asleep. only then does he still, arm tightening around you just slightly.
you fall asleep to the sound of his steady breathing and the cool comfort of his presence—while zayne stays awake a little longer, making sure you don’t wake again.
♱⋅── ZAYNE is just a perfect husband, even more than they know.
♱⋅── MDNI just horny thoughts about zayne, once again.
"Zayne is such a wonderful husband."
The entire hospital knows of the mystery lady who seems to be the only thing more important to the man than surgery itself. The one who, if you ask about the cute homemade bento box or a cup of caramel coffee (with whipped cream on top) and a sticky note on the side, will say, “my wife got it for me,” with a smile that you might have thought impossible for him to make.
"Zayne is such a wonderful husband."
Even your apartment neighbors know him as such, the sweet elderly lady on your left always greeting him with a hug and a coy smile, asking what goodies he brought for you today. It’s his own fault, really, always bringing back a new bouquet of flowers, groceries he noticed you running out of, or a new pile of books you begged him to pick up from the library on his way over.
"Zayne is such a wonderful husband."
Especially in your eyes.
Especially when he’s been stuck in the hospital or on a god-forsaken business trip, pushed away from you for days (although he insists anything more than 24 hours is unbearable enough), and nothing can keep him from you once he returns.
He’s such a wonderful husband, especially when he has you on your back, gasping for air and mercy you don’t want as he forces your legs up higher, quivering thighs shoved against your chest.
It’s hot, too hot, and not even Zayne’s Evol can keep up, sweat making long black strands stick to his forehead, dripping down his neck and back as you claw against every ripping muscle there, incoherent, burning up from the inside as you beg for more and more and more.
You were a mess already, undone by an hour prior of tortuously delicate touching, Zayne’s tongue giving unwavering attention to your clit and nipples, building you up until you practically ripped his pants off and demanded that he be inside you. Not that he could ever refuse you.
Now you think it might have been a mistake, feeding an insatiable beast.
You’ve already cum on his fingers, and yet you feel something build again, a pressure that feels more like a complete loss of control, intense and overwhelming as you gasp into Zayne’s neck, scrambling to push him off even as his hips fuck into yours.
“Wait,” a moan, muffling yourself into your palm as Zayne’s thumb goes to your poor abused clit again, misreading your blabbering as an indication you’re close. “Wait! No, no, it’s not. It feels different, just–”
Finally, he freezes. Pulls out, and immediately drops to his stomach, large hands pushing your thighs to your shoulders, tongue already at your cunt. “Don’t stop me.”
The please at the end of his sentence is swallowed by a guttural groan as he tastes you again, rich, heady, intoxicating. His eyes, half-open and lovedrunk, were locked on your face, never leaving, drinking in your unraveling expressions with terrifying devotion as you writhe and arch desperately into his mouth.
“That’s it, love,” he leaves a kiss on your shaking legs before forcing you to hold them up yourself, his fingers immediately curl inside you. The horrible pressure in your stomach coils tighter, threatening to explode. “That’s it, good girl. You’re doing so good for me. Fuck.”
And then his tongue joins his fingers, gently circling your clit as his fingers mercilessly piston in and out of you until they hit a spot that makes you scream. Everything inside you convulses, a violent, helpless shudder that rips a delirious sob from your chest as something bursts. You feel it even as the world spins, thighs and ass slippery and filthy as the obscene sounds of skin on skin are magnified, covered only with Zayne’s low, guttural moans, swallowing everything you give him.
He can’t stop, panting against your cunt, leaving kisses and licking the spray of your release up your abdomen before he’s hovering atop you once more.
“Again.”
Zayne flips you over, hands bruising your ass and waist in ways that make your eyes roll back, a moan ripping from you as Zayne’s hand pulls on your hair, forcing your limp head off the pillow and back, lips meeting yours in a wet, sloppy kiss that has saliva and sweat running down your throat. You think you might be losing consciousness or maybe just your sanity, but gods, you never want this to stop.
you were sprawled on your stomach, one leg bent sharply out to the side, head resting on your pillow, scrolling through your phone after a long day absentmindedly.
the position had always felt comfortable... until your husband told you it wasn't good for you.
and now, he was standing by the door of your shared bedroom, frowning, arms crossed.
uh oh.
“sweetie,” he says, stepping closer, “you know i’ve told you not to lay like that.”
you flinch, pouting, like a child caught in the act. “i forgot,” you mumble, avoiding his gaze.
he crouches beside the bed, hand resting gently on the edge of the mattress. “you know i don’t scold for fun,” he says quietly.“come on... let me help you before you get back pain again.”
you scrunch your nose and pout again. “but it’s comfy,” you protest, shifting slightly, trying to hold onto the position.
he sighs softly, brushing a hand over your shoulder. “i know,” he says gently, “but it’s not about comfort. your back is twisted and your hips are rotated. if you do this too often, your muscles tighten unevenly and your joints start complaining. eventually it’ll hurt. it’s easy to ignore now, but your body remembers.”
you groan, rolling your eyes and tugging at the hem of your pjs. he always gets medical. and you hate—absolutely hate—that part of you softens and gets turned on every time.
“ugh. zayne! you’re a heart doctor, not a hip doctor or whatever! i’m fine,” you snap instead, cheeks heating at his tone.
he tilts his head, that small, knowing smile tugging at his lips like he understands exactly why you’re flustered.
“right,” he says, soft and teasing. “because i definitely need to be a hip doctor to know that twisting your spine every night is a bad idea.”
before you can protest again, he shifts closer, sitting on the edge of the bed. the mattress dips under his weight. “tell you what,” he murmurs. “we’ll compromise.”
you watch interested as he eases himself down beside you. one arm slips around your waist. “you want comfy? we’ll do comfy without ruining your back.”
he gently guides your bent leg, lifting it just enough to rest it over his waist instead of having it twisted outward. his movements are unhurried, practiced, like he's done this a hundred times already.
“see? same idea. less strain.”
you gulp.
he was right. of course he was.
the subtle shift in your expression and the slight tension melting away from your frame, makes his smirk grow into a proper smile.
his hand is still on your leg, fingers tracing slow, absent paths along the underside of your thigh. the motion is soothing, almost absent minded.
“told you,” he murmurs. “you have to listen to me more, sweetie.”
you give in begrudgingly, “okay doctor zayne...”
he chuckles, low and warm, tugging you just a little closer.
“that’s better,” he teases, lips brushing the shell of your ear.
“only took one lecture this time.”
you huff, but don't pull away. he knows it means you’re giving in.
he grins, lips grazing the top of your shoulder, as he adjusts your leg slightly, shifting it so it rests more comfortably over him. his other hand finds the small of your back, fingers pressing gently into the tenser spots.
“see?” he hums softly, massaging the sore spots carefully. “much better.”
it’s easy to sink into the touch, his movements are familiar, his hands so warm that you close your eyes, a small noise escaping you.
“mmh... i won’t lay like that ever again if we can do this every night,” you say breathily.
the gentle kneading of his fingers on your back pauses just long enough for him to respond.
“oh, sweetheart,” he murmurs, breath tickling your ear. “i was planning on doing this anyway.”
he punctuates the remark by pressing firmer, his hand running along your spine, finding and relieving the most stubborn knots.
“that means we—ah—both need to get home early from work from now on.”
“mmm,” he hums in agreement, working his way down your back to the small of it. “which means,” he continues, voice low and teasing, “you might want to be a little less stubborn at the office.” he finds a particularly tense muscle and rubs it gently, drawing a small sign from you. “you know you can't keep working till midnight every day.”
you gasp dramatically, “says you, doctor zayne!”
he grins, unbothered, fingertips tracing lazy circles.
“exactly,” he says, more smug than he should be. “this doctor prescribes both of us earlier bedtimes.” leans down, lips brushing your shoulder again. “with benefits.”
“oh...” you breathe out against his shoulder. “and what do these benefits include other than laying like this and a massage?”
he chuckles again. the sound rumbles through his chest, sending tremors through you.
“you want a more benefits?” he murmurs, lips tracing along your skin, leaving a trail of heat in their wake.
his thumb slips under the hem of your top, tracing a slow, languid line against your bare skin.
you sigh shakily.
“stop teasing, husband.”
his hands continue moving slow, as if to spite your demand.
“oh sweetheart…” he hums, his touch trailing across your thigh now. his fingers dip lower, teasing the edge of your sleep shorts. “do you think i could ever resist teasing my stubborn little wife?”
you try not to let the words get a rise out of you because you want him.
and you want him now.
“is this position still good for my hip alignment?” you smile coyly.
his gaze darkens.
“oh hah. i’ll show you a position good for your hips.” your breath hitches as he shifts, above you, hooking both your legs around his waist. “this?” he murmurs, voice dropping low and rough. “spine and hips aligned and stable... very good for your body.”
and then he crashes his lips onto yours.
it’s hard and urgent, full of weeks of suppressed desire—the two of you hadn't been able to make love for weeks, after all. too tired after getting home from work, schedules unaligned.
you feel his grip tighten on your thighs as he drags you against him, his touch almost desperate. he kisses you like he needs to touch every part of you, to consume you completely.
your hands find their way into his hair, pulling just enough to earn a low growl from deep in his throat. “zayne-” you gasp out, breath mingling with his. “please.”
he groans, giving in completely—mouth trailing down your neck, hands sliding under your top to peel it off.
“god, i’ve missed this,” he mutters between kisses, skin now flush with heat.
he leans back just enough to pull his own shirt over his head, and when he lowers himself back over you, the warmth of his bare chest sealing any space between you.
“tell me what you want,” he whispers against your lips.
you groan, throwing your head back in frustration, gripping at his muscled back. “don't make be beg.”
you attempt to grind against his bulge, and he hisses.
he rolls his hips against you but he still wants to hear you say it—to admit how badly you've been craving this as much as he has.
his lips brush the sensitive skin below your ear, voice low and ragged.
“why not?” he teases. “you know how much i love it when you beg.”
“fine...” you whine, “please- please just fuck me—”
he grunts, the sound igniting a fire inside you. he leans forward, lips brushing your earlobe, his free hand drifting along your waist.
“there you go. that wasn’t so hard, was it?”
and then he's peeling off your sleep shorts.
the sound of the material hitting the floor seems far too loud in the quiet of the room, but it's a distant thought as he kisses his way down your body, taking his sweet, sweet time.
“missed this so much.” he murmurs, breath hot against your skin, fingers skimming across the sensitive flesh of your stomach.
he hooks your knees over his shoulders, lips curving up in a smile as he looks up at you. “missed you so much.”
“ngh—zayne...”
you watch with half lidded eyes as he presses a kiss to your soaked panties, making you jolt.
he grins up at you, enjoying the sight of you trembling.
“hmm… this position is even better for you.”
you can only moan softly.
“so beautiful,” he murmurs, eyes dark with desire. “all mine.” he slowly drags the fabric down your legs, watching your expressions, loving the way you squirm in anticipation. “don't worry,” he drawls, his fingers tracing idle patterns along your inner thighs. “i’ll take care of you first.”
a soft hum vibrates through you as he finally, finally tastes you. he goes slowly, as he tongues you like he’s savoring every second.
“zayne!” you cry out, back arching off the bed.
he doesn’t stop, doesn’t speed up. his tongue traces slow circles onto your throbbing clit, one hand pinning your hip down to keep you from bucking too much.
“shh,” he murmurs against your skin, voice thick, “let me love you properly.”
you want to respond that he always loves you properly anyway, but the retort dies when his tongue laps at you with maddening patience, each stroke drawing out a whimper.
“so sweet,” he breathes between kisses along your slick heat. “always so ready for me.” one hand slips up to pinch a nipple through your bra, making you gasp. “tell me how close you are already.”
“ahhn! so— so close! fuck-”
his eyes gleam with satisfaction. he loves getting you flustered, loves seeing you lose yourself like this.
he doesn’t say anything now, just focuses on you, making you come undone. his lips tease, tongue flicking over your sensitive nub before gently nipping it.
“want you to come for me, sweetheart.” he murmurs, his nose brushing against your clit as he laps at your entrance.
you can sense the urgency in his voice. he wants to please you, wants you to feel good. he wants it. needs it.
his tongue slides lower, swirling at your entrance before circling back to your clit—finally faster now.
“come for me,” he growls. “i wanna taste it.”
and when you do, it’s with a cry of his name and trembling legs he holds tight in his grasp.
he takes his time licking and kissing you through your orgasm, his movements gentling as he helps you ride it out.
only when you’re boneless and trembling does he pull back, lips glistening with you, a satisfied smile on his face.
“you okay?” he murmurs, fingers tracing along your flushed cheeks.
“mhm...” you nod vigorously, already aching for him all over again. “fuck me now, please...”
he chuckles.
the way you're looking at him—dazed, wanting, and needy—sends a pulse straight to his already hard cock.
“i believe the correct expression is make love, darling.”
you bite your lip and he licks his.
he leans over you, pressing a kiss to your lips, letting you taste yourself on him.
“you really can't wait, can you?” he murmurs against your mouth, pushing his bottoms down and already guiding himself to your slick entrance.
one slow thrust and he’s inside. deep, hot, and perfect.
you gasp his name like a prayer.
“that’s it,” he groans, burying his face in your neck.
you can feel him everywhere, every part of you connected. the stretch feels even bigger after the long weeks. your arms wrap around his neck, legs tightening around his hips as if you’re scared he’ll pull away.
“zayne,” you moan his name into his ear, nails digging into his back. you don’t usually ask, content with the pace he sets, but now, in this moment, you need him more than anything.
“harder. please.”
he complies immediately, each thrust driving you deeper into the mattress, your cries muffled against his shoulder.
“god—you feel so good,” he grits out, one hand sliding under you to lift your hips higher, taking him even deeper.
your body trembles, already coiling tight again, he's hitting your sweet spot just right like he’s never left it.
“zayne— i’m-” you start to warn him but he silences you with a kiss that steals your breath.
“come for me again,” he demands softly against your lips. “let go.”
you shatter around him, a silent scream on your lips as your body clenches tight, wave after wave crashing through you.
he holds you through it, his thrusts turning erratic, almost desperate.
“mgh— i can’t—” he chokes out, burying his face in your neck as he follows you over the edge, spilling deep inside with a low groan.
for a long moment, there’s only the sound of heavy breathing and racing hearts.
then he rolls to the side gently, pulling you with him so you're tucked against his chest.
“i love you,” he murmurs into your hair. “don't ever forget that.”
“i love you, too,” you breathe. and then you smile, after a moment, still dazed but coming to your senses. “thank you for the corrections doctor.”
he snorts softly, actually snorts, burying his face in your hair.
“you’re insufferable.” he mutters, but there’s no real heat in his tone.
he pulls you closer, one arm wrapped around your waist, putting your leg over his waist the same way this began.
“anything for my favorite patient.”
masterlist | open taglist!
wrote this in the exact position i shouldn’t be. oh no zayne pls correct me :(
First request since entering lads fandom so here goes nothing
May I request Zayne accidentally proposing to MC during sex? And getting absolutely flustered after. I'm obsessed with this man i swear
just imagining him losing himself so deeply into the intimacy of the moment, letting all his guards down and just simply feeling everything he's feeling... and then just saying it... oh, i'm crying. my shayla:(((
tyyy for the request! hope you like it~ ♡ (p.s. not proofread)
🔞MDNI ⋆. — content warnings: suggestive, love confession during sex, marriage proposal mid-sex
The air is thick with sex and the low, ragged hum of Zayne’s breathing.
His mouth is at the hollow of your throat, open and panting, tongue tracing the frantic flutter of your pulse. One of his hands is splayed across the small of your back, fingertips digging into the supple flesh there, anchoring you to him. The other one tangled in your hair, holding tight as if you were the only fixed point in a world that had begun to spin off its axis.
You are pinned so perfectly beneath him that the whole world has narrowed to the slick, relentless slide of his body into yours. He’s not holding back tonight—hasn’t been for what feels like hours—and every deep, rolling thrust presses a broken sound from your lips that he chases with his own, mouthing at your jaw, your throat, the sweat-damp hollow of your collarbone as if he wants to drink you down.
“You feel—” he grits out, and the rest of the sentence is lost to a shudder that wracks his spine. His hips slow, grinding even deeper.
The shift in angle makes you arch, nails digging into the flexing muscle of his back. He groans, a sound ripped from somewhere so deep it’s almost pained, and his forehead drops to yours. His eyes are squeezed shut, dark lashes fanned against flushed cheeks, and his composure has been frayed thread by thread until all that’s left is the raw, desperate man trembling inside you.
You can feel the tension coiling in him, the desire to keep you close. The telltale hitch of his breath, the way his rhythm stutters and then catches, harder, needier. His hand slides from your hip to your thigh, hitching your leg higher around his waist, and the new depth punches a gasp from both of you. He’s talking now, a low, breathless litany against your skin—my love, my darling, you’re everything—and the words are so saturated with reverence that they feel like prayer.
Then his mouth finds the shell of your ear, his voice a ruined whisper. “I can’t—I don’t ever want this to end. I need you. I need you forever. Please, will you—”
He breaks off with a sharp, stunned inhale, but the words he’s already let slip hang in the humid space between your bodies like a struck bell.
Marry me.
You freeze. He freezes. For one suspended heartbeat, the only movement is the involuntary clench of your body around him, and you watch, dazed, as the reality of what he’s just moaned into your ear crashes over him.
Zayne’s eyes fly open, wide and glassy with pleasure that is rapidly being eclipsed by outright horror. The flush that was already painting his cheeks and chest deepens to a violent, boyish scarlet, spreading down his neck and over the tops of his shoulders. His hips have stopped moving entirely, though he’s still buried to the hilt, and the sudden stillness is almost unbearable.
“I—” he starts, and his voice cracks. Zayne, whose voice never cracks. He looks utterly, catastrophically wrecked—hair a mess, lips kiss-swollen and glossy, pupils blown so wide there’s only a slim ring of hazel left. “That was not—I did not intend to say that out loud. Not like this. Not while I’m—” he makes a small, strangled gesture between your bodies, as if to indicate the absolute indecency of the circumstances. The movement shifts him inside you in a way that makes you both suck in air.
You should probably help him. You should say something. But the sight of him floundering in the aftermath of his own accidental proposal is so endearingly human that you can’t quite stop the smile that tugs at the corners of your mouth. Your chest feels impossibly full, a honey-warm bloom of affection tangling with the lingering heat low in your belly.
“Zayne,” you grin up at him, but he flinches like you’ve just pronounced his death sentence. “Did you just propose to me in the middle of—”
“Yes,” he cuts in, voice strangled and mortified. “And I am terribly, acutely aware that this is not how one is supposed to—there were plans. There was a restaurant and flowers. A ring. I’ve had the ring for months—” he groans, dropping his forehead to the curve of your shoulder, enveloping you in the heat radiating off his skin. “Months, and I ruined it because I couldn’t control my own mouth during—during—”
“Really, really good sex?” you offer, unable to resist.
He makes a wounded noise against your neck. “Please don’t say it like that, my love.”
You laugh, breathless and a little wild, your fingers coming up to card through the damp strands of his hair. He shivers at the touch, still buried deep inside, still half-hard and thrumming with a tension that has nothing to do with lust now, or so you think. “Zayne. Look at me, baby.”
It takes a moment, but he lifts his head. The expression on his face is a war zone. Embarrassment, frustration with himself, and underneath it all, a raw, quivering hope that he’s trying valiantly to hide. He looks so devastatingly beautiful like this—vulnerable and stripped bare in every possible way—that you feel your heart clench right alongside the rest of you.
“Ask me again,” you nudge softly. “Properly.”
His throat works up and down, your eyes tracing the movement with hope and excitement. The flush hasn’t faded, but something in his eyes steadies. He shifts his weight to one elbow, freeing a hand to cup your face with a tenderness that makes your eyes sting. His thumb traces the arch of your cheekbone, so softly it makes you melt even more under his touch.
When he speaks, his voice is still a little shaken but steadier, every word with purpose behind them now.
“I love you,” he confesses. “I have loved you so long I don’t remember what it felt like before. I want to fall asleep with you and wake up with you and have you steal my shirts and drink my coffee and interrupt my charts with doodles in the margins. I want everything. Every argument, every quiet morning in our home, every messy, inexplicable, wonderful moment of being with you. Will you—” he gulps softly, a ghost of his earlier fluster flickers across his features, but he pushes through it, earnest and achingly sincere. “Will you marry me?”
The answer is already spilling from your lips before he’s finished. A whispered, fervent yes that he catches with his mouth, kissing you with a depth of emotion that steals your breath away. The kiss turns heated almost immediately, the suspended passion roaring back to life, and when he finally rocks his hips again, you both moan into the space between your mouths.
Afterwards, tangled in sheets and each other, he buries his face in your hair and mutters something that sounds like I can’t believe I proposed to you mid-coitus, and you laugh until your sides ache, pressing kisses to his burning cheeks while he tries, and fails, to maintain any remaining shred of dignity.
It is, you decide, the most perfect proposal you could have ever imagined.
It’s that acrid smell of a culinary disaster in the making, a giveaway that Xavier is currently waging war on a frying pan. The scent of scorched food is his unofficial signature at this point. It drifts through the apartment, acting as a smoky reminder of his absolute lack of kitchen skills.
You haven’t really talked since that stupid argument earlier. He’s being so incredibly stubborn, which is infuriating, but—and there’s always a 'but' with him— pushing him right now feels like a trap, a recipe for round two of the same fight.
You pull open your bedroom door and the smell hits you harder, like a silent protest from the kitchen. You start shedding your clothes, just tossing them into a messy heap on the floor.
It’s just a silly prank.
A tiny, wicked smirk pulls at your lips when you realize you've forgotten your necklace. Whatever. You decide to leave it on. The gold chain drapes perfectly, dipping right into the soft valley between your breasts, and you know exactly what that does to him.
He isn't the only stubborn one in this relationship.
As you wander back out into the main room, the stench of burnt food gets progressively worse but you dont care. Your eyes are locked on him. He’s hunched over the stove, looking uncharacteristically frantic as he tries to salvage whatever blackened mess is currently sizzling in the pan.
At this rate, he’s going to burn the whole building down, you think, shaking your head with exasperation. It’s ridiculous, he's a legendary hunter, a literal powerhouse, and yet he’s completely defeated by a frying pan. But then again, he’s so ridiculously cute when he’s failing at something so simple.
You find a spot to lean against the doorframe, crossing your arms right under your chest to emphasize the view, and just watch him. You’re playing the waiting game now, waiting for that moment of realization to hit him, to see that flicker of surprise when he finally notices you're standing there, butt naked.
Finally, you push off the wood and take a couple of steps toward him. You catch the exact second his shoulders stiffen, the way he vibrates with the sudden awareness of your presence.
He’s pretending you don't even exist. But he can't keep it up for long. He's a terrible liar when it comes to where his eyes wander.
"You're going to set the entire building on fire," you say, letting a healthy dose of fake concern drip from your voice. "Maybe you should just give up and order a pizza. Or hot pot. Anything besides... whatever this is."
You gesture vaguely toward the stove, where the pan is currently performing a violent, angry solo of sizzling and popping, releasing a cloud of smoke that shouldn't be there.
Silence. He's still playing the stoic martyr. Fine by you.
You sidle up next to him, moving in just close enough to feel the heat coming off his body. He's white knuckling his focus on the pan, acting like he isn't acutely aware of your proximity, trying so hard not to give you the satisfaction of a reaction.
Leaning in, you let your lips graze the shell of his ear, your voice dropping to a teasing whisper. "Unless... you were just looking for a convenient excuse to bail on cooking altogether?"
There. Mission accomplished. There is no way he can ignore you now.
As you pull back and turn to head out, you can practically feel Xavier’s gaze burning holes into your back. You know exactly what he's looking at 🍑, the parts of you that have always acted like a magnet for his attention.
"I'm ordering food," you call out over your shoulder, punctuating the sentence with a pointed nod toward the disaster on the stove. "I think we've had quite enough of that."
You take your sweet time walking out of the kitchen, making sure to put a little extra, intentional sway in your hips. You vanish around the corner with a little grin because you know you've successfully gotten under his skin.
And, predictably, you hear the footsteps. He's following you.
Making your way over to the dining table, you fumble for your phone to order something. You bend forward a bit, leaning over the table with the phone pressed to your ear, and you can already feel that prickle on the back of your neck. His footsteps are coming. Heavy, purposeful, and way too close.
Just as the girl on the other end finally picks up "Hello, thanks for calling..." you start to straighten up. You’re halfway there, thinking maybe the tension is breaking, when suddenly, his hands lunge out and catch your hips. Before you can even blink, he’s yanking you right back down.
A sharp gasp escapes you and for a second you think you’re gonna drop the phone. He’s got you bent over, chest pressed flat against the cold tabletop. His grip isn't exactly gentle either, fingers digging into your ass.
And then there's heat. You can feel him pressing up against your backside, the solid, heavy weight of him settling right between your asscheeks. His breath hot and ragged ghosts over the sensitive skin of your neck right before his lips graze you.
"I think you're forgetting something," he whispers "You don't get to pull a stunt like that and then just walk away"
The girl on the phone is prompting you, asking for your order, but how the hell are you supposed to remember if you wanted the spicy noodles or the mild when Xavier is looming over you? You swallow hard, trying to find your voice, and as his hands slide off your hips, you think, Okay, fine, he's letting me go. Relief starts to wash over you as you begin to rise.
Wrong. You were so incredibly wrong.
In a split second, he slams you back down against the wood. You let out a choked gasp, especially when you hear the rustle of fabric, the sound of his hand moving for the waistband of his pants.
You bite your lip so hard it hurts, desperate to stifle the moan that’s clawing its way up your throat when you hear him shoving his clothes down.
This wasn't part of the plan. Or maybe... maybe it was.
The voice on the phone speaks again, nudging you kind of rudely, out of that hazy, half delirious state you've drifted into.
"A—Ah! Uh, can we get... two large orders of the spicy noodles, please?" You almost moan the word large, trying to sound normal, but the timing couldn't be worse. Right as the syllable leaves your mouth, he lunges. One single, impossibly deep thrust that sinks him all the way in.
Your back arches instinctively, hips tilting back to meet him, trying to accommodate every agonizingly perfect inch of him as he stretches you wide. A moan, a real, honest to god moan starts to bubble up in your throat again, and you try to disguise it as a cough. Please, let her think it's just a shitty signal.
It's a losing battle. You’re taking shallow, shuddering breaths, trying to convince your heart to stop hammering against your ribs while you wait for the girl to confirm the order.
She starts reading your order back— two large, spicy noodle orders—but the words are just noise. Meaningless static. Because your entire universe has shrunk down to the exact moment he pulls back, agonizingly slow, before slamming forward again, hard, making your vision blur.
"Y-Yes..." you manage to whisper into the receiver. Your fingers are curling, nails digging into the hard wood of the table, trying to find some kind of leverage so you don't just slide right off the edge.
"We've got your address on file, it's the one linked to this number, right?" she asks, sounding so mundane, so blissfully unaware.
"YES!" you nearly shriek. The word echoes off the kitchen walls just as he hooks a leg, lifting it higher, leaving your foot dangling and flexing uselessly in the air. For a split second, you aren't even sure who you're answering to—the patient woman on the phone, or the man who is currently fucking your brains out.
"Will that be everything, ma'am?"
"Mmm, yeah... yeah, just like that," you wheeze into the receiver, though it sounds more like a series of desperate gasps than an actual coherent sentence. "I mean...yes! That’s the order. Two large spicy noodles. Definitely."
You silently pray she thinks you are obsessed with noodles. Just a super enthusiastic foodie who is genuinely stoked about her dinner, rather than a woman currently getting absolutely demolished by her boyfriend.
"It will be there in 30 minutes"
"OK!" you cry out, palm slapping the table with a dull thud as you end the call. Manners? Gone. Completely out the window, you were way too far gone to care about being polite.
“Such a good girl,” Xavier murmurs, voice turning dangerously smug as his hand slides down your belly, fingers delving through the slick curls at the apex of your thighs to play with your clit “Holding back all those pretty moans...”
“Mmmmfff... ahhh!” your eyes roll back and your toes curl so tight they start to cramp, but you barely even feel it because he is relentless. He drives you right through the peak of one climax and slams you straight into the next one without a second of mercy.
“Fuck, Xavie,” you gasp, the words tumbling out of you in a messy heap. “You fuck me so good. Seriously... so fucking good.”
"Next time you decide to play these little games with me..." he whispers against your ear, "just think twice, bunny. The joke might end up being on you."
He was tied up with important calls—probably something surgical or hospital related—but looking at that frozen, stoic face of his, you couldn't help but wonder: does he ever actually lose it? Would he chase after you the way those guys in the tt videos chased their naked girlfriends? Probably not. But, fortune favors the bold, right? Or so you told yourself.
Taking a shaky breath, you nudged the heavy office door open. The hinges gave an annoying little creak, echoing in the quiet room. Zayne didn't even look up at first, he was completely swallowed by the conversation on the other end of the line.
You knew he felt you there. He had to. There was a small pause, a subtle furrow in his brow as he processed whatever the caller was saying, but he kept his eyes glued to his computer.
Don't chicken out now, you told yourself. Just do it.
The air in the office felt a little too cold when you entered and started to wander. You felt ridiculous, walking around his workspace—naked— like you owned the place. You trailed your fingertips along the spines of his intimidating medical textbooks, acting like you were actually interested in the titles, all while feeling his eyes practically burning holes into you.
You had his attention
His eyes, usually so clinical and precise, were starting to look hazy, or maybe confused? It was hard to tell, but you could see the exact moment his brain tried to reconcile the professional call with the sight of your naked body drifting through his sanctuary. His jaw tightened—just a fraction—and you noticed his knuckles turning white where he gripped the phone.
You waited for it. A cough, a gasp, a "What on earth..." anything! But nothing. To your absolute frustration, he stayed silent. He just watched. He sat there with that unreadable mask, letting you be as shameless as you wanted to be. You could feel the weight of his gaze pressing against your spine as you leaned over a stack of papers, purposefully bending low to "inspect" them, making sure your backside was front and center for his viewing pleasure.
The silence was driving you crazy, it was the kind of quiet that felt heavy, pressing against your eardrums. It was unnerving, but there was also a delicious thrill running through your veins. You kept playing your part, half expecting him to break, to finally crack that perfect composure and lunge for you. But he didn't. He just sat there, listening to the voice on the phone, his eyes tracking your every movement like you were a specimen under a microscope. The only hint that he was actually losing his mind was the rhythmic, almost aggressive tap-tap-tap of his pen against the small calendar on his desk.
A little knot of disappointment tightened in your chest. Really? That's it? You figured your little performance hadn't landed quite the way you'd hoped. Feeling a bit foolish, you decided to cut your losses and started to turn away, intending to walk out of the office with as much dignity as a naked woman could muster.
But just as your hand found the door, his voice sliced through the air.
"Give me thirty minutes. I'll call you back."
It was so calm. So damn professional. It was the voice he used with colleagues, not the one he used when he was looking at you.
Your heart did a violent somersault. You froze, your palm flat against the cool metal of the doorknob, realizing you’d waited far too long to make your exit. Then came the sound, the distinct click of the phone being returned to its cradle. Suddenly, the room felt suffocatingly quiet, thick with a tension so heavy you could practically taste it. You were caught. Dead to rights.
Then, you heard the chair scrape against the floor.
As he stood up, his presence seemed to expand, filling the entire room until there was barely enough space left for you to breathe. He was so much taller, his shadow stretching out to swallow yours as he moved toward you. The temperature dropped—a chill settling in the air—and you couldn't help the involuntary shiver that racked your body. Slowly, tentatively, you turned around to face him, your eyes wide and searching, bracing yourself for whatever version of Zayne was about to meet you.
Zayne just stood there. Arms crossed tight over his broad chest, looking like a storm was about to break in the middle of his office. His eyes traced every single curve of your naked skin before finally snapping back up to your eyes. It was the kind of stare that made your lungs forget how to function.
"What exactly do you think you're doing?" he finally asked.
Naturally, you tried to play it cool, letting out a forced laugh "It was just a prank, Zayne! Come on, lighten up a little."
Big mistake. Huge.
He wasn't in the mood to lighten up. Before you could even turn the doorknob, he moved. He was fast—faster than you realized—and suddenly you were tossed over his shoulder like a sack of flour. You let out a little yelp of surprise, bare skin pressing against the fabric of his shirt as he walked towards the bedroom. "Zayne! Put me down!" you yelped, feeling both embarrassed and thrilled.
He didn't say a word. He just carried you in and dropped you onto the bed. You bounced on the mattress, blinking up at him, and then you saw it, the look in his eyes. He wasn't your stoic doctor right now. He was your husband, your very hungry husband.
His shirt was off in one motion, tossed carelessly somewhere toward the center of the room. Then the pants followed. You watched, breathless, as he stripped down, his movements efficient and certain. There was nothing modest about him now—he was fully exposed, and you couldn't help but stare. He was, in a word, impressive.
Then he was on the bed, crawling over you and pinning you down with his weight. You felt him, hot and hard, pressing against your stomach.
"We've got twenty eight minutes," he murmured right against your ear. "Let's make sure we don't waste a single one of them."
"Zay..."
"I really ought to punish you for your little stunt," he murmured, giving your inner thigh a hard slap "But instead? Instead, I’m going to fuck you so hard you won't try to prank me ever again...or maybe you will."
You barely had time to choke out his name again before he was moving. With one hard thrust he was inside you. A broken moan tore itself from your throat and your head thrashed back against the pillow as your body scrambled to accommodate his size. It was a lot but in the best possible way.
His pace was almost punishing, hips snapping forward with a raw force that had the entire bed frame groaning and the headboard slamming against the wall. Thud. Thud. Thud. Every thrust knocked the wind right out of your lungs, leaving you breathless.
You felt almost feral yourself, fingers scrabbling blindly at his back, nails digging into the hard, corded muscle of his shoulders just to stay grounded. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, his breath coming in hot, uneven hitches against your skin. He was losing it, one hand clamped onto your hip as he hammered home, while the other continued to knead your breast with a bruising grip.
Just when you thought you couldn't take any more, he shifted. Without a word of warning, he flipped you over. Before you could even figure out what was happening, you were being maneuvered onto your hands and knees, braced and waiting.
For a split second, instinct took over. You tried to scramble forward, desperate to find some kind of breathing room away from the overwhelming heat of him. But there was no escaping Zayne when he was like this. His hands shot out, fingers digging into your hips as he hauled you backward, dragging you flush against him.
"Oh god, Zayne, please wait—" you begged, the words catching in your throat.
But the plea was useless. He didn't wait. He lunged forward again, a sudden thrust that sank him balls deep into your pussy. The change in angle was everything. The head of his cock bottomed out against your cervix with perfect precision. It was a specific kind of ache—the kind that sits right on the edge of pain and pure pleasure. It hurt so good it was almost unfair.
Panicked and overwhelmed, you tried to crawl away again. Your elbows and knees were trembling, shaking so violently you could barely hold yourself up, all in a vain attempt to outrun the relentless tempo he’d set. Every time you gained an inch, he’d just yank you back by the hips, slamming your ass hard against his pelvis until he was buried even deeper inside you.
"Keep trying to run," he gave your ass a sharp slap that made your body jolt "go ahead, keep fighting it, sweetheart. Eventually, you're gonna run out of bed... and I'll still be right here, fucking your brains out."
i imagine zayne coming home when you're already settled in bed—not quite asleep yet, just reading.
he talks about his day. how one patient didn't want to take his medications. how another returned after 6 months of no contact despite having an illness. how the dessert shop had a new item and he didn't like it (shocker!) these things are all mundane, and you loved listening to him. and then he takes off his tie with one hand.
you don't know why that made you shift. you've seen it before, but the way his arm flexed and how he removed it in one swoop...
all his words fall away in your ears when he looks at you, going on about his day, as he unbuttons his shirt. at that point, he notices the way your pupils dilate.
"i don't think you're paying attention," he chuckles, fingers busy.
"i was," you say like a promise. he had to believe you! "it's not my fault you're so attractive."
he raises an eyebrow, pink dusting his ears. "oh, is that so?" he walks towards the bathroom, his back in full view as he removes his dress shirt.
oh.
his obsession with your back is definitely not unrequited; you loved seeing the way his back muscles flex. he may feel insecure with the scars, but he's never been more human to you with them. in fact, you loved tracing your fingers on them to see him shiver.
you hear the water start to run in the bath. zayne leans on the doorframe of the bathroom, looking at you as he unbuckles his belt.
