Zaynes Wife

Feel free to drop in and fangirl with me 20

[zayneshottestgal]

About me

Age:20

Pronouns: she/her

How long I’ve been playing lnds : Since the day it came out

Husband : zayne

Boyfriend: Sylus lol

Biomed major with a future in optometry

Hobbies : fashion , working out and the arts

Feel free to drop in anytime and talk with me about the game or any of my works

Add me in game/ hunter ID # 82000008689 “zanyes hottest gal”

Masterlist

[p1psqueaks-deactivated20250620]

LOVE AND DEEPSPACE — HE’S YOUR EMERGENCY CONTACT

a/n: here’s some raya lore — i’m a cardiac nurse irl and work with cardiothoracic surgeons all the time, so zayne’s story makes me giggle thinking about my surgeons doing this

ZAYNE

You regain consciousness slowly, with the vague sense that something humiliating has occurred. The hospital lights are too bright, the bed is too firm, and the IV in your arm is just... rude, honestly.

"You're awake," comes a voice — cool, low, and very familiar.

Oh no.

Oh no.

You turn your head and find Zayne, still in scrubs, standing at the foot of the bed with his arms crossed and that trademark look of stoic disappointment on his face. You’re not sure if he's judging your vital signs or your life choices.

“I told you not to skip lunch,” he says.

“Did you get called down here?” you ask, voice hoarse.

He lifts an eyebrow. “No. I was already here. In surgery. Where I was paged — in the middle of a triple bypass — because my emergency contact had decided to dramatically pass out in the hospital lobby like a Victorian novel protagonist.”

“Wow. Sounds like they need better lobby snacks.”

He doesn't laugh, but the corner of his mouth twitches slightly — the Zayne equivalent of a full belly laugh.

You shift in bed, suddenly aware of how gross you must look. “Sooo… just to confirm, my very intimidating, brilliant surgeon-boyfriend got pulled out of heart surgery because I skipped breakfast and had a blood sugar tantrum?”

“Yes.” He picks up your chart like it personally insulted him. “And I had to hand my patient off to Dr. Greyson, who, by the way, is now convinced you're either dying or incredibly high-maintenance.”

“Well, I am dating a man who yells at EKG machines.”

“I don’t yell at them,” he says, deadpan. “I encourage them sternly.”

You’re about to tease him again when he steps closer and rests two fingers against your wrist, checking your pulse manually. You both know it’s unnecessary — your vitals are already beeping steadily on the monitor—but he does it anyway, like he needs to feel it for himself.

His eyes soften for a second — just a flicker —then the mask returns.

“I’m fine,” you say gently. “I swear.”

He doesn’t reply. He just exhales through his nose like you’ve personally ruined his whole month and reaches into the pocket of his white coat.

“I brought you juice,” he says flatly, pulling out a little box of apple juice like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

You stare. “Wait. You detoured to pediatrics for juice?”

“I’m a surgeon, not a monster.”

You take the juice. He even gives you a bendy straw.

“I love you,” you say, smirking.

“You’re hypoglycemic. Your judgment is impaired.”

You reach for his hand anyway, and he lets you have it, warm and steady and a little calloused from years of holding hearts in his hands.

“You’re lucky I’m not dramatic,” you murmur.

He doesn't blink. “You fainted in the middle of a hospital hallway like an Oscar nominee.”

“Told you. Lobby snacks.”

Zayne exhales, shakes his head once, then gently brushes your hair away from your forehead with the kind of tenderness that could undo an entire cardiac ward.

“Next time,” he murmurs, “eat something. Or I’m putting you on a monitored meal plan.”

“You’re hot when you’re bossy.”

“I’m always bossy.”

“True. Still hot, though.”

Zayne doesn’t smile. But he does sit in the chair next to your bed and take out his tablet, one hand still loosely holding yours.

He doesn’t have to say anything. This is Zayne-speak for I'm not leaving.

And honestly? You’re kind of okay with fainting in public if it gets you this much juice and love from the hospital’s most terrifyingly devoted cardiothoracic surgeon.

XAVIER

You’re lying on the hospital bed, blinking up at the sterile white ceiling, wondering how you managed to turn skipping lunch into a full-on hospital visit. The door opens, and in walks Xavier — your boyfriend and your emergency contact — looking like he just sprinted through a hurricane, but somehow still perfectly put-together.

He spots you immediately, his calm, composed mask cracking just a little. “There you are,” he says, voice steady but with an unmistakable undertone of relief.

You try to sit up, but your head spins a little. “I’m fine. Sort of.”

He crosses the room in two strides, sitting carefully on the edge of the bed, his hand reaching out to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. His touch is gentle, careful, like he’s afraid if he’s too rough you might actually break.

“I got the call while I was in a meeting,” he says quietly, “and I left everything. I didn’t even finish my coffee.”

You smile, appreciating the little sacrifices he makes without complaint.

“You’re my emergency contact,” you remind him playfully. “Kind of your job to freak out a little.”

He lets out a short, almost embarrassed laugh. “I panicked. A bit. But I stayed composed.”

You reach for his hand, squeezing it. “You’re doing great.”

His eyes soften, and for a moment the world outside this hospital room disappears. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”

You lean your head against his shoulder, and he wraps an arm around you, holding you close but steady.

“Promise me you’ll eat something next time,” he says quietly, his breath warm against your temple.

“I promise,” you murmur.

“And no more fainting in public. I don’t want to have to race down hospital hallways to find you again.”

You laugh softly. “Noted. I’ll try to keep you from breaking a sweat.”

His smile is almost shy now, but the way he tightens his hold on your hand says it all.

“You’re my emergency,” he whispers.

You snort. “Let’s not keep it that way.”

You stay like that for a while, just holding onto each other—two perfectly imperfect people, tethered together by something stronger than any emergency call.

RAFAYEL

Your ankle propped is propped up on a pillow, wrapped in bandages, and your pride slightly more bruised than your actual injury. The nurse said it’s just a mild sprain and you’ll live—but not before she tried very hard not to laugh when you explained how it happened.

The door bursts open like a dramatic plot twist.

“Where is she?!” comes the unmistakable voice of Rafayel.

You barely get out a “Hey—” before he’s at your bedside, eyes wild and hair slightly windblown like he’s just escaped a wind tunnel. Which, honestly, might not be far from the truth.

“I got the call and thought, ‘Oh, maybe she’s dehydrated, or tired, or mildly inconvenienced,’” he says, flinging his jacket on the nearest chair like he’s auditioning for a hospital drama. “But no. You injured yourself chasing your lunch?!”

“It was a really good sandwich,” you mutter defensively.

“A sandwich?” he repeats, clutching his heart like you’ve personally wounded him. “You rolled your ankle because a gust of wind stole your sandwich?”

You glare at him. “I was hungry, okay? It was toasted. And warm. It smelled amazing. I panicked.”

He takes a long, theatrical breath like he’s trying to absorb the full weight of your questionable life choices.

“I left in the middle of an event meeting ,” he says, dramatically pulling a chair up to your bedside. “I might have knocked over a cup of coffee on the way out. I think Thomas yelled for me. I don't remember. My soul left my body the moment they said your name.”

Despite his flair for the dramatic, his hand finds yours — gently, carefully, like he’s trying to check for injuries you haven’t mentioned.

“You’re okay, though?” he asks, suddenly quieter, eyes searching yours. “Really okay?”

You squeeze his hand. “I’m fine. Just a little bruised. Physically and emotionally.”

He exhales, visibly relaxing even though he’s trying to pretend like he was never worried in the first place. “Good. Because I wasn’t emotionally prepared to lose you to an airborne panini.”

You burst out laughing. “Technically, it was a ciabatta.”

“Oh, excuse me,” he says with mock offense, but you catch the tiny tremble of relief in his smile.

He straightens up with a newfound sense of duty. “Right. From now on, I am personally supervising all your lunches. If it has lettuce, it’s getting double security.”

You grin. “Are you volunteering to be my food bodyguard?”

“Silly girl— I’m your boyfriend and your emergency contact. Food security is just a natural extension of my role.”

And with that, he dramatically unwraps a protein bar from his bag, holds it out to you like a solemn offering, and adds, “Now eat this. And next time, let the sandwich go.”

You take the bar, still giggling. “You’re ridiculous.”

He leans in, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “And yet, somehow, I’m still the most responsible person in this relationship.”

You nudge him playfully with your elbow. “You ran into a hospital yelling.”

“I entered with urgency. There’s a difference.”

Despite everything, you’re smiling. Because if you’re going to end up in a hospital with a sprained ankle and a lost sandwich, there’s no one else you’d rather have panicking beautifully at your side than Rafayel.

SYLUS

You’re lying in a hospital bed, leg elevated, toe wrapped in what must be 400 layers of gauze for a very minor fracture. Your phone’s dead. You’re mildly embarrassed. And the nurse informed you that your emergency contact has been called.

Great.

Not five minutes later, the door opens with an entirely reasonable amount of urgency, and in walks Sylus. He looks calm, of course. Immaculately put-together. The kind of composed that makes everyone else feel like maybe things aren’t on fire.

“Hey,” you say sheepishly. “Before you ask, I’m not dying.”

He walks straight to your bedside, his steps efficient, quiet. His eyes scan you from head to toe like he’s assessing battlefield injuries, even though the only casualty is your dignity and maybe a toe bone.

“Mm,” he hums, setting down a small bag —because of course he brought things. “The nurse said you broke your toe.”

“Just a tiny fracture. More like a dramatic crack. I stubbed it on the coffee table.”

Sylus sits in the chair beside your bed and raises an eyebrow. “With enough force to require X-rays and emergency contact notification?”

“I was chasing a bug.”

He blinks. “You injured yourself in active combat with a housefly.”

“It was huge.”

He nods slowly, lips twitching, almost smiling. “Understandable.”

You watch him as he leans back slightly in the chair, arms crossed, but his eyes don’t leave you. He’s trying to appear relaxed, but you know him. The slight crease between his brows? The way his leg is bouncing, just a little? That’s Sylus-level distress.

“You okay?” you ask softly.

“I’m fine,” he replies smoothly. “You’re the one who got into a full-contact brawl with furniture.”

You grin. “You worried?”

His expression doesn’t change. “Of course.”

“You’re hiding it well.”

“I’m excellent at containment,” he replies, but then — he gently takes your hand, thumb brushing over your knuckles with an absent, comforting rhythm.

The silence stretches out, warm and familiar. Finally, you speak.

“You didn’t have to rush over, y’know.”

“I didn’t rush,” he says.

“You’re out of breath.”

“I took the stairs.”

You laugh, and that finally gets him to crack a full smile. He leans forward and presses a kiss to your temple, brief and grounding.

“Next time,” he says, still soft, “let the bug win.”

“Are you saying that because of my toe, or because you’re secretly pro-bug?”

“I’m saying that because you are not replaceable, and coffee tables are surprisingly effective weapons.”

You squeeze his hand. “You’re my favorite emergency contact.”

“I better be.” He raises your hand to his lips. “I have a designated bag for this exact situation.”

You blink. “Wait — what’s in the bag?”

He opens it casually: snacks, a charger, a small first aid kit, and — of course — a mini bottle of lotion “in case hospital soap dries out your hands.”

“You’re terrifyingly prepared,” you murmur.

Sylus smiles calmly, brushing hair from your forehead. “And you are accident-prone. It’s a beautiful match.”

And just like that, everything feels a little less embarrassing, a little less dramatic. Because Sylus is here — collected, calm, worried down to his bones, and still managing to make you feel like the most secure clumsy person in the world.

CALEB

You’re sitting on a gurney with an ice pack strapped to your wrist and a very strong desire to sink into the floor and disappear. It’s a mild sprain. Barely a sprain, really. But policy’s policy, and your emergency contact has been notified.

That would be Caleb.

You don't even get a chance to text him before the door bursts open.

There he is — Caleb in full protective, puffed-up mode — hair messy like he sprinted here without stopping to breathe, hoodie half-zipped, eyes scanning the room like he’s ready to file a lawsuit or carry you out in his arms. Possibly both.

“Oh my god,” he breathes, rushing over. “Are you okay? What happened? Why didn’t you call me? Did someone push you?”

You raise an eyebrow. “It was a slippery hallway.”

Caleb squints. “Slippery like… sabotage? Who waxes a hallway that much?”

“It’s a hospital, babe.”

“Still suspicious.”

He pulls a chair up to the bed with unnecessary force, plops down beside you, and carefully examines your wrist like he’s about to perform surgery himself.

“They gave you an X-ray, right? And ice? Did they check for nerve damage? Do I need to talk to someone?”

You sigh, smiling. “Yes, yes, no, and absolutely not. It’s a minor sprain.”

“Minor?” he repeats like you just called a plane crash a “minor inconvenience.”

You lean back and watch as he starts rifling through the little hospital drawer for reasons unknown. Possibly looking for answers. Possibly snacks.

“Caleb.”

“Hm?”

“You can breathe. I’m okay.”

He finally pauses, sitting back in his chair. “I know you’re okay. I just need to see you being okay for, like, the next three hours before I stop internally screaming.”

You reach over and lace your fingers with his with your uninjured hand.

“I appreciate your overreaction.”

He huffs dramatically. “This isn’t an overreaction. This is called deep, passionate concern.”

“You accused a hallway of foul play.”

“And I stand by that.”

You chuckle, gently tugging his hand. “You’re cute when you’re worried.”

“I’m always worried. You’re a walking hazard zone.”

You smirk. “Yet you keep dating me.”

“I like living dangerously,” he says, leaning over to press a kiss to your forehead. “But next time? Text me. I want to hear about your wrist injury from you, not a very bored nurse who said, and I quote, ‘Your partner’s fine. Bit dramatic, though.’”

“Wow. She really captured your energy.”

He narrows his eyes. “Okay. I’m limiting your sarcasm until your wrist heals.”

You laugh, resting your head on his shoulder. “Good luck with that.”

[whosashan]

The little things

In which - little things the LaDS men do that show you just how much they treasure you.

Xavier

Xavier was an affectionate lover in ways that often went unnoticed by others. To the world, he seemed distant—aloof, even—avoiding large gatherings and keeping to himself. But to you, he was warmth itself, a presence that never failed to lift your spirits. He had an uncanny ability to summon a smile to your lips, savoring the sound of your laughter as if it were his favorite melody. With him, your heart always felt full.

Physical affection was his language. Whether it was the gentle press of his lips against your forehead first thing in the morning, the reassuring squeeze of your hand as he guided you through a crowded street, or the way he enveloped your chilled fingers in his own to chase away the cold—his love was always expressed through touch.

Helping you get ready had become one of his favorite rituals. The first time he offered to apply your blush, he had been hesitant, his brows knit in concentration, as if a single misplaced stroke would earn him a scolding. Now, it had become second nature—his careful hands brushing across your skin, his focus entirely on you, everything to be able to touch you in any way.

A rough day? He was there to knead the tension from your shoulders with steady, practiced hands. A moment of comfort? He would wrap you in his embrace before you even had to ask.

On this particular evening, you were away on a field trip with your colleagues—an event Xavier had only agreed to attend because of you.

The fire crackled softly, casting flickering shadows across the encampment. You sat on a log, the warmth of the flames barely reaching you as exhaustion weighed heavily on your limbs. Organizing this trip had been a draining ordeal; you felt less like a leader and more like a weary caretaker herding unruly children—children who happened to be highly trained hunters.

The laughter and chatter around you blurred into background noise. When a coworker made a poorly timed, half-hearted joke at your expense, you merely furrowed your brows, too drained to muster a response. All you wanted was sleep.

Xavier, seated beside you, noticed immediately. His fingers pressed gently into your thigh—a small, grounding touch, yet one that brought an immediate sense of comfort. A silent promise. 'I’m here. If you need me, I’m right here.'

He took your hand in his, tracing slow circles over your knuckles, urging you to look at him. His gaze held a silent question—'Are you okay?'

You met his eyes, their soft concern melting into you like a balm. With a quiet smile, you gave his hand a reassuring squeeze in return.

Yes, you were okay. Because you had him.

And in moments like this, you knew—you were truly lucky.

Zayne

Zayne was the embodiment of composure—level-headed, calm, and unfailingly rational. Yet, when it came to expressing his true thoughts, words often failed him. His concern for you, though deeply rooted in care, sometimes surfaced as stern remarks, particularly when you disregarded your doctor’s (his) orders.

But where words fell short, his actions spoke volumes.

You had long since grown accustomed to discovering fresh bouquets of your favorite flowers at your doorstep, their delicate petals carrying the unspoken warmth of his affection. At his apartment, a set of spare clothes always awaited you, neatly folded as if in quiet anticipation of your stay. He had even gone so far as to purchase travel-sized versions of your toiletries, a small yet endearing detail that never failed to make your heart flutter. His fridge was perpetually stocked with your preferred snacks and drinks, as though he had memorized each of your favorites without effort.

And then there were the little things—the unspoken gestures that revealed just how closely he paid attention. He had noticed, without you ever mentioning it, how much you loathed doing the dishes. So naturally, he had taken it upon himself, never allowing you near the sink, brushing off any protest with quiet insistence.

That was the man Zayne was—one who showed his love not through grand declarations, but through unwavering acts of service, ensuring you were always at ease in his presence.

Today, you had set out for a shopping trip, eager to refresh your wardrobe. Fortune was on your side—Zayne had the day off and had agreed to accompany you, an unexpected treat that left you brimming with excitement.

As expected, you never carried so much as a single bag. He handled them all effortlessly, his grip firm yet gentle as he held your hand in his free one—a small but steadfast reminder of his presence beside you.

The golden hues of the setting sun stretched across the pavement as the two of you made your way home, the air crisp with the promise of evening. The weight of the shopping bags didn’t seem to bother him in the slightest, yet, midway through the walk, he suddenly came to a halt.

“Wait.” His voice was calm yet firm.

Before you could ask why, he crouched down, carefully setting the bags on the ground. Confused, you followed his gaze—only to realize your shoelaces had come undone.

A flush crept up your neck as your eyes widened slightly. He was tying them.

“Zayne! I could’ve done it myself,” you protested, voice tinged with sheepish embarrassment.

He remained unfazed, fingers moving deftly as he secured the knot with practiced ease.

“There’s no need to strain your back when I’m here,” he murmured, his tone as steady as ever, as though his actions were the most natural thing in the world.

When he stood, you gazed up at him, a small smile tugging at your lips. Without hesitation, he returned it, his warmth evident in the soft curve of his mouth as he reached for your hand once more.

“Thank you,” you whispered, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek.

A faint blush dusted both your faces—a delicate shade of pink, fleeting yet impossible to ignore.

And in that quiet moment, with the evening sun painting the sky in amber and rose, you felt it once again—the quiet, unwavering love that Zayne had always shown you, not with words, but with actions that spoke louder than any confession ever could.

Rafayel

Rafayel loved to tease you—whether through over-the-top dramatics or by shamelessly flirting at every opportunity.

“There she is—the one and only, the gorgeous, the radiant, the absolute love of my life!” he declared theatrically, placing a hand over his heart as if he were on the verge of swooning.

You rolled your eyes, elbowing him in the side, but not before a telltale blush crept onto your cheeks.

Despite his endless antics, he always knew where to draw the line. No matter how much he delighted in seeing you flustered, he never overstepped your boundaries. His teasing was playful, never intrusive—an affectionate dance he had perfected just for you.

He was, at his core, an attentive lover. Whether you were ranting about work, venting about a frustrating friend, or simply rambling about whatever occupied your mind, he listened. Fully. Unwaveringly. And if you ever sought advice, he was more than ready to offer it.

He was also the best gossip partner you could ask for. If you didn’t like someone—even if he had never met them before—they were already erased from existence in his eyes.

His affection was woven into the little things. He often left behind handwritten notes, filled with charming doodles and sweet messages, knowing how much you adored thoughtful gestures. He had an uncanny ability to anticipate your wants before you even voiced them, surprising you with clothes, shoes, makeup—anything he thought would bring that spark of joy to your eyes.

And though he usually saw right through your mischievous schemes, he often indulged them anyway. Seeing you get all giddy over a well-executed prank or a perfectly timed joke was worth playing along.

Like now.

You turned to him, eyes gleaming with anticipation. “Hey Raf, what do you think - Which days are the strongest?”

Rafayel narrowed his gaze, already sensing the incoming disaster. “…Enlighten me, cutie.”

“Saturday and Sunday,” you declared, barely holding back your grin. “The rest are week days.”

A loud snort escaped as you dissolved into laughter, as if you had just delivered the comedic masterpiece of the century.

He scoffed, shaking his head, but there was no hiding the soft smile tugging at his lips. You looked so carefree like this—unburdened, unfiltered, perfectly at ease.

And to him, there was nothing more beautiful than that.

Sylus

The big bad wolf was utterly, hopelessly smitten with you.

It was no secret that Sylus spoiled you beyond reason. If your gaze so much as lingered on something for a second too long, it would magically appear at your doorstep the very next day, wrapped in elegant packaging with a handwritten note attached. He wanted you to feel cherished, adored—to know that you deserved the absolute best.

But beyond lavish gifts and extravagant gestures, Sylus had made it his mission to memorize every detail about you.

Your birthday? Expect an unforgettable surprise, meticulously planned down to the last second. Your anniversary? He had booked a luxurious getaway months in advance—and had already arranged for your days off at work. Don't ask how. Allergies? Noted and accounted for. Every little habit, every unconscious quirk? He knew them all, and each one only deepened his fascination with you.

He never wanted you to worry about a single thing. Bills, rent, grocery shopping—it was all taken care of before the thought could even cross your mind. Somehow, your fridge was always stocked with your favorite foods, the shelves lined with your go-to snacks, as if by magic. In reality, it was just Sylus, ensuring you never had to lift a finger.

Even the smallest details didn’t escape his notice. You were running low on a product? He had already replaced it before you realized it was gone. You casually mentioned a preference? It was ingrained in his mind, woven seamlessly into his everyday actions.

He even tailored his appearance to your liking. He had long since noticed the way your eyes lingered on him whenever he wore tight-fitting shirts that accentuated his muscular frame—so naturally, he made sure to wear them more often. That cologne you once complimented? It was now the only one he ever used.

And then there were moments like this—where his attentiveness caught you completely off guard.

“Ugh, I’m running out of my favorite perfume,” you sighed, pouting as you finished getting ready. Sylus, lounging nearby, watched you with quiet amusement.

“Worry not, sweetie. It’s in the cabinet on the right.”

You blinked, confused, before pulling the door open—only to be met with an entire row of neatly arranged bottles of the exact perfume you had just lamented about.

Your jaw dropped. “Sylus!” You turned to him, eyes wide in disbelief. “You really shouldn’t spend so much money on me.” You pouted, though deep down, the sheer thoughtfulness of it all made your heart swell.

His deep, rich chuckle rumbled through the room as he pulled you into his arms, his embrace effortlessly warm and secure. “That’s quite insulting, darling,” he mused, pressing a lingering kiss to your temple. “I could buy you five houses, and my bank account wouldn’t even take a scratch.”

You rolled your eyes at his arrogance, but as he held you close, his scent wrapping around you like a comforting embrace, you couldn’t deny how deeply, undeniably loved you felt.

Caleb

For Caleb, spending time with you was the highlight of his day—especially now, knowing he could never take it for granted.

He seized every opportunity to be close to you, no matter how small.

"Oh, I just dropped by to say hi. I'm in Linkon for a business trip for a few days." he said casually, though the truth was, he had purposely cleared his schedule just to spend more time with you.

During his stay at your place, he would carefully plan ways to make your time together unforgettable. A cozy movie night, complete with blanket forts? Already arranged. Baking together? He lived for the excuse to smudge flour on your cheek just so he could wipe it away, stealing a touch in the process. Playing Kitty Cards? He would feign ignorance every time you sneakily took an extra card, pretending not to notice the mischievous glint in your eyes.

He knew you better than anyone—your habits, your favorite pastimes, the little things that made you light up. And he understood that sometimes, the best moments were the quiet ones—when you were simply absorbed in your own world, content in silence, with him just within reach. As long as he could see your face, that was enough.

"Caleb, that's cheating!" you whined, throwing your controller down as he effortlessly defeated you in yet another round of your video game.

"All's fair in love and war, pipsqueak," he mused, his deep chuckle sending warmth through the room.

You huffed dramatically, crossing your arms over your chest. "I don't want to play anymore."

His eyes gleamed with amusement as he leaned in slightly. "That means you lost," he murmured, inching closer. "And you know what that means."

Your heart skipped a beat. "No, Caleb, don't you dare—!"

But before you could protest, his hands were already on you, mercilessly tickling your sides. Laughter erupted from your lips, filling the apartment with the kind of pure joy that made everything else fade away.

And in that moment, you wouldn’t have had it any other way.

[ariyai]

Miss Colonel

[moonlightsereny]

Credits artist @Eggrollpu in X

[love-and-deepspace-incorrect]

Sylus texting MC after an argument: Even though I'm mad, I just wanted to say goodnight and I love you. I don't want you to go to bed or wake up angry

[crimsonspring]

Zayne, whose fingers tremble while he holds your face tenderly in his hands, lets out a shaky exhale as his green-hazel eyes stare at your face. He notices the sun spots, the blemishes and scars and he loves each and every one of them. They’re spectacular and unique features that make them you, his obsession runs deep - his heart beats in sincerity and adoration for your ‘imperfections’ — they add to your beauty.

He’s almost overwhelmed by your presence, positively bewildered that he gets to call the beauty of venus and saturn, the magnificent miracles of the sun and the moon, his lover. And just how spoiled is he in this life to be given the privilege of holding this eighth wonder of the world in his two hands.

His two hands that are a map of different scars and countless stories of pain and anguish. And with you in his hands, Zayne marvels at this paradox.

“You… are everything,” he sighs, his head shaking subtly. “Not just to me. You are everything.” It was important to Zayne that you understood that — you could very well be a stranger to him — you would still be everything. The world would continue to turn, showered with the bliss of your kindness and courage. “I understand the world may be unkind yet it knows that it’ll be in penury if it were to be without you. Do you understand that, my Jasmine?” As attentive as he is while conducting surgery, he stares just as intently into your tear glazed ones, as if there are books written in the swirls of your orbs and he’s determined to learn and dissect every line. He wants to absorb it all, understand how such negative self-perception could ever dip its toes into your mind — you are so beautiful and wonderful (inside and out)!

But until he figures this impossible puzzle out, he’ll settle on bringing the cheer back into your eyes. Zayne is a healer in essence, evident in his occupation as well as this current moment.

His gentle caress is a medicine of its own, his loving words the sweetest treat to make up for the pain. “But if the world chooses to be ungrateful to you today, allow me to remind you that you are my anchor and rock. You have brought so much ease and grounding to my life. I simply wish to be the same for you.” His voice is barely over a whisper, he is determined to protect the fragile bubble you are in now. You are a strong and fearless person, no doubt about that, but tonight you are vulnerable, anxious and fragile — and that is okay. Zayne is here.

“Cry if you have to,” he nods reassuringly, delicately pulling your face to face his when you pull away, tightness bubbling in your chest at his shower of intense affection. “You cannot scare me away.” He repeats his actions and sentiment through words directly this time.

Your bottom lip quivers, and it doesn’t take long for the water works to begin. Zayne is your favourite place to be, and not just because of the last bite of dessert that he saves for you, the back massages he spoils you with after a long day of work (despite his own of hours-long surgeries) or the bills that he pays. But because he allows you to be craven once in awhile, to be imperfect, to tire… and love you all the same.

[crrybrry]

Imagine this but with Zayne.

[connorsui]

"Why? Because I treat you like my wife?" Sylus asked, a rare smile tugging at his lips as he tilted his head, his crimson eyes glinting with curiosity.

"No… it’s because you treat me like a queen," you replied, a soft giggle escaping as you smiled up at him. Your laughter seemed to brighten the air, and for a moment, the usual weight in Sylus’s expression lightened.

His smile widened, a subtle curve that made his sharp features soften. "Well, the queen should be treated like a woman and a lady at every phase of her life… so there are moments where she must be cherished with the passion of a lover, revered with the devotion of a worshiper, and adored like she’s the very air I breathe—the only thing keeping me alive." His voice dropped, low and steady, as he stepped closer, his presence commanding yet impossibly gentle.

His hand came up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing against your skin with surprising tenderness. "Because that’s what you deserve, every second of every day."

"You’re not just my queen," he murmured, his gaze steady and warm as his smile softened further, "you’re my everything. And I’ll make sure you never forget that." His head tilted slightly, his eyes flicking to yours with an affectionate gleam, as if he was savoring the way you looked at him.

[coffeekittycatt]

guys turns out i don’t need a break, just more zayne

[connorsui]

Sylus: *walks inside of a church,goes knees bent, hands praying* ...Dear Lord, if she's not the one for me... force her to be....

.. Bind her heart to mine, tie her soul to my own. If there's even the slightest chance that she's meant to be mine, then let every step she takes lead her closer to me, let every thought of hers drift my way. And if I must wait, if I must earn her heart, then grant me the strength to be patient, to be worthy. But don't let her slip from me. Not now, not ever. And if the stars themselves must be realigned, then let them shift in our favor, until the day she looks at me as though I’ve been hers all along."

[sunsets-and-crows]

Canon event in my opinion

[misshuntereevee]

in which zayne turns your bad day into an amazing night ... a one shot i wrote because i got kind of sad and thought about how zayne would probably be an amazing & comforting presense. so we got this out of that lol.

You're having an absolutely awful day. You come into your apartment, trying to think about anything that isn't your work load, your training schedule, and your lack of food intake. Your stomach growls in protest, and as you slam your purse down onto the counter, you realize that it will probably be another 2 hours before Zayne gets home to hang with you.

And you can't help it. You start sobbing. You're still sobbing 5 minutes later when Zayne rings your phone. You sniffle a few time trying to calm down before answering. You still still sound awful when you pick up with a timid and weak: "Hey."

There's a pause on the other end of the phone, and you can almost see him analyzing the situation. "You sound like you're having a bad day, my love."

And it's that simple acknowledgment. The way he knows you enough to know exactly what's wrong. That something is wrong. Most of the time, people buy your fake smile.

Zayne doesn't.

"Well, lucky enough, I was calling to tell you my last patient cancelled, and I'm ahead on my paperwork. I'm already on my way to you."

A smile breaks over your face, "Yeah?"

"Yeah. I'll see you in just a second."

In about 30 minutes, you hear the door open and shut. There's a bit of shuffling, so you go to meet him in the foyer -- and see him carrying a bouquet of your favorite flowers, a grocery bag of your favorite snacks, and take out dinner.

It's almost enough to make you cry again, but this time out of pure happiness. You take the bouquet from him, and before he can even say anything, you're kissing him deeply.

"I love you," you say, in between kisses. "I'm so lucky to have you."

He chuckles against your lips. "I love you too. Come on, my love, let's get settled in. I want to hear all about what's wrong."

[sayangrafayel]

Sylus: It’s nice to be wanted, you know?

MC: Not by the law!

[strwberri-milk]

Could you do the lad boys reacting if the reader was having a nightmare?

heres raf lol

Zayne isn't going to wake you up when he feels you shifting around in your sleep from a nightmare. He'll hold you as you're thrashing around, brows furrowed as you reach for him. He holds you tightly against his chest, letting you bury your face into his neck as he comforts you. You end up calming down in your sleep, holding onto him as your nightmare fades away into some innocuous dream with him keeping you company.

Xavier waits for you to wake up and isn't afraid to take matters into his own hands if he needs to. When you don't appear to be waking up any time soon he decides to wake you up himself, reassuring you that he's here. He's not thinking at first and accidentally pins you to the bed, making you panic a little more until he remembers and comes off. You finally start to calm down when you see his face, falling back asleep as he soothes you with his soft voice.

Sylus holds you, running his hands along your body as he soothes you. He sees the nerves flick across your face, whining and moaning slightly in your sleep and not in a fun way. He waits for it to pass, gently talking at you through your sleep until you calm down again. He doesn't fully sleep after that, worried that you'll have another nightmare. He won't tell you any of this, you none the wiser to how he monitored you overnight.

[strwberri-milk]

Hello, can I please request Zayne with a partner who's struggling with their studies but they refuse to tell him because they feel insecure especially since he's basically a young prodigy in his field and they're scared of being judged?

Zayne knows that the way he went about his academic and professional journey isn't exactly traditional. He was all in from the beginning, dead set on doing anything and everything that it took. He attributes his success to his determination and thanks to it he also has tons of study tips.

He wants you to ask him for help but you don't seem very receptive to it. He aims to reach out to you, see if he could find a more low-key way of suggesting his help without making you feel bad. He asks you about the projects you're doing, the assignments you're working on but you never seem to respond well.

He'll ask you one day if you want his help at all. He just wants to help you out and support you but you won't even give him a chance to. He isn't upset or mad at you, just confused. He asks if you trust him enough to support you and that all he wants is to help you do some work. He understands if you just want space or to do your work separate from him for that sense of achievement.

When you confess your feelings he shakes his head, telling you that his measure of success and what he's achieved in his life isn't something that defines you. He assures you that he isn't going to judge you for not being in the top of your field - he knows how hard you work and that's ultimately all that really matters. He's there for you the entire time, celebrating all of your achievements no matter how big or small you perceive them.

[strwberri-milk]

LADS men reacting to MC confessing how deeply and desperately in love they are with them. Double points for mutual pining but the boys tried to make peace with just being a friend for MC only to get surprised by MC‘s love confession.

Zayne takes a moment to process the words you're telling him. He understands what you're saying but now, stringing them all together and directing them at him he's a little at a loss for words. He didn't think you actually thought of him as anything other than a close friend, taking a moment and asking you if you really meant it. You laugh a little at how flustered he looks, the uncharacteristic shyness in his eyes and attempts at returning your sweet words a little clumsy.

Xavier also takes a second to process your words, asking if you mean it. He looks at you with wide eyes, coming to an understanding that you like him as more than a friend. Honestly, he wasn't ever planning to confess because you already seemed so happy with the way that things were he couldn't fathom anything better happening. His cheeks colour a little at how sweet your confession is, but other than that you wouldn't be able to tell that he's as flustered as he is by your words.

Rafayel shuts down a little bit. He stares at you like a fish out of water before correcting himself and telling you that of course you love him, he's been doing anything and everything he could to woo you. It's now that he confesses to you as well, poetic words slipping past his tongue that seemingly put yours to shame. You feel a little sad that he's blown you out of the water with his confession but he really doesn't notice because he's too busy pouting for attention.

Sylus listens to your words attentively, taking them all in as you confess. He lets you finish, your words sitting between the silence between the two of you. You'd panic, thinking that he's trying to figure out a way to let you down easily. He takes your hand in his, pressing a soft kiss to the back of your knuckles before telling you that he feels the same though not in as many words. You pout at him for making you think that he didn't like you, simply making him laugh again as he promises to make it up to you.

[strwberri-milk]

How would the LaDS boys react if their s/o thanks the for existing and for letting s/o be a part of their lives? I just want them all to be happy for once

Zayne's had many a person come up to him and tell him how thankful they are for him whenever he saves their life or a patient's life. Every time he takes it very personally, wishing them well and thanking them for keeping him in their thoughts.

However, when you tell him the same his heart stops. He doesn't realise how different those words sound when they're coming from your lips. His eyes widen slightly before he smiles at you, pulling you into a hug and thanking you for finding him after all of this time.

Xavier doesn't know what to say in response. He tells you that's not really something you should be thanking him for and if anything he's thankful he has you. He does get clingier throughout the night though, following you around and trying to grab for your hand.

Rafayel's feeling a lot of feelings when you say that to him. He decides to settle on a soft affection for you, telling you that he's thankful you're a part of his life too. To show you his appreciation he's going to hold you all night and tell you all of the things that he likes about you.

Sylus chuckles a little asking if you really mean it. He takes your words in slowly, almost as though he doesn't believe you. You might have to tell him that you really mean it a few times over if you want him to actually take your words seriously. He'll think you're just messing with him at first with how childishly you behave around him sometimes but he really takes your words to heart.