↳ He died in the war- or so you thought. Years later, he returns with no memory of you, and you're forced to face the man who once loved you like forever... now looking at you like a stranger.
Caleb had once been a fighter pilot, sharp, brave and deeply in love. Before the war, before duty stole him away, he was yours. Have a love rooted in hope, built during quiet moments in the chaos of wartime. But when the war escalated and he was called to serve, to protect the country and to protect you.
You had written to him. Countless letters. Words filled with devotion, with trembling wishes for his safety. For his return. With each letter, you tried to remind him that he was still loved, that you are still here, waiting for him. But the war ended, and he never came back.
You stood among crowds of reuniting lovers, heart clenched, eyes scanning every face that was not his. In your fist, a handkerchief crumpled tight with tears. They handed you a uniform. A final gesture. They said his plane had been shot down over enemy lines. No body. No wreckage. No closure. He had been declared missing in action and then, eventually, dead.
Years had passed. Then decade. Still, you remained alone. Something inside you had died the same day he did. If not in body, then in memory. You could not bring yourself to move on. His absence was a shadow you had lived beside. And then-
"Ouch!" A small voice snapped you out of the daze. You looked down to find a young boy who had fallen in front of you. Without thinking twice about it, you knelt beside him, concern pushing through the numbness. "Are you alright, sweetheart?" You asked. But when the your eyes met, something inside you cracked. A ghost of the past but this time, his eyes resemble somebody else. Someone long lost. You couldn’t breathe. You couldn’t look away. It was like seeing a ghost, not of the boy, but of someone you once knew better than yourself.
Later, you found yourself seated in a familiar little ice cream parlor. One that hadn't changed much over the years. Once, it had been the setting of the happiest date of your life. And now, across from you, sat the boy with his apple-flavored treat. "Are you sure you're okay?" You asked. "Yes! I'm a big boy now. Not even a scratch can make me cry!" He beamed. And that smile, that smile nearly identical to another's from so long ago. "Say, kid" You asked gently "Where are your parents?" "Oh!" He paused mid lick, then looked up like he'd just remembered. "Probably looking for me! We just got back here because this is my father's hometown!"
It was almost cruel, how easily your heart twisted. Once upon a time, there was a love story. A foreign soldier lost in a strange land, memory fractured by war. And a medical nurse who found him, pieced him together. They met. They bonded. They fell in love, not knowing that time and fate had other plans. And now, you are left with nothing but the ruin of a fairytale that was never meant to last.
"Oh, it's Dad." the child mumbled as he looked out the window. And there he was. Caleb. Alive. Whole. Smiling that same hesitant smile. Though now touched with worry as he spotted his son. So you look away and turn around. "I need to go" You whispered almost to yourself. In the end the child pout, the same way he once does causing you to chuckle despite the pain, despite the heartbreak. Despite the realization that the two of you were in fact, never meant to be together. But it was alright.
"I'm afraid I'm quite running late for my errands young man." You smile fondly at him. "But-" He was cut off by the sound of his father calling him from the distance. "Well then, goodbye." You stand up, bidding your goodbye to the young child. "Wai- wait! What's your name?" You thought for a moment and look back slightly at the child. "No one, just a ghost from the past." You whispered along the wind. You never look back. And by the time Caleb reach the child's side, you were already long gone.
♡
It's been a while since you've clean up your lawn. Its been a while since you have done such a thing ever since the revelation that your former lover. The one you thought was dead for the past few years was in fact, alive and breathing. And has a son, a family. It took you a while to pick yourself up from pieces. For years, you mourned for him, loved him in silence. Lit up a candle for a man declared dead with no body to bury. But then, like a cruel twist of fate, he appeared. Alive. Well. And with a child.
You tried to tell yourself it didn’t matter. That too much time had passed. That you both moved on even though you never truly had. And that he was someone else's now. That he had a family, and your part in his story was long over. But it wasn’t grief you were feeling now, it was betrayal. Not because he had lived. Not because he ha didn't tell you. Because he had come back into your world as if you were a stranger, not the person who once waited for his letters like they were lifelines. Not the person who loved him enough to mourn him twice.
You clenched your jaw, yanking a weed from the dirt with more force than necessary. Why were you so broken over this? He hadn't done anything wrong. No one had. And yet, deep in your chest, a sharp ache remained. You would’ve preferred he stayed dead. It was easier than this.
"Hello!" You pause, something that you tried not to show too much as you turn to face a familiar child. "Hello sweetheart." You tried to smile, really. The child did nothing wrong. Hell, no one did anything wrong. At the same time it really hurts you to be around this child as time went on. "Are you lost sweetheart?" You ask, setting aside your things to talk to the child properly. You haven't seen the boy in days, and now that he was standing right in front of you, it was clear that what happened wasn't a dream. It was true, he was back and you don't know it that was for better or for worse. "Are you okay?" The boy asked catching you off guard. "Of.. course. I'm okay sweetheart. But! but more importantly, Why are you alone again? where are your parents?"
Starting to get pissed off. The Caleb you knew was responsible, a man with taste. You knew who ever we has with right now would be a perfect good match for. But come on! Who lives their child alone?! This isn't the first time this happened, this child also happened to be away from this parents the first time you've seen him. Why are people so irresponsible with their children? Doesn't he love children? He never told you that of course, but you knew he always wanted one and you knew he would be a good dad. So where in the world is he right now-
"My paren-" "Pipsqueak! you little-!!" He pause, you watch him. You watch him watch you, your eyes slowly meeting half way. You did not want to see him. You were doing everything in your power not to see him.
These days, you moved differently. You rarely left your house and even if you did you took side streets, crossed early at lights, pretended not to notice the ache in your chest when someone said his name like it wasn’t a ghost curled inside it. He was back in town, for good, you knew that. But you aren't expecting to see him again, not now. Probably not ever.
The way he was looking at you. The way it send shiver down your spine. He doesn’t know, you reminded yourself. He doesn’t remember you. He’s not looking at you because he knows you. You told yourself, trying your best to stay calm as he kept looking at you. Why was he even looking at you? He came to pick his son right? Right!
"You." You spoke, sharper than you meant, "Really need to learn how to watch your kid." You did not know where did you get that, words just came out of your mouth before you knew it. Caleb blinked like he wasn’t expecting you to speak first. Or maybe he just wasn’t expecting you. But then he stared at you again, this time, really stared.
The way you tried not to notice how his gaze lingered. The way it clung to your face like it recognized something but couldn’t quite name it. How it made your heart squeeze and your chest ache with things you’d buried long ago. You hate how he still looked at you like that. Like you were something soft in a world gone harsh.
"I- yeah" He replied, finally. "I didn’t know he snuck out again. He’s been doing that a lot lately." "Well, maybe he’s trying to get attention" You snapped, folding your arms. Where did that sassiness came from? "You know, since you're busy with your wife... or whatever." You tried to sound nonchalant, you really do.
But you saw it the moment the words left your mouth, the way something flickered in his expression. Confusion. A little hurt. "My what?" "Your wife.” You repeated, biting down the bitterness. "Look Mister, you've got a family. I get it. But maybe someone should be making sure your son doesn't keep ending up on strangers' lawns."
The way he looked at you like you just accused him of murder. The he said carefully "I don’t have a wife." You thought your ears were playing tricks at you. "I'm not married” He added, frowning. "It’s just me and this little guy over here." You opened your mouth then closed it before opening it again. "I saw you, at the ice cream parlor. You look like family." "We're not" He said simply, eyes softening. "Not like that." You look away. This isn't how you wanted this to go. You weren't even supposed to be talking to him.
Just when you felt like running away. The boy tugged at your sleeve. "Can we still go to the park?" The park? when did the two of you started talking about a park? You glanced down at the boy, then back at Caleb who was still staring at you. Like you were something fragile and familiar. Someone strange all at once. You cleared your throat. "Look, I don’t know what this is. But this little guy right here shouldn’t be wandering off." You smile gently at the boy, gently prying off his hand of your shirt "Next time it might not be someone nice who finds him."
Imagine just when you were about to turn around and walk away for real. "You’re right" Caleb said, voice steady. "You're completely right." What is this guy playing? "So maybe you should help me keep an eye on him. Just for today. Park trip?"
You hesitated. This man, this stranger who still managed to look at you like you were everything, was asking you to walk beside him again. Even if he didn’t remember. Even if it shattered you. Just then, his son grabbed both your hands and squeezed. "Please? I can hold on both of you this time!" You sighed, you could almost feel a headache forming. "I swear" Caleb spoke quietly. "I’m not trying to make this harder for you." He added. "I just... something about you feels like I’ve known you forever." You didn't answer.
Instead you turn to his son who was looking at you with hopeful eyes. Oh those puppy eyes, who could ever say no to them? "Give me a minute darling, I'll clean this up in a bit." "Oh. Oh! I could help!" You laugh, ignoring the way his stare linger. With your heart pounding, trying not to fall apart as the man who once promised to come back to you followed behind. With no idea he already had.
♡
It began in fragments. A shared walk beneath rusted leaves. A passing smile from across the yard. A quiet lunch in the sun, where the child spoke the most and the two adults sat guarded, orbiting each other in silence.
For you, it was cautious. Your heart, once cracked open by his absence, had been stitched closed over years of grief. And now that he stood right before your eyes, not a memory, but a living echo. With his laugh the same, his presence still magnetic. But his eyes were new. Unknowing. Which honestly made it worse. You didn’t know how to touch a ghost who didn’t remember haunting you.
He was gentler now. Or perhaps he always had been, had you simply forgotten how it felt. He watched you like you were something steady, something quiet. Like he was trying to place you in a dream he couldn’t quite recall. And you tried not to look too long. Not to stare when he leaned back on his hands, when he ran a palm through his hair the way he used to when deep in thought. You tried not to remember how his touch had once been a promise. Now, it was unfamiliar. Unwritten. A beginning that mocked the ending you had survived.
For Caleb, it was instinct.
The pull towards you was natural, like a rhythm he already knew. He could not understand why but it lingered in his chest every time you were near. Like a compass buried deep inside him had found true north. There was something in the way you looked at him when you thought he wasn’t watching. Like you were mourning while he breathed. Like he had hurt you without meaning to. Like he had once been your world, and now you didn’t even know how to stand close without burning.
You were kind, but careful. Present, but slightly too still. He noticed the way you never leaned in too far. The way your hands stayed folded, as though holding yourself together. And yet, somehow, you two kept finding each other. A cup of tea offered without words. A shared glance when the little guy laughed too loudly. The comfortable silence of two people who knew how to sit with something unspoken.
For you, it was terrifying. To feel the old ache inching back slow, quiet and cruel. To fall for him again, when he had no idea you were simply picking up where he had left you broken.
For him, it felt inevitable. Like he was falling toward something he couldn’t name. Something familiar. Something that felt like home. Even if he didn’t know why.
♡
Caleb hadn't meant to visit.
He was just dropping off for his son's hat. Left behind again after your impromptu park trip. But when you opened the door and offered a gentle, "Come in for a minute." He stepped inside, telling himself it was polite. Just polite. And then he saw it.
First, the jacket. Hanging by the coat rack. Old, military-issued, a bit scuffed. Familiar. Too familiar. Then the model planes. Dusty but lovingly displayed on a shelf, and one of them, one specific fighter jet had a scratch on the left wing. And then the mug. Sitting quietly by the window, like a ghost of a morning ritual. Chipped. Faded. Still readable, Return With Honor. He stared at it like it had slapped him.
His chest tightened. His brain did math. You said you lived alone. That you never married. Yet this place didn’t feel like yours alone. It was layered with someone else's presence. And Caleb, who, despite his calm exterior, had an ego thoroughly capable of jealousy, was not immune.
"Nice place." He said, eyes still glued to the jacket. Boyfriend? No. You said you aren't seeing anyone. But maybe someone from the past? Someone important, judging by the shrine level energy in the room. "Thanks." You replied, walking toward the kitchen. "It's quiet. Suits me." "Yeah. You into aviation or something?" By his question, you paused. "A little." He nodded like that explained everything, but the knot in his chest was winding tighter.
"Those models." He said, referring to the planes. "They're vintage... Collectibles?" "They were someone else's." He felt an ache. "Someone close?" He asked and your silence was enough. Caleb cleared his throat. "Boyfriend?" "What's it to you?" You almost glare at him but ended with a sigh. "Nothing." He said too quickly. "Just curious. Not judging or anything. Totally healthy to you know... keep stuff from a boyfriend." He almost cringe at his own words. Nonetheless he tried to play it cool. "Even years later. It's fine."
"Wasn't a boyfriend." "Oh." He looked relieved then paused. "Husband?" You didn't respond. His jaw clenched. "Okay. Cool. So just- was it serious?" It was entertaining, really. To see him acting like this. Still, "Very." He exhaled slowly, pretending it didn't bother him. Pretending the idea of some air force Romeo haunting your house via jacket and coffee mug didn't sit like a boulder in his gut. "Is he… still around?" He asked.
You turned slightly, enough for him to see the flicker of something in your eyes. Not anger. Not sadness. Something older. But then you blink and it disappears. "No." You said simply, too nonchalant. "He died. Years ago. During the war." Caleb blinked. "Oh. Sorry. I didn’t mean to-" "It's alright."
Caleb, in all his complicated grief and confused feelings, nodded gently and then exhaled the kind of breath no normal person should ever exhale after hearing about someone's dead lover.
Relief. An actual, horrible, shameful relief. "So... you never moved on?" Why does he even asked this questions? "I tried." You said, sighing. Looking back, you never truly get over him. Even before this, you carry him with you. "Didn’t stick."
He looked away, heart weirdly heavy. And relieved. Which was so wrong. He barely even knew you. "I'm not saying I was jealous." He muttered under his breath. Clearly wasn't very jealous. "But I just think it's a little unfair that a dead guy still has better closet space than me." You pause, looked at him and then choked on a laugh. "Excuse me?"
"Nothing. I mean. I didn’t say that." He tried to recover but found himself already walking toward the jacket. "That tear in the shoulder? Looks like something from field duty. Enemy fire?" There was a moment of silence before your voice was heard. "Crash." Ah. Damn. He looked back at you. "Did they recover him?" You shook your head, mind replaying the day you received his uniform. "No. The plane was downed over enemy territory. No body. Just..."
Caleb swallowed, then turned back to the jacket. His fingers brushed the edge of the inner collar. And there, faint but stitched in, was a name. Caleb. His own name.
He blinked. Huh. "That's weird." He whispered to himself. "What is?" "Nothing." He let go quickly, stepping back like the jacket burned him. "Just thought it looked familiar." "You probably knew someone like him." You said, looking at the jacket. "You were a pilot too, weren't you?" He nodded slowly.
The silence that followed was thick with something he couldn’t name. Finally, you turned to him, brows raising. "You okay?" "Yeah. I'm fine. Just..." He looked back at the shelf of planes. "Trying to figure out if I'm feeling haunted or just wildly insecure." You gave him a long look. "Don't worry. You're not the first man to get jealous of a ghost."
♡
It didn’t hit all at once.
Just a flicker. Later that evening, after he returned home and set down his keys. Caleb sat in silence for a long while. Hands resting on his knees, his mind somewhere far behind him. His son asleep upstairs. The house was quiet. But his heart wasn’t.
He couldn't stop thinking about the jacket. The way it had felt under his fingers. The fraying of the collar. The weight of it. Familiar, like a favorite song he hadn't heard in years. And then… the name.
Caleb
His name. Same spelling. Same placement he would have asked for, had it ever been his. And that particular kind of patch stitching, he knew it. Not in theory, not from others but he remembered doing it. Sewing that rip in the field. Threading it clumsily, cursing the cold, using his teeth to pull the knot tight.
The memory was sharp. Real. Immediate. He jolted. For a split second, the sound of wind filled his ears. Rotors. Heat. A hands pressing against his chest. A medic’s voice shouting. The taste of blood. The voice- the voice. Laughing. Crying. Then it was gone. He stared at the floor, breath unsteady, as something ancient and half buried inside him cracked open. He didn’t know the name. Not yet.
But suddenly, he knew the jacket. He had loved someone once. And he had left them behind.
♡
It had been a while since Caleb last visited. Life had a way of stepping in, work, obligations and the silent ache between two people who used to know each other like breath and now barely touched the surface. He hadn't come by in days, and though you told yourself it was a relief, the echo of absence sat heavily in the corners of the house.
Still, his little boy came. He had a way of showing up with grass in his hair and stories far too big for his age. That afternoon, he sat cross-legged in your living room, babbling about paper airplanes and how he could totally build one that flew to the moon if he wanted. And you listened, smiling through the heaviness.
Then, in the soft lull of conversation, you asked a question that had lingered for too long. "Your dad... what's he like?" When you asked that, the boy shrugged like it wasn't complicated. "He’s kind. And quiet sometimes." He giggle. "He forgets things. But he always remembers the important stuff."
You hesitated before asking, you don't want to get hurt. "Was it always just the two of you?" The boy tilted his head. "No. My real parents died. In the war. Dad, Caleb, was their friend. He says he owes them everything."
The world tilted just slightly beneath you. He wasn’t his son. Not by blood. Caleb had taken the boy in. Raised him. Loved him. Not because he had to. But because it was the right thing to do.
You watch the little boy rummaged through his small backpack and pulled out something you hadn’t seen in years, a small box, worn at the edges. "He gave me this." He said, opening it like it was no big deal. Inside sat a ring. Their ring. The one pair Caleb had with him the night before he left for the war. The one you thought had been lost with him forever. You breath caught.
"He said it was for someone important." He added gently. "That he didn't remember who, not really. But he knew it was meant for someone. That he'd given it to them before everything." The air went silent with something unspoken. "He said that's why we came back here." The child said simply. "Because father- my first dad, told him he had left something important in this town. Someone.”
The ring sat there between them, heavy with memory.
You did not reach for it. Not yet. Because hope was a dangerous thing. And love, especially a love that once had died, was terrifying when it tried to live again. You turned your head, blinking quickly, steadying yourself. You could feel it, fate pulling at the thread. Winding them back toward something unfinished. Caleb didn’t remember you. But somehow, his heart still did.
And yours? Still afraid. But still beating for the same man.
♡
It came to him like a storm. No warning. No slow unraveling. Just a breath, then the world tilted.
He was standing by your the porch, hand raised to knock on your door when his eyes flicked to the side window. There, through the curtain, he saw you. Front facing him and staring at the ring.
That ring.
The one he had carried through fire and blood and years of unknowing. The one he couldn't part with even when his memories scattered like ash in the wind. The ring he had told himself it was a symbol of something lost, of someone important.
And in that moment, it wasn't just important. It was you.
He staggered back a step, unsteady.
The noise of bombs, of roaring engines, your voice flooded in. Your hands on his uniform, trembling the day before he left. The taste of your kiss. The promise he made with that ring pressed between your and his palms. The letters. The laughter. The ache of missing you so badly that it bled into his bones.
The crash. The fire. Your name screaming on his throat. Your face, framed in smoke, reaching for him as everything fell apart. He remembered it all.
The weight of your head on his chest after long shifts at the field. The curve of your smile when you handed him that ridiculous mug. The way you looked up at him like he was something worth returning for.
He remembered loving you. And the unbearable grief in your eyes every time you met now soft and guarded. Like you were terrified to reach for what had already died once.
His breath came out broken. You didn’t know he remembered. Not yet. But standing there, staring at the one who had waited for a ghost, who still wore that love like an old scar, Caleb realized something. He did not just fallen in love with you again. He never stopped. And now, he finally remembered why.
♡
You noticed it first in his silence.
Not the awkward kind, it was the silence of someone searching for words. The kind that felt like knowing. Like he was seeing you for the first time. Or maybe remembering how he used to.
The way he looked at you had changed. Less like curiosity. More like memory.
He didn't say anything when you offered him tea in the same chipped mug, the one with the faded letters he'd once picked out himself. He just smiled. A Small, soft and took it with both hands, like it meant something. And it did.
You could feel it shifting from within, the weight of unspoken things settling into the space like dust. You did not ask if he remembered. You didn’t dare. Because what if he didn’t? Or worse, what if he did and chose to forget again? You were terrified of loving him twice only to lose him all over again.
He sat across from you, watching you with the same steady calm that used to unravel you within seconds. Like you were a place he had once called home. And now, was again. And still, you held back. Because time had turned your love into something cautious. Because you had built your life around the absence of him, and now, with his presence sitting in your kitchen again, it felt like you were grieving in reverse.
He reached into his pocket, pulled out the ring box, not dramatic, not rehearsed, just... instinct. He held it between them without opening it. And you stared. Your heart cracked. "Why are you carrying that?" You asked, voice barely above whisper. He did not answer at first. Instead, he looked at you like someone who had finally, finally found what he had spent years trying to remember. Then he quietly said. "Because I remember who it belonged to now."
You breath hitched. You did not cry. You wanted to but there were no tears left. Just silence, fear, and the tender ache of almost believing him. "You don't have to say anything." You finally spoke. "You don't owe me that." You added. "I do." He replied. Quiet and steady. "I left you once." There was a pause. "Not because I wanted to, but because the world forced me to." He looked at you. "I won't leave you again."
And you looked away, blinking rapidly. "But what if you forget again?" Fear. "What if I lose you twice?" You don't know if you would be able to handle that again. He exhaled. A breath full of pain and love and all the words he never got to say the first time. "Then I'll come back again." He said, eyes looking for yours. "And again. And again. Because it’s you. It’s always been you. Even without my memories, I found you." You finally looked at him. And in his eyes, you saw him.
Your Caleb.
Not just the man he used to be. Not just the man war tried to erase but the one who had always, in every version of himself, loved you. And in that moment, you don't need the ring. You don't need the memories. You don't need the promises made in uniforms or letters. You just needed this The quiet truth between them. The forgiveness in your heart. And the love that had never really left.
You did not kiss. Not yet. There was no sweeping declaration. No grand reuniting. Just the ring resting between you two. Two hands meeting across the table. And a slow, steady heartbeat that finally, finally felt like home.
[ⓒdark-night-hero] 2025°
Letter Never Sent
My dearest love,
If this letter reaches you, then I’ve made it back, whole, in one piece, and still yours. And if I haven’t… then let this be something that stayed behind, even when I couldn’t.
There’s something I wanted to ask before I left, but the moment kept slipping away. I was too busy memorizing your smile.
So here it is, written plainly and tucked into these folds of paper like a promise:
Will you marry me?
I don’t ask for forever. Just ust for the chance to return to you. I’ll chase every sky, every mile, every storm, if it means finding my way back.
No matter where the wind takes me… I know where it will leave me.
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exclusive tutorial
✧.* zayne x reader
✧.* 4.5k words
✧.* friends to lovers
summary: you ask zayne to teach you how to kiss
warnings!: messy kissing, dry humping, fingering, zayne cums in his pants lol, touch starved!zayne
note: this came to me in a dream. im kidding. im just horny for pathetic zayne
note2: part 2 is here
divider cred. @enchanthings-a
Zayne is in his office reviewing a recent surgery when you come barging into his office one Friday afternoon.
Windswept and pink-cheeked, you look radiant and it takes a few moments of blinking away the lingering text printed on his vision for him to realise you’re speaking.
“Did you hear me?” You sound…nervous, almost, which is out of character for someone who routinely interrupts his working day to sit in his office and drop bagel crumbs all over his carpet. Your eyes drift around the room, flying over his features for a beat before you’re looking away again, and it’s intoxicating, for some reason, to see you shy around him. Usually he’s the one who’s hesitant, too weary to blur the line between your friendship and the depraved, desperate thoughts he has about you when he’s alone in his apartment.
There’s a well-buried part of Zayne that chooses to file away that coy expression on your face for such a moment.
Glancing back to the screen of his computer, he continues typing, correctly assuming you will fall into your regular pattern and plop yourself on his desk any moment now.
It takes you three seconds to do exactly that as he speaks, “No, I didn’t. It’s almost as if I’m working right now,”
One of his favourite things to do is tease you, to have your nose scrunch in annoyance when he plays dumb on purpose, or when he pretends he doesn’t want you around. The secret he keeps locked up tight is that he wants you near him all the time, his hands itch with it. He notices you stick your tongue out at him from the corner of his eye, and he has to suppress the twitch of his lips. You’re back to your old self for only a moment before you seem to remember what it is you wanted to ask him.
“I have a date,”
It’s not a question, though it doesn’t really matter. The corner of Zayne’s brain that, eons ago, would have demanded he hammer his fists on his chest or pee on the desk to assert dominance takes over for a millisecond as he files through a dozen different scenarios which all seem wildly inappropriate for the news he’s just received. As usual, he manages to tame his base urges when it comes to you, and he nods, calm and cool as a cucumber.
Of course, this isn’t the first time you’ve dated. Zayne has known you since he was eight, and you were six. It’s not like he hasn’t witnessed this before; for a long time the concept of you with other boys never bothered him. At least not until the two of you hit puberty and he started taking note of all the ways in which you were different; softer, sweeter, prettier. Since then, it’s been a part of your friendship he likes to ignore.
Except when you force him to confront it, that is.
“Very good,” He speaks around a sudden tightness in his throat, feigning sarcasm if only to distract by the sudden grip of panic on his chest, “I’m thrilled you decided to come to my place of work to inform me,”
“Zayne,” The way you whine his name has his thighs tensing under the desk, and he really wishes you wouldn’t do that. He mentally files that away for later too.
He sighs softly, taking his hands away from the keyboard and turning his body just enough so that you know you have his complete attention. As if you don’t have it all the time anyway.
“What is it?”
“I have a date,”
His hand clenches, “I heard,”
Inhaling deeply, you let out a breath like you’re about to confess something. The soft, pink flush on your cheeks deepens slightly and you start doing that thing again where you look anywhere but at him, “I wanted to ask if you would help me with something,”
“Anything,” He says, because it’s true. He almost wants to wince at how desperate to please you he is, but as usual, he stays neutral.
“I…ahh,” You bite your lip, and another year is shaved off of Zayne’s life, “I wanted to ask if you would teach me…hosjskkss,”
He frowns as you trail off, speaking the rest into your chest as you tilt your head down. Your cheeks are glowing pink now.
“What was that?”
“Teachmehowtokiss,” You respond, lifting your head slightly but still refusing to look at him, not that it matters. Zayne is convinced his physical form no longer exists and he’s now a pile of ash and glasses on the desk chair.
He swallows hard, needing the extra moisture in his mouth, speaking in the monotone of someone who’s just had a major brain injury, “You want me to teach you how to kiss,”
It takes a couple seconds, but you nod before squeaking and covering your face with your hands, speaking muffled through the sleeves of your hoodie, “I’ve never…ugh! This is so embarrassing. Maybe I should ask Caleb- “
“I’ll do it,” Zayne speaks so fast he almost leaps forward over the desk to stop the rest of that sentence from leaving your lips. He is selfish, and clearly has no regard for his own mental state, but like hell is he gonna let Caleb put his grubby paws on you.
You meet his gaze with wide, impossibly pretty eyes, and something throbs deep in Zayne’s gut. He thinks he might do just about anything to keep you looking at him like that.
“You mean it? You don’t think it’ll be…” You shrug, “weird?”
Weird is the last word Zayne would use to describe how kissing you would be, but he can’t think of any others right now, so he just shakes his head.
“It’ll be fine,” His voice is scratchy, and he clears it twice, just to have the words coming out sounding the same, “I get off work at seven. You can come over, or we could…”
He’s unsure where exactly you want to do this, but the prospect of kissing you in his office and then driving home with his cock hard as steel sounds unappealing.
“I’ll come over,” You say, voice a little dazed and your cheeks still pink, “see you later, Zayne,”
There’s a good few seconds between when you knock on Zayne’s door to when he opens it that you’re almost positive you’ve made a mistake.
Because really, what were you thinking? Second only to Caleb, Zayne is your oldest friend, and now you’re probably going to implode the friendship by locking lips with him. Of course, there’s no guarantee that you’ll have to actually kiss him to learn how to kiss, but it’s implied. And the implication is enough to have your stomach in knots.
Maybe Caleb would have been the better choice; a little more laid back, less likely to make a big deal out of the whole thing. Not that Zayne would hold it over you, or anything. The reason you’d asked him, stupidly, was because he’s a doctor. He’s good at removing emotions from certain situations. As if that matters at all…you swear it made sense in your head at the time, but now as Zayne swings open the door wearing a grey sweater and black sweatpants, you wonder if running is an option.
“Hey,” He says, his expression giving nothing away about whether or not he feels as awkward as you do. Sweat gathers at the base of your spine as you step inside, unconsciously inhaling that expensive cologne he wears; woodsy and addictive. He smells like a hot, rich man - which he is. Rich, anyway.
You’ve never really thought of Zayne as hot, more…devastatingly handsome. The kind of handsome that makes you think of princes in fairy tales, or the hot guys you see in k-dramas or something.
He closes the door and stands in the entryway, watching you from behind his glasses with a slight tilt to his head, “You okay?”
“Great. Never better,” You sound like an idiot, and you sweat again when Zayne’s lips tip up into a soft smile, his eyes getting that far away, dreamy look that makes you feel like a teenager around her crush.
Which obviously you’re not…you don’t have a crush, and you’re twenty-five.
Twenty-five and yet you still don’t know how to kiss.
Zayne takes your jacket, and like usual, you sit on the sofa, pulling your legs under you as you watch him move around the kitchen. He opens a cabinet, pulls out two glasses and brings them over, along with your usual bottle of wine. It’s tradition, routine, almost, and yet it makes you feel warm. Your stomach dips as he strolls over, so…big.
How had you never noticed how large he was? Sure, you noticed but you’ve never noticed. His build is large and yet he doesn’t appear bulky beneath his sweater, his collarbones jut just above the neckline and for an insane moment, your fingers tingle with the urge to touch them.
You stuff your hands beneath your thigh and keep them sandwiched there, unsure what to do with them for the time being.
“Do you want to watch a movie?” Zayne asks, his voice soft as if always is, and for a second you forget all about the kissing lesson and just enjoy the company of your friend.
“Um, sure,”
He shifts a little, lips downturned before his eyes dart away, “Unless you wanted to get straight to the- “
“The movie is good for now,” You smile probably a little too widely at him, and you wonder if you look insane.
He levels you with a look, as if he sees through you, and it makes you want to squirm under his gaze, “We don’t have to do anything you’re uncomfortable with, ___,”
He looks away before you do, moving to pour you a glass of red wine and you take it eagerly, as if it’s a lifeline. Surely after a glass you’ll feel a little less…like this. Jittery, achy, sweaty - as if there’s a thousand little feathers brushing your skin every time he glances your way.
This has never happened before, this awkward energy. With Zayne you’ve always felt safe, relaxed, and you never had to worry about whether or not your hair looks good, or if you have spinach in your teeth. He has always been a comfort blanket for you, but now with the thoughts of kissing on your mind, you can’t seem to relax. Your brain files through all the scenarios it can generate; will he kiss you soft? Slow? Will he put his hands on your face, or your waist, or in your hair? What does he normally do when he kisses women?
“When is the date?” Zayne asks, not looking at you and instead focusing on the tv, trying to find something mindless for the two of you to watch before you begin. His voice sounds scratchy, as if he’s coming down with something, but you get distracted once the movie starts and he sits back against the sofa, turning to look at you with an unreadable expression.
“Tomorrow night,” You reply. It’s a co-worker who asked you, a nice, good-looking guy who works in the office above yours. He offered to take you for food and it’s been so long since you dated, Simone convinced you to say yes, “We’re just getting food,”
Zayne nods, though he doesn’t look away, “So you’re already planning to kiss him? He must be quite the catch,” That odd look is still there in the depths of his eyes - moss green with a hint of amber.
“Wh- uh, yeah. Maybe, I don’t know,” You shrug, looking down into your wine, “I just think that it’s kinda embarrassing that I haven’t kissed anyone yet,”
“Nothing about you is embarrassing,” He replies so fast it catches you off guard, and when you glance up at him, the tips of his ears have gone pink. There’s a tension in his shoulders as he looks at you, almost easy to miss if you didn’t know him so well.
The two of you sink into a comfortable silence after that, both watching the movie and laughing when the girl on the plane starts insulting the air steward. After a while you’ve relaxed somewhat, only one glass into the wine, you’re back to your factory settings, awkwardness gone as you slouch into the sofa, your shoulder pressed against Zayne’s.
It’s when the character on the screen kisses the love interest before the credits roll that you remember why you came. You lift your head from where it had fallen against the sofa and you turn to find Zayne already looking at you, that strange look on his face again. Your lips roll inward as you look at him, your eyes flitting unwillingly from his mouth and back again twice before you look away, embarrassed.
Zayne’s hand reaches out to grasp yours, and his voice is rumbly and warm when he speaks, “Do you want to go?”
“No,” You swing your head around to face him, almost too fast, “I…ah, I’m just nervous,”
He keeps watching you for a moment longer before he shifts, turning so he’s facing you fully on the sofa, “It’s only me,”
“Yeah, but I’ve never kissed you,”
“You said you’ve never kissed anyone,” He tilts his head again, “Why don’t you take the lead? I’ll stay here like this,”
He remains still, not rigid, but relaxed. More relaxed than you feel as you mimic his posture, turning so you’re fully facing him. He’s backlit by the floor-to-ceiling windows, the golden summer sunset, and you feel an unfamiliar dip in your stomach again.
He’s watching you, cheeks a little rosy from the wine, and his lips are stained to match. You linger on them for a moment, licking the red wine taste off your own and wondering briefly if he will taste like you. You must be taking too long, because he shifts again, and a pillow finds its way into his lap. His eyes are dark, pupils blown wide, and you feel as if you’re exposed.
The way Zayne is looking at you is nothing like any of the other times you’ve noticed him staring; his jaw is tense, eyes darting all over your face, he almost looks quietly angry, but you know that can’t be it.
“____?”
“Sorry,” You exhale softly, shuffling so you’re on your knees. It’s better this way - now you’re eye-to-eye with Zayne, though it makes that feeling in your stomach even worse.
Before you can think otherwise, you place your hands on his shoulders, briefly noting the way they tense and then relax. You mean to lean forward, but Zayne’s eyes have you feeling like a mouse caught in a trap
“Can you close your eyes?” You ask, and his lips twitch, but he does as you ask, his eyes sliding closed. His black lashes fan along his cheekbones, and you almost want to sigh wistfully - he really is handsome.
The second attempt is more successful without Zayne’s intense gaze, and you lean toward him, moving until your noses bump together and Zayne exhales softly against your lips.
There’s a sharp, warm press in your lower stomach, as if your body is just now realising what you’re doing. The feel of Zayne’s soft breaths against your lips is maddening; you’re hot all over, and it’s sudden, out of nowhere. The hands on his shoulder’s clench as your fingers dig in, and before you can chicken out, you’re pressing your lips to his.
He is going to explode, or come, either way it’s taking every ounce of restraint Zayne has to let you take the lead, to get used to him and this new, terrifying step in your friendship. His stomach drops like he’s on a rollercoaster, hands clenched over the pillow hiding his obvious erection that reared its head the moment he saw your pupils dilate.
Your lips are soft, warm as you press gently against him. He wishes kissing with his eyes open was socially acceptable because he hates that he can’t see you, that he can’t get a front row seat of you on his couch, hands gripping his shoulders, lips against his. For a long moment, you don’t move, you just stay like this, and Zayne can’t bring himself to complain. But, you tilt your head slightly, pushing your lips against his harder, and he feels his cock twitch impatiently.
Inexperience isn’t usually something that turns him on - frankly, the idea of deflowering someone has him coming out in a rash. It’s not that he thinks he’s bad at kissing, or sex, but the expectations put upon him are dizzying. He wants to make this kiss good for you, even while an animal part of him thrashes against its restraints, begging him to ruin you for any other man. His hands fist against the pillow in his crotch, and when you pull away, he almost groans at the loss of contact.
Zayne is the first to open his eyes, just a second before you, but it’s enough. Your lips aren’t well-kissed, not by his standards, but he can spot the signs of arousal a mile away. Your cheeks are flushed a gorgeous shade of pink, your lips even deeper, and when you let your tongue dart out to wet them just before opening your eyes, he feels a sharp punch of need deep in his stomach.
You exhale shakily against his lips, and he can feel his restraint fraying at the seams. He wants you so badly he feels as if he could come just from the way you’re gazing blearily at his lips, as if you’re drunk on him. It’s a maddening rush to his ego, to see you so undone after barely kissing him, and he can’t stop himself from lifting a hand, cupping your chin and brushing his thumb along your lower lip.
“Was that okay?” You ask him, voice thick with something he is too chicken-shit to name, for fear that he will actually pick you up and fuck you into his couch.
He swallows hard, licking the taste of your lip balm off his lips, “Y-yeah. It was,”
This is it, he thinks, this is all you wanted from him, and it’s more than enough. More than he ever expected when it came to you. Even a chaste, soft kiss is enough to give him material to jerk off to for the rest of the year like the desperate man you’ve turned him into. But the tender, hesitancy of the moment lasts only a few seconds before you speak again, obliterating his final shred of sanity.
“Can we do it again?”
He should say no. You have a date planned, you’re his best friend in the whole world, and he made peace long ago with the fact he was destined to want you from afar. The unrequited nature of his feelings and his desires have always been somewhat safe for him, something he can use to control himself around you, but to hear you ask him for more of his lips on yours awakens something hot and vicious in his gut.
He doesn’t really reply, too dumbstruck to speak, and you gaze up at him with dark eyes, dangerously eager eyes, your voice barely above a whisper, “Will you kiss me this time? Like you do with other women?”
The mere thought of it has the tip of his cock growing slick, need curling in his stomach, worming its way around the base of his spine as he tenses. But, he’s not as strong as he thought he was, because within two seconds he’s nodding, leaning in and groaning all in one breath, his lips catching yours in a real kiss. Your hands fist the material of his sweater, tugging him closer, and he loses it, brain splattered against his skull. Now, there is only you and him and this pulsing desire he has to tuck you against his body and make you feel just how bad he’s wanted you.
His hands find your soft waist, palming the dip and clutching hard enough for your t-shirt to rise up a little. The sliver of skin brushing against his pinky does insane things to his psyche, and he pulls you, knocking away the pillow in his lap and pressing you there instead. You gasp into his mouth and he wants to snarl into the kiss, wants to make you understand.
Do you feel how bad I need you? Can you feel how hot and hard and aching I am?
Your body is like heaven in his arms, and he suddenly realises he could die happy now, knowing intimately how the weight of you feels in his lap, pressing against his cock, knees on either side of his hips. A soft moan against his lips has him bucking up against you, thankful for your choice to wear a skirt so he has access to the warmest, wettest part of you instantly. He yearns, needs and wants like he’s never wanted anything. He wants to rake his nails up your thighs, push aside your underwear and run his fingers through the mess he hopes he’ll find there. The mess he put there, he realises, and he growls into the kiss at the thought.
“Zayne,” You whimper, whining like you did earlier in his office, and he can’t help but smile at the sound. He’s fucked his own hand to your voice more times than he wants to admit, and now he leaks against his sweatpants, drunk on the way you’re babbling in his arms, your lips wet from his spit and is tongue as it laves them, eagerly asking entrance into your mouth.
“Open for me, beautiful. Open your mouth for me,” Zayne’s voice is almost unrecognisable to his own ears, a soft, firm rumble. When you do as he asks, he lets his hands drift down to your hips, pushing and pulling you along the ridge in his pants as his tongue brushes yours.
It’s messy, and you’re not sure what you’re doing, that much is evident, but it doesn’t even matter. He wants every inch of you messy over him, wants to keep this lesson going until you leave his apartment with the knowledge of how Zayne kisses you, and no one else. He wants you to be as gone for him as he is for you, as he always has been.
You’re lost on him now, hips moving of their own accord, and Zayne thinks that if he can make you come, he will take that as his greatest accomplishment in life. Forget med school, forget every surgery he completed that others failed. All he cares about is the sounds falling from your lips, the way your fingers have threaded through his hair, the fact his apartment is filled with the sounds of your kisses, of your panting breaths, his deep groans as you rock against him. Nothing else matters.
His name falls from your lips again, like you’re asking for something, but you don’t know what. He pulls away from your slick, swollen lips only to run his tongue up your neck, relishing in the way you tremble against him.
“What is it, ___? What do you need?” He rasps against your ear, “You need me to make you come?”
You nod eagerly, clutching him tight enough that he feels flames roaring up his spine. He isn’t gonna last much longer with you riding him like this, and like hell is he gonna come without taking care of you first.
“Okay,” He breathes, winded and totally out of his depth. He’s never lost control like this, never had his hands shake with it, but he takes a deep, steadying breath, “Okay,”
His hand brushes your thigh and you sigh, the sound falling into a moan as you continue to roll your hips in circles, so hard that Zayne’s eyes roll back before he grips your skin, pushing up your skirt until he finds the spot he wants. You gasp, breath ragged where you kiss and lick his jaw, and he groans deep in his throat when he finds just what he’d hoped for.
“So fucking wet,” He murmurs, dazed and drunk off of you, “You got this wet from me kissing you, huh?” He knows damn well he was doing more than just kiss you, but he doesn’t correct himself. Instead, he palms your damp underwear, pressing against the material so he can feel the contours of your pussy. He uses his fingers to push the material aside, mouth watering when he drags his fingers through the center of you, “God, fuck,”
“Please,” You whisper, “Please, please -”
“Shh, beautiful,” He presses a soft kiss to the juncture where your neck meets your shoulder, a polar opposite to the kisses he’d given you a moment ago, “I’ve got you, okay? Does it hurt?” He doesn’t know why he asks, maybe because he’s so hard beneath you that he’s beginning to see double.
“So bad,” You sob into his shoulder, rocking your hips against his fingers as he continues to explore you, avoiding the spot where you need him and just enjoying the wet, silky, warmth of you. When you whisper again, so soft he barely hears you begging him, he smiles, out of his mind with it. He wants you to beg, and so he fucks his fingers into your soft, pliant pussy until you cry out. “Oh, god! Oh, please, please - t-there, yes. Yes -”
“Holy fuck,” He murmurs as you tighten up on him, squeezing so hard he can hear the wet squelch as he attempts to carry on thrusting his middle and ring fingers into you, eager to feel it. He blearily wonders what you would feel like coming on his cock before he loses the battle against his oncoming orgasm, coming wetly against the material of his sweatpants. “Oh fuck, shit,”
You’re still shaking when he pulls his fingers out of you, your head laying on his shoulder. He hadn’t noticed the room get darker as the sun finally set, but now the two of you are alone in the glow of the tv, still stuck and waiting on the netflix homepage. The only sound in the room is your collective breathing, soft pants as you catch your breaths.
Zayne’s mind clears once the cloud of lust dissipates, and he feels a cold stab of fear deep in the centre of his chest. He’s ruined it, he thinks, he’s lost you forever. You’re going to leave and it’s going to be awkward, and why couldn’t he just keep his damn hands off of you -
“Zayne?” You whisper, breath ghosting over his collarbones.
He audibly swallows, closing his eyes in preparation for the words. We shouldn’t have done that, this was a mistake…
“Yes?”
You shuffle against him, like maybe your foot is falling to sleep in the awkward position you’re in, but you make no effort to move. When you do speak, your voice is shy, if a little hoarse, but oh, so sweet.
“You’re a really good kisser,”
The cold icy dread Zayne had been waiting in cracks, and warm seeps in. He huffs a laugh, wrapping his arms around you and pressing his lips to your hair.
syn. you make the mistake of mentioning to sylus that you want to move.
gen. fluff..
a/n. yall idk if i like this one tbh T^T honestly just posting for the sake of posting bc i don't have the time nor the energy to write these days with how many assessments i've had to study for but ITS OKAY!! the next one will be good trust
cmts + rbgs are super duper appreciated !! :D
sylus and you had been on your usual bedtime phone call when you mentioned you were thinking of looking for a new apartment. you told him about some minor issues around your current place. the water pressure in the shower was weak, and it wasn't too helpful after a long day of hunting and sore joints. the living room windows were jammed and didn't close all the way, and it made the winter unbearable. the signal in this busy part of the city wasn't good either, it took a good minute for you to call or text. and there was plenty more for you to complain about.
as you rattled off your grievances, sylus hummed on the other end, though it sounded absentminded. he was probably half-asleep. you had a tendency to talk his ear off before bed, and he had a tendency to let you.
a few minutes later, your complaints trailed off, and his voice—deep, smooth, laced with drowsiness—cut through the silence. "you sound tired, sweetie . go to sleep."
you pouted, shifting under the covers. you were on a roll. you had at least five more things to complain about, "but-!"
"goodnight. love you."
click! he hung up.
you huffed, looking at your phone screen, before shutting it off and laying back, closing your eyes and drifting off.
the next morning, you had the day off. you scrolled through your phone as you ate breakfast, only to pause mid-bite at a notification from sylus.
an... apartment complex?
your eyebrows furrowed as you opened the message.
you recognised that place almost instantly. it was probably the most prestigious housing in the fancy side of linkon. the side where security guards stood outside every shop and ladies in expensive dresses and pearl necklaces drank tea with their pinkies out in their gigantic penthouses while their husbands were at work. you'd dreamt of living there and being one of those ladies on your off days since you were a little girl.
you responded with multiple questions.
💬 y/n:
-> huh?
💬 y/n:
-> why are u sending me this?
💬 y/n:
-> do u have the wrong number baby?
💬 sylus:
-> no
💬 sylus:
-> come.
come?
you were confused out of your mind, staring at the screen in bewilderment. what the hell was he up to? maybe sylus had another one of those meetings with some important person and needed you... for whatever reason. you finished the rest of your breakfast and got dressed, heading over to the apartment complex in his message.
when you arrived at the lobby, you found sylus speaking to someone at the front desk. his presence alone seemed to unnerve the poor receptionist, who fumbled with the keyboard as sylus glanced over at you.
his hand found its place on your lower back as you stopped beside him. "is it ready?"
the receptionist nodded—perhaps a little too quickly—before handing over a keycard.
sylus took the card, giving it to you as you blinked at him with confusion. "and all the adjustments i requested?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.
"y-yes, mr. sylus! everything has been completed."
he hummed in approval, turning around and bringing you to the elevator, the security nodding their heads at him respectfully. as he pressed the button to the top floor, the doors slowly shut, and you were finally given the opportunity to question him.
"what's going on? what are we doing here?"
he smirked.
no, not the smirk...
"hello?!"
the elevator dinged, and the doors opened again, and before you could press him any further he began walking down the hall ahead of you in long strides as you followed behind him like some little duckling, struggling to catch up. he stopped at the end, motioning for you to scan your keycard on the door. you grumble at him, but do so, and then he enters a password, and it unlocks.
you step into a huge, fully furnished apartment, looking around curiously. it looked untouched, like some display house. the furniture was really pretty too. it was all in your favourite colour, and you even noticed some paintings and posters from your favourite artists.
you turned back at him, "who lives here? it's really nice!"
he smirked, looking way too pleased with himself "you do."
your eyebrows furrowed, not quite catching on, "no i don't."
"well, you're holding the key, aren't you sweetie?"
the rest of the day was a whirlwind. or rather, his men handled the whirlwind while you stood there in shock, directing where you wanted things placed.
sylus had, in a single night, secured one of the most expensive apartments in the city—fully paid, fully furnished, and customised to your exact tastes. it was almost terrifying how well he knew you.
and those "adjustments" you overheard earlier? oh, he wasn’t playing around. adjustable water pressure and massage jets in the bath. upgraded heating throughout the entire place. a separate service line just for you.
amongst other things.
a few weeks passed in the new place, and you loved it. it was like a dream come true.
though you did notice something odd.
the workers, the security guards, even the neighbours—all of them treated you with an almost reverent level of politeness. a doorman scrambled to open the lobby doors for you before you even reached them. a boutique owner refused to let you pay for a dress, smiling nervously as she insisted it was on the house.
it was strange.
and then one night, sylus was over for dinner, and it clicked. you put your chopsticks down, "y-you..!"
sylus looked to you with a raised eyebrow, "yes?"
"that's why people have been so nice to me! you bribed them."
his lips curled into a lazy smirk, "bribed is such a strong word, kitten."
oh. god.
you groaned, burying your face in your hands, "i'm a nepo-baby!"
overview: zayne and his doctor boyfriend hc!
notes: condensing the medical career bc this is fiction and lighthearted (i didn't wanna be logical), not lore compliant (reader is a doctor), cute boyfriends, unedited again bc of time, reader cooks, title from zb1!
tw: mentions of being a doctor!
…sun✰ ive been on lads for over a month now and zayne is the loml
✰as much as the two of you would like to pretend your relationship was some interesting office romance, it truly didn’t start like that
✰you went to the same med school, that was the only reason you knew each other.
✰zayne was a 3rd year while you were a 1st year,
✰you had mutual friends, which allowed you to meet decently often
✰you didn’t get together until you were a 2nd year and he was a 4th year, but you’ve been together ever since!
✰he was the one to ask you out, mostly because he hates being in the dark about important things, like your feelings for each other
✰however, he couldn’t have chosen a worse time if he tried
y/n had just finished his first cadaver dissection of his second year of med school. he had been standing up for almost the whole day, his back aching as he finished the last dissection. the doctor watching the students' work dismissed them, instructing them on the work they had to complete before their next class.
the students talked calmly as they excited, a slouch forming in y/n’s posture as he walked to the biohazard trash can. he took off his ppe, sweat drenching the area under his gloves and chest. the cool air of the restroom took the edge off the heat. the bathroom was on the opposite side of the hallway, y/n shutting the door to the surgery room behind him before entering in the restroom. after approaching the sink, he splashed water on his face, his black undershirt covered in sweat stains. he looked as bad as he felt, the 8 plus hour surgery a monster on his body.
as he exited the restroom he was met with zayne standing outside, a look of subtle panic etching the man’s usually stoic face. “can we talk, y/n?” zayne asked, blinking once after he finished the sentence. y/n thought he could hear the smallest quiver in his voice while he spoke.
“can it wait a bit? i just finished my dissection-“ y/n asked, zayne running a hand through his hair, glasses falling down his face. he was wearing a pair of grey, cotton scrubs, his hospital id hanging from the pocket in his pants. purple bags lived right under his tear ducts, but not only were they not as noticeable as other students’, they somehow made him look more attractive.
“it’s urgent.” zayne had lost the fear that rested in his voice, his hand moving to push up his silver glasses that had fallen down his nose. taking a deep breath, y/n pushed his hair back, sighing.
“fine.”
y/n expected for zayne to say something, but there was silence. unbearable, loud silence. he looked at the man, waiting for the words to leave his lips. y/n’s eyebrow raised, lips pressing into a straight line.
“would you like to go on a date with me?” zayne asked, his eyes glimmering with the smallest bits of emotion. y/n’s jaw almost dropped, eyes widening.
“i would love to, oh my god.” he spoke, zayne’s hand trailing to find y/n’s.
“are you free wednesday?” “for you, i am.”
✰like the snow melting on a sunny, spring day, zayne warmed up almost the instant they got together
✰his indifferent expressions turned into bright smiles, and his awkward posture turned into comfortable and relaxed affection
✰zayne is a cuddle bug. entirely.
✰long shifts and tiring days drain every cent of energy from his body, and now that you’re boyfriends, there’s something to replenish his energy!
the clock read 3:37.
y/n had finished his shower, damp hair resting on the pillow of his full bed as he waited for zayne to finish washing up. the two were home late for different reasons: y/n had finished another dissection and was writing multiple essays, while zayne was in the final stretch of his shift.
every second that ticked by made y/n want to close his eyes even more. it was exhausting staying up. it was exhausting working every day. he wished for a break more than he wished for the sun to shine bright on a cold day and for a glass of water when he was thirsty.
and then zayne entered the room.
water dripped from his short bangs, pajamas hanging loosely on his body as he practically limped to the bed because of the sore muscles in his legs and back. but this zayne, this tired, wrecked, zayne, made everything worth it.
“my bloods going to start clotting if i keep only standing and sitting all day.” zayne muttered, sitting down on the bed before pulling the covers on top of him. y/n laughed, moving closer so he was next to zayne’s side.
“you’re going to get a cold if you fall asleep with wet hair.” y/n spoke, adjusting zayne so he was sitting up, stealing the damp towel from his hands to dry the man’s hair. zayne scoffed, moving his hands to rest on y/n’s thigh.
“that’s not real, you know?” y/n rolled his eyes, rubbing his head a little harder, just to let zayne know he meant to tease him.
“i’m just trying to be a caring boyfriend, stop going all doctor on me.” y/n pouted, shifting once more so he now sat on zayne’s lap. zayne smiled, his hands wrapping around his boyfriend’s waist as a smile creeped onto his face.
“oh, i see. carry on then, handsome boyfriend.” zayne smiled proudly. y/n let out a scoff, pressing a soft kiss to zayne’s cheek. “finish drying my hair, i feel a cold coming.” y/n stopped his movement of drying the man’s hair, looking at his face. he cocked his eyebrow, zayne’s lips pursing. the man let out a fake cough, doe eyes sparkling as he looked at y/n.
it took all of the strength in y/n’s body to not give in to the man. but sadly, he still gave in to him. he leaned forward, a pressing a kiss to his lips happily. “i love you, now sit still so i can dry your hair.” y/n muttered, zayne breaking into a smile, any traces of that “cold” gone.
✰residency was truly when the “office romance” started
✰due to the opening of the deepspace tunnel all those years ago, linkon city’s medical program had condensed substantially, meaning zayne was already out of residency and a cardio surgeon by the time y/n was a first year resident at akso hospital
✰long glances at each other when walking through the halls turned into lingering touches when you visited him in his office in the second you were alone
✰somehow, seeing zayne at work but not being able to engage with him was harder than seeing him a little a home
y/n sat on the couch in zayne’s office, his arms grazing the floor as they moved back and forth.
“you’re so mean, zayne.” y/n pouted, his eyes looking up from the piece of the floor he was touching to see zayne sitting at his desk. zayne was looking at the files on his desk, sifting through papers until a certain section caught his eye, causing his eyebrows to furrow. there was no response to y/n’s statement, much to y/n’s dislike. “you see! you’re ignoring me. i finally have a break while you do and you just ignore your boyfriend of 2 years.”
with a sigh, zayne picked up his head from the papers he was processing. he changed his gaze to meet with y/n’s. “how am i mean?” he asked, a smile appearing on his lips. the new attention made a heat run to y/n’s face.
“you’re.” he started, his words failing to come out smoothly. y/n coughed to clear his throat, a smile appearing on his lips. “you’re ignoring your boyfriend when he’s busy and came to see you.” zayne stood up from his desk and walked over to the couch. he leaned down, his hand reaching out to caress y/n’s head.
“i’m sorry. i might not have patients, but i have things to read and charts to do. it doesn’t mean i don’t love you.” he whispered, zayne’s fingers caressing through the strands of y/n’s hair. “i’ll pay attention to you now, i finished my work.” y/n leaned into his touch, nodding happily.
“i know you don’t hate me. i like teasing you.” y/n said, adjusting his position on the couch so zayne could sit down comfortably, y/n resting on his chest.
“you didn’t say it back.” zayne spoke, y/n’s hands mindlessly playing with zayne’s long fingers. he caressed the scars on the knuckles while zayne held him tightly.
“what did i not say back?” y/n asked, looking up from zayne’s hand after zayne’s arms squished him once more. zayne sighed, his fingers breaking from y/n’s grasp to squish the man’s cheeks.
“you didn’t tell me you loved me after i said it.” there was almost a pout in zayne’s voice. was he really that upset?
“i love you sooooo much, my zayne! don’t forget that.” y/n said, his head leaning back to see zayne. with a smile, zayne responded back quietly. their lips inched closer together, contact happening for only a millisecond before there was a knock at zayne’s off.
y/n jumped off the couch in fear at the noise, hitting zayne’s chin. he ran to the chair in front of zayne’s desk, zayne rubbing his face while calling the person in to enter his office. “i have the information you requested, dr. zayne.” the resident said, entering in while zayne walked to his desk. “oh, hi y/n.” y/n nervously waved back to the resident, a small smile on his face.
couldn’t y/n have zayne to himself for a moment?
✰with the increasing of wanderers in linkon city, positions in the hospital were rearranged once more, and y/n was now in the upper levels as a thoracic surgeon
✰this change also corresponded with the couple’s 4th year anniversary!
✰now that y/n was not a resident, the couple could finally be public in the hospital
✰it was the flip of a switch: one day zayne and y/n acted like normal coworkers, then the next, they were walking to lunch holding hands, comfortably chatting
the change was amazing. being with his boyfriend in public was amazing. zayne’s hand was laced with y/n’s, a soft smile on the latter’s face as zayne talked about his morning.
“the resident i was talking to you about did really good on their rounds this morning. i think they’re flourishing into a confident doctor.” zayne’s voice was steady, his gaze matched with y/n’s. “oh, and the patient who had a cardiac tamponade is recovering well. they should be discharged by the end of the week.” y/n listened to zayne, nodding his head every so often to show he was listening.
zayne’s monologue continued as they walked to the cafeteria, sitting down at a table that caught a majority of the light from the large windows. staff and patients walked around the area, some sneaking glances at the two affectionate doctors.
“i brought two different options, so take whichever you want.” y/n said, opening his lunch kit to reveal two glass containers, one with cold noodles and one with an omelet leftover from breakfast. zayne reached for the cold noodles, opening the lid. he grabbed the two spoons and chopsticks, handing one of each to y/n.
“have some, these are the ones you made. they’re really good.” zayne said, already digging in to the meal. y/n smiled, taking a spoonful of the broth before trying the noodles.
“woah, these are good. i only made them for your lunch while i was at home two days ago, so i haven’t tried them.” y/n spoke, zayne’s expression one full of happiness.
“i love you. if i didn’t tell you that today. and this is not because of the cold noodles, but it’s a little because of that.” zayne rambled, y/n pecking his cheek.
“i love you too. let’s eat quick, because then we can go outside on a walk before we have to go to work again.” y/n spoke as he pulled away, zayne nodding.
the couple ate their lunch, zayne packing up in lightning speed before reaching for y/n’s hand. the two made their way to the outdoor garden, a smile on y/n’s face as he rested his head on zayne’s shoulder. the conversation between them had gone quiet, the silence allowing them to enjoy the presence of one another. the springtime had caused flowers to bloom in the hospital grounds, zayne picking a pink buttercup from the grass and handing it y/n, repeating the process until the man had a bouquet and they both had flowers tucked behind their ears.
they could get used to this.
✰in the present, y/n and zayne are both attendings at akso hospital!
✰all of that worked had finally paid off (and all of that money)
✰the matched level of seniority allowed y/n and zayne to have a more synced schedule, which gives you more time together
✰7 years had passed since the couple had gotten together, and they couldn’t be happier
✰they held hands in between surgeries, instructed residents together, and were stuck at the hip whenever they weren’t needed for something emergent
✰they were the model couple of the hospital (so much so that the hospital wanted to use them in promotional material)
✰there are two things zayne loves in this world: y/n and his job, so having them together all the time might have just made him the happiest man alive
y/n’s couch was soft. zayne had picked it out himself, grumbling about how he “regretted the couch he bought for the own office” and he “wanted to make sure his boyfriend was comfortable”. y/n didn’t fully believe this answer.
especially paired with the fact that zayne was now always in his office.
“did you buy this couch specifically so you could bother me while i’m working?” y/n asked, staring at his boyfriend as zayne flopped onto the couch.
“no, i bought it because it’s soft and you never-” he said, y/n cutting him off, his hand mimicking zayne’s mouth.
“get enough rest! you stay here when you’re on call instead of coming home to ME to cuddle.” y/n mocked, his lips forming the same pout zayne makes when giving the same speech. a weak laugh escaped zayne’s lips at the mockery, y/n cooing. “did i embarrass you?” he asked, getting up from his seat to lay himself over zayne’s spread out body.
“ouch. and no, i’m not embarrassed, i’m happy you know me so well.” zayne said, his nose touching y/n’s. their eyes held each other in a tight gaze for what could have been nothing more than a second before y/n felt zayne’s lips on his on, gentle moving back and forth, waiting for y/n’s to kiss him back.
y/n responded back, a conversation without words reverberating between the two.
i love you.
i love you even though i’m tired every day.
i love you even though work is hard and scary.
i love you for you, and everything you are to me.
i love you.
there was a knock of the door of y/n’s office, y/n pulling away for a moment to respond to the person. “i’m busy! if it’s not an emergency, come back later!” zayne barely let y/n’s response ring before he laughed, connecting their lips again. they were in their rightful place. with each other, loving each other, holding each other.
nothing in the world could top it.
✰happiness couldn’t describe all the feelings that zayne felt about y/n (and vice versa)
✰y/n made him so happy, in fact, that there’s a box containing a ring with a big, glittering diamond sitting inside zayne’s desk right now
“You’ve been coming to almost every race. You sure you’re not just here for me?” °🥂⋆.ೃ🍾࿔*:･
Synopsis: Your world of glittering galas and endless routines shatters under the roar of Monaco’s streets — and in the center of it all is Mclaren’s rising star, Caleb Xia, the man who makes you wonder if life was meant to feel this electric.
Genre: Fluff, Romance
AU: F1!au
Pairing(s): MclarenDriver!Caleb x Socialite!Reader
Warnings: None (😮💨)
Note: I got bored after I finished watching the Azerbaijan Grand Prix last weekend (CARLOS ON THE PODIUM!!) and then instantly thought of making a LADS series where they’re all F1 drivers, so here’s the first installment of my newest series! Happy reading everyone!
[Gridlocked Masterlist. 🏎️]
You were raised on champagne flutes and charity galas, with last names carrying more weight than first impressions. The Upper East Side was your kingdom — and you, its reluctant princess.
You were the girl the tabloids loved to write about: every debutante ball, every front row seat at Fashion Week, every accidental run-in with someone else’s boyfriend turned into a headline. You didn’t even have to try.
People liked to say you were magnetic, that the world bent a little to keep you in the center. They weren’t wrong.
But there’s something they never wrote about — that, when the flashbulbs dimmed and the music died down, you preferred the quiet. The moments when you could slip off the Louboutins and sit barefoot on the balcony of your apartment, overlooking the city, feeling anonymous for once.
You loved the world you were born into, but you couldn’t ignore the creeping boredom of it all.
The charity luncheons started to blur together, the parties all smelled the same — champagne and expensive perfume and a faint whiff of desperation.
You smiled for cameras, made polite conversation, but somewhere inside you, the spark that used to love the chaos started to dim.
Still, you played your part.
You were good at it — the perfect society darling, the “it” girl who always seemed to have a story worth telling. But lately, you found yourself craving something different. Not louder — not exactly — but realer.
So when your best friend slid into the booth across from you one bright spring morning, phone in hand, glossy lips curled into a grin, and said,
“Come to Monaco with me for the Grand Prix,” you almost laughed.
You didn’t know a single thing about Formula 1 — other than the fact that your father’s company logo was probably somewhere on a car that went too fast.
But the word Monaco stuck in your head all day.
It wasn’t New York. It wasn’t another Met Gala, or another glossy page of predictable society gossip. Monaco was noise and speed and sunlight that glittered off the water.
Maybe, you thought as you scrolled through pictures of last year’s race — champagne-soaked podiums, yachts lined like jewels on the harbor, drivers smiling like the world belonged to them — this was exactly what you needed.
And so, for the first time in a long time, you felt that familiar rush in your chest. The one you used to get before sneaking out at night, or before stepping onto the dance floor when everyone’s eyes were on you.
Maybe this trip would give you back your spark. You had seen the world before, but the prospect of Monaco felt different.
It was like someone had dialed the saturation up on reality — the harbor glittered like it had been cut from crystal, and the air was warm with salt and gasoline.
You’d been to Saint-Tropez with your parents a dozen times, to Lake Como with girlfriends, all the usual places that wealthy New Yorkers flock to in the summer — but this wasn’t like that.
This wasn’t slow afternoons and overpriced rosé. This was fast. Loud. Alive.
The taxi wound down the sharp corners toward Monte Carlo, and you leaned your head against the window, watching the yachts bob in the marina. Your best friend had fallen asleep beside you, earbuds in, but you couldn’t close your eyes.
Because this trip, for once, wasn’t just another summer vacation.
You thought about all the parties you’d been to, all the ballrooms you’d floated through with a practiced smile. About the articles that called you enigmatic and untouchable when, truthfully, you’d rather be barefoot in someone’s kitchen at three a.m. with music playing too loud.
You thought about how many times you’d seen your name on Page Six, as though they knew you — when half the time, you didn’t even know yourself.
You were good at the life you were given, better than anyone expected. But you couldn’t ignore the nagging feeling that you were just… playing a role. That you were saying all the right things, wearing all the right clothes, showing up in all the right places — but missing something.
The taxi rounded another corner and suddenly you saw the harbor from above — the sun catching on the water, the streets already buzzing with life even before the weekend had properly started.
You felt it then — that twist in your chest you hadn’t felt in years.
Excitement.
Hope.
The quiet, desperate wish that maybe this weekend could be more than just another trip. That maybe you could find something here — or someone — that made you feel real again.
You smiled to yourself, just barely, before the driver pulled up to the hotel. The flash of paparazzi cameras caught you by surprise as you stepped out, but for once, you didn’t mind. Because for the first time in a long time, you were ready for a little chaos.
The atmosphere was everything you expected — and nothing like what you thought.
By Saturday morning, the city was electric. The streets thrummed with anticipation, balconies were already draped with flags, and every café was full of people talking about tire strategies like they were debating philosophy.
You sat at a table on the hotel terrace, sunglasses perched on your nose, an untouched cappuccino in front of you, watching the harbor below like it was a stage and you were the audience.
“Okay,” your best friend said, dropping into the chair across from you with a dramatic sigh. “You’ve been moody since last night. Are you seriously going to sulk through the Grand Prix weekend?”
“I’m not sulking,” you replied, stirring your coffee lazily.
“You are sulking,” she pressed, arching a brow. “You’re in Monaco, babe. There are parties to go to, yachts to drink on, actual drivers to flirt with—”
“Flirt with?” You shot her a look, but the corner of your mouth lifted despite yourself.
“Yes,” she said, as if it were obvious. “You’ve been bored out of your mind all year. This is supposed to be fun. Come on — when’s the last time you actually let yourself have fun?”
You didn’t answer, but the silence was answer enough.
Your friend groaned, reaching for your phone and snapping a quick selfie of you mid-eye roll.
“Fine. If you won’t do it for yourself, do it for the narrative. Imagine the tabloids: Upper East Side darling spotted at Monaco GP, having the time of her life.”
You laughed, snatching the phone back. “You are ridiculous.”
“And you love me.” She grinned. “Come on, let’s go. The drivers are doing media today before free practice, and I heard Ollie Bearman is actually kind of cute in person. We can at least get a drink by the paddock entrance, right?”
You caved — you always did.
A few hours later, you found yourself walking through the crowded streets, past the fans pressed against barriers, waving signs and wearing merch.
You spotted a few familiar faces in passing — Ollie Bearman laughing with his team, Isack Hadjar in his team kit signing caps for fans, Yuki Tsunoda darting through a crowd with an energy drink in hand. Someone said Alex Albon was around somewhere too, and you swore you caught a glimpse of him taking a photo with a kid near the paddock gates.
There was a strange comfort in seeing them all so up close — the people your friends always talked about, larger-than-life and yet so real in front of you.
“See?” your friend said, bumping her shoulder against yours as you sipped a spritz. “This is better than whatever sad little gala we would’ve been stuck at this weekend.”
You smiled, just a small one, but this time it reached your eyes. “Okay… maybe you were right. Maybe this was a good idea.”
“Obviously,” she said, victorious. “Now let’s see if we can crash one of those team parties tonight. I heard they’re insane.”
For the first time in months, you felt that familiar rush — the spark that used to make your heart beat faster. Maybe this was what you’d been missing: something unexpected. Something that made you feel like the world could surprise you again.
Somewhere across the paddock of Monte Carlo, Caleb Xia sat slouched in the corner of the McLaren motorhome, scrolling through his phone with the kind of bored expression that only came from seeing one too many headlines about himself.
“F1’s Rookie Heartthrob — Caleb Xia Spotted Leaving London Café With Mystery Blonde”
“Caleb Xia: McLaren’s Golden Boy, But Is He Ready For Monaco Pressure?”
“Who Is Caleb Xia Dating? Internet Thinks They’ve Cracked It.”
He rolled his eyes and dropped the phone on the table with a sigh.
“Another love life exposé?” his teammate, Gideon, teased from across the room, tossing a balled-up paper towel at him.
Caleb caught it midair and threw it right back. “You’d think I’m secretly engaged with the amount of time they spend writing about me.”
“Hey, at least they care,” his engineer said with a shrug as he walked by. “You’re good for PR.”
Caleb groaned. “Great. I love being reduced to ‘good for PR.’ Forget the fact that I qualified P1 yesterday — apparently, the real drama is who I’m seen having coffee with.”
But the truth was, Caleb didn’t actually mind the attention — not really. He just hated the narrative that followed him around, the assumption that being young and attractive automatically meant he was some playboy.
He wasn’t.
Most days, Caleb preferred quiet mornings at the sim, evening runs by himself, and the occasional late-night call to his sister. If the world wanted to think he was some glamorous rookie with a revolving door of girlfriends, fine. It kept them entertained. But it wasn’t him.
His phone buzzed again — this time with a media schedule reminder — and he groaned, running a hand through his dark hair. “Guess I better go smile for the cameras before they say I hate the fans.”
“You do hate the cameras,” his teammate called after him.
“I don’t hate the cameras,” Caleb shot back with a smirk as he grabbed his cap and headed toward the paddock. “I hate the way they stare like they’re waiting for me to mess up.”
The air outside was buzzing, the kind of weekend energy that got under your skin whether you liked it or not. Fans lined the barricades, chanting names, holding out flags and caps for autographs. Caleb slipped on his sunglasses and waved, signing a few as he passed.
Another headline would probably go up later — something about how “calm and collected” he looked ahead of Sunday’s race — but for a moment, he let himself just exist in the noise.
And somewhere in the crowd, just for a split second, his gaze landed on you.
He didn’t know your name yet. Didn’t know you were watching with that curious half-smile, taking in all of Monaco like it was a movie set.
But something in his chest tightened anyway — like the camera had just shifted focus, and for the first time all weekend, he wasn’t thinking about racing, or interviews, or headlines.
You were standing near the barricade with your friend, dressed in something simple but impossibly elegant, sunglasses perched low on your nose as if you were only half interested in the chaos around you. But the sunlight caught on your jewelry, on the gloss of your lips, and Caleb felt like he’d been hit with G-force at 0 km/h.
“Caleb!” someone called, snapping him out of his daze. A fan shoved a cap toward him and he signed it automatically, though his eyes kept darting back to you.
God, who are you? You didn’t look like the other influencers who crowded the paddock — too poised, too calm. You looked like you belonged here without even trying, like Monaco itself had manifested you.
He adjusted his cap, pretended to check his watch, anything to steal another glance. You laughed at something your friend said and he swore he felt it in his chest.
“You good?” his PR manager asked, eyeing him suspiciously.
“Yeah,” Caleb said quickly, maybe too quickly. “Just… hot out here.”
She gave him a look but said nothing, ushering him along toward the hospitality suite. Caleb followed, sunglasses hiding the way his gaze flicked over his shoulder one last time.
He didn’t even know your name, but for some reason, he was already hoping you’d still be there tomorrow.
“Okay, I swear one of the McLaren boys is staring at you.”
You blinked, glancing at your friend like she’d just told you the sky was green. “What?”
“There.” She tilted her chin subtly toward the line of drivers walking past. “Tall, dark hair, orange cap. He’s literally staring at you like you’re the grand prix trophy.”
You followed her gaze — and oh.
Caleb Xia. McLaren’s golden boy. The rookie everyone was talking about this season.
He was looking at you, and not in the vague celebrity-to-civilian way, but in a way that made your stomach flip. You quickly looked away, pretending to adjust your sunglasses like you couldn’t be bothered, though your pulse had spiked to unsafe levels.
“He’s not staring,” you said lightly, forcing a breezy laugh. “He’s probably just looking at, like—someone behind me.”
“Mm-hm.” Your friend gave you the most knowing smirk. “Sure. Totally not staring at the Upper East Side’s favorite party girl. Definitely not staring at the girl whose dad sponsors his team.”
You swatted her arm, cheeks burning. “Shut up.”
“Oh my god, you’re blushing!”
“I am not.” You absolutely were. You turned back toward the barricade, pretending to be fascinated by the crowd, but your thoughts were running laps faster than any F1 car on track.
McLaren’s star rookie. Staring. At you.
You tried to act unbothered, but inside you were screaming from the rooftops of the New York skyline.
Fast forward to Sunday and the whole principality was buzzing. The streets were packed, the air thick with champagne mist and roaring cheers — and Caleb Xia was standing at the top of the podium, drenched in victory.
You weren’t exactly a motorsport girl, but even you had to admit — there was something insanely attractive about the sight. The fireproof suit clinging to him, the triumphant grin, the way he lifted the trophy like it weighed nothing.
Your friend elbowed you knowingly. “You’re staring.”
You scoffed, flipping your hair and pretending to focus on your phone. “Please. I’m just… appreciating the sport.”
“Right. The sport.”
Okay, maybe you were staring. And maybe you were imagining what that smile would look like if it was aimed just at you.
You bit back a grin, letting your sunglasses hide your eyes as the crowd around you erupted in cheers again.
“Maybe I should come here more often,” you murmured under your breath, almost to yourself — but the words hung there, heavy with possibility.
You hadn’t planned on becoming a regular fixture on the Formula 1 calendar — but there you were, two months later, strolling through the paddock at Silverstone like you owned the place. And maybe, in a way, you did.
Your friends loved it, the constant travel, the electric atmosphere, the excuse to dress up for race weekends. You did too, though you’d never admit it aloud.
The whole scene reminded you of St. Tropez in the summer — glitz, champagne, and cameras flashing — except here, it smelled like gasoline and adrenaline.
And of course, the whispers followed you everywhere.
“Who is she?”
“She’s here every race now—she must be dating one of them.”
“No, no, she’s a sponsor’s daughter. Total nepotism.”
“She’s gorgeous. She’s like… the paddock It-Girl now.”
You’d scroll through social media later and laugh at the edits, the TikToks of you just existing — sipping an Aperol spritz on McLaren’s hospitality balcony, adjusting your sunglasses, smiling at someone out of frame — all set to romantic songs like you were the star of some indie film.
“Look at this,” your best friend snickered one afternoon in the McLaren motorhome, holding up her phone. “‘McLaren boys fighting for the mysterious paddock princess.’ Oh my God, they think you’re dating Gideon now.”
You raised a brow, perfectly nonchalant. “And last week it was Caleb. Make up your minds, honestly.”
Your friends cackled, loving the spectacle more than you did, but even you had to admit it was fun — the attention, the headlines, the idea that everyone was dying to know who you were.
Still, you kept your distance from the drivers, politely nodding if you ever passed one in the hallway. Even when you caught glimpses of Caleb Xia, helmet tucked under his arm, dark hair damp with sweat as he walked back to the motorhome post-session.
“Are you ever going to talk to him?” one of your friends asked as you leaned over the balcony to watch the teams set up for qualifying.
You smirked, adjusting your sunglasses to hide your expression. “And ruin the mystery? Never.”
But deep down — every time you saw him, every time you caught the faintest glimpse of that half-smile, heard the low timbre of his laugh from a distance — you felt that little thrill again. The same one you’d felt back in Monaco, the day everything changed.
And if you were honest with yourself? You didn’t hate it.
Meanwhile, Caleb, wasn’t used to this.
Usually, people came to him — reporters, sponsors, adoring fans who screamed his name as he walked past. But for weeks now, he’d been the one looking.
Searching the paddock for a flash of silk, a familiar pair of heels, the soft laugh he’d heard over the crowd at Monaco and Silverstone.
And when he finally spotted you standing by the hospitality balcony at Spa — hair swept over one shoulder, drink in hand, the breeze catching the hem of your dress — something in him clicked.
“Are you really going to just stand here and stare again?” Gideon muttered beside him, smirking.
Caleb ignored him. His heart was already thudding in his chest as he walked over, weaving through a cluster of engineers and PR staff until he was standing just a few feet away from you.
“Hi,” he said, smooth but quiet, as though testing the waters.
You turned, sunglasses catching the light — and oh, that little smirk. “Caleb Xia.” You said his name like you’d been expecting him.
For a split second, he forgot every clever opening line he’d practiced in his head. “You know who I am?”
“Of course,” you said simply, swirling your drink before taking a slow sip. “You drive for the team my father sponsors. I’d be a terrible daughter if I didn’t know at least that much.”
The corner of his mouth twitched. There it was — the chase.
“So you come to the races just to keep tabs on us?”
You tilted your head, eyes glinting with something playful. “Or maybe I just like the view.”
Caleb felt that one in his chest, but you didn’t give him time to recover — just smiled sweetly, handed your drink to your friend, and started walking toward the balcony stairs.
“Where are you going?” he asked, following a few steps behind.
“To the grid walk,” you called over your shoulder. “Try to keep up, Golden Boy.”
He laughed then, low and warm, because he couldn’t remember the last time someone had made him feel like this — like he was twelve years old again, chasing after something just out of reach.
And oh, he liked it.
From then on, it was like Caleb had made you his favorite game.
Not in a careless, bored sort of way — no, he was deliberate. Strategic. He’d spot you across the paddock, you’d pretend not to notice him, and yet he’d always find an excuse to pass by where you were standing.
“You’re following me,” you teased one weekend in Monza, where the buzz of the paddock made everything feel like a movie.
Caleb didn’t even blink. “Or maybe you’re just everywhere I want to be.”
Your friend stifled a laugh beside you. You shot her a look and turned back to Caleb, feigning boredom. “Careful, Xia. People might think you like me.”
“Let them.” His grin was infuriatingly confident.
And people did start talking.
‘McLaren’s Caleb Xia Spotted Chatting With Socialite Heiress Again’
‘Who Is She? The Mystery Girl Caleb Xia Can’t Seem to Stop Looking At’
‘Forget PR Relationships, This One Feels Real’
You’d scroll through the headlines with a raised brow, holding up your phone across the table when you ran into him at the motorhome.
“You’re ruining my reputation, you know.”
He leaned casually against the doorframe, helmet under one arm, that stupid grin tugging at his mouth. “What reputation? The one where you look impossibly good in every picture they take of you?”
“Flattery,” you said, slipping past him, “is cheap.”
But when you caught his low chuckle behind you, it sent a spark through you that you refused to admit out loud.
By the end of the weekend, everyone had caught on.
Engineers, PR people, even the fans — they’d started cheering when they saw you in the paddock, holding up signs like ‘Give Her the Mclaren Hoodie, Caleb!’ or ‘Socialite x Rookie Power Couple When?’
And instead of shying away, you found yourself leaning into it.
The air was warm but breezy as you stood on the balcony of the team’s hotel suite, overlooking the beautiful skyline of Azerbaijan.
Baku always felt like two worlds colliding — old city walls and futuristic skyscrapers — and somehow, it fit the way Caleb made you feel.
“You’re brooding,” came his voice from behind you, teasing and lazy. “Should I be worried?”
You turned to see him leaning against the doorframe, still in his team kit, arms crossed. The smug little smirk on his face was enough to make you roll your eyes.
“Not brooding. Just thinking,” you replied coolly, turning back toward the view.
“Thinking about me?” he shot back instantly.
You scoffed. “Not everything is about you, Xia.”
“Oh, come on,” he said, walking out onto the balcony, his shoulder brushing yours as he stopped beside you. “You’ve been coming to almost every race. You sure you’re not just here for me?”
You fought the smile tugging at your lips. “I like the atmosphere. The energy. The—”
“The drivers?” he interrupted, grinning.
“Careful, Caleb. You sound jealous.”
“I’m not jealous,” he said quickly, then softened, eyes glinting as they found yours. “I just don’t like sharing your attention.”
You blinked, caught off guard by how honest that sounded. “That’s a very bold thing to say for someone who spent weeks trying to convince me to even talk to him.”
He grinned, shrugging like he had all the time in the world. “And now you are. Seems like I’m winning.”
You rolled your eyes again, but your chest felt warm, fluttery.
“You’re sly.”
“And you love it.”
“Bold assumption,” you muttered, stepping away to hide your smile — but Caleb caught your wrist gently before you could walk back inside.
“Hey.” His voice was softer now, teasing tone dropping just slightly. “Don’t run away when I’m being honest.”
You turned back, finding him closer than you’d realized. For a moment, neither of you said anything — just the city lights below, the sound of distant traffic, and the pulse of your heart in your ears.
“You make this too easy,” you said finally, trying to break the tension with a smirk.
“Good,” he said simply, grin returning as he let go of your wrist, only to tug the brim of your cap down playfully. “Wouldn’t want you to get bored.”
You huffed, but when he walked back inside, you stayed there a moment longer, staring out at the glittering city and letting yourself admit — just for a second — that Caleb Xia might actually be the most dangerous thing that’s ever happened to your carefully curated life.
“Do you think they’ve guessed?” you murmured to him once, ducking under an awning as a rain shower passed over in Singapore.
Caleb, completely unbothered, just shot you that knowing look as he opened up his umbrella. “I think they want us to stop pretending we don’t enjoy this.”
You pretended to scoff, even as your heart thudded at the way he was looking at you — like he’d already decided you were his favorite win of the season.
And maybe, just maybe, you were starting to let him have it.
It started with the likes.
At first, it was subtle — Caleb’s name popping up under your Instagram posts, username appearing under a photo of you at a gallery opening. Then it was your weekend brunch picture. Then it was your mirror selfie before a gala.
By the time he liked a photo of you lounging on the deck of your yacht in Capri, the media had lost its mind.
‘Caleb Xia Finally Picks a Girl? Socialite Heiress, Y/N, Seems to Have His Attention’
‘From the Grid to the Gram: Mclaren’s Golden Rookie is Soft-Launching?’
‘Sorry Ladies, Caleb Xia Might Be Off the Market’
You couldn’t lie — you loved it. You loved how unbothered Caleb was about feeding the fire, too.
So when he cornered you outside the Mclaren motorhome in Singapore, freshly showered after free practice, smelling faintly of cedar and apple soap, you couldn’t resist the way his grin made you want to roll your eyes and melt at the same time.
“You owe me dinner,” he said simply, like it was a fact.
You blinked. “Do I?”
“Mm.” He leaned against the wall, all easy confidence. “For all the press I’ve been getting because of you.”
You crossed your arms. “Last I checked, my father’s team sponsorship, and my own free will, means I get to exist in the paddock without owing you anything.”
He only smiled wider. “Then let me buy you dinner for existing so well.”
God, he was annoying. Infuriatingly charming. Which is how you ended up across from him at an exclusive rooftop restaurant that overlooked the entire Marina Bay track, the city lights twinkling like stars against the black water.
And that’s when you realized you might be in trouble.
Caleb was all charm — jacket hanging just right on his broad shoulders, his usually messy hair tamed for once, his easy laugh drawing eyes from every table. He poured your wine for you, and you tried not to notice the way his fingers brushed yours.
“So,” he said, swirling his glass lazily, “are you going to admit you like me, or do I have to keep liking your posts and chasing you around the paddock until you do?”
You snorted softly. “What if I told you I liked the attention?”
His grin turned downright dangerous. “Then I guess I’ll just have to keep giving it to you.”
You rolled your eyes, but the heat creeping up your neck betrayed you.
Dinner was long, drawn out, and borderline cinematic — Caleb wasn’t in a rush. He asked about your magazine, your travels, your favorite cities. He listened and teased you when you got too passionate about a topic, just to see that spark in your eyes.
By dessert, you were leaning in closer, laughing at something stupid he’d said about the chaos of the driver’s WhatsApp group.
“You’re not as annoying as I thought you’d be,” you admitted, swirling the last of your wine.
He tilted his head, eyes glittering. “Careful, princess. You’re starting to sound like you like me.”
You smiled slow, deliberate. “Maybe I do.”
Caleb’s smirk softened into something warmer, but still edged with that hunger you’d been sensing all night. “Good,” he said simply, as if that had been the goal all along.
When he walked you back to your hotel, the tension was unbearable — the humid Singapore night buzzing with it. He didn’t kiss you, didn’t push — just tucked a strand of hair behind your ear and said, “Next race, I’m taking you out again.”
And damn it, you knew you’d say yes.
On the Sunday, the heat in Singapore was suffocating, the whole paddock buzzing like a champagne cork about to pop.
You were supposed to be watching from the hospitality suite, glass of wine in hand, looking unbothered and glamorous like always — but when Caleb crossed the finish line first, you were on your feet screaming with everyone else.
The cheers, the flash of cameras, the roar of the crowd — it was all a blur. Next thing you knew, you were being ushered down to parc fermé, your heels clicking against the concrete as mechanics and engineers flooded the track.
Caleb was still in his fireproofs, helmet off, hair sweaty and sticking to his forehead — and you had never seen him look better in your life.
He spotted you immediately. Like a heat-seeking missile.
You didn’t even have time to say anything before he strode over, adrenaline still radiating off him like static, grabbed you by the arms, and kissed you right there — in front of everyone.
And when I say kissed, I mean kissed.
You heard the audible gasp from the reporters, the shocked cheers from the Mclaren crew, the click-click-click of a thousand cameras capturing the moment that would break the internet.
When he finally pulled back, grinning like a madman, you could barely catch your breath.
“Caleb—” you started, half-scandalized, half-deliriously happy.
He just winked. “What? You said you liked the attention.”
Somewhere, someone wolf-whistled. Someone else shouted, “ABOUT TIME!” The cameras were still going off like fireworks, but you barely noticed.
You were too busy laughing, feeling lighter than you had in years, as Caleb pressed his forehead against yours and whispered, “Guess we’re official now.”
You didn’t mind. Not one bit.
Later, as you scrolled through your phone in the motorhome — headlines already going insane — you couldn’t stop smiling.
‘BREAKING: Caleb Xia Hard-Launches Relationship in Parc Fermé’
‘Mclaren Rookie’s Mystery Girl Revealed — And She’s Upper East Side Royalty’
‘Caleb Wins Singapore GP and Possibly the Girl of His Dreams’
You couldn’t even be mad about it.
Because for once, the tabloids had gotten it exactly right — Caleb had hit the gas, full-speed, and finished straight into your heart.
Once the paddock had quieted down, the motorhome was buzzing with champagne and team members celebrating the double podium, but Caleb had dragged you away from the crowd the second he was done with media duties.
You sat cross-legged on the couch, shoes abandoned somewhere on the floor, still trying to wipe confetti off your dress when he came back from showering. His hair was damp, sticking adorably to his forehead, and he was wearing a casual hoodie. Somehow, that was even more dangerous than the fireproofs.
“So,” you started, trying to sound casual as you scrolled through the avalanche of notifications on your phone. “Parc fermé, huh? You do realize there’s this thing called a soft launch?”
Caleb leaned against the wall, arms crossed, smirking like you’d just told him a bad joke.
“Soft launch? No chance. I’m not about to let the internet play guessing games about whether or not I’m into you.”
You raised a brow. “So you just kiss me in front of half the paddock?”
“Worked, didn’t it?” he shot back easily, making his way to the couch and plopping down next to you, his thigh brushing yours.
“You’re unbelievable.” You tried to sound annoyed, but the smile threatening to take over your face gave you away.
Caleb noticed, of course. He always did. “You liked it,” he teased, nudging your knee with his.
You rolled your eyes, but your heart was pounding way too hard for someone who was supposedly unbothered. “Maybe,” you admitted softly.
That made him grin — really grin, the way he only did when he wasn’t Caleb Xia the driver, but just Caleb, the boy who’d been chasing your attention for months.
He leaned back, looking smug and entirely too comfortable. “Good. Because I’m not taking it back.”
You stared at him for a long moment before laughing, finally letting yourself melt into his side.
“You’re going to be the death of me, you know that?”
He pressed a quick kiss to your temple, and his voice softened just enough to make your chest tighten.
“Nah. I’m going to keep winning races so you keep showing up. That way, I’ll never have to miss you.”
You didn’t say anything to that — just reached for his hand and held it, letting yourself bask in the glow of his words, of the race, of everything.
And for the first time in a long time, the noise of the world — the tabloids, the gossip, the expectations — faded into the background.
All that mattered was this: Caleb, warm and steady next to you, his thumb tracing lazy circles against your skin like he had no plans of letting go.
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A/N: These drabbles were written as holiday pieces and ended up stretching from Christmas into New Year’s. They're a bit late, but still very much in the spirit. Happy New Year everyone 🤍
Sylus
Most of the base was shut down for the night.
Sylus looked different like this, jacket off, sleeves rolled, leaning back against the worktable as if there were nowhere else he needed to be. Just waiting for you.
He had settled onto the couch, knowing you’d arrive soon.
As if on cue, you arrived shortly after, leaning over the back of the couch. Your arms settled around his chest as you pressed a kiss to the top of his head. He didn’t look up as he smiled to himself, thumb brushing your knuckles before you pulled away.
Dropping onto the couch beside him, his arm came up automatically, draping around your shoulders lazily.
You noticed the box on the coffee table before he said anything.
It was elegant, dark, and classic. Sitting exactly where it would catch your eye.
Lifting your gaze from the box, you caught his satisfied smile.
“You’re enjoying this.” If you were referring to him enjoying gifting you, watching the anticipation on your face when you found his gift, or simply spending time alone with you, you didn’t specify. Because the answer would be yes to everything.
“A little,” he said, then corrected himself, smirk settling in. “No. Immensely.”
You exhaled a quiet laugh, reaching for the box and opening it. “Of course you are.”
The gem inside was unmistakable.
You’d seen pieces like this cross the auction floor, raw power disguised as indulgence. But this one was different. Smaller. Purposeful. The cut was deliberate, shaped to catch light without dominating it. Set into jewelry that looked… wearable. Not ceremonial. Not fragile. Just perfect, curated for your needs.
It wasn’t the first time he himself worked on downsizing a gem for you. But still, your breath caught every time.
“You altered it,” you noted.
“Yes.”
You looked up, meeting his gaze. “You downsized an auction piece.”
“I refined it,” he replied mildly. “The original was…excessive.”
You gave him a look. Then lifted the piece carefully. It was warm, like it hadn’t been sitting long. Like it was in his hands before you arrived.
“You didn’t have to,” you murmured quietly.
“I’m aware.” No defensiveness. No explanation. Just a fact.
He stood up and straightened slightly, gesturing. “Turn.”
You did so without thinking. His fingers were steady at the clasp, practiced, close enough that you were acutely aware of him, feeling his breath against the back of your neck. The contact was brief, precise, but when he finished, his hand lingered for a heartbeat longer than necessary.
“There,” he said quietly.
You turned back to face him. The gem catching the low light as you moved. His gaze followed it, satisfied.
“It suits you,” he added. Not praise. Observation.
You shook your head, a faint smile tugging at your mouth. “You’re just enamored.”
“I know.”
He reached for your hand, thumb brushing your knuckles once before he pressed something into your palm.
You glanced down.
A brochure. Mountains. Snow-dusted stone. A secluded villa tucked far from anything crowded.
You looked back at him. “Sylus.”
He watched your reaction, relaxed. Not searching your face, just taking it in.
“You mentioned wanting to get away during your break,” he said calmly. “Somewhere quiet.”
You turned the brochure once, then again. “When did you—”
“Does it matter?,” he cut in lightly. “It’s handled.”
You huffed a soft laugh. “You didn’t even check if I—”
“You will,” he said, tone even, almost amused. “You always do.”
And he was right. Whatever he picked, you liked. He’d always known exactly what you’d need and want, long before you ever asked.
You glanced back down at the brochure, fingers tracing the edge, smiling. “You planned this to avoid people.”
“Partially.” He paused. “But mainly I wanted you to relax and enjoy the holiday properly.” Then, he smirked. “And I might have done it to get you all to myself.”
You looked up again, deciding to tease him. “And if I wanted somewhere else?”
A corner of his mouth lifted, knowing exactly what you were doing. “Then we adjust.”
You folded the brochure once and set it aside, leaning back into him. “Happy Holidays, Sylus.”
He studied you for a moment, expression warm. “Mm,” he hummed. “With you by my side, always.”
“Happy Holidays, Sweetie,” he added. “The plane leaves in an hour. Don’t bother packing. I had the Twins buy everything you might need.”
You let out a quiet breath. “You don’t waste time.”
“I don’t see the benefit in waiting,” he replied smugly. “After you, Kitten.” He gestured for you to walk.
A step behind you, his expression softened as he took in the sight of you, joyful, eyes sparkling, knowing he was the one who put the smile on your face. That, more than anything else, was his gift this holiday. And it was the only part of the it that truly mattered to him.
Zayne
Knowing you had off this time of year, Zayne scheduled a last-minute checkup for you.
It was, on paper, routine. In practice, you could tell the moment you stepped into his office that he’d arranged the appointment the way he planned evenings with you, by thinking it through before you ever stepped inside. The overhead lights were dimmed a touch lower than usual. The screen on his desk was already pulled up to your file. Even the disposable paper on the exam bed had been smoothed flat.
“Sit,” he said, not unkindly, as he slipped the cuff around your arm.
The monitor beeped once. His gaze stayed on the numbers, not you, but you knew him well enough to notice the small pause when your pulse ticked higher than it should have. The pen in his hand tapped the clipboard once before he wrote something down.
He set a neat bag on the table next to you while reviewing your vitals, expression neutral, as if it were just another part of the visit. No comment. No elaboration.
You raised a brow, but couldn’t help the smile that threatened to show as you reached for the bag and peered inside, recognizing this as his way of giving you gifts.
A temperature-regulating accessory of the latest technology lay inside, along with a small, clinically labeled kit tailored to what you tended to forget when you were running on adrenaline. Supplements measured to the exact dosage you ignored. Stabilizers you only remembered once it was too late. There were more than a few other things, heat packs, a couple of sealed packets that made your stomach twist with the realization that he’d noticed exactly which corners you cut when you insisted you were ‘fine.’ Things that you brushed off until it became a real problem, all neatly organized.
It was the kind of thoughtfulness that said he hadn’t just noticed; he’d been paying attention. Tracking your habits quietly, consistently, for months. No. Longer than that.
“You overextend,” he said flatly, pen tapping once again. After a beat, his tone shifted, warmer. “So I planned for it.”
You opened your mouth to deflect it, already reaching for a joke, but he gave you that measured look, stoic, professional, until his mouth softened, just a fraction.
“Take it,” he added, like an order, as if it were the only way he knew how to say I’m worried about you.
You wanted to protest. Wanted to argue about autonomy, about being busy, about not needing to be managed. But the neatness of the kit, the details, made your throat tighten in a way that had nothing to do with pride. You ended up nodding instead. “Thank you.”
He didn’t respond. His attention returned to the screen, eyes scanning data he’d already memorized. But the tension in his shoulders eased by a degree, in a way you’d learned to recognize over time.
“Are you coming tonight?” you asked after a moment.
“I have work.” When he caught the disappointment on your face, he immediately added, “But I’ll try to make it.”
You nodded. “Okay. Don’t work too long. You should start practicing what you preach.”
A subtle smile touched his lips as he pretended to review your chart again.
“For your information,” you paused on purpose, casual to the point of cruelty. “I also have a gift for you at home.” Your eyes lit with mischief as your mouth curved into a knowing smile.
“Oh?” His brow lifted. He already had an idea what that ‘gift’ might be, but didn’t want to get his hopes up, so he dismissed it just as quickly.
“The sooner you come home, the longer you get to enjoy your present.” You winked, smoothed your clothes as you stood, and moved toward the door, pausing only to glance over your shoulder. “Happy Holidays, Dr. Zayne.”
You knew what calling him by his title did to him, especially when it came out of your mouth the way it did. You watched his throat work once as he swallowed. His eyes cut back to the screen, but the cursor on it didn’t move.
He tried to remain stoic, determined to show you he could control his desires. “Oh, I’m sure it’s going to be a very happy night. See you at home, Miss Fairy.”
Then he returned to his computer as if he hadn’t implied exactly what he had.
Caleb
You and Caleb sat across from each other at the table, halfway through dinner. You had made his favorite meal from childhood, the one your grandma used to make for the two of you every holiday, back when the kitchen always smelled warm and nothing felt complicated yet.
“You made it just the way grandma did,” he said after a bite. “But yours tastes even better.” He winked, smiling around his fork.
You returned his smile, hands intertwined and resting under your chin as you watched him eat with obvious enthusiasm. It felt nice, familiar, seeing him like this, relaxed and content, like no time had passed at all. Like you were still kids stealing extra servings before anyone noticed, laughing too loud, thinking the world would stay this small and safe.
He paused mid-meal, sliding a box across the table before taking a sip of his drink.
He gave it to you the way he always had, casually, like it was nothing, like looking after you had always been his role.
Inside was something practical but worn-in: a repaired keepsake from your past. Something you had cried about when it broke. You’d been so young then, yet you always had an understanding of what was truly valuable and sentimental.
“Thought you’d want this back,” he said, shrugging, eyes warm, and with that easy smile that had known you longer than anyone else ever could.
“Caleb… is that— is that what I think it is?” Your voice wobbled as your eyes widened, already glassy with tears that threatened to spill.
He nodded once.
“Where did you find it?”
“You left it behind, so I brought it back.” His gaze flicked from the piece in your hand to your face. “I took it right where you left it and repaired it.”
You were on your feet before you realized it, moving toward him without thinking. He pulled you easily into his lap, arms wrapping around you as he kissed the top of your head. You clung to him, breathing him in, grounding yourself in the steady beat of his chest.
“Caleb, this means so much to me. I don’t even know what to say.” You pulled back just enough to look at him, sniffing slightly.
“It’s nothing, really.” He shrugged again, like he hadn’t gone out of his way to fix it. Like he hadn’t spent years since it broke trying to repair it. Like it hadn’t mattered to him just as much as it did to you.
You shook your head. “It’s everything. I thought it was gone for good.”
“Hey,” he tipped your chin up gently. “I fixed it so you’d be smiling, not crying.” He wiped your tears with his thumb before pulling you back against his chest.
“I’m just so happy. Thank you.”
“Happy Holidays, Pip,” he murmured, pressing another kiss to your hair.
“Happy Holidays, Caleb.” Then reality caught up to you, his half-full plate, your position in his lap, and you attempted to move. He didn’t let you.
“Now where do you think you’re going?” he asked, grin turning wicked.
“Back to my seat so you can eat,” you explained.
He chuckled. “I can eat just fine with you right here. Now stop squirming, unless you want me to feast on you next.” His words were half threat, half promise.
Your cheeks burned. “Caleb!”
“What?” he said innocently. “I want dessert after the main course. It’s only logical. And you, my dear Pipsqueak, are the sweetest dessert I could ever dream of.”
You swallowed, fingers tightening briefly in his shirt as you tilted your head back just enough to meet his eyes. “You’re disgusting,” you said, your voice contradicting your words.
Caleb laughed, clearly pleased, reaching back for his fork without a care, as if ruining your appetite for food was part of the fun, especially knowing he’d gotten you worked up and fully intending to make you wait.
Xavier
Xavier didn’t outright give you your present. Instead, he made sure to place it somewhere that would end up with you.
A small box appeared in your locker after a mission, tucked behind your gear like it had always belonged there. Not placed carefully. Not hidden. Just there, waiting for you to notice it when you reached for something else. Still, you almost missed it, too focused on unstrapping your kit, too busy replaying the last few minutes of the fight. But the moment your fingers brushed the corner of it, you froze.
You opened the box to find a compact, upgraded safety charm for your kit. Functional. Reinforced. Designed to actually help rather than simply exist as decoration. The kind of thing he would notice you needed long before you admitted it yourself.
You approached Xavier later that evening, when he’d just stepped out of the shower with nothing more than a towel wrapped around his waist. Hair damp, skin faintly flushed from the heat. He didn’t look surprised when you held the box up.
You confronted him about it. In return, he shrugged, expression neutral, voice calm, like this was ordinary. His gaze stayed on your hands as you turned the charm over, watching your reaction the way he usually checked your wounds.
“Figured you’d use it,” he said, almost too casual.
“Xavier,” you said, a little softer than you meant to. “That’s very thoughtful. Thank you.”
Only later did you notice the small modification he’d added, something personal. A detail that had nothing to do with safety and everything to do with you. A mark set where your fingers would land when you clipped it in place. A tiny choice that turned ‘useful’ into ‘yours,’ like he’d tagged it with a private signature only you would understand.
So you decided to return the gesture in your own way.
You cooked a proper meal for him this Christmas.
When he came back from another mission, the apartment smelled of a warm, home-cooked dinner. The lights were dim. Candles were arranged across the dining table. Mistletoe hung over the door, slightly crooked, like you’d tried to make it look effortless and failed in the best way.
He paused, noticing the elegantly placed plates, then went looking for you.
You were humming in the kitchen, adding the last touches to the meal, when he stepped up behind you and pressed a brief kiss to the back of your head. You didn’t turn, but you felt him there before it happened, the way you always did.
“What are you cooking?” he asked. “It smells so good.”
“It’s a surprise. Go change and sit down. I’m almost done,” you instructed, still focused on the stove.
He didn’t argue. He never did, when you sounded like that.
Fifteen minutes later, you emerged from the kitchen with his favorite meal. What he didn’t know was that you’d also prepared his favorite dessert for after.
He stared at the food for a second too long, as if trying to confirm it was real. Then he glanced up at you. “What’s the occasion?” he asked, genuinely confused.
“It’s Christmas, Xav. I wanted to do something special for you.”
“But I didn’t get you anything. And I don’t need you to cook a grand meal for me. Instant ramen would’ve sufficed, truly.” The look he gave you indicated that he expected you to agree with him and let it go.
You gave him a pointed look. “You expect me to let you eat instant anything on CHRISTMAS? Besides, what do you mean you didn’t get me anything? That well-thought charm you designed for me meant more than you can imagine. So let me spoil you for once.”
He considered it, then exhaled as he gave in with a nod. “Fine. But only if you let me take you out tomorrow.”
You searched his eyes for a moment. “Okay. Deal.”
“Good. I already planned something. I just didn’t want to make it cliché by doing it on the first day.”
You rolled your eyes, smiling. “Of course you did. You can’t simply let me win for once.”
He shrugged, digging into his plate. “I’m just that competitive.”
“I’ll get you next year,” you promised.
“You can try.”
“Happy Holidays, Xav.”
“Happy Holidays, Princess.” He leaned in, giving you a quick peck before returning to his food.
Rafayel
Rafayel had dragged you to his studio the moment the two of you finished dining together. He was impatient, as always, practically vibrating with it, unable to wait a second longer to give you your gift.
He complained the entire way there, talking with his hands, pacing ahead of you, then doubling back as if waiting were a personal offense. At some point, he caught your wrist and tugged you along gently, until you were rolling your eyes at his hastiness. This was classic Rafayel.
He was being obvious about it, but you played along anyway, pretending not to notice that this sudden urgency had nothing to do with a last-minute commission or a piece he needed to alter before selling.
When he finally stopped in front of a covered canvas, he hesitated for the briefest moment before pulling the cloth away.
The gift was a piece he made especially for you. Not something he would ever sell or recreate. It was unmistakably yours, every detail chosen with intention, every color layered with care, something he’d painted with you in mind, not the market.
He circled behind you then, hands resting on your shoulders as he leaned in to look at the painting again over your head. “I kept changing the colors,” he murmured, quieter now. “Every time I thought I was done, it didn’t feel like you yet.” His thumbs pressed lightly, grounding himself. He was simply hoping the thing he made could hold even a fraction of what he felt when he looked at you.
It was beautiful. The kind of beauty that caught your breath before you could form words. The longer you looked, the more it revealed itself. It was as if he knew exactly what would speak to you. It wasn’t something you would just display at your apartment or office, but a piece you’d actually stop and look at from time to time.
“If you don’t like it,” he started, already bracing himself. Then he stopped, suddenly serious. “…I didn’t make it for anyone else. So if you don’t like it, I’ll just have to throw it away.”
You turned to face him, brows drawn together. “Raf, are you crazy? I love it. I was just too stunned to speak.”
“Oh.” His shoulders visibly relaxed. “I thought you didn’t. When you didn’t say anything, I thought you were figuring out how to tell me it was hideous.”
“Babe, you need to chill. It’s magnificent. When did you even start working on it?”
He smiled, clearly pleased with himself now. “Oh, just last year. When you told me about that place you love.”
“Raf! You’ve been working on this for that long and now you’re pretending it’s not even a big deal?” You slapped his shoulder lightly.
“It’s not that big of a deal, Cutie. I’m an artist, it’s nothing. I can paint you more if you’d like.”
“While I do appreciate you taking the time to think of me, I’m not taking more free paintings from you.”
He smirked. “Who said anything about free?” He gestured to the painting. “This one is your present. But the next one would cost you.” He hooked a finger into the collar of your coat, pulling you closer. “A lot. But I promise, you’d like it.”
The next thing you knew, his lips crashed against yours. He guided you backward until the table pressed into your spine before hoisting you onto it without breaking the kiss. Somewhere behind you, canvases fell, while paint splattered across the floor, but neither of you spared it a glance. You were the piece of art he was focused on right now.
Rafayel pulled back only long enough to breathe, his forehead resting against yours, breath uneven now. His hands stayed at your waist as he murmured against your lips, satisfied in a way that had nothing to do with the painting anymore. “Happy Holidays, Cutie.”
He didn’t give you time to answer. His hands slipped your coat from your shoulders and let it drop. He bent to you again, mouth moving over your neck and collarbone, leaving hickies in their wake, painting your body in shades of purple and red, treating your skin like a canvas beneath his hands and mouth.
summary: tension sparks as caleb and xavier battle for your attention.
contains: jealous!xavier, jealous!caleb, suggestive towards the end (no explict smut in this part)
a/n: hiii first time writing for lads and xavier and caleb have been heavy on my brain. inspired by a tiktok made by @/caleb.main3 on tiktok (idk how to hyperlink it LOL) . i'm definitely gonna write a part 2 with smut with them BOTH there's not enough star apple content out there.
You leaned all the way back into your chair and sighed, belly full from the assortment of yummy pastries you and Xavier stuffed yourselves with at the local cafe you two found on your way home. “I think we ordered way too much food. I’m so full I can barely even move.” You complained as you rubbed your aching stomach.
You two had just come back from a grueling mission. It felt as if you were fighting wanderers for hours; they’ve been stronger than normal lately. “You needed to fuel back up. You pushed yourself hard today.”
Xavier cleans up the scattered trash from the table and you two begin the sluggish journey to the exit of the cafe. He reaches to hold the door open for you when you’re greeted by a pleasantly familiar face.
“Caleb!” a wide smile immediately makes its way to your face. He wasn’t supposed to be back from Skyhaven for another week! “Surprise! I couldn’t go another day without seeing you, pips. I needed to come spend time with my favorite girl as soon as I could.”
In the midst of the exchange of excitement between you and Caleb, you forgot Xavier was still holding the door open for you. “This one of your friends, pips?” You were so caught up you forgot to introduce the two boys to each other. “This is Xavier! We actually just came back from doing a mission together.”
Xavier straightens his back and reaches his hand out to Caleb. “Nice to meet you.” He said monotonously. The other looks at the hand in front of him and smirks smugly before agreeing to shake it. “You wouldn’t mind if I took her off of your hands for a bit, yeah? I came all this way to see her.”
Xavier swallowed harshly at an attempt to keep his emotions at ease. The cockiness in this guy’s voice is really starting to piss him off. Feigning innocence, he responds, “She’s free to do whatever she’d like. No need to ask me for permission.”
At this point, the tension between the two was becoming uncomfortable for you to be in the middle of. Rolling your eyes to yourself, you began heading towards Caleb who was reaching out to hold your hand. Xavier retained his neutral expression but the other boy couldn’t help but patronize him a bit more. “Thanks, buddy,” Caleb waved as walked away with his prize.
♡
The sound of rustling oak leaves filled the air as you and Caleb sat on a shared bench underneath the tree. Currently, the two of you are being swarmed by a flock of ducks all waiting for one of you to grace them with another piece of bread.
The wind filled up the comfortable silence in the air as you finished your small talk. All that was left was to bask in the presence of each other. It’s always lovely when Caleb comes back to visit Linkon city. The stress of your job consumes all of your time and you never really have time to sit back and relax. Caleb, knowing this, makes it his priority to help alleviate some of that stress whenever he comes to see you.
Breaking the silence you question him, “Was it just a coincidence that you were going to the same cafe that I was at or were you following me again?” The question was playful but part of you was serious about it.
All Caleb could do was smile lightly as he tossed another piece of bread for the ducks. “Is your new thing asking questions that you already know the answer to?” You scoffed light heartedly. “We’ve already talked about this before, Caleb. You don’t have to follow my every move. I can handle things on my own.”
He seemed to be slightly annoyed at your response. He reached for your hand next to his on the bench and began rubbing circles with his thumb before sighing into his next reply. “What’s with this Xavier guy? I think you could find someone way more fun to try to replace me with.”
“I’m not replacing you,” you rolled your eyes. “And luckily he's my friend and not yours so you don't have to worry about that.” You threw the last piece of bread to a little duckling that poked at your foot. Your response earned a chuckle from Caleb as he stood up and dusted off his pants free of crumbs.
“You’re right, I’m the coolest person that you have the pleasure of knowing.” You smiled at his forwardness. His boyish charm never fails to make you ignore his arrogance. In all honesty, you found it endearing.
The two of you approached the entrance of your apartment. The night coming to a bittersweet end.
“Thank you for surprising me today.” He smiled back, “Thank you for letting me see you today.”
The silence in the air felt heavy. Not wanting him to leave and him not wanting to walk away from you. The two of you stood there gazing into each other's eyes.
“So do you-”
“I can-”
You both awkwardly tried to break the silence at the same time, in which you both laughed lightly at the patheticness. “We can plan something for tomorrow! There’s this new restaurant I’ve been wanting to try.” You suggested while a smile never left his face. “I’d like that.”
The air went silent again, this time Caleb walked closer into you. Your back against the door while he reached to rest his hand on the small of your waist. He was dangerously close. So close you could almost feel his breath on your face as he began leaning in to finally break the distance between you two.
Suddenly, you began to panic as you felt yourself falling backwards into what should’ve been your front door. “Y/N! You made it back! I was beginning to get worried about you.” You regain your footing and turn around to see Xavier with a warm smile on his face.
Xavier couldn’t handle seeing how close Caleb was getting to you. He isn’t even embarrassed to say that he was watching you through the window (to make sure you were safe on your way in, of course).
Straight-faced, Caleb questioned, “Why are you in her apartment.” Xavier immediately pulled you into your home, beating Caleb who tried pulling you back towards his chest.
“It was getting late and I’m sure you were too distracted to make sure she had dinner.” Here you were, yet again in the middle of them as they stared death threats into each other's eyes.
“I got us your favorite take out and I have a warm bath waiting for you.” Xavier smiled as he switched his gaze to focus on you.
“She’s not hungry.” Caleb’s voice was sharp and he was unaware of how painful his tight grip on your arm was getting.
Ignoring him, Xavier gets you all of the way inside, “Well, if you’re not hungry, there’s always room for dessert. I got us your favorite cake to share as well.” Your eyes gleamed with joy. “You’re the best, Xav! I can’t wait to take a bath too. I still feel so gross and sweaty from the mission earlier.”
Before leaving, you turned to a stunned and bitter Caleb and gave him a hug good bye. “Thank you again. I really missed you and I’ll call you about tomorrow!” Caleb couldn’t help but soften his gaze when looking into your kind eyes.
“Anytime, pips. I wouldn’t come to linkon city and not see my favorite girl.” Xavier deadpanned at the exchange between the two of you. He couldn’t get you inside fast enough.
“Thanks, buddy.” Xavier smiled before shutting the door in Caleb’s face.
♡
Between the scented candle, the bubble bath, and the soft jazz music playing on the speaker, you could’ve fallen asleep right then and there. This relaxing bubble bath was exactly what you needed after a long day of fighting. You started playing with one of the rubber duckies Xavier left in there for you, thinking of the ducks you and Caleb were feeding earlier. Your cheeks began to warm as you remembered how close he was to kissing you just thirty minutes ago.
A knock at the bathroom door interrupted your replay of the intimate events. “Come in!” Xavier walked in with a hand covering his eyes, so as to not look at you while bathing. “Sorry, I just wanted to check on you.” You chuckled at his shyness, “You're covering your eyes but you didn’t have to come inside of the bathroom to ask me that.”
You weren’t entirely oblivious to how Xavier would look at you, or how his touch would always linger a little bit longer than it needed to. However, as your partner, you wanted to make sure nothing interrupts the work relationship between you two. That doesn’t mean you can’t share the longing interactions with him as well. “You can uncover your eyes, I don’t mind. You can’t see anything underneath all of these bubbles anyway.”
Xavier removes his hand from his eyes and reveals a slight tint of pink on his cheeks. He cleared his throat “What movie do you want to watch with your dinner?” “Honestly, I’m really tired from earlier. You can put on anything, I’ll end up falling asleep before we finish it.” Xavier couldn’t help but glance at the way the water beaded on your chest.
“Okay, I’ll go get everything set up.” You smiled at his bashful response and decided not to tease him any further than you already have.
The two of you sat on the couch watching a random cartoon that Xavier selected. On the coffee table before you laid a feast of food.
Another big meal to share with Xavier. It’s clear that he likes to make sure that you’re well fed. He must be putting a spell on you too because ironically, your stomach always rumbles with hunger whenever you're with him. As if your body knows that he wants to take care of you by feeding you. “Everything looks so good! Thank you, Xav.”
“I know you don’t always have the time to take care of yourself properly so I want to do anything I can to make sure that you’re in good health.” His response is so sincere and felt too serious considering you both were in your fuzzy matching pajamas watching a children’s movie. Nonetheless, you smiled at him and started digging in.
Throughout the movie, you could feel Xavier looking at you through the corner of his eye. His body language seemed tense and the air between you two felt thick. Somehow, he ended up shoulder to shoulder with you. The credits of the movie then rolled.
“I can’t believe I managed to stay up for the whole movie,” you yawned while stretching. Honestly, your mind was racing to see what was wrong with Xavier. Your exhaustion was replaced with anxiety.
As you two walked to your door to let him out, you stopped in your tracks, “You’re not acting like yourself. What’s wrong, Xavier?”
He sighs, “I’m sorry, I just have a lot on my mind. I don’t mean to worry you.” He looked at you sheepishly as he reached for the door handle. This isn’t entirely out of his usual behavior. You’re not normally able to get Xavier to speak about his emotions easily on the first try.
“We don’t have to have a big conversation about anything. I want you to know that I’m here for you if you ever want to say what’s on your mind.” He’s silent for a second, contemplating how to frame his words.
“What else do I need to do to win you over?” Your chest tightened slightly at his questions. You’ve been trying to avoid the obvious feelings Xavier has for you. Not because they aren’t reciprocated, but because that would require a lot more emotional unpacking than you wanted to deal with right now.
Instead, you drop the oblivious act and walk up to place a soft, reassuring kiss to his cheek. He looks at you in slight disbelief.
A slight hint of frustration as well, “Do you like him?” You know he’s referencing Caleb. The tension between the two was painfully obvious earlier.
You waited before answering him honestly, “I haven’t sat with my feelings at all. For either one of you. I don’t want to know what I feel but I know there’s… something.”
Xavier stops the rest of your confession by pressing an intense kiss to your lips. Stumbling on your feet, you're stabilized by his hand on your back. You snake your hand around the back of his neck and kiss him back.
He stops and pulls away with a deep breath between you two. “I’m sorry. I should’ve asked you first before I did that.” You smiled shyly at his response. Even in times like this he was worried about your comfort.
“Do I have permission to kiss you again?” You nodded eagerly and closed the space between you two. This time with the kiss being more fervent than the last. One hand slid to the small of your back while the other tangled in your hair. Your hands curled into the fabric of his pajama shirt, tugging him closer. You melted into his embrace. His lips were eager and his touch was hot, his presence overwhelming your senses. This was more than just a kiss. It was all of the pent up feelings the two of you had been holding back on- all for the sake of professionalism.
Knock knock
The two of you pushed each other away in a state of panic. Readjusting both of your clothes to look presentable again.
“Piiipppsss,” Caleb dragged, “You okay in there?”
You and Xavier looked at each other anxiously before walking to welcome your beloved childhood friend in.
THE HEART I BURIED — 恋与深空
xavier, zayne, caleb, rafayel, sylus / reader
You move into a new apartment on the older side of Linkon City and invite friends over for a housewarming. All you expect is a crowded living room, a few drinks, and the competition for your attention that follows Xavier, Zayne, Caleb, Rafayel, and Sylus into any room they share. You do not expect, however, the moment after midnight, when you finally tell them about the heartbeat beneath your bedroom floor.
warning: first person pov/reader-insert, poly dynamics, rivalry between love interests, sexual tension, gothic horror
I moved into the apartment twelve days ago.
The building stands on the older side of Linkon City, pressed between two new towers with bright lighting and efficient elevators. Mine has both as well, though not quite to the same standard.
The elevator occasionally stops between floors, and the hallway lights dim at the same hour every evening. Management called it faulty wiring that needed upgrading—a consequence, they said, of the new buildings next door.
Still, neither fails in its function, so I accepted the explanation without complaint. The low rent and the undemanding lease were reason enough.
During my first week, I unpacked my things, learned which floorboards creak in case I ever needed a warning of an intruder at night, and grew accustomed to the metallic clatter and intermittent knocking of the pipes in the walls. Buildings in this part of Linkon are particularly noisy, especially those left unrenovated for years. Within days, however, most of these sounds were easily tuned out.
Except for the one I heard on the fourth night, when the heartbeat began.
It came through the floor in a measured rhythm, so low at first that I mistook it for plumbing. I counted eight beats before it stopped.
The following night, I placed my hand flat against the boards beside my bed. I counted eight again.
The building does not have a basement level. I checked the floor plans after that.
I have not contacted management.
─────────
Tonight, I am hosting a housewarming. Several friends are coming, along with five men who have developed a habit of involving themselves in matters that should not concern them.
Xavier said he would arrive early to help decorate. Zayne plans to come after work. Caleb invited himself before I finished asking. Rafayel complained about the commute, then confirmed anyway. Sylus simply told me he would be there.
They will spend most of the evening circling each other and pretending not to.
But that part is predictable.
What I have not decided is when to tell them about the heartbeat beneath my bedroom floor.
If I mention it during the party, none of them will leave. If I wait until everyone else is gone, the result will likely be the same.
The heartbeat starts after midnight.
i’ve been meaning to write a full-length fic with all five love interests for a while now, and since gothic horror, mystery, and romance are all my favorite genres, it felt like the perfect time to start! inspired by edgar allan poe's 'the tell-tale heart.'
